2

I awoke with anything but that deep, languid, contentedness that comes with a good nights sleep. Meg and I had been up most of the night talking, accompanied by a large bottle of vodka and too many cigarettes. My phone was ringing it seemed far more loudly than usual. It was Rachel.
“Hello?” I croaked blearily.
“Hi. You ok, sweetie?”
I grunted. “Yeah. You?” It wasn’t like Rachel to call when she was over in LA – we might exchange an odd text, but this was the first time she’d called me from there.
“Yes, everything’s fine here. Can you talk?”
I sat up in bed. “Yeah, fine. Go ahead”
She started, enthusiastically. “So we’ve been approached to come in on a new series; it looks fantastic! It’s about a private detective and his assistant. Set in Los Angeles. They pick up a case about a missing waitress from a chinese triad-run casino. Assistant goes undercover as a waitress. Only thing is, he’s a bloke.”
“OK, that’s novel.”
“I thought that might pique your interest…” I could almost hear her grin. “As the series develops, he finds that he’s enjoying it rather more than he expected. And his boss too. And they start to develop a bit of a thing…it’s a bit tricky explaining it over the phone like this, but the screenplay’s really rather good. It’s kind of like an LGBT Moonlighting.
I was silent.
“Hmm. I suppose you’re too young to remember that? Cybill Shepherd and Bruce Willis?”
I stayed silent.
“Anyway, it’s a great screenplay. Mike Williams is signed up to direct, and most of the cast. The plan is to start shooting the pilot in a fortnight – there are studios booked and everything, but there’s been no luck with finding an actor to play the assistant role…”
I’d been rather half paying attention up until that point, but now I was properly awake.
“So, the actors unions have been insisting that we cast a trans actor - I’m kind of ambivalent about all that stuff, but hey ho – and we’ve auditioned lots of t-girls but they’ve all been, how do I put this, too far gone to be able to play the role of the guy before he starts undercover. They’ve tried doubling up with two actors, one male and one female, but that hasn’t worked either. So, to get to the point. We came on board just last week. I had my first meeting with everyone today. I suggested they might want to audition you. What do you think?”
“When’s the next flight?”
She squealed. “Fabulous! I can get you booked on a flight tomorrow. Audition on Monday?”

I spent most of the flight reading the screenplay that Rachel had emailed over. She’d been right. Before reading it I thought the idea of making some kind of transgender on/off romance with a noir detective slant was a really bizarre mash up, but the screenplay was great. Mike Williams had a fantastic reputation as a director and it would be him I’d be meeting at the audition tomorrow. Rachel had also said that Ryan Nichols, who had been cast as Mark Ryman, the lead private eye, was also going to be attending so there was a chance to see if there was any chemistry between us. I’d not heard of him before – he was mid 30s and had been around playing bit parts in several film and tv series for a while, but this was his first big break. I googled him. I could see why he’d been cast – he had something of Robert Mitchum about him. He wasn’t classically good looking, but the fact that the proportions of his face were slightly ‘off’ lent him a cragginess that suited the noir theme.

My character, Paul Jones, is first introduced as a young, clean cut intern seeking employment at Mark’s firm. I’d had a few ideas about how to approach the audition based on what Rachel had said about some of the previous auditionees struggling to play the initial male role. I’d been back to Rachel’s salon yesterday, had the extensions removed and my hair cut shorter. Not quite so short that I couldn’t put extensions back in again in due course, but short enough not to have to wear it in a pony tail. I was travelling ‘in drab’ – my passport in the name of David Ross made that a necessity, but I also intended to arrive at the audition in character as Paul Jones. I saw him as a preppy type, and I’d fished out from my wardrobe a pair of beige chinos, a button down collar oxford shirt and a slightly ill fitting sports coat that completed my picture of him. I’d also packed enough of Sue’s things for her to make an appearance if needed to as well.

I grabbed a taxi at the airport – Rachel had given me directions to where she was staying. It was dark by the time I got through passport control, but the air outside the climate controlled building was still warm and humid. We drove for about an hour out of the city, climbing steadily up into the hills that overlooked Los Angeles from the north. Rachel’s house was exactly what you’d cast if you were auditioning homes for a Hollywood film producer. All steel and glass and cantilever. I trundled my suitcase past a slab of iridescent turquoise swimming pool en route to the entrance, taking care not to fall in as I was distracted by the twinkling of thousands of lights in the city hundreds of feet below us.
Rachel welcomed me inside. “Wow. Look at you. I’d almost forgotten what Dave looks like.”
It was the kind of flippant comment that might usually have been balanced by a grin, but none was forthcoming. Away from my conventional habitat I felt awkward.
“Listen. Thanks for setting this all up. I really appreciate it. It could be a big break for me.”
“It could be a big break for Sue.”
“What do you mean?”
“it’s Sue that’s auditioning remember - T-girls only. Are you sure that’s what you want?” She paused. “I’m sorry – you don’t need to answer that. Where are my manners? Let me get you a drink and you can drop your suitcase in the bedroom and get changed. You must be tired after the flight.”
We sat on the terrace with a scotch and talked about the audition. Up in the hills, the overpowering heat of the city was tempered by the altitude and a gentle breeze that rolled down from the summit of the mountain behind us. It was quiet, the only accompaniment to our voices the chirruping of insects in the arid scrublands beyond the house.
“I’m sorry about what I said earlier. Seeing you as Dave for the first time in ages took me back to when we first met. You’re not a bad looking bloke, you know. I know you enjoy being Sue, perhaps more than you’re prepared to admit, but if you get this job tomorrow. You’re auditioning as a trans girl. That means living that life full time, at least as long as you’re working here. Is that what you want?”
I looked back at her but didn’t reply. She stood up, took my scotch and set it on the table, and led me back into the house and into her room.
“Make love to me now. Please? Like we used to when we first met? Before whatever happens tomorrow?”

3

The following morning Rachel dropped me off at the studio before herself heading for the airport from where she was leaving to spend several weeks on location in India. We kissed and she wished me luck and I watched her drive away until she disappeared into the distance. From here on in, I was on my own. I took a deep breath and made my way towards the security booth at the studio gates.

“Good Morning Sir. My name’s Paul Jones. I’m here for the job interview with Mark Ryman.” My hastily concocted California accent seemed to hold up as I offered a hand towards Mike Williams, the director, sat facing me as I entered the audition room. He hesitated for a split second, looking across the room to where Ryan Nichols, aka Mark Ryman my would be future fictional employer, stood casually perched on the edge of a desk with his hands in his pockets. “Mark – over to you.” I inwardly patted myself on the back – my first task of getting them to play along with my plan of arriving at the audition in character had worked.

I turned to Ryan/Mark. “Good Morning Sir.” Contrary to popular opinion, he looked taller in real life than in the pictures I’d seen. His eyes glinted as he weighed me up before he spoke.
“How ya doin’ kid?” he remained perched on the desk but held out a hand. I gripped it as firmly as I could, but still felt like he might crush it without any effort. “So what’s the attraction in becoming a PI?”
“Well, er, my old man used to be a cop and…”
“So why not join LAPD?” he interrupted.
“I, er, he was always complaining about there being too much paperwork these days.”
“Being a private dick can be boring as shit too most of the time. Hell, most folk come here asking if I can help them find their cat…” I smiled, and he continued “You can’t be more than what? Five-six and one twenty pounds? How’s a guy like you look after himself?”
He got up from the edge of the desk and I took advantage of his shift in balance to grab his right wrist, twisting it behind him whilst kicking his standing leg out from under him. He fell to the floor with my knee in his back. I leaned forward, closer to his ear. “Glendale High Ju-Jitsu champion 2015”
Mike burst into laughter and applauded whilst I stood back up. Ryan looked across at him, sheepishly, as he got back to his feet, then grinned at me and held his hand out again. “Nice one, kid.”
“I think we can say that you’ve pretty much nailed that.” Mike said. “Let’s see what kind of cocktail waitress you make though. If I get someone to take you through to costume and make up, could you be back with us in around an hour as Paul’s alter ego?”

Mike arranged for his PA to escort me across the studio campus so I wouldn’t get lost. Outside the sun had got up and, remembering how just a few nights previously I’d had to turn on the central heating back in my London bedsit, I smiled to myself. I could get used to this, I thought. The studio grounds were buzzing with activity - a couple of Marie Antoinette lookalikes in huge hooped dresses and elaborate powdered wigs sat on a low wall alongside the footpath, smoking and discussing the previous days shoot. A platoon of Star Wars type soldiers marched across to another set. Technicians trundled cameras and all manner of technical equipment from studio to studio. I paused and took in a deep breath, the air full of creative potential. This was the environment I had imagined being in when I’d signed up to Stage School three years ago. Here I was, at last. The audition had gone well, so far. All I needed to do now was to revert to being a waitress for a couple of hours. I could do that, couldn’t I? I’d been working as one only a few days ago. I fought back the excitement building in my stomach.

Arriving at our destination, a young woman around my own age greeted me with an array of brightly coloured dresses draped over one arm. Mike’s PA left me with her, after assurances that I could find my way back to the audition room.
The young woman with the dresses spoke. “So. I understand we need to make you into a respectable cocktail waitress in the next hour.”
I smiled nervously. “I actually clean up pretty good, despite current appearances.”
She laughed.
“I’m Sue, by the way. I held out a hand.”
“Gabi. Pleased to meet you.” She looked me over. “It’s a Chinese casino that your character is working in, so I’ve pulled out a few cheongsams for you to try. Do you need any foundation wear?”
I’d brought a bag with me, with a few things to change into in the event that I needed to present myself as Sue at any point. I tapped it with my palm. “No, I’m good.”
“OK. Once you’ve chosen a dress I can get you shoes to match, and perhaps some jewellery and stuff. Then we can do make up. I’ll grab a bunch of wigs we can play with - see what suits. How does that sound?”
“Sounds great!”
“Fab! There’s a room over there you can use to get changed.”

There were 5 cheongsams in a range of different sizes and colours, but all to a similar design, with the traditional mandarin collar and cap sleeves. Two were clearly too large and one too small but the remaining two, both a vivid scarlet in colour with embroidered Chinese designs in glistening gold thread, appeared to be close to my size. I quickly extracted myself from Paul’s interview apparel. In my bag I’d brought along my favourite lace bra and panty set, together with my forms. I dressed in them hurriedly, then pulled the first of the two dresses up over my hips and slid my arms through the sleeves. Where they’d been stored must have been air conditioned, for the smooth satin of the dress lining was deliciously cool against my skin. I reached around for the zipper at the back and pulled upwards, the material drawing in tightly against my belly as it encased my contours like shrink wrapping, flaring a fraction only at mid thigh level where a slit on one side rose almost to hip height. It was the shortest dress I’d worn to date and I tugged on the hem in an attempt to extract every last millimetre of length whilst simultaneously congratulating myself on my decision to shave my legs that morning. I reviewed my reflection in the full length mirror opposite. The anxiety of the interview earlier had dropped away as soon as I discarded Paul’s clothes. I smoothed the satin of the dress down over my hips, mentally replacing the awkwardness and angularity of Paul with the easy, flowing curves of Sue. With a final look in the mirror, I stepped back out of the changing room to face Gabi.

“What do you think?”
“Looks good on you, honey. We can make those legs work with a sweet pair of heels. What’s your size?”
“7. UK”
She made a quick phone call and then invited me across to one of a row of chairs facing a bank of mirrors, each individually bordered by light bulbs. I sat down. She stood behind me, talking to my reflection.
“So. You’re a casino waitress. That is, you’re a boy trying hard to be a casino waitress, so you’re probably going to go a bit heavy on the make up. So we’ll go smoky eyes, brown tones to go with the red of the dress, lots of liner. Red lips. Gloss. How does that sound?”
“Great.” It wasn’t like I was in a position to suggest anything better.
“I’ve asked for some wigs too. I think we’re best sticking with your natural colour for now, but we can try different styles; see which works.”
“I’m all yours.”
I relaxed into the seat and closed my eyes. In contrast to when Jo had done my make up for the premiere, here I could see everything that Gabi was doing and I watched transfixed the ebb and flow of brushes across my face as it transformed from nerdy internee to nightclub hostess.

Too soon she was finished. I stood up gingerly in my new four inch heeled sandals, strappy and gold to match the embroidery of my dress. I self consciously tugged on my hem, careful not to snag one of my freshly acquired glossy red talons in the material. We’d chosen a long, wavy, wig of auburn hair to match my own. Gabi had piled it into a loose up-do, allowing some tendrils to hang informally down in front of each ear. “If you’re a waitress, you’ll need to wear your hair up.” she’d said. A gold hoop ran through each ear. Dark smoky eyes stared back at me from the mirror as I ran my tongue lightly over my bee stung ruby lips.
“Thank you, honey. I guess I’ll be taking myself back to the boys at the audition now.”
Gabi grinned at my breathy LA accent.
I coughed, and reverted to UK English. “Does that sound ok? I’ve not had anyone to try it out on…”
She smiled again. “You sound, and look, amazing. Even if I say so myself. You go get ‘em, girl.”

And so it was that, just over an hour after walking out of the audition as Paul Jones, internee, I walked back in. I’d asked Mike’s PA not to announce me - I wanted to see their reaction to me arriving without prior notice. I’d borrowed a tray, and arranged a couple of glasses on it, filled with bourbon that she’d sneaked out for me from his office drinks cabinet. I remembered what Gabi had said about making my legs work, and with each step into the room I slowly and deliberately pointed my toes, stretching the fronts of my thighs and the tops of my shins to their full extent.
“Y’all ordered drinks in here?”
Whilst I set my focus on Mike, as I sashayed across to his desk, I could feel Ryan’s gaze running up and along me, from the bottom of my heels to the top of my up-do. I reached Mike’s desk.
“A bourbon for you, sir.” I didn’t wait for him to respond, slack jawed, as I turned my focus to Ryan, our eyes locked as I approached him with the remaining drink.
“And a bourbon for you too, sir.”

4

A CROWDED SCENE ON A BUSY LOS ANGELES SIDEWALK. GRADUALLY, THE CAMERA FOCUSES ON A YOUNG WOMAN WALKING TOWARDS IT. SHE IS WEARING A SHORT, BRIGHTLY PATTERNED SKATER SKIRT, A CROP TOP AND ALL STARS. HER LONG AUBURN HAIR IS TIED UP INFORMALLY WITH A LOOSE CHIFFON SCARF. SHE IS WEARING SUNGLASSES, MULTIPLE EARRINGS AND A BELLY STUD. AS SHE GETS CLOSER TO THE CAMERA SHE TURNS AND WALKS UP A SET OF STEPS TO AN OFFICE ENTRANCE. WE SEE HER TALK INTO AN ENTRYPHONE, AND WE SEE THE NAME “MARK RYMAN PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS’ ON THE BUZZER. SHE WALKS INTO THE BUILDING. THE CAMERA CONTINUES TO TRACK HER FROM THE REAR. WE SEE HER APPROACH A RECEPTION SPACE, THEN TURN RIGHT. THE RECEPTIONIST JUMPS UP AFTER HER.

MARK – Well, as long as you’re dressed like that, we can’t go on calling you Paul can we?…hmm…you look kinda like a girl I used to see when I was back in college. Whaddya think about being a Debbie for a little while?

-

We’d started filming just a couple of weeks after the audition. Within 24 hours I’d fallen completely and utterly in love with filmmaking. When I wasn’t directly acting, I’d be with the lighting guys, asking them about how they set up their equipment, or the camera technicians talking about angles and set ups. And that moment when the director called “Action” and the cameras began to roll, it was as though a portal had been opened into a whole other world. It had been too long since I’d left stage school, too long waiting tables. I was back in my element now.

That’s not to say it wasn’t hard work. With Rachel away on location, the studio had set me up for the duration of the shoot in a hotel in Beverley Hills. I’d get picked up by a car at seven in the morning to go into the studio, and rarely got back before nine. A quick supper via room service and then more often than not, I’d facetime Meg for a long chat before I went to bed, to be repeated the next day. Since I’d opened up to Meg about how I felt we’d become even closer. She’d listen, fascinated, as I described how shooting had gone each day and I’d taken to sending her regular progress photos - sometimes me in costume, sometimes Ryan and other members of the cast. We were scheduled to shoot a pilot episode over ten days, with a view to it going out across a number of networks in a couple of months. Depending on the reaction to that, we had scripts for a series of ten episodes.

-

A STUDIO APARTMENT IN ONE OF THE LESS ATTRACTIVE LA SUBURBS. DEBBIE IS SAT AT A SMALL CHIPBOARD VANITY UNIT APPLYING HER MAKE UP. SHE IS WEARING A LONG, FLORAL PRINT SATIN ROBE. A KNOCK AT THE DOOR. DEBBIE OPENS IT ON THE CHAIN, CHECKS WHO IS THERE, AND LETS MARK IN. HE LOOKS AT HER, RAISING AN EYEBROW.

HE STARTS TO LEAVE. DEBBIE WALKS HIM OUT ONTO THE SMALL STAIR LANDING OUTSIDE HER APARTMENT DOOR. HE SAYS GOODBYE. DEBBIE STEPS BACK INSIDE, CLOSES THE DOOR, AND LEANS BACK AGAINST IT, HER PALMS FLAT AGAINST THE WOODEN SURFACE, LOST IN THOUGHT. MARK WALKS DOWN THE STAIR AND EXITS THE BUILDING. HE STOPS OUTSIDE AND LOOKS BACK UP TOWARDS DEBBIE’S APARTMENT. THEN HE MOVES AWAY, INTO THE NIGHT.

-

On the third day of filming the lighting rig went down and Mike told us to take an early lunch whilst the technicians tried to fix it. I’d been shooting a scene with Ryan and he suggested we head off to grab a bite to eat. We walked across to the studio canteen. I smiled – the clientele were a surrealistically diverse group of actors and extras from the assorted films currently in production on the site and reminded me of seeing the two French Revolution ladies chatting on the day of my audition. I told Ryan the story. “That’s nothing.” he grinned “Last week a couple of elves were busted in here for crashing their Maserati into an Apollo lunar module.”
I giggled, and he went on.
“Anyway. How’s Hollywood, then, so far?”
“Fantastic. But I guess it takes longer than three days to get to know the place.”
He smiled. “You’ve made a great start. All the technicians love you already just for taking an interest in what they’re doing. It’s unusual to have an actor like that.”
I shrugged “It’s just so interesting finding out how it all comes together.” I took a sip of coffee. “How about you? How did you get into the business?”
“Used to be a carpenter. Had a buddy on the site I was working on wanted to be an actor. Always talking about nothing else. He turned up one day saying there were some auditions going on. I dared him to go, and he said he would if I went along as well.”
“And it was you that got the part?”
“Yup. Bit awkward the next day back on the site. But he was fine. We still see each other.”
“You still do any woodwork?”
“Yeah, I bought some land up in the hills in Montana. I’ve been building my own place up there. Slow going though – need to do less acting but it’s hard to turn down the bread.” He grinned again.
I hesitated before asking my next question. “Listen. You know my background, right?”
He looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“That I’m trans.”
He shrugged, questioningly “Yeah?”
There was a moment’s silence before he went on “Sorry. I thought you were going to ask me another question?...”
“No. That was it.” I looked up from my coffee at him. He was sitting with his back to the window, partly in silhouette. He sat square and upright; broad shouldered, grounded. Like the world could go to pieces around him and he’d just get on with his day, unphased. I could see how he’d been a carpenter.
Just then a rumble of thunder passed overhead and the tin canteen roof reverberated to the arrival of the rain.
“Shit. Looks like we’re gonna get wet on the way back.” We moved to the doorway to survey the torrential downpour outside. “Here.” He handed me his jacket. “This’ll keep the worst of it off you. Shall we make a run for it?”
He grabbed my free hand as I held his jacket over my head and we dashed off into the rain, whooping. We were back at the studio in probably less than a minute, but Ryan was still soaking wet. His coat had saved me from too much damage. He ran his hand through his hair and then shook it to remove the water. I handed him his jacket back. “Thanks.” Instinctively I reached up on tiptoe and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He held his fingers up to where I’d left a trace of lipstick, muttered something I couldn’t make out, and disappeared into the studio.

5

A BACK ROOM AT THE EMPEROR CASINO. DEBBIE IS IN LINE WITH A NUMBER OF OTHER WAITRESSES, ALL SIMILARLY DRESSED. AN OLDER WOMAN IS ADDRESSING THEM.

DEBBIE STARES AT MARK, EYES NARROWED, WITHOUT SAYING ANYTHING AND THEN TURNS BACK AROUND AND SMILES TO HERSELF QUIETLY AS THEY LEAVE THE BAR.

-

“And cut!”
At the call from our director I turned back around again and waited a moment until Ryan caught me up. He looked at me questioningly.
“What?”
“That wasn’t in the script was it?”
“What wasn’t?” he tried to look innocent.
“That last line about the dress.”
He smiled and shrugged, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

-

THE FOLLOWING EVENING. AN UPMARKET COCKTAIL BAR IN CENTRAL LA. WELL DRESSED COUPLES TALK QUIETLY, SOME DANCING TO A SMOOTH JAZZ TRIO PLAYING IN THE CORNER OF THE BAR. FRANKIE IS SITTING AT A TABLE FOR TWO, DRINKING COFFEE AFTER A MEAL. DEBBIE RETURNS TO THE TABLE HAVING FRESHENED UP. SHE IS WEARING TOWERING HEELS AND A SHORT, STRAPLESS, BODYCON DRESS IN A VIVID GREEN AND RED JUNGLE PRINT WHICH MATCHES HER GLOSSY NAILS AND LIPS. HER HAIR HAS BEEN SET IN AN ELABORATE UPDO. THE CAMERA TRACKS HER AS SHE WALKS BACK TO FRANKIE. SHE SITS, AND GLANCES ANXIOUSLY AT HER PHONE. FRANKIE LOOKS AT HER, A COLD SMILE FORMING ON HIS LIPS.

FRANKIE – He’s been taken care of. As will you, in due course. Now come with me and don’t make a scene, or you’ll find yourself with a bullet in your back.

6

A SMALL, FEATURELESS, BASEMENT ROOM AT THE EMPEROR CASINO, LIT ONLY BY A SHAFT OF DIM MOONLIGHT FROM A NARROW, HIGH LEVEL WINDOW. AT ONE END OF THE ROOM A SERIES OF PALETTES, STACKED HIGH WITH PACKAGES CAREFULLY SHRINK-WRAPPED. A FIGURE IS SLUMPED ON THE FLOOR AGAINST THEM. THE DOOR OPENS AND WE SEE DEBBIE PUSHED ROUGHLY INSIDE. SHE STAGGERS, BUT MANAGES TO AVOID FALLING. HER HANDS ARE CUFFED BEHIND HER BACK. THE DOOR SLAMS SHUT AND WE HEAR A KEY TURN IN THE LOCK. DEBBIE BLINKS FOR A MOMENT IN THE DARKNESS AND SPIES MARK, LYING AGAINST THE PALETTES, SEMI-CONSCIOUS, BLOOD RUNNING FROM A WOUND ON HIS HEAD. HE, TOO, IS HANDCUFFED. SHE RUNS OVER AND KNEELS DOWN ALONGSIDE HIM.

MARK LOOKS TENDERLY DOWN AT HER, AND WITH HIS GOOD ARM HE PULLS HER TIGHTLY IN TO HIM. REACHING DOWN, HE KISSES HER, GENTLY AT FIRST AND THEN, AS SHE RESPONDS BY WRAPPING HER ARMS AROUND HIS NECK, MORE PASSIONATELY.

-

“Cut! That’s a wrap guys!”

The studio lights dimmed, the crew drifted away and we stood in our embrace, alone and still, as our eyes adjusted to the darkness. For a moment there was nothing there but the two of us, the sensation of Ryan holding me tightly in his arms, his smell, the lingering taste of his kiss. The feeling of having reached an end was palpable. 10 extraordinary, action-packed, surreal, incredible days of filming were over. Tears ran silently from my face onto Ryan’s already soaked shirt.
“You OK Sue?”
I sniffed and unwrapped myself slowly from his arms. “Yeah…Sorry…Thanks…”
He slipped his arm out of the sling and pulled me into a gentle hug and I looked up at him.
“That was my first screen kiss.”
“Shit! It was that bad I made you cry?”
“No, silly.” I poked him gently in the chest. I sniffed again, wiped my eyes and smiled. “I’m just…it’s been an amazing couple of weeks. I’m just a bit sad it’s come to an end.”
“Look, it’s getting late. Do you need to go back to wardrobe or make up or anything?”
“Yeah, I need to get out of these wet clothes and into a hot shower before I freeze to death.”
“See you at the after shoot party tomorrow?”
“See you there.”

7

With Rachel still out on location and out of mobile reception in India, I’d invited Meg to the after party. In just a fortnight, I’d gone from having a less than four figure sum in my bank account to a more than six figure one, and it felt right to thank her, not just for being my best friend over the last two years, but for sticking around for the last couple of weeks. I’d arranged to pick her up at the airport and I’d spent breakfast agonising about what to wear. It was strange – I’d spent the last fortnight 24/7 as Sue, happy and confident in the company of strangers and yet here I was, about to meet up with my best friend, dithering about an outfit. Since my night out at the premiere in London through my time on set, I’d spent more time in an evening dress than the sort of thing a twenty one year old girl might wear out shopping. I’d bought a shed load of clothes and shoes on the internet over the course of my hotel evenings-in and was still undecided when reception rang to tell me my taxi was ready. I plumped for a floor length dusky pink tulle skirt dressed down with a distressed denim jacket and (ironically, given how I’d bought so many shoes) a pair of Dave’s All Stars. Tying a matching chiffon scarf through my up-do, I headed down to reception and the waiting car.

I arrived at the airport just as the passengers from Meg’s plane were emerging into the lounge. Meg was one of the first out, turning heads as always in a gorgeous skin tight sleeveless black catsuit. She’d changed her hair since I’d left London and was looking awesome with a natural afro. I let the bulk of the crowd disperse before making my way over. She clocked me as I approached and whooped loud enough for the remaining passengers to turn to see what was happening.
“Whoooh! Look at you, you look good enough to eat!” she held her arms out for a hug.
I glanced around, embarrassed. The other passengers had returned to their own business. “Welcome to LA, Meg! Love the new hair!” We hugged quietly for several seconds before she stepped back to arm’s length to survey me again. She dropped her voice a couple of octaves and put on a southern American accent.
“Damn! A cute little white girl, all pretty in pink!” She grinned.
I blushed and looked around once again. “Ssshhh!”
She laughed. “This is crazy, isn’t it? Two weeks ago, if you’d told me I’d be in LA, and you were here, looking like THAT and all…Shit!” Then, more quietly. “Listen, I’ve got to thank you for this. This is amazing! You didn’t need to do this, you know.”
“Oh yes I did” I hugged her again and grabbed her suitcase. “Come on, we’ve got a busy day. We can drop this back at the hotel and then out shopping for something to wear tonight!”

The staff at the hotel salon had told me about a vintage wear shop just off Sunset and we headed straight there after dropping off Meg’s bags. The shop was understated. Scruffy, even. A plain aluminium shopfront around 4 metres wide and 50 years old contained a half dozen mannequins wearing a variety of outfits from the same era. Inside, the shop stretched back deep into the city block, retreating a decade or so every few metres. Initially we found ourselves in the 1980s. Meg squealed with delight as she lifted item after item out from crammed rails.
“Shit, look at this!” She was holding a bright turquoise creation in taffeta up in front of me. It was a riot of ruffles, bows and puff sleeves.
“That’s just totally hideous. You’ve got to be joking!”
“What’s the matter with you, I love this stuff!”
“Eurgh! It’s awful. I mean, it’s just so totally over the top. It’s the sort of thing a seven year old would wear to a party.”
“Hmm. Says the person wearing a pink tulle skirt!”
I smiled. “Okay. You got me. Listen, I’m going to have a wander further in. See if I can find something a bit more tasteful. See you later?”
I made my way through the shop. Ruched taffeta gave way to tie dye and other psychedelica, until eventually, like Marty in Back to the Future, I found myself in the 1950s. There, hiding amongst a moire pattern of polka dots, my eye was caught by a simple black cocktail dress.

You could tell the quality just by looking at it on the hangar before even lifting it off the rail. A silk taffeta bodice with a built in corset lined in gorgeous lilac satin, a low cut sweetheart neckline and fastened with a row of tiny black satin buttons up the back, I lifted it out. The skirt was cut from a full circle of material, falling in a very full a-line which hung asymmetrically to knee height at the front and mid calf at the rear. Tiers of net petticoats trimmed in lace added to the effect. I found a changing room to try it on. It fitted beautifully, except for the low neckline which revealed my lack of assets in that area. Meg reappeared.
“That’s gorgeous, but you don’t have the tits for it”.
I’d have been offended, but I was used to her by now. She was clutching a piece of bright emerald green satin in one hand.
“Here, take a look at this.” She thrust the label towards me. It was a Halston. She held it up in front of her.
“I dunno, you need to try it on.”
She disappeared again as I changed back out of the black dress, then reappeared looking like an African queen. The dress hung off one shoulder, with a loose drape of material forming a sleeve to the other arm. A ruche pulled it in at the waist, from where it billowed softly out again into a skirt. The dress didn’t look like it had been made or even conceived by a human. It looked like Meg had been gently embraced by a soft green breeze.
“That looks fantastic! You’ve got to wear that tonight! I’m buying it for you; my treat!”
Meg grinned and gave me a squeeze. We made our way towards the till. On impulse, I grabbed the black dress back off the rail. I might not have the body for it now, but who knew about the future.

We lunched at a seafood place on Sunset and then headed back to the hotel for an afternoon of pampering in the spa. We had a massage, we had a sauna, our hair done, nails, make up…eventually all that was left was to get dressed and we headed back to my room. I’d organised for the hotel to dry clean Meg’s new dress. They’d also cleaned mine – I’d borrowed the long red dress with the ribbon lattice back that I’d worn in my scenes as a hostess in the casino. I loved the dress – bright red, tight fitting, slinky – with my hair done in finger curls again it felt like I was the epitome of Hollywood glamour. But chiefly I’d chosen to wear it tonight because of what Ryan had said off script at the end of the scene in the bar after Debbie had found out about the coke shipments. I’d liked that he’d liked me in it, and I wanted him to like me in it again. I sat perched on the end of my bed whilst Meg patiently laced up the ribbon across my back. We’d been rabbiting on like two old women across a garden fence ever since I’d picked her up from the airport and for almost the first time since that morning there was a break in the conversation. Meg looked up from behind me and caught my eye in the mirror opposite.
“You look great.”
“Thanks.” I smiled back at her reflection. “You look pretty awesome yourself.”
“No, I mean, yes, you look great, but I meant you look happy. I wasn’t sure what it was going to be like, coming out here this weekend. I mean, I’ve only known you as Sue for what, a few hours? I could see that night when we were waitressing that you looked like you were just so comfortable as her. I mean, Dave’s been my mate for so long, but he was always a bit awkward. Lovely, and kind and gentle and funny, but a bit awkward. Like he hadn’t quite found his fit in the world.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I’ve been thinking about it this week. I think that’s maybe what deep down attracted me to acting – being more comfortable in someone else’s skin than my own.”
She finished tying the ribbon in a bow where the skirt started in the small of my back. I stood up, smoothed my dress and turned to face her.
She smiled. “Happy’s not quite the right word. Radiant, maybe.” She was grinning now. “In fact, if I didn’t know better I’d guess you were pregnant.”
We both burst out laughing as I launched one of the pillows in her direction.

The reception was in the rooftop bar of the Metropole Hotel. The lights of the city twinkled below us, as soft piano music twinkled around us, reflected off the surface of the pool, the panoramic floor to ceiling windows onto the terrace, and the Italian marble flooring. We’d just had time to gather a drink when my on-screen nemesis, Frankie de Luca AKA actor Tony Romero, approached with a smile.
“Sue! It’s great to see you!”
“Hi Tony!” We air kissed. “Let me introduce my best friend from London, Meg.”
We’d only been talking a few minutes when Ryan came over to join us. We grabbed a table and sat sipping our drinks as the two boys regaled us with their Hollywood stories. Some were shocking and some were hilarious and the time flew by as we listened and laughed. I’d not been on the receiving end before, but there was a good natured testosterone generated anecdote competition happening for our benefit, and we were enjoying being the focus of their charm. After a while, Tony leaned in to the rest of us, conspiratorially.
“See who’s at the bar just now?”
We turned around and I saw that Jack Jones, whom I’d met and with whom I’d spent a lot of the evening of the ‘Others Prefer it Cool’ premiere, was standing there, accompanied by a group of male friends.
Ryan whistled softly. “Wooh! It’s not often we get to see an A lister like Jack Jones coming out to something like this. I wonder who he knows here?”
Tony answered back. “I’d go say hello, but his minders would probably throw me into the pool before I got close…”
I leaned in to Meg’s ear and whispered. “Watch this!”
“Excuse me boys for a moment.” I got up and made sure they were watching as I made my way over to Jack.
He spotted me as I approached. “Sue! Rachel told me you were over here shooting a pilot! I wondered if you’d be here!” He flung his arms around me and we kissed.
“Yeah, we’re just celebrating finishing the shoot. You want to come over and meet my friends?”
The look on Ryan and Tony’s faces when we joined them was priceless.

The evening raced by. As night drew into morning, some partygoers began to leave, whilst others migrated to continue the evening on the dance floor. Jack had left, with promises to catch up when I was back to film the rest of the series (which he insisted was going to be a massive hit.) Tony had disappeared to catch up with another group of guests. Meg excused us to Ryan and led me away to the restroom.
“You like him, don’t you?”
“Who? Ryan? Yeah, he’s a really nice guy….”
“No. I mean you like him, like him. I can tell by the way you look at him when he’s talking.”
I said nothing.
“He likes you too, you know.”
I stood there awkwardly, clicking the cap of my lipstick on and off.
“So here’s the thing.” She went on. “If I was to say I’m really tired and jet lagged now, and you’d be doing me a big favour if you stayed here with Ryan whilst I go home to bed, that wouldn’t be a problem, would it?”
“Oh, Meg! What did I ever do to deserve a friend as good as you!” I hugged her tight.
“Good Luck! I want to hear all about it in the morning!” She grinned, and headed for the elevator.

“Looks like we’re the last ones standing.”
Ryan rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Part timers, eh? Shall we dance?”
He took my right hand in his left and pulled me close. I placed my other hand on his breast. I was acutely aware of how small I was next to him, my head fitting under his chin, my hand dwarfed in his, warm and roughly calloused from his carpentry. I slipped my free hand under the lapel of his jacket, closer to his skin.
“You’re wearing that dress. Do you remember me telling you that you looked good in it?”
I nodded.
“You look even better tonight.”
He pulled me closer. Our bodies swayed softly together to the rhythm of the music drifting over the pool.
“The thing I like about you in this dress, though,” he paused, “is that I can do this.”
He plunged a finger through the gaps in the lattice ribbon into my ribs, and I jumped, squealing. He grinned. Typical Ryan, I thought. Evading any emotional depth with a joke. And yet, somehow, by doing so, it made him even more attractive.
The moment gone, it fell to small talk to plug the gap.
“So what happens now?”
“Whaddya mean?”
“With the show. Now we’ve finished shooting?”
“Oh. So post production. CGI and stuff. Editing. I don’t know where the producers are with making a deal with a network, but then there’s a slot in the schedule to agree...”
“So how long does all that take?”
“Difficult to say. Maybe a few weeks. Could be longer.”
“It would be nice to know when we might find out if we get to film the rest of the series.”
“Yeah.” He paused and looked at me more intently. “I hope we do.”
“Me too.” I smiled. “It’s been amazing.”
“So back to London for you?”
“Yeah.”
“You got work there?”
“Not acting work. But hey, something will turn up. How about you?”
“I’ve some documentary work to do in Kenya for the next few weeks. After that, we’ll see. Hopefully we might have a series to film by then.”

The conversation quietened again. I rested my head gently on his chest. I could hear his heartbeat; smell his scent. I nestled in to his body, his contours matching mine.
He cleared his throat. “I was thinking. You know, even if we don’t get to make the series, I’d really like it if we could...”. He was interrupted by his phone ringing.
“Shit. Who’s that, at 2am in the morning.” He looked at the incoming number, and raised the phone to his ear. “Yeah....Fuck. How far away is it?...Shit!...Yeah. Yeah...I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
He put the phone away slowly, deep in thought, then turned to me. “That’s my neighbour in Montana where I’m building my house. There’s a forest fire heading our way. Doesn’t look good. I need to go.”

8

Meg and me flew back to London the following day. We’d no sooner got home than Meg was away again – she’d landed the role of Desdemona in Othello at the Everyman in Liverpool and rehearsals started that week. I saw her off from Euston and made my way to the flat, closed the door and slumped onto the sofa. It had been a crazy couple of weeks and I was looking forward to a bit of downtime. After the sunshine and optimism of Los Angeles, London was grey and wet and depressing. I hated autumn. Someone had described the season to me as when it gets cold and dark and everything dies, and I could understand their way of thinking. Still, the weather gave me the perfect excuse to go out shopping as none of the clothes I’d bought in LA were suitable for the drop in temperature. I had plenty other things to get on with too. I collected up Dave’s clothes, put them into bin bags and dropped them off at the local charity shop. I made an appointment with my GP to talk to him about a referral to the gender clinic. And, like many an aspiring actress before me, I invested my first pay cheque with a cosmetic surgeon, and by the end of my first week back in the UK I was the proud owner of my own beautiful, soft, sensitive, gorgeous breasts.

I took it easy for the next few weeks to let the surgery heal. There was still no news about when our pilot would be aired. Ryan texted – he’d been lucky with his house, the fire reaching his garden and burning down his fence, but a change in wind preventing further destruction. He was off to Kenya now for several weeks. I still hadn’t heard anything from Rachel since she’d dropped me off at the studio gates for the audition. I went to see Meg’s play in Liverpool. But I was bored, and tired of waiting for news from others. I got in touch with the catering company I’d been working for before I went to LA and started waitressing again. If nothing else, it kept my mind occupied. The other staff there were fun, even though most were new faces. I picked up as many shifts as I could, and was soon working most evenings and occasional afternoon shifts too. I’d been back working a couple of weeks when, one evening shift, I found myself working the same table as Rob, the boy who had given Meg and me a lift home the evening after the premiere.
“Sue! Great to see you! I’d heard you’d gone off to make your fame and fortune!”
“Hey Rob! How are you? Yeah, I’ve been doing some acting work, which has been great. Back to the grind for now though. How about you?”
“Oh, you know, same old, same old. Nice to see you back!”
We chatted away for the rest of the shift. He was easy to get on with, and I’d been so starved of human contact that when he asked if I wanted to catch a film with him the following night I said yes. Then I remembered I was working.
I bit my lip apologetically. “Evening shifts every night this week. And most afternoons too”.
He tried not to look disappointed. “No worries. How about a walk and a coffee tomorrow morning? There’s a cool new café opened just off Chiswick Common?”

I got home that night not sure if I’d accepted a date, or just a walk with a friend. Rob seemed a nice guy, and he was kind of cute in a boy-next-door kind of way, but, my sex life being a weird mixture of non-existent and yet still complicated, I wasn’t ready for a date. There were a lot of things unsaid when I’d last seen Rachel, including the not insubstantial elephant in the room that I was now living full time as Sue. And I couldn’t think of Rob without comparing him to Ryan, which didn’t do him any favours at all. It had felt like Ryan and I had a whole lot of mutual attraction going on, and yet there was a distinct possibility, which every day that passed without hearing about the pilot reinforced, that I might never see him again. And there was the added complication that Rob didn’t, unlike both Rachel and Ryan, know anything of my background. If we were to build any kind of relationship at all, even just as friends, I’d have to tell him about that at some point soon.

The next day dawned crisp and bright. I picked out a black leather miniskirt and a toffee coloured cashmere roll neck to wear with some opaque tights and black boots, topped with a metallic copper puffa jacket. I met Rob at the park gates, and we strolled around one of it’s meandering paths whilst we talked inconsequentially about a whole bunch of stuff. The sky was cloudless and that intense bright blue that only comes on autumn mornings. The trees had begun to lose their foliage, and the path was bordered with deep drifts of golden and rust coloured leaves. Rob joked about my puffa jacket acting like camouflage. After an hour or so we arrived at the café, ordered a couple of lattes, and sat at one of the tables. It was busy – a nearby school made it a popular spot for parents to meet after dropping their kids off.
“So, you never did tell me about what you were working on in LA.”
“Ah, it was a pilot for a new tv series. We’re still waiting to hear when it gets shown on telly. Then, depending on the reaction, it either gets shelved and I carry on waitressing or I go back and film the rest of the series.”
“Sounds amazing! So what’s it about?”
“It’s set in an LA detective agency. I play the new intern and a bit of a lurve thing develops with my boss.”
“Sounds cool!”
“The twist is…” I looked up at Rob so I could gauge his reaction, “…the intern’s a bloke. He goes undercover in drag, and realises he likes being a girl and, well, things develop from there.”
“Eww! Sounds a bit weird to me.” He grimaced. “How did you get the part? I mean, no offence but…” he glanced down at my breasts “…it must be difficult to make you look like a convincing bloke.”
I put my coffee down and fixed his gaze again, speaking quietly but determinedly. “I’m trans, Rob.”
He leaned back into his chair and smiled briefly and awkwardly. “You’re joking, right?”
I shook my head silently.
“You mean, you used to be a man?” He was speaking more aggressively now, his charming date persona gone. I averted my eyes and stared down hard into my coffee. He stood up whilst stepping back from the table, his chair falling over backwards. Some of the other patrons looked up. He turned towards them, pointing at me. “She’s a fucking tranny! A fucking tranny!”
He looked at me, disgustedly, and fled the café.
I burst into tears and buried my head in my hands. I could feel dozens of eyes staring at me and wanted desperately to run, but HE was outside. A waitress picked up the chair and sat down at it, resting her fingers gently on my forearm.
“It’s alright, luv. You’re safe here. He’s gone.” She turned around to the rest of the café. “Nothing to see here folks. Let’s get back to our own business, eh?”
I continued to sob for a few moments. “Thank you.” I rested one of my hands over hers.
“For what it’s worth, luv, he’s not coming in here again. He’s banned. I’ll remember his face, the little twat.”
I smiled briefly.
“Have you far to go?”
“Sorry?”
“To get home. I’m not having you going outside again in case he’s still hanging around. I’ll book you a cab. On the house.”

I was still shaking when I got home an hour later. I phoned the catering agency and told them I was resigning. I zipped off my boots, made myself a huge mug of tea, and climbed under a blanket on the sofa. I was lucky. I’d had a reality check, but nothing worse than that. In Hollywood I’d been living in a fantasy world where I’d been primped and pampered and told all the time how beautiful I looked. In real life it was inevitable that some people would react the way that Rob had, and it could have been much worse. I’d been made aware of my new vulnerability and I’d need to be more careful. I looked across at a picture of Meg on the wall opposite and I though of what she’d had to go through as she grew up. If she was tough enough to deal with all the racist crap she’d had to put up with all her life, then I could deal with a few transphobes. I took a gulp of tea, opened my laptop, and googled ‘catering jobs in London’.

9

I picked up a new job almost straight away. Christmas was approaching, the party season was in full flow, and the demand for catering staff was high. I flung myself into work with renewed vigour. I’d been at the new place only a few days when I received a text from Rachel. “Hi Sweetie. Back in UK. Dinner Friday? X”.

I delayed replying until I was home that evening and had more time to think. Did Rachel want to pick our relationship back up again now she was back from India? Did I want to pick it up again? The text was typically terse. I smiled as I remembered the evening we’d met – Rachel had always been quick to come to the point. But the biggest question I had was whether the dinner invite was for Dave or Sue. It felt like when we’d had our last night together at her house in LA she’d known I was committed to becoming Sue full time. But there had been so much left unsaid I couldn’t be sure. I’d forgotten how good we’d been together physically and the remembering made me ache. For a moment I even thought about meeting her as Dave and trying to put things back to where they’d been. But I’d come too far for that now. My choice was to go as Sue or not go at all. I texted back my acceptance.

If I was going to meet Rachel as Sue then I was determined that I’d look as good as I possibly could. It was a very upmarket restaurant where we were going to dine, and Christmas party season gave me every excuse to dress the part. I knew exactly what I was going to wear. The afternoon of our date I made an appointment with my old friends Tara and Jo, who’d done my hair and make up before the premiere back in summer.
“Hey, Sue! Great to see you!” Jo greeted me with a big hug. “So I hear you’re quite the little star these days…”
I grinned. “Oh, I don’t know about that! Destined for glorious obscurity it feels like if we don’t hear soon about the pilot. Still, at least I can afford my rent these days…”
“So what can we do for you?”
“Well, I’m meeting Rachel tonight – first time for ages – she’s been away. So I want to look my best. And I’ve got a few ideas for trying something a bit different…”

Jo started first with my nails. As I’d become used to being a working waitress I’d reluctantly trimmed my fingernails down to a more practical length so it was a pleasure to see them transformed back to being long and elegant. She painted them a deep glossy carmine red and made my toes to match. Whilst Jo worked on that I wallowed in the pleasures of a long, luxurious shampoo and blow dry from Tara, before she set my hair into a carefully informal and sexy French twist, a style I hadn’t tried before. I’d emailed Tara a photograph of how I wanted my make up and I relaxed and closed my eyes as she set to work. She used a pale foundation to suit my natural complexion, with just a hint of blush on my cheeks. The barest touch of eye shadow to emphasise the socket but then lashings of thick black eyeliner, extended past the corner of the eye, mascara and my eyebrows infilled with a dark pencil. She finished off with a creamy carmine lipstick to match my nails. Hair and make up done, I retired into a cubicle at the back of the salon to change into my dress.

Of course, I’d chosen to wear the 1950s black cocktail dress that I’d bought in Los Angeles with Meg. I’d bought some pure silk stockings to go with it, and I revelled in the sensation of drawing them slowly up my freshly waxed legs before clipping them to a gorgeously lacy black garter belt. A matching g-string completed the set. Next, I stepped into 3 layers of black net and lace petticoats, before slipping the dress itself carefully over my head, taking care not to muss my up-do, and smoothing the skirt down in a multitude of swirling taffeta pleats over the petticoats. As I held the bodice of the dress flat against my belly and arranged my breasts into the soft, cool, satin cups of the built in corset I was almost overcome by the new sensations flowing through my body. Tara helped to fasten the clips of the corset and then button up the row of tiny satin buttons at my back. A pair of 4 inch stiletto heeled patent court shoes completed the outfit. I stood staring at my reflection in the cubicle mirror for several seconds, captivated by my new cleavage, and then turned, beaming, to give Tara a big thank you hug.

I walked into the restaurant the way I’d walked into my audition when I’d been wearing the cheongsam. Slowly and deliberately pointing each toe, I saw Rachel sitting at the far end of the room watching me as I entered and then her expression change as I approached closer and she recognised me. She stood to greet me, we air kissed, and I sat, taking a cigarette from my clutch and inhaling deeply. We chatted amiably through starter and mains, like two businessmen making small talk before sealing the deal over brandy and cigars. The coffee arrived. Rachel straightened her pose and cleared her throat.
“Sue. The thing is, I wanted to say…” she hesitated for a moment.
The moment I’d been dreading had arrived. My stomach lurched, and the carefully assembled veneer of confidence I’d clothed myself in with my dress, my hair, and my sashay to the table shattered instantly. Rachel continued.
“The thing is. When I texted you the invite for tonight, I didn’t address it to either Dave or Sue. I think I knew, deep down, that it would be Sue that would come. I think I’ve known ever since that first time you dressed up – even then there was something about the way you held yourself, the way you moved…and I know you’re happy, and you never were as Dave, not 100%. But I still hoped it would be Dave who would turn up tonight, that we could go back to where we were when we first started seeing each other.” She paused briefly. “I feel like Pandora. I’ve opened the box. It’s me who started you on this road. And it’s too late now to go back. And look at you – you look so amazing. And you’re making your way now as an actress. I’m so proud of you. But it was Dave I fell in love with. He might have been a little awkward, and gawky, and not this incredible beautiful swan that is opposite me now. But I miss him. I’m sorry. I don’t know…” her voice tailed off.
I think if Rachel had simply said that she’d met someone new and wanted to end things I’d have been fine. But I’d never expected her to say this. In all the time that we’d been together we’d never really talked about how we felt for each other. We’d had so much fun with our physical relationship, and we were so different in so many ways, it had never even occurred to me that she was in love with me. And if she’d told me, would I have been able to do anything about it? Or would I already have been too far down the road towards Sue? I burst into tears.
“I’m sorry Rachel, I’m so, so, sorry…”
She rested a hand on mine, but the tears kept coming. I was sobbing now, uncontrollably.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

I got up from the table and ran out of the restaurant. I didn’t want Rachel to come after me and, even though it was raining steadily outside, I kept running down the street, across the lights on red, a car swerving wildly to avoid hitting me, and on into the next street. The rain was merging with my tears as they ran down my cheeks. I could taste their salt on my lips. My hair had come unclipped and it hung, soaked and matted, against my neck and shoulders. My dress was soaked through, the underskirts clinging to my legs. On I ran until my feet began to bleed through the ruins of my shoes. At last I found myself on a bridge over the Thames; I didn’t recognise which one. It was quiet. The evening traffic had died down, there was no wind and the only sound was the hiss of the rain landing on the surface of the water. I stared down into the blackness, my knuckles white, clinging to the parapet. A voice behind me.
“Miss? Miss? Are you alright?”
I turned around. A black cab had stopped, it’s driver stood outside, his door open, a newspaper over his head sheltering him from the rain.
“Miss? You’ll catch your death at this time of the night, soaked to the skin like that. Can I take you home? Take you to a friends?”
I slumped over the parapet, exhausted now. He came and took me by the hand back to his cab, draped a blanket over me, and took me home. Back in the flat I ripped the dress off, pinging the tiny buttons everywhere. I climbed into the shower, still in my underwear, and lay there, huddled in a foetal position, crying and shivering, until there was no hot water left in the tank. As the last of my tears drained away I towelled myself down, and crawled into bed.

-

I awoke late the following morning bathed in sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. There was bright blue sky outside and the roof of the terrace opposite me was swaddled in a thick coating of fresh virgin snow. I lay in bed quietly for a few moments. I felt like one of those patients who wakes up clear headed for the first time after several days of fever. I’d cried so much it was like I was purged, or sated. I took a deep breath, held it for several seconds and then exhaled slowly. I thought of what Rachel had said about Dave last night. My heart went out to her. I could give her a call in a few days. Maybe, after everything we’d been through we could still be girlfriends.

I closed my eyes and took several more breaths. I was interrupted by the doorbell ringing downstairs. I wasn’t expecting any visitors, and I couldn’t remember ordering any packages recently. I ignored it, but a few seconds later it rang again. I climbed out of bed. My nightgown was hanging on the door and I slipped it over my head, fumbled my arms through the sleeves of my robe and tied it at the waist. I paused briefly at the mirror. The shower last night had done a good job of removing any vestigial make up left after the run in the rain. My hair, on the other hand, did nothing to camouflage the consequences of last night’s activities. Ah well, I thought, it would have to do.

The brightness of the sun on the snow outside cast the figure standing beyond the glazed front door into silhouette. There was something about the shape of the body, the wide shoulders, that caused my pulse to quicken as I accelerated down the hallway. I flung the door open wide.
“Ryan!”

We fell into each other’s arms. I drowned in the taste of his kisses, his smell, his big bear arms holding me tight like our two bodies were merging into each other. I don’t know how long we stood like that, on the doorstep, but eventually the signal reached my brain that my bare feet were stood in four inches of snow. I grabbed Ryan’s hand and pulled him inside.
“How did you know where I lived?”
“Meg. She told me at the party she was going to be in Liverpool doing Othello. I tracked the theatre down. I told her I wanted it to be a surprise. I’m on my way back home. We finished shooting in Kenya a couple of days ago.” He kissed me again. “I’ve missed you, Sue. Leaving you at the party the way I did…”
“it’s ok. Come on.” I took his hand again. “We can make up for lost time…”
I took him through to my room. We stood facing each other. He loosened the bow in my robe and it slipped to the floor. Then, gently sliding a finger along each collar bone, he eased the straps of my nightgown over my shoulders and I gasped as the silk brushed over my contours as it fell. I stood before him naked for the first time, acutely aware of how obviously turned on I was.
“I’m sorry. It freaks you out doesn’t it?”
He kissed me again softly. “Don’t be silly.” I felt his hand run through the neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair at my groin, gasping as his fingertips brushed along the underside of my penis. “It’s kinda cute. Like I’d imagined it.”
“You’re the first…I mean I…since I…I’ve not been with a man before…”
“It’s ok.” And then he grinned and gave me a gentle squeeze down there and I squealed. “I can’t say I’ve much experience of this kind of thing either.”
I giggled.

He picked me up and laid me down softly on the bed. I watched as he undressed and then he joined me, sliding his way up my body, kissing his way up my legs, over my belly, across my breasts. He parted my legs and slid in between them, his penis pushing insistently against me.
“Wait!” I rolled him over, pushing my body back into his, my breasts into his chest, my hands roaming over his torso until it was his turn to gasp as I gripped his shaft. I kissed him slowly, our tongues intertwining, as my carmine nails teased through his pubic hair, cupping his balls and gently scratching along his length. Gripping him more firmly, I began to slowly pump up and down as I kissed my way down his hairy chest and across his belly until, working my way down the bed, I peeled back his foreskin and licked my way around his glans. He moaned, and I pumped a little harder, taking him fully into my mouth now whilst still playing my tongue around and over and under, pumping and licking. Just when I though he couldn’t hold out any longer he flipped me back over again so that he was back on top, and then again so that I was belly down on the bed. I felt his hand slide down between my legs and reach under to grip me, then a retreat as it slid back slowly, a finger finding my hole and sliding in as I pushed back. I felt his remaining fingers grasp his own shaft, guiding it into place. As he withdrew his digit there was a brief moment of pain as he pushed against me, and then a release as I closed around him, the head of his penis inside me.
He drew my hair away from my neck and nibbled gently. “Is that ok, baby?”
I grunted my assent, and he eased his way further in, all the time licking his way from shoulder to earlobe, his free hand under my body, caressing my breasts. With each stroke he went a little deeper. I could feel his body tensing with every push. At last, I came, crying out, my body spasms tipping him in turn beyond the point of no return as well. He gripped me tight until we both stopped shaking and I lay with my head on his chest, Ryan stroking my hair softly.

We made love for the rest of the day, and on into the small hours of the following morning.

I awoke the next day with that deep, languid, contentedness that comes with a good nights sleep. I lay there quietly, still and warm, for a while thinking back to the events of the previous day. I rolled over to Ryan, but his side of the bed was empty. I sat up suddenly, remembering that morning, several months ago now, when Rachel’s side of the bed had also been empty, and how life had changed since then. The bedroom door swung open and Ryan appeared with a breakfast tray.
“It looks beautiful out there, baby. What would you like to do today?”

THE END

EPILOGUE

THE WOMAN TURNS LEFT AND APPROACHES A DOOR WITH A NAMEPLATE ‘DEBORAH JONES, PARTNER’. SHE ENTERS, AND SITS AT THE DESK.