PROLOGUE
Thursday October 19th 2000
The bell above the door to the salon tinkled as I entered, and a young woman bounded enthusiastically from the rear of the shop to meet me.
“Hi”
“Hello. I, er, have an appointment for nine this morning…”
“Yes. It was me you spoke to on the phone. I’m Lucy, by the way.” She beamed engagingly. “So…you’re here for the works, pretty much…”
“Yeah. Hence the early appointment.” I smiled back.
“Hot date tonight?”
“Sorry?”
“Ah. No. I meant, you’re going to all this trouble and all…getting your hair and make up done professionally...”
“Ah, I see. I’m meeting someone for lunch…”
“Oh, Sorry.” She bit her lip and mugged an apologetic face. She had an Irish accent, and the charm to go with it. She was maybe early 20s. Her green eyes sparkled with life. “There I go being nosey again…”
I laughed. “No – that’s ok”
“Special occasion though?”
“Yeah. You could say that. It’s a long story”. I paused, and surveyed her friendly, open face again “But then we have all morning haven’t we?”
CHAPTER ONE
Wednesday 10th April 1985
Maria always said it had been fate that brought me to her. Myself, I didn’t believe in that sort of thing – a happy coincidence was the most I was prepared to admit. Synchronicity. Being in the right place at the right time…
The right place had been Liverpool. 64 Waterloo Street to be precise, just off the famous Penny Lane. It was a Victorian house, identical to the hundreds of others in that part of the city. Like many it had seen better days and provided a slightly shabby home for myself and four other architecture students in our third year at the university.
The right time was 7pm on Wednesday 10th April 1985. The five of us were enjoying a post prandial smoke in the living room, delaying the point at which we would return to our individual bedrooms to resume working, when we were interrupted by a knock on the door.
My friend Steve answered and called me through “Dave, it’s for you!”
The gentleman standing there introduced himself. “Mr. Ross? My name is Alejandro Carrera. Perhaps you are familiar with it? I used to study here in Liverpool many years ago and now run an architectural practice in Rio de Janeiro.”
He was tall – his eyes were level with mine despite the fact that I was standing, inside, a whole step higher than the pavement outside – and immaculately dressed. A white shirt inside a dark suit showed off his deep tan, which was complemented by collar length silver hair brushed back from his temple. Despite the mild weather we had been enjoying that spring he wore a long wool overcoat. He stood straight and confident, and held out his hand in greeting.
Of course I was familiar with his name. Though I had never been introduced to him formally I had attended both the lectures he had given during my time at Liverpool. He had been a student at the university in the immediate post war period prior to setting up a highly successful practice in Brazil. He returned most years to give a lecture and, as all third year students about to commence a ‘year out’ in practice were very aware, to recruit students for work experience in his office. With my friends in the house we had often talked about the possibility of working for him in Brazil. He didn’t recruit every year, but we did know that he liked to employ students who had had previous office experience and I was one of the few students that year who fitted that requirement.
In that context, I was painfully aware of first impressions and the fact that he had caught me completely unawares. I was dressed in a faded ‘Clash’ t-shirt and old jeans. My shoulder length dark brown hair had not been washed for several days and was held in a slightly greasy ponytail with an old rubber band. My beard, which I had cultivated assiduously since starting university on the misplaced assumption that it made me look coolly artistic was in reality patchy - in need of trimming in some areas and additional growth in others. “Too late to do anything about that now” I thought to myself and, taking his hand, welcomed him inside.
Working in Rio was everything I’d hoped it would be. I’d flown out immediately after graduating and found a room in an apartment near the university with a couple of local architecture students. Alejandro’s office was a short bus ride away, a couple of blocks off the seafront at Copacabana. He employed around thirty staff and it was a friendly and creative mix of both sexes. It was nice to see so many women – females in the construction industry in the UK were still few and far between at that time. Most of the people there were South American, but there were 2 or 3 Europeans too.
Because of my graphic skills I was mainly involved in competition work, but I’d asked Alejandro if I could run a small job on site to get the contract experience I needed and he’d been good enough to give me a small residential project to look after. Keen to impress, I worked hard and competition deadlines meant I was often in the office late. After welcoming me on the day I started, I didn’t see Alejandro for several weeks afterwards. My new colleagues told me he was semi-retired and it was evident that the day to day running of the office was managed by his daughter.
Maria was a beautiful lady. Her father’s gravitas and proud bearing had manifested themselves in her elegance and graceful movement which were emphasised by her sense of style. She was always immaculately dressed in designer outfits and she was at that age – mid 30s I guessed – where tastes mature and become more sophisticated. She was darker skinned than her dad. I’d just bought Whitney Houston’s first album and she reminded me a lot of her – in the way she held herself and moved but also her hair – a mass of tight brown curls projecting out over each shoulder. Her warm brown eyes glittered with humour and she was that most wonderful of things -a great listener who made everyone with whom she spoke feel that she cared about them. Combined with an infectious passion for her work this made Maria one of the most charming women I had met. I would watch her in meetings when she would have others in the palm of her hand. She presented design proposals in such a way that the client would be offering the commission before the presentation was even finished, and when things occasionally got difficult on site with an awkward contractor, a quick chat with Maria would always convince him of the error of his ways.
I’d got to know her quite well. She would accompany me at meetings on the project I was running and we would drive out together to site. She often asked about life in the UK and she would giggle like a schoolgirl as I recounted stories of the things myself and my friends had got up to as students. We shared a love of Monty Python and my ability to recite entire sketches word for word, mimicking perfectly the accents, would make her so helpless with laughter that sometimes she had to stop driving and pull in to the side of the road. Her attempts to join in rendered me the same – somehow the Parrot sketch became even funnier when recounted in her sexy Latina accent. There being nothing more attractive than a woman who laughs at your jokes, I was fast becoming smitten with her.
It was about four months after I’d started working in Rio. I’d received a letter that morning from my mum (she still wrote to me every week). Driving out to site I’d told Maria how my mum was a nurse back home in Lancashire and she’d told me how her mum’s family had come to Brazil as slaves from Africa, and she recounted the story of how her mum had been working as a dancer when her dad had seen her performing at a theatre and fallen in love with her. It was a lovely romantic story – he’d waited at the stage door afterwards but in her pride she’d refused to have anything to do with him. It wasn’t until he’d waited outside every night for a week that she had agreed to go on a date with him.
She paused for a while after finishing the story and then asked.
“What are you doing for Carnaval?”
“I don’t know – I haven’t made any plans yet.”
“What? Nearly everyone here starts planning almost as soon as the previous one is finished. It’s the biggest party of the year – much bigger than New Year.”
“Well. I was going to watch some of the floats…and there’s a student party that some of the guys in the office were talking about.”
“I was thinking – seeing as you haven’t been before. The first time is always special. I could show you around if you like…”
“That would be fantastic.” I glanced across at her from my passenger seat. She smiled back. Surely she wasn’t asking me out? No – don’t be ridiculous – she’s my boss; she just wants to be a good host; show me the sights. I cleared my throat. “So, the meeting. A few actions there that we need to look at.”
We talked business all the way back to the office, but my mind was racing.
Two weeks later I stood outside the address Maria had given me. It was in an exclusive residential area of Copacabana, not far from the office. A high wall to the street contained a steel gate. I buzzed the intercom and announced myself and the gate clicked open onto a small front courtyard garden with a neatly trimmed lawn bisected by a fine gravel path leading to the house. I recognised Maria’s Mercedes in the drive alongside. A large vine with fuchsia coloured flowers covered much of the front of the house, punctuated by some small windows covered by ornate wrought ironwork. The front door was broad and welcoming. As I waited I nervously adjusted my collar. I was wearing my best - my only - suit – a cream linen thing I’d had made up by a very reasonably priced local tailor out of the proceeds of my first pay cheque. I liked to think it gave me the cosmopolitan air of an Englishman abroad. I’d bought a crisp white shirt earlier that day and the collar, still fresh from the packaging, was prickly and uncomfortable.
The door opened and a maid beckoned me inside. The entrance hall was broad but shallow and the wall in front of me stopped at balustrade height. Walking towards it, I overlooked a huge double height living space, on the other side of which was a fully glazed screen looking into a verdant rear garden. A full size grand piano took pride of place amongst some classic pieces of modernist furniture which complemented the clean lines of the surrounding architecture. I was still taking it all in when I heard the click of heels on the marble flooring and Maria’s voice, full of humour as always.
“Welcome to my humble abode”
I span around to greet her, but had to do a double take. She was wearing tight black jodhpurs, the outside seams of which were picked out in a gold stripe, tucked into highly polished calf length black boots. A richly brocaded scarlet bolero jacket was cropped short at the waist and her normally voluminous hair was hidden beneath a shallow brimmed hat. She carried a red cape over one arm. She spun around, tightly, one arm raised over her head, clicking a heel as she completed the turn.
“Ta da! What do you think?”
“Wow!” I was speechless for a moment. “Not quite what I had expected…but you’re the best looking toreador I’ve seen recently.”
She laughed. “And just how many others have you seen?”
Even dressed as she was, in such a macho costume, she looked incredible. Her eyes flashed as she attempted another mock fierce pose but she giggled immediately at the pretence.
“But you never told me it was fancy dress.”
“It’s Carnaval, of course it is fancy dress.”
“But I haven’t got anything.”
“I have something for you.”
“Oh, ok. So am I the front or the back end of the bull?”
She looked at me blankly. I made a mental note that jokes about the British pantomime tradition didn’t translate.
We walked down a stair into the main living room and through into a small corridor.
“This is a beautiful house.”
“Thank you. My papa designed it. I grew up here. It’s too big just for me now and I’d love to design something for myself, but it’s not easy finding land these days…”
“So what have you got for me to wear?”
She beamed. “Wait. It’s in here.”
She opened a door and flicked a light switch. Inside, spread out carefully across a large bed in the centre of the room was a Ferrari red flamenco dress, layers and layers of ruffled lace cascading over onto the adjacent floor. I swallowed hard.
“But you can’t, I mean...I can’t wear that.”
“Why not? I am dressed as a boy. It is the tradition of Carnaval…”
“Yes but… I mean, you might be wearing boy’s clothes but, I mean, it’s different. Women wear jodhpurs and boots all the time…”
“Half the men in Rio will be wearing dresses tonight.”
“Well, maybe, but…”
“Oh, come, I’ve always loved your sense of humour. Please, indulge me tonight.”
Her charm was, as always, winning the day. I tried one last time.
“But my beard…”
“Tch. It will grow again. Besides, I think you will look more handsome without it.”
Checkmate.
I sighed. “Oh, ok then, I suppose.”
She beamed again and clapped her hands together excitedly.
“You’ll look fantastic!”
“Humph!”
I retired to the adjacent en suite, under instructions, with a sharp razor and a bruised ego. How could I have been so foolish to think that Maria might find me attractive? Why hadn’t I stood up for myself more?
I thought I might struggle to get rid of my beard, but the truth was it was much thinner and more straggly than I’d been prepared to admit and it came off easily. Maria had also asked me to get rid of any hairs on my arms and legs and again I meekly obliged – not that there was too much to get rid of there either.
After towelling myself dry I stood for a moment in front of the mirror to see how I looked without the beard. It had been a while since I hadn’t had one and I’d forgotten how delicately featured I was without it. With the beard gone and my damp, now more than shoulder length hair hanging down each side of my face my appearance was anything but macho. I sighed deeply. Any chances of impressing Maria tonight seemed gone. I slipped on the towelling robe she’d left for me and returned to the bedroom.
She gestured me towards a seat in front of a dressing table, on top of which was arrayed a bewildering selection of pots and tubes containing, I supposed, make up. Bending down in front of me Maria took one of the tubes, squirted some liquid out of it onto her finger and began applying it to my face.
“So where are you planning on taking me tonight?”
“Well, I have tickets for a private party at a club.”
“Sounds good.”
The conversation felt a bit awkward now, and soon ebbed as she continued her work. Strangely, I found myself enjoying it. I hadn’t had the chance to see Maria as up close as we were now and she looked kind of cute as she progressed with her task, her tongue protruding as she concentrated. She was so close I could feel her warm breath on my face and smell her scent. As much as that, though, I found the application of the make up quite sensual. I’d always loved the sensation of having my hair cut and having the make up applied reminded me a little of that. Maria’s fingers, and the various brushes she used felt fantastic as they ran over my skin.
Putting on the eye make up wasn’t quite the same. Maria chastised me gently for blinking at the wrong time when she was applying eyeliner and she had to remove it a couple of times with a wipe before she was satisfied. Finishing off with a bright red lipstick (to match the dress, she said), she squealed with pleasure but she wouldn’t let me look in the mirror to see for myself just yet. She blow dried my hair and then pulled it back tightly. Where I held it in place with a rubber band at the nape of my neck, she fastened it higher. From a drawer in the vanity unit she took out what looked like a chocolate brown hamster, but turned out to be a hairpiece already fashioned into a bun. “I wasn’t sure this would match” she said as she clipped it into place “but it’s perfect.” Lastly she took a red flower from a vase and clipped it into my hair at the side.
“This is a gardenia.” she said “The singer Billie Holiday always wore one when she performed, but she usually preferred white.”
She moved to one side to allow me to look in the mirror.
“What do you think?”
If what I’d viewed in the bathroom mirror earlier had the potential to be construed as androgynous, now there was no doubt. The delicate features which had lain hidden beneath my beard were now not just exposed but celebrated. My oval face had been rendered smooth with foundation, cheekbones above blushed cheeks. My lips, which with my beard removed already looked fuller had been plumped with lipstick and gloss, and my blue eyes, which I’d often been told were my best feature as a man, appeared huge when surrounded with expertly applied shadow, liner and mascara. Conflicting emotions ran through my head. I was glad in a strange way that I didn’t look like a man wearing make up but the fact that I looked so much like a woman, and a good looking one at that, shocked me. Not getting an answer, Maria replied for me.
“You look amazing. This is going to be so much fun.”
“I don’t know Maria. I’m not sure I want to do this.”
“Hey, you’re thousands and thousands of miles from home. Who is going to recognise you?”
‘It’s not that, it’s…”
“Listen. It’s Carnaval. It’s a special time. Once a year you get the chance to be somebody else. Somebody completely different. You can leave the stresses and worries of your normal life behind. Pretend David isn’t here.”
I looked at her.
“Psychologists have studied festivals like Carnaval. They have proved it’s good to get out of yourself every once in a while.” She clicked her heels again and flashed her fierce look. “Tonight I am Mario, the famous toreador, and you shall be my woman, Esmerelda.”
I laughed. “The bulls don’t stand a chance.”
She led me back to the bed where some underwear lay next to the dress. She gave an exaggerated display of not looking whilst I pulled on some panties and then she helped me into a matching black satin bra, padding the cups with some tights. Picking up the dress, she laid it out on the floor and then gestured for me to step into it. It felt cool and smooth as I pulled it up my legs. I hooked my arms in and Maria struggled with the zip at the back. At last she managed to fasten it. The dress was skin tight down to mid thigh, where the layers of ruffled lace flared out into a train that trailed a yard or so behind me. She pulled out a pair of shoes but the dress was too tight for me to fasten them so she bent down and did the buckles.
“How did you know my size?” I asked.
“Your site boots.” she answered.
“Well, you really are a schemer aren’t you?”
She clipped some long dangly earrings into place and fastened a thin satin choker around my throat.
“There. Now you are ready. Oh no, almost forgot…”
And so I sat down again and she glued a set of red false nails to mine.
Finally, I stood up again and she beckoned me over to another mirror, this time a full length one on a wardrobe door. The dress slid in a disconcertingly enjoyable way over my legs as I walked.
“No, no, no. You’re walking like a man.”
“Well, duh!”
“Go back and try again, this time one leg in front of the other.”
“That’s what I normally do.”
“Smarty pants! No, I mean like you’re walking on a tight rope.”
I tried again.
“Now. Let your hips swing a little – not too much or you’ll look like a hooker.”
I walked across the room again. The dress really did feel delicious on my freshly shaved legs, although I had to be careful not to catch my shoes in the train when I turned around. She beamed.
“That’s it. You make a very sexy senorita, if you don’t mind me saying.”
I turned towards her, hands on my hips, pouting in what I imagined was an exaggeratedly suggestive way whilst batting my eyelashes. I remembered that one of the voices I’d been able to mimic in a passable way at university had been Marilyn Monroe and I tried to recall how I’d done it.
“Why, thank you, Senor.”
It came out not bad. Maybe not Marilyn, but definitely not David either. Maria squealed again.
“How did you do that?”
I tried again, this time more confidently.
“Well, a girl doesn’t tell all her secrets.”
She skipped in a most un-toreador like way over to my side and gave me a big squeeze.
“Thank you. This is going to be a great night.”
I squeezed her back. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be too bad after all.
Maria had a driver take us the short distance into Copacabana. As we neared the seafront, the streets were more packed with partygoers. Maria explained that the Magic Ball at the Palace Hotel was one of the social occasions of the year for the great and good of Rio society. Tickets were like gold dust and she had been lucky to have been given a couple by a client.
After inching slowly along the last few hundred metres the car eventually came to a stop outside the hotel, surrounded by throngs of onlookers, held back by tuxedoed security guards, all straining towards a short length of red carpet where they might catch a glimpse of a favourite celebrity. I looked across at Maria,
“Oh. My. God. This is unbelievable.”
She grinned back.
“Your chance to pretend you’re a Hollywood star…be careful getting out of the car – going headlong because you caught your heel in your dress isn’t a good look!”
The driver took my hand as I swung my legs out of the car, keeping both knees together, and ensuring my feet landed on the carpet and not on the train of my dress. Maria offered me her arm and I linked her as we began walking towards the hotel entrance.
“Take your time” she hissed in my ear “and look like you’re enjoying it and not doing some particularly hard calculus.”
“Sorry. I’m just trying to concentrate on not standing on my dress.” I whispered back and tried a smile.
Maria smiled in the general direction of the crowd and a battery of flashguns went off.
“You look gorgeous. Don’t worry. Give them a smile and a wave – go on.”
I tried to relax a little – not be quite so stiff – allow the swaying movements of my dress and its train to lead my body into mimicking their fluidity. One foot in front of the other…swing the hips…all too soon we were at the top of the carpet and through into the hotel foyer. I let out a huge sigh of relief and laughed at Maria.
“Wow! That was certainly different to anything I’ve ever done before!”
The hotel looked amazing. Art Deco in style, its magnificent architecture had been further complemented by an overwhelming array of sparkling decorations. But even then, the hotel provided a relatively subdued backdrop compared to the costumes of the guests. About half the people there were in evening dress rather than costumes but even they looked fantastic. The men wearing what were clearly very expensive, tailored immaculately fitting suits whilst the women were in a variety of stunning designer evening gowns. Some of the costumes were incredible. Never before had I seen such a huge volume of sequins and feathers fail so spectacularly to cover such a vast area of bare flesh. Maria must have noticed me looking, because she poked me in the ribs.
“Oi! Don’t you know it’s rude to look at other women when you’re in the company of one!”
“I was just looking at the costumes, honestly.”
“Humph!” she gave me a mock frown and then smiled.
We had made our way to the ballroom and were sipping on a couple of glasses of champagne when a middle aged gentleman in a dinner suit approached Maria.
“Maria. Is that you?”
“Antonio! It’s wonderful to see you!”
He hugged her and they kissed on each cheek.
“I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“Ah, yes, well…it is Carnaval…No fancy dress for you, then?”
“No, I’m afraid tonight is more about business for me. Any way. Please…”
He turned to look at me. Maria started.
“Oh, forgive me. This is my beautiful flamenco dancer” she laughed “Allow me to present Esmerelda…”
Antonio reached out to take my hand as Maria continued.
“Actually Esmerelda is in fact…”
I interrupted her sharply.
“Sue. Sue Ross. I’m a student from England. Over here getting some work experience with Maria’s company.”
Maria was standing behind Antonio and gave me a hard quizzical stare over his shoulder which I chose to ignore. I offered him my hand which he took and with an exaggerated gesture, raised to his lips.
“Delighted to meet you.”
Antonio was a good three or four inches shorter than me and wore a lifetime of fine dining around his midriff which the cummerbund he was wearing struggled to contain. He was bald on top and sported a greying moustache, but whilst the rest of his body betrayed his advancing years, his brown eyes sparkled with youthful exuberance beneath his bushy eyebrows.
“Allow me to introduce you Sue to my son Tony Jr.”
Behind Antonio, his son had presumably inherited his mother’s looks, for he was an altogether different specimen. Tall, broad shouldered, bronzed skin, he was classically good looking Latin leading man material. He smiled at me, revealing a perfect set of gleaming white teeth and then hugged Maria closely.
“Are you with a group?” Antonio asked Maria.
“No, just the two of us.”
“Then come, you must join us, for a while at least.”
We walked across the ballroom to a large table occupied by around eight or nine other tuxedoed middle aged gentlemen.
“What’s with the Sue thing?” Maria hissed as we walked but I didn’t have time to answer before we were being introduced to the other guests.
“Maria. Please. You will sit with Tony over here” he gestured to the far end of the table “and Sue, you will sit with me here.”
My mind was spinning. I didn’t know why I’d introduced myself as Sue – perhaps it was because I looked so convincing and I didn’t want people to think I was such an effeminate man that I could easily pass as a woman. Whatever it was, I would have to be careful not to give myself away now. I would have to keep the charade going for a little while longer at least.
“So, Sue. Which part of England are you from?”
“Liverpool.”
“Ah, yes. I was there on business only a couple of years ago. It was a wonderful trip. My hosts took us to see the football. That is some team, no? Almost as good as our Brazilian teams, no?”
“Yes, they are fantastic – Rush, Souness, Dalglish – I miss not seeing them now I’m in Rio.”
“So – a woman who likes football.” He grinned disarmingly “If only I was thirty years younger. And the Beatles, too. When I was a young man they were popular, even here…when I went to Liverpool it was fantastic to see all the places they sang about. Strawberry Fields, Penny Lane…”
I told him that I had lived just off Penny Lane and he was visibly impressed.
“Still. Our music is good, no? Have you enjoyed the samba since you arrived?”
I told him that I hadn’t had much time to go out dancing since I’d arrived, and that I was working hard on a design competition just now.
“And who is that for?” he asked.
“The client? An oil company called SERPO”
He chuckled. “Did Maria not tell you who I am?”
I hesitated. “No. Why?”
“SERPO is my company. I am the chairman and founder.”
I was silent and he laughed again.
“Come. I will show you the samba’” He stood and held out his hand.
“Oh, but I…”
“Come. I insist.”
I looked across at Maria for help, but she was deep in conversation with Tony Jr. I took Antonio’s hand and he led me onto the dancefloor.
He raised his hands and for a second I almost grasped his right with my left before I remembered that he would be leading. Fortunately he didn’t seem to notice and he grabbed my right hand and I gingerly placed my left on his shoulder.
“You may want to pick up your dress so you don’t trip on it.”
“Ah. Oh. Yes.”
“Now. Here we go. One and left and…follow me…good…yes…now, right…perfect!”
He walked me through the steps.
“Listen to the music. Feel the rhythm.”
As the moves repeated themselves I gradually began to feel more confident. Antonio had a way of gently and effortlessly guiding me; all the while offering words of encouragement, laughing and occasionally bursting out in song to accompany the music.
He was good company and even though – my god, by how much – the evening wasn’t turning out how I’d thought it was going to several hours earlier, I was having fun.
“You have saved my life tonight you know.” He whispered conspiratorially during a quiet lull in the rhythm.
“How do you mean?’
“Look at them, over there.”
He spun me around to face the table at which we’d been sat a few minutes earlier. His guests that he’d introduced to us previously were still sat at the table, watching the dancing or just absentmindedly staring around. To a man they were middle aged, grey or balding, but without Antonio’s redeeming twinkle.
“Government officials.” He went on. “My God they are so boring these days. When I was a young man, we would take them out and entertain them…when we needed a favour, you understand…and we would get them drunk, and find them a nice girl…forgive me, but you know what I mean…nowadays they are so scared of the media reporting on them…”
I giggled.
“Well, thank you for teaching me the samba. Tonight has been lovely.”
Perhaps it was the heat of the dancefloor, but I swear I saw him blush.
“Uh, oh. Here comes Maria. It looks like I’m going to have to let you go for a while.”
Maria walked over “Do you mind?”
She took me by the hand and led me off the dancefloor.
“Where are we going? I was enjoying that...”
“The restroom. Now.”
Without asking any further questions I followed her into the ladies. As soon as we were inside she turned, confrontationally.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean pretending to be Sue and then spending all night flirting with Antonio.”
“I’m not flirting!” I was taken aback. “I mean, I don’t know why I said I was Sue, but after I did I felt that I just had to keep up appearances…”
“Well, you are certainly doing that.”
“Anyway, you’re not doing so bad with Tony Jr. Every time I look around you are staring into each other’s eyes, deep in conversation…”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She snapped. Then, more softly. “Do you know who he is?”
“Antonio? He said he was the SERPO boss. I didn’t know, sorry. If I had…” my voice trailed away.
“Antonio and my papa grew up together. Went to school together. They’ve known each other for maybe sixty years. He’s like an uncle to me. Tony Jr – I’ve known him all my life. He’s almost a brother…”
“Oh. Sorry.”
She was silent for a while and then “Look. I’m sorry too. I should have told you before...well, before you went dancing with him. And…” she was quieter now “Seeing you dancing with him. Well, it made me a bit jealous…”
For a moment I was intensely aware that she’d placed her hand on my waist but then it was gone. She giggled quietly.
“Come on. While we’re here. Your lipstick needs touching up. You might as well learn.”
She opened the clutch bag she’d given me and brought out a lipstick, removing the cap and screwing out the tube before handing it to me. We stood at the vanity, side by side, for all the world like two girlfriends.
“There.” She said, teasing one of my bangs into place as I replaced the lipstick in my clutch. “You’re looking all gorgeous again. And that’s important because…”
She paused for dramatic effect, her eyes glistening with humour as she stretched on tiptoes to whisper in my ear.
“All that time Tony and I were talking…he was asking about you…I do believe you’ve got an admirer there.”
She giggled again and gently pushed me out of the ladies and back into the ballroom.
Of course Tony was waiting for me when we got back to the table. I was pleased that I’d managed to get the gist of the basic steps of the samba with his dad, who had been entirely charming in taking me under his wing. Somehow with Tony I didn’t want to be a vulnerable novice, I wanted to be cool and elegant and slightly superior…
He was quite different to his dad. Where Antonio looked as though he was completely infatuated with the samba, Tony didn’t. He was a good dancer, for sure, but he made me feel that he didn’t dance because he enjoyed it, but because it was socially useful and that being good at it was a way to impress women. The same applied to his conversation. We talked about Rio, and about architecture, but he seemed less interested in what I said than in what he could tell me about himself. No doubt his good looks and his money were enough to get him what he wanted in terms of girlfriends, but when he suggested that I might want to join him for a spin in his brand new Maserati that he’d just bought that weekend, it was all I could do to stop myself from giggling at his chat up technique. For a moment he seemed genuinely bewildered when I said I would be too busy working on the competition to join him.
And so the evening progressed. I danced with Antonio and Tony, and even one or two of the less boring government officials. Maria danced with them too, but with everyone there thinking I was a girl it felt too awkward for us to dance together. Eventually Antonio said that he and Tony had to leave to escort their guests back to their hotel. “They don’t even have the energy to party through until morning these days.” he moaned. They offered us a lift but Maria declined and eventually, just as the night began to wind down, we found ourselves alone.
“Now we can dance” she said.
The music had slowed, and she pulled me close, lifting my arms to wrap around her neck as she gently clasped my waist.
“I confess” she leaned to whisper in my ear “I’m a bit tipsy. I’ve drunk too much champagne.”
She giggled and one of her hands slipped down from my waist to gently caress my bottom through the smooth taffeta of my dress. I swallowed hard, and felt like my heart was going to explode out of my chest. She pulled me tighter and our bodies swayed smoothly in unison. I could smell her musk, feel her warm breath on my face. I had just made up my mind to kiss her and damn the consequences when the music stopped and the lights went up.
It was daylight outside as we left. Maria wielded her cape with a flourish as I charged, giggling, my index fingers forming horns either side of my head, back up what was now thankfully a deserted red carpet. She joined me in an impromptu, and very uncoordinated, flamenco dance as we waited for the car to arrive. We fell into it, laughing helplessly, and were driven back home in fits of giggles. Maria was still teasing me as I stepped out of the car at her house, grabbing my bottom as I bent and exclaiming loudly in a deep man’s voice “Phwoar! What a bottom you’ve got in that dress.”
“Don’t touch what you can’t afford!” I joked and skipped off down the path. Maria chasing me, we crashed together against the front door which swung open, depositing us in an unceremonious heap on the floor, me on my back and Maria landing on top of me.
“Ow!” I rubbed the back of my head.
“Awwww” She teased, poking me in the ribs with a finger and making me squeal again. For a brief moment our eyes locked and then her lips were on mine. I kissed her back, hungrily, and rolled her over on to her back but she immediately flipped me back again.
“No. Tonight I am Mario, and you are Esmerelda…”
Her hands ran over the smooth silk encasing my body. Reaching under my skirts she slid them up my legs to my waist. She was between my legs now, fumbling at her belt with her hand, our mouths still locked together.
“Shit! I can’t get these fucking jodhpurs off! They’re tucked into my boots!”
We both burst out laughing and then she stood up and, taking my hand, pulled me to my feet too. She kissed me again, his time slowly and lingeringly, her lips brushing gently against mine and then her tongue exploring my mouth.
“Come. Let’s go to the bedroom.” My hand in hers, we walked down the stairs towards her room, the train of my dress rustling softly behind me.
Maria had gone when I awoke. Glancing at the alarm clock I saw that it was past noon. I stepped gingerly out of bed, wincing slightly as I made my way to the en-suite. My feet were a ruin after spending all night in heels. I surveyed myself in the bathroom mirror. The make up that I had neglected to remove last night was now re-arranged in a far more abstract pattern all over my face. The hairpiece dangled lopsidedly over one ear, mirrored by one remaining earring in the other. I found some cold cream to clean my face off and then lingered a while in Maria’s shower, allowing the heat to soak into my aching toes and calves.
Fortunately I didn’t have to roam the house naked to find my clothes from yesterday; someone had had the foresight to fold them neatly over a chair in Maria’s room. I slipped the suit back on again – it felt harsh and crinkly against my newly sensitized smooth limbs, but my own shoes were blissfully comfortable after the heels. Making my way through the house there was still no sign of life and I quietly exited, blinking in the bright midday sun as I headed for home.
There was no sign of Maria at work the following day, or for the rest of that week. Whilst I was desperate to talk to her, I was also extremely busy with the SERPO competition. Antonio had talked to me at Carnaval about his plans for the company to diversify out of oil into renewable energy and I wanted that to be reflected in our design for the new headquarters by making it sustainable. I’d had some interesting ideas about incorporating planting into the upper levels of the building – ‘skygardens’ I called them – and my excitement at developing the design concepts outweighed my anxiety about Maria.
Eventually the following week Maria reappeared. My phone rang and she asked me through to her office.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I know we need to talk.” She was cool and business-like.
“Yeah…well…I’ve been really busy too…”
“How is the competition looking?”
Unburdened by not needing to talk about personal issues, we both visibly relaxed as we talked freely and excitedly for a while about the new designs. Then she became serious again.
“Listen. There is something else.”
“I know we need to talk, but maybe it’s best if we leave it until after the competition is finished?”
“Yes, but that’s not it.”
“What then?”
Maria took a breath. “Antonio called. He wanted to say how much he and Tony Jr. enjoyed themselves at Carnaval. It seems like Sue made quite an impression.”
My stomach twisted slightly. “What do you mean?”
“He wants Sue to present the competition proposals in Sao Paolo the week after next.”
“Shit! What did you say? Did you not tell him that I’m Sue? I mean, it was all a joke, an act…”
“Perhaps you should have thought things through before you introduced yourself the way you did.”
“I know, but…”
“Brazilian men are the most macho on the planet. If Antonio knew that the girl he’d spent hours flirting with…”
“I wasn’t flirting!” I interrupted.
“It certainly looked like that from where I was standing.” She continued “If he knew Sue was really a guy then we could forget the competition. And probably a lot of other projects as well.”
“Tell him Sue’s ill, or something.”
“He’ll just put off the presentation until she’s better.”
“Tell him she’s gone back to the UK.”
“Don’t be silly. Why would she do that? He knows she’s really enjoying herself here. After all, you told him.”
I was silent for a while, then “So what do we do?”
She looked right into my eyes. “Perhaps Sue should give the presentation.”
“You must be joking. I mean…”
This time Maria interrupted. “You managed to be pretty convincing at Carnaval. I know it’s a big thing to ask, but just think about it, ok?”
I left the office that night with my head spinning. Being just over a week away from the most important submission of my professional career was more than enough to happily occupy my thoughts and seeing Maria had initiated an aching in me to be with her again. And now this. The bus home was full of young women heading out for the evening - dressed to party, hair done, faces made up. The woman opposite me was stunning. She wore a tight black clingy dress which finished just above her knees. A mane of tightly curled hair framed a face with beautiful deep brown eyes. How would it feel to stand there wearing a dress like that? What would I look like with my hair done in that style? My pulse raced. There were too many things going on in my head. Just concentrate on the competition, I told myself. But could I keep focused for another week?
The following day I told Maria that I would acquiesce and be Sue again for the presentation. I’d tossed and turned all night, but eventually the decision was easy. I’d put a huge amount of effort into the competition and would have done almost anything not to jeopardise the result. And besides, there was the little voice inside of me, the voice I tried to pretend didn’t exist, that whispered softly to me about how much Sue wanted to come out to play again…
Maria squealed delightedly for a brief moment before quickly recovering her professional composure and saying how much this meant to the practice, and how she’d make sure it would be made up to me. I’d already arranged with the print shop that I’d send them the completed drawings to mount onto boards overnight on the Saturday prior to the Monday presentation. That would give us Sunday to rehearse. Maria said that would also give us ample time to ‘get me ready’. I already had an inkling what that meant.
Sunday morning dawned with me still hunched over my drawing board, having been there non-stop since Saturday morning (and having existed on an average of four hours sleep that whole week). I eventually got everything off to the printers by mid morning, but it was mid afternoon by the time the finished boards came back. By this time Maria had already been on the phone three or four times and she joined me in the studio just as the boards arrived.
“We’re running late. We won’t have time to do everything we need to do today.”
“I know. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t leave a drawing half finished, could I?”
“You should have asked for more help”
“There have been three of us here all night. Any more wouldn’t have made any difference.”
We reviewed the presentation boards as they arrived. Maria’s agitation subsided as we went through them, replaced by, I was relieved to see, delight and enthusiasm. She was thrilled by how the scheme looked.
We loaded the drawings into Maria’s car and set off for her house. Amazingly, considering the mental turmoil I’d been in over the last week, I’d managed to retain my focus on the work and I was proud of what I’d achieved and very happy with Maria’s reaction. But now the adrenalin that had kept me going had dissipated, I was tired. Really, really tired.
Maria, by contrast, seemed almost high with anticipation at the events of the next day or so. She babbled excitedly at her increasingly comatose passenger.
“So I booked a hairdresser. She’s been there since 11am this morning when we expected you. It’s lucky I was able to keep her on…I was thinking a nice ‘up do’…nothing too formal, but with some loose curls you could look really cute…and nails. Stick ons might have been okay for a costume party but what if one pinged off in the middle of your presentation. Disaster! Oh, and boobs…”
“What?”
“Haha! So you are with us then? I was beginning to think you had passed out. Yes, boobs. Not real ones, silly. Some glue on prosthetics. They do look really convincing, though. Not that anyone’s going to see you topless…Oh, and we’ll need to pierce your ears as well. The costume jewellery you wore at Carnaval is fine but it’s impossible to get regular earrings if you haven’t got pierced ears…”
I sighed. I really didn’t have the energy to argue.
Arriving at Maria’s house I was dispatched once again into the shower with a razor. The hair on my arms and legs had barely grown back at all since the ball, and before too long I was smooth again. Once dry, Maria and another lady, who I assumed was the hairdresser, presented me with the prosthetics. Maria had been right – they really did look quite realistic and were a surprisingly good match for my skin tone. I laid on my back whilst they were glued in place and then, sitting up, felt their weight as they pulled on the skin of my chest. It felt kind of weird, but not unpleasant.
Next I was placed into a chair with a high back which was cut away into a rounded shape which rested into the nape of my neck. My own hair, shampooed and conditioned now, hung loose over the headrest and Maria explained how she was going to add ‘just a little’ length and more body with some extensions. The lady produced some strands of very realistic looking hair the same colour as mine and, running her fingers through my own hair, began attaching the extensions strand by strand. The sensation of having my head and scalp massaged like this was enough to tip me over the edge and within a few minutes I was fast asleep.
My re-entry into consciousness was slow at first, but as soon as I remembered my situation I sat bolt upright and opened my eyes. It took several further seconds before I realized that the figure reflected back at me in the mirror was myself. It had a green face (some kind of face mask I imagined) and a head encased in a net full of rollers. At least the hand that raised itself to my mouth in shock looked the part, the slim fingers further elongated by immaculately glossed acrylic nails. I stood up, a little too suddenly, and had to grip the arm of the chair for support. Maria had been sat quietly behind me reading a magazine and now she stood and walked towards me.
“Hehe. You look funny!”
I must have looked doleful in reply, for she went on “Aww. Sorry. I don’t mean to tease. That’s you all done now. You can wash the mask off. It’s been on long enough.”
With my face back to its appropriate colour again, at least I now looked human. I leant into the mirror above the washbasin for a closer look. With the face pack off, my skin felt incredibly smooth and soft. How they’d done it without waking me I don’t know, but a small diamond stud gleamed back at me from each earlobe and my eyebrows had been plucked into a fine arch. In leaning over the washbasin my posture thrust out my newly acquired chest, pushing open the towelling robe I was wearing to reveal what I thought looked to be a pretty impressive décolletage. While I now at least looked human, there was no doubt that even without make up and appropriate clothes, I could only be taken for a female of the species.
Maria came closer “Are you ok?”
I shrugged my shoulders “I feel ridiculous.”
“Hey. It’s going to be fine. Thank you.”
She reached up and planted a soft kiss on my cheek. I wanted to grab her there and then, throw her to the floor and make mad passionate love to her, but how could I? How could she possibly find me attractive now after I had so completely humiliated myself?
“It’s late. We should go to bed. We’ve got a big day tomorrow. We didn’t get time to practise the presentation did we?”
“We’ll be ok. I’ve been practising it in my head all week. How long was I asleep anyway? I’m still tired…”
“You’ve got a lot of lost sleep to make up for I bet. You’ve done a fantastic job with the design. Thank you.”
We looked at each other for a second in silence. Despite the way I looked and felt, I had a sudden, brief, sense of connection and then Maria averted her eyes and it was gone.
“I’ve made up the spare room for you.”
“Thanks. Goodnight.”
In the room the bed had been turned down and there was a long, baby blue coloured satin nightgown draped across the covers. I looked at it for a moment and then took off my towelling robe and draped it across a chair. I picked up the gown and let it fall softly over my body, nestling my new breasts into the cups, and climbed into bed.
I lay awake for a long time, worrying about what the following day would bring. Not that I was tossing and turning – the forms on my chest and the curlers in my hair put paid to that. When I eventually fell asleep in the early hours of the morning, I dreamt that I was a bride making her way up the aisle to be married. I was dressed in the most gorgeous of gowns and floated serenely between packed rows of guests. Reaching the altar, my groom turned – it was Maria, wearing a full English morning suit. She smiled lovingly but as she lifted my veil her smile turned into a laugh. I reached up to my face and felt my beard – I was Dave, not Sue. I turned to the guests, my friends and family, and they were all laughing and pointing at me too.
I awoke in a sweat, my gown soaked and clinging to my body. Maria was knocking at the door – “Sue, it’s time to get up.”
I groaned in acknowledgement and she entered.
“It’s no good. I can’t go through with this. Look at me for christsake…”
She studied me, concerned. “Hey, hey…it’s ok…you’re going to be fine…just take a shower, you’ll feel better.”
I was too tired to argue.
A few minutes later, slightly refreshed but still with the worst butterflies I could ever remember, I joined her in the kitchen.
“Maria, I can’t pull this off.”
“Heyyy. You can! You already have! You’ve passed once right under Antonio’s nose at Carnaval. Christ you’ve even been dancing with him and he didn’t notice you weren’t…” her voice tailed off.
“Yes, but that was different. I mean, it was Carnaval and it was fun and just a bit of a laugh. This is serious. I mean – what if he finds out?”
“He won’t. Trust me.”
I held her gaze for a moment. She was dressed, ready to go, wearing a maxi length clingy jersey dress, strappy with bare shoulders and a chiffon scarf tied loosely around her neck. The dress suited her curves; her body was amazing, but her eyes, her deep chocolate brown eyes were what made me want to never let her down. I sighed and didn’t say anything. She knew that her charm had won the day and a hint of a smile passed her lips.
“Honestly. Do this and I’ll be forever in your debt.”
“OK” I submitted.
She gave me a squeeze. “Come on. Let’s get you ready. The car to take us to the airport will be here in an hour.”
We headed back into the room I’d spent the night in. There was a walk-in closet and she emerged carrying a clothes hanger, its contents wrapped by a plastic dust cover, and some other loose items in her hand. She handed me a bra and a pair of panties. “Put those on in the bathroom if you like.”
I managed the panties fine, but, unfamiliar with my new long nails, the bra defeated me and I went back to Maria for help. “Hook it in front first and then spin it around.”
A corset type thing was next. “This is a waist cincher” Maria explained. “It will give you a nice trim tummy’” She wrapped it around and zipped me into it.
“OK. I’ve got this body for you next. It’s from Wolford – very classy. It’s like a swimsuit – step into it legs first, it will stretch so the straps go over your shoulders.”
I took hold of it, and put it on as Maria directed. It felt soft and slinky, clinging to my body. Maria took a step back to review the result.
“Hmm. That won’t work. The body is really thin – you can see the waist cincher and your bra through it. We should have tried your outfit on last night…Let me think. I’ve got another idea.”
I undressed. She disappeared for a few moments and returned with another garment.
“Ta da! Magic knickers, I think you call them in English.”
“What?”
“I think panty girdle is the proper name. They’re mine, so they might be a bit tight on you, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing…”
I pulled them up my legs. They were thick, elasticated and very tight. They had a similar effect to the waist cincher, pulling my tummy in and also giving me a nice flat front below that.
“You should be ok without a bra – the glue will hold the forms, I’m sure. Try the body again now.”
I pulled it back over my legs, adjusted it over my breasts and slipped the straps over my shoulders, smoothing the fabric down across my waist. Even I could tell that it fitted better now.
“Perfect!” Maria exclaimed. “Now for hair and make up!”
I sat down at the vanity unit and Maria positioned herself in front of me. I relaxed and closed my eyes whilst she did her stuff. When she’d completed the eyeshadow and liner she gave me the mascara – “Probably easiest for you to do this yourself. Besides, you need the practice.” She smiled. She asked me to do my own lips as well. I concentrated hard as I outlined them with liner and infilled them with a pale, natural pink and then blotted on a tissue. “This is supposed to be long lasting, but I’ll bet you still need to touch it up during the day. I’ll pop some things in your handbag just in case.”
She gently removed the hairnet and undid the rollers. She brushed and teased my hair for a while and then, half a dozen clips held between her teeth, she started to pull it into an up-do. A few minutes later there was more teasing and poking of various strands here and there, a tug of a bang into place in front of each ear and then she pronounced herself happy with the result by dousing me generously with hairspray.
“Don’t look just yet.” She span the chair around so I was facing away from the mirror. “Let’s get you finished. Nearly there.”
She took the hangar she’d brought through earlier and slipped off the plastic cover. Inside was a two piece, off-white fine wool jersey trouser suit.
“I meant to get you to try this on yesterday but we ran out of time. I hope it fits.”
I slid the trousers on. They were quite widely flared at the bottom, and satin lined, and they slid sweetly up my smooth legs. The waist band was deep, three buttoned and I struggled to fasten it until I realised it buttoned on the opposite side to what I was familiar with. They sat on my hips, the contrast with the black Wolford body emphasising the slimness of my waist. The jacket fit perfectly, sitting just below the hip, the waist fastening with a single button, the lapels flaring out upwards over my bust.
“Very Bianca Jagger!” Maria said, approvingly.
I sat down on the edge of the bed whilst she fastened the ankle straps on a pair of three inch heeled strappy black sandals. Taking the studs out of my ears she clipped in a pair of large silver hooped earrings and then fastened a simple silver pendant around my neck.
“There. Finished. Go and take a look!”
There was a full length mirror attached to one of the closet doors and I stood in front of it for a moment in silence. Maria joined me, standing behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist playfully. “Hey, why so serious? Tell me you don’t look gorgeous!”
I smiled back and gave her a dig in the ribs. “You scrub up pretty well yourself!” but I didn’t tell her what I had been thinking, I would have struggled to articulate it. Dressing up at Carnaval had been like being in a play, pretending to be someone else. This felt different. For the first time I was looking at myself as a woman. I remembered an article I’d read somewhere about a sculptor working in stone who’d said that he didn’t create the work, he just chipped away at the stone until he found and revealed the sculpture inside. It was Sue that was standing in front of me in the mirror. David was no more than a few stone chippings on the floor.
The doorbell rang.
“Come on. Let’s go!”
A poor joke to try to lighten the mood – “If our client thinks our design is as stylish as we are, we’re onto a winner today”
Maria laughed anyway. We grabbed our things and headed out of the door to the waiting car.
The flight out to Sao Paolo was uneventful, at least considering it was my first time in a helicopter. We were both quiet; I ran through the presentation in my head over and over again practising everything I was planning to say. I presumed Maria did the same. For some reason I’d assumed we’d be landing at the airport, but as we descended over the central business district I could see that several of the tall buildings had helipads. We landed on one of them, the co-pilot helping us out and reminding us (not that we needed it!) to duck to avoid the still revolving rotor blades.
A well dressed middle aged lady met us on the roof and introduced herself as Antonio’s PA before taking us down into the building. We found ourselves in a well appointed reception area, the PA explaining that a board meeting was in progress and we would be called in at the relevant point in the agenda. We were offered coffee and a seat but I declined both; too nervous for coffee and too energised to sit down.
“Could you show me where the ladies is please?” Maria asked.
She was pointed to a door on the opposite corner of the room.
“Sue?” she raised her eyebrows in enquiry.
I looked at her for a moment. “Oh, yes. Coming!”
“Helicopters and hair-dos don’t mix!” she smiled. “Come here. I need to do a few running repairs.” I looked in the mirror. She was right. A couple of strands had come loose from their clips and tumbled down untidily, and she soon had them back in place.
“You might want to touch up your lipstick too.”
I did as instructed and studied myself critically for a moment in the mirror, carefully picking off with my long nails a tiny speck of dirt that had attached itself to my face below one eye. I tugged on the hem of my jacket and smoothed out an imaginary crease in a sleeve.
A deep breath.
Maria looked over at me. “Moment of truth. Come on. Let’s go.”
The boardroom was traditionally decorated, like the reception area. Its walls were timber panelled and a large mahogany table seated a dozen or so board members. All male. All, with the exception of Tony Jr., at least 50 or so years old. Antonio stood up to welcome us. He was as large lifed as I remembered, giving Maria a huge hug and a kiss on both cheeks before turning his attention to myself. “Sue.” He paused. “It is my pleasure to welcome you to Sao Paolo. Truly you made a stunning Spanish senorita, but that is nothing compared to your natural English beauty.” It was corny b-movie dialogue, but somehow Antonio had the charm and charisma to get away with it.
“Thank you. It’s very nice of you to invite us along today.” I replied, rather lamely.
He laughed and turned back to the rest of the board “See how charming she is.” Taking my proffered hand he pulled me towards him and kissed me, latin style, on both cheeks.
We made small talk for a few more minutes whilst we unpacked the presentation boards and set up. Tony Jr. came over to help. “Welcome to Sao Paolo from me as well. Are you staying long?”
“Just today I’m afraid. We fly back later this afternoon.”
“A shame. It would have been nice to show you some of the sights this evening.”
And then we were ready. Maria gave an introduction, saying a little about the practice, the background to this job and our experience in this sector, before handing over to me. I started nervously at first, but gradually my confidence increased. I knew the scheme worked well, and that our presentation drawings were good, but there was something else that I’d never experienced before. As Dave, when I presented schemes at university I’d always felt that people were trying to find fault and to question. Here I felt encouragement and approval. I warmed to the task, gliding from drawing to drawing as I explained my ideas about making the building sustainable. I could sense the enthusiasm in the room. When I reached the end and sat back down to allow Maria to summarise, Antonio broke into spontaneous applause.
“Gentlemen” he addressed the rest of the board “We know Carrera Associates are an excellent practice with good experience in headquarters design. Even before today I would have been happy to appoint them to our project. But after seeing these wonderful designs I believe I can speak for all of us when I say to you, Maria and Sue: When can we start? Congratulations – you have the commission!” He beamed at us both and, this time the whole board applauded.
I was overwhelmed. Maria replied for us very graciously saying how much we were looking forward to working with SERPO.
“Tell me” said Antonio “Where are you staying this evening? We must go out and celebrate.”
“Oh, actually…” I started “We weren’t planning on staying. Your pilot is booked to take us back to Rio this afternoon.”
“Nonsense. We must celebrate.”
“But we have no hotel, no clothes to wear…”
“No problem. I will arrange the best hotel. My driver will take you to the Daslu department store where I have an account. You can get everything you need there. Look on it as a fee bonus. Please. I insist.”
“But…” I began to answer, but Maria interrupted me
“We’d be delighted to.” She smiled.
“Excellent!” He stood up “My PA will arrange the details”
Tony Jr. joined in, looking directly at me. “I look forward to seeing you this evening, Sue, and to working with you both on the project.”
“Jesus! Fucking Hell Maria! How could you have agreed to that?”
We were in Antonio’s car on the way to the store. Maria’s eyes narrowed and she gesticulated towards the uniformed driver in the front. “Watch your voice!” she hissed.
I raised it back up to Sue’s pitch. The driver was behind glass and didn’t give the impression that he’d heard anything.
“I thought this was just going to be a few hours. And now he thinks that Sue’s going to be around for the rest of the project…Bloody Hell!”
“Hey. Hey. It’s ok…”
“It might be for you” I interrupted.
“Listen.” Maria raised her voice assertively “It’s only a night more than we’d planned. We’ll have dinner, make our excuses – I’m sure they’ll understand you’re tired after all that work – and head home tomorrow. We can’t accept the best commission we’ve ever had and then turn around and say no to the client to the first thing he asks us to do.”
“And the rest of the project?”
“I’ll think of something”
“Humph!” I folded my arms and turned away from Maria to the view outside the window. I should have been elated. The project win, based on my designs, was a major coup for me personally, but I was tired now and irritable. I’d worked like a dog putting everything together for today and the stress of all that, together with my masquerade, was getting to me. I just wanted to get home and go to bed.
We pulled up outside the main entrance to the store – it resembled some kind of fantastical Italian Renaissance palazzo from the outside – and the driver helped us out, explaining he would wait for us. Inside, the store was even more decadent – a mixture of baroque and Louis XIV – all marble, gilt and velvet. A young woman dressed in a tiny little black dress came to us, offering us champagne. Maria took one but I declined.
“My God, this is amazing” she turned around, taking in a full three sixty panorama of the entrance atrium. “I’d heard of this but never been here before. This place is ridiculously expensive; all top designer brands apparently. Let’s hope this little baby works.” She waved Antonio’s credit card in front of her.
“Now, let’s think.” She was talking almost absentmindedly, rather than addressing me specifically. “We’ll need something dressy for tonight, underwear, shoes of course. Make up – I only brought enough for running repairs. Oh, and something to travel home in tomorrow…”
“Can’t I just wear what I’ve got on now?” I asked.
She lifted her eyebrows “Girl” she paused “You’ve got a lot to learn.”
She led me over to the make up section first.
“OK. Evening make up for you. Something a bit bolder. Maybe chocolate browns or dark greys and silvers to give you a nice smoky eye effect? What do you think?”
I shrugged and she sighed. “Fine. I’ll choose something.”
I followed her around various counters as she assembled what looked to me to be way more make up than anyone could possibly wear. She handed me some of the items.
“Lipsticks. Which do you prefer of these two shades?” she held them up for me.
“I don’t mind.”
“Hmm. You’re not being very helpful. Here, hold out your hand.”
She dabbed each lipstick in turn on the back of my hand.
“It helps seeing it against your natural skin tone.” She explained “Oh, I don’t know. We’ll take them both and decide later.”
We went to the till burdened down by boxes, packets and cartons.
“We can take those for you and put them away for you to collect later.” The lady said.
“Thank you” said Maria “I’ll have my driver pick them up before we leave.” She leaned over conspiratorially and whispered in my ear “I could get used to this!”
The next floor was womenswear and we wandered around the various racks, pausing every so often whilst Maria lifted out a garment, holding it up against either herself or me. After a few minutes she had several items draped over one arm.
“OK. Let’s go and try these on.”
I sighed again. “Do I have to? You did a pretty good job of sizing everything for me so far…”
“Of course you do. Now come on.”
The first outfit was a Chanel suit. I recoiled when I saw the price tag – it was more than I earned in a month – and made sure I put it on very carefully. It was a dusky pink colour and the material was a kind of textured wool. The skirt was knee length and the jacket buttoned right up to a high collar at the neck with a row of gold buttons. Under instructions from Maria I came out of the changing room to let her have a look.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. It feels a bit old, you know. I might wear it if I was forty, but I’m only twenty one…”
“Hmm. I know what you mean. OK. Next!”
The next item was a blue and white polka dot halter necked maxi dress in silk. I stepped into it – the skirt was tight and I wriggled to pull it over my bum. The bodice split into two above the bust to form a ‘v’ neckline and two ties which made a bow at the back of my neck. The dress zipped at the back and I couldn’t fasten it. I called to Maria to help. The cubicle was small, and we only just both fitted in, me facing the mirror and Maria standing behind me looking over my shoulder. I could feel her breath on the nape of my neck. She hadn’t room to get into a position where she could see the zip, and her hands felt their way across my bum, seeking it by touch. Involuntarily I let out a gasp.
She smiled at my reflection and gently ran her hands back over my bum again “Like that, do we?”
I looked back at her. Try as I might, I could never stay mad at her for long, and the twinkle in my eye gave me away.
“Oh, I meant the dress is nice. I like it.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what you were thinking…” She dug me in the ribs and I giggled helplessly.
“Humph!” she said, feigning seriousness. “You can bloody well start enjoying yourself, young lady! Now, let me have a look.”
We both stepped out of the cubicle and I walked the length of the changing room corridor whilst Maria looked on. “Hmm. Wait here a minute!”
I waited, admiring myself in the mirror whilst doing so. I pirouetted, looking back at myself from over my shoulder, flirting with my reflection. After a minute or two when Maria had not reappeared I meandered back into the main store, thumbing through racks of clothing whilst I waited. I picked out a shift dress and held it in front of me, studying myself in yet another mirror, then a delicious satin blouse with rows of ruffles down the front and on the sleeves. I imagined myself wearing it, with a tight black skirt just covering my stocking tops, perched provocatively on the edge of Maria’s desk in the office…
A sharp poke in the ribs brought me back to reality. “Ha! Caught you red-handed! So, you like the secretarial look, do you? I’m sure I could do with a PA…”
I looked at her sheepishly.
“Here. Take these. They’ll go better with the dress.” She handed me some shoes and underwear.
I stripped off again and then put on a blue satin halterneck bra and a matching g-string. It felt quite strange with the material between the cheeks of my bottom. Maria helped me back into the dress, and then strapped me into a pair of navy blue sandals with a cork wedge heel.
“There. That looks better, you could see your panties last time.”
I stepped out again and walked up and down the corridor. The dress was mid calf length, tapering down from the hips in a pencil fit with a small slit at the back. As I walked the fine silk slid deliciously over the tops of my legs and my bare, g-stringed bottom. I eased my fingers down over where the fabric clung to my body.
“It feels fantastic.”
Maria smiled. “It’s nice being a girl, eh?”
A couple of hours later we flopped, exhausted, onto a sofa in one of Daslu’s many coffee shops. I’d lost track of what we’d bought – as well as the daywear we’d both bought something to go out in that evening. Maria had got a gorgeous off the shoulder jumpsuit and I’d got a really cute little sequin number – boat necked, with long sleeves, it finished just above the knee. We’d also got bags of shoes, a couple of handbags, lingerie and even some jewellery.
“That was so much fun!” Maria grinned.
“Yeah. Listen – I’m sorry for being so grumpy at the beginning.”
“Oh, that’s ok – you certainly made up for it – I think you’ve broken the record for the number of items tried on by one person in one visit….” She laughed.
I proffered mock indignation. “Well I can’t help it if I don’t know what suits me, can I? Most girls my age have had their whole life to work out what clothes suit them best; I’ve only had one day…”
Maria smiled and I went on.
“And there’s so much choice…I mean, for a guy you’re basically talking about a suit – grey or black, or maybe blue. Double breasted or single breasted. That’s it. Girls have got dresses, skirts, trousers, tops, short, long, A-line, pencil fit, long sleeve, short sleeve, no sleeve, different necklines…and that’s before you even talk about fabrics. Silks, satins, lace, leather, fur – I can’t believe people in Brazil buy fur coats, by the way – where on earth do you wear them?”
“You’ve got pretty good taste actually.” Maria replied “I thought I’d be picking more stuff out for you but once you got going…” she smiled. “You’ve enjoyed yourself then?”
“Yes. That is, I mean…” my face straightened. “It was fine. It will be good to get home and back to normal, though.”
Maria took my hand in hers. “Listen. I haven’t said thank you to you properly and I really really mean it. I know you’ve worked incredibly hard over the last few weeks to pull everything together and then…” she paused. “Asking you to come here like this was out of order. It was too much. I could see how stressed you were and I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
“It’s ok. It’s done now, almost. At least we got the right result.”
“You were amazing in there, honestly.” She went on, her voice quickening again. “They were eating out of your hand this morning. I swear if some of them had opened their mouths their tongues would have fallen out…”
“Oh, stop it! That’s a horrible thought!”
She laughed again. “That Tony Jr. He’s definitely got a soft spot for you. In that sequin dress, you’re going to be beating him off tonight.”
“Oh, stop it! Don’t say that! If you’d said that before I’d have bought a burka to go out in tonight!”
She laughed again. “Seriously. Thanks for everything you’ve done. There’ll be a little extra in your pay packet this month. Oh, and there’s a little something here for you from me personally.” She handed me a bag.
I mumbled a thanks.
“Come on. Let’s go. I think we’re only planning to meet up later this evening so we can have a siesta for a couple of hours at the hotel.”
The bellboy accompanied us up to our rooms. It was still only six o’clock and we weren’t due to meet Antonio and Tony until ten. Maria took her leave saying she was going to have a nap. After he carried all of my shopping into my room I tipped the bellboy and as soon as the door clicked shut behind him I flopped onto the bed, exhausted. It was bliss to peel off my shoes and in a few moments the rest of what I’d been wearing joined them on the floor and I luxuriated in the freedom of my nakedness. I paused for a few moments, delightedly allowing my tummy to rise and fall unfettered by the constraints of the panty girdle for the first time in twelve long hours.
After several deep breaths I rose and headed for the shower. I stood under the hot water motionless for some time and then realised my now soaking hair was still pinned up. I worked my way around the various clips one by one until my hair hung loose down my back and then stood quietly again, absorbing the gentle massage of the water. Eventually I felt sufficiently invigorated to step out. After initially wrapping a towel loosely around my waist I saw my reflection in the mirror. Even in the solitude of my bedroom, it seemed there was no escaping my femininity. I replaced the towel around the top of my chest and wrapped the smaller hand towel turban style around my wet hair. Lying down on the bed again, I opened the bath towel to enjoy the breeze from the ceiling mounted fan but even as my body cooled, my brain was still feverishly running over the events of the last few weeks, and I was too restless to sleep.
I couldn’t make Maria out at all. This afternoon, shopping, we’d had a fantastic time. Maybe I was reading too much into things, but when she’d helped me into the halterneck dress in the cubicle she’d seemed more than sisterly. After Carnaval, I’d had the feeling that she was trying to avoid me at the office, which made me think she’d regretted what had happened. We still hadn’t talked about it properly. I could understand that she might not want a relationship – I was her employee after all – but having just about reconciled myself to that thought I was now, after the way she’d been this afternoon, more confused than ever. As I lay there thinking it also occurred to me that the times we’d been closest had been when I’d been dressed as Sue…
It wasn’t just Maria’s reactions to Sue that were exercising my thoughts, though. I’d had an incredible time at Carnaval. OK – I’d thought it a little weird at first that Maria had wanted me to wear a dress, but I was prepared to admit that was what people did at festival time. I’d also been a bit freaked out when I’d seen what a convincing woman I made but then I reminded myself what Maria had said about getting out of yourself and being someone else for a night and I’d certainly achieved that. On the way home from the office on the evening after Maria had asked me to be Sue again for the Sao Paolo trip I’d been surprised to realise that my thoughts were preoccupied, not by the criticality of the impending design presentation, but rather by what I would wear and how I would look. I’d found myself looking at other women, not because they were attractive, but because I wondered how I’d look if I was dressed like them, or had my hair done like theirs.
Many of the feelings I’d had at Carnaval, that I’d internally reconciled as being in the spirit of the event and understandable in that context, I’d felt again today. Dressed as Sue, I felt graceful and elegant. I’d been surprised at how confident I’d felt, but that came from how well people treated me as Sue. At parties back in the UK, I’d always been a bit of a wallflower. At Carnaval I’d felt the centre of attention and I’d enjoyed it – even if most of that attention had come from guys. At university design presentations, I’d rarely got more than a few minutes into my spiel before being interrupted. Today, everyone at the board meeting had been rapt as I’d spoken; hanging on to my every word. It made me feel somehow more powerful than I’d ever felt as Dave.
But of all aspects of being Sue, it was the sensuality of it all that had got to me the most. I could never have imagined just how good the clothes felt against my skin. The scent of my perfume, the taste of rouge on my lips, the sensation of walking in heels, even the gentle pull of earrings on my earlobes made me incredibly aware of my body. When Maria had made love to me after Carnaval, the touch of her hands on my satin-encased body had held me spellbound. This afternoon, in the changing room at Daslu, as her hands softly zipped up my dress I had felt…well, it was almost indescribable.
I sat up and looked over at the bags of shopping strewn over the floor at the end of the bed. The first bag held the sequin dress I was going to wear that night. I slipped it out and held it in front of me as I stood before the mirror. I eased it over my head and carefully slid my arms into the sleeves and pulled it down over my body. The satin lining was cool against my skin, still hot from the shower. Again I examined myself in the mirror. Even with my hair wrapped in a towel and no make up on, I felt delicious. Greedily grabbing the next bag, I tipped the contents out onto the bed – the polka dot dress I’d bought to wear to go home in tomorrow. Sliding out of the sequin dress I zipped myself as best as I could into the new one and again took up a variety of poses in the mirror. Remembering the shoes, I slipped on the wedge heels and posed again. The next bag contained underwear and, removing my dress yet again, I held up the various bras and panties in front of me, allowing the satin and lace to gently caress my hot skin.
The last bag was the one that Maria had given me. “That’s from me personally,” she’d said, “just a little thank you for everything you’ve done over the last few weeks.”
Pre-Carnaval I might have guessed at what Maria might have bought for someone like me – a Walkman, perhaps, some cufflinks or a nice shirt and tie – but now I was no longer sure about anything. I sat down again on the edge of the bed. It was a large bag – too big for cufflinks, I thought to myself, smiling. Inside it was a simple cardboard box, a dark red in colour, glossy in finish, about A3 size, maybe 10cm or so deep. It wasn’t particularly heavy, so I ruled out the Walkman idea too, and it didn’t give any audible clues when I gave it a gentle shake. I removed the lid, slightly apprehensively. A sheet of tissue paper had been wrapped around the contents and folded over on itself. My fingers trembled as I unwrapped it and saw what was below. Black satin and lace. I gently took hold of two straps and lifted the garment out of the box. It was a basque. The boned bodice and garter belts dangled in front of me, suspended from the delicate shoulder straps I held in my fingers. Below it in the box were a matching set of panties and a crisp, cellophane packet of sheer black stockings. Below them another layer of satin, thick and almost liquid in texture – a nightgown trimmed in lace and a matching robe.
My mouth was dry and my hands shook as I held each item up in turn. A few months ago, when still in Liverpool, I’d bought my then girlfriend a set of similar lingerie. I remembered she hadn’t been that appreciative and had made some comment about me getting more pleasure out of her wearing them than she would. I didn’t admit it, but she’d been right. Is that why Maria had bought them for me?
I had no similar qualms. There was nothing I wanted to do more then to wear them for her. I looked at the clock on the bedside table. 6.50pm. Still plenty of time. I picked up the bag that contained the contents of our visit to the Daslu beauty department and emptied a huge pile of pots, boxes, tubes and brushes onto the vanity table.
I arranged them into some kind or order, starting with the tube of foundation and the jar of powder, based on my recollection of the two occasions Maria had done my make up. I’d remembered enough of what she’d done to try it myself. I squeezed a small pea sized amount of foundation onto my finger and spread it across my chin, repeating the process for the rest of my face, remembering what Maria had said about not applying it too thickly. The pot of powder had a circular pad concealed in the lid and I used it to press the powder carefully into place. I was absorbed in the process. There was a kind of zen quality about putting make up on, I thought to myself. My trembling hand had subsided and I was completely focused on what I was doing.
Eyeshadow was the most difficult. I’d worn subtle pinks and browns during the day but Maria had said I should be a bit bolder at night. We’d bought some darker browns but also some metallic greys and silvers. I thought the metallics would go well with the sequin dress and I carefully applied the darker grey to each socket and the lighter colour to the brow and lid. Blending it all together so it looked right took a couple of goes but eventually I was happy with how it looked. Eyeliner was difficult too. I still hadn’t got completely used to having long fingernails and they kept getting in the way. I wanted a more dramatic look to really emphasise my blue eyes so I layered it on a bit more thickly, using it under my eyes as well as on the lids. After that, everything else was straightforward – mascara, a touch of pencil to fill in my eyebrows a little and some blush on my cheeks. We’d bought a range of different lipsticks to try as well – from almost nude pinks to scarlets and dark burgundy. Given I’d gone heavy on the eyes I decided a lighter colour would look best. Putting on my own lipstick was delicious – I’d enjoyed refreshing it a couple of times during the day, it was like some exquisite distillation of femininity – and I luxuriated in the sensations and tastes of applying, blotting, reapplying and then finally painting a coat of clear gloss to seal. I stopped and looked at the overall result in the mirror. My ‘smoky eyes’ looked fantastic and I felt incredible.
Hair was next. I unwrapped the towel and located a dryer from the wardrobe. We’d bought a couple of hairbrushes (Maria seemed to have thought of everything) and I enjoyed the sensation of running one through my hair under the warm caress of the air from the dryer. My hair was still looking good – it had kept all of the body from the session with the rollers and once it was dry it took only a few minutes to get it looking how I wanted it. I wasn’t going to try to pin it up - that would have been beyond my skills – but I arranged it so that it all fell asymmetrically on one side down in front of my right shoulder in a series of soft waves and gentle curls. With the extensions it now reached below my breast and was much fuller than just my own hair had been – I loved the sensation of the soft curls stroking my skin as I moved my head from side to side.
I unfastened the towel , picked up the basque and wrapped it around my waist back to front, as Maria had shown me with the bra that morning. I fastened the clips and then pulled it the right way around, easing it up at the sides, arranging the straps on my shoulders and nestling my breasts comfortably into the lace cups. It was a perfect fit. I unwrapped the packet of stockings and slid them carefully up each leg, taking care not to slip a fingernail through the delicate material. The sensation of the fabric against my smooth legs was fantastic. I’d remembered that the panties needed to go on last, and I stepped into them, pulling them neatly into place over the garters.
I turned around and looked at my reflection again in the full length mirror. I was still shocked at how attractive I was as a woman. The basque held my waist in neatly, my breasts peeped seductively out over the top of their lacy supports and my bottom protruded sexily from over the top of my stockings. I felt incredible – my heart was pounding, my stomach was turning somersaults, every inch of my skin was tingling. I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, pacing up and down a small square of marble floor. I stepped into the robe, tying it loosely around my waist, spritzed myself with perfume and clipped in some new dangly diamante earrings we’d bought at Daslu for that evening. I poked my head out of the door. No-one around. Stepping out into the corridor, I knocked gently on Maria’s door.
“Yes?”
“Maria, it’s me”
The door was on the latch, and I pushed it open and walked into the room.
“My God, Sue…” Maria sat up on her bed.
I started moving towards her, but she gestured me to stop, and she got up and made her way towards me. She stopped in front of me, her eyes focusing so intently on mine I had to look away for a moment. Again, I made towards her and again she stopped me. “No. Stay there. Let me look.”
She reached out and very carefully, without touching anything else, grasped the loose ends of the bow on my robe and slowly pulled, undoing the knot and allowing it to fall open. She raised her hands and very gently placed both forefingers onto my chest just below my throat. Sliding each finger outwards along the collarbone, she slid a nail under the lapels of my robe and slipped it off my shoulders. I gasped as the satin flowed over my body, past my waist and hips, down my stockinged legs to form a pool at my feet. Eyes still locked on mine, she smiled and whispered “Don’t move” as she walked around and stood behind me.
I felt a finger again, very gently, tracing the line of my neck, from my hairline down to the strap on my basque, where the way I had arranged my hair had left my shoulder bare. The I felt her lips trace the same line, whilst her fingers now moved on to the bare skin around the top of my stocking. I couldn’t take any more, and span around. Her lips met mine, her tongue probing into my mouth and, bodies intertwined, we crashed against the wall of the room. Hands roaming each other’s bodies, we crashed back across the room and onto the bed, Maria landing on top of me. Still locked together in a kiss, her hands gripped my wrists and pulled my arms over my head. Straddling me, she lowered herself on to me, and I slid into her. She ground her pelvis down into mine, panting heavily and then, her pubic muscles gripping my shaft tightly, slid herself back up along my length until we were almost separated before plunging back down again and again, moaning as her clitoris ground into my pubic bone.
“Jesus, Sue, I’m so turned on, I can’t…”
I couldn’t reply but thrust my hips up hard against her in response as she came down again and again. She cried out and I felt the muscles of her vagina spasm, which was enough, in turn, to send me into my own orgasm. I ripped my hands free from hers, grabbed her backside and pulled her tightly against me. For a few seconds we remained motionless, breathless, compressed into each other and then finally we both gasped, drew in huge lungfuls of air, and she collapsed next to me on the bed.
We lay there panting until our ability to speak returned. Maria propped herself up on one elbow and leaned over me. She was stroking the bare skin on my belly along the line of the lace trim on my basque.
“The devil came into me when I saw this and I had to buy it for you…but I didn’t think you would wear it…and then we came back to the hotel and I’ve been lying here ever since thinking what you would look like in it and praying to my saint please, please, please let me see her in it…My God, Sue, I don’t know what you’ve done to me. I’ve been wet all day thinking about you. I nearly jumped you in the changing room this afternoon…I can’t believe how much you turn me on when I see you all dressed up, knowing that, well, you know…”
“You don’t know what I’ve done to you? Shit! Look at me compared to what I was a month ago!..”
She giggled, stroked my cheek, and ran her fingers through my hair. “You make a beautiful woman. Now…” her finger traced the profile of my chin and neck, over my breasts, across the satin of my basque and then came to a rest at my groin. She smiled mischievously. “Have we got time to do that again before dinner tonight?”
We flew back to Rio on Tuesday morning and went straight back to Maria’s place where we made love for the rest of the day. On Wednesday, she took me shopping again and we came back with bags and bags of new clothes. She was incredibly generous. Wednesday afternoon I modelled my purchases in between bouts of love making that lasted the rest of the day and most of the night.
Thursday morning dawned and Maria was already up when I awoke. I got up groggily and wandered off in my night gown to find her. She was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. I walked up to her and she grabbed my backside and pulled me towards her smiling as she tucked my hair back from my face over one ear. “Mmmm. Good Morning Lover. Even with bed hair you look cute!”
She kissed me on the nose. She took some eggs from the pan and arranged them over two plates and we sat at the table.
“I’ve an office I need to get back to running at some point.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “It’s been fun, though. It will be kind of a shame to go back to being boring old Dave.”
She put down her fork and looked at me intently. “Then don’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Stay as Sue.”
“Shit, Maria, that’s a big step. I don’t know…”
“Look.” She reached across the table and took my hands in hers. “The last few days have been incredible haven’t they?’
“Yes, but…”
“And you’ve had more fun as Sue than you ever had as Dave.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“And you love the feel of wearing sexy clothes and lingerie, and putting make up on.”
I sighed and she went on. “But most of all, you’ve already said how people treat you better when you’re Sue. You’re more confident, more vivacious…I don’t think she wants to go back in a box.”
“But going back to the office…”
“You’ll be fine. They’re nice people. They’ll understand.”
“And my flatmates…”
She gripped my hands tighter and raised herself up in her chair. “Move in with me.” She pulled me close, ran one hand through my hair and kissed me gently. “I love you Sue. Let me help you. I’ll be with you all the way.”
And so Maria arranged to have the few bits and pieces I kept at the flat picked up and brought around to her place. I was a bag of nerves but over the weekend she was by my side constantly. We picked out a wardrobe for me to wear that week. We practised my make up and she showed me how to do my hair using straighteners and curling irons to make different styles. By the time Monday morning arrived I had actually calmed down a little. After our discussion on Thursday she’d gone into the office the following day and made an announcement about me, so everyone there knew what to expect. She was right. It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. No one laughed and no one called me names. Some of the guys I’d been friendly with became a bit reticent and I don’t think the girls I worked with knew quite what to make of me either, but with the SERPO commission I had plenty to keep me busy during the day, and Maria to keep me happy at night. Gradually, things settled into a routine.
Maria and I had been travelling to Sao Paolo every couple of weeks or so. The job was going well. Tony Jr. had appointed himself our minder during our visits and he would meet us off the helipad and look after us during our stay. He was very attentive, much to Maria’s amusement. She continued to tease me about him being sweet for me and enjoyed watching me squirm with embarrassment whenever she mentioned it.
In truth, there was something about Tony that I couldn’t put my finger on. At the Magic Ball he’d come across as some kind of obnoxious playboy type. He was good looking of course, and rich, but gave me the impression that that meant he didn’t need to try too hard to get the girl. Over the weeks we’d been working together my opinion had shifted. His playboy persona was a front and as I’d got to know him I realised he used it in certain scenarios, like at Carnaval, to hide a natural shyness with women. Maria told me he’d gone to an all-boys school and I suspected he found relating to women more difficult than he would admit. In a work environment he was more relaxed. He had a dry sense of humour that helped the days pass more easily and he was so eager to help us with the project that he could almost be like a small puppy sometimes.
And yet, somehow, the more time we spent together, the more apprehensive I felt about him. It wasn’t something I could articulate very well, and I didn’t mention anything to Maria, but I felt a strong sense that I had met him for a reason and that he had some, as yet unknown, role to play in my life. I could sense his presence when he came into a room. When our bodies occasionally touched across a desk at a meeting, or stood in a lift, the sensation was disconcerting. It made me uncomfortable. I was blissfully happy with Maria, and I was loving our work, but I began to dread our trips to Sao Paolo.
We’d been working on the project a couple of months and our next visit was due the following day. This time we were going to stay overnight – a day of meetings with department heads within SERPO about their space planning requirements followed by a meeting the next day with the planning department. Maria had come home from work that evening complaining of not feeling well after a lunch with a client. Sure enough, during the course of the night, she was sick several times. I didn’t want to leave her by herself when she was ill but she was insistent that I should go. “It’s only a bit of food poisoning – I’ll be fine. If you don’t go it will take us ages to re-book the meeting with the planners.”
I didn’t want to go by myself. As Sue, I’d got used to always having Maria around. She couldn’t understand it. “You’re more confident as Sue than you ever were as Dave” she’d said, and it was true that after two months full time, the way I spoke, walked and acted as Sue all now came naturally.
“I’m worried that without you there, Tony might make a pass at me.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. Look, that’s my fault. I shouldn’t have teased you about it. He’s a nice guy – honestly. Remember I’ve known him for ever…”
I couldn’t tell her what I really thought though. It wasn’t Tony making a pass I was worried about, it was how I might react to it if he did.
The following morning Tony met me at the helipad as was our usual arrangement. If he was secretly glad to get me to himself because Maria was ill he didn’t show it – he looked genuinely upset when I told him the news. We had a couple of internal meetings with SERPO department heads in the morning which ran on until after 1pm. We were due to start again at 2pm so we headed to the staff canteen for a quick bite to eat beforehand. After being tense since I left Rio I’d relaxed a little after an uneventful morning and his question caught me off guard.
“So. Seeing as you’re in Sao Paolo tonight and on your own. There’s an oil industry dinner on in town tonight. I wondered if you’d like to accompany me?”
“Oh! That would have been lovely. If only you’d mentioned it before I left Rio. I don’t have anything to wear…” I inwardly congratulated myself on how smoothly I talked my way out of it.
“That’s ok. I’ll get a personal shopper from Daslu to call around at your hotel with a selection of dresses. My treat.”
Damn. I paused for a moment. I’d painted myself into a corner with my answer and couldn’t come up with a way out. “That’s too generous of you, really…”
“Not at all. It’s my pleasure.”
The lady from Daslu was waiting for me when I got back to my hotel later that afternoon. It took several bellboys to wheel a large rack of dresses and several boxes of shoes, bags and other items up to my room. After several months of living in Brazil I’d learned that the people there didn’t do understated and my opinion was reinforced by the dresses on offer. There were slits up to the waist and necklines plunging down to the waist, and dresses where only a few strategically placed sequins on an otherwise sheer material protected the modesty of the wearer. There was every conceivable kind of animal skin, the most enormous shoulder pads I’d seen since I’d last watched a game of American football, and creations with feathers that would have looked daring in a Carnaval parade. At last, hidden away amid a riot of colour and sparkle, I spied something more like what I was looking for – a simple long black satin gown with a cowl neckline that didn’t reveal too much cleavage. I took it into the bathroom to try it on.
The first thing I noticed was that, even though it had a nice modest neckline at the front, at the back it plunged right down to the top of the skirt. The material was gorgeous. Even after dressing full time for several weeks I still got shivers when I pulled on a dress like this. I’d become completely addicted to satin nightgowns over the last two months and, thanks to Maria’s generosity, was the proud owner of more of them than I could possibly justify, but this dress felt incredibly luxurious. It was both a heavier weight and softer than I’d been used to wearing. I eased the straps over my shoulders and smoothed the material down over my belly and hips. The dress was bias cut, and it clung tightly to my body down to my knees, where it flared just enough that I could teeter across the bathroom in tiny steps. I’d been dieting over the last few weeks so I didn’t have to wear a waist cincher all the time and the clingy fabric accentuated my developing curves. I turned this way and that as I spoke to my reflection in the mirror. “Damn, Sue, You’re supposed to be going for demure not sexy…” But it made me feel so good.
I stepped out of the bathroom again, the fabric pulling deliciously over my legs and bum, the skirt whooshing around my feet with each step. The lady from Daslu beamed. “Wow! That’s the one! Now, what about shoes, lingerie?...”
I picked out some heels and a small velvet clutch bag. The dress was too low at the back to wear a bra and, ever since my last shopping experience at Daslu, I’d fallen in love with the sensations of wearing a thong. I picked out a pretty black lace one from the selection she’d brought along.
Despite all the hours of practice I’d had with Maria it took me several attempts to get my hair the way I wanted it. I’d swept it into quite a high up-do, but with some loose curls hanging down so that it didn’t look too formal. I’d still not quite mastered curling tongues and it took longer than I thought to get it looking just right. Make up was more straightforward, but even so I wasn’t ready by the time Tony called to collect me. I buzzed him up so he could wait in my room and called through the bathroom door “Won’t be long!” It made me smile – I’d been on the other side of the door on many occasions. I brushed a final coat of mascara on my lashes and fixed my lips. I slipped into my heels and popped the gloss into my clutch. I stood up, and smoothed down my dress. A final check in the mirror. Two months of doing my own make up every day, and lots of tuition from Maria, had fine-tuned my skills. My smoky eyes were blended to perfection and I’d learned how to contour; blush and powder emphasising my sculpted cheekbones and my slim nose. My bee-stung lips were elegantly glossed. Every time I dressed, I was becoming more expert in the art of making myself beautiful, but tonight I thought I looked better than I ever had. I wished that Maria could see me, but I’d sensed for a while that this moment would come with Tony.
I stepped out of the bathroom quietly and stood facing him.
“Wow! Sue, you look stunning!”
I smiled. “You’re such a charmer. I bet you say that to all the girls.”
He laughed.
“Thank you for the dress, by the way. I love it!” I gave him a little twirl. “It’s a bit tight, though. I hope we’re not going to be dancing any tango later on.” I always resorted to crap jokes when I was nervous.
Tony stepped towards me. “I have something for you. Here.” He held a jewellery box out for me to take.
“Tony, I…”
“I should say, I mean, these are just for you to borrow. They were my mothers. I thought you would look wonderful in them tonight.”
I opened the box and gasped. There was a necklace and matching earrings inside. The earrings were a beautifully elegant row of seven diamonds hanging down in a strip about two inches long. The necklace had diamonds of a similar size arranged into a sweetheart neckline shape. They were the sort of thing I might have expected Elizabeth Taylor to wear, and were probably worth more than my mum and dad’s house.
“Tony. I’ve never seen anything like them! They’re beautiful!”
He looked bashful for a moment. “Here, let me fasten it for you.”
He took the necklace and clipped it carefully at the nape of my neck. I clipped the earrings into place. I turned to the mirror again. If my dress had been any more blingy it wouldn’t have worked, but the simplicity of the black satin showed off the diamonds perfectly. I was almost overcome.
“Tony. I don’t know what to say. I’ve never worn anything like this before. I feel like a princess…”
He grinned widely and held out his arm. “And you shall go to the ball…”
His car was waiting outside the hotel lobby. Although it was now dark, it was a balmy night and the hood was down. He opened my door, and helped me lower myself carefully into the seat. I remembered our first conversation at Carnaval and smiled with irony.
“It looks like you managed to get me into your Maserati after all…”
We drove to the dinner in silence. I was deep in thought. I felt like an actor in a play. I could speak my lines but the script was already written, the ending was pre-ordained, I could no longer influence what happened. Dressing up for Carnaval, introducing myself as Sue to Antonio, agreeing to present the competition scheme, Maria getting ill, Tony asking me to dinner; all were scenes in a play leading to the final act tonight. It was to be the denouement – the final destination in my journey into womanhood. And as I had intuited, Tony was to be there with me.
I don’t remember many details from the evening. The meal passed uneventfully. I played my role; made small talk with the guests sat next to me, but my nerves were overtaking me now. I felt an impending sense of doom. I longed for Maria to be there, or any familiar faces. I wondered what my old friends from Liverpool were up to. I drank too much wine, and smoked too many cigarettes.
After the meal Tony said there were a few people he needed to catch up with. I clung to his arm. I joined in with the laughter when someone made a joke, but the conversation flowed over me. When I looked past who was speaking, I imagined I could see the men at the party staring at me, undressing me with their eyes. I saw the women whispering to each other and thought I could hear them – “Who does the English bitch think she is?”
At last, Tony took me to the dancefloor. The surrounding cast in my play faded into the shadows. The stage lights illuminated only us. We swayed gently to the soft music. I could feel the warmth of his breath, the stubble of his cheek against mine. My left hand slipped inside the lapel of his jacket. I could feel the steady beat of his heart though my fingertips. His right arm pulled me gently into him. I could feel his fingers tracing the boundary between satin and skin in the small of my back so intensely that it almost made me gasp. And as I nestled against him, my contours mirroring his, I could feel the presence of his hardness. Not just against my body but pressing insistently too in my mind.
And then we were back at the hotel. I staggered tipsily out of the car, and Tony caught me and guided me gently inside, into the lift, and along the corridor to my door. I reached up and wrapped my arms around the back of his neck. I looked up at him through my mascaraed lashes and, my cheek brushing his, whispered into his ear “Would you like to come in?”
His arms were at my waist, steadying me as I gently swayed against the wall. He reached up and took my hands in his, down from his neck and we stood hand in hand facing each other. He leaned down and kissed me tenderly on the lips.
“Thank you for tonight. It’s been lovely. But I think you need to get to bed.”
He looked at me, concernedly. “Are you going to be all right?”
I mumbled something in reply.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I staggered into the room, collapsed on the bathroom floor and retched violently into the toilet. Again and again, until my stomach was empty. I lay there gasping, my once immaculate hair hanging down into the bowl, covered in vomit. My clutch bag had fallen next to me and, hitting the hard marble of the bathroom floor, it had burst open, its contents spilling out. There was a letter there I’d received that morning from my mum, which I’d slipped into my bag as I’d left, to read on the trip. “Dear David, I hope you are still enjoying yourself in Brazil…”
And I wept for who I used to be.
I flew out of Sao Paolo on the early flight that morning. I’d left the jewellery and dress at the hotel reception, with instructions to call Tony at 9am. I’d be back in Rio by then.
Maria was still in bed when I got back to the house. She sleepily opened one eyelid as I sat on the edge of our bed. “Morning Baby.” And then, realizing I shouldn’t have been there, sat up suddenly. “What happened? Did the meeting get cancelled? How come you’re back early?”
I sat with my elbows on my thighs, head in my hands. All the way back on the plane I’d thought about how I would face this moment. “No, the meeting wasn’t cancelled. Something happened.”
She was sat next to me now, shoulder to shoulder. I raised my head and looked her briefly in the eyes. I cleared my throat. The wine and the cigarettes had left me hoarse. “Tony asked me to go to a dinner with him last night…” I forced myself to recount to Maria the story of what had happened. Part way through my tale, she reached across and took my hand in hers. I got to the point where I’d asked him to come into my room and paused again. “I wanted him to fuck me Maria. What the hell’s the matter with me? I don’t know who I am anymore. What if he’d accepted? Jesus…”
“Oh, Sue, Sue, Sue...” She took me in her arms and rocked me gently. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you to go alone. It was too soon. You weren’t ready. You’re such a beautiful, confident woman it’s easy to forget…”
“Everything has happened too fast, Maria. All I ever wanted was to be your boyfriend…” I thought back to when I had stood outside her door, with my new linen suit and uncomfortable shirt. I took my hand away from hers and curled down, almost into a foetal position. Very quietly I whispered. “I want to go home.”
“No, no, please, Sue. You can’t mean that. We can work this out.” She grasped me tightly, as though she wanted us to share the same body, stretching over the top of my back as I sat, still hunched on the edge of the bed. “I love you.”
“And I love you too Maria. More than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone. But I can’t do this anymore.”
We talked the rest of the morning, and all afternoon. I thought I’d cried myself out in the hotel room, but I cried more that day than I have ever done, before or since. Maria too. She’d always managed to talk me around until then. I’d always only ever wanted to do what made her happy. But sitting slumped on the floor of the hotel bathroom in Sao Paolo, retching into the toilet, reading the note from my mum, I’d made a decision that I couldn’t go back on.
The following morning I left Rio on a bus heading west, out towards Campo Grande and beyond that, the Andes. I was wearing a baggy t-shirt and jeans I’d brought with me from Liverpool, hair cropped and with aviator shades covering my plucked eyebrows and bloodshot eyes. I must have looked odd – more like a skinny girl than a man. As we pulled out of the city, Randy Crawford’s voice rang out from the bus radio.
The clouds come a creepin’ and you got me a weepin’ this morning
I can’t believe you’re really gonna leave this town
Everyone knows I can’t make a move without you
You’re turning my whole world upside down
And I get a feeling that I’ve seen the last of you
Rio de Janeiro Blue
EPILOGUE
Thursday October 19th 2000
Lucy had nearly finished applying the final touches to my hair. Engrossed in the story, though, she hadn’t put brush to head for the last five minutes. I paused and in response she started.
“Fuck! That’s the saddest story I’ve ever heard.” She sniffed and wiped a hand across her eyes. “So you came home?”
“Yeah. I travelled around South America for a while. Did some hiking in the Andes. Volunteered on a farm in Bolivia. Hard physical exercise felt good - it took my mind off things. Gradually, Dave started to reassert himself. I came back to Liverpool, graduated, got a job in London, met a girl, got married, started my own practice, worked too hard, got divorced and the years went by. Then a month ago, out of the blue, having never heard from her since I left Brazil, Maria emailed. She’s in London just now to receive an award for one of her buildings. I’m meeting her for lunch.”
“No way! Does she know you’re…er…I mean, that she’s meeting Sue not Dave?”
“Nope. First time I’ve worn a dress since Brazil. I’ve not even thought about it for fifteen years. Then, since Maria emailed, I’ve barely thought about anything else.”
I stood up from the salon chair and smoothed down the front of the camel coloured, cashmere roll neck sweater dress I’d chosen to wear to meet Maria. Underneath the chic exterior I’d splurged my credit card on the most expensive silk lingerie I could find. As I stood, I felt the straps of my suspenders tighten across my thighs. I smiled at Lucy. “I’d forgotten how nice it feels!”
“You still look good too, you know. Even if it is all down to my brilliant work.” She grinned.
I looked in the mirror more carefully. Lucy had indeed done a fantastic job with my make up and hair, which was in an up-do similar to how I’d worn it on that first fateful trip to Sao Paolo. There was a wrinkle or two around the eyes now, but she was right. I still made a pretty good woman.
“Thank you Lucy.” I gave her my card to pay.
“You’re very welcome. Please come back and let me know how you get on. I hope everything turns out how you want it to.” She gave me a quick hug.
I drew a pashmina over my shoulders and stepped out of the salon into the bright October morning.
The End