The Lakers were 20 points behind by halftime and it looked like the series would soon be tied at one game apiece. Joey and I decided to go clear over to the other side of the arena to go to the ladies’ room and avoid the other Laker wives and girlfriends. Eliot had played poorly in the first half, missing all but one of his shots and committing three fouls, so they were loud in their depredations of his character or “clutchness” in sports lingo. When we arrived at the north end ladies’ room, there was, of course, a long line. I turned to Joey.

“So, you still haven’t told me how you ended up in The Children’s Hospital here. It was just six months ago that you were a resident at Tufts in Boston…”

“Frankly, I’d been looking to transfer my residency for a while. I’ve been stuck in the nest way past the fledgling stage. I was itching to spread my wings. Forgive the clumsy metaphors. You’re the one with the graduate degree in English. I’m a science nerd.” She laughed and the line inched forward. We quickly caught up.

“Anyway, The Children’s Hospital was expanding, and they were building a department for children with transgender issues.” I heard someone cluck rather noticeably and caught a glimpse of a head turning away quickly. I frowned at the woman. “Staffing pediatricians, endocrinologists, psychologists, the whole shebang. You could say I wanted in on the ground floor. They approved my application the first week of January and I started at the end of the month”.”

“How did Elizabeth react?”

“She said I blindsided her. She didn’t speak to me for days. Whatever. The woman is a mess, but I’ve got my own life to live. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh. I’m 27 years old, for god’s sake.”

“As a parent myself, even though I’m not Eliot’s biological parent, your child will always be seven years old to you. Needing protection, guidance, love. You never stop being a parent.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’ll never be a parent. For good or bad.”

“That’s how you feel right now. Wait a few years. Your maternal instinct will kick in.” The line inched further. The door was in sight, even as the rate of exit was still glacial.

“There’s one big problem with working there though.”

“Homesick?”

“No, I don’t miss Boston winters, for sure. I found out the reason I got accepted so quickly was my dad urged the administration to take me on. He’s been consulting with the hospital for the better part of the last year. Of course, they wanted to hire his daughter.” She laughed rancorously. “Everyone on staff thinks I’m there because of nepotism. It stinks. My dad’s playing some kind of mind game on me and my career.”

“I don’t think he’d do anything to intentionally hurt you like that. Haven’t you asked him why he did this, out of the blue, after all these years of basically ignoring your existence?”

“I don’t speak to him. If we cross paths in the halls, I lower my head and walk quickly past him. I hate the man. He obviously hates me.”

“I wasn’t even aware he’d moved down to Los Angeles. I thought he was deeply ensconced in Seattle. Had a huge practice out there, I heard.”

“He took early retirement two years ago. The Children’s Hospital offered him a cushy consulting position, helping them with their expansion. So, he moved down here. I’m told he bought a veritable palace in Santa Monica. They think he’s big shit around here. Los Angeles Magazine did a spread about him last month.” She reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. “Here, look, there’s a big photo of him, grinning like a maniac.”

Suddenly, a platoon of women exited the ladies’ room. I grabbed Joey and we rushed inside behind a group of women big enough to play offensive lineman in football. At least they moved as if they could.

---

We were in a somber mood as Eliot, Joey, and I walked to our cars in the team’s parking garage. The Lakers had lost Game 2 by a mere 3 points after a furious failed comeback in the final quarter. Eliot had been a sparkplug in the comeback, scoring 20 points in the second half, but couldn’t quite beat the buzzer with a potential game-winning three-point shot at the end. Still, he intended to hit the town with his “two best gals” as called us. But Joey reminded him that she had an early shift all week and wanted to get to bed before 11PM. As for myself, I begged off by saying I said some “homework” to do before I hit the hay. After all, I was in LA to work not to explore the nightlife. Eliot snorted a laugh but bade us both good night, planting kisses on our cheeks and whistling as he walked away.

“Thank you for not bringing up what we discussed last night,” Joey said as she opened the passenger side door to her car for me. She had picked me up and driven me to the arena. I would have been lost on my own, navigating these labyrinthine LA streets. Joey strapped in and gunned the engine. Soon we were shooting down Chick Hearn Court, hopping onto the Harbor Freeway, headed to Alastair’s guest house in Silver Lake.

“You were right. He’ll tell me in his own time. I don’t want it to come off as if I’m scolding him for not telling me. A child needs privacy in certain things even from his parents. Although you would think Eliot would be secure enough in our relationship to be open about this with me…of all people. Joey? Don’t you think so?”

“Oh, sorry, talking about parent-child communication just makes me angrier at my father. I’m tempted to resign my residency and find another placement. I could try a hospital in New York. I heard Columbia Presbyterian is expanding its pediatric transgender department. I could live with you, Joanne, until I got my own place. LA’s more expensive than New York, isn’t it?”

“I think you should sit down with your father and hash this out first. Don’t assume bad intentions on his part. Maybe he wants to finally get to know his beautiful, brilliant daughter.”

“He preferred his handsome, whip smart son. He’s asked me to lunch and dinner countless times, but I always decline. I tell him I’m busy or tired or just not interested. He doesn’t seem fazed though. Keeps asking. By the way, he knows you’re here in LA.”

“You told him?”

“Well, I told mom and I guess she let it slip. You know, they still talk occasionally. I don’t get it, but I hope Dad doesn’t show up on your doorstep unexpectedly.”

“Oh, that’s all I need.”

“Sorry, Joanne. I guess I’m bad luck after all. When I saw Eliot for the first time in 10 years at the hospital—”

“What was he doing there?”

“The Lakers always send over a group of their players once a month to perk up the kids’ spirits. You should see their eyes light up when they see someone like Lebron or Westbrook walk into their ward. Anyway, my first month here, Eliot was one of the players. It took us a couple of minutes but we both remembered that week in New York City when I came to see you.”

“And you cooked up this cover story. The two of you?”

“Eliot’s such a sweetie. How could I turn him down? Here we are.” The car was parked outside Alastair’s guest house. It was only a 15-minute drive from the arena to Silver Lake.

“Would you mind coming over soon to continue your life story? I’d very much like to hear more. And would you mind if I took notes?”

“Took notes? Why?”

“Call it research. My own transition didn’t happen until I was past 30. Yours came so much earlier. Compare and contrast, you know.”

“Sure, I don’t mind. Just change everyone’s names if you use any of it. I’d like it if you called my character Sigourney Templeton.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I wasn’t always a science nerd. When I was in 6th grade, I started writing a novel about a girl named Sigourney Templeton who finds out her parents aren’t her biological parents but that she was somehow given to them by space aliens from a dying planet to raise as a human child. She had special powers like a mutant, sort of.”

“Do you still have it? Even if it’s unfinished, I’d be very interested in reading it.”

“No, I ripped it up. I was afraid they’d find it and read it. Then they’d think I was insane or something.”

I reached over and stroked her cheek. “Poor Joey. Were you afraid the aliens would come back to take you away?”

“No, I was afraid they wouldn’t.”

Before he left for the wilds of Canada, Alastair had told me that my prospective writing partner, Philippa Chang Flaherty, would contact me to set up a first meeting soon. I hadn’t checked my phone all evening. I reached all the way down into my bag to fish it out and, of course, Philippa had sent me a text. She wanted to meet for lunch at a place called Tartine Bakery. There were five of these bakeries in LA. The one she gave me the directions to was also in Silver Lake, just a 7-minute drive from where I was standing. She said she swore by their famous Country Loaf, but their Sourdough wasn’t far behind. I texted her back to confirm. Alastair also left me a text. I won’t go into what he wrote. Or what I replied. You can imagine, I’m sure.

I had a big day ahead, so I reached into the refrigerator and pulled out the half pitcher of spritz left from the night before. As I downed a glass of the glorified wine cooler, I smirked, remembering Joey’s question about how much, back in the day, Elizabeth and I indulged in alcoholic beverages. Bit of a brat, that girl.

---

The noonday sun was so bright, even my Audrey Hepburn sunglasses couldn’t cut down the glare. And it was boiling hot with the top up. That’s the drawback with a soft top convertible. It gives you that carefree, wind in your hair feeling on the road but once it’s parked in an urban setting with the top up, any miscreant with a penknife or boxcutter can rip the roof to shreds and run off with all your valuables. Also, my hair looked like crap. I really needed that kerchief.

Despite almost jumping my car over the concrete wheel stop as I filled a parking space in front of the bakery, I gracefully emerged from my car, smiling sheepishly at a passerby as I walked quickly to the entrance. Inside, I took off my sunglasses and was able to pick out Philippa from the sea of lunchtime patrons, seated at a table in a cozy corner. She half stood up and waved to me. She was immediately recognizable from the pictures I had found of her online, like this one of her and her husband, Paul Flaherty, at this year’s Oscars.

A pretty transwoman from a biracial family. Her father is Chinese, born and raised in Minnesota. Her mother is Scots Irish from Pacoima in the San Fernando Valley just north of the city. She transitioned in her early twenties after working with Paul on his first animated feature, Princess Butterfly, which she wrote. They had re-connected a couple of years after being college roommates. Quite a cute story. There was some talk of Philippa playing the title role in the live action version which was Oscar-nominated for best picture a year ago. But she professed no desire to act so the role went to Xiao Quan, the ingenue from Beijing who is currently dating that young congressman from San Francisco. Ironically, because of Quan’s lack of fluency in English, Philippa ended up looping her lines in the domestic version of the film anyway. So, she acted the lead after all.

“Hi, Joanne. I’m Philippa. Wow, you’re early. Punctual people are hard to come across in Hollywood. Sit down, please.”

“Well, they say New Yorkers operate at a different pace than you indigent West Coast types. I almost didn’t quite make it. I just avoided totaling my car trying to park outside. The glare is awe-inspiring at mid-day in these parts.”

“Born and raised here so I’m used to it. You sound like my Dad. He’s from the Midwest. There, the only glare they get is from the glacier-like snow that sits on the ground from October through March. So, Alastair tells me we have a lot in common…”

“Alastair is Captain Obvious.”

“I like Alastair. He seems like a decent chap. Believe me, they’re few and far between in this town. Are you two…uh…together?”

“Sort of. It’s early days. Who knows? Right? I think it’s 50/50 business and romance. A deadly combination.” I laughed just as a waitress approached to take out orders.

“Need menus, ladies?”

“Philippa, you know what’s good here. Order for me. Don’t worry, I have no food allergies…that I’m aware of.”

To the waitress: “You’re my witness. If she gets violently sick, it’s not on me.” The waitress frowned and then leaned down to whisper in my ear.

“I’d watch out for this one, ma’am.”

“Let’s have two smoked salmon and poached egg sandwiches on your world-famous country bread. And two iced teas, lemon wedges on the side.” Our waitress scooted off.

Her iPhone burped a text alert and she scanned it quickly, replying immediately, her thumbs dancing on the screen’s virtual keyboard.

“Sorry, let’s make this a quick lunch. We can go back to my house and talk in a more relaxed setting. We’re in Los Feliz. Just five minutes from here.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Oh, it’s Paul, my husband. He’s watching our daughter Clarissa while also trying to work on storyboards for his next project. He was just wondering when I’d be back. Clarissa’s a handful for a 1-year-old—”

“I thought Paul was closer to your age—”

“I see you’re a bit of a comedian, Ms. Prentiss. I hate comedians. No, I’m just kidding. But Paul isn’t. He finds it difficult to do two things at the same time. Like walking and chewing gum.”

“Now who’s the comedian? But you’re burying the lead. You have a baby?”

“Paul and I adopted a newborn through a private agency. It’s really expensive but it’s the only way to go. We got to screen potential birth mothers so we’d get some idea of how the baby might turn out. Clarissa’s the cutest baby. We made the right choice. Of course, we’d say that in any case. But it’s true. You’ll see. Here’s our orders.”

I had the overwhelming urge to snap a shot of this and post it on Instagram. But fortunately, I don’t have an Instagram account.

“We want to wait until Clarissa is at least 3 before we adopt a little brother for her. Doctors say children 3 and older are mature enough to welcome a sibling and not feel threatened by the new addition to the family. I’ve always wanted to be a mommy.”

“I just spoke to someone who transitioned earlier than you who claims not to have any maternal longings—”

“Alastair told me you have a stepson who plays on the Lakers.”

“Yes. Eliot Bradshaw. Do you follow the NBA?”

“Me? No. Paul likes sports. I could care less—”

“Couldn’t care less. It’s couldn’t care less. If you could care less—”

“Oh, dear me, we really are going to make a great team. Joanne, you’re a real prize, don’t you know? Let’s finish up. I really want Paul and Clarissa to meet you.”

We would’ve been out of that place lickety-split, but Philippa had to pick up some loaves of bread, baguettes, croissants, scones, and lemon tarts. This took another fifteen minutes. I should have just stayed in my seat and taken my time instead of trying to destroy my sandwich in less than four bites. Finally, I followed Philippa’s lead as we drove to her house in Los Feliz.

Los Feliz is one of the several trendy neighborhoods in LA that is popular with celebrities, especially film and TV actors. In fact, Paul and Philippa purchased their house from a veteran British actor whose American TV series had been unexpectedly cancelled after only its second season. He demobbed immediately to Blighty where, I’m told, he does commercials for Selfridges. When we pulled up to their driveway, Paul was standing outside, with Clarissa perched on his shoulders, anxiously awaiting his wife’s return.

Philippa introduced us and Paul exchanged bundles with his wife, placing Clarissa in her mother’s arms and grabbing the bag of baked goods. Clarissa made cute noises at me as we walked into their Craftsman style house.

We reconvened our writers’ conference in the large space that the couple used as a shared office. They had desks at opposite ends of the room with a playard sitting smack dab in the middle, wherein Clarissa was gently ensconced and soon busied herself with her plush dolls and some Baby Einstein toys that play kiddie music.

“We try not to put her in the playard for too long. But it comes in handy to keep her out of harm’s way, especially now that she’s starting to walk. And she can say a few words now too. Right, sweetie?” Clarissa looked up at her mother and then half laughed and half shouted one of those few words.

“Dada! Dada!” Paul came over and kissed the top her head.

“I’m afraid she loves Daddy more than Mommy. Maybe she senses I’m not her birth mother. Like animals and pheromones. I don’t smell correct to her—”

“Nonsense, Philippa. It’s obvious she loves you just as much. Like you said, she’s got a very small vocabulary right now. She entertains herself by making sounds, that’s all. You probably did the same thing when you were her age.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“She is, honey,” Paul agreed. “You’re too sensitive. You’re her mother, plain and simple.”

“Now, Joanne, Alastair gave me a copy of the treatment for your proposed screenplay. I was very impressed. It has the makings of a very dramatic story, lots of conflict, emotion, piquant observations about the lives we lead, especially, of course, transwomen, and could be a real dynamic vehicle for an award-winning actor—”

“And director! Don’t forget director.”

“No interruptions from the peanut gallery, please.”

“Clarissa, are you going to just sit by and allow your dada to be treated so shabbily?”

“Ma…ma. Mama!”

“Alright, I’ll stay in my corner and leave you ladies alone. It’s three against one.”

“So, I’m excited to collaborate with you on this. Would you mind if we used my house as ground zero for our meetings? I’ve got Clarissa—”

“Oh, no worries. I’d rather meet here anyway. It’s only 10 minutes from Alastair’s house. I could walk it in like 45 minutes if I needed the exercise.”

“Nobody walks in LA,” a male voice boomed from the recesses of the room.

“Yeah, you either drive or skateboard it.”

“Well, I think I’ll drive then. Actually, I’m enjoying driving Al’s Audi around. Gets this old lady some attention from younger men.”

“Dada!”

“I’ll be glad when she can string words together into a sentence. Like ‘Mother dear, I’m a bit peckish. Shan’t we serve dinner already?’ Instead of just crying at high decibel levels.”

“So, what’s the timetable we’re working with?”

“They gave Alastair 90 days to hand in a camera-ready draft screenplay. That’s plenty of time to write a 120-minute shooting script—”

“Wait, I thought this was going to be a mini-series, like 6 parts or more.”

“Well, it has to be greenlighted as a mini-series first. If they feel this is worth, say, 360 or more minutes of airtime, we’ll have time to write the rest. It’ll go into pre-production which could take months. You know: casting, location scouting, studio time, props and costuming, legal clearances, musical scoring, etc., etc. The actual shoot takes a few weeks, but the development and pre-production takes more than half a year at least.”

“I didn’t realize so much goes into it. I could be stuck here in LA for a year!”

“Well, don’t be too overjoyed about the prospect,” she laughed.

“Maa-Maaa!”

“Clarissa agrees with me. Don’t you, sweetie? She’s so cute, Philippa. I’m so envious. I didn’t have Eliot until he was seven years old. I missed out on holding a baby in my arms, rocking her to sleep. I’m so jealous.”

“Motherhood isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, Joanne. There’s diapers for one thing…”

“Bananana!”

“Does she want a banana?”

“No, she just likes saying the word. Oh, I forgot to save part of that salmon sandwich for her. I tear it into tiny pieces, and she loves that fish taste. Whodathunkit?”

“Let’s start Monday morning. I’ll come over around 10.”

I was in high spirits after the meeting with Philippa. She seemed so positive in her attitude toward life and who could blame her? She was a successful screenwriter with a number of award nominations already under her hat, a handsome husband who shared her work life, and a sweet as honey little one-year-old who called her maa-maa. She was the very model of the modern transwoman. Her optimism and enthusiasm were infectious. I put the top down on my Audi and let the hot breeze off Sunset Boulevard rush through my hair on the 10-minute drive home. My exuberance was tempered when the Sirius channel I had turned on unexpectedly played that sad yet beautiful song by Gordon Lightfoot, “The Last Time I Saw Her.”

The final bars of the song preoccupied me as I drove up the driveway between Alastair’s house and the guest house. It was only when I stepped out of the car that I saw him standing there in front of Alastair’s front door, giving me a curious once over, unsure of my identity. He was wearing a navy-blue blazer over a shirt and tie and beige slacks, his sparse hair slicked back and parted to the right. Swap out the blazer for a white coat and he looked as if he’d just stepped out of that Los Angeles Magazine spread. I approached him and took my sunglasses off.

“Doctor Petry, I presume?”

“Ms. Prentiss? Joanne Prentiss? I…didn’t expect…I mean I…”

“Flattery will definitely get you nowhere, doctor. To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of meeting you for the first time?”

“I came to speak to you about my…daughter, Jocelyn. Elizabeth told me that Joey had made contact with you and that she was dating your…uh…stepson—”

“If you’ve come to see me to display your bigoted views on all manner of things, I’m really not interested, nor do I have the time to waste. If you’ll please get off my friend’s property—”

“Please, I’m not here to express displeasure with her dating your son. I came to ask for your help…”

“Me, help you? How can I possibly help you? You’re the one who’s a pillar of society, the very successful, much honored, well-respected medical titan of the pediatric field. I’m the outcast, the kind of person you shun and try to hide in shadow, a marginalized sub-human abomination. Like your own daughter. Do I have that right?”

“Just hear me out. I’m a changed person. It’s like someone or something cracked open the door to my personal prison of prejudices and let light shine in, finally illuminating the dark place I was blindly stumbling around in. I need to let Joey know I admit my horrible mistake. I love my daughter. Please help me reach out to her.”

“That’s a pretty speech you’ve just dropped on me, and the curtain doesn’t even go up until around 8 PM in those plays they put on downtown. Bravo, Doctor. Bravo. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Elizabeth said you’d be pretty skeptical of my intentions. But I told her I’d risk embarrassing myself if it meant achieving some kind of reconciliation with my only child. Joey trusts you. Maybe more than her own mother. My health isn’t great, Ms. Prentiss. Time may be running out to make up with her and her mother.”

I stood there looking at the man. He seemed to have shrunk just in the few minutes we had been talking in the driveway. I couldn’t honestly find it in myself to take pity on him but, thinking of Joey and her issues with both her parents, maybe the three of them could, as it were, bury the hatchet. Hopefully, not in each other. And it damn well better not be in me.

“Alright. I’ll give you ten minutes. Umm, that’s my friend’s house. I’m staying in his guest house over here. Follow me. We can sit down and talk.”

---

We circled each other in the ring like wary prizefighters, keeping our gloves up to block a sudden jab or sneaky overhand right. He sipped the orange juice I had poured for him in silence, searching for the words to begin. I was hoping he’d just spit out what he wanted to say and leave me in peace.

“From the first day I met Elizabeth, her memories of you haunted my life with her. She mentioned you it seemed every chance she could. She was still deeply in love with you. Well, with Joseph Prentiss, rather. It was like living with a ghost in the house. Except, your specter changed grotesquely when we learned you’d had your surgery. She wanted to reach out to you. I dissuaded her. Leave the past where it belongs. I loved her so very much. She’s still so beautiful. You understand—”

“Do you have a point to make?”

“Yes, you see, I’ve come to realize how my insane jealousy destroyed my relationship with Elizabeth. But we both had our medical careers to keep us occupied. At least, it kept me focused, kept me sane. She lost herself in the work we were doing with children. We started a pediatric clinic in Cleveland. I helped the city institute the first pediatric emergency services protocol. Elizabeth was right by my side. Always brilliant, always eloquent. As you can see, she was a better communicator than me.”

“She communicated me out of her life pretty well.”

“Then Joey came along. From the beginning, I could see the subtle nuances. The way she treated Joey like a girl. Even silly things like the pink clothes she dressed him in. The way she steered him toward feminine interests rather than sports. Joey was like a hothouse flower growing up. What little free time I had in those early days, I spent trying to play catch or shoot hoops with Joey, but he wasn’t showing any enthusiasm for it or me, for that matter. After a while, I began to think Elizabeth was doing this on purpose, alienating Joey from his father, making him into a miniature clone of…of you. The one she really loved.”

“Nonsense. You really went off the deep end. Dysphoria is a real thing, doctor. As a medical professional, you ought to know that.”

“A jealous man, devastated by the thought his wife is really in love with another man – a man who, by the way, is no longer a man but a woman –well, that destroys a man, eats away at his self-image, questions his very existence. When Elizabeth told me she was taking Joey to counseling for possible transgender concerns, I lost it. It was a scam. It had to be a conspiracy to win you back, to regain her great lost love. I was angry that she would use Joey as a pawn in that plot.”

“You do realize I knew nothing about any of this? The first time I’ve spoken to Elizabeth in 30 years was last December. All during the events you’re telling me about, I was blissfully unaware of what you kooky kids were up to. I was married for most of that time. I had moved on. I guess you don’t think Elizabeth ever did. I’m sorry for you.”

“I walked out on them, Joanne. Ghosted them, you could say. I resigned from Tufts and moved as far away as I could. I started another pediatric clinic in Seattle. Did very well. But I was a total mess. I drank Seattle dry it seems like. Destroyed my kidneys. I’m an inch away from dialysis. Sold my practice and retired to a warm climate, like they advise in all the AARP literature.” He laughed through a burst of staccato coughs. “Someone on the Children’s Hospital board was impressed by my press clippings I suppose and asked me to consult on their expansion. I don’t need the money. Just something to occupy my remaining days, I guess.”

“So, how can I possibly help you? I’m neither a doctor nor a marriage counselor.”

“Honestly, I didn’t know that she had applied to transfer her residency here. I was as shocked to see her on her first day making her rounds as she must have been to see me. I’d seen her a handful of times in 10 years. She’s turned out to be a brilliant, beautiful woman just like her mother. Joanne, she trusts you and considers you a real friend. She won’t meet with me. Hardly says a word to me if we happen upon each other in the halls. I have to tell her how sadly mistaken I was, so stupidly obstinate, so deluded…I need her to know I love her, and I always have, always will. I’m just an old man who’s finally lifted the gauze from my eyes.”

“I don’t know what you think I can do—”

“Can you arrange it so that I can spend some time with her. I could sit down with her and explain things. I need her forgiveness. Failing that, I’d feel better if she knew it wasn’t that I didn’t love my only child, it was just my crazy jealousy ruining everything…”

“I’m meeting with her to do some research for the screenplay I’m writing. I shouldn’t really do this, but I guess…if you’re being really honest with me…you both deserve to repair whatever relationship you could still have as father and daughter. 10 years too late but it’s a start. Maybe you could just coincidentally be here when Joey comes over some night next week? I just hope neither of you packs a firearm and I’ll see if I can hide all the knives in the house.”
He grabbed my hand with both of his, shaking it vigorously, his voice choked with emotion.

“Thank you, Joanne. Thank you! You’re an angel for doing this.”

“Angel? No, but maybe a friendly ghost?”

Friday night in Silver Lake, Los Angeles, California. Alone. In a guest house, eating homemade microwave popcorn. Add a sprinkling of olive oil and it’s actually a healthy after-dinner snack (I read that in Women’s Health). I was watching a critically acclaimed Korean film on GlobalNet when I got a Skype call on my iPhone. It was Alastair from his hotel room in Vancouver.

“Hey, babe, are you lonesome tonight?”

“Well, Elvis, I’m in a bathrobe, eating a tub of homemade popcorn on a Friday night in the City of Angels…”

“I miss you too, Jo Jo—”

“Who’s Jo Jo?” called out a female voice from somewhere in the room. A striking blonde stuck her head out from behind Alastair, a friendly smile morphing into a wide grin.

“Alastair! Who is that woman in your room?”

“It’s alright, Jo! This is Ann Flaherty. Philippa’s sister-in-law. You know, she’s married to Philippa’s brother, Christopher, the sculptor—”

Another face edged into view alongside Alastair. And, yes, he did have a passing resemblance to Philippa. Ann and Christopher waved. “Hi, Joanne!” they shouted in unison.

“I must have told you that my Vancouver trip was to check in on Ann’s movie, Swift Revenge.

“Is that the movie adaptation of the Broadway musical of the same name?”

“Yes, I was the Taylor Swift character on Broadway and Taylor insisted I play that role again in the film,” Ann explained. “Alastair was really instrumental in getting all the parties together with GlobalNet.” She placed both hands on his shoulders and shook. “Philippa told me you’re working with her on an autobiographical screenplay for Alastair—”

“Yes, I adore Philippa and Paul and their delicious little girl Clarissa—”

“My niece you’re talking about. She’s going to take Hollywood by storm when she grows up. Paul should show you the home movies he’s made with Clarissa. In costume no less! Of course, the dialogue is kind of limited. But she emotes really well.”

“Honey, let’s go. I’m sure Al and Joanne have some important stuff to discuss…by themselves.”

“Oh, sorry Alastair, thanks for dinner. Bye, Joanne!” She waved and hooked her arm into Christopher’s. Exit stage right.

“Bye. See you in LA, soon.” To Alastair: “Where were we? Oh, right, you were doing a bad Elvis impression—”

“I played bass in a rock band in college, you know. Lots of Huey Lewis & The News and Bon Jovi covers—” I burst out laughing at the image of Alastair in a big hair ‘80s band. “Wait, I’ll have you know we almost got signed by Billy Schechter.”

“By the mid-80s, wasn’t Schechter washed up in the business? Drug problems. Concealed gun arrest. Domestic violence, yadda, yadda?”

“He got fired from Monarch Records the day before he would’ve signed us. I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

“I didn’t mean to demean your musical talent, Alastair. I was just picturing you with a Bret Michaels hairdo.”

“I’ll be home end of next week. Save some popcorn for me.”

“Alastair, I think I’ve stepped into it.”

“What, I thought you and Philippa were gangbusters.”

“No, it’s not about the screenplay. Although, I need to fill you in on some changes or additions to the story I want. But we’ll talk about that when you’re back. I’m really excited about the possibilities. What I’m worried about is Dr. Petry, Joey’s dad. He paid me a surprise visit today.”

“You’ve never met him, you told me.”

“No, never, until today. He showed up unannounced when I got home from Philippa’s place. The gist of our conversation was he wants me to broker a meeting with his daughter. Apparently, she’s turned down every attempt to spend time with her. Can’t really blame her. I’d hate him too in her shoes. The man completely abandoned her and Elizabeth when Joey’s dysphoria was diagnosed.”

“You didn’t agree to ambush Joey, did you? It’s not your concern and Joey’s made it clear, I gather, that she’d rather have nothing whatsoever to do with that man.”

“I…I felt they should at least try to reconcile. He is her father, after all. And he seems sincerely contrite…”

“You don’t want to get in the middle of their family drama, Jo. Or is it that you still have feelings for Elizabeth? I mean, you see her for the first time in 30 years. She basically begs you to come back into her life. Her daughter coincidentally starts dating your stepson. You’re being set up on both sides, I think.”

“Are you jealous, Alastair? It’s cute if you are. No, I have no remaining feelings for Elizabeth. I even tossed that stupid painting she gave me as a parting gift last Christmas. I do like Joey a lot and I can see she really needs to come to terms with both her parents. What’s wrong with having her father offering her a belated apology? Even if she doesn’t forgive him, it’s a sort of closure. Besides, the guy says his health is pretty bad.”

“Oh, Jo, you’re such a pushover. He’ll probably outlive both of us and Elizabeth. I don’t know what game he’s playing but you should just stay off the field. Let them handle their own problems. I don’t want them hurting you anymore.”

“That won’t happen, Al. I’ll get them together in the same physical space and let them work it out themselves. I’ll get in your Audi and take in the late-night smog. I’ll be very circumspect.”

“I wish I was there to help. Do you want me to cancel the rest of my trip? I can re-schedule the Toronto meetings—”

“Please, Alastair, I’m not a child. And how could you help anyway? Neither of them knows you from Adam. Let’s talk about something else, okay? Like how much you miss me…”

We spent the next half hour talking about blush-worthy things better left out of this narrative. I made another serving of popcorn but topped it with salted butter. Living dangerously, I munched the snack while I finished watching the Korean movie I had screen-recorded while on the Skype call. Tomorrow was going to be a productive day. Joey had Saturday off and had agreed to continue her “life-story” for me. Her story could be another arc in my screenplay, showing another facet of the transgender experience. My own story was rather bland, I thought. As much as I repeated this proviso to Alastair, he just remained adamant that it was a story worthy of a film treatment. And he would kiss me to seal his argument.

It was Joey’s suggestion to have brunch at De Buena Planta, a newly opened vegan Mexican restaurant in Silver Lake on Sunset Boulevard. Neither of us were vegan but Joey was a fan of De Buena Planta’s primary branch in Venice (California not Italy). The new branch had a patio for alfresco brunches on weekends. Not familiar with Mexican cuisine myself, I let Joey order a table full of tacos, burritos, and chilaquiles verdes (lightly fried tortillas slathered in homemade salsa verde). For a beverage, I pitched in to order a carafe of the house spritz (Campari, OJ, and rosé), which I reminded Joey she had enjoyed when she had dinner at my place. I tucked in to enjoy a leisurely mid-morning meal when, without prompting, Joey started to continue the story of her peripatetic journey south from Boston to New York to Washington, DC, and her grandparents’ house. With a mouth full of half-chewed tortilla, I scrambled to reach for my phone so I could record her. By the time I had pressed record, she was already on the train heading toward Union Station in DC.

It was a cloudy afternoon all the way down the Eastern Seaboard as I rode the Amtrak to DC. My mood was a mix of anticipation and loss. I had just spent several days in New York trying to reach into my mother’s past to find clues into my future as a transwoman. But the past refused to heed my beckoning. There were no answers there. Now, I was hours away from reintroducing myself to my grandparents, my aunt and uncle, and my cousins, who all knew me as Joey, the diffident boy, not Joey, soon to be a grown woman. As I looked out at the greyness all around me, shuffle play on my phone delivered the appropriately ironic Joni Mitchell song, “Both Sides Now.” The lady sitting across from me reflexively returned my smile though she couldn’t possibly know what I found so amusing. Both sides now. Yeah, that about describes it.

As I tossed my bulky backpack into the back seat of Grandpa’s 2006 Cadillac DTS, I looked at the 70-year-old man sitting in the driver’s seat. Sam Greene had bought the car the same year he’d retired from his position as a Project Director at the National Institute of Standards and Technology in Gaithersburg, Maryland. I’d spent a month or longer every summer of my life since I was 6 or 7 years old staying with my grandparents. My parents were too occupied by their work at the hospital to mind a child out of school for 3 months. Grandpa would take me fishing or to baseball games, thinking a boy like me would enjoy such activities. Mostly, I would stay indoors reading, playing video games or watching soap operas with Grandma. Despite my strangeness, they both seem delighted every year when I’d be driven down to their house by Mom, kid-sized backpacks stuffed with more books than clothes, the sight of which caused Grandma to chuckle every time. It was a half-hour ride to Silver Spring, Maryland where my grands lived. After sharing a big hug, we settled in for the drive. I had to listen to Grandpa’s favorite news station all the way. It’d be rude to put my earbuds in, so I stared out at the gathering gloom of evening.

Although my backpack was mostly filled with clothing this time (all my reading was on my laptop hard drive or available online), my grandma still shook her head.

“Joey, your clothes are all crumpled and wrinkled. You can’t wear these anywhere nice. I suppose you think you’re going to wear the same t-shirt and jeans for your entire three months here? No, young lady, we’re going shopping tomorrow. Your cousin Sally has already volunteered to drive us to Tysons Corner. They have everything under the sun there.”

“Can’t we just wash them and iron them out?”

“Well, Joey, we…that is, you could do that. But I thought you wanted to study medicine not learn how to be a charwoman. Besides, some of these need to be professionally cleaned and pressed—”

“You just want to go shopping with me, Gran.”

“Is that a bad thing? You’re my favorite grandchild.” Lowering her voice. “Don’t tell Sally tomorrow, okay? She thinks she’s my favorite.” She laughed as she dumped the rest of my clothes onto the floor of my designated bedroom.

“Does Sally have to come along?”

“Oh, she’s been pestering me on the phone day and night to make sure she gets to tag along. Ever since I told your Aunt Karen you were coming to stay until the end of the year.”

“She wants to get a good look at the freak, I bet.” Gran enveloped me in her arms, kissing my forehead.

“You’re not a freak. And Sally loves you. The two of you used to play in a sandbox together when your aunt and uncle lived in Cleveland. Remember? Your uncle was getting his graduate degree in engineering at Case Western.”

“You didn’t know but she used to let me wear her clothes when we played in her bedroom. She said we looked more like sisters than cousins.”

“I knew. Aunt Karen knew. We just thought you were playing around like little kids do. We really didn’t think much about it.” I started to tear up. Gran took some Kleenex from somewhere on her person and wiped my eyes.

“You and grandpa so easily accepted me as a girl. Even mom had some difficulty at first taking me seriously when I told her I was really a girl.”

“We saw you and what we saw was a beautiful little girl trapped in the wrong body. I prayed every day you could be freed from your gender prison. Thank God, the light bulb went on in your mother’s head finally.”

“And that ended their marriage. I split up my parents. My mom’s life was destroyed. Because of me and my stupid…problem.”

“What happened between your mom and dad had nothing to do with you, sweetie. It’s the excuse they use. And shame on them for doing that. I hate to say this, but they should never have been married in the first place. You mother always valued career over personal fulfillment. I told her many, many times not to go into medicine. She thought I was a fool to quit pre-med when I met your grandfather. I did it because I loved your grandfather and wanted to have a family with him.”

“I’m afraid that’s not how women see themselves these days, Gran. I wouldn’t give up my career ambitions for a man or a brood of babies either. I’m sort of glad I can never have children of my own. I’ll never be put in that corner.”

“But, Joey, you can adopt. You’ll meet the right young man, and you’ll want to have a family with him. You’ll see.”

“I doubt that very much. And I’m not even sure I’m attracted to men. Maybe I’m a lesbian—”

“Joey! Perish the thought. Anyway, you’re too young to worry about such things. You’re still a child.”

“I’m 18, Gran! That’s legal age.”

“Shush. Here, this one’s not too wrinkled. Change into this. Your aunt and uncle and your younger cousins are coming over for dinner in about 20 minutes. I would tell you to freshen up your makeup, but you don’t have any on. Brush your hair then.”

Dinner was a bit of a farce. While Aunt Karen warmly welcomed me to the better sex, Uncle Chuck kept remarking that the world was getting too weird for him to handle. He repeated this bon mot several times during the evening despite getting none-too-subtle elbows in his side from Aunt Karen every time he uttered it. My twin boy cousins, 14-year-olds, asked me if I thought The Patriots would win the Super Bowl this season (they assumed I would have inside knowledge coming from Boston). When I just shook my head and said I had no idea, they turned back to the Nintendo 3DSes in their grubby hands and ignored me for the rest of the night. As they were leaving, one of them did turn around and say sheepishly that he thought I was very pretty. He pivoted on a dime and ran out the door, his brother laughing at him.

Tysons Corner Center is a super-sized shopping mall in Virginia, 13 miles north by northwest of Washington, DC. It boasts over 300 shops, services, restaurants, a movie plex and a concert stage. You can spend an entire day going through its various and sundry enticements. Me, I just wanted to buy a couple of skirts, tops, jeans, underwear sets and sneakers and escape with a sliver of brain function remaining. I was prodded, pushed, my arms and legs wrenched this way and that, all in the name of finding the perfect fit. Gran got tired of the tussle and left the dirty work to Sally, my cousin. She had just started her freshman year at Georgetown, so she was living on campus and had to drive 20 minutes to Silver Spring to pick us up and then 30 minutes to Tysons Corner.

“I’m sorry you had to miss a day of classes to help me shop,” I said with my back turned to Sally in a fitting room in H&M as she was zipping me into a skater skirt.

“No problem. I just missed Freshman Composition in the morning today. I’ll get an A no sweat. I’m thinking of majoring in English so I’m pretty good with words. Girl, you’ve got no hips.”

“I’m still growing, and I’ve been taking hormones for only two years. I’ll probably have a bubble butt like my mother before too soon.”

“And the upstairs could use some packing peanuts.” I must have sniffled audibly. “Don’t cry, Joey. I’m a doofus. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m bad at humor.” She turned me around and the skirt which she didn’t finish zipping up fell to the floor. “You’re a cute girl. I wish I was as pretty as you. Really. You know, I know some guys at school who’d fall all over themselves asking you out. You should hang out with me and my friends in DC on the weekends. There’s lots to do and see in the city. And lots of cute guys.”

“I’m not very social, Sally. Even before my transition, I didn’t have many friends or hang out much. I barely set foot in a mall more than a couple of times a year, much less went to concerts or saw movies.”

“Didn’t you have a really close friend? Maybe some cute boy who’s probably wondering what happened to you over the summer? Look at you now! He might be pleasantly surprised.”

I thought about my erstwhile best friend Julia and how that relationship was probably over before it ever began. Had I ever experienced a real crush on anyone, boy or girl? It’s so confusing being me.

“I’ll come by Saturday morning and pick you up. The gang is thinking about going to Mazza Gallerie and pushing our noses against the windows, dreaming of having the money to buy the clothes on the mannequins. Then hitting Adams Morgan to see what’s hopping. Sound good?”

“More shopping?”

“We’re not going to buy anything. We can try stuff on though. As long as the salesgirls think there’s an outside chance you might be holding daddy’s card. So, wear something nice.”

“Well, alright. I’ll have to get the green light from Gran and Grandpa though.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. I’m Gran’s favorite grandchild. She has blind trust in me, girlie.”

Having finished our vegan Mexican brunch, I suggested we reconvene at my temporary domicile. Driving our separate cars through the weekend traffic, it took us an extra 10 minutes to arrive at Hidalgo Avenue. Once inside, I made some instant coffee. It was El Pico. I had unexpectedly found it at Trader Joe’s.

“Mom still drinks El Pico. It’s hard to find in Boston. I’d assume it’s even more difficult to find here. It reminds me of rainy weekend afternoons sitting in her kitchen in Somerville. Does it remind you of my mom?”

“Sometimes, Joey, sometimes. Settled in? Continue. I’m recording…now.”

Grandpa allowed me a day of rest from my arduous bout of shopping. But instead of just flaking out on the couch or staying in bed until after noon, I was woken up at the crack of mid-morning to wash all the clothes I had just purchased the day before. Gran sorted out the ones that needed hand washing while the others could be thrown into the washing machine.

“You’re lucky, Joey. Back in the day, you had to iron your clothes too. Otherwise, you’d look like just tumbled out of a cement mixer. Nowadays, there aren’t many fabrics that need ironing. Looks like millennials can take credit for at least one good improvement in life.”

After Gran finished watching her “stories,” as she called the soap operas the followed (Days of Our Lives, One Life to Live, and General Hospital), she insisted I try on all of my new clothes for her. I modeled the entire collection behind the closed door of my bedroom. Yes, even the underwear. There was a beatific smile on her face throughout my little runway show. She clapped her hands several times and tears rolled down her cheeks.

“You look so much like your mother at the same age, it’s stunning.”

“So, you’re saying mom was a scrawny, bony-hipped, flat-chested teenager?”

“You’re still growing, Joey. Look at yourself in the mirror. I see a beautiful young girl. What do you see?”

“I see me, Gran. The new, improved me.”

“That beautiful girl has always been there. I saw it when you were a cute little rugrat.”

It was Grandpa’s idea that a few days of lake fishing would recall those happy summer days of yesteryear for me. Of course, I always enjoyed fishing with Grandpa. But it wasn’t the ritual of baiting hooks with worms and crickets, sitting in a pontoon boat for hours, or even, on occasion, beating the adults by hooking the biggest catch of the day that was the highlight for me. For someone who often felt neglected by their parents, the feelings I had kicking back and trading smiles with grandpa while casting a line into the lake were warmer than the summer sun. So, I gladly accompanied him on his pilgrimage to Deep Creek Lake in the far northwest corner of Maryland, a three-hour drive from Silver Spring. We always stayed in a cabin at The Walleye Fishing Lodge. The owner, his family and the staff knew my grandfather well as a longtime patron. I suppose they might very well remember me too. But would they recognize me now?

Gus Brando, the owner of the lodge, welcomed grandpa with a stentorian greeting. “Dr. Greene! Good to see you again! We have your favorite cabin ready for you.” He looked at me, was about to say something, stopped and turned to his wife, Bridget, standing next to him behind the front desk. He whispered and she shook her head. Seeing their confusion, my grandfather introduced me.

“You remember my granddaughter, Joey. She’s been coming every summer since she was knee high to a grasshopper.” He scanned their faces for some sign of recognition.

“Of course, Joey! Well, you’ve certainly outgrown your tomboy phase. You’re such a pretty girl. Shame you hid behind boy clothes all this time.” Bridget nodded to her husband who picked up her baton.

“Yes, how silly of us. Of course, it’s Joey. I remember—what was it?—two or three summers ago you caught that largemouth bass that was 11 pounds and change. The other fishermen came back talking about Dr. Greene’s grandchild hooking the biggest catch of the day.”

“Looking like you do now, Joey, I bet you’ve been hooking big catches of another species entirely,” Bridget chuckled.

“My son’s out with the morning sortie. The boat should be back around 1PM. You’ve got time to have a quick lunch before the afternoon boat embarks. You remember my daughter, Stacy? She’ll show you to your cabin. Stacy?”

A girl about my age with light brown hair, wearing a flannel shirt and faded jeans, a ball cap on her head, emerged from the office behind the front desk, carrying keys in her right hand.

“Follow me, Dr. Greene and Joey. It’s a short walk from here. You have all your bags and tackle with you?”

“Yup. Lead the way, Stacy.”

Stacy leaned into me and asked, “What’s going on? Why’d your grandpa say you’re a girl?”

“It’s complicated. But he’s correct. I am a girl.”

“No way! All this time I thought you were a boy. Everyone thought you were.”

“Well, I was. A boy. But I’m a girl now.”

“I don’t get it. You’re talking in riddles. Okay, Dr. Greene. Here’s the keys. You’re pretty familiar with the cabin. It’s the one you always ask for.” Turning to me. “We’ll talk later, Miss Boy Girl.” She walked quickly away.

“Let’s drop our bags here and take our rods and tackle boxes with us to the lodge. A quick lunch and that boat should be ready to embark a little after 1. Hungry?”

“I wouldn’t mind having some crab cakes.”

“Neither would I, sweetheart. Neither would I. Let’s go.”

Mick Brando, Gus and Bridget’s 20-year-old son, strode into the lodge’s dining room with a few of the fishermen who had gone out in the morning on the pontoon boat. His tanned, clean-shaven face, framed by his sweat stained Nats baseball cap, lit up when he saw my grandpa and me sitting at a corner table, our plates brimming with crab cakes.

“Dr. Greene! I was thinking we’d seen the last of you for the summer. And where’s Joey? We missed him this year.”

“I’m right here,” I said, not looking up, my mouth full of crab cake. Mick raised the bill of his cap and stared at me.

“And who’s you?”

“Joey.”

“Mick, don’t tell me you don’t recognize my granddaughter. She’s grown up, that’s all.”

“Uhhh…you could’ve fooled me. All this time I thought you were a boy. Come to think of it, you did seem a little too swishy for a boy. Guess you’re out of that tomboy phase now.” He took off his cap and sat down at our table, uninvited. “You got a boyfriend, Joey?”

“That’s kind of a personal question.”

“Because if you don’t, there’s a really nice stretch of lakeshore down toward William’s Point that’s just beautiful in the moonlight, especially this time of year. We could take a leisurely walk after dinner, watch the moon come up.”

“Leave her alone, Mick. She’s not interested in some high school drop-out smelling of walleye and lake trout with a bunch of stale pick up lines,” Stacy sneered at her brother. She had snuck up quietly behind him.

“Sorry, Mick, I came up here with my grandpa to fish, not to hook anything on two legs.”

Getting up from our table, Mick shot me a determined look. “You can sit in the seat of honor on the boat this afternoon. That’s next to me, the captain. See you in a few.” He nodded to my grandfather. “Dr. Greene.”

“Ugh…maybe I should just forget about fishing today and go back to the cabin. I’ve got some reading I could catch up on.”

“Joey, don’t let him spoil your day. I’ll sit between you two,” my grandpa offered.

“If you want to fish without my brother breathing down your neck, I can take you out on a rowboat. There’s a honey hole down the shore that Mick never takes the boat to. He saves it for himself, the putz.”

“What do you think, grandpa?”

“Don’t you have your duties to take care of, Stacy?”

“Not really, Dr. Greene. I’m going to school right now. Garrett College in McHenry. Majoring in Business Management. I don’t have classes on Wednesdays. Mom and Dad don’t mind me wandering around just as long as I don’t get in the way.”

“It’s up to you, Joey. I was looking forward to doing some angling with my favorite grandchild but if Mick makes you uncomfortable…”

“Let’s go, Stacy.” I picked up my rod and tackle box and followed her out the door. “See you later, grandpa.”

“Hold up, Joey.” He held out the stupid wide-brimmed beach hat that Gran had insisted I take up to the lake with me to keep the sun off my fair complexion. Spitefully, I grabbed it and crammed it down on my head. As I turned around, I saw Stacy trying to stifle a laugh by covering her mouth.

It didn’t turn out to be much of a honey hole. Both of us barely got a handful of bites all afternoon. And it got progressively darker as the day descended toward dusk. There were angry looking clouds in the distance, inching closer. The wind picked up.

“So, now that you’re a girl, do you have a boyfriend?”

“Like I told your brother—”

“We’re just girls shooting the shit. You can tell me. Just curious. The way you look now…”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re very pretty.” I blushed and turned away, pretending to jiggle my line.

“No, really. I thought you were cute as a boy but, wow, you’re a knockout as a girl. Bet you’re beating off the boys with a stick.”

“Well, I’m not into bondage. Or boys, I guess.” She moved closer to me on the small rowboat.

“Are you, like, into girls?”

“Frankly, Stacy, I’m not sure what I’m into. It’s so confusing, the whole sex thing. Before my surgery, I think I had a crush on my best friend, Julia. But, that’s over now. She’s not into girls.”

“She’s a fool.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Look, you got a bite! Reel it in. Real slow. Give him some run. Then when he’s close, speed up. Yeah, that’s it. Let me get the landing net and scoop it out of the water. Hey, it’s a decent-sized one!”

I took my cellphone out and snapped a picture of Stacy holding up the fish.

“Here, give me the phone and I’ll take a shot of you holding it. After all, you hooked it.”

That was the last bite we got all afternoon. Soon enough, I found myself dozing off while Stacy continued to drop a line into the lake, making small talk that I never heard. I was startled awake by Stacy shouting something about rain. Then, hard pellets of rainwater crashed into everything in and around our boat. The sky was a blue-black bruise. There was lightning in the distance. Stacy was rowing like a maniac and shouting. My hat got drenched in minutes.

When we reached the shore, Stacy hoisted me out of the boat and pushed me blindly forward. She struggled to move the boat further inland before finally giving up and taking my hand as we ran through the sheets of rain cascading down.

“There’s an empty cabin close by,” she shouted. My free hand was trying to keep my hat from flying off. The thunder and lightning were scary. I squeezed Stacy’s hand as she half pulled, half dragged me along. After several minutes of running, we came upon the cabin. Stacy found the key in her massive chain, and we rushed into the dry interior. When she tried to switch on the lights, there was nothing. The electricity was out. Lightning strikes will do that, especially in remote areas like this.

“You’ve got cat eyes, Joey. They kind of glow in the dark. They’re lovely…and spooky.”

“But I can’t see in the dark like a cat.” We both pulled out our phones and flicked on the flashlight function.

“There’re some blankets somewhere. We need to get out of these wet clothes.” She walked into what I assume was the bedroom and started rifling through the drawers. “Okay, I’ve got two. Come here, Joey. You change first and I’ll start a fire in that potbelly stove over there.”

When I came out of the bedroom, wrapping the blanket tightly around my body, my hair a curtain of wetness, Stacy, who was warming her hands in the heat emanating from the potbelly stove, let out a low whistle.

“That blanket looks real good on you. I was hoping this afternoon I’d get you wet sooner or later.” I stood stock-still, my mouth agape, as she brushed past me to change out of her wet clothes. Finding a place on the rug close to the stove, I turned off my phone’s flashlight. The room was aglow in the soft light of the fire. Kindling crackled intermittently as thunder boomed outside. Stacy returned swathed in a blanket identical to mine It and sat close to me.

“It looks and sounds like the end of the world outside.”

“This is a nice way to go if it is.” She looked into my cat’s eyes. I was starting to shiver. I hadn’t really dried myself very thoroughly.

“Come here. Let’s hold each other. We can keep each other warm.” She wrapped herself around me and started to nuzzle my neck. I was starting to swoon. Shivering and swooning. Stacy was very warm, and her lips moved from my neck to my cheeks and finally my lips. We kissed deeply. We fell gently onto the rug. Blankets were shrugged aside. There were no words spoken.

She licked droplets of water all the way down my body until she reached the center of my being. Stacy was the one resembling a cat as she lapped at the edges of my consciousness. I arched my back.

“Be gentle. I’m still a little sore down there,” I cautioned.

“I’ll try. But you turn me on so much.” The pleasure was starting to get so intense, I just closed my eyes and stopped caring about the soreness. Later on, I returned Stacy’s ministrations. Exhausted, we held each other and whispered sweet nothings into each other’s ears. In fact, the only intelligible word I could utter was “nothing.” It was my first sexual experience. I thought about that and turned the matter over in my mind this way and that before I felt Stacy get up, wrap her blanket around herself, and try to get a signal on her phone. I looked up at her groggily as she was able to reach her dad at the lodge.

“Dad says electricity’s out in the region. Good thing lightning didn’t hit one of the cell towers. He says the forecast is heavy rain until early morning. It’s better if we just stay here until morning when I’m sure they’ll have the power up again. Your grandpa’s worried so you better call him and tell him you’re safe and dry.”

We stayed close to the stove as evening enveloped our world. For dinner, we had some granola bars and water that Stacy had stowed in her backpack. There was nothing else to do so we made love again before falling into the arms of Morpheus, our own arms entwined.

Early the next morning, when we made it back to the lodge (yes, the rowboat was still where we left it, miraculously), hugs and kisses were exchanged all around. Stacy and I felt like soldiers returning home from the war. Grandpa was almost in tears. I had never seen him cry. It made my own tears roll down my cheeks as I hugged him especially tightly. After breakfast, Stacy said goodbye to me as she left for school. In front of all these people, including her parents and brother, she couldn’t even kiss me. Grandpa and I would be gone by the time she returned from the campus, so she just squeezed my hand and promised to call me in Silver Spring.

Later, in the car, during the three-hour drive home, I remembered my plans to hang out with Sally’s friends on Saturday. The events of the past 24 hours made feel more confident in the prospect of mixing socially with kids my age. I even looked forward to window shopping as a normal 18-year-old young woman. I turned to grandpa and lazily asked, “Would you and gran be upset if it turns out I’m attracted to girls?”

“No, why would it upset us? I assumed you were attracted to girls before this summer. So, what if you are now? You’re who you are and that’s good enough for us, angel. We just want you to be happy.”

That was a good place to stop. I turned off my phone and let Joey exhale. She shook her head as if coming out of a hypnotic state.

“Whew. You should be a therapist, Joanne. I haven’t talked about that time in my life in such detail to anyone, ever. Thanks for listening.”

“No, thank you. You’re giving me insights I could never have gotten from my own experience or reading random case histories. So, is next Tuesday night a good time for you?”

“Eliot’s next home game is Wednesday. It could be the deciding game! So, Tuesday would be perfect. By the way, would you mind if I brought someone along with me?”

“Eliot? Of course not. He’s my stepson. My home, however temporary, is his home anytime.”

“No, not Eliot. Someone else.”

“Someone I know?”

“You’ll have to wait until Tuesday.” She giggled.

I’m a lazy person. Notwithstanding the image I like to present to colleagues and acquaintances, those who really know me well, know I’m an unrepentant slacker. Especially on Sunday mornings, when I can lie in bed until noon. Of course, recently, on the weekends when Alastair stayed with me in New York, he’d find ways to wake me from my mostly happy dreams. There were the delicious foot massages that had me awake and purring in no time (although I kicked him in the head once – he’s got strong thumbs!), playing his scratchy vinyl copy of Grieg’s Morning Mood from Peer Gynt and drawing a waiting bath for me, and leaving a new dress I’d seen in a shop window the day before next to me on the bed with a note that read: “I can’t wait to see you in this, baby. Rise and shine for me.”

So, you can imagine my dismay when I was awakened by loud raps on my front door unspeakable hours before noon. Knocking so loud the sound penetrated the closed door of my bedroom. Groggily, I flipped the covers off and grabbed my peony and butterfly kimono robe. Almost blindly stumbling toward the front door, I had just angrily managed to tie the belt of my kimono when I opened the door to find Eliot standing there, a bag of breakfast goodies from Blu Jam Café in Brentwood dangling from his left hand.

“I knew you wouldn’t be up yet. Lazybones.”

We hugged and Eliot stepped into the house.

“You sure you wouldn’t rather stay in Alastair’s house next door? This isn’t much bigger than those tiny bungalows in Oceanside near the beach.”

“Well, you know I’ve been living alone for a decade now. I kind of enjoy my fortress of solitude. And, at the end of the day, I’m only here for a few months.”

“I thought you and Alastair were a thing, you know. He seems like a good dude.”

“He is. He is. I like him a lot.” We stood there for a long moment. Finally, Eliot pointed to his bag of goodies.

“Shakshuka for you and me.” I blinked and shook my head. What is a shakshuka? “North African dish of poached eggs in a sauce of tomatoes, olive oil, peppers, onion, and garlic, spiced with cumin, paprika and cayenne pepper. It’s wonderful! And…two large spiced chai lattes. Yum yum.” He placed the bag on the kitchen table. “Sit, mom. We’ve got a fun day ahead of us. I’m going to take you on a tour of Venice Beach. It’s a trip. You’ll love it. Especially the canals.”

“Isn’t that where Muscle Beach is? I figure you’d find that part of Venice Beach especially interesting—”

“Why do you say that?”

“Let’s eat. Then I’ll take a quick shower, change, and we’ll be out the door in half an hour.”

We hopped into Eliot’s leased white BMW 2 coupe and sped west along the Hollywood Freeway toward the ocean. 40 minutes later, we slid into an open parking space in The South City Parking Lot on Venice Boulevard, just mere yards away from the boardwalk. As we perused the busy Sunday scene of early morning strollers and youngsters of all sizes and ages running serpentine through the crowded stalls, I picked up the conversation we had started in the car.

“How did you get permission to leave the team the day before tomorrow night’s game?”

“I told coach it was a family emergency.”

“I’m in fine health, as far as I know.”

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t know that. I just needed to see you. Joey told me about letting the cat out of the bag—”

“Eliot, why didn’t you ever tell me? Did you think I wouldn’t accept your being gay? How silly—”
“Of course not. But being a professional athlete, there’s a lot of public scrutiny and peer pressure. Nobody who plays, even in college, wants his teammates to ostracize him.”

“Even in 2022?”

“Mom, lots of things take a long time to change. If ever. You know that as well as I do. People say politically correct things to you, but their attitudes and prejudices are hard to overcome. If I told you, it’d come out eventually. And then my career would be over. I’m not a superstar. They can say I’m just not good enough to play anymore and cut me. Look what they did to Kaepernick for protesting.”

“You know I love you, whatever your orientation is.” I hooked my arm tighter into his as we walked along. “I’m glad you’ve become such good friends with Joey. She’s been through a lot herself. I don’t think I could have survived emotionally if I had transitioned at her young age. She’s really a remarkable young woman.”

“The universe threw her a curve with her father being part of the administration at the hospital. Blindsided. She told me she never wanted to see him again as long as she lives.”

“Don’t tell Joey but her father came to see me a couple of days ago. Just showed up at the house, puff out of thin air.”

“What did he want?” Eliot stopped at one of the stalls and picked out a wide-brimmed straw hat with a floral band. “Here, try this on. You’ll get sunburnt if you’re not wearing one. This is sunny Cali not the dark canyons of Manhattan.”

“He wanted me to arrange a meeting with Joey. Kind of unbeknownst to her—” I was looking at myself in the dinky little mirror in the stall, turning my head side to side, to find the perfect angle at which to seat the hat.

“Oh, Joey won’t like that at all. I mean really hate it if you do that.” He ambled over to the cashier and had an animated conversation with the man. He came back with a smirk on his face.

“Problem?” I took my Audrey Hepburn sunglasses out of my tote bag and put them on, taking one last peek at the mirror.

“The guy recognized me and wouldn’t take my card. It’s only ten bucks but…He said my mom is a beautiful lady.”

“He didn’t.”

“In that hat and the shades? Come on. You’re hot!”

“So, you don’t think I should’ve agreed to get them together?”

“When is this supposed to go down?”

“Tuesday night at my house. I’m making dinner and, after dinner, she’s going to tell me more about her first year after her GCS. I thought I’d have her dad “drop by” to see me…out of the blue. Does it look like too much of a setup?”

“Mom, I thought you were a really smart woman. Now, this gives me pause.”

“But he’s her father. Don’t they both deserve closure? Isn’t it better than eternal bitterness?”

“You know I was abandoned by my father. I don’t have warm feelings toward him. I’d probably get violent if I met up with him. He obviously couldn’t care less about his wife or his only child. What kind of man would do that?”

I looked out at the ocean for a long stretch as we walked the length of the boardwalk, heading in the direction of the Skate Park. Both Alastair and Eliot must think I’m a dolt, agreeing to Dr. Petry’s clandestine plan. I’m beginning to see their point. But what if Dr. Petry is contrite and truly wants to ask for Joey’s forgiveness? Perhaps my good intentions are digging a hole straight to hell?

We spent the next part of the morning watching teenagers executing skateboard tricks. Eliot knew all the tricks: ollies, heelflips, kickflips, Caballerials, grinds, and, of course, switch stances. Growing up in the ‘70s on the East Coast, I never skateboarded. By the time skateboarding became a worldwide phenomenon in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, I was already approaching 30 and transitioning. I shook my head at Eliot’s enthusiasm for the sport. The closest he came to actual skateboarding when he was a kid was playing Tony Hawk’s bestselling video game on his Sony PlayStation. Once he got to high school, Eliot’s attention turned to basketball. That turned out for the best.

Before having lunch at the Venice Beach chapter of Zinqué, a trendy chain of restaurants with French-based cuisine that dots the L.A. landscape, we strolled by Muscle Beach and watched an army of hulks working out on the iconic weightlifting platform. After about ten minutes, we made our way to South Lincoln Boulevard and stood in line to wait for a table at Zinqué. While we waited, we looked over the lunch menu. I decided to try their ratatouille quiche. Eliot wanted to order their smoked salmon carpaccio.

“Sorry, Mom, but they don’t take reservations until after 3 in the afternoon. Good thing I got you the hat though.” Just at that moment, a young woman in a smart-looking business suit, came out of the restaurant and waved to us.

“Please accept our apologies, Mr. Bradshaw. It was just pointed out to us that you and your…uh—”

“Mom.”

“…your mother were standing out here on line. Please follow me. We have a table ready for you.” We quickly followed her inside, grateful to get out of the noonday sun. There were some groans from touristy types who weren’t impressed that they had been standing on line with an L.A. Laker.

The best part of the day was traversing the waterways of The Venice Canals district. There are four parallel canals in a small, 4-and-a-half-mile area of land. When Venice, California was first established it was intended to be a beach resort and miles of canals were dug to make it resemble its namesake in Italy. However, the town grew, roads were needed, and, over time, only these four canals have remained.

You can wend your way along these canals in a little under an hour. Picturesque houses, many with docks that tether replica Venetian gondolas, line the canals. There are bridges that make it easy to cross from side to side, each bearing a distinct, individual design. Several times in our journey through this American Venice, I had to simply stop and look over the balustrade to scan the breathtaking horizon. Several fellow strollers recognized Eliot and asked for his autograph. I heard one woman whisper to her companion that Eliot’s date seemed a lot older. Her companion whispered in reply “This is Hollywood. What do you expect?”

Late in the afternoon, Eliot drove me home. He had to catch a flight to get back to the team by 11PM Eastern time. Just before I stepped out of the car, he gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

“You know, after the final game, I’m a free agent. I’m not sure the Lakers will re-sign me. I might get a better offer somewhere else. If you’re going to be in LA permanently—”

“Whoa. I’m here to write a screenplay. Three months, four on the outside. I’ll be back in New York before next basketball season starts. For my sake, try to sign with the Knicks or the Nets.”

“You seem happier than you’ve been in years, mom. Because of Alastair. Don’t toss a good chance out the window. I’ve asked around, everyone likes him. Not a bad word about him. I know he’s told you he loves you. He told me himself. I could tell he wasn’t lying.”

I hugged him and quickly stepped out of the car. Wordlessly, we parted. I watched his car go down Hidalgo Avenue, then turned to walk up the driveway to the guest house.

Monday was my official first day working on the screenplay. I showed up at Philippa’s house punctually at 10AM and was greeted at the door by her husband, Paul. He was wearing a Lakers jersey and baggy shorts. Behind him was Philippa, dressed in a similar outfit, a large tote bag slung over her shoulder, pushing a stroller with baby Clarissa burbling away in her own private language.

“Good morning, Joanne! It’s such a nice day, I thought we could go to Griffith Park and mix a little fresh air with our brainstorming. Clarissa likes the park, don’t you, sweetie?” Clarissa replied with a snorting giggle and clapped her tiny hands. “I thought you’d be wearing Eliot’s number 37 jersey.”

“I’ll be wearing that for Game 5 at Crypto.com. All things considered, I’m glad I decided to wear a light top and jeans today instead of something more business formal.”

“Well, let’s go.” She and Paul shared a lingering kiss and then Paul leaned down to kiss Clarissa as she reached out with her hands to touch his face. I took the tote bag from Philippa and followed her to their car.

There are benches conveniently placed along the hiking trails in Griffith Park every quarter mile or so. We stopped at one so Philippa could give Clarissa her bottle. As the little tyke serenely drank her fill, I kept recording our conversation on Philippa’s phone.

“With Joey’s story as one of the arcs, we can have three different aspects of the transgender experience in one narrative. So much more interesting and compelling than just my snooze-inducing life story—”

“Three aspects? I’m counting two: yours and Joey’s stories.”

“Well, we need your story, Philippa, for the perfect balance. Look at you! You have love, a successful career, a baby…you’re every transwoman’s paragon.”

“I don’t know, Joanne.”

“It’s not a documentary, Philippa. These characters will just be based on us. The audience doesn’t need to know our real names.” I laughed. “Don’t they always say, “write what you know”? Well, what do we know better than our own lives?” Philippa handed me a bottle of water, which I chugged rather greedily. It was getting warmer as we approached mid-day.

“I’ll have to talk it over with Paul. But I guess if he doesn’t object—”

“Maa-maa,” Clarissa interjected as her lips released the nipple of her bottle.

“I think Clarissa wants to be in the movie. Maybe you could add stage mother to your resume.”

“Oh no, filmmaking is a nasty business. I’d rather Clarissa become a professional. Maybe a doctor or lawyer.”

“If we do a sequel in 35 years, maybe she can be the first President with a transwoman mother!”

“Oh, Joanne, you are a riot."

I expected Joey to show up around 7PM on Tuesday evening, as we had agreed to. I was doubly nervous. The first reason for my nerves was trying not to ruin the dinner I had planned to serve. I had boasted to Joey that I could make a mean Penne Alla Vodka with Shrimp. I’ve made it before to generally nice reviews, but Eliot, Alastair, and a couple of other close friends would be too kind to say anything negative.

Shopping for the ingredients was so stressful that I begged off my writing session with Philippa early in the afternoon to round up everything I needed. Not being familiar at all with LA’s best markets, I asked Philippa to give me a list of her favorites. I ldrove myself nearly insane crisscrossing the city filling the back seat of Alastair’s Audi with groceries. For the shrimp, I found myself in Little Tokyo at the Los Angeles Fish Co. 2 pounds of peeled and de-veined shrimp, done for a little extra cost (I hate doing it myself…poo!). Then a hop, skip and a jump to Grand Central Market in Downtown, where I picked out some fresh produce, onions, cloves, peppers, tomatoes, and spinach (for the side dish, sauteed with garlic). On the way back home in Silver Lake, I walked into Silver Lake Wine on Glendale Blvd. and walked out with a bottle of Smirnoff Vodka for cooking and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc for drinking. I paid for it, of course.

But the real reason I was nervous, beside wondering whether I should serve soup with dinner, was my uneasiness now with having Dr. Petry “drop by” later in the evening. Eliot and Alastair voiced serious reservations about this clandestine summit meeting and even Philippa said it was a bad idea. And, on top of that, Joey said she was bringing someone along as well. In any case, I’ve got Dr. Petry’s number. I’ll just call and tell him to abort the mission if things go pear-shaped.

I was twirling my June Cleaver pearls when I heard the knocking on the front door. I lowered the flame under the sauce pan and shucked my apron, composing myself, flipping hair away from my face, and walked elegantly to the door. Standing there were Joey and her mother, Elizabeth, all smiles. I was stunned momentarily before I waved them inside.

“Hello, Joanne. Good to see you again.” She held up a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. “Joey told me you’re serving shrimp.”

“Good to see you too, Elizabeth. I wasn’t expecting Joey’s plus one to be you.” I took the bottle from her. “That makes two bottles of the same wine on the table.”

“Great winos drink alike, eh?” laughed Joey. Abruptly, Elizabeth hugged me. I had assumed we’d just shake hands. Awkwardly, I held her hand in both of mine, speechless for a count of ten. Finally, I took my eyes off hers and motioned to the couch.

“Have a seat. Dinner’ll be served in ten minutes. So, tell me, Elizabeth, what besides visiting Joey, has you out here in the wild, wild west?”

“I’m finally done with Tufts. I resigned over a year ago, but they wanted me to stay on the administrative board until they could find a permanent replacement for me. I’m putting my house on the market.”

“So…you’re moving out here? Some more quality mother/daughter time?” I poured the sauce over the penne and quickly sauteed the spinach. Maybe I should have made that bean soup after all. I wasn’t really listening to Elizabeth. I needed a minute to text Dr. Petry.

“I’m sure Joey would not be happy if I even hinted at moving out here. No, I’m thinking of moving back to New York. Our old loft was placed on the market last month.”

“The one on Spring & Wooster, mom?”

“Wow, Joey, you remember it? Your dad and I took you to the city when you were 5 or 6. You wanted to go up and see the inside of it, but we explained that someone else was living there now and probably wouldn’t want us intruding on them.”

“I saw it again that summer you sent me off to Gran’s. I told you I stayed with my friend Julia for a couple of days in her dorm room.”

“Yes, you had your grandmother complicit in your little deception. Had I known you…”

I tried to shield my phone from view as I sent this text to Dr. Petry:

“You can’t come by! E is here with J. We’ll re-sched.”

A droplet of sweat traversed my forehead as I carried the dish of pasta and plate of sauteed spinach to the dinner table. I had already set the table for three.

“Dinner is served. Your last chance to leave before you taste my cooking.”

Dinner went well. I had succeeded in not giving Joey and Elizabeth food poisoning. In fact, they swore they enjoyed the meal. I can only fully trust Joey’s sworn testimony since she didn’t have any wine, opting for some bottled water I had in the refrigerator. On the other hand, Elizabeth always loved her wine. The rosy glow of her cheeks wasn’t due to rouge. We moved to the couch, and Joey volunteered to fix us cups of coffee. She walked into the kitchen and Elizabeth and I were left to stare at each other. I would have started to whistle a tune but, sadly, I don’t know how to whistle. I guess Betty Bacall would have been disappointed in me.

I hadn’t received a return text from Dr. Petry. I was worried. I’ll have to find an opportunity to actually speak to him if he doesn’t answer my text. Don’t tell me he turned off his phone. I placed my head in my hands.

“Headache, Joanne?”

“It’s nothing. Just a little tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Joey tells me you’re writing a screenplay.”

“For Alastair Knowles at GlobalNet, mom. This is his guest house.”

“Yes, I’ve seen photos of you and him together at various social events. The Met Gala last month. That dress you wore was beautiful. You looked gorgeous.”

“Oh, gorgeous, please no. Stunning, perhaps.” I laughed just as Joey handed us our coffee.

“So, is your relationship with Mr. Knowles strictly business or is there something more?”

“Mom, that’s a really personal question.”

“Well, we’re all old friends here. Is it a secret? Does Mr. Knowles have a wife somewhere?”

“No, Alastair’s divorced.”

“Joanne told me she and Alastair were co-workers at FOX for years. He was married to that actress who was in all those kooky independent films, Lulu Brooks. She plays mother roles on TV nowadays.”

“She used to use this guest house as an art studio. There’s still some of her canvases in the back somewhere.”

“I take it you’re only here temporarily.”

“The screenplay should be finished in three or four months. Then I can skedaddle back to my house on Long Island—”

“We’ll be in the same state, won’t we? You can see the loft after I’ve moved in.”

“I’m not sure I’m all that interested in seeing that loft again. My last memories of it aren’t that pleasant—”

“Or I could drive out to where you are. The Hamptons are only 2 hours away from Manhattan.”

“If you drive like Lewis Hamilton. I need to go powder my nose. I’ll be right back.”

Behind the closed bathroom door, I quickly punched in Dr. Petry’s number on my cell. After a couple of rings, he accepted the call.

“Willard Petry.”

“Dr. Petry, it’s Joanne Prentiss. Did you get my text?”

“I had my phone turned off. I was in an off-site meeting all afternoon that didn’t end until after seven. What’s up? We’re still on, right?”

“No, that’s why I sent you a text. Elizabeth is here with Joey. It’s not a good time to show up unannounced. We’ll have to do this another time…if at all.”

“I’m already on my way. I figure it’ll be another 20 minutes if the traffic lets up. It doesn’t matter Elizabeth’s there. It might actually help things—”

“I’m not too sure of that. Just turn the car around and live to fight another day, doctor. Believe me, this isn’t a good time—” He disconnected. Maybe I can get everyone out of the house. Yeah, that’s the ticket. We’ll go visit Eliot. He’s back in town today. He’ll do his old mom a solid. I checked my makeup, fluffed up my hair, and re-applied my lip gloss. A few steps later, I was standing in front of them, hands on my hips.

“I just got the greatest idea. We should introduce your mother, Joey, to Eliot. Do you want to call him to see if he’s home or meet us for drinks somewhere?”

“Should we bother him? He’s got a game tomorrow night. He’ll probably want to go to bed early.”

“Let me call him. I’ll see whether he’s available. We could meet up at the Rendition Room on Tujunga. It’s got a cute little speakeasy décor. And they have a magic act on Tuesdays!” I was about to punch in Eliot’s number when someone knocked loudly on the front door.

“Joanne, were you expecting someone?”

“No. Who could that be?” With my heart thumping, I went to open the door, fearing the cataclysm about to take place if it was Dr. Petry. Instead, my mouth flew open when I saw Alastair standing there, holding a bouquet of yellow roses.

“I switched my schedule around. I thought you could use some support.”

“Oh, Alastair, you’re incorrigible. You love surprises! And you know it throws me for a loop—”
He stepped in and kissed me deeply, almost crushing the flowers between us.

“Who’s this, Joanne,” asked Elizabeth as she walked toward them, Joey a step or two behind.

“Elizabeth, this is Alastair Knowles. He’s…”

“Her landlord, sort of. Hello, Elizabeth, nice to finally get to meet you.” He extended his hand and Elizabeth shook it.

“And nice to meet you. Joey’s told me a lot about you.”

“All good stuff, Alastair. I just told mom how impressed I am with you.”

“Well, thank you, Joey. Let me return the compliment. You have a wonderful daughter there, Elizabeth. You should be very proud of her. And she of you, as a parent.”

“Okay, enough of tonight’s meeting of the mutual admiration society. We were just about to set up a run for after dinner drinks with Eliot when you knocked. Here, I’ll take the flowers. Thank you, dear.” I kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll find something to put this in water and then we can call Eliot—”

“Let the man sit down for a moment, Joanne. Joey, can you heat up a cup of coffee for Alastair? Sit, sit. Tell me how you and Joanne met.” She leaned into Alastair to whisper. “Joanne’s a little bashful about spilling. But you can tell me. It looks really serious, you two.”

“I’m standing right here, Elizabeth. I can hear you.”

“It’s still early, Joanne. We can go for drinks later. Now, Alastair, Joey tells me you met Joanne shortly after she transitioned.”

“Maybe we should leave, Joanne,” Joey whispered, standing next to me with the coffee pot in her right hand. “I think mom’s a little “expansive” because of the wine. She gets like that when she’s had a little too much to drink.”

“Joey, you don’t have to tell me. I lived with your mom for five years. But, maybe it’s a good idea to take your mom back to your apartment. We can get together some other time. My only regret is that you didn’t get to continue your story tonight. Is Thursday good for you?”

“Yeah, Thursday’s good for me. I’ll think of something for mom to do that night. Heaven knows when she’s going back East. She’s up to something, I’m afraid.” She handed the cup of coffee to Alastair, who was hemming and hawing as Elizabeth bombarded him with questions.

“Mom, let’s head out in a few minutes. I’ve got an early shift tomorrow, as you know.”

“Oh, I’m having such a good time talking to Alastair. Joanne, you’ve got a winner here.” She gave me the thumbs up sign. Alastair’s eyes pleaded with me to end his torture. “Okay, we’re out. Joanne, thank you so much for dinner. You’ve become a better cook than I ever was. Let me reciprocate the hospitality and take you and Alastair out for dinner. You name the place. Price is no object!”

“Mom! Here’s your purse. We’ll make arrangements some other time. It’s getting late.”

Joey half pushed, half pulled her mother toward the front door. Holding on to her arm with her left hand, she turned the front doorknob and swung it open to see Dr. Willard Petry standing on the doorstep.

“Dad!”

“Willard!”

“What are you doing here?!!” they shouted in unison.

Alastair almost choked on his coffee and looked up at me from the couch.

“Well, Stanley, here's another fine mess you've gotten us into!”

“How the hell did you know I was here?” Joey practically screamed at her father.

Elizabeth, Dr. Petry, and Joey were in a circle just inside the front door, recalling the old Western trope of gunfighters in a Mexican Standoff. I was frozen in place near the couch where Alastair sat, tentatively reaching out to me with his hand.

Before Dr. Petry could muster an answer, Joey shrieked, “Joanne, did you set me up?” She turned back toward her mother. “Were you in on this too? Is everyone trying to gaslight me?”

Elizabeth gently brushed Joey’s back in a calming motion. “No, Joey, we had nothing to do with this. I had no idea—”

“Joey, I found out from people at the hospital. You’d told them that you were taking your mom over to see Joanne. I swear they didn’t know I was going to drop by. I only wanted to speak to you—” His hands reached out to Joey, pleading with his eyes.

She moved to slap his hands away and reached for the doorknob. “We have nothing to talk about. Mom, let’s go. I’m not feeling well.”

“Go. Let me talk to your father. I’ll get an uber home. Go.”

“Why, mom? How can you even stand the sight of him? What can he possibly say to us that means shit after ten years? Come on.”

“It’s alright, Joey. You go ahead. I can take care of this. Your father and I need to have a brief discussion.” She kissed Joey on the cheek and gently pushed her out the door. Joey ran to her car, not looking back.

“Joey! Please! Joey!” Dr. Petry vainly shouted after her. He turned to face Elizabeth.

“I thought ten years was a long enough time to let the flames of resentment and anger die down to embers. When are you going to tell Joey the truth?”

“As far as she’s concerned, she knows the truth. Do you want to pick at the scab again? She’s been hurt enough.”

I found myself unfrozen and walked quietly up to the pair. Alastair rose from the couch and followed behind me.

“Maybe Alastair and I can take a walk around the block so you two can have a little privacy.” Alastair nodded in agreement.

“No, it’s your house. Anyway, Willard and I really have nothing more to discuss. He knows I’ve warned him about trying to ambush Joey like this.” She turned angrily to Dr. Petry. “Can’t you see she wants to put the past behind her?”

“But I’m her father, Lizzie. Time is growing short for me. I can’t leave things unresolved like this.”

“Oh, Willard, don’t try that canard with me. I’m a doctor too. You’re as healthy as a horse. Just try to stay sober. And if you want to act in Joey’s best interests, leave her alone. There’ll come a place and time when all three of us can sit down and sing kumbaya, but it’s not here and now. Please?”

“My tenure as consultant with the hospital ends in a month. I’ll be going back to Seattle. I was hoping Joey and I could reconcile while I’m here. I’ve still got two years remaining on the lease to my house in Santa Monica. I can transfer the lease to her, and I’ll make all the payments. You handle it anyway you want. I’ll go now. I’m sorry to disturb your evening, Joanne and…”

“Alastair…and no need to apologize. I can see this is a thorny family issue. I understand.”

“Good night, Lizzie.” He shrugged his shoulders and went through the doorway, walking briskly to his car.

I gave Elizabeth a quizzical look. “Lizzie?”

“I’ve been telling him for 30 years that I despise being called Lizzie. My mother named me Elizabeth Ann. She didn’t name me after an axe murderer.”

“Do you think Joey will be alright?”

“I should go and check in on her. I’ve got the uber app on my phone—”

“I can take you home, Elizabeth,” Alastair offered.

“I’ll come with you. Just let me box up some leftovers for you and Joey. I made too much and don’t want it to go to waste.”

“What about Alastair? Have you eaten yet?” Alastair was about to answer but I stepped in.

“Oh, he doesn’t really like shrimp. I’ll make him something else or order a pizza. Right, darling?” Alastair nodded. “I’ll just be a minute. Talk amongst yourselves!”

After dropping Elizabeth off at Joey’s apartment, Alastair turned to me in his midnight black Porsche Boxster and declared he was mighty hungry. They hadn’t served a meal on the plane, so nothing since lunch.

“Poor baby, I’ll make you a Hot Brown Sandwich when we get home. I bought a small fortune in groceries this afternoon, so I’ve got everything I need: smoked turkey, bacon, and white cheddar cheese for the mornay sauce. And Philippa gifted me some of the bread she loves from Tartine Bakery.”

“You really are a domestic goddess, aren’t you? As delicious as that sounds, Jo, I’ve got a hankering for the lobster pizza at Berri’s Café.”

“I couldn’t eat a single slice, I’m stuffed from dinner. But I’ll have a macchiato and nibble at the edges of your pizza.”

Berri’s Café is in the Beverly Grove section of town hammocked by Cedar-Sinai and The Grove shopping mall. It took a while to find a parking space and Alastair had to put the top back up securely. Berri’s Café stays open until 4AM so it was still the shank of the evening when we walked into the restaurant. Plenty of tables available. The late-night crowd was yet to make their appearance. We didn’t need menus and gave the waiter our order before he could even take out his server book. My macchiato arrived a few minutes before Alastair’s lobster pizza.

I placed my head in my hands and moaned. “I fucked up, didn’t I, Alastair?”

“I don’t want to say I told you so but…” He held his hands out as I screwed my face up to show annoyance. “All things considered, it didn’t go as badly as it could have. Good thing you checked all guns and knives at the door.”

“The worst thing is Joey thinks I set this up with her father—”

“Well, you did.”

“I should have listened to you and Eliot and called it off before tonight. Now, Joey won’t want to speak to me, much less tell me the rest of her life story…which is supposed to be a major part of the screenplay.”

“I don’t think you need the rest of her story. Can’t you just make it up with Philippa’s help? After all, it is supposed to be fiction, isn’t it?”

“You’re right but the details of her story give that arc of the screenplay an authentic sense of verisimilitude—”

“Who’s this Vera Similitude? Does she have a SAG card?”

“You’re no help at all.” Alastair reached across the table, around the pizza stand, and held my hand.

“I switched around my meetings and came home to offer my support. I wasn’t totally sure there wouldn’t be some sort of fireworks going off when Petry and Joey collided. And who knew Elizabeth would show up as well?”

“Forgive me, Alastair. It was sweet of you. I’m just disappointed that I miscalculated so badly.”

“Sure you don’t want a slice of this? It’s really good.”

“Oh, alright, just a small slice. No, that’s too big. Alastair!”

We lay in bed, our breathing in synchrony, eyes searching above us in a thousand-yard stare. I turned to Alastair and nuzzled his neck.

“You were very…frisky tonight.”

“You needed comforting.”

“You as much as I, it seems. Something on your mind? Troubles in TV land?”

He turned to me and languorously stroked my cheek. Our eyes locked.

“These last few months with you have been the best of my life—”

“Alastair, please, with the hyperbole. You’re a highly successful and respected Hollywood executive. You’ve won awards. You were married to a famous and beautiful movie star. I’m just a speed bump in your life.” He kissed me to stop my self-effacing homily.

“Marry me, Jo…” I was stunned.

“Alastair, you can’t be serious. Don’t get me wrong. I think you’re wonderful. I’m even…pretty sure I’m falling in love with you but—”

“So, let’s get hitched. We can go to Vegas, one of those wedding chapels.” He saw the look on my face and changed gears. “Or we can have a big wedding. Everything you ever dreamed of as a little girl growing up—”

“Alastair, I didn’t grow up a girl.”

“Yes, you did. Even if you and anyone else didn’t know it at the time. You’re the most feminine woman I’ve ever met. And I want to spend the rest of my days with you…”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Dammit, woman! I pour my guts out to you and you ask me if I’m serious?”

“I’m not ready. I’ve been hurt so much. I’m…I’m just too damn scared to make that kind of commitment. Let’s let it percolate for a while longer. Give it some more time.”

“At least move into the main house, Jo. Let’s agree to make that kind of statement about where we are as a couple.”

“Are you evicting me?” I laughed, trying to lighten the mood. I was a little scared of Alastair’s intensity at the moment.”

“No, I’m upgrading your accommodations. My bed is Alaskan King size. Plenty of elbow room. You do tend to toss about in your sleep. My ribs are witness to that.”

We shared a deep, probing kiss to seal the deal. I would move into the “big house.” My fear was, after the screenplay was finished, would I be able to simply pick up and leave, returning to Long Island? Would I want to?

I held out the sippy cup of apple juice to Clarissa’s awaiting hands. She grabbed the cup and wrapped her lips around the silicone spout, drinking happily, securely seated in her stroller. Philippa and I were sitting on a bench facing Shane’s Inspiration, an all-inclusive and accessible playground in Griffith Park designed for children of all cognitive and physical abilities.

“She’s still too young to play here but it’s a nice place to sit and take a juice break. She seems to enjoy watching the other children running around.”

"See, Clarissa is such a big girl she drinks juice in a cup!" Without releasing her lips from the cup, Clarissa looked up at me as if she understood I was praising her, her eyes gleaming.

“So, how do we proceed now if Joey possibly cuts off all contact with you?”

“I’ll see her tonight at the Lakers game. She’ll probably avoid me. Maybe I’ll sit with Alastair in GlobalNet’s luxury suite just to make sure there aren’t any nasty confrontations. Yeah, I guess I blew it. Why don’t we spend our time for the moment working out the arc that’s based on my life? Who knows? The situation with Joey could change—”

“It’s a nasty coincidence for you that Elizabeth has unexpectedly entered from stage left. It must conjure up some bad memories for you…”

“What I get for sticking my nose in other people’s business. You know the old bromide about good intentions.”

“She’s only visiting, right? That’s your saving grace.”

“I figure she’ll go back East by the end of the week. I don’t see or hear from her for almost 30 years and then she keeps popping up like…like—”

“A bogeyman?”

“Bogeywoman to be correct.”

Clarissa held out her sippy cup to me. She’d gulped down all 5 ounces heroically and expected me to “clear her table” as if I were a server.

“You look like someone who tips well.” She giggled.

The Lakers won Game 5 of the finals on Wednesday night. They would play Game 6 on the road, favored to win the championship. Alastair and I left the arena mere minutes after the final buzzer, not only to avoid running into Joey and Eliot (I’d text him later to congratulate him on sinking the winning shot) but because Alastair was booked on the 11:30PM flight to Toronto, where he had meetings that were re-scheduled in order to “rescue” me from a potential family firefight. He would be back on Sunday night. We drove to LAX in my borrowed Audi (although Alastair insisted on taking the wheel) and we made a pretty picture at the departure gate. Alastair wouldn’t let go of me. Finally, I extricated myself from his grasp, laughing at the silly goose, and wiped the lipstick off his face with my wet thumb. He waved to me like a soldier going off to war as he disappeared up the ramp to the plane.

Friday morning, Paul, Clarissa, and I were sitting in their cute garden shed behind the house, taking a break from work while Philippa was inside speaking on the phone with GlobalNet’s Chief Content Officer, Michelle Gravesend. Since Alastair was otherwise occupied in Toronto, Ms. Gravesend called Philippa to receive a progress report on our project.

Clarissa sat on my lap, squeezing the life out of the stuffed rabbit in her tiny hands. I think she’s got the concept of tough love all wrong. Paul was making a nuisance of himself, coaxing Clarissa to learn and say my name.

“Jo-Anne, Clarissa, Say Jo…Anne. Jo…Anne.”

“Paul, stop it. She can barely say Momma and Dada. Oh, and bananana.”

“Come on, Clarissa. Just say it. Jo…Anne. Jo-Anne…” Clarissa ignored Paul and continued massaging or torturing her stuffed rabbit. My phone rang and it was a number that was unfamiliar to me. I accepted the call anyway.

“Hello?”

“Joanne? This is Elizabeth. How are you? Am I interrupting your writing session?”

“Hi, Elizabeth. No, we’re just taking a break right now. Is Joey okay?”

“She’s fine. You know I had a long talk with her, and I think she’s amenable to continuing her sessions with you. But I can tell you all about it later—”

“Later? Are you extending your stay in L.A.?”

“Oh, no, Joey…I mean Joanne. Today’s my last day. I’m on a flight back to Boston tomorrow morning. I mean later as in later tonight. You didn’t forget I owe you and Alastair a dinner, did you?”

“Well, Alastair’s in Toronto as we speak. Thanks for the invitation but, really, you don’t owe us dinner. Especially since it was my stupidity that almost caused an incident—”

“Dinner for two sounds even better, Joanne. I’ve already made the reservations so be ready to be picked up at 7…with bells on. Wear something you can dance in. Something pretty. See you at 7.” She disconnected. I didn’t even get a chance to decline her invitation.

“Looks like you’ll be kicking your heels up on the dance floor tonight, whether you want to or not,” Paul said with a smirk.

“Who’s taking you out dancing? I thought Alastair was still in Toronto.” Philippa, who had just walked into the shed, looked at both of us for an answer. I handed Clarissa to her.

“That was Elizabeth. She asked me out on a date, I think.”

“You’re a very popular girl. I’m jealous.”

“Pish. Popularity is not what it’s cracked up to be.”

“Jo…Anne!” Clarissa blurted out.

“You’ve even got toddlers under your spell.”

I sized myself up in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. I had chosen to wear a white summery dress with a blue and red floral pattern. Was it appropriate for a dining and dancing date? Was this a date? I shook my head to answer my reflection in the mirror. It was a farewell dinner with optional dancing. Elizabeth said she was leaving tomorrow morning. Going back to Boston. Going back to our separate lives. She might have been joking about buying back her old loft in Manhattan. I bet she just keeps the house in Somerville, keeps on painting and running that small press that she started, the one that publishes poetry by writers from under-represented communities.

A single knock on the front door and I picked up my clutch. My low block heels, sensible for dancing, allowed me to quickly reach the front door before a second knock.

“Ready for the ball, princess?”

“Elizabeth, you know I’m a klutz. You don’t seriously think at my advanced age I can cut a rug without injuring myself.” I closed the door and locked it. Following close behind Elizabeth, I whistled at the sight of her rental car: a cream-colored BMW 2 coupe.

“Like the car? Joey wanted me to rent a cheap compact like a Toyota or Ford Fiesta. I said I’m closing in on 60 but I ain’t dead. That girl!”

“Speaking of Joey. You did say you had more details to give me when we spoke on the phone this morning—”

“Get in.” She opened the passenger side door. “I’ll tell you over dinner.”

We were heading west on the Glendale Freeway, speeding along at 65 miles per hour, the absolute limit. Elizabeth had always liked driving fast. I considered myself a careful, safe driver. I looked nervously at her, remaining quiet, not wanting to distract her attention from the road. But she was already chattering a mile a minute.

“One of the poets I’ve published is Argentinian but grew up in Pasadena. She told me about this great Argentine restaurant that also features a live tango band on weekend evenings. It’s named, of all things, The Tlon Uq Bar & Grill—”

“I gather the proprietor is a fan of Borges.”

“I knew you’d get it, my favorite literary scholar. So, it’s on Vine & Sunset. Good thing they included GPS with this rental. It’s a bitch trying to get around L.A. without some sort of help. And Joey’s clueless too. It took us half-an-hour to find your house…even with her GPS. She’s a smart kid but she learned to drive from her grandfather. I should have taught her myself, but I was just too busy at the hospital. Sometimes I feel I failed as a mother—”

“You did the best you could, Elizabeth. Joey’s turned out okay, don’t you think?”

“Yes, she’s the best daughter a woman could ever have. Do you ever regret not having children of your own?”

Yes, yes I do. Every day of my life, Elizabeth. Except for the random cruelty of a universe that often acts as humanity’s greatest antagonist, Joey could have been our daughter. But I didn’t say any of that aloud. I merely nodded to myself and muttered an indecipherable reply.

“Sorry. I’m sometimes socially backward. It must be a sore subject with you. But you do have Eliot. Joey had him come over to her place so I could get to know him. A nice young man. An Ivy Leaguer too!”

“I don’t deserve much credit for raising him. That was all Emily. You never met Emily—”

“And you never met Willard…until Tuesday night.”

“To be honest, Elizabeth, Willard and I met a few days before. In fact, I stupidly let him convince me that having him “drop by” that night was a good idea. I’m sorry, but I had no idea how deeply alienated Joey was from him. I figured they could reconcile if given a chance to quietly pass the peace pipe. I fucked up royally.”

“I knew Willard talked you into it. Don’t worry, I came to your defense with Joey. I told her you had nothing to do with that travesty on Tuesday night. In fact, she’s going to text you later about meeting up tomorrow morning after she sees me off to the airport. Something about dying to have brunch at that Mexican place again.”

“Thank you, Elizabeth. You’re a lifesaver.”

“You’re saying I’m sweet and fruit-flavored?”

The interior of the Tlon Uq Bar & Grill was impressively cavernous with high ceilings, an expansive dance floor, and a small, raised stage for the house band. Of course, tables formed a semi-circle on the periphery of the dance floor. We were led to a table near the front and given menus to scrutinize. Argentine cuisine is all about beef, big, thick slabs of it. We decided to have the Ojo de Bife con Hueso (for Two), the classic bone-in ribeye steak, with side orders of Salsa Criolla y Chimichurri.

“The band doesn’t come out until 9, so we can eat leisurely. So, tell me, is Alastair a keeper? I sense a lot of chemistry between you two. Joey says you seem so happy when you’re together.”

“I’m still processing the whole situation. It’s like a whirlwind romance. At least on his part.”

“You’ve known him for almost 30 years. Seems to me he’s been carrying a torch for you all this time.”

“Hardly, he asked me out right after I transitioned, and I politely declined. I wasn’t ready. Then things kind of evolved into a friendship. You know how workplace friendships happen. But he got over me quickly. He became involved with Lulu Brooks, the actress. I think he was the EP on one of her TV movies for FX. There was an immediate attraction.”

“Yes, Alastair’s a handsome guy. Twenty years ago, he could’ve been on a movie screen himself.”

“And Lulu was a born female, capable of bearing his children.”

“But they didn’t have any.”

“I know. Ironic, isn’t it? Anyway, I met Emily. Funny, you’re publishing poets now and I met Emily at a poetry reading in St. Paul’s Chapel at Columbia. It was love at first sight. For both of us.”

“You told me you fell in love with me at first sight. Remember? Maybe you’ve forgotten. It has been, what, more than 35 years now.”

“I haven’t forgotten. I can still see you standing in the corner of the room with a bottle of Bartles & Jaymes in your hand, chatting with Eddie Mangano, your boyfriend at the time.”

“Soon-to-be ex-boyfriend. It was his going away party. He was dropping out of school to be a roadie and guitar tech with The Cramps. He seriously thought I’d drop out as well and go on the road with him. On my own dime, too! When you came over to us, I was in the middle of another argument with him about that.”

“No one told me you and Eddie were involved. I lived in the room next door on that floor of the dorm. Eddie invited everyone within a radius of 200 feet. You had a certain aura. I was drawn to you.”

“I was wearing tight Jordache jeans, and I was facing away from you. I think I know what drew you to me.”

I threw my hands up. “Okay, you got me. Anyway, I was really surprised you asked me to go back to your loft with you. The party was still going full blast. But I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“You thought you were going to score, didn’t you?”

“Well, the thought occurred to me, yes it did.”

“You turned out to be a very gentle lover that night.”

“I was afraid you’d find me a little…soft. Other girls used to tell me I was too girly.”

“I prefer sensitive men. Well, until I met Willard.”

“You must have seen something in him that made you want to marry him, however it turned out twenty years later.”

“He was a year ahead of me in medical school and I thought he was brilliant. Despite all the shit we’ve been through, that’s one thing he indisputably is…a brilliant doctor. I kind of idolized him and followed him around like a puppy dog. Well, I guess I have some charms too. He proposed within six months of our meeting on campus. I accepted even before he finished asking. But, to get back to you and Alastair, have you two made any future plans? Are you going to go back to New York after the screenplay is finished?”

“Alastair proposed to me before he flew to Toronto—”

“So, I’ve lost you again, Joey,” she said under her breath, thinking I hadn’t heard her.

“I told him I’d have to think about it. Marriage at our ages, I think, is a dubious proposition. We’re set in our ways. We’ve lived alone for years now. We’re not a couple of lovestruck kids, losing our clothes at the drop of a hat…”

“There’s a lot to be said about companionship. But if you’re not really in love—”

“Oh no, Elizabeth, I’m in love alright. I miss him terribly when he’s away, like he is right now. When I was still in New York, he could only get away every other weekend. The days in between were slow torture. I do love him. As much…maybe more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

“And here I thought I was your greatest love—”

“You were my first love, Elizabeth. But the love I had with Emily…she was very dear to me. We were so much in love. If it wasn’t for Eliot needing me as a parent, I would have been absolutely inconsolable for the longest time. And I feel deeply for Alastair. If I had been more confident in myself those first few years after transitioning, I would’ve fallen for him like a ton of bricks when he first started asking me out. He was so cute back then. Kind of shy. You wouldn’t think that, seeing him now…” I drifted off mid-sentence. I found myself brimming with emotion and I was embarrassed to show that to Elizabeth.

The house band wandered onto the stage and began tuning up. Some of the patrons were already filling the dance floor in anticipation. Elizabeth took my hand and led me into the middle of the throng.

“Do you think this is a good idea? I’m not a good dancer and I didn’t take the elective on tango at Columbia. Pray for your toes, madam.”

“It’s okay, I’ll lead. Just let the music permeate your body. And hold on for dear life!” She laughed as she pulled me into a tight clinch. The band started playing a fast number and we gyrated in a sort of spastic form of tango across the dance floor, almost crashing into another couple in our enthusiasm.

I noticed we weren’t the only same-sex couple on the dance floor. I relaxed a bit more and let the sensuous rhythms flow through my arms and legs, being twirled about and controlled by Elizabeth’s strong yet gentle touch. The years seem to melt away and I saw before me the Elizabeth who fired my passions three decades ago. The music seemed to crescendo and our movements turned to frenzy. Suddenly, the band segued into a slower paced tango, meant for lovers to lock eyes and fuse emotions.

“I told you we’d have a good time.” I nodded and smiled. “Tonight might be the last time we’ll see each other for a long time. Hopefully, it won’t be another 30 years.”

“It was nice spending some time together, both you and Joey. Boston and New York are only a four-hour drive apart. We can visit more regularly than once every 30 years.”

“I’m serious about moving to Manhattan and buying back my old loft.”

“We’ll see. You’ve put down roots in Boston. Is there anyone in New York, other than me, you still have ties to?”

“One tie is enough.” She lowered her voice and almost whispered into my ear. “If this is really farewell, for however long it might be, I owe you the truth about Joey, her father, and me.”

“I don’t need to know every detail. These are family matters. I’m a relative stranger. I should have kept my nose out of your business in the first place.”

“I was the one who filed for divorce, not Willard.”

“Of course, the situation was untenable.”

“No, I had to file before Willard did. Otherwise, he would’ve had a strong case to be awarded sole custody of Joey. And he would’ve withdrawn permission for her to undergo HRT. She was only 15 at the time.”

“I don’t understand. Why would he win sole custody?”

“I had an extra-marital affair.” I was shocked. It didn’t fit my image of her but, still, couples divorce all the time because of adultery. It doesn’t necessarily disqualify them from being good parents.

“I still don’t get it.”

“It was who I had the affair with. I suspected Joey was gender dysphoric from the age of seven or eight, but the onset of male puberty sent her emotional wellbeing into a tailspin. Against Willard’s medical opinion or, rather, prejudices, I started seeking out therapeutic pathways for Joey. Because of our connections through Tufts, we could obtain the services of the best specialist in the Boston area. That was Dr. Richard Loughlin, a triple threat. He was a pediatrician, endocrinologist, and psychologist. He and his staff took Joey’s case immediately. They were convinced she was transgender and plotted out a regimen of HRT followed by GCS when she turned 18. Willard was livid because he didn’t believe Joey was transgender. We argued loud and often about it. I’m sure Joey saw and heard too much of that.”

“You only did what any mother would do for her child. Anything less would have been criminal in my book.”

“But Dr. Laughlin and I started spending a lot of time together. At first, it was to discuss Joey’s treatment but, as time went on, it was clear there was something developing between us. Occasional lunches in Cambridge where his clinic was located turned into dinners in Allston and ultimately, we stole as much time as we could from our spouses to meet furtively in an apartment he kept in Back Bay.”

“Willard must have suspected something.”

“He found out when I slipped up and used a medical convention to cover our weekend away in a Vermont B&B. There was some departmental issue that came up and when he couldn’t connect with my cell, he tried the convention hotel’s front desk. He confronted me when I got home and threatened to divorce me, asking for sole custody of Joey. He was willing to drop the whole thing if I stopped seeing Richard and pulled Joey out of her treatment program. I told him I couldn’t do that to Joey. He could demean me as much as he wanted but I would not sacrifice my child’s existential needs to his sense of male pride. He threatened to drag Richard’s reputation through the mud as well. I was shellshocked. This was becoming a no-exit situation. I discussed this with Richard as soon as I could get in touch with him.”

“What was his reaction?”

“Richard was heroic. He said that in the court of public opinion, Willard would lose. What would people think of a father, a medical doctor no less, who would refuse to acknowledge his own child’s properly diagnosed health condition and withhold treatment for it. A child’s parents may have marital problems but to hold a child hostage to those problems?”

“In some states, that reasoning might not carry the day,”

“We’re in Massachusetts. We may be Massholes but we’re as progressive as you can get. With that ammunition, I filed for divorce before Willard could blink. He realized that if he counter sued, all hell would break loose, and he had no assurance his own career wouldn’t go up in smoke. So, we made a compact of sorts. We’d part ways, share custody of Joey, Joey would complete her treatment including the final surgery, and we’d split everything down the middle.”

“And Willard wanted Joey to finally know the truth about her parents’ break-up.”

“The truth is that Willard never believed Joey is transgender and was willing to let his own child live out her life in abject hopelessness. You, of all people, knows that would have been a death sentence for Joey. The death of her soul. 82% of transgender individuals have considered killing themselves and 40% have attempted suicide, with suicide rates highest among transgender youth. Can you imagine what would have happened to Joey?”

She dropped her head onto my shoulder and wept. The band had stopped playing for several minutes already. We were the only couple on the dance floor. Gently, I led her back to our table where I took out a pack of tissues and handed her one. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

“I think Willard is truly contrite now. Why not let them try to rebuild their relationship? He’s asking for forgiveness—”

“And let him paint a picture of me as an adulterous slut who had a tawdry affair with her own daughter’s doctor? He’d enjoy tearing Joey and me apart. The truth is he was a self-obsessed man who only cared about his high and mighty career and didn’t want his wife and child getting in the way.”

“I’ll refrain from making a comment on that point. What happened with Richard?”

“Richard? The affair kind of sputtered out, When Willard decided to resign from Tufts and move to Seattle, I had to take over the Emergency Pediatric Center and there just wasn’t any time to carry on the relationship. Richard reconciled with his wife. They’re still together. Frankly, I wasn’t really that into him. It was the circumstances at home more than anything else.”

“Could you take me home, Elizabeth? All that dancing just wore me out.” She signaled our waitress for the check. When she reached our table, she smiled and asked, “Aren’t you staying for the second set? It’s just another 15 minutes. Maybe some dessert?”

“No, thank you. We’re heading out now.” Elizabeth placed her Amex card in the check presenter.

“The food and the music were very good,” I cheerily said to the waitress.

“The way you two danced just now, I thought this must be a very special night for you.”

“It is.” Elizabeth looked at me and sighed. “A very special night.”

As we sped home on the Glendale Freeway, I checked my cellphone and, Elizabeth was right, Joey did send me a text asking to get together for brunch tomorrow morning at De Buena Planta. I replied and looked up to see we had already arrived at the guest house. I invited Elizabeth in for a cup of coffee.

“El Pico?”

“Of course. It was hard to find here in L.A., but they had a few cans of the Extra Fine Grind. I bought two. Alastair will drink anything, but I’ve always preferred El Pico since you introduced it to me.”

“It’s so funny, Joey. I mean Joanne. I keep slipping up. Forgive me. You think I always drank El Pico only because I used the empty cans my neighbor threw out in his trash in a mixed-media sculpture I was working on when we first met. I’m not that much of a coffee drinker anymore.”

“Well, I like it. Sit down. It’ll be a few minutes.”

With coffee mugs in our hands, we leaned back into the couch and sighed simultaneously.

“You must think badly of me now, Joanne. I did what I had to do to protect everyone involved—”

“Except Willard, of course.”

“If our marriage was anything more than a professional partnership, then I’d agree that he deserves sympathy. But I can’t countenance his utter disregard for his child’s wellbeing.”

“Okay, I’ll drop the subject.”

“Joanne, I can’t imagine never seeing you again. Can you find room in your life for me? Even if it’s just as a long-distance friend?”

“Of course. You left me, Elizabeth, I didn’t leave you. Remember?”

“I hurt you very badly. I know. We’re older now. Maybe the things that seemed so important then aren’t that important now. I never stopped loving you. Why do you think I named Joey after you?”

“You have a very odd way of showing your love.”

She moved closer to me on the couch and took my head in both her hands, closed her eyes, and sought out my lips with hers. I have to admit an electric charge surged through our connected bodies. I felt the way I felt thirty odd years ago when we would share our warmth in that cold loft on wintry Manhattan nights.

Our dresses seemed to dematerialize as we floated into the bedroom. Hungrily, we tasted each other from head to toe. It was a meal that surpassed the dinner from which we had just returned. I paid special attention to Elizabeth’s eyelids and earlobes. I always found them extremely sexy. For her part, she found new areas of my body to explore, parts I didn’t have when we last made love. And the part I had given up didn’t seem to hinder our passion.

“It’s different, Joey. But it’s still so good. All the years I threw away, baby…”

“Shush, no more talk about the past. The only thing that matters is here and now.”

“I’ve never been with a woman, Joey.”

“I’ll show you how it’s done.” I lowered my head and began my seminar on the joys of woman-to-woman love. There were frequent outbursts from the student body, but the lesson was successfully learned, as the later recitation of its salient points was flawlessly performed by my prize student.

I tied the belt of my kimono lazily as I peered out the window, watching Elizabeth drive away in the hazy darkness of midnight Los Angeles. I recalled the feathery touch of her lips on my eyelids. The image of her beautiful face as my head hung above her, my tousled hair mingling with hers just before I leaned down to kiss her glistening lips. I remember her fingers caressing my breasts as if discovering a new continent in an uncharted ocean. Most of all, I can’t forget the words she uttered to break the silence of love’s aftermath: “Marry me, Joey. Marry me this time.”

It was too early in the morning to have to think deeply about anything, much less the rest of my life. How did this happen to me? Two marriage proposals in the space of three days. Perhaps I should just write it off as pillow talk. After all, neither of the proposals came with a ring nor were they made on bended knee. Isn’t there some sort of decorum that goes with a proposal? What percentage of marriage proposals take place in bed après ski, as it were?

I struggled to keep my hair out of my face as I lifted the cup of coffee to my lips. Then I heard someone poking a key into the front door lock. It was only Saturday morning. Alastair wasn’t expected back until Sunday night. I looked around for a blunt object but all I could grab was a faux Louis Comfort Tiffany Art Deco lamp. At least I hope it’s a cheap reproduction. If it’s genuine, Alastair will forgive me. Would he want his putative bride-to-be killed by an early rising burglar for the want of a defensive weapon?

The door swung open, and I was about to wield the lamp like a Louisville Slugger when I saw it was an unarmed woman, who, seeing me, raised her hands to ward off my assault. We both screamed.

“Who are you?!!” we both shouted in unison.

I lowered the lamp. “You first. You’re the one picking the lock—”

“I’m Lulu Brooks. You know, Alastair’s ex? And this is my key…to my guest house.”

“Oh my god, I could’ve killed you. And with Alastair’s Louis Comfort lamp!”

“Oh, that thing? It’s a cheap reproduction. Alastair gave it to me when we were dating. He still won’t admit he got skunked by some antiques guy in New York. You must be Alastair’s new squeeze, umm, Joanne?”

“I’m working on a screenplay for GlobalNet. He’s letting me stay in the guest house for the duration. My normal habitat is New York—”

“Oh, come off it. I’ve seen all the cute photo opps. It’s all over social media. I never guessed Alastair would reach way back in his past for an old flame—”

“Alastair told you about me?”

“Everything, sweetheart. The goof couldn’t stop talking about you. How smart you were. How loyal a friend and colleague. How…pretty. Gag me with a spoon, I’m sure. Yeah, he had it bad for you, girl. Even though you flipped him off back then. So, he finally hooked you?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. We’re friends—”

“With benefits, I’m sure.” I turned away. It’s not seemly for a near-60-year-old woman to blush beet red.

“Was that all Alastair told you about me?”

“What else is there? Are you a homicidal maniac? Don’t answer with that lamp in your hand—”
I put the lamp back on the end table and tried to put my hands in my pockets but there weren’t any in my kimono. So, I placed them on my hips, just to look like I was standing my ground and not the least bit intimidated by her.

“A master car thief? An undercover agent for a hostile foreign government? Do you know what quinoa really is? Are you a transwoman?”

“Never mind. I just don’t like the thought of Alastair just cavalierly discussing me or our relationship, however innocent it really was.”

“You must know Alastair well enough after thirty years being around him. He’s honest to a fault and he expects the same from everyone else. He got really angry at me when, days before the wedding, he took a good look at our marriage certificate and noticed my first name is actually Caroline. Lulu’s a name I chose to set me apart from your run-of-the-mill starlet. He played “Caroline, No” on the stereo until I took a pair of scissors and cut the cd up into pieces.”

“That would stop it, alright.”

“Nah, he had other copies. But I suppose his mania about honesty was what ended our marriage—”

“How do you mean?”

“He didn’t tell you? I cheated on him…multiple times. He once told me that he would forgive me anything, including adultery, as long as I didn’t lie to him about it. Go figure. What’s the point then?”

“I don’t think too many couples could survive that.”

“That’s not how your marriage ended?”

“I’m…I’m a widow. Emily died ten years ago. Leukemia.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know. You see, Alastair didn’t tell me everything about you. Or maybe I just stopped listening. So, is that why you fended off his advances? You’re a lesbian? Or bi?”

“I’d love to chat with you all day but is there a particular reason you’re here on a Saturday morning?”

“Oh, yeah, I came for a couple of canvasses I still have back in the studio.” She pointed in the direction of the back of the house. “I thought you’d be staying in the big house with Alastair. My plan was to get in, pick up the shit, and get out. Five minutes max. But here you are. The vestal virgin.”

“Be my guest,” I said, smirking. I waved her by and followed as she made her way to the small studio in the rear of the house. “You’re very talented. I see you’re into abstract expressionism.”

“That was what I was doing when Al and I were first married. That’s so 20th century. I’m working in photorealistic multi-media these days. I’ve decided to slow down on the acting tip and get back heavily into my art. I’ve got a gallery show coming up and, just for completeness, I want some examples of my earlier stuff. Shows my development, you know.”

I recalled my surprise when Alastair told me a quarter of a century ago that he was seriously considering asking Lulu to marry him. At the time, Lulu had just made her mark in films as the titular “Space Babe,” a summertime box office blockbuster that successfully exploited her gorgeous brunette looks and slim fashion model’s body. She gave those aliens forty whacks with her particle beam gun and teenage boys across the planet gave themselves, well, you get my drift. She was still a beauty now at 50, but the acting jobs, outside of the occasional TV mom roles, had pretty much dwindled.

With the canvasses under both arms, Lulu marched to the front door.

“Nice kimono, by the way. Alastair buy you that?”

“Well, yes, he did. We saw it in a shop on Fifth Avenue.”

“Sorry I barged in on you like this. As I said, I had no idea—”

“Are you in a hurry? I’m being such a bad host. How about a cup of coffee?”

“No, I want to drop these off at the gallery and then I’ve got a 10:30 call on set. I’m playing Billy Schechter’s last girlfriend—”

“You mean the one who—”

She nodded, a sad frown on her face. “Yeah, that one. Hey, it’s a living. Toodles. Oh, thanks.” I opened the door for her. “Tell Alastair to change the lock on the door. Better safe than sorry.”

At brunch later that morning, I was uncharacteristically quiet, sitting across from Joey, moving the burritos on my plate around aimlessly. We were at De Buena Planta on Sunset again. She had just seen her mother off at the airport. Now, she happily chattered on about mundane things. The only thing that I especially noted was her relief at her father ending his consultancy at the hospital two weeks earlier than expected.

“I was seriously considering quitting, as you can guess. He’s going back to Seattle. Good riddance.”

“He didn’t have anything to do with you getting the residency, you know.”

“Who really knows? I don’t believe in coincidences, though. But let’s talk about happier matters. Mom was mum about your “date’ last night. I know you went tango dancing. Now that’s got old school romantic all over it—”

“It was just dinner between two old, old friends. The tango element was merely tangential. The Argentines really know how to cook a steak.” Joey laughed. I kept a straight face.

“Mom didn’t get back until past midnight.”

“A cute reversal of things. The daughter waiting up for her mother. Were you sitting in the dark, impatiently watching the digital display on your phone move past her curfew time?”

“You went back to your place, didn’t you?”

“Who’s interviewing whom? I’m buying you brunch to put you in a good mood for spilling all the sordid little details of your time in Washington, D.C. You’ll have to wait until the movie comes out to find out my secrets.”

“I’ll get the truth out of my mom, you’ll see.”

“Eat! Your tortillas are getting soft.”

I handed Joey a cup of coffee as I sat down on the couch, angling ourselves to face each other as we drank and talked. We had come back to the guest house after brunch. As I had hoped, the food and relatively light traffic on the way back had put her in an expansive mood. So, I turned on my recorder to begin our session.

“Let’s pick up where we left off last time. What happened once you settled in with your grandparents?”

“Nothing much…well, actually everything.” My expression implored her to explain. “I fell in love for the first time…as a woman. Head over heels. I used to laugh at the silly metaphors they use to describe the state of falling in love, of being in love with that special person. Then it happened to me. All the bells and whistles. I felt my insides melting to the consistency of goo.”

“Wow. Do tell.”

At the time, I didn’t know which was the real reason for my mother exiling me to the outskirts of Washington, D.C. until Christmas. Was she just trying to hide the freak from everyone at home in Boston, weary of explaining repeatedly why her rather androgynous son Joey had suddenly become her daughter Jocelyn, still preferring to be called Joey? I had been allowed to begin my freshman year at Amherst in January due to my recovery from surgery so stowing me 400 miles away in Maryland made complete sense if that was the reason. Or was she just too busy with her career at the hospital to deal with an adolescent with special needs? The parents who devoted their professional lives to safeguarding the health and wellbeing of other people’s children failed miserably at doing that for their own child.

Feeling abandoned by both parents, I resigned myself to staying in my room, surfing the net, watching YouTube videos, and breaking out the occasional odd physical book to read. To get me out of my self-made prison, Grandpa dusted off Mom’s old bike in the back of the garage. He told me the least use I’d have of it was to go to the mini-mall or public library. In any event, it was good exercise. When Sally, my cousin, heard this, she laughed at the image of me riding around Takoma Park on a 40-year-old bicycle.

“I’ll pick you up Saturday morning. The gang thought you were a little on the quiet side, but you’re welcome to hang out with us.”

“What are you guys planning to do? Not more shopping—”

“It’s like Monty Python’s spam skit. There’s lots of things we can do but there’s always going to be a little bit of shopping involved. Get with the program, girl! You’re going to be looking at shoes and accessories for the rest of your natural life.”

On a Friday night late in September, Sally, her friends, and I were lining up at the Snack Bar of the E Street Cinema, eyeing the selection of refreshments. We were evenly divided between popcorn and Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Bites. So, we decided to share! That and a soda got us ready to watch “The Lion King.” A trio of boys walked up to us and started exchanging greetings. One in particular, a tall good-looking boy with wavy dark brown hair, seemed to be very familiar with Sally.

“Hey, Sally, ladies, don’t tell me you’re seeing that kiddie movie.”

“There’s nothing else that looks half-way interesting. Seven screens and six of them suck,” Sally’s friend Ginny declared.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” The boy looked straight at me while asking Sally.

“Oh, yeah, this is my cousin, Joey Petry. She’s visiting from Boston. Joey, this is Raffy Gonzalez, class valedictorian in training. No, really, he’s a genius.” In a stage whisper, “At least that’s what he tells everyone.” Raffy nodded at me.

“Nice to meet you, Joey. Is that short for Josephine?”

“It’s Jocelyn but everyone calls me Joey, which is fine with me.”

“Well, from where I’m standing, I don’t think anyone could mistake you for a boy, even if you like being called Joey.”

“Hey, Raffy, movie’s starting. You can continue your charm attack later at HalfSmoke. Treat her to a milkshake when we order a platter for the table. Let’s go!”

“See you girls later at the HalfSmoke.” He turned and trotted over to his buddies.

“What are you guys seeing?” I shouted as Raffy started to disappear down the corridor.

“Aliens 12: The Final Gross Out” he shouted back.

“That sounds more interesting than “The Lion King,” I whispered to Sally. She gave me a look of disgust.

“So, what do you think of Raffy?”

“He seems nice.”

“You sound underwhelmed. He’s cute, smart, and speaks three languages. And he’s single!”

“You’re so impressed, why don’t you go after him?”

“Oh, yeah, I never told you. My boyfriend Rick is at Princeton. Anyway, Raffy seems to be very interested in you.”

“Well, I think I’m attracted to girls not boys—”

“Shhhh. Don’t let the others hear you say that. They’re kind of conservative around here. And just how do you figure that? Have you fooled around with a girl recently?”

“Sally, let’s table this discussion for now. Oh, look, they’re seating for “Lion King.”

We didn’t go to HalfSmoke after the movie. We went to Sbarro’s instead and ordered a Veggie Supreme pizza. As we destroyed the pizza, the girls wouldn’t stop teasing me about Raffy. Sally said she could set us up. Just say the word. I was about to say that I wasn’t attracted to boys when Sally kicked me in the shin under the table.

“She’s really shy, guys. And she went to an all-girl school in Boston. Would you believe she’s never been on a date with a boy?” They looked at me with utter disbelief.

“But you’re so pretty. Wasn’t there like a boys’ school affiliated with your school? Isn’t that what they do? I mean they can’t possibly do without proms and stuff…” Ginny was incredulous.

“The nuns didn’t want us corrupted, if you know what I mean—”

“Oh, you went to Catholic School! Do the nuns actually rap your knuckles with a ruler?”

“Worse. They—”

“Oh, look at the time. I’ve got to get Joey back to Takoma Park or Gran’ll tan my hide. C’mon, Joey. Don’t forget your purse.”

Over the next several weeks, as the girls took me under their wings, I made a clean sweep of all the most interesting sections of the city. We started in Georgetown, all around the campus, through Adams Morgan, Dupont Circle, Foggy Bottom, Southwest Waterfront, H Street NE, Penn Quarter, Chinatown, and Logan Circle. Oddly enough, more than was statistically probable, we kept bumping into Raffy and his friends. Then it was Raffy by himself, strolling through town, just lucky to chance upon us. He would join us for some street food or, later, invite us to some cute place where they served non-alcoholic beverages. I could tell from Sally’s self-satisfied expression every time these chance meetings occurred that she was working overtime to set us up.

Finally, one evening, as he walked me to the Dupont Circle Metro station to catch the Red Line back home to Takoma Park, Raffy shyly asked me out on a date.

“Hey, there’s a movie coming out Friday that maybe you’d like to see…with me, possibly? If you don’t have any plans, that is.”

“What’s the movie?”

“Umm, “The Thing.” His next words ran together in a nervous burst. “It’s like the third remake they say it’s really good like the effects are next level you don’t mind scary movies I mean there’s some gore for sure girls usually—”

“Okay. I’d like to go.”

“What? Oh, yeah, great! I was afraid you wouldn’t…I mean, you and Sally saw “The Lion King.”

“I’d rather have seen “Aliens 12” really, but the other girls outvoted me.” I laughed.

“You’re special, Joey. There’s something about you. I saw it the first time we met. What is it about you? You’re fascinating.”

“I’m a wonderful conversationalist, doncha know.”

“Friday, 7PM, I’ll meet you here. We can take the bus to the theater.” I nodded my agreement and turned to take the escalator down to the Metro, waving as I descended. He stood there and watched me all the way down.

After the first couple of dates (movies, James McMurtry at the 9:30 Club), we started seeing each other several times a week. As October turned to November, most of the time we’d just pick up a pizza from Paisano’s and go back to his dorm room and listen to his vinyl records. He played them on the old stereo handed down to him by his dad, Horatio, owner and chef of the best Cuban restaurant in Maryland, Los Habaneros Cubanos in Burtonsville.

“So, what was this surgery that made you delay starting school at Amherst?”

“Just some female stuff. I’m all recovered now. I could have started on time. I guess Mom thought I needed more time—”

“You mom’s a doctor?”

“Both my parents are doctors.”

“And you’re set on pre-med?”

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to follow in the “family” business.”

“Not me. I have no desire to own a restaurant. My dad wanted me to learn how to cook all his Cuban specialties, but mom always told me to follow my heart. Academically, I’m saying.”

I was sitting on Raffy’s bed (neatly made thankfully), watching him as he sorted through his collectable 45s, sprawled on the floor directly beneath my swinging feet.

“You’re a Physics major. Do you want to do theoretical work or lab experiments?”

“Theoretical. But my real interest lies in the philosophy of science. There’s so much to explore in the metaphysics of physics, so to speak. The fundamental nature of reality and if we can really know it. Do scientific results truly comprise a study of truth?”

“That’s heavy, man.”

“I see you’re a person of more practical concerns. Like my record collection. Some of these are my dad’s. He was really into music in his younger days…before opening the restaurant. He gave me this old stereo since I was moving into the dorm, and he doesn’t have the time to listen to music like he used to. There’re still some record stores in DC. I go crate-digging sometimes on a weekend. Here, this is a single I found in Crooked Beat on 18th Street. It’s got an autographed picture sleeve too.” He took the 45 out of the sleeve and passed the sleeve to me. It was an illustration of a mythical sorceress standing in a dense thicket, a white owl perched on her left shoulder. A signature done by a silver sharpie climbed the side of the picture.

“This was from the soundtrack to “Streets of Fire.” I shook my head. Never heard of it. “Before your…our time. It’s written by Stevie Nicks. She sings backup on it. The story goes that they first met each other when they were 17 and 18. They always wanted to do something together and they finally did, seventeen years later. Shuggie Brennan. “Sorcerer” Listen.”

“I’ve heard of Stevie Nicks. I don’t know Shuggie Brennan. Was she a big star?”

“Pretty big. She’s still recording and performing. Her husband does film scores. Won an Oscar or two. She’s like the first transwoman to ever win a Grammy too. They’re always talking about doing a movie of her life.”

“Guess I’ve been living in a cave all this time.”

“Nice way to describe Boston.”

“Raffy, do you think you’d ever be attracted to a transwoman?”

“Hypothetically, sure, but I think the likelihood of me meeting a transwoman is infinitesimal. Current estimates place the total number of transgender individuals in the U.S. at 1 million. The number who are college age is a small fraction of that. The number who are college age and live in the DMV area is an even smaller fraction of that. I’d have just as good a chance at winning the lottery.”

“But suppose you did.”

“Win the lottery?”

“No, silly, meet a transwoman here in DC.”

“I’d be intrigued. From a scientific point of view. If they enjoyed sci-fi movies and indie rock music, we could be friends. But they wouldn’t be as pretty and smart as you.” I leaned down and kissed Raffy long and deep. He responded and climbed onto the bed, moving us into the middle, our lips still locked.

That was the first of many times I stayed overnight in Raffy’s dorm room. We slept together. Kissing, holding each other tightly enough to breathe in each other’s sighs, fingers tracing each other’s bodies. But we never went all the way. The reticence was not on my part. As affectionate, even passionate, as he was, he never crossed that imaginary line. I was happy and just chalked it up to a heightened sense of chivalry. It was good to feel respected as well as desired.

Whenever I stayed overnight, I’d call Gran and tell her I felt safer not taking the subway late at night. She’d quickly approve of me bunking with Sally and wish me sweet dreams. Sally, of course, would back me up if asked. And she took every opportunity to needle me about not being attracted to boys.

“It’s like someone who claims they’re vegan and eats steak three times a week. Can’t get enough of that taste, eh?”

“You have a filthy mind, Sally.”

“You’re the one making the beast with two backs.”

“Sally, we’ve never actually, you know…”

“What the hell do you do in his dorm room? Hold hands and sing kumbaya?”

“He just likes kissing and hugging.”

“I went out with a boy like that.”

“In high school?”

“No, third grade.”

As Thanksgiving drew near, Raffy’s friends started calling me Mrs. Gonzalez, for all the time we seemed to spend together on campus and in the city. It rankled me but, deep down, I was proud of my total acceptance by everyone as a woman. The thought occurred to me that I was more feminine than I’d ever imagined even before my transition. My father had once said to mom that it would take more than a hormone regimen to turn me into a convincing woman. Half-jokingly, he considered shipping me off to an all-girl Catholic boarding school when Doctor Loughlin started my HRT. I was serious when I threatened to run away from home if he actually followed through.

I was excited when Raffy told me he wanted me to meet his parents on the day after Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving Day was an especially busy day for restaurants, so they scheduled our first face-to-face for the slower, casually paced day after. Gran was glad to get my help in preparing our family Thanksgiving feast in any event. I had to explain to them who Raffy was and how involved I was with him. I kept it light on the details of course. Gran wanted to see the photo Sally had taken of Raffy and me standing on Boulder Bridge in Rock Creek Park. Our windblown hair was entangled, and it made us laugh. We looked like a happy couple. I handed my cellphone to Gran, and I noticed the concerned expression on Grandpa’s face. It deepened further when Gran exclaimed, “He’s so handsome!”

“And he’s a physics major, Grandpa…” He smiled broadly.

“Well, I look forward to meeting this young man of yours tomorrow when he comes to pick you up. You say he’s a sophomore? I’d advise him to concentrate on plasma physics. It’s a wide-open field for a bright young mind.”

---

Olga Gonzalez sat smiling at me across the table in a corner of Los Habaneros Cubanos Restaurant. Raffy was in the kitchen talking to his father, Horatio, owner and chef of their restaurant, nestled in Burtonsville, Maryland, between Baltimore and Washington, D.C. Cuban music was playing on the sound system. “Descarga Cachao” punctuated the air with its insistent rhythms.

“Joey is a boy’s name. What is your true given name, cariño?”

“Jocelyn. But everyone calls me Joey.”

“You’re too pretty to have a boy’s name. Rafael talks about you non-stop. Now I can see why. Are you Catholic?”

“No, my parents are both Jewish but we’re not very observant. I haven’t been to temple since I was a…a little girl.”

“So, your parents would have no problem with you being married in a church?”

“Uhh…no, I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

“In matters of the heart, just like in the restaurant business, it’s always best to plan ahead.”

There was a long moment of silence between us. I shot a glance at the kitchen door, hoping Raffy would finally return.

“Do you love Rafael?”

“I’m very fond of him—”

“He is deeply, deeply infatuated with you, cariño. Rafael very rarely brings his girlfriends to meet his parents. In fact, I can’t remember the last time he did. Maybe he was in middle school then. He’s a good boy, a good son. The Gonzalez family has always stressed education. Rafael descends from a long line of scholars. Did Rafael tell you his grandfather was the Provost of the University of Havana before Castro? He translated Shakespeare’s sonnets into Spanish, the first Cuban to do that. And Horatio, my husband, was in the doctoral program at Harvard in Comparative Literature before he decided running a restaurant paid better.”

“He never mentioned that. We’ve only known each other a few weeks. I’m sure he would have told me given time.”

“Only a few weeks but Rafael has decided you are the woman he wants to marry.” I quickly took a big swallow of water and tried to control the blush that was spreading on my cheeks. “I have always reminded Rafael that his education must, must come first. No distractions. I want to see him one day win a Nobel Prize. He is too brilliant to throw it all away on a pretty trifle. But I want him to be happy. Because he deserves to be love and be loved. Like his mother and father. Like your mother and father, I’m sure.” I hiccupped and immediately drank the rest of the water in my glass. “So, if you truly love my son, I will not stand in the way. My only condition is that you wait to have the wedding after Rafael graduates. Can you agree to that?”

There was a long list of things I wanted to say in response. My mind was a whirlwind of mixed emotions. Proud that I had elicited such deep feeling from Raffy, which he had starkly communicated to his mother. Relieved that I had passed muster with Olga and that she had deemed me worthy of her super-genius son. Disturbed that Raffy and Olga had already planned out the next three years of my life, without informing me. Insulted that I had been set up like a rack of bowling pins ready to be knocked down. It would be a mouthful, but I decided to set a few things straight with Olga. Then, the kitchen door swung open and Raffy and his father walked over to our table, wide smiles all around as they sat down.

“Did I miss anything?” asked Horatio.

“Joey and I had a very nice chat. She agreed with everything I said.” She laughed. “To be honest, Rafael,” she paused. “You’ve found yourself quite a jewel of a girl here. I am impressed. And I approve.” Rafael leaned across the table and kissed Olga on the cheek.

“Thank you, mom.” He squeezed my hand when he sat back down. I tried not to smile but, oh hell, he’s so cute. He completes me. Acchhhh! I’m a walking cliché.

“Dinner will be served momentarily. You know, I rarely get a chance to sit down and have a quiet family meal in my own restaurant.” Horatio ruffled his napkin and spread it out over his lap.

Olga got up from the table and extended her hand to me.

“Come, cariño, to the kitchen with me. I want to show you how to make a caramel-vanilla flan. That’s Rafael’s favorite dessert.”

As headshaking as that encounter with Olga Gonzalez was, the weeks from Thanksgiving to Christmas weren’t much different from the weeks before for Raffy and me. I slept in Raffy’s bed at least twice a week. We went to the movies once a week and tried to catch a concert when we could get tickets. We even had dinner at Los Habaneros Cubanos two more times. All this time, the warring factions in my mind tossed petards at each other. The whole Gonzalez family was making plans that included me, but I didn’t appear to have any say in them. And there was the nagging feeling that they’d see me differently if they knew I was transgender. Would Raffy see me differently? Sally advised me to keep my mouth shut and part of me thought that was wise. But I didn’t want to live a lie. I loved Raffy. That much I knew. Did he love the real me? I decided to find out.

We were in bed, reading. Raffy was writing marginal notes in his copy of Nancy Cartwright’s “How the Laws of Physics Lie” while I was perusing “Feynman,” a biography of the great Nobel-winning physicist done as a graphic novel (Raffy had given it to me as a 3rd anniversary present, 3 months that is).

“Hey, babe, do you want to spend Christmas with the Gonzalez family?”

“My mom is coming to spend that week with my grands and me. I could get away for a couple of days but not Christmas Eve or Day. You understand.”

“It’s just that you’ll head off to Amherst after the New Year and we won’t see each other for a long while. And my mother would really like to see you too.”

I closed my book and reached across to hug Raffy. Looking up at him, I hesitated before I spoke.

“Baby, I’m going to tell you something I probably should have told you weeks ago. Promise you won’t get upset?”

“Okay, you’re serious, aren’t you? What’s the problem?”

“I was born a boy. The surgery I had this summer was the final step—” Raffy dropped his book. His mouth opened but words failed him.

“The final step in my transition. I’m anatomically a woman now. But I was always a woman. That’s what transgender means.”

“You’re putting me on, right? This isn’t funny, Joey. Please tell me you’re kidding.”

I jumped out of bed. I pulled down the t-shirt I was wearing to cover myself down to the tops of my knees. It was Raffy’s Georgetown phys. ed. shirt. He said I looked cute in it.

“Does this change everything, Raffy? I’m the person you fell in love with. The person your mother is already planning to marry you off to. Did the last 3 months mean nothing?”

Raffy came over to me and wrapped his arms around me from behind.

“Joey, this is…very difficult. My mother thinks you’re a real girl.”

“I am a real girl!”

“She wants grandchildren. She wants me to have a normal family. She’s…she’s very religious, Joey. I don’t know.”

“What do you want, Raffy?”

“It’s not that simple—”

“It’s very simple. It’s your life, Raffy. You decide. Not your mother.” I started to change clothes. “I’ll see if I can catch the last train.” Raffy stopped me.

“Come back to bed, Joey. We’ll see what the morning brings. It’s too late for you to take the train—”

“I know, it’s too dangerous alone…for a girl!”

Reluctantly, I got back under the covers, but Raffy had retreated to the far side of the bed. Small as it was, he managed to put almost two feet between us. I slept fitfully that night and got up very early. I debated leaving Raffy a note and, in the end, just left quietly. That was the last time I ever saw Raffy. He never bothered to get in touch with me either. For my part, I just wanted to forget the whole affair. No pun intended.

“You say that but does your mind ever wander to those days, to Raffy, to what might have been?” I took our coffee mugs and placed them in the sink. Joey was getting her things together to leave. It was past 1:30 in the afternoon and she needed to return her mom’s rental car.

“Sure, once in a while I think about him. He was my first love. But he couldn’t accept me for who I am. End of story. He was my yesterday. Today and tomorrow hold new surprises. You know, my mother’s lived a lot longer than me, but that’s something she could learn from me. The past deserves to remain in the past. Cherish the memories but don’t chase after ghosts.”

“You might be onto something there. I wish I’d had your wisdom when I was your age. Is next Tuesday good for you?” I opened the door and air kissed her as she walked through.

“See you then.” I went to the kitchen and made myself another strong cup of coffee.

---

The Lakers lost on Saturday night and their season ended. I texted Eliot and he replied within the hour, which was surprising. He told me to keep it under my hat but early next week the team would announce they had re-signed him to a 3-year contract. For the foreseeable future, he was an Angeleno. Well, that was settled. Now to consider my own future. As Sunday night approached, I had turned it over and over in my mind whether to tell Alastair about my night with Elizabeth. In his guest house, no less. Even as I parked his Audi in the airport lot, going to meet him as he came off the plane, I was conflicted. Walking through security, down the endless corridor to his gate, and finding a seat in the waiting area, I summoned up my courage. I would tell him. Maybe he’ll get angry. In that event, I’d just pack up and go home. It wasn’t my idea to write this screenplay. I don’t need the money. GlobalNet can have it back (minus expenses, of course).

When we reached home, I invited Alastair in for a cup of chamomile tea.

“Doesn’t that have caffeine in it? I’m dead tired, Jo. I want to sleep for twelve hours if I can.”

“People drink chamomile tea to treat insomnia because of its calming effects. Researchers believe that its effect on sleep comes from its flavonoid content. Apigenin is a flavonoid that binds to benzodiazepine receptors in the brain, which has a sedative effect.”

“You’re reading that, I hope.” I showed Alastair the paragraph I’d just read to him on my cellphone. “For a moment, I thought I’d walked into a parallel universe where my Joanne was a research scientist.” He started to sip the tea.

“Alastair, something happened while you were away that I think you should know about.”

“Oh, I know about that. Lulu called me yesterday and, you know, she’s sorry she barged into the house. She had no way of knowing you were staying here. But she should have given me some notice. And, yes, I’m changing the lock. So, don’t worry about any more unexpected guests. Besides, you’re moving into the main house, right?”

“It’s not that, Alastair.” I took his free hand in mine and lowered my eyes. “Elizabeth and I went out for dinner. It was an Argentine restaurant. There was a live band, and we danced the tango a bit.”

“I’m sure you had a good time. I know there’s so much history between you. I can even picture you two dancing a tango. So, who lead?”

“She drove me back here afterwards. I invited her in for a cup of coffee.”

“The El Pico, right? Her favorite. A last parting gesture. You’re a natural writer, Jo.”

“We kissed. I don’t how it happened, but we ended up in bed. We made love…I’m sorry, Alastair. So sorry.” Wearily, Alastair got up from the kitchen table, quietly put his cup of tea down and walked toward the front door.

“I’m really beat, Jo. We’ll talk about this tomorrow morning. Throw me the keys. I’ll pop the trunk and retrieve my bags.” I handed the keys to him. I couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. He sounded so forlorn. He gently shut the door behind him.

I got up at the crack of dawn, made myself a light breakfast, showered, dressed in my best Elie Tahari black pantsuit, applied my face, and slipped on my Cole Haan two-inch pumps. I picked up my suitcases in both hands and locked the front door after I stepped outside. With head held high and firm resolve, I walked over to Alastair’s house and rang the doorbell. There was no answer. The house was completely dark. Alastair usually leaves early for the office. He’s anal about that. I could never lose the habit of arriving at my desk at exactly 9 o’clock, no matter what my title became. Perhaps Alastair really decided to sleep in. No, that’s so out of character for him. I used the spare key he’d given me for emergencies and entered the house.

He was nowhere to be found. I went through the length and breadth of the house. He must have left for the office already. I looked at the clock on his kitchen wall. It was only 7:30. I stood there for a long moment, debating what to do. I had planned on handing Alastair back his house and car keys. I expected he’d want me to vacate the premises. I would then go to Philippa’s house and go through a normal day’s work on the screenplay. I’d find myself a hotel room to stay in until I could secure alternative housing. Or maybe I could room with Eliot or Joey for the short term.

I went back to the guest house and changed into more casual, “writerly” clothes and comfortable flats. I poured myself a second cup of morning brew and stared at nothing, calculating when I’d have to call Alastair to see that he came straight home after work. The whole idea had been to avoid a nasty fight and effect a discreet departure with nary a hostile word uttered by either of us. Now, it seems unavoidable we’ll have an argument. I’d better be ready to crash at Eliot or Joey’s place tonight.

“Oh, I plan to finish writing this screenplay with you, Philippa, but I won’t be staying in Alastair’s guest house any longer. You can understand how awkward that’d be.”

I was on the phone with Philippa, just minutes away from hopping into the Audi to make the short drive to her Los Feliz house. I unburdened myself of my rather embarrassing situation to her, hoping for a sympathetic ear I suppose. She wondered if I should skip today’s session and pick up tomorrow or the next day when my mind would be clearer and more focused. I sighed and told her I’d rather work on the script than sit around the house driving myself crazy with expectations of what Alastair’s mood turns out to be. Suddenly, the call waiting beep went off. I looked at the number. It was Alastair.

“You better answer that, Joanne. Good luck.” Philippa disconnected. I accepted Alastair’s call.

“Jo? Alastair. Can you come to the offices here in a half an hour?”

“Alastair! I came by this morning, but you’d already left—”

“Jo, please. Just be here in half an hour. Michelle and I need to speak to you.”

“What about?” I was apprehensive. Why would Michelle Gravesend need to speak to me? Oh, my god, they’re going to fire me! “Alastair, is this about the…the screen—”

“I’ve got to go. See you soon. Goodbye, Jo.” He ended the call. It was a 20-minute drive to the GlobalNet offices on Vine Street. I’ll have to go dressed as I am. At the last second, I decided to wear my oversized, azure blue blazer even though it was already 80° outside. Oh, vanity, woman be thy name!

I had expected to meet with Alastair and Michelle in her office. The corner office with the view of Farmer’s Market, the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and the Capitol Records Building all in a straight-line facing north. Michelle was GlobalNet’s Chief Content Officer and Alastair’s boss. Time Magazine had just done an extensive article on her: Columbia Film School graduate and Harvard MBA, started out as a junior staffer in Paramount’s film acquisitions department, rose to head of production at 21st Century Fox (where she met Alastair), three films she executive-produced had been Oscar-nominated in the last 5 years, and she was Hollywood’s highest-ranked out lesbian, married to Veronica Latimer, the noted prima ballerina of the San Francisco Ballet Company.

Instead, the receptionist shepherded me into a nondescript conference room, where I sat by myself for almost 15 minutes before Alastair walked in, followed a minute later by Michelle. She sat at the head of the conference table while Alastair and I faced each other across it.

“Thank you, Joanne, for being here on such short notice. I felt we should tell you about some changes in your situation with us as soon as possible—”

“Am I being…let go?”

“No, of course not. What makes you think that? It’s just a change in the management chain, so to speak. Perhaps Alastair hasn’t already told you…” She looked at the both of us. Neither of us said anything. “Well, as you might have read in all the trades…you don’t read the trades, do you?” I shook my head. “GlobalNet has reached an agreement in principle to an exclusive relationship with Beardsley Studios in London to produce a certain number of films every year on their famous premises. I’ve asked Alastair to go across the pond to make all the necessary preparations and this would mean being off-site for 3 or 4 months…or more.” My face betrayed my shock and Alastair avoided my look of surprise by keeping his attention locked on Michelle.

“What will this mean for my project? Is it still on?”

“Definitely. The whole organization is looking forward to it, Joanne. We think what you’re working on with Philippa would give GlobalNet the signature film treatment of the lives of transwomen in contemporary society. And that can impact attitudes and tear down biases, don’t you think?”

“Of course, I agree. I thought Alastair was out of his mind when he broached the matter to me at first. You know, he’s the motive force behind this. I would’ve never thought my life was that interesting to anyone else much less millions of viewers but Alastair…” I swallowed the last words and looked at Alastair. “Sorry, I get a little emotional about it all sometimes.”

“There are very few people I’ve been around who I have as much respect and admiration for as Joanne. She’s simply a uniquely inspirational person. Which is why I was insistent in asking her to do this.” Alastair seemed to stare into my soul.

“I know you’re disappointed that Alastair won’t be able to continue to oversee this project since he’ll be occupied overseas but I intend to give your screenplay my utmost personal attention. Any questions you might have or potential roadblocks you might face in the process, feel free to ask me for help. You’ll find I’ve had a lot of experience with controversial subject matter in my career in the business. Not to mention my own personal battles, as I’m sure you can empathize with.”

“I thought you’d be here while I finished the screenplay. You never mentioned having to spend three months in England—” My tone edged toward anger. Michelle took notice.

“I…it was something that developed in the last week or so—”

“Alastair came to me this morning and said he was immediately available to start the Beardsley deal. We booked him on Virgin Atlantic’s 10:30PM non-stop to London tonight. I was surprised to say the least, but it gives us a 3-month head start. And he’ll be our man on the spot. Who knows, we might be able to beat our competitors to the next Harry Potter or Dr. Who!”

“You might like it so much; you’ll decide to stay. I hear British women can be so much more sophisticated than American women.”

“I’ll be back. It’s a 3-month assignment, that’s all. It’s my job.”

“Well, I just wanted you to know what was happening on your project. Don’t worry, your screenplay is high priority with us, with or without Alastair onsite.” She rose from her chair and extended her hand. I shook it and tried to smile.

In the hallway, after Michelle had stepped back into her office, Alastair turned to me.

“In the mood for an early lunch?”

“From what I just heard; I’d think you’d rather be 5,000 miles away than have lunch with me.”

“You said on the phone you came by this morning. Why?”

“To give you back your house and car keys. I’d rather leave on my own accord than be evicted.” He took me by the shoulders and gently redirected me into his office, closing the door behind us.

“No matter what happens between us, Joanne, you can stay in my guest house as long as you want. Even after the screenplay is finished…if that’s what you want.”

“I think it’s better if I find another place to stay. As things stand…”

“Come on, let me take you to lunch. But first I want to go to Home Depot.”

“Alastair, just hire a locksmith. You’re not a handy guy. I’ve seen you try to fix things. Surely, you can afford it.”

“I’m not interested in anything in the store. It’s what’s on top of it.”

“Huh?”

We stood next to each other, leaning against the side of his Porsche, on the rooftop parking lot of The Home Depot on Sunset Boulevard, looking past the Shell Gas Station sign and the Dunes Inn sign all the way to Mt. Lee in Griffith Park.

“You can’t park anywhere near the Hollywood sign on Mt. Lee. You can only approach it by foot along those hiking paths. This rooftop parking lot is the best vantage point to see it. And it’s free of charge.” Alastair snaked his arm around my waist. “Take off your jacket. It’s getting hot closer to mid-day.” He put both our jackets back in the car.

“It took me 30 years to get to see this sign as something other than a tourist. You know, I wanted to be a documentary filmmaker—”

“I know. You’ve told me a thousand times over the years I’ve known you.”

“It was Ed Bradley who gave me my big break. 1994. I was 27. An assistant producer and chief bottle-washer. But I structured that group interview and profile he did of The Rolling Stones on their worldwide tour. Won him and the show an Emmy that year. And then we went to New Orleans later that year and did the Wynton Marsalis profile. That was the start for me. I gave up my dream of being another Peter Davis, the guy who directed “Hearts and Minds” about the tragedy of the Vietnam War. My talent lay in producing, supervising, putting things and people together to get something done.” I leaned back into him and listened to his heartbeat, keeping my eyes on the Hollywood sign in the far horizon.

“Less than two years later, I met you. And from the moment I first laid eyes on you, I fell head over heels for you. But you turned me down every time I asked you out—”

“I’ve explained why. You caught me at the wrong time. I was so insecure, afraid of what people would think of me or say to me when they found out. You saw me as a woman, but you were more certain of that than I was. I needed time.”

“Time marches on. It can’t be suspended. I guess I got frustrated with waiting you out. Then you found Emily—”

“No, you found Lulu first. Then I met Emily. It was in the same year though.”

“The point I guess is that I’ve waited almost 30 years to win your heart, I think I can wait another 3 or 4 months. Maybe giving our relationship some space could help sort out your feelings. You want space, don’t you?”

“It’s not what I want, Alastair. It’s something I can’t escape. I’ve been hurt and abandoned by the people I most loved in my life. Elizabeth leaving felt like the end of the world. She rejected the person I wanted to become, the real me. And then the years of transitioning, adjusting to actually living as a woman. I was flattered you liked me, but Emily was the first person who really saw me for me—and it was life-affirming. Then I lost her too. The universe keeps taking the things I love away from me.” He took me in his arms.

“I won’t leave you, Jo. I don’t care that you slept with Elizabeth. Really. People make mistakes. Tell me you want me to stay, and I’ll postpone my assignment to London. I don’t care if Michelle fires me. I’d toss it all aside for you. It’s you I’ve waited for. 27 years is a long time to keep a dream alive. Say you want me to stay.”

“I can’t do that to you, darling. My mind, my heart is so confused. It’s so damn hard to keep the past tucked away and out of sight. The monster of memory leaps out at you from dark, forgotten corners and eats your soul. I still love Elizabeth. I won’t lie to you—”

“I know, I know. I’ve always known. But she’s not here now. She comes into your life, dances the tango with you, seduces you, and takes the next plane out of town. Is that what you want, time and time again, over and over? She’s the one haunted by the past, not you. We have a future together. Say it. Say you want me to stay.”

“Go, Alastair. Go to England and hit it out of the park. You’re the one who should be running GlobalNet not Michelle. This will show the board you’re the right choice. Don’t worry about me. I need some time to get myself straight. What you say makes total sense, but I need to restructure my brain and my heart.”

“You want me to wait? How long will this take?”

“I don’t know. But I want you to know, Alastair.” I kissed him, quick and sharp, on the lips. “I want you to know that I’ve been deliriously happy with you these past five months. Let me have this time and the space to clear my head of the ghosts of the past. I do love you, dear, dear Alastair. But go and do your job. I’ll be here…waiting for you this time.”

The marines have landed! We rushed the Santa Monica Pier along with the teeming millions marching across the cantilevered Pedestrian Bridge. I was flanked on all sides by Joey and Eliot, Philippa and Paul, and, of course, Clarissa snugly positioned against her daddy’s chest in a baby carrier, her eyes wide as saucers as she scanned the scene before us.

“Did Alastair give you all the details on his encounter with J.K. Rowling on that BBC chat show? Paul and I only saw short clips on YouTube.”

“Well, she wasn’t expecting the subject of transwomen to be brought up and she had no idea who Alastair was. She was backtracking so fast; her head was spinning. I think Alastair made her look like a fool—”

“Good luck GlobalNet getting dibs on any future Rowling properties,” Eliot chuckled.

“Who cares? She’s yesterday’s news. Speaking of Alastair, Joanne, when’s he returning from across the pond?” asked Joey as she was making funny faces to entertain Clarissa.

“Who knows? 3 months was the original ETA but there’s always loose ends that need to be tied up.”

“Have you made any progress on solving your dilemma?” asked Philippa.

“Do you mean have I wiped Elizabeth from my memory banks?”

“Mom just moved into your old loft this week. I’m supposed to fly out there next month. Do you want to come along?” Joey remained her mother’s greatest advocate. It was a sore subject between us, but I continued to resist her prodding.

“Joey, you’re the one who’s always preaching about letting the past go. Face forward, don’t look back. Right?”

“There are always exceptions to the rule…”

We passed underneath the arch that frames the entrance to Pacific Park, the Pier’s mini amusement area chock-a-block with rides for all ages. Paul and Eliot argued over who was paying for the unlimited ride wristbands when I stepped forward, swiped my card, and returned with five wristbands. Clarissa didn’t require one since, as a toddler, she was essentially considered an appendage of her daddy’s.

We tried every ride. The Pacific Wheel, The West Coaster (circling the perimeter of the Park), Shark Frenzy, Sea Dragon, Inkie’s Scrambler, Pacific Plunge, Seaside Swing, Frog Hoppers, Sea Planes, and several more. Clarissa enjoyed them all, giggling and shouting all the words she had in her vocabulary. Mama, dada, car, banana, juice…she even shouted out “Joanne” once or twice. Everyone had a great time except for Joey, who started looking a little green around the gills about the time we did the last Pacific Plunge.

We decided to have lunch at the Bubba Gump Shrimp Company, a popular franchise that served seafood and American fare. Nearby stood the Route 66 sign, denoting the terminal point of the legendary highway that, before 1986, threaded the western United States from downtown Chicago to the Santa Monica Pier. Along the boardwalk, buskers dotted the path every 50 feet or so. Joey dropped coins into the various hats, caps, and instrument cases as we walked through the gauntlet of guitar slinging singers and Sonny Rollins wannabes.

“I read somewhere that these street performers, if they find a good location, can make up to $500 on a busy summer weekend. Some of them probably live in better digs than we do,” Paul informed us.

“Oh my god!” We looked ahead of us where Joey was holding her head in her hands, peering at the scruffy busker, his eyes shut, strumming his guitar, and singing a cover version of John Martyn’s “May You Never.”

“Raffy? Is that you?” The busker stopped his performance and opened his eyes. An expression of shock and recognition passed over his bearded face. He picked up his guitar case and amp, and without a word, ran like an Olympic sprinter down the boardwalk.

“Joey, what’s going on?”

“Joanne, I think that was Raffy. Raffy Gonzalez!”

It was coming up Labor Day weekend. My little cohort here in Los Angeles was scattered to the winds. Paul and Philippa had taken Clarissa with them to spend a week at Paul’s parents’ Lake Tahoe summer house. Eliot was in Europe, probably sitting in a gondola in Venice right now. Joey was in New York City exploring the Tribeca neighborhood her mother had moved back into. She might be looking out the same floor to ceiling windows I often spent late afternoons in summer standing by, watching the busy streets below.

I had just unwrapped a package that came by the U.S. mail and discovered it was a chapbook of collected poems written by Emily Bradshaw, my late wife. It was published by Elizabeth’s small boutique press. That and painting was what occupied her days now that she had retired from her medical practice. Inside the front cover was a handwritten note from Elizabeth.

Dearest Joey,

I thought you would like to receive the first copy of this small press printing of Emily’s collected poems. It is my gift to you, in memory of your beloved, and, for me, a final gesture of farewell to our long-ago romance. Be well, Joey, and seek love wherever you can. Most of all, hold tight to it when you find it. Cherish it. Never take it for granted, as I did. Goodbye.

All my love forever,

E

There was a bookmark in the book that opened it to Emily’s poem, “The Saddest Song.” I remembered hearing Emily read it the first time I saw her in St. Paul’s Chapel. She was the last poet of the afternoon. Our eyes met at some point during her third poem and stayed locked together every time she looked up from her text. After the reading, I invited her and little Eliot to Tom’s Diner where we had coffee and I treated Eliot to a root beer float.