Consuela was actually rubbing her hands together as we marched toward the entrance to Bridgewater Commons, the biggest shopping mall in Somerset County.

“Come on, chica. The mall closes at 9PM. Hurry!”

There were three reasons I was dawdling behind her. One: I was wearing my sister’s sandals with the kitten heels, causing me to step cautiously lest I slip on the pavement and fall flat on my face. Two: I was out in public for the first time ever in makeup, a pink barrette in my hair, clip on earrings, a peasant blouse with what Consuela told me was a strapless bra underneath, and the black denim jeans that unintentionally showed off my bubble butt. Debbie’s ankle socks served as extra padding in the breast region and they chafed like hell. Three: my boy bits were tucked away through a weird procedure involving some hide-and-seek maneuvers and the medical tape Consuela had swiped from the hospital. She assured me I could still pee if I needed to. I think I did at the moment.

Consuela had “transformed” me in the first half hour after she had returned home from work. I didn’t complain (much) because I was desperate. Richie Morrow, New York Titans rookie phenom pitcher, had invited me to see him pitch tomorrow night…and he was bringing his parents along! Worst of all, they all think I’m a girl! Which I’m not. I’m a 24-year-old guy named Evelyn. But everyone calls me Evie. Even my own dad and stepmom.

“I’ve always wanted to play with a life-sized doll. Artie and I couldn’t have children and then the Iraq War took him away from me. I never had the good fortune to shop for clothes with a daughter. But…now, Evie…I get to do this with you!”

“I’m in your hands, Consuela. I have no clue about women’s clothes. Jesus, these socks are chafing my nipples.” A woman and her teenage daughter walked by at that moment, giving me odd looks. “I never knew my nipples were so sensitive.”

“My little girl is becoming a woman. Hurry, this way. We’ll start with a couple of bra and panty sets. Then some nice everyday dresses. Maybe one special dress for tomorrow night—if we find something suitable. You can pick up some pants and tops yourself when you get a chance. A couple of purses. An over-the-shoulder bag and a clutch for going out. Oh…and finally, two pairs of shoes, one with sensible heels and some pumps for when you go out dancing with your date—”

“Consuela! I’m doing this for one night. It’s just ONE night! I don’t need a trousseau!”

“Evie, what kind of young lady goes around all the time in baggy sweats and tennis shoes? There’s a time for every tomboy to grow up.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me into Adore Me, where a saleswoman immediately rushed to greet us.

“Ladies, how may I help you?”

“My daughter…Evie…needs some nice new bra and panty sets. She’s such a career woman that she’s neglected her wardrobe. You know how driven young girls are these days—”

“Oh, you don’t need to tell me. My oldest daughter is getting her MBA and, most of the time, she dresses like Bill Belichick. You know, hoodies and sweatpants—”

“Exactly! But Evie’s got a special evening tomorrow. Richie Morrow’s parents are meeting her for the first time and they’re going to dinner at some fancy schmancy Manhattan restaurant.”

“Richie Morrow, the baseball player? I don’t know anything about baseball but I’ve seen him on TV being interviewed. Oh my, lucky girl, you.” I glared at Consuela but turned to smile at the saleslady.

“We’re…uh…just friends.”

“Well, well. Let me show you something in your sizes.” She gave me the once over and clucked her tongue. “You’re a slender girl, aren’t you?”

“Eats like a bird. Girls are so body conscious. I don’t know why. Men like a little meat on the bone—”

“Consuela! Please…” Sotto voce. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“I wish my daughter had that attitude. She could stand to lose a few pounds. I think…Evie, is it? Evie is fine. Those pro athletes really go for the supermodel types. Come this way.”

As we exited Adore Me, me carrying the rather ostentatious bag filled with lingerie (everyone seeing me knows I’ve just bought some probably spicy underwear…I could just die), I asked Consuela why she didn’t allow me to pay for the items. Instead, she beat me to the cashier, using dad’s gold Amex card.

“Your dad and I know you have limited funds until you get a new job. He said to think of it as an investment in your future. You’ll need nice clothes in your new job, whatever it turns out to be.”

“I sincerely doubt I’ll be wearing a bra and panties underneath my suit and tie. Especially this itchy bra I’m wearing right now.”

“Walk faster, chica. We’ve got two hours before the mall closes—”

“And many miles to go.”

“No, Evie, Macy’s is right around the corner, down the hall—”

I have to admit trying on dresses in Macy’s was kind of pleasant. When I first caught a glimpse in the full-length mirror in the changing stall, I didn’t recognize the reflection of the pretty girl smiling back at me. That was me! When I stepped out to show Consuela each dress, she sighed every time and exchanged beatific grins with the saleslady. For my part, I wished I had real breasts, at least a B cup, to do justice to the dresses. We went through a dozen or so dresses and outfits before settling on 4 dresses and a nice light jacket (that would come in handy tomorrow since it was still cool in the evening in early May).

Consuela talked me into doing a fashion show in full regalia for dad back home after we escaped the mall with our very lives (and a badly damaged charge account). Parading around our living room in high heels, a dress, and carrying a shoulder bag finally became too much. This was ludicrous.

“I’m sorry, dad. I guess I’m not much of a son. You probably think I’m mental or something.”

He looked up at me, placed his hands on the wheels of his chair, his voice choked with tears as he forced out his breath.

“Evie, you’re the spitting image of your mother when she was your age. If she could only see our beautiful eldest daughter now. She’d be as proud as I am.”

I rushed over and hugged him, our tears mingling. Consuela reached around both of us and joined in a group hug, her own tears dampening the blue fabric of my dress.

I decided to wear the blue dress with the floral pattern rather than the pale blue Swiss Dot dress. I was too self-conscious about my flat chest to wear the Swiss Dot dress first time at the plate, so to speak. I didn’t know too much about Richie’s parents but it’s always safer to assume they’re on the more conservative side. They wouldn’t want their son involved with some big city slut. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Leaving the house at 5:30, I calculated I’d arrive at the stadium in the South Bronx in just under an hour. It was difficult driving Consuela’s Corolla in heels; the pedals didn’t feel right under my feet. The game would start at five minutes past 7 so there’d be a half an hour to chit chat with Richie’s parents, seated in the players’ family section. I realized I had no idea what they looked like. I’d have to make an educated guess. Surely, they’d bear some resemblance to Richie. I parked a few blocks away from the Stadium. I know what you’re thinking. I live dangerously, don’t I?

I was about to pull out my driver’s license to show the security guy at Gate 3 when Lenny, the team’s comptroller, who had just arrived himself, waved the guy off.

“Mike, let the lady in. She’s a guest.” He turned to me as we walked down the corridor toward the ground level box seats. “Evie, quite a nice surprise seeing you. And you look brilliant. That color really flatters you.”

“Richie Morrow invited me. He wanted me to meet his parents. They’re here tonight.”

“I knew there was something between you two.” Conspiratorially, he lowered his voice. “I won’t say a word to anyone, much less the media. If his parents are ok with it, what’s the issue? Am I right?”

“It’s…it’s not what you think. It’s hard to explain—”

“Hey, this is New York, not East Dustbin, South Carolina or wherever Richie’s from. Even The New York Post won’t bat an eye. Listen, give my regards to Mr. and Mrs. Morrow. I’m heading up to my office. Nice to see you, Evie. Good luck to you and Richie.” He turned away and pressed the button for the elevator. I headed for the box seats where the players’ families and guests sat.

Ask anyone who has ever been to a baseball stadium packed with fans just before the game begins and they will tell you that the first thing you marvel at is the sight of the greener than green grass that covers the field from foul line to foul line. Then there’s the anticipatory buzz of the tens of thousands of fans in the stands. And the three decks of stands jutting out against the night sky illuminated by massive light towers around the perimeter of the stadium. Football is a sport best viewed on a television screen. Baseball is an experience best appreciated in the milieu of chanting fans, players moving across a geometry of space bordered by white lines whose vector is infinity, and the crackling sound of bats striking balls that sometimes soar into the vault of night. There is poetry here. That’s why Evie loves baseball. But baseball, like the impassive universe we exist in, doesn’t love Evie.

A clean-shaven man in his late forties, wearing horned rim glasses, in a sport jacket and golf shirt, stood in the aisle, waving to me as I descended the steps.

“Evie! Evie Rivers! Over here!”

“Mr. Morrow?”

“Call me Howard. This is my wife, Sylvia. And Richie’s friend Bonnie.”

Bonnie took me by surprise. Unsmiling, she stood up from her seat next to Mrs. Morrow and gave me a limp finger wave. She was dressed to the nines. Her long blonde hair cascading to the bare shoulders of her skin-tight, spaghetti-strapped red dress, her wrists encircled by several jangling bracelets and her right hand clutching a Botta Venega leather purse. Mrs. Morrow warmly embraced me and we brushed cheeks, careful not to smear our lipstick.

“Bonnie, could you move over one seat? Let Evie sit between Sylvia and me.”

Reluctantly, Bonnie did as Howard asked. I scooted into the seat between Richie’s parents and started to engage Sylvia in some small talk. It turns out the Morrows really were from South Carolina, not East Dustbin though but the state capitol, Columbia. Howard was a Senior Manager in the Corporate Underwriting Department of Colony Insurance, “the nation’s second largest supplemental insurance provider serving 49 of the 50 states,” he proudly stated.

“We’re not in Hawaii…presently. But Sylvia thinks I should push upper management to have me open an office in Maui. Isn’t that right, dear?” Sylvia laughed and nodded.

“Richie tells us you really helped him with his mechanics. I don’t understand all the inside baseball terminology but he says you increased his spin rates?” Sylvia smiled to denote total ignorance of what that meant. So I explained it to her, in layman’s terms so to speak.

Howard stood up and surveyed the stands, looked at his watch, and asked, “Anyone for refreshments? I don’t want to miss Richie’s first inning. Better go now and avoid the lines at the concessions. Bonnie? Sylvia? Evie?” We all shook our heads. He sighed and went to get his beer. He got two steps away before Sylvia spoke up.

“Howard, wait a minute. On second thought, maybe I’d like a hotdog and an orange pop. I haven’t eaten since lunchtime. Bonnie?”

“I’m fine, Sylvia. No, thanks.”

“Evie? Are you hungry or thirsty?”

“I’m good. My stepmom says I eat like a bird. I better save my appetite for dinner later on.”

That got a rise out of Bonnie. “You big city girls go for that skinny look. I know Richie likes—”

“Some meat on the bone. Yeah, I get that a lot. Dad says I was a picky eater even when I was little. My sister ate enough for both of us.”

The Titans staked Richie to an early lead that he safeguarded with seven innings of 2 hit, shutout ball. When he left the game, the crowd gave him a standing ovation and he tipped his cap in our direction, smiling when he met my eyes. I waved to him and Bonnie gave me the side eye with a vicious sneer. Sylvia squeezed my hand. I felt like the slice of bologna in a whole wheat sandwich. We sat through the final two innings of the game with Richie’s parents receiving congratulations from and high fiving the other player’s families in our section, Bonnie scrolling through the texts on her phone, and me looking at the pics I had shot with my phone of Richie’s delivery during the game, checking out his stride and release points.

As the sell-out crowd filed out after the last out, the four of us made our way to the team’s locker room, where we patiently waited outside the closed doors for Richie to emerge after showering, changing, and speaking to the media. Most of the media, even some stragglers among the players and coaches had already left before Richie finally appeared, his hair still wet from showering and wearing a dark blue windbreaker and dress slacks.

He embraced his mother and patted his father on the shoulder, a wide smile creasing his face. I was standing some feet apart from the quartet, preparing to shoot some group photos of them. I’m sure they’d like photos of the evening since it was their first time seeing Richie pitch in person in the majors. Unexpectedly, Richie pulled me into an embrace.

“Thanks for coming, Evie. I hope my parents didn’t bore you to tears during the game. Did dad talk his usual back-office insurance talk?”

“Oh, no, Richie. Your parents are very nice and hospitable. The only shop talk was about you losing the release point on your slider in the middle innings. You got away with a few hangers.”

He acted surprised to see Bonnie and seemed reluctant to embrace her, even as she reached up to kiss him on the cheek, wiping the lipstick off with her thumb.

“Well, let’s go. I’ve got reservations for Zhou Dynasty. Man, I had Lenny go through back channels to get them. That place is hopping even after six months!” He took me by the arm and turned to his parents. “You guys can wait by the gate while I walk Evie to her car. You parked up on Jerome Avenue, didn’t you?”

I blinked with surprise. “How did you know?”

“That’s my Evie. Free parking all the way. Come on.”

Consuela’s Corolla was intact when we reached the spot on Jerome Avenue where I’d parked it almost 4 hours before. Richie expected the car to be up on cinder blocks with shattered side windows.

“New York’s not that bad, Richie. By the way, it was nice meeting your girlfriend Bonnie. She’s very pretty.”

He shook his head, an annoyed look on his face. “She’s my ex-girlfriend. We broke up our junior year at Clemson just before I got drafted by the Titans. I don’t know how she talked her way into coming with mom and dad.”

“Well, she acts like she’s still your girlfriend. She gave me the cold shoulder all night. And I’m not even trying to compete with her.”

“Really, Evie? I’ve been so busy with the start of the season and all, I kind of forgot to tell you I’m…I really like you. Maybe you felt the same?”

“That’s really sweet, Richie. But I’m still unemployed and I’m not even sure I’m going to be in this area moving forward. My sister keeps hinting I should relocate to the West Coast. And... well, there are other complications I’d rather not get into—”

“Is there someone else you’re seeing?”

“No, Richie. I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.”

“Well, that means I’ve still got a shot, right?” We laughed, though there was an edge to his laughter that wasn’t in mine.

Zhou Dynasty was the latest trendy dining out spot in Manhattan, on the 39th floor of a commercial tower near the Empire State Building, with a spectacular view of the city skyline through its panoramic picture windows. The table Richie had reserved was by one of those windows. Rather pointedly, Richie sat next to me on my right-hand side. On my left sat Sylvia.

“It’s funny but the décor doesn’t look like a Chinese restaurant. But it’s certainly packed. And on a weekday evening too,” mused Sylvia as she donned her reading glasses to peruse the menu.

“It’s Asian Fusion, mom. The chef is a Caucasian dude. Lenny said the Sesame Chicken’s really good. Do you like Asian Fusion, Evie?”

“Can’t say I’ve had it before. But the Sesame Chicken sounds good to me. There’s a Chinese place in Bridgewater Commons that my dad loves to order from at least a couple a times a month…”

“You’d think you’d be more of a gourmand coming from New York. Maybe you’re just a small-town girl at heart?” Bonnie looked pointedly at Richie.

We all ordered the Sesame Chicken except for Bonnie who opted for the house special, the roast breast of duck breast with Asian soy glaze.
“This is yummy. Want some of this, Richie? I like my breast meaty and succulent, don’t you?”

Before Richie could respond, a bearded man in a chef’s apron who looked to be in his early thirties approached our table. At his side was a very pretty blonde woman in a tailored pantsuit who looked to be at least twenty years older. Perhaps his mother? There wasn’t a family resemblance though.

“Richie Morrow? I’m Mark Sheldon, executive chef here at Zhou Dynasty. And this is my partner, Elizabeth Greene. I saw your name on the reservations list and I just had to come over and meet you. And thank you for patronizing my establishment. Would you be so kind as to allow my photographer to take your picture later on? We’ll put it on our celebrity wall—”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Sheldon, Ms. Greene. This is my mom Sylvia and dad Howard. My friend Bonnie. And my special friend and Shaolin master Evie. She made me the pitcher I am today.”

“I think I read about you, Evie. A woman baseball coach. Rare indeed. Mark tells me Richie is a sure bet to win Rookie of the Year. You must know your baseball—”

“Well, I’m between assignments right now. I’m sure he’s in good hands with the Titans’ pitching coaches.”

“Well, I hope you’ve all enjoyed your meals. And please become a regular. It’s good publicity for us. I’ve got some friends in the film industry who would love to get the rights to your bio. Especially if you pitch the Titans to a World Series this Fall—”

“Oh, Mark, I think Alastair’s going to change his number if you keep pestering him with movie ideas. I don’t want Joey giving me an angry phone call.”

“I see you’ve ordered the breast of duck. My signature dish. Did you like?”

“Oh, yes, it was scrumptious. I’m a bit more adventurous than the others at this table. I love to try different things.” She fluttered her eyelashes at Mark.

“By the way, your meal is on the house. My treat.”

“No, we can’t possibly accept. We didn’t expect our dinner comped.”

“Yes, I’m paying.” Howard patted his jacket breast pocket. “The dinner was my idea. I told Richie to pick the restaurant. We’re from South Carolina, you understand. We’re not fans of needless charity.”

“Alright, Mr. Morrow. I didn’t intend to offend. As you wish. And thank you for choosing to dine in my humble establishment. Good evening, ladies, gentlemen.”

“Ladies! To the powder room. Time to freshen up before we vamoose. Evie, coming?”

I had no choice but to follow them as they headed to the ladies’ room. It would be the first ladies’ room I’d been in since my sister had that pigeon drop a load on her head at Bridgewater Commons when she was six and I was eight. Mom rushed us into the ladies’ room in Macy’s to wash the glob of bird poo out of Debbie’s hair. Apparently, the women who were lounging there had no qualms about allowing an eight-year-old boy into that feminine inner sanctum. I was impressed with how clean it was. And how it smelled a lot better than any men’s room I’d been in.

Since I was there anyway, I decided to enter a stall and do my business. In no time, I felt relieved. Carefully replacing my various bits of clothing and making sure everything was presentable, I emerged from the stall to discover Sylvia had already left. Bonnie stood alone at one of the sinks, re-applying her lipstick. She turned to me when I stood by the next sink.

“Don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes, Evie.”

“Excuse me?”

“That act you’re putting on. I can see through it. Maybe you’ve got Richie and his parents bamboozled but I’m not buying it.” I shuddered, contemplating her circumlocutions and what she was about to accuse me of.

“I…I’m not putting on an act. What are talking about?”

“Oh, come off it. Look, Richie’s a rube to you but he doesn’t deserve some New York City sophisticate taking advantage of him because he’s their ticket to fame and millions.”

“What?”

“I know all about you WAGs. You set your sights on some up-and-coming pro athlete who’s all set to sign a 9-figure contract and you con them into thinking you love them. They’re suckers for skinny bitches who are more worldly wise than country bumpkins like them.”

“Bonnie, you’ve got the wrong idea about me. I’m not “after” Richie. We had a work relationship. I coached him. That’s all.”

“I see how he looks at you and treats you. Like I’m invisible. Like I’m not even here. You’ve got him hooked! Well, listen, little girl, go away. Far away. Or I’ll blow your scheme. Richie and his parents won’t think you’re so charming then, will they?”

“You’re insane—”

At that moment, I noticed Elizabeth Greene had come in. Catching the last part of our “discussion,” she quietly sat down on the couch and faced the mirrors above the sinks.

Bonnie lowered her voice and half-sneered, “Just think about it, Evie.” She fluffed her hair one last time and quickly exited the room. Elizabeth stood next to me, her arms folded beneath her breasts.

“It’s difficult being trans.”

“How did you know? I mean, I’m not…trans. This is all a huge misunderstanding—”

“I have some experience with trans people in my life. In retrospect, I didn’t really cover myself with glory in the way I treated them in the beginning. But they say age brings wisdom with it.”

“I’m not trans. People just refuse to see me as male. Even my own father thinks I’m a girl. He’s been trying to convince me that I am trans.”

“Listen to your own internal thoughts. It doesn’t matter what other people believe. Even your father. I see a beautiful young woman. And from what I’ve read about you, a very special young woman. If it’s your destiny—”

“Maybe you’re right. But I’m not sure.”

“You’re fortunate. You present convincingly as female. Bonnie is so convinced, she’s ready to scratch your eyes out over that overgrown jock. Are you interested in him?”

“No, not really. I’m not gay…or would that be straight? I’m confused about the whole thing.”

“My advice, for what it’s worth, is leave that one alone. It’s got too many sharp edges and where you are right now, it’s better to avoid unnecessary flesh wounds. Are you looking for another gig in baseball?”

“I think the ambiguity about my gender makes it unlikely I’ll catch on with another team. I’d be victimized by a double bias: against women and transgender. I’ve got an MBA in marketing.”

“Pursue that. If you need a lead, I’ve got some friends in corporate circles here in the city and Boston.”

“Thanks, Ms. Greene. I’ll think about that.”

“You do that, Evie. Good luck and remember what I said.” She went into one of the stalls and closed the door. I checked my makeup in the mirror one last time and walked out of the ladies’ room.

While Richie’s parents and Bonnie sat in his car, Richie walked me to my Corolla, parked half a block away.

“Richie, I had a really nice time tonight. And your parents are a hoot. I don’t think I’ve ever learned as much about insurance underwriting or Spanish Moss as I did during the game and dinner.”

“I’m glad you had a good time. Knowing you were sitting in the stands gave me extra adrenaline. That was the best game I’ve pitched since Opening Day.”

“Richie, I’m going through a lot of changes right now. I’m looking for a job. I don’t even know what industry I’ll be working in. Probably not baseball. I can’t just stay in my dad’s house forever. My sister wants me to move to the West Coast. I don’t know. Maybe it’s not the right time for us to get involved.” His face betrayed his disappointment and he turned away for a moment.

“You don’t have to sugar-coat it, Evie. I get it. You don’t feel the same way I feel about you. I’m a dumb jock trying to dance in your world. You’ve got an MBA, for God’s sake! Who am I kidding? You’re way above my league. It’s okay.”

“Richie, it’s not that. You’re a wonderful, talented guy. I’m not worthy of you, if anything. It’s just…you want someone who can give you everything a woman can. I don’t…I don’t think I’m able to do that right now. Maybe ever.”

“You’re not making sense, Evie. You’re talking in riddles. Let’s stay friends. Things can change. For both of us. Just let me know when you get that new job or if you decide to move out west. Stay beautiful, Evie.” He closed the passenger door and headed back to his car. Strapping myself in, I released the handbrake and turned the ignition.

It was close to one in the morning when I collapsed onto my bed, kicking off my Steve Madden kitten heel sandals, too tired to properly undress. I figured I’d be out cold within minutes. But my phone notified me I had a video call. It was from my sister Debbie.

“Evie, I tried calling you a couple of hours ago—”

“Sorry, Debbie. I was unavailable.”

“Yeah, I was worried so I called dad on the landline and he told me you were out on a date with that baseball player. He said you were meeting his parents. Is there something as your sister--I believe I am -that you need to tell me?”

“Nothing, Debbie. It was just a huge misunderstanding. The guy told his parents I’m a girl.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he thinks I AM a girl and he wants to start dating me. You can see that would be a problem.”

“Whatever, Evie. These things seem to happen to you a lot. Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something.”

“I’m really tired, Debbie. It’s past one in the morning here.”

“I am well aware of time zones, sis. Anyway, the reason I called is I got you an interview with my company. They’re looking for a senior staffer in the marketing department. It’s set for Friday—”

“This Friday? Debbie, that’s three days away—”

“Consuela says you went shopping yesterday so you’ve got some wardrobe choices. Maybe you could get your hair done today.”

“I’m not going to interview in a dress, Debbie. I’ll have to take my good suit to the cleaners.”

“But you have to wear a dress, Evie!”

“I’m afraid to ask. Why?”

“Because I told them you’re my sister. They’re expecting a young woman named Evie Rivers.”

“Oh, Debbie. HR will immediately see I’m a guy. In a dress no less! It’s stupid.”

“Evie, I’m in Human Resources. I’ll intercept your paperwork before it gets entered in the system. Switch the M to an F and voila, Ms. Evie Rivers, marketing associate. Ipso facto.”

“I don’t think that means what you think it does. Anyway, they’ll kick us to the curb when they eventually find out. Then we’ll both be out of work.”

“No, it’s foolproof, Evie. Trust me. Look, if you do a great job – which I’m sure you will – they’ll never consider firing you. So your gender’s ambiguous. So what. Big deal. Hey, it’s LA, not the boonies.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll do it but I just want to tell you something.”

“What, sis?”

“You’re insane!!!!”

“I don’t disagree. I booked you a flight out of Newark on Thursday morning. I’ll email you the particulars. Oh, this will be so much fun!”

“Good night, Debbie.”

“Good night, Evie.”

It’s 8 in the morning on a Friday in May. I’m riding with my sister Debbie in a van driven by Otis Mellons, heading due east from Debbie’s apartment building in Alhambra, a Los Angeles suburb, to the offices of Debbie’s employer, Sisters Sportswear, located near the Alhambra/San Gabriel city line. Otis services all the plants in their offices. That explains the overwhelming earthy, organic aroma emanating from the back of the van. Bags of plant food, fertilizer, and potting soil surround every kind of office plant you can imagine: Philodendrons, Ficus, Ferns, various Palms, Rubber Trees, Corn Plants, and the always popular Weeping Fig.

“I can’t believe you live and work in LA and you don’t have your own car, Debbie.”

“You know I’m a terrible driver, Evie. Besides, Otis has been available to drive me to work on most days—”

“You’re lucky Otis just happens to live in your building AND waters the office plants twice a week—”

“He does more than just water the plants, Evie. Otis has a botany degree from UC-Riverside.”

“You never told me you had such a pretty sister, Debbie.” Otis turned to wink at me. “If you get this job, I’m thinking I might be available five days a week to drive you to work. Maybe I could show you around town on the weekends too.”

“The plants and potting soil coming along too?” I laughed.

“No,” he laughed nervously. “I’ve got an Acura I drive for personal stuff.”

“Richie drives a Nissan Z—”

“Richie who?”

“Never mind, Otis. It’s some baseball dude Evie broke up with just before leaving New York—”

“Debbie! Broke up? I wasn’t even dating him.”

“Richie Morrow? You dated Richie Morrow? Wow, he was named Pitcher of the Month in April. He could win Cy Young and Rookie of the Year in the same season! Why would you break up with him?”

“We weren’t really compatible.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, he’s a guy…”

Debbie pointed out the building to the left as Otis slowed down to enter the parking lot.

“We’re here, Evie. Ready for your interview?”

We thanked Otis for the ride and went around the building to go in through the front entrance. In the lobby, the security guard at the desk greeted Debbie as the VMS tablet scanned the QR code in the email invitation on my phone. Grabbing the visitor’s pass that was quickly printed out, I followed Debbie through the turnstile.

“Stop flirting with every guy you meet, Evie. It’s annoying.”

“I’m not flirting! I have no interest in Otis at all.”

“Well, he certainly seemed to be interested in you. Just stop it. Whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Hey, he just said he’d give us a ride every morning if I get this job. You should be thanking me.”

At that moment, just before the elevator doors closed, a young man in a business suit, carrying an attaché case, hurried in. He pressed a button for a floor above ours and turned to nod to us.

“Ladies. Nice day. Do you work at Sisters Sportswear?” He looked straight at me. I shrunk imperceptibly, backing into Debbie.

“Not yet. I mean, I’m interviewing today—”

“Well, I hope they give you the job. You’ll certainly brighten up my morning elevator ride if they do. I’m Kirk. You’re…”

“Her name is Evie. My name is Debbie.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. The elevator opened onto our floor.

“Let’s go, Evie. It’s our floor. Nice to meet you…uh…Kirk.”

“My pleasure totally—” as the doors closed off the rest of his sentence.

“I think he’s new. Never seen him before. You know, he was staring lasers at me all the way up. I love a man in a nicely tailored business suit.”

“I don’t. Anyway, no one’s here yet, Debbie. Where is everyone? It’s past nine—”

“They’re pretty lax about the hours here. People stroll in whenever, they leave whenever. As long as they put in their 35 hours, not counting lunch. And we can choose to work a 4-day week if we want. So you work 8.75 hours a day instead of 7. Cool, right?”

The office was divided into cubicles, its perimeter lined with the office plants Otis maintained. The walls were emblazoned with cartoon portrayals of men and women playing a variety of sports from soccer to baseball to football to hockey to tennis and golf. A giant logo above the executive offices at the far end read: Sisters Sportswear – Sisters Are Doin’ It For Themselves.

Since my interview was scheduled for 10AM, Debbie and I wandered into the kitchen area, which turned out to be the size of a cafeteria, to have breakfast. There were a dozen tables with chairs for 40 or more. A handful of employees, all women, were munching away on stacks of pancakes and crackling bacon. There was a chef behind the counter, whistling a Metallica song. He turned around and waved at Debbie. When he saw me, he wiped his hands on his apron and approached our table.

“Debbie! Good morning! And who is this lovely young lady?”

“Oh, Lyle, this is my sister Evie. She’s interviewing for that marketing position.” Lyle shook my hand, placing his left hand on top of mine.

“Well, good luck, Evie. You’ll certainly be a lovely addition to our workplace. In the meantime, is there something special you’d like for breakfast? I can make some delicious breakfast tacos for you. Ten minutes max.”

“Yum. Sounds good. Thank you.”

“I’d like that too, Lyle,” Debbie called after him.

“I know what you like, Debbie. You’re a pop tart fan. I’ll put two in the toaster for you.”

“Just stop whatever it is you’re doing, Evie.”

“I’m not doing anything. I swear.”

I was sitting in Debbie’s cubicle outside her boss, the HR director’s office, shooting the breeze with her and Otis, who was making the rounds, watering the plants. Debbie and Otis were discussing the benefits of aspidistra as a house plant.

“It would be perfect for you. It tolerates neglect very well.”

“Is my sister neglecting something or someone else, Otis?”

“Well, let’s just say, I hope it doesn’t run in the family.”

“Drop it, buster. Evie doesn’t date…uh…guys…who…uh…you tell him why you don’t, Evie.”

I was about to answer when some young woman who I assumed was an executive assistant by her haughty demeanor suddenly appeared at the entrance to Debbie’s cubicle.

“Ms. Rivers? Evie Rivers. Not you, Debbie. If you’ll come with me. They’re ready for you.”

As we took a circuitous route to the executive offices, I noted that everyone, including my sister, the assistant, and everyone else in the place was dressed extremely casually: sweats, ripped jeans, t-shirts with various school or team logos front and/or back, and sneakers. I felt distinctly over-dressed in the white linen jacket and blue floral print dress I had bought just this week at Macy’s. Now I understood why Debbie looked at me askance when I finally came out of the bathroom after managing to not make my face up like a clown this morning. It wasn’t the mascara. But she didn’t utter a word.

At the door of the COO’s office, two women who I surmised were the eponymous sisters of Sisters Sportswear were just leaving. Misty and Christy Connors were two of the most famous and highly decorated female soccer players in North America if not the world. Born a year apart but looking nothing like twins, the Connors sisters were co-captains on two World Cup winning teams and a Gold Medal Olympic side. Misty, the elder, was a goalie; Christy was a striker. They stopped when they saw me approaching, slightly to the side of the assistant. Unsurprisingly by now, they were both wearing workout togs emblazoned with the logo for The California Surf, LA County’s women’s pro soccer club.

The assistant introduced me to them and returned to her desk. After shaking hands, I assumed they were going back into the office with me.

“Oh, no, dear. We’re heading out to the stadium. Practice starts in half an hour.”

“Oh, sorry for the brain fart. Debbie told me you owned The Surf. But, if you’re leaving right now, who am I interviewing with?”

“Our little brother Chuck, the COO. We leave all the hiring and business stuff to him. He’s really smart—”

“For a man, that is.” They both laughed. I smiled cautiously.

“All jokes aside, Chuck is a really good judge of character.”

“Yeah, you can’t believe all the applicants who falsify their resumes so they can work here.”

“Well, sis, after that write-up in Women’s Business Monthly, no wonder. We’re sizzling hot right now.”

“Good luck…Evie, is it? Maybe we’ll see you back here soon.” They walked briskly to the elevators. I waved but they never turned around to see. Knocking on the office door, I heard the clop-clop of what sounded like flip-flops approaching. The door swung open and I was met by Chuck Connors, looking like a member of a Beach Boys tribute band: wearing a gray Newport Beach t-shirt and khaki cargo shorts.

“Evie Rivers, I presume?”

“Chuck Connors, I presume?”

“Well, presumptions out of the way, have a seat while I peruse your resume. Debbie gave me a copy of it yesterday but I haven’t had a chance to look at it. Oh, you can toss me that nerf football. Unless, of course, you like sitting on prolate spheroids.”

I flipped the football to him. He deftly snatched it out of the air and tossed it onto the floor.

“Can’t say I’ve had much experience with prolate spheroids. Baseball’s my sport, as you can see on my resume.”

“MBA in marketing from Rutgers. Impressive. And yet you worked as an analyst-slash-coach for the NY Titans’ AAA affiliate in Somerset.”

“I pitched in high school but didn’t make the varsity in college—”

“Softball, right? I heard MLB was trying out women from softball to see if it can translate to baseball. So, why leave baseball?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, baseball left me. Seems the major league players weren’t too receptive to me telling them how to hit or pitch better.”

“Yeah, sucks that there’s so much anti-women bias in sports. With two older sisters in the industry, I see the hurdles they’ve had to jump over to be taken seriously as team owners and sportswear entrepreneurs.”

“Your sisters said they leave the business stuff to you. Do you have an MBA?”

“No such luck. On-the-job training all the way. I’m just starting to get the hang of the way this industry works. My background is in contract law. I was planning on becoming a sports agent when my sisters retired and decided to start Sisters Sportswear. Funny thing is I’ve never actually practiced law a single day. But knowing contract law does come in handy.”

“So you wanted to be a sports agent? You don’t look the type. You know, fast-talking, arrogant, ambulance-chasing personalities…”

“Honestly, I wanted to be a point guard in the NBA. I was on the varsity at UCLA.”

“Really? I’m not much of a college sports fan. Were you good enough to be drafted?”

“Drafted? No, I barely got off the bench. 12th man on a 12-man team. At least I got a free ride on my degree. Our parents made out pretty good. All three of their kids got full athletic scholarships. They took advantage too. Did a lot of world travelling when we were in school.”

I pointed to the framed photo on the wall. Chuck turned his head.

“The guy your sisters are groping. He’s not another brother, hopefully.”

“No,” Chuck laughed. “That’s Misty’s husband, Clark Ruskin. He owns the LA Drillers, you know, the new NFL franchise in town. Biggest investor in the company AND the soccer team.”

“How did he make his billions?”

“Waste management. I think he collects industrial trash and dumps it in some Nevada landfill. Must be legal. Or he makes regular payoffs to the local authorities—”

“You don’t seem to like him very much.”

“You’ll see for yourself. He makes infrequent visits to the office. Roving eye. I guess you’ve noticed that, besides me and our chef Kirk, there’s only 2 other men working for the company. Misty and Christy insisted on giving women preference for job opportunities. I’m sure you’ll appreciate that—”

“Uh…sure. There’s no such thing as over-compensating when it comes to giving women a fair shot when you consider all the discrimination—”

“Just last month, I interviewed someone for your prospective position. It turned out she was a he. Imagine that? Had me completely fooled! Then our HR department did some digging and sussed it out. Debbie is one heck of a detective. Phew! I almost hired her…uh…him. Can you believe someone would go to those lengths just to get a job?”

I shook my head and tried to look as puzzled as he did. I even let out a small giggle that sounded more like a burp.

“You had a few of Kirk’s breakfast tacos, didn’t you? I avoid those. Too early in the day for that shit. Pardon my French. Now, here’s what we do.” He reached into one of the piles on his messy desk and pulled out a handful of 8 by 11 sheets of paper. “These are sample sheets with the kinds of athletic wear we make. Some are generic, some are custom made.”

I looked at the pictures of the models and couldn’t help but gasp.

“That’s Debbie! She never told me she did modeling—”

“Misty and Christy thought she’d be perfect to model some of our lines. Excuse me for saying this but, honestly, I think you’re even prettier than your sister. If you get the job, you might consider doing some modeling for us too. Of course, you’ll get paid—”

“You’re joking, Mr. Connors.”

“No, no. You’ve got…”it.”

“Well, whatever “it” is, I can assure you Debbie’s got it, not me.”

“We can agree to disagree, no? Anyway, we’re trying to expand our business, grow our consumer base, develop relationships with the whole spectrum of pro sports franchises. But I’m not an idea guy. We need someone who’s got some clever ideas and knows how to market them. Have you thought about how a company like ours could grow?”

For the next 45 minutes or so, Chuck and I threw some ideas against the wall, so to speak. Some of them stuck, others slid to the floor, leaving a trail of brainstorming slime. Although Chuck paid close attention to my ramblings, he did look out the window wistfully several times. He struck me as very bright but, somehow, not fully committed to the business. A square peg in a round hole. No doubt he idolized his sisters but there was no sign that he loved making sportswear. Finally, he stood up and reached out his hand.

“I’ve never done this. Hiring someone before the interview is even finished. But, Evie, you’ve sold me. With your background in marketing and sports, you’re perfect for the position. I love some of your ideas. Can you start Monday morning?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” I jumped up from my chair and shook Chuck’s hand. “Thank you, Mr. Connors. I’m sure I’ll enjoy working here.”

“Call me Chuck. As you’ve probably already noticed, we’re all rather informal here. And one more thing, Evie?”

“Yes…Chuck.”

“You might want to dress a little more casually on Monday. You look nice in the dress but we want everyone on our team to be comfortable. Helps the mind loosen up. Okay?”

When I told Debbie Chuck hired me on the spot and would start Monday morning, she practically jumped into my arms, which made for an embarrasing display before I extricated myself from her grasp. She signed off her computer and tidied up her desk, slinging her purse over her shoulder.

“Come on, girl, let’s go celebrate with a Boujee lunch!” She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the elevator.

“Whoa, Debbie. Aren’t you going to tell your boss you’re leaving early for lunch?”

“It’s Friday. I’m not even supposed to be here. 4-day week. Remember?”

In the elevator, I was reminded of the fact Debbie didn’t own a car.

“Are we catching a bus to this Boujee lunch?”

“Nah, Otis is waiting for us in the parking lot. He wanted to stick around just in case Chuck hired you on the spot.” Debbie grunted in unladylike fashion. “He never does that for me. It’s like a miracle when he agrees to pick me up once in a blue moon after work.”

“I’m sure the restaurant staff will get a good chuckle from seeing Otis drop us off in his van.”

“Oh, he’s having lunch with us. He’s paying. His treat. And then, after lunch, he’s taking us to the mall to go shopping!”

“Shopping?”

“Well, duh, you’re over-dressed for the office. It’ll be so cool. Shopping for clothes with my sister!”

“I’m your brother!”

“Shhh! Not anymore, sis. You’re a big girl now!”

---

Otis drove us to the Nordstrom Rack on South Figueroa in Downtown LA and insisted on following us around as we shopped. While we looked over all the casual clothing on sale and heavily discounted, Otis gave us a running commentary on the selection and placement of plants throughout the store. He asked one of the salespeople if the manager was available to discuss the topic. Sadly for Otis, the manager was not.

Dad had sent some money to Debbie’s Venmo account so, with nary a financial care, we campaign marched through the battlefield of Nordstrom’s casual wear department, achieving some hard-fought victories with cute outfits just perfect for the laid-back Sisters office.

Just before Debbie was ready to slam the door to our apartment shut on poor Otis, who had paid for our lunch, driven us around town and home, and ultimately carried the spoils of our shopping spree from his van to our doorstep, I thanked him profusely while shaking his hand. Impulsively, against my better judgement, I gave him a light peck on the cheek. His eyes lit up and he was about to say something when Debbie slammed the door in his face. She turned to me with an annoyed look.

“Stop it. Just stop it!”

“What? He was nice enough to buy us lunch and drive us—”

“That’s what guys are supposed to do, Evie. It’s in the instruction booklet. Girl, you’ve got so much to learn about being a woman.”

Debbie dragged me out of bed (I was sleeping on her couch for the time being) early Saturday morning. She had picked out an outfit for me to wear. Where were we going?

“I go to the Dog Park in the Arts District most Saturday mornings. You have 20 minutes to get ready. The buses in LA are few and far between especially on weekends.”

“Unless you’ve been hiding it in your room, I’m not aware that you own a dog. Why are we going to a dog park?”

“You’ll see. Vamos, vaga!”

“What?”

“That’s what Consuela used to say to me when I overslept on school days.”

We took two buses to reach the Arts District from Debbie’s building on Eastlake Avenue. The 78 to 1st Street & Broadway and then the 30 to 1st & Vignes. After half an hour on two buses, we still had to walk 10 minutes to arrive at the Dog Park. It was underwhelming. It looked like an empty lot, devoid of grass (for ease of clean up), smack dab in the middle of a warehouse district. There were a few dogs and dog owners scattered about. Debbie led us to a bench and handed me a pair of sunglasses.

“What are we doing here, Debbie?”

“It beats dating apps, Evie. You can see the quarry in the flesh. Think about it. Young, single, eligible artists who own dogs. It’s like manna from heaven. Talented AND sensitive!”

“You’ve never heard of starving artists, Debbie?”

“You’re a cynic, Evie. Look, he’s here again.”

“Who? Where?”

“That cute guy with the bulldog. I’ve seen him a couple of weekends recently. He’s always alone so he doesn’t have a girlfriend or wife.”

“Maybe he’s gay?”

“Shhh! He’s coming over.” Out of the side of her mouth, she half-whispered, “Don’t flutter your eyelashes at him.”

“We’re wearing sunglasses, Debbie.”

“Good morning, ladies.” He nodded at Debbie. “I’ve seen you here before.”

“And why haven’t you said hello before today?”

“I figured you were waiting for someone, like maybe your husband or boyfriend. Why come to a dog park if you don’t own a dog?”

I laughed and swung my leg at Debbie’s foot, striking her a glancing blow.

“Owww! I…love dogs. My landlord won’t let me keep a dog so I go to the park here to watch them run around, communing with nature—”

“You live nearby?”

“She lives in Alhambra.”

“That’s a long way to go to watch dogs run around. Aren’t there dog parks closer to home?”

“Better breed of dogs here.” I gave Debbie a side-eyed glare.

“And who is this?”

“That’s my sister. She just moved out here from Jersey this week. By the way, I’m Debbie. She’s Evie.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Juan.” He shook our hands. He held onto to mine extra-long. Debbie noticed. I felt Juan’s bulldog rubbing up against my calves. It wasn’t a particularly enjoyable sensation.

“Rico, stop that. I’m sorry, Evie, but he seems to have taken a shine to you. He’s usually pretty reserved when meeting new people.”

“Unlike my sister, I’m not much of an animal person. It kinda freaks me out when the little critters get touchy-feely.”

“Does that extend to critters of the human kind as well?”

“Are you flirting with my sister, Juan?”

“The only one who’s flirting here is Rico and I don’t think our species are compatible,” I joked.

“Are you an artist, Juan?”

“Well, Debbie, what makes you think that?”

“It is the Arts District,” Debbie said in an arch tone.

“I have no artistic talent at all. Can’t even draw a straight line to save my life. No, I’m an agent trainee in the Film & TV Department at CAA. I’m living in my brother’s loft on East 4th. He’s an animator for DreamWorks. You ever see Kung Fu Panda?”

“Do you represent anyone really big?” I asked.

“Well, the agent I’m training with handles Margot Robbie and Nicole Kidman. Lots of other TV actors as well.”

“My sister has done some modeling for the sportswear company where we work,” I nudged Debbie, who was pretending to be shy.

“Really, I can see why. You’re both very pretty. You don’t model, Evie?”

“No one’s ever asked.”

“If you’re interested, Evie, I could set up something with my boss. She’s always looking for new talent. Just get some headshots done. A couple of commercial shots and a couple feature shots. You probably don’t have a reel she could look at—”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

“It’s a little inside baseball for show business—”

“Baseball I know.”

“I can explain it to you. Maybe over dinner sometime?”

“Gosh, I don’t know. We’ve just met and you’re asking me out on a date…”

“Don’t think of it as a date. Think of it as career counseling. Take off your sunglasses, Evie.”

I did as he asked. He formed a frame with his hands and whistled.

“Oh, you’re special, Evie. My boss will jump at signing you up. I can’t believe you’ve never thought about acting. Here’s my card. Can I have your number as well?”

After perusing his card (it looked legitimate with the CAA logo embossed on it), I punched my number into his phone.

“We’ll talk. Right now, I’ve got to go. Taking Rico back home and then off to the health club for a racquetball match with Brick Lawson. He plays the pimp on NightTown, the hit show on GlobalNet. No, never seen it? You should catch it. Binge watch it!” The last part was shouted at us as he trailed Rico scurrying out of the dog park.

Debbie’s face was a burnt orange mask of irk. Is that a noun? I’m making it one.

“Even the stupid dog was trying to hump your leg. I’m not taking you to the dog park anymore.”

“I’m not doing anything. I swear.”

Otis drove us to work on Monday morning, my first day at Sisters Sportswear. After dropping us off in front of the building, he drove off almost immediately.

“Not even a goodbye, good luck on your first day?”

“Otis normally doesn’t drive me to work on Mondays. He’s got an early morning job in Santa Monica on Mondays. It’ll take him an hour to get there. He’s going to be late.”

“No wonder he booked it the second we got out of the van.”

“He didn’t even wait for his thank you kiss.” She rolled her eyes.

I was just about finished filling out all the forms they make you complete on your first day on the job. Every time I had to check the box for gender, I flinched, hoping Debbie wouldn’t get us both in trouble if and when they found out I was really a guy. But she assured me that she could handle it. I told her Chuck had mentioned the applicant who was found out—by her—just recently. She smirked and said if she didn’t want to find out, they’d have never known. Ipso facto, they’ll never discover the truth about me. I don’t think ipso facto means what she thinks it means.

“Evie?” The officious assistant was standing outside my small corner office. “There’s a meeting in Conference Room A in two minutes. Everyone’s supposed to come.” Before I could answer, she had disappeared. Now, where the heck was Conference Room A? And where was Debbie?

Luckily, there was a column of people marching toward the room in question. I just fell in line. When we entered the room, it was like no other conference room I’d ever seen. First of all, it was twice the size of a normal conference room. Secondly, there was no conference table, no chairs, and the floor was a green carpet with gridlines resembling a football field. In fact, that’s what it was: a miniature football field.

In the middle of the room, switching a nerf football from one hand to the other, stood Clark Ruskin, Misty’s husband, and part-owner of the company. Chuck was standing off to his left, his eyes meeting mine, a goofy smile on his face.

“Good morning, everyone. Chuck suggested I drop by to boost company morale.” There were scattered snickers. “I don’t come by often but when I do, I love to build some organizational unity by playing a little touch football with you all. Friendly competition and teamwork are the foundation of any thriving human undertaking. In sports and in business. Chuck, you and I will captain the sides. Since I’m not familiar with the football skills of everyone in the company, I will defer to Mei Ling, our super-efficient office manager—”

“Executive assistant, sir.”

“That’s right. Executive assistant. Sorry about that. Mei Ling will draft my team. Since my team won the last time, Mei Ling, please proceed with our first pick.”

“Evie Rivers, please stand next to Mr. Ruskin.”

“Wait. What? I’m not good at football. Believe me.”

“It says on your resume that you coached baseball for The New York Titans—”

“Oh, we’ve got a ringer. Good choice, Mei Ling.”

“Baseball not football, Mr. Ruskin.”

“Same difference. An athlete’s an athlete. I played lacrosse in college. Chuck here played basketball for UCLA. It’s all about eye-hand coordination. Stand here…uh…Evie.”

Reluctantly, I found myself standing next to Mr. Ruskin, looking across the “field” at Chuck, who was trying to cover up his giggling while simultaneously shrugging his shoulders in my direction. Within five minutes, both teams were chosen. Five against five.

The rules for Ruskin’s modified touch football game were pretty simple: two 15-minute quarters, 4 “downs” to try to score a touchdown, two hands were needed to qualify as a touch, the quarterback for each team had 5 seconds to throw the ball, and there were no punts, kicks, or runs with the ball.

Chuck won the coin toss and his team started the game. It took four passes but Chuck’s team scored a touchdown on a nice one-handed catch in the end zone by Janet, our webmaster.

“Evie, I’m going to throw a bomb to you on first down. Looks like you’re quicker than anyone on Chuck’s team. Line up on the right side, hold up for a couple seconds, then release and I’ll hit you on a fly route. Got it?”

I nodded. Mr. Ruskin clapped his hands together and we lined up. It took 5 Mississippi before he hoisted the nerf football my way. Just before I reached up over my left shoulder to catch the ball, Janet’s left hand passed in front of my eyes. I didn’t see the ball hit me on my left temple and I stumbled in the end zone, crashing into the white board at the far end of the conference room. A glancing blow on the head knocked the lights out for me.

When I opened my eyes, a minute or two later, everyone was standing around me. Chuck was cradling my head and looking to see if my eyes could focus. Mr. Ruskin had his hands on his hips, a look of concern on his face. Debbie was calling my name from somewhere to my right.

“Evie, Evie! Are you okay? You went limp for a minute there.”

“Richie? You gotta lay off those sliders down and away.”

“Who’s Richie?” Chuck asked Debbie.

“An old boyfriend,” Debbie answered.

“Hey, we still got three downs left. She’ll live. Let’s resume the game.” Mr. Ruskin clapped his hands and looked around at everyone.

I was substituted out of the game by Mr. Ruskin. Unable to continue playing due to wooziness and a nasty little cut on my forehead, Debbie tapped in for me while Mei Ling helped me into the Ladies’ Room to administer some First Aid. Which made me giggle since Mei Ling was an administrative assistant. When I told her the little joke I was laughing at, she indignantly corrected me: “I’m an Executive Assistant.” “Same difference,” I muttered.

The Ladies’ Room was a vision in pink, mauve, and turquoise. It reminded me of the seraglios depicted in those sword and sandal movies Italian studios produced by the truckload in the ‘50s and ‘60s.

Mei Ling sat me down in a comfy armchair facing the mirrors above the bank of sinks against the far wall. She began to clean the cut on my forehead with a cloth soaked in tap water, dabbing at it gently (it stung but I tried to smile through it), before applying some Neosporin.

“Before you ask, Evie, I’ll tell you. I passed a first aid course and I’ve handled all the minor scrapes and bruises that our office staff have suffered. I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, Mei Ling. Can I ask you a personal question?”

“If you’ll keep your head still while you ask…of course. Now please face forward and don’t move!” She began to wrap a bandage around my forehead. A lot of bandages. A whole lot.

“Your name is Mei Ling but you don’t appear to be Asian much less Chinese. How did you come about that name?”

“You have great powers of observation—”

“I did until you bandaged my eyes.”

“I told you not to move your head! Now look at what you’ve made me do.”

“Here’s an idea. Let’s forego the bandage and you just give me one of them there band-aids. I can put it on myself—”

“I shouldn’t let you, considering you’ve never taken a first aid course—”

“But I have. It’s noted in my resume—”

“Oh, yes, your resume. Look, Evelyn…you may have pulled the wool over Chuck’s eyes but I’ve got my eyes on you. Two to one odds your resume is a tissue of exaggerations and outright lies.”

“It’s passed muster with the HR department—”

“Ha! Your sister Debbie can doctor all the papers and no one would know. But don’t rest easy, Evelyn. I’m on your case. I’ll unearth whatever you’re hiding from everyone. Don’t think you can just shake your pretty ass at Chuck and Mr. Ruskin—”

“I have absolutely no interest in either of them. Maybe you do—”

“I’m just thinking of the welfare of the company. Your band-aid skills suck, by the way.”

“Never mind. You never answered my question. About your name—”

“Okay. Okay. Look, Miss Nosey Pants, someone must have told you I was raised by a single mother. An unwed mother! Sneer. Go ahead. I get that kind of attitude all the time. I’m past it. I’m not going to let you people win!” She broke down in tears. I reached out to her as she turned away, patting her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Mei Ling. I swear I didn’t know. And I don’t look down on you at all.”

She swiveled her head around and there wasn’t a trace of tears on her face. Angrily, she slapped my hand away.

“I was a difficult birth. They had to give mom an epidural. When they asked her what she wanted to name me, she was so groggy that she couldn’t enunciate properly. She told them “Marilyn” but they wrote down “Mei Ling.” Mom was so scattered, being left to take care of a baby by herself at the age of 17, that she never bothered to correct my birth certificate. Later on, she even thought the name was quite “creative” on her part.”

“Oh, I can see why she wanted to name you Marilyn. Your blonde hair and fair skin. Marilyn Monroe—”

“No, she was a big Marilyn Manson fan. She wanted a boy too. You couldn’t possibly understand but I’ve always wished I could have been born a boy instead. Maybe then my mother would have actually loved me.” If only she knew. It’s safe to assume she doesn’t have a clue as to the real secret I’m harboring.

Sitting at a table in the cafeteria, I ate lunch with Debbie and Janet. Kyle, our company chef, had prepared a delicious and varied menu: caprese and Caesar salads, spicy sriracha fish wraps, chicken Caesar wraps, spinach tortilla wraps, and for vegan tastes, smoky grilled guacamole and grilled broccoli salad. I was kidding when I asked Kyle if I could get a doggie bag to take a little bit of everything home with me.

“Just drop by before you leave for the day. I’ll put together something special for you.” He winked at me before going back to the kitchen.

“My sister doesn’t realize her own girl strength. Just tamp it down a little, Evie. These men are bewitched by your charms,” Debbie said, with dramatic emphasis for Janet’s sake.

“Listen, Evie, I’m sorry about what happened. I didn’t mean to make you stumble and fall like that.”

“Janet, it’s nothing. You were just playing good defense. I’m not really hurt. Just a small cut. Anyway, it worked out well for Mr. Ruskin’s team. Debbie scored four touchdowns!”

“I was always the better athlete in the family. Sports just wasn’t my main obsession like it is for Evie.”

“Yeah, you were boy-crazy from the age of 11. Still are.” Turning to Janet, I asked her about Mei Ling.

“What’s the deal with Mei Ling? She seems a little off…know what I mean?”

“You better watch your p’s and q’s around her. She thinks she actually runs the company. Chuck’s really laid back and the sisters aren’t even around that much. They kind of leave day-to-day operations to her. She’s run some people out of here on a whim. Didn’t Debbie tell you?” I gave Debbie the side-eye. “The person you’re replacing was sort of dating Chuck for a while. Nothing really heavy but…she became Mei Ling’s “project” until she had her fired by Misty and Christy. She dug into her past, her present, and even read her future like a psychic. Like a bloodhound picking up a scent. But you’ve got nothing to hide, right?”

I nodded innocently and then threw myself into my salad, feeling beads of sweat forming on my forehead. I’m going to have to change my band-aid after lunch.

Most of the week through Wednesday was spent getting to know my staff of three (a manager, a junior associate, and an assistant) and being introduced to all the other people in all the other departments in the office. Chuck was mostly out of the office, meeting with current clients (the Big Ten College Basketball Conference and Major League Soccer) and prospective new clients (the LPGA and exploratory talks with MLB and the NBA). He told me on Wednesday morning, just before he headed out to meet with promotions people from The Lakers, that Misty and Christy would be in on Thursday morning to speak to both of us about my new marketing ideas, a few of which I discussed with Chuck in my interview. I gulped and told Chuck I’d give him a bullet-pointed memo with my list of ideas when he came back to the office at the end of the day. Kyle personally brought me a thermal carafe of coffee and two red velvet cupcakes when I was typing up the memo on my laptop.

“That’s so nice and thoughtful of you, Kyle. Thank you!”

“Don’t thank me, Evie. Chuck told me to do it before he left this morning. Of course, all you have to do is ask and I’ll give you anything your heart desires…Princess.”

“Princess? Why are you calling me that?”

“Well, whenever Chuck goes out of his way to make requests like that…for someone other than himself…it’s a sure sign that that someone is going to be a pretty, pretty important person in the company. And I like my job.”

“Oh, Chuck’s just being nice. I’m a newbie here.”

“That’s not what Mei Ling says—”

“What did she say?”

“Oh, gotta get back to the kitchen. Enjoy your coffee and the cupcakes!” He almost sprinted away.

Otis picked Debbie and me up after work and drove us back to our apartment on Eastlake Avenue. Debbie was babbling about her day and Otis was playing his favorite music from a thumb drive, ignoring her complaints about today’s lunch menu, her boss’ ripped jeans, and Mei Ling giving her odd looks every time she passed by her cubicle.

Debbie and I had just barely entered our apartment and dumped ourselves like 100-pound sacks of flour onto the couch when the doorbell rang.

Too tired to get up, Debbie yelled in the direction of the front door, “Come in! The door’s unlocked.”

“I can’t. I’ve got both hands full. It’s me, Otis!”

“I’ll let him in,” I told Debbie, who hadn’t given any hint she was about to move. Otis strode into the room, hidden behind a potted indoor plant that was almost four feet tall.

“I thought you girls could use a housewarming gift…like this aspidistra.”

“Two things, Otis,” began Debbie, as she rose to her feet from the couch. “First, I’ve been in this apartment for almost a year so it’s a little late for a “housewarming” gift—”

“Well, Evie only moved in last week—”

“Second, you’ve already filled the apartment with plants. None of which I actually asked you for. Thanks and everything but they’re giving off so much oxygen, I have to escape to the bedroom to clear my head.”

“With Evie sharing the bedroom, it’ll be perfect if I put this in there.” He took a step toward Debbie’s bedroom.

“Otis, I’m sleeping on the sofa here, not the bedroom.”

“I thought you sisters would be sharing a bed, just like you did when you were little munchkins in Disney Princess pj’s.”

“Get that image out of your head, Otis. You’re disgusting,” Debbie declared.

“As soon as I can save enough for a security deposit, I’ll be looking for a bigger place. Sleeping on a sofa is probably going to kill my back.”

Rubbing her hands together, Debbie squealed with joy. “We should start house hunting this weekend. Everyone’s renting in Echo Park these days—”

“Who’s everyone?”

“You know, all the young professional types.”

Still holding the aspidistra in his two hands, Otis interjected, “I’m thinking about getting a place in Echo Park myself. If we pool our resources, we could rent a house with two…uh…three bedrooms and some sizeable acreage. I need room enough for a greenhouse.”

“Otis, just drop the plant over there by the bookcase. And thanks, but Evie and I have to go out in a few minutes so…could you leave now?” She winked at me. I just nodded at Otis and gave him a friendly smile.

“Where are you going? I can drive you—”

“In the van?”

“No, in my Acura—”

Pushing him toward the door, Debbie shook her head. “No, Otis, thanks but no thanks.”

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. Night.” Debbie exhaled, her back against the front door.

“Add that to your list, Evie. House hunting. And a new car.”

On Thursday afternoon, Misty and Christy Connors and I were seated in a semi-circle facing Chuck, as he fidgeted in his chair behind his messy desk. We were listening to the sisters talking excitedly about the ESPN 30-for-30 profile of themselves they had just screened in the cable sports network’s headquarters in Bristol, Connecticut. The mini documentary traced their soccer careers from high school days in suburban Maywood, California through collegiate heroics at UCLA, two World Cup titles for the USA, professional seasons in Europe and North America, and, finally, owners of The California Surf and Sisters Sportswear.

They passed around pictures from the program, tittering as they pointed out how young and naïve they looked in their high school kits.

“When is this scheduled to premiere?” asked Chuck.

“Next month, they told us, right Christy?”

“The end of the month. The last Thursday. In primetime, unless the NBA finals are still going on. Then they’ll play it after the game ends. Which might work out better since we’ll have a dynamite lead-in—”

“We need to be able to exploit the free publicity that’ll give us. Front of mind awareness makes for the best kind of recency. That’s why I asked Evie to sit in. She’s got some new ideas for brand lines that I think could really help us increase market share by a factor of two, maybe even three.”

“Well, let’s hear these ideas, Evie. Christy, when are we supposed to be at practice?”

“Shit, sis, we’re supposed to be at the stadium in half an hour.”

“Evie, you’re on. Give us your best 10 minutes.”

I cleared my throat, looked down at the notes on my laptop screen, and tried not to rush my words, which I sometimes do when I’m nervous.

“From going over your current client list and what Chuck has told me you have on the front burner in terms of prospective new clients, it occurred to me that you haven’t really exploited the fact that you’re a female-operated business that could more intensively target your natural consumer base…women and their children.”

I took a swig from my water bottle before continuing.

“It’s fine what you’ve done with Women’s Soccer, Tennis, and Golf, but the real goldmine is in the four major men’s sports—football, baseball, basketball, and hockey. I propose we take advantage of servicing the promotional efforts of these sports with customized team logo shirts, jerseys, caps, what have you that are sized and designed for women and their children, both male and female. Male fans are obsessed with replicas of their teams’ uniforms but women and, especially, young girls want to express their fandom in a more, shall we say, fashionable manner. We can begin with t-shirt giveaways on Mother’s Day games in baseball and soccer. Iterations of these designs can then continue to be sold online, at the stadium, and brick and mortar stores—”

“It’ll set us apart from all the other sportswear companies. We’re targeting a specific, underexploited demographic. And the fact that the Connors sisters are the women behind this allows us to parlay your fame and notoriety into legitimacy with these sports entities.” Chuck crossed his arms in front of himself and leaned back in his chair, confident in his assessment of my proposal.

Misty and Christy exchanged looks of approval but were silent for a full two minutes. Finally, Misty stood up and addressed Chuck and me.

“We like it. Isn’t that right, Christy?” Christy nodded agreement and also stood up. “Let’s do this. Prepare a presentation on this, filling in more details, some projected costs, possible revenue streams, a preliminary game plan on how to approach the marketplace with these ideas, who to approach first, etc. I can get Clark to come to the office on Wednesday and we can all decide on whether it’s feasible. Okay? We have to book it to the stadium. See you next week.” They left Chuck’s office and I took another two swigs from my water bottle.

“You did good, Evie.”

“I almost had a heart attack. My heart was beating like a drum. Didn’t you hear it?”

“Well, you looked calm, cool, and collected. Now, we have less than a week to put this presentation together. You have the bright ideas but I can provide you with the ballpark numbers in terms of dollars and cents. I’m going to be traveling tomorrow so we’ll have to get together on Saturday. Let’s do it at my house. It’s a lot less antiseptic than the office and I’ve got a really nice ocean view.” He laughed. “Seriously, it’s a better environment for brainstorming. So, first thing, buy yourself a nice quality wetsuit and I’ll pick you up at 5:30 in the morning on Saturday—”

“I feel like Chico Marx in The Cocoanuts about to ask, ‘Why a Duck?’ So, here goes: Why a wetsuit?”

“Ha ha. I love the Marx Brothers. I think we have similar taste in comedy. I bet you’re a Monty Python girl. Eh?” I just blinked. “I live near Newport Beach and I try to surf most weekends. I’m a California kid, Evie. The lure of the ocean, you know?”

“I’ve never surfed before. Maybe I’ll just sit on the beach and watch you—”

“I’ll teach you to bodysurf. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

“But 5:30 in the morning?”

“Best waves are right after sunrise. And they don’t allow surfing after 11AM. Anyway, ask Mei Ling to give you a corporate credit card. Charge it to the company. Right. See you Saturday morning, bright and very early.”

“You mean Marilyn?”

“Who?”

“Never mind.”

When I told Mei Ling that Chuck wanted her to give me a corporate credit card, she didn’t believe me (naturally). After confirming with Chuck over the phone, she reluctantly handed me a card and told me to put my John Hancock on the sign-out sheet.

“People think there’s no credit limit on that card but there really is. Any purchases you make will be closely scrutinized for legitimate company reasons—”

“By whom?”

“Me.” Her eyes burned into mine, her lips curling into a sneer.

“You need help,” I muttered as I walked back to my office.

“That looks nice on you,” Chuck said as I stumbled out of the darkness into the passenger side of his Honda Passport, still only half-awake at 5:30 in the morning. I was wearing a white full-length cardigan cover-up over my newly purchased wetsuit.

“What? This old thing? No, really, it’s my sister’s. She said it’s light but covers everything nicely.”

“Well, it fits you perfectly.”

“Fits?” I laughed. “I’m as flat as the surfboard you’ve got latched onto the roof rails of this car. My mother was small-breasted. As far as I can remember. She died when I was 12.”

“Sorry to hear that. It must have been tough for you and Debbie, growing up without a mother. Here,” he handed me a cup of hot coffee. “This’ll wake you up. We’ll eat after surfing. More like brunch than breakfast.” I yawned, my mouth an open chasm. Too late to stifle it.

“Sorry about that. Wasn’t too ladylike, was it?”

“You yawn beautifully. Just like everything else you do.”

“Chuck, just drive. How long will it take to get to the beach?”

“At this time of day, with no traffic? 40, 45 minutes at the most. What kind of music do you want?”

“Whatever you like. Surprise me.”

“Okay, you asked for it.” He pushed a thumb drive into the player.

“Surf rock? How predictable.”

“It gets me in the mood to ride the wild surf. You know, waves can reach 30 feet high at The Wedge—”

“You’re not going to get killed before I even finish a week on the job, are you?”

“There’re lifeguards on duty. And the biggest waves don’t happen until late September when they have the annual competitions. Waves are pretty tame this time of year.”

“Just wake me when we get there—”

There were only a handful of surfers there when we clambered down to the beach from where Chuck had parked behind the pavilion. The Wedge was at the very end of the Balboa Peninsula and at the mouth of Newport Harbor. The jetty and the harbor mouth produced the massive waves that made The Wedge one of the most revered locales for surfers and surfing aficionados. The sun had barely risen above the horizon when Chuck handed me the bag with all our towels and other beach paraphernalia and ran into the surf, his surfboard aimed at the waves. With both hands full, I found a spot and placed my bodyboard down on the sand, fins up as Chuck had advised, spread out a beach blanket, and gingerly sat down to watch Chuck’s water follies.

While I rummaged through the bag for some suntan lotion, one of the lifeguards walked over and started to chat me up.

“You’re new. I’ve never seen you with Chuck before—”

“I work with Chuck. We’re not, you know, seeing each other—”

“Nice work if you can get it. I’ve heard of working from home but working from the beach?”

“It’s not what it looks like. He said he has to surf before he can get down to work. What’s it to you anyway?”

“I’m Everett. That’s Willie up on the tower over there.” He pointed behind his left shoulder. “The two of us handle this end of the beach. And you’re…”

“Evie. Nice to meet you, Everett.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way but when I was in elementary school, they’d make fun of me by calling me Evie…like a girl’s name. Like your name. I mean, it’s a nice name…for a girl.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching out for drowning victims?”

“Willie’s got me covered. I’m on a short break. Need some help with the lotion? There are places it’s hard to reach.”

“I’m wearing a wetsuit. I was going to put some lotion on my face. I think I’m fully capable of reaching my nose.”

Chuck emerged from the water, climbing onto the beach with his board under one arm, trotting toward us.

“Hey, Everett, how’s it hanging?”

“Hey, Chuck, just chatting with Evie here. She a virgin?”

“What?” I spluttered, almost poking my eye out with a lotion covered finger.

“He means new to surfing, Evie. Not that…other thing.”

“Yeah, I mean, the way you look, I wouldn’t think you were, you know, that kind of virgin.”

“Keep digging.”

“Oh, hey, my break’s over. Back to the tower. Be careful kids, water’s kind of choppy today.”

“Evie, want some bodysurfing lessons?”

“Do I really have a choice?” Chuck shook his head and held his free hand out to me. I slipped swim fins onto my feet and picking up my bodyboard, I waddled after him into the shallows.

For the next hour or so, I had my first surfing experience. Chuck showed me how to place my prone body onto the board in the most hydrodynamic arrangement: both hands gripping the nose of the board, elbows on the board not off in space, my lower belly right on top of the tail, and my legs and feet remaining together like a mermaid’s tailfin. We paddled out to where we could stand in the water up to a little above our waists and sat on our boards, waiting for one of the subsiding waves to push us toward the beach.

I’m a fairly good swimmer, unlike Debbie, who only goes to the beach to model skimpy bikinis and get ogled by boys, never getting wet. So, it didn’t faze me when half of the time in the beginning, I would be tossed off my board by the force of the waves crashing into the shallows. Each time, I’d get up, wade into the water up to my waist, get back in the saddle on my board, and anticipate the next wave coming in. I started getting pretty good at riding the surf. I wondered if I’d ever dare to try doing what Chuck did, attacking 20-foot waves while balancing himself on his surfboard with the stoicism of The Silver Surfer from Marvel Comics. I looked to my left and Chuck was smiling at me, giving me a thumbs up.

We took a breather around 9AM, toweling off and laughing at some silly Monty Python skit Chuck had memorized word for word.

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our chief weapon is surprise…surprise and fear—”

“Excuse me for interrupting your delightful rehearsal. I take it you’re Torquemada, the notorious Grand Inquisitor—”

“No, Cardinal Ximenez—”

“Cardinal Ximenez? Of course, Francisco Ximenez de Cisneros. He’s a later Grand Inquisitor. He’s barely mentioned in Sabatini’s history of the Inquisition. Perhaps there’s been some recent scholarship. After all, it’s been decades since my college course in—”

“It’s a Monty Python sketch.”

“Sorry, I’ve never heard of this Monty Python. Intriguing name for a history scholar, though.”

I had stopped laughing at Chuck’s spot-on Michael Palin impression. Long enough to take a good look at our pedantic interloper. He was a bald man in his late 40s with a full beard, wearing an incongruous ensemble of a pinstriped blazer, faded jeans, a light blue button-down shirt, and moccasin slippers. Strange outfit for beachcombing. Rather, he looked like he’d stepped out of his room in the Hyatt Hotel just up the peninsula and gotten lost on his way back.

“Let me introduce myself. I’m Daniel Dantley, the film director.” We gave him blank looks. “Well, I’m in pre-production for a new series on GlobalNet. You’ve heard of GlobalNet? Good. It’s a sequel to a movie I directed almost a decade ago, Newport’s a Beach. It was nominated for a Golden Globe.” More blank looks. “The new series is going to pick up the lives of the main characters ten years down the road. So I’m doing a little location scouting. Things haven’t changed that much in ten years. But I’m looking to cast new faces, new talent. Besides the original actors are asking for the moon in salary. GlobalNet’s got a tight budget on this one. TV is downscale from theatrical, you know? Guess you don’t. To get to the point, I couldn’t help but watch the two of you for the better part of an hour, frolicking in the water. Such a cute couple you make. Are you together?”

“We’re co-workers,” Chuck answered.

“You know where I can get a job like yours? Just joking. I love filmmaking. It’s my raison d’etre…” He was silent for a few second. “Have you ever considered acting? I have an eye for talent and you two would be naturals to play Rick and Suzy, ten years after.”

“Believe me, Dan, I’ve no desire to act. I’m quite happy doing what I’m doing.”

Turning to me, Dantley asks “And what about you? You’re definitely pretty enough.”

“I’m flattered but I’ve never even thought about acting. I probably wouldn’t be very good at it. I get nervous in large groups of people. I don’t like people staring at me.”

“That surprises me but whatever. How could I get in touch with you should I insist on getting you to change your mind?” He laughed. “Your business number is fine.”

“Go ahead, Evie. It might be a good opportunity for you. Can’t hurt to look into it.”

“Really, Chuck? You wouldn’t mind?”

“A lot of people have a side hustle these days.”

I dipped into my purse to find the CAA card Juan Moskowitz had given me at the dog park. I figured this Dantley character is never going to call me anyway. He’ll forget about me between now and tonight’s cocktail hour. Just in case he does pursue this, he can speak to Juan. People at CAA will know if this guy is the real deal or a nutjob.

“He’s my agent.” I gave Dantley the card. “Juan Moskowitz. CAA. You’ve heard of them?”

“Of course. I see you’ve been playing coy with me, Miss…uh…what’s your last name?”

“Rivers. Evie Rivers.”

“Oh, I’m meeting someone at 10 back at the hotel. Please excuse me but I better make my way back. I’ll be in touch, Evie.” He hurried away.

“I think the CAA card scared him off. He can’t be who he says he is, right? Is there a sanitarium near here?”

“Yeah, probably an escapee. Ha ha. But how’d you get an agent at CAA?”

“I didn’t. Debbie and I were hanging out at a dog park in the arts district when this young guy tried to pick us up. He gave me this card. I haven’t heard from him and I hope I don’t. Debbie likes him though. Thinks he’s cute.”

“Let’s get some more surfing in before they shut it down at 11. Ready?”

We picked up our boards and, as before, I waddled after Chuck into the water.

We washed the sand and sea salt off our wetsuits and out of our hair, standing underneath the outdoor showers by the pier. Then we changed clothes in the public restrooms. I almost followed Chuck into the men’s rooms before correcting myself and going in the opposite direction. Chuck smirked at me. He thought I was worn out from bodysurfing and a little dizzy.

By this time in the morning, the beach was pretty crowded and I had to wait for an available stall. I did get a few compliments on my wetsuit. Two girls asked me where I bought it. Another asked me how long I’d been dating Chuck. I was starting to turn red with all the attention and me being an ersatz female in their midst. Although, I had to admit I’d become very convincing as a woman over the last two weeks. Maybe dad and Consuela are right. I’m a girl. I’ve always been a girl it seems.

Chuck recommended having brunch at the Hyatt Regency up the peninsula.

“I’ve eaten there a few times. The Huevos Rancheros is pretty good. If you like seafood, you could try the ceviche—”

“That’s raw fish!”

“Or not. You can always order a burger.”

Out of the corner of my eye as I climbed into Chuck’s car, I thought I saw Mei Ling sitting in a dark blue Honda Civic, parked in a corner of the lot. I poked Chuck in the shoulder and directed his eyes toward what I’d seen.

“Is that Mei Ling? In the blue Honda. Does she live around here? Is she an heiress or something? What’s the average rental around these parts?”

“There’s no one in the car.” I looked and he was right. I could swear she was sitting there just 30 seconds ago. “And, as far as I know, she lives in North Hollywood. That’s a long way from here.”

“I guess I really am wasted from surfing all morning.”

“You need some food. A little caloric intake at the hotel will get you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed again. You’ll need some energy for the work we’ll be doing in the afternoon.”

I leaned back in my seat and exhaled. Chuck maneuvered out of the crowded parking lot and turned right onto East Balboa Boulevard. In the rearview mirror I saw the blue Honda following us a hundred yards or so behind. The driver hid their eyes behind sunglasses but the cornsilk blonde hair made me certain it was Mei Ling. Isn’t this usually when the Bernard Herrmann score creeps in, with its foreboding half-diminished minor 7th chords?

I could see the audience filing in on the green expanse beyond the patio of The Hyatt Regency Resort Hotel. Chuck and I were waiting for our brunch orders but the delay was understandable. The hotel café was packed. Add the Jazz Festival attendees to the normal weekend brunch crowd and you get some highly stressed waitpersons.

“With the Jazz Festival going on this weekend, how did you imagine we could finagle a table for brunch?”

Chuck took off his Ray-Bans and chuckled before answering. “My parents were regulars here. They had brunch or dinner at this hotel almost every weekend when my sisters and I were growing up. It sounds conceited but I just have to show them my handsome face and they give me a table with the best view—”

“Your parents. Are they still…”

“No, they were killed in a car crash on the PCH coming back from Santa Barbara after Labor Day about six years ago. Five car pile-up. The police think it was a collapsed suspension on the car in the rear of the pile-up.”

“I’m so sorry, Chuck. I didn’t know. Did you guys live near Newport Beach?”

“Corona del Mar. Just down the coast, about a 10-minute drive from here. I still live in the house. My sisters, of course, have their own homes now.”

“This area is so…so—”

“Expensive? Yeah, lots of nouveau riche AND old money.”

“Which one are you?”

“Old money. My grandfather’s company built like a million tract houses after the second World War all over Southern California. My dad was a gentleman scholar. He was an archivist at The Huntington Library in San Marino. Medieval British manuscripts was his particular field of study. Chaucer and Old English bawdy humor.”

We ate mostly in silence, peering out at the festival crowd now and again. Some jazz band I wasn’t familiar with was warming up. They played something I’d heard before but couldn’t tell you the name of it or who originally recorded it if my life depended on it.

“Breezin’ is the name of the song. You’ve probably heard George Benson’s version of it. But it was written by Bobby Womack and first recorded by Womack and Gábor Szabó—”

“I like jazz. Well, some of it. Like smooth jazz.” I stopped babbling. “You must think I’m a real ditz. Guess the only things I’m knowledgeable about are baseball and marketing…”

“You’re a charming woman, Evie. Honest, smart, and very pretty. Excuse me. That was inappropriate—”

“Oh, no, I’m…flattered. No one’s ever told me I was pretty.”

“I can’t believe that. I take back the “honest” part.”

“No, it’s true.”

“You must have been the cutest little girl. I can picture it, just looking at you now.”

Trying to change the subject, I asked what I thought was a random question.

“You live alone? In a big house like that? I mean, unless your parents lived in one of your grandfather’s tract houses…in Corona del Mar, of all places.”

“I’m not married or cohabiting with anyone, if that’s what you’re wondering—”

“Just curious. I didn’t mean to get personal.”

“I’m not offended. Actually, I’m glad you broke the ice. May I ask you the same question?”

“Currently, I’m living with Debbie—”

“I know that. Mei Ling told me that you were involved with Richie Morrow, the pitcher on The Titans. You two still together?”

“That Mei Ling is a real gossip monger—”

“She showed me the articles in The New York Post online.”

“Just because we’re in a photo together…”

“Okay, let’s not discuss that any further. Maybe one day you’ll see me as someone you can safely confide in and tell me what caused the break-up—”

“We didn’t break up…I mean, we were never together…in that way. Oh, the chocolate banana bread looks so yummy. Let’s order dessert.”

---

Despite his outwardly nonchalant, surfer dude demeanor, Chuck was a pleasure to work with. He had a real grasp of the financial parameters of his sisters’ business and the sportswear marketplace. While I spit out my selling concepts, he adroitly plugged in dollar figures that made it convincingly feasible to project a successful outcome.

The brainstorming session lasted until early evening when I told Chuck I had enough to put together a strong presentation for Clark Ruskin the following week.

“Are you hungry? I could just drive you straight home but there’s a really nice place on the waterfront on the way back called The Rusty Pelican. The best surf and turf in these parts. And that’s saying something—”

“Well, I am starving. As long as they don’t actually serve their namesake…”

As Chuck pulled his other car (a snazzy iridium silver Lexus RX) out of the driveway, I caught a glimpse of Mei Ling’s Honda Civic parked a hundred yards away across the street. She should really wear a babushka when she’s out tailing people. Her cornsilk blonde mane gives her away every time.

I spent all of Sunday on Debbie’s couch aka my bed, writing the presentation on my laptop, my notes from Saturday’s session with Chuck spread out on the floor in front of me. Serendipitously, Otis came by in the morning to take Debbie to go picking at the weekend flea market in Topanga, northwest of Los Angeles in the Santa Monica Mountains. They left in his van. Enough room in the rear to bring back some gnarly vintage end tables or shabby chic dressers. When we find a bigger place, I’m not taking Debbie’s flea market finds with us.

When the new work week started, I discovered that my manager, Dulcie, was a whiz at graphics, taking my words and visual ideas and turning them into a PowerPoint deck that made Chuck whistle when I showed it to him. Now, it was a matter of impressing Clark Ruskin well enough to have him and Chuck’s sisters give us the green light to take it on the sales road.

I ran into Mei Ling on Wednesday morning as she was straightening up the smaller conference room where Chuck and I were scheduled to do our dog and pony show for Clark Ruskin and the Connors sisters in fifteen minutes. She was inserting a thumb drive into the usb slot of the room’s sound system, just about to press play when I cleared my throat.

“Did you have a nice time shadowing me on Saturday?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Evelyn.”

“And what’s the idea of spreading rumors about me and Richie Morrow?”

“It’s a matter of public record or don’t you pay attention to the news media?”

“I don’t know what you have against me, Mei Ling, but can we just agree to keep out of each other’s way?”

“Part of my job as Executive Assistant is to make sure this office runs smoothly. That includes the vetting of any employees who might cause harm to the company…or its officers.”

I was about to sputter some kind of acerbic rejoinder when she pressed play. A second elapsed before the first notes extruded from the room’s speakers.

“What the heck is that?”

“Mr. Ruskin always requests we play this when he has a meeting in this office. It’s inspirational music, from the soundtrack of Inception, the Chris Nolan film.”

“Inspirational? We don’t need no stinkin’ inspiration—”

“It’s not for you. It’s for Mr. Ruskin. His therapist says inspirational music puts his mind in the right frame to think productively. That’s how he was able to give up smoking.”

“Tobacco?”

“No, weed, silly.”

Chuck and I got through the presentation with nary a misstep, notwithstanding having to gnash our teeth as the music periodically rose, swelled, and fell. Mr. Ruskin approved. At least we believe so. He mostly sat back and smiled beatifically at us, paying closer attention to the music than the recitative that Chuck and I had rehearsed for hours the day before.

Hands were shaken, smiles exchanged, even an unexpected hug from Mr. Ruskin. Oddly, he didn’t hug Chuck or even his own wife Misty. The three of them walked briskly to the elevator and disappeared as if in a puff of smoke.

“That went really well, don’t you think? Mr. Ruskin didn’t say much though…”

“He’s the strong, silent type. Mostly silent. Except when he’s talking about football. We’re going to send this over to Freminger. They do all our corporate sales videos. Have Dulcie work with them on it. She’ll like spending some time outside of the office. But the video won’t be ready for a while. In the meantime, I’m going to set up our first sales call. See if you can tailor that pitch toward The Dodgers. I’ll try for a meeting first thing next week. Won’t be the first time you’ve been in a major league stadium, right?”

A frisson ran down my back as I remembered I’d sent my resume to The Dodgers a couple of months ago. I hope they don’t put 2 and 2 together. Oh, heck, who am I kidding? Too late to turn back now. But wait a minute, the marketing department probably has very little interaction with baseball operations. They might not even realize who I am.

“Good job, Evie. Thanks for making me look good in front of my sisters and Clark for hiring you. I should take you out for dinner later this week to celebrate. I mean, your department. All four of you.” He patted me on the back and went back to his office. I smiled at his praise but when I looked up, I saw Mei Ling, arms akimbo, giving me the stink eye.

I was still basking in the afterglow from that morning’s “inspirational” presentation when Kyle, our handsome chef, prepared a special afternoon tea for me and my tiny department. Earl Gray tea and blueberry scones, warm and buttery. A voice call came in on my phone. It was from Juan Moskowitz, the agent trainee from CAA whom Debbie and I had met at the Dog Park two weekends ago.

“Hello, Juan. The answer is no—”

“Wait, I haven’t even asked my question yet—”

“I’m not interested in modeling. Now, in the future, or ever. I’m quite happy in my current career. Today was a great day for me, in fact.”

“This isn’t about modeling, although I still think you should re-consider. CAA handles a lot of supermodels like Bridget Lanier, Molly Trask, Zalika Olanrewaju…”

“No means no, Juan.”

“I’ve heard that before, Evie. I’m pretty persistent.”

“I’m in mid-bite on a delicious blueberry scone, Juan. Get to your point already.”

“Daniel Dantley, the film director, called me about you. Said you told him I was your agent. Now, that’s not really official…but I’m more than overjoyed to represent you. This Dantley dude is casting for that new GlobalNet series and he thinks you’re perfect…ly hot. We’ve got him on the hook, Evie. This could launch your acting career!”

“Oh, that old guy? At the beach? Yeah, I gave him your card so he’d leave us alone—”

“Us? Who’s us?”

“Chuck Connors, my boss. He took me surfing at Newport Beach. It was a lot of fun but exhausting—”

“You work for Chuck Connors? And he took you surfing? Wow, you move fast. You told me you haven’t been in town for more than two weeks. Be careful with Connors. He’s dated dozens of actresses and models, a lot of them repped by CAA too—”

“It’s really none of your business but Chuck and I have a work relationship, nothing more. I really don’t care who he’s dated.”

“Anyway, just thought I’d warn you. Here’s the thing. This Dantley guy is the real deal. But it’s a GlobalNet production and they have final say on casting. You have no credits, no demo reel, not even some pro shots. You’re going to have to do a cold audition in front of the GlobalNet people. So, here’s my plan on how to get that audition—”

“Juan, I’m not interested in acting.”

“Your stars have aligned perfectly, Evie. There’s a charity event to raise funds for The Children’s Hospital on Sunset. A lot of entertainment and sports entities buy tables for it. CAA has three tables. I’ve been asked, I mean ordered, to attend. GlobalNet’s going to have a table as well. And Alastair Knowles, the head of production, is odds-on attending.”

“What’s this have to do with me?”

“Well…you could meet Knowles, make a solid impression, maybe even schedule that audition—”

“And not that I have any desire to meet this Knowles guy, but would I just crash the party without an invite or ticket?”

“No, you’d come…as my date?”

“What? Is this some deranged way of asking me out?”

“Well, yes, I mean no. You’d technically be my date but unofficially you’re also my client. You see? Knowles sees you at the CAA table and is more conducive to considering you for Dantley’s series—”

“I don’t have anything to wear to something like that! Even if I wanted to go…”

“I thought about that, Evie. And I pulled some favors. My dad used to work for GlobalNet in their legal department and, through him, I got the costume mistress at the studio to fix up an evening gown, or whatever you girls call it, for you. She can do the fitting and have it ready by Friday, perfect for the charity gala. I’ll pick you up at your office in an hour. See you then!”

He disconnected. I stared at my phone, unbelieving. Did I just accept a date with Juan and a fitting for an evening gown to boot? I didn’t recall the word “yes” coming from between my lips. Dulcie looked at me, puzzled by my expression and my end of the conversation she’d just overheard.

“You act too, Evie? You didn’t tell us that. Wow, that’s one thing Mei Ling didn’t find out about you. Oops, I wasn’t supposed to mention that…”

“No, I don’t act too. That’s just some crazy guy I met at a Dog Park. He’s an agent trainee at CAA. He thinks he can get me an audition for a show on GlobalNet. Like I said, he’s crazy.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Evie. You’re beautiful.” She lowered her voice. “I think you’re prettier than Debbie. Don’t tell her that, please.”

When a really cute young man comes calling at an office full of mostly young women, there’s bound to be a lot of rubbernecking, wide-eyed gazes, and a sound cloud of variants of “who is that?” So it was when Juan Moskowitz strolled down the hallway as I was gathering my things together to leave the office with him. Debbie stood by my side and waved at Juan when he approached us. She whispered, “I officially hate my sister.”

“Hey, Evie. Debbie. Are you ready to get fitted for your party dress?”

“I don’t know how you talked me into this—”

“Don’t fight it, Evie. You’re going to be a star!”

Juan and I walked to the elevator like running a gauntlet. Dozens of pairs of eyes followed us as Juan kept his hand gently positioned on the small of my back. We passed the ever-vigilant Mei Ling, arms akimbo once again.

“Leaving early, Evelyn?”

“It’s okay, Mei Ling. Chuck said I could. Have a nice evening…shadowing me.”

“As if. I’ve got better things to do.”

“We’ll see.”

It’s a half-hour drive from the Sisters Sportswear offices to the Sunset Bronson Studios where Juan’s co-conspiratorial costume mistress waited to fit me for the evening gown she had chosen from the infinite racks of dresses stored in the costume department. I was nervous, of course. How intrusive would this fitting be? Would I have to strip naked? That would be problematic.

After the perfunctory greetings and introductions, Juan left me alone with Peg Somersby, a somewhat heavy-set woman in her early 60s with a faded hippie glory fashion sense, flower print bandana and all. Taking my hand, she smiled and said, with a distinct British accent, “Don’t be nervous, dear. Is this your first gala?”

“First and hopefully last.”

“Really? Why do you say that?”

“Juan talked me into this. I’m not looking to be an actress. Some crazy old dude wants to cast me in some drama series—”

“Oh, yes, Daniel Dantley. Eccentric bird but talented. You should be flattered. He’s a fine judge of screen talent. Now, if you’ll just go behind that screen and strip down to your bra and panties. You’re not going commando, are you?”

“Peg, I should just lay it all out in the open. You see. I’m not your average, normal woman.”

“None of us are, dear. There’s an actress whose name shall not escape my lips who can only have sex while dressed in a clown suit, honking a horn when she climaxes—”

“No, I don’t mean that kind of…boy, that’s weird. I mean I’m not nearly the woman people think I am—”

“No one can live up to other people’s expectations all the time. Nobody’s perfect.”

“I’m a man!”

“Oh, that’s what you mean. Well, it does come as a bit of a surprise but, sweetie, in 40 years of dressing and undressing hundreds of actresses, you’re not the first trans girl I’ve seen nor probably the last. You wouldn’t believe some of the big names who had a little extra down there but no one ever found out. You’re very beautiful, Evie. Your secret is safe with me.”

“So you won’t tell Juan, will you?”

“I’m thinking he’ll find out sooner rather than later himself. After all, the two of you are dating, no?”

“No, I keep meeting men who want to date me. And all I want to do is have a career doing what I got a degree in, marketing.”

“That could be a problem. You know, you could just say no to these men. I’ve heard it works most of the time.”

“You’re right. I just have to put my foot down. Enough with this rubbish.”

“That’s the spirit, girl. Now, please strip down to your underwear. I’ll also see if I can find a better fitting padded bra for you. You wouldn’t believe how many big-name actresses are--”

Chuck wanted to take the marketing department (all four of us) to a celebratory dinner at the trendy new bistro at the edge of Venice and Santa Monica, Coucou, on Friday night. I was about to explain why Friday was a no-go when Dulcie spilled.

“Oh, Friday’s not a good night, Chuck. At least for Evie. She’s going to that gala for The Children’s Hospital at the Beverly Hilton with her boyfriend Juan Moskowitz. He’s an agent at CAA.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Dulcie.”

“So you’re following up on that director fellow’s proposition? Good for you. Good luck with that. Of course, I’d rather you not get the part and continue working for us but when Hollywood calls—”

“Chuck, I’m just doing this as a favor for Juan. He’s sort of a friend of Debbie’s really. He needs a date for the gala and he wants to network with the people from GlobalNet. I’m just an excuse for him to lay some pipe for future dealings—”

“Evie, you might want to re-think using that phrase.”

“Oh my god. I didn’t mean THAT!” Covering the spreading blush on my cheeks, I exclaimed, “That reminds me. I have to pick up my dress for the gala tonight.”

“I’ll drive you over there. The Sunset Bronson Studios, right?”

“You don’t have to do that, Chuck.”

“No, I do. How else will I get to see you in the dress you’ll be wearing to the gala?”

“I’m not modeling the dress for you, Chuck!”

“I’m driving you. Quid pro quo.” Chuck crossed his arms in front and smirked.

Debbie, laughing, slapped me on the back. “There you go, Evie. Ipso facto.”

“I don’t think that means what you think it does.”

I didn’t expect to be surrounded by paparazzi and the full panoply of media when Juan and I set foot in the Beverly Hilton Hotel. I tried to double time it toward the ballroom (wearing heels that made that very risky) but Juan pulled me back to allow the cameras to capture our likenesses for the teeming millions around the world. Juan had to shout to answer their questions like “Who are you?” and “What have you been seen in?”

While Juan was in his element, smiling and keeping a tight hold on my arm, I almost cowered from the cameras and the shouting media morons. The photo that made the rounds online and in the trade papers showed a frightened young woman escorted by a self-assured, grinning soon-to-be wunderkind of the agency machine.

Just my luck but the captions all pointed out my “come hither” look. Truthfully, I was dazed by all the lights and the shouting. I was close to puking my guts out. Fortunately, I was able to hold it down until we made it to the CAA table to which we were assigned. After chugging half a glass of water, I had to make small talk with the other people at our table, including Margaret, the senior agent Juan was training under. She asked me a lot of questions that I attempted to answer as evasively as possible. Her husband looked so bored, I thought he was going to fall face down in his gazpacho. Meanwhile, Juan was scouting out the room, searching for Alastair Knowles. He wasn’t at the GlobalNet table. I pulled out my phone and called up the live stream of the event to check for late arrivals. The only problem was I had no idea what Alastair Knowles looked like. Suddenly, Juan practically screamed in my left ear and pointed at the screen of my phone.

“That’s him. That’s Alastair. These Hollywood types always like to be fashionably late.”

There he was, walking leisurely up the drive toward the hotel entrance, hand in hand with his wife Joanne Prentiss.

There was an hour of speeches, interspersed with some genial stand-up comedy from Rip Seward, star of the sitcom Baby Mama’s Family on GlobalNet. He had risen to fame in a number of hip-hop comedy films in the ought’s with a brand of humor not safe for family viewing. Now cast as the harried father of the baby mama in the title, he was perceived as a stern but loving parent whose daughter has moved back home as a single mother with a child of her own.

A number of film and TV stars gave brief testimonials about their support for the Children’s Hospital but the most heart-rending and inspirational speeches were given by the doctors who practiced there in the various departments. The most compelling one for me, as you can guess, was the speech given by Dr. Jocelyn Petry, a pediatric endocrinologist. She worked with adolescents who were experiencing severe gender dysphoria. As she recounted some case histories of patients who touched her beyond her professional involvement with them, I was on the verge of tears, my own feelings erupting as she spoke. The audience did not react to her with the solemnity they had evinced with other doctors’ anecdotes. There was a lot more loud eating and conversation going on and I was getting annoyed. Juan noticed my discomfort.

“Something wrong? Yeah, it’s strange they included this. They’ve gotten a lot of push-back from donors on this new department. Not too popular with the crowd here tonight either.”

“It’s not that. Personally, I think it’s really nice that these kids are getting some serious medical attention. I wish…I mean it must be so confusing being dysphoric when you’re that age…or any age. I know someone who must have been going through that in their teens.”

“Really? Can’t say I’ve ever met a trans person. Would be very interesting. Even fascinating. By the way. She’s dating Eliot Bradshaw, the Laker that won the Sixth Man Award last season.” He nodded his head in the direction of the Lakers’ table. Bradshaw was sitting there giving Dr. Petry his full attention while the others busily devoured their dinners. Now I remember seeing them come in on the live stream just before Alastair and his wife.

She left the stage to tepid applause and walked back to the Lakers’ table but stopped when she reached the GlobalNet contingent and hugged both Alastair Knowles and his wife Joanne.

“Oh, yeah, Alastair’s wife Joanne is Eliot Bradshaw’s stepmother. Previous marriage.”

“They’re producing a semi-autobiographical film about Joanne’s life. She’s a transwoman,” interjected Margaret as she sipped her Pinot Noir. “When she was still a man, she lived with Dr. Petry’s mother. After she transitioned, she was married to a woman, Eliot Bradshaw’s biological mother. Now she’s married to Alastair Knowles. Just recently. Honey, didn’t they have the wedding in France?” She nudged her husband, who just shook his head before knocking back the last of his wine.

For those inclined, there’s always dancing at these galas. After the speechifying was over, the dance floor was cleared for all the willing couples to show off their terpsichorean skills. Juan pulled me from my chair as soon as he saw Alastair and Joanne begin to trip the light fantastic. Moving awkwardly to the cocktail jazz being played by a live band, Juan maneuvered us across the floor until we were an arm’s length from the pair.

“Alastair? Alastair Knowles?”

“Yes? I hear voices, Jo. It’s the beginning of the end.”

“Mr. Knowles. I’m Juan Moskowitz. With CAA? Daniel Dantley contacted me about a client of mine. Evie Rivers.” He nodded to me but kept leading me in our desultory box stepping. “He’s very interested in casting her in his new series on GlobalNet—"

“Yes, I do recall Danny mentioning someone he ran across on Newport Beach. Bodysurfing. Was that you?” He looked straight at me. I gulped.

“Well, yes, but it’s all a misunderstanding. I’m not an actress. Never wanted to be. I was just out with a friend learning how to bodysurf.”

“Some friend. Chuck Connors, Alastair…if I may call you that.”

“Ah, Chuck. Yes, God’s gift to Hollywood starlets. I’ve told you about him, Jo, remember?”

“Lots, Alastair. So, are you dating? Boyfriend, girlfriend?”

“No, I work for him. At Sisters Sportswear. I’m Director of Marketing.”

“Evie would love to audition for a part, Alastair.”

“I would? No, I mean, I wouldn’t. Not interested in acting.”

This is where Juan showed me his “dipping” move. As I was bent over backwards, my hair almost touching the dance floor, he whispered quite emphatically, “Yes you do. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Lana Turner was discovered sucking on an ice cream soda in Schwab’s. You just got discovered bodysurfing on Newport Beach. Same difference. Ipso facto.”

“I don’t think that means what you think it does.”

Suddenly, I saw the upside down (in my p.o.v.) face of Alastair Knowles hovering above me.

“Better let her up, Juan. She’s turning beet red. All the blood’s going to her head.”

Juan pulled me straight up, woozy and stumbling. I stepped on Juan’s foot, stabbing his arch with the heel of my shoe. He yelped with pain. Well, Peg had advised me to put my foot down and I certainly did.

“When the two of you finally come to some sort of meeting of the minds on this, you can call my assistant at the office and make an appointment for an audition. We’re going to try to cast this epic within the month. To be honest, I think you have serious potential, Evie. Don’t you think so, Jo?”

“I can’t put my finger on it but, yes, she has something. Something ineffable.”

“And she’s…oww…beautiful. Don’t forget…oww…that! Come on, Evie, I need to sit…oww…down.”

Juan put his arm across my shoulders and I helped him limp back to our table. The pain in his foot didn’t stop him from talking a blue streak of winning bravado.

“That was so easy, Evie. And thanks for playing hard to get. It always pushes their buttons when you act like you’re not even interested in getting cast. Most of the time people crawl on their bellies like a snake to beg for a chance. When you seem like you don’t even give a shit, it kills them. Nicely played, babe.”

“Juan, I really don’t care. And I’m not going to go to this audition. I’m busy enough as it is with my real job. Let’s just let it go. You’ve impressed Margaret tonight and even Mr. Knowles. Isn’t that enough?”

“They’re out of earshot now. You can drop the act—”

We bumped into another couple on the dance floor. Before looking up, both Juan and I apologized profusely.

“Evie? Funny seeing you here.” It was Clark Ruskin! And he was dancing with Mei Ling!

“It’s even funnier seeing you here…dancing with Mei Ling.”

“Misty couldn’t be here. The Surf are playing in Vancouver tonight. Mei Ling was kind enough to give up her Friday night to accompany me to the gala. We’re at the Drillers’ table. Why let a $3,000 seat go to waste?”

“I’ll buy that for a dollar.”

“You won’t tell anyone about this, will you, Evie?” implored Mei Ling, the fake vulnerability oozing from her sad expression.

“Shoes on the other foot now. Quid pro quo. You stop trying to dig up something on me and I’ll keep my lips zipped about this little affaire de coeur. Shake?”

Reluctantly, she shook my hand. But those steely blue eyes never blinked.

“Man, you’re a bear to deal with. I’d hate to get on the wrong side of you,” Juan declared, still wincing from the arch I stabbed with my heel.

Moving him to the other side of me, his dead weight starting to noticeably drag the padded bra Peg loaned me down my right side, I continued to help him to our table.

“You’re pretty strong for a girl. Did you ever play any sports?”

The morning after the charity gala, Debbie literally dragged me out of bed (actually the couch).
As I landed on the floor with a dull thud, still wearing the outfit I wore to the gala, I protested groggily.

“Let me sleep, Debbie. It’s Saturday. Where’s the fire?”

“Otis is going to pick us up in an hour. We’re going to Six Flags Magic Mountain!”

“I don’t wanna go! I wanna sleep!”

“You can’t. On the way to the park, you’ve got to tell me all about the gala. Like did you hook up with that GlobalNet dude?”

“Who? Alastair Knowles?”

“Yeah…”

“Oh, him, yeah, Juan’s supposed to call him to schedule an audition for me—”

“Oh, wow! My sister’s going to be a TV star!”

“No way, Jose. I keep telling everyone. I have no interest in acting—”

“Cover your mouth when you yawn. It’s not ladylike—”

“Well, neither am I—”

“The only person who doesn’t think you’re a girl is…you.”

“So why are we going to Six Flags? Why not Disneyland? I’ve never been. We went to Disney World when mom was still with us…”

“Do you really want to sit in a teacup and have puppets warble “It’s a Small World” in your ear? Or have pirates shout blue material at you like “Hey, nice hooters?”

“Between you and me, Debbie, I don’t have any hooters.”

“The point is Disneyland is for kids. Six Flags has real amusement park rides! Adults can have mature fun—”

“I’m a scaredy cat, Debbie. You know that!”

“That’s why it’s so much fun. Everyone needs to let out an ear-splitting scream now and again. It’s a lot like sex! You can wait until you become a mother to go to Disneyland with your kids.”

“O.K., O.K. I can see you’re getting carried away with this. I’ll go shower and change. I’d appreciate a bracing cup of coffee waiting for me, dear sister.”

“Oh and just go light on the makeup. You don’t want to dazzle Otis too much.”

On the way to Six Flags in Valencia, a 45-minute drive north of Los Angeles, Debbie and I sat in the back of Otis’ Acura, checking each other’s makeup and discussing my encounter with Clark Ruskin and Mei Ling at the gala.

“So, are you going to really sit on this and not tell Misty what her husband’s been doing while she’s out of town with The Surf?”

“We shook hands on it. As long as she quits trying to find a gotcha on me…”

“She thinks you want to get your hooks in Chuck.”

“Why? It looks like she’s Clark’s sidepiece—”

“There’s no future in being a sidepiece. Before you know it, you’re tossed out on the side of the road. Now, being Mrs. Chuck Connors is quite another thing. She probably thinks she could land a spot on The Housewives of Newport Beach.”

“Somebody should tell her I’m no threat to her. I just work for Chuck. He’s not my type. He’s a guy.”

“Girl, you couldn’t tell by the way these guys all salivate over you.”

“Debbie, I swear I’m not doing anything!”

My mind, not to mention my hair, was frazzled by the time I wobbled off the Superman: Escape from Krypton rollercoaster ride. Debbie and Otis laughed at the terror of riding the 100 miles per hour cars that reached an apex of over 400 feet above the ground, while I tried closing my eyes on the way down and screaming. Otis told me it held the world record for height and speed when it first opened more than 25 years ago.

“You girls are so chicken. You know there have only been a handful of fatalities on these coasters? Man, I’d love to ride the Formula Rossa in Abu Dhabi. That one goes up to 150 miles per hour!”

“I think I’d rather sit in a teacup and have pirates shout rude things at me.”

The thrilling Superman rollercoaster notwithstanding, the attraction that compelled Otis and Debbie to cut short my beauty sleep was the tower that was attached to it. The Lex Luthor: Drop of Doom. They secure you in a harness on an eight-seat open-air gondola that then ascends slowly up to the top of the tower, some 400 feet above the ground. There, you sit in anticipation of the long, precipitous drop as your hands tighten their grip around the over-the-shoulder restraints. To add to the feeling of impending doom, when Superman: Escape from Krypton and Lex Luthor: Drop of Doom operate simultaneously, the steel framework tower that supports both rides sways as much as 2 feet from side to side.

The evil voice of Lex Luthor roused me from my state of attentive immobility:

“Today is your lucky day, today your life changes forever. And this may very well be the highest point of your insignificant existence!"

He laughed maniacally and then a brief period of silence preceded the sudden free-fall to the bottom.

I screamed all the way down.

The following week, Mei Ling and I circled each other warily in the office. But the fact that I knew her dirty little secret kept her out of my way. That didn’t stop her from shooting glares at me every time we passed each other. Apart from that small nuisance, I felt much more at ease and really threw myself into perfecting the presentation to The Los Angeles Dodgers that Chuck had arranged for Friday morning of that week.

With Dulcie at the helm of the laptop, Chuck and I rehearsed the presentation all day Thursday, completing four dry runs until we felt able to do it in our sleep. Chuck told us to meet him for breakfast at the café across the street from our office at 9 on Friday morning. We’d ride in his Audi e-tron for the 20-minute drive to Chavez Ravine where Dodger Stadium was situated for our 10 o’clock appointment.

When we walked into the conference room deep in the bowels of Dodger Stadium, we had a surprising member of the audience awaiting us. Magic Johnson, legendary Los Angeles Laker who had a minority stake in The Dodgers as well, was seated at the conference table along with members of the Dodgers’ marketing team. After introductions were made all around, he came over to Chuck while Dulcie and I set up our gear.

“Chuck! I was hoping to see you at this presentation. How’s Clark and your sisters?”

“Great, Magic.” They shook hands. At 6’3”, Chuck still had to crane his neck to look Magic, 6’8”, in the eye. “So what brings you out here on a Friday morning? I didn’t know you were on the Dodgers’ marketing team.” He laughed warmly.

“When I heard about Sisters Sportswear pitching a custom line of promotional apparel for The Dodgers, as an interested party with The Lakers, I wanted to get a preview of what you’ve come up with. The Lakers are always pro-active in expanding our demographic. And I was told that Evie Rivers was your marketing head now—”

“You know of Evie?”

“Hey, the front office here was seriously considering hiring her as a special instructor…until they got word, she took a job with your company.”

“I didn’t know that. She never mentioned it. I thought she was through with baseball.”

I chose that very moment to interrupt.

“Chuck, we’re ready to proceed.”

The presentation went over swimmingly with the marketing team. They were especially enthusiastic about the custom apparel giveaways for Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, The 4th of July, and Labor Day that specifically targeted women and children’s styles and sizes. In addition to these one-offs, they were impressed by our concepts for bespoke year-round apparel that could be sold in Dodgers Team Stores and ordered through their website.

While Chuck made further arrangements with the Dodgers’ marketing team, Magic cornered me in the hallway just outside the conference room.

“Evie? I already spoke to Chuck about having you guys present to The Lakers. Maybe we can set that up for next month some time?”

“Oh, sure, we’d love to pitch The Lakers.”

“So, why are you working for Chuck and his sisters? You know, Brandon told me that they were just about to ask to interview you when they heard you’d joined Sisters Sportswear.”

I was gob smacked. I had no clue. I thought they had just tossed my job application into the circular file. After all, I hadn’t heard from them in more than six weeks. Not a word.

“I didn’t know that. I guess the timing was all wrong. But I’m happy doing what I’m doing with Sisters. Chuck and his sisters are nice people to work for—”

“The funny thing about it is Brandon could’ve sworn your application said you were a guy. He asked around and everyone told him you’re a woman…which, of course, you certainly seem to be.” He scratched his head. “Someone, somewhere, made a mistake?”

“I…I guess so. Funny but things like that happen to me a lot. It’s my name. Evelyn. It can be a man or a woman’s name.”

“Brandon told me if I got the chance to invite you out to the Stadium tomorrow. He’d like to meet you in any case. The game’s at 4 in the afternoon so drop by around 11AM. If you’d like to, you can work out in the cage, meet some of the players. So, wear something appropriate. Nothing with Titans colors though.” He laughed and shook my hand.

Magic slapped Chuck on the back as they passed each other in the doorway of the conference room.

“Did Magic tell you he wants to set us up with The Lakers next month?”

“Yeah.” I looked lost in thought.

“Something the matter?”

“No, he invited me to work out on the field tomorrow morning with the team.”

“Well, that sounds exciting. Mind if I tag along? I’d love to meet Mookie and Clayton on the field. Don’t tell ‘em I’m a Padres fan.” He pressed his index finger to his lips.

“Magic told me Brandon Gomes, the GM, was going to ask to interview me right about the time you hired me…”

“Guess I’m lucky we beat them to you. Is that how you feel?”

“Of course. Just surprised, that’s all. I thought they’d rejected me out of hand—”

“Let’s get back to the office. I just called Kyle. Pizza for lunch! You didn’t know we had a pizza oven installed in the kitchen, did you?”

It was the first time I had ever set foot on the field in Dodger Stadium. Although it was five hours before the game was set to begin, most of the team was out there, shagging flies, fielding grounders, and taking batting practice inside the outdoor cage. Some of the pitchers were throwing in the bullpen beyond the left field fence. Brandon Gomes, the Dodgers GM, was standing by the batting cage and offered his hand when I approached, with Chuck off to my side.

“Evie? Nice to finally meet you. Chuck, good to see you again.” He turned to me. “So, the guys in our development department said you did some great work with Titans players down on the farm last year. Our analytics group heard good things about you as well. But I was tied up with the start of the season and didn’t get around to contacting you until you’d already taken this job with Chuck. It’s a shame, the timing between us was off. You’re the kind of coaching talent we look high and low for.”

“I love baseball, Mr. Gomes. It’s my first love. But when the Titans let me go, I…the opportunity to work for Sisters Sportswear was too good to turn down. At least I’m finally putting my MBA to some use.”

“I’ll say,” interjected Chuck. “Evie’s a dynamic marketer. Just the right person to join our team.”

“Well, good luck, Evie. Take a turn in the cage if you want. Would you mind giving some free advice to some of our players? They’re really hyped to speak to you. Here’s Mookie, right now.”

Mookie Betts, the best player on the Dodgers, strolled over, bat in hand.

“Mookie, this is Evie Rivers. She’s the one who coached the pitchers on that AAA team in Somerset to a league-leading 3.24 ERA.”

“I did hear about you. From Richie Morrow when we played The Titans in New York last month. We could use another set of eyes on Nick Palumbo. He’s struggling a bit and the coaches are kind of stumped. They might have to send him down if he doesn’t straighten out soon.”

Brandon pointed to the bullpen in left field. “He’s in the pen right now with our pitching coaches. Maybe you could take a look?”

“Well, I really need to see the analytical data on him as well as just check out his mechanics—”

“They’ve got all that. I’ll introduce you. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind getting some input from another source. O.K?”

I nodded and Chuck and I followed Brandon out to the left field bullpen.

As I analyzed the spin rates on Nick Palumbo’s 4-seam fastball, slider, and sweeper, George and Greg, the Dodgers’ pitching coaches, filled me in on Nick’s season so far, his recent loss of command and a nasty tendency to give up long home runs. At the same time, I watched Nick throw his pitches. Nothing wrong with his velocity. The kid could throw hard. I immediately noticed his landing foot was pointed toward first base instead of in line with home plate. That made his arm drop into a three-quarter, almost sidearm delivery instead of straight overhand. That made his slider move horizontally across the zone rather than vertically downward.

We were able to show him on our tablets the flaws in his pitching motion. He practiced his windup and delivery with a towel rather than a baseball, easier to see the angle his arm made as he “threw.” Chuck had been standing off to the side, watching as I worked with Nick and his coaches.

“You’re really good, Evie. I used to pitch in high school. I was so bad that my coach told me I should concentrate on basketball instead.” He laughed. “Maybe if I’d had someone like you to coach me, I could’ve stayed the course with baseball.”

“Did you try to play basketball professionally?”

“Clark tried to get me a place with an Italian club but they signed a kid from LSU instead. There was an offer from a team in Tel Aviv but, by that time, I’d decided that it wasn’t in the cards for me. I mean, I didn’t want to be playing basketball in Belgium or Croatia when I was 30 years old.”

“You had a lot more choices than most other kids. If basketball was the only thing you were good at—”

“A lot of people think that exactly. My sisters included.”

“But you have a law degree.”

“I’ve never actually practiced. Passed the bar on my third try. Started working for my sisters instead. It was Clark’s idea really. Where would I be if Clark hadn’t married my sister?”

“Do you really have to work, Chuck? I mean your parents left you quite an inheritance I’m sure—”

“You must think I’m just some empty-headed playboy heir. An air-headed heir.”

“I’ve heard some things.”

He threw his hands up as if in surrender. “Guilty. You got me. If you didn’t know me well, that’s exactly what you’d think. Can’t blame you if you do. I am trying, Evie. I envy someone like you. You’re skilled, dedicated, sure of your abilities. You know who you are and what you want to be.”

“Do you think so, Chuck?”

“Sure. You’re a self-starter. I’m glad I’ve met you, really.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret.”

“What’s that?”

“I have no frickin’ idea who I am or what I really want.”

“Don’t shit me, Evie. That’s impossible.”

“No, it’s true. Everyone wants me to be their idea of me. My parents and my sister want one thing. Juan Moskowitz, who I didn’t even know two weeks ago, has a whole career mapped out for me. Baseball general managers think I should coach. Even you. You want me to be your marketing maven—”

“I want you to self-actualize. Only you know who you really are and what you really want in life. From where I stand, you’re doing pretty well—”

My phone rang. It was Juan.

“Hello, Juan. Are you calling me from the Dog Park?”

“No, I’ve been working the phones all morning. I asked my brother to walk Rico. I’ve got some exciting news, Evie.”

“Oh, no. What is it now?”

“That Knowles guy is tough to pin down. But I finally got you an audition for that Dantley project. You’re penciled in for Wednesday afternoon at the studio. I’m sending you the pages and some notes on the character you’re reading. It’s a major part, Evie! Dantley’s really pushing for you. All the details are in the email. I won’t take no for an answer. This’ll make both our careers! I’m sending it right now. Speak to you soon!” He disconnected.

“Problem?”

“Yes, someone won’t take no for an answer.”

“Juan?”

“Why do these things always happen to me?”

“Someone up there likes you?”

“There’s less than ten lines for my character in the whole scene, Debbie.”

My sister thoroughly chewed the last bit of her sausage before swallowing, then followed that with a draught of orange juice. She stifled a burp before remarking, “That’s great. You can memorize that in your sleep—”

“That’s what I thought too until I checked with Juan. It’s not like a table reading, Debbie. It’s going to be filmed. The “audition” is really a screen test. In costume and everything!”

“Ooh, that sounds exciting. Your first appearance on celluloid. I wonder if they’ll allow you to have a copy. An mp4 file on a thumb drive—”

“You don’t understand, sis. The majority of the scene involves a lot of smoldering silence and…and kissing—”

“You’ve kissed a guy before.”

“Never!”

Debbie stared me down.

“Well…elementary school doesn’t count. Willie Dawson thought I was a girl because he saw me wearing your sailor blouse on the way to rehearsal for H.M.S. Pinafore in 4th grade.”

“Oh, come off it. What about Richie Morrow? You spent a whole summer coaching him last year. Betcha had some hot smooching sessions, you two—”

“A lady doesn’t tell.” I shook my head and pointed a finger at her. “Nothing like that ever happened.”

“So, do you know who’s in the scene with you?”

“Juan said it’s the lead actor. Some guy named Trent Foster—”

“Oh my frickin’ God! Trent Foster! I hate you, Evie! How does this keep happening?”

“What?”

“You’ve become a stud magnet! It’s not fair!”

“Who is Trent Foster?”

“Only the hottest triple threat entertainer in show business right now. He’s got a Grammy for his last album, a Golden Globe award for his last movie role – I can’t believe you’ve never seen Planet Raiders III: Pleiades One More Time --, and streams on Twitch—”

“Sounds like a busy boy.”

“And he’s sooo dreamy!”

“Maybe I can get them to use you as my stunt double so you can kiss him. I couldn’t care less—”

“Don’t even kid about that, Evie.”

“The screen test is on Wednesday. We’ve got all day today to rehearse the scene. You can read Trent’s lines—”

“Uh-uh. Otis and I are going to Riverside and check out the guided tour at the Citrus Park. He wrote a paper on orange groves in Southern California for his senior thesis. And they hand out free samples…”

“I guess I’ll just hug and kiss myself. Pretend it’s “dreamy” Trent Foster. Anyway, I thought you weren’t really into Otis. You’re spending a lot of time together.”

“He’s goofy and all…but he’s sweet and sort-of cute. And, most importantly, you’re not interested in him in the least.”

“So, Chuck tells me you’ll be out of the office all day on Wednesday. Something about a screen test at GlobalNet Studios.”

I was on my way to the ladies’ room when Mei Ling sauntered by. She had apparently just exited Chuck’s office.

“Yes, it’ll probably end up leading to nothing much at all. I mean, I’m not an actor. Just doing it to help out a friend who’s trying to become an agent—”

“Oh, your boyfriend…uh…Juan, right?”

“He’s not my boyfriend. We’re not dating. I met him in a dog park. It’s a long story…”

“Well, break a leg, as they say in show business.”

I was about to turn the door lever when Mei Ling muttered loud enough for me to hear, “And I mean, break a leg. Two while you’re at it.”

“I think it went really well. They were really impressed with your knowledge of the history of semi-pro rugby in Southern California. I had no idea Boris Karloff was a seminal figure in establishing rugby in Los Angeles.”

We were halfway on our return trip to Los Angeles from San Diego. The traffic on I-5 was sparse on this Tuesday afternoon and we’d probably make it back to the office before 4PM. Our sales manager, Buzz Feiten, was at the wheel. A 30-year veteran of the sports apparel business, Buzz had worked for Nike, Adidas, Reebok, you name it. Every sports organization up and down the California coast was on a first name basis with him.

We had just made a sales call at Major League Rugby’s newest franchise in San Diego. The one-hour presentation, with supplemental slides especially prepared for the meeting, was a smashing success. I called Chuck immediately afterwards and relayed the good feelings. Buzz was already working on arranging a sales call at Major League Rugby’s national headquarters in Dallas, Texas.

“I had no idea either until I looked it up on the internet. But, you know, a lot of British, Australian., and even American celebrities are huge rugby fans. Like Daniel Craig, Russell Crowe, Samuel L. Jackson, Matt Damon, The Rock…did you know Taylor Swift too?”

There was an interregnum of silence as we passed through San Clemente and Dana Point, punctuated by bent notes on guitar and growling vocals broadcast over Buzz’s favorite blues channel on Sirius-XM. I went through the texts on my phone, including Juan’s reminder that he’d pick me up early tomorrow morning at 8 so I could go through costume and makeup before the actual screen test at 11AM. I felt pretty sure I’d memorized my lines. The issue was how I’d make it through the lip locking with “dreamy” Trent. The phlegm started to build up in my mouth.

“So, may I ask a personal question? If you don’t answer, I won’t bring it up again. It’s just that some people don’t have an issue with an old duffer being nosey, while others take exception (long pause) Are you a lesbian?”

“That’s pretty personal, Buzz. Before I answer…what makes you think I am?”

“Well, that outfit you’re wearing. It’s not your typical Ann Taylor business suit. It sort of makes a statement if I’m reading it right.”

“Oh, this old thing? No, Buzz, I’m not making any kind of statement. It’s something my sister picked out for me. You know, Debbie, from HR? She’s the fashion maven in the family. I’d just as soon wear sweats and a baseball cap—”

“The same with me, ha ha. Well, I’m totally ignorant when it comes to women’s fashions. I’m not too concerned with what they have on. More interested in what they take off—”

“Buzz, this conversation is veering off into a troubling detour. Maybe we should just listen to the radio and keep our eyes on the road, eh?”

“Sorry, Evie. You’re not going to report me, are you?”

“No, Buzz, no harm, no foul. Let’s just put this all behind us, o.k.?”

“Sure, sure.” He turned the radio up and started to tap his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat.

Peg Somersby’s smiling face greeted me as Juan led me to the Wardrobe Department of GolbalNet Studios. We hugged and Peg gave out a low whistle.

“Looking good, Evie. You’ve done something with your hair? And nice job with the makeup. I can see I’ll need to do very little to make you screen ready.”

“Thank you, Peg. It’s a steep learning curve trying to look like a girl—”

“What does that mean, Evie?” asked Juan as he wandered through the room, answering texts on his phone.

“Juan, dear, why don’t you leave us ladies to our own devices. There is such a thing as a lady’s modesty, even in this day and age.”

“Oh, well, sorry. I’ll go and see if Alastair has gotten in yet. I’ll see you later, Evie.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

“Have a seat, Evie. There’s something I noticed last time you were here that I need to take care of.”

“Umm, what’s that?”

“Your ears aren’t pierced—”

“So?”

“You can wear a wider variety of earrings, like hoops and the pretty dangly ones that sway when you move your head in a sultry manner. Clip Ons will tend to soften your lobes due to the constant pressure and they’ll lose their structure and elasticity.”

“That makes sense but I’m not a big fan of pain.”

Peg ripped open a bag of cotton balls and applied some isopropyl alcohol to one ball. She dabbed most of my ears, especially the lobes, with the cotton ball.

“This is to disinfect your lobes. Don’t want any bacteria getting into the holes in your lobes.”

“That’ll make it spic and span but it’ll still hurt like hell—”

“When the alcohol dries, I’m going to put this little ice pack on your earlobe.” She showed me the tiny 3” by 3” packets. “You leave it on for 5 minutes. You won’t feel a thing after that. We’ll do one ear at a time. Meanwhile, we can sit and talk. Any nerves, honey?”
“I’ve got my lines memorized but that’s not the part that makes me nervous.”

“Hold that against your ear, sweetie. So what part makes you nervous?”

“The kissing part.”

“You’re so pretty. I’m sure you’ve done your fair share of kissing and being kissed.”

“I’ve never kissed a boy! You have to remember, Peg, this…this girl thing is something very recent for me. I don’t think I’m going to like being kissed by Trent Foster.”

“You’d be one of the very few girls who wouldn’t.”

“That’s the thing, Peg. I’m not a girl.”

Peg took the ice pack away and brought a disposable piercing gun into view, already loaded with an ear stud.

“This’ll take a second. Don’t flinch. Close your eyes if you want, silly girl.” She squeezed the gun and the stud was snugly in place. “See, that wasn’t bad at all, was it?”

“No. I didn’t feel anything. But it’ll probably hurt like the devil for days when the ice wears off.”

“It takes about six weeks to fully heal but if you clean the area two or three times a day, you’ll be able to then swap your ear studs out for whatever pretty earrings you want.”

Peg then placed an ice pack on my other earlobe, cupping my hand over it.

“Now, girl, back to your issue with kissing Trent Foster. Are you gay?”

“Gay as in attracted to men or gay as in attracted to women?”

“Or you could be bi. Plenty of people are wired that way too.”

“I’m so confused, Peg. I mean, I’ve never been a woman before.”

“Methinks you’ve always been a girl. You just didn’t realize it until now.”

“My dad, my stepmom, and my sister tell me they’ve always regarded me as a girl. I was just born with the wrong equipment, so to speak.”

“Why don’t you give it a try and see how you feel? Trent doesn’t have cooties. If I were 30 years younger, I’d gladly trade places with you. Umm, that’s a delicious thought.”

“I guess you’re right. I’ll probably fail the screen test anyway. After today, my show biz career will just be a blip on the radar of my life. I mean I’ve never even thought about acting. Ipso facto, it’s not going to happen.”

“I don’t think that means what you think it does, dear.”

I stood on the soundstage, peering into the shadows where Daniel Dantley, Alastair Knowles, Juan Moskowitz and the production crew sat on director’s chairs or held their equipment at the ready. The camera operator was holding an Arri Alexa 35, the most expensive digital camera in the industry, list price over $75,000. There were boom microphones suspended above the set. A recording engineer sat with a sound mixer, fidgeting with his studio quality headphones. Cables and cords were strewn on the floor in serpentine patterns out of camera range.

The set was made to look like the interior of a lower middle-class home, faded colors and aging, out-of-date furnishings lending an air of decay to the room. There was an uneasy silence on the set until Trent Foster stepped into view, smiling as he waved to the figures in shadow. The description Debbie had given me was all too true: Trent looked like a cross between James Dean and Keanu Reeves. And the swagger to go with it.

“Trent, good of you to finally show up,” noted Dantley acerbically.

“Sorry, Dan. Traffic. Hey, Alastair, good to see you. Been a while.”

“A pleasure working with you again, Trent. Newport: The Series is going to be a big hit for GlobalNet. I have a sixth sense about these things.”

“Trent, this is Ms. Evie Rivers. The ingenue of the hour. I discovered her frolicking in the surf at Newport Beach. Now, how’s that for serendipity? The universe works in mysterious ways—”

Trent extended his hand and I shook it, remembering to keep my wrist limp…like a girl’s.

“Welcome to the industry, Evie. I’m sure we’ll work well together. Dan is a noted judge of talent. He likes to tell people he discovered me too.”

Lying through my teeth, I gushed, “It’s my pleasure entirely, Trent. I’m a big fan of yours. You were so good in Planet Raiders II!”

“You mean Planet Raiders III? II was the one with Reb Thompson, the has-been I replaced in III.”

“Oh, I meant III. I’m so bad with numbers.” With the back of my hand against my forehead, I intoned in a bad Southern accent, “I’ve always relied on the kindness of strangers.”

“She’s a natural,” Dantley said to no one in particular. Juan gave me a thumbs up.

“Dan, can we get on with it? I’ve got a lunch meeting across town.”

“Yes, Alastair, let me set the scene for…uh…the scene. Now, Trent is playing Dack Salinger, the MC of Newport: The Series. He’s the only son of real estate magnate Lucas Salinger. Dack is your typical unmotivated rich kid. He doesn’t work for his dad. He spends his days surfing and his nights driving around aimlessly, seeking cheap thrills and loose women. He’s the bad boy of Newport Beach, a—”

“Dan, please. We all know the series bible. Just confine yourself to the specific scene at hand.”

“Very well, Alastair. I do get carried away when I talk about this project. Sorry. As I was saying, Dack has learned that Margo Evans, played by Ms. Rivers, his high school sweetheart, and the most popular couple on campus, has returned to Newport after almost 10 years. Why she left to attend a college thousands of miles away has never been explained, not least to Dack, who’s been pining away for her ever since. He comes to Margo’s parents’ house in the poorer section of Newport in the hopes that she has returned for good and to rekindle their relationship. O.K. everyone ready? Roll sound. Roll camera. Speed. Slate it!”

The assistant camera called out the scene and take numbers, shouted “Mark!” and then clapped the sticks together.

“Action!” Dantley shouted as Trent moved forward toward me, seated on the couch.

“Margo! I came as soon as I heard from Frick that you’d come back to town—”

I stood up but kept my distance from Trent.

“Dack, I didn’t expect to see you. I’m only in town for a few days. For the funeral…”

“I’m sorry about your father, Margo. My dad told me about the accident on the construction site in Costa Mesa. If there’s anything my family or I can do to help out—”

“We’re not a charity case, Dack.”

“So, you’re not back for good?”

“After the funeral, I’m headed back to Philadelphia.”

We stood ten feet apart, staring at each other. Silent. Slowly, as the camera zoomed in on my face, tears started to run down my cheeks. My mask of stoicism crumbled. My arms went limp. I started sobbing. Trent rushed to me and put his arms around me, trying to comfort me.

“Margo, I can help. My dad can give Frick a job. There’s always a lot of maintenance work on his properties. It’s the least he can do for your family, after…after everything.”

“Frick is too proud, Dack. He hates your father. He’d never work for him.”

“What about us, Margo? I don’t know why you left and why you’ve never come back. Almost ten years. I kept asking Frick about you, told him to get you to answer my texts, emails…I even sent you an actual letter. Years ago now. You never did. Why?”

I held Trent tighter and buried my face in his shoulder, my sobbing subsided. But I didn’t answer him. Just held him tighter.

“Is there someone in Philadelphia?” I shook my head. He took my head in his hands and slowly drew my lips to his. We kissed long and tenderly.

“Cut!” shouted Dantley, jumping off his chair. “Bravo! You two were marvelous! You totally captured the emotional subtext of the scene. Alastair, was I right or was I right?”

I disentangled myself from Trent, after he gently removed his lips from mine. He kept his eyes trained on me. Finally, our arms separated. I felt light-headed. I must have stumbled because Trent moved to keep me from falling over.

“Are you o.k.?”

“I’m...I’m fine. There must be a wrinkle in the carpet. I’m a bit of a klutz, Trent.”

“That’s not what I heard. You coached baseball for The Titans. I read your press clippings online.”

“Evie, you’re going to be a star! You’re a force of nature. Trent, we’ve found your co-star.” Dantley gathered both of us in his arms and we group-hugged. Juan gave me another thumbs up.

“Evie, that was certainly quite a performance. We’re going to finalize our casting the week after the 4th of July. So I’ll be in touch with Juan. I’d say your chances are pretty good. Well, kiddies, I have to go. Dan, I’ll speak to you this afternoon. Bye, all.” He left the soundstage.

“Evie, I’d like to go and have a drink with you but I’m on a flight to San Francisco tonight and there’s a lot of packing I have to do. Let’s get together once you officially get the role…which is almost certain you will. You’re quite the thespian. It’ll be a joy to work with you. Dan, keep me in the loop on any developments. “Parting is such sweet sorrow. That I shall say good night till it be morrow.” He doffed his nonexistent hat and left by the side door.

“Hamlet?”

“Search me,” Juan replied. “He’s one goofy guy, that dude.”

“Maybe acting is something I’d like to pursue, after all. There was a moment in that scene where Trent and I connected on an almost cosmic level.”

“Yeah, I saw him sneak in some tongue on that kiss.”

“You’ve been staring blankly at the wall for an hour. I was afraid your eyes might roll back in your head and you’d lose consciousness—”

“Did you say something, Debbie?”

“You know, you’ve been really quiet about the screen test. It was like pulling teeth to get any details about it from you. I gather it went really well. But most of what happened I got from Juan. There’s nothing wrong with your appetite. You scarfed that pizza in three easy bites. So you’re not coming down with anything.” Debbie felt my forehead. She still had some pizza sauce on her hand. I hardly noticed. “What’s bugging you, Evie?”

“I think I’m in love.”

“With Chuck? Juan? Richie Morrow?”

“No, silly, Trent. Trent Foster. He’s simply…wonderful.”

“Oy vey.”

“What’s bugging you, Evie?”

“I think I’m in love.”

“With Chuck? Juan? Richie Morrow?”

“No, silly, Trent. Trent Foster. He’s simply…wonderful.”

“Oy vey.”

“Don’t you think he’s cute?”

“It’s not that, Evie. He’s way above your skill level. You don’t have the game to play in his league.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“He’s real Hollywood, Evie. You have no idea. He dates only super-models. I don’t want you to get hurt, sis.”

“Well, I’m wasting my time thinking about him anyway. First, I’m not going to get the role. After all, I’m not a professional actor. Second, and most importantly, I’m not a woman. I think he’d want someone with a…a—”

“You can have your equipment refitted…”

“That’s not going to happen overnight, Debbie. If at all.”

“I thought you were beginning to convince yourself that you’ve always been a woman. It’s something me and dad have been telling you forever.”

“I’ll admit it’s been fun being perceived as a real woman. A lot of fun. Except for the shoes.”

“Stick with Chuck. He’s a really nice guy. Trust me. Don’t believe Juan. He’s an agent. They make a living off making shit up for publicity’s sake. CAA always tries to hook up their new talent with celebrities like Chuck. He’s only had like one serious relationship in all the time I’ve worked there. And the girl broke up with him. He was moping around the office for weeks.”

“So why haven’t you gone after him yourself?”

“Because…because,” her cheeks turning bright red. “I like Otis,” she said in a whisper.

“I knew it! Sis, what’s the gameplan? Has he hinted anything? Do I hear wedding bells for you in the near future?”

“Well, when we go to swap meets in the valley, he’s always asking me what kind of house design I like. Ranch-style, Craftsman, Victorian, Greek Revival, Colonial, mid-century modern—”

“I’m going to be an aunt before I know it. Or is it a cross-dressing uncle?”

“Stop it, Evie. You are and always have been double X to me.” We hugged and decided to watch the penultimate episode of Silo’s first season before hitting the hay. Debbie’s a big sci-fi fan.

On the way out of the office on Friday afternoon, looking forward to the long weekend ahead leading up to Tuesday, the 4th of July, I literally crashed into Chuck as we rushed into the elevator just as its doors closed. Laughing, we disentangled our briefcases and I innocently brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes with my fingers.

“I guess I should put more product in my hair. Thanks. Say, do you have plans tomorrow morning?”

“Other than sleeping in, no.”

“You looked like you had a decent time surfing last time. Want to get some more reps in?”

“I don’t know, Chuck. I’d just slow you down. I’m in shallow water while you’re out riding the wild surf—”

“You’re athletic enough, Evie. I’m willing to wager you could be tackling 20 footers in no time. It’d be a waste of a really nice wetsuit not to continue the surfing lessons. It’s definitely a good fit.”

“I think you just want to see me in a tight wetsuit.”

“Anything wrong with that?”

“My sister’s in HR or don’t you remember?”

“She’s the one who told me you wanted to try some more surfing—”

“Just like her to set me up like this.”

“So, is it yes? I’ll pick you up at a more civilized time. How about 8AM this time?”

“Alright. As long as you bring coffee and donuts with you.”

“You’re my kind of girl, Evie. You really are.”

When we exited the elevator, Chuck patted me on the shoulder before turning toward the side door leading to the parking lot. “See you bright and early tomorrow!”

I walked out into the still bright, sun-splashed afternoon and crossed the street to wait for the bus that would take me back to our apartment in Alhambra. Seriously, I needed to get myself a car. Especially since Debbie and I don’t ever leave the office at the same time. She’s out promptly at 5 and Otis picks her up in his van. Me, I’m still in my office working on presentations. The only person still in the office most nights when I leave is Mei Ling. No, she’s not a diligent worker. More than once, I’ve crossed paths with Clark Ruskin as he stealthily arrives to pick up Mei Ling, thinking the office is empty.

In between sorties into the surf, Chuck and I sat on a beach blanket, shooting the breeze. I chugged some coconut water from his sport canteen as he told me that our chef Kyle had given notice. He’d scored a sous-chef position at a new restaurant in Silverlake.

“Sucks. Kyle is a really great cook. Misty wants to recommend the chef for the soccer team. Seems she’s not keen on all the travel and all the down time between seasons. Want in on the taste test next week? Misty tells me she’s a whiz at Mexican fusion dishes.”

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’ll find out if you’ve got the role next week. Look at you. I’m sure they’ll choose you. So, how is this going to work?”

“What do you mean?”

Laughing, he took a swig from the canteen. “What do I mean? How are you going to fit in working for us in your shooting schedule?”

“Are you going to fire me?” I asked, timidly.

“No, of course not. That is, if you want to continue with us. You won’t be shooting all year long. Juan told me he thinks principal photography might only take 3 months total. You could be part-time for 3 months and full-time the rest of the year. If the show gets picked up for another season, we’ll adjust your schedule accordingly.”

“What if – and I’m not saying it’s what I want to do – I get other roles? Like feature films, let’s say.”

“Have you asked Juan to put you out there for more work?”

“No, no, not at all. But he’s told me he’s already gotten calls. GlobalNet gets a lot of ink in the business. Everyone’s anticipating this series because of Trent and, well, if I get cast in it—”

“They’ll want the hot new actress in town. Yeah, I guess that’s how it works. It’s your life, Evie. I can’t tell you how to live it. It’d be disappointing if you had to quit. And personally…”

“I…I’d like to stay friends. If…if I had to leave. I mean, how am I ever going to tackle those 20 footers if you’re not there to keep giving me lessons?”

“It’s a deal.” We stared at each other for a good minute before Chuck jumped up and retrieved his surfboard. “Want to hit the surf again?”

“I’m still pooped, Chuck. You can do this round solo. Catch me on the turnaround, o.k.?”

He trotted into the strandline, holding the board above his head with both hands. I was still thirsty. After taking a last swig of coconut water, I lay back on the blanket and closed my eyes. Someone cleared their throat rather loudly. I opened my eyes and was startled to see Trent Foster looming above me.

He wasn’t dressed for the beach. Standing on the sand in his bare feet, wearing a white shirt with rolled up sleeves and faded jeans, a jacket tossed over one shoulder, he pointed the sneakers that he held in his free hand at me.

“Funny meeting you here, Evie. Danny wasn’t kidding when he said you were an actual surfer girl. Who’s the dude?”

“I didn’t know you were a part-time beachcomber as well as being a matinee idol, Trent. Well, that dude is my boss, Chuck Connors. He’s been giving me surfing lessons.”

He knelt down beside the blanket.

“You look good in that wetsuit.”

“A fashion critic as well. You’re multi-talented.”

“I sing and play a mean guitar too. But enough about me. I live around the corner. Right by the golf course.” He nodded behind him and to his left. “Your sister told me you were on the beach this morning. She wasn’t that cordial. Her friend, this goofy-looking guy, wouldn’t even let me in the door.”

“You probably caught her at a bad time. Anyway, what’s up?”

“It’s kind of a favor I need. It’s almost 11:30. How about we talk about it over lunch? There’s a place down Balboa that makes a great open cheese sandwich. And mojitos to weep over.”

“I don’t think so, Trent. I’m here with Chuck. I can’t just up and leave to have lunch without him. Why don’t you just tell me what favor you need?”

At that moment, serendipitously, Chuck trudged up the beach toward us.

“Evie, who’s this?”

“What’s good, Chuck? I’m Trent Foster.” He extended his hand.

Shaking Trent’s hand, Chuck asked me, “Rested up, Evie? Time to get in the last round. They’re closing off the beach any minute now.”

“I need to speak with Evie about the show. I live nearby and her sister…Debbie, right...she told me she was surfing here at The Wedge. I was going to take her to lunch to go over the details.”

I shot Trent a look. He shrugged his shoulders. Neither of these gestures eluded Chuck.

“Evie, why don’t you see what Trent needs to go over with you?” Turning to Trent. “I take it, it’s a foregone conclusion they’re casting Evie in the show.”

“Oh, absolutely. There was never a question after she aced the screen test. Danny was in seventh heaven. Alastair couldn’t believe you’d never taken acting classes.”

“Well, since the two of you have already decided for me, I guess I’ll take you up on that lunch invite, Trent.” I picked up my bag and swiped away the sand on my legs. “Trent, can Chuck come along?”

“Oh no, Evie. You and Trent don’t need me as a third wheel. Show biz stuff is kind of over my head anyway. You kids have fun. I’ll pack up and go home. I’ll text you before the 4th. See you in the office next week.”

Trent walked me over to the showers to rinse the sand off my wetsuit.

The patio of the restaurant overlooked the beach and as the waves noisily crashed onto the shore, we ate and drank. Trent never once mentioned the “favor” he needed to ask of me. I learned a great deal about his childhood in the wilds of suburban Pacific Palisades. His house was two blocks down from where Carol Serling, Rod’s widow, had lived until she passed in 2020, and a half a mile away from North Rockingham Avenue in Brentwood, O.J. Simpson’s former address. His father is a corporate attorney. His mother, a retired tennis instructor. An only child, he took piano lessons and worked as a catalog model from the age of 5 until he underwent puberty. He asked very few questions about my background. He did compliment me on my looks and my acting skills…repeatedly. Normally, I’d be rather impatient by this time, feeling my time being wasted. But his eyes were simply…mesmerizing. I examined his lips closely as he spoke but only half of what he said sank in. Trent was one beautiful male specimen.

Finally, as were about to finish off our mojitos, I asked him what the favor was. He laughed, feigning embarrassment, and signaled to the waiter for our check.

“Looking at you made me forget all about it. You really do have a special beauty, Evie. Like nothing I’ve ever seen in a woman.”

“Trent, please.”

“Yeah, well, Pacific Palisades holds an annual 4th of July parade and celebration – with fireworks, music, marching bands, skydiving, etc., etc. – and, wouldn’t you know it, they asked me to be Grand Marshall this year. I guess I’m the latest celebrity to actually come from Pacific Palisades. It’s not The Rose Parade but the whole town turns out for it. I couldn’t turn it down. My mom would kill me. Mom and dad get to ride in the car behind us—”

“Us?”

“You’re not doing anything special on the 4th, are you? As Grand Marshall, I can have someone ride in the lead car with me. I’m not married and I’m not seriously seeing anyone at the moment. When we did the screen test, I knew I wanted you in the seat next to me during the parade. There’s a pre-parade lunch too. And there’s a live band and fireworks in the evening…”

“We hardly know each other, Trent.”

“This might sound corny but I feel like we’ve known each other forever. Maybe in a former life, we were married or lovers.”

“No, it’s not corny. I…I feel the same thing. Not to be insulting but I’d never seen any of your movies or TV shows before we did the screen test. Yet, I feel a strong attraction to you.” I giggled. “Debbie said you were a babe magnet. Right now, I feel like a pile of iron filings.”

“Your sister is right. And you are a babe. So, will you accompany me?”

“Of course…as a favor to you.” We clinked our empty glasses.

“To the 4th!”

The car service dropped me off at The Community Methodist Church on Via de la Paz in Pacific Palisades at 10 past noon. They were holding the VIP luncheon there. The parade would start at 2PM, go up the Via de la Paz, turn right onto Sunset Boulevard, make another right onto Toyopa Drive, and conclude on Ocampo Drive. Trent’s parents greeted me at the front door of the church.

“You must be Evie. I’m Conrad Foster and this is my wife, Trent’s mom, Eloise.”

“She’s a little doll, Conrad! Trent couldn’t stop talking about you all weekend.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Foster.”

“Oh, please, Evie. We’re Conrad and Eloise. I have a feeling we’ll get to know each other very well in time. Won’t we, Conrad?”

Smiling broadly, Trent appeared behind his parents.

“Let Evie breathe, mom and dad. Evie, come over here. I’ll introduce you to some of the VIPs. And they want us to pose for some photos.”

I shook hands with the actor Eugene Levy, Honorary Mayor of Pacific Palisades since 2021, the pastor of the church, two Los Angeles City Councilpersons, members of the Chamber of Commerce, the local Fire Chief, the Police Commanding Officer for West L.A., and Roger, the Fire Department’s mascot Dalmatian. Roger licked my face as well.

It seemed like everyone gave a short speech, toasting each other with glasses of orange juice, cracking jokes that would have made Bob Hope groan. After Trent’s parents and Trent himself spoke, Mayor Levy read a brief bio about me and then invited me up to the dais to say a few words. Unprepared to say the least, I stuttered out some platitudes about the 4th and recounted a short anecdote about the time my dad took us to New York City to view the Macy’s 4th of July Fireworks Spectacular. I said I’m sure that Macy’s pyrotechnic display won’t hold a roman candle to tonight’s festivities in Pacific Palisades. Levy guffawed. He actually guffawed. In summation, I added, “Go Dodgers!” for no apparent reason. I did get a smattering of applause.

Everyone along the parade route knew who Trent was. Their own favorite son. I got a lot of quizzical looks. One boy, around 11 or 12, screamed out to me, “Who are you?” I smiled and executed my, by this point in the parade, well-practiced semi-circular wave of the wrist at him. He stuck his tongue out at me. I returned his gesture with my own raspberry.

After the parade, everyone relocated to Palisades High Stadium, where several bands played live music and the audience had their pick of cuisine from a line of food trucks parked along the perimeter of the field. I was biting my way through an ear of corn, listening to Conrad and Eloise extol the virtues of their boy Trent, when I noticed that Trent had removed himself from our company. That’s when someone on stage announced that we were in for a special treat. Trent Foster was going to team up with the band and sing for us! The crowd hooted and hollered. Eloise put two fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly about two inches from my right ear. The vibrations were enough to compound the pain the studs in my earlobes were already giving me at the moment.

Throughout his performance, even as he roamed the stage, exhorting the audience to sing along, he kept making eye contact with me, visible even in the gloaming of evening. I decided not to mention to him afterwards that a) I’m not a California girl and b) in fact, I’m not a girl. But he certainly made me wish I was a biological woman. At the moment, sitting with my prospective in-laws, having ridden in a parade car down Sunset Boulevard next to him, and treated like a porcelain doll by the elders of his community, I was ready to have his children.

As if following a script from one of those goofy Elvis movies from the ‘60s, Trent’s parents managed to “lose” themselves in the crowd during the fireworks show, allowing their son and I to sit alone on the blanket, peering up to watch the loud, colorful mid-air detonation of explosive payloads. As I followed the arc of a mortar as it burst into a chrysanthemum pattern, my face mushed into Trent’s. We laughed and then Trent took my head in both his hands. Looking into my eyes, he planted a big, wet kiss on my lips. He tried to stick his tongue down my throat but I coughed and spluttered.

“Sorry, I got a little too excited,” Trent said sheepishly.

I replied by taking his head in both hands and returning his wet kiss, probing his mouth with my tongue. He started to simultaneously grope my chest and my buttocks. Now, one of those sectors of my body could stand some groping, the other couldn’t. I decorously pushed his hand away from my putative breasts and interlaced my fingers with his. We continued our French kissing until they played The Star-Spangled Banner. When Trent’s parents returned to our locus on the blanket, Trent shielded me from view as I wiped my face and lips, straightened out my clothing, and raked my fingers through my hair. Smiling, Eloise winked at me.

“I had a wonderful time, Trent. I’m glad I didn’t let the parade pass me by.”

“Evie, you have a way with words. Do you mind if I borrow that line for one of my songs? I need to write another five songs for my next album. It’s kind of a mash-up of EDM, hip hop, and speed metal. The four I’ve finished already are on my Twitch and YouTube channels. You should give it a listen. Tell me what you think.”

I reached for the door handle and turned to say good night. That’s when Trent planted another big, wet kiss on my open mouth. I swooned, despite my resolution to damp down the heat between us. After all, there was no way this could end well. I must implore Trent to remain professional. I will explain to him that the volatility of a romantic relationship between co-workers such as we might become would negatively affect our performance on screen. We should be rational about this. Think of our careers.

“Oh, Trent, I think I’m falling in love with you!” Wait a minute! Who just said that? Stupid girl!

“Evie, I already have. Feel my love, my love.” He placed my hand on his crotch. I jerked my hand back as if receiving an electric shock. Thankfully, my head began to clear. In an even tone, I announced that it was late and I had to go. Turning the door handle, I quickly stepped out of the car and blew Trent a kiss as he drove away.

Upstairs, I tried to tiptoe my way through the unlit living room, trying not to bump into the furniture and wake up Debbie in her bedroom. Relieved that I had successfully crossed the room, I flopped down on the couch.

“Owww! You sat on me, Evie!”

“Debbie! What are you doing on my couch?”

“I fell asleep watching TV, waiting up for you.”

“You’re not our dad, Debbie. There’s no curfew for adults—”

“I was worried that you might let Trent Foster violate you—”

“Debbie! Really? I’m not a helpless innocent. Nothing like that happened. I rode in the parade and we watched the fireworks display. That’s all. He drove me back home. He…he was a perfect gentleman.”

“I was worried more about your behavior. You told me you were in love with him. That’s a dangerous proposition, sis.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not in love with him.”

“Good. You’ve come to your senses.”

“But I wouldn’t mind having his babies.”

“Evie!”

I was a mess on Thursday morning, two days after the 4th. Late to work by a good hour because I had wasted half the morning looking for my black patent leather closed toe pumps with two-inch heels. It dawned on me finally that I’d left them in the bottom drawer of the desk in my office. Debbie had already left in Otis’ van so I had to take the bus.

Launching myself out of the elevator, I sprinted as quickly as my tight pencil skirt allowed but slowed to a leisurely, slinky gait when I passed Mei Ling’s desk outside Chuck’s office. I tossed my dark auburn locks and bade her a good morning. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Once in my office, I retrieved the pumps from the bottom drawer of my desk and swapped out my sneakers for those torture devices. The only reason I put them on today was the sales call I had to make in the afternoon with our sales manager, Buzz Feiten. We were making a presentation to LPGA executives at the Palos Verdes Golf Club, an hour’s drive from the office. If the meeting goes well, we would be on track to visit their headquarters in Daytona, Florida to possibly finalize a deal. Road trip!

Due to my misadventure with the shoes this morning, I had not finished doing my make-up. Specifically, my eyelashes needed to be sorted out. I was starting to get fairly competent at it with the help of my sister and Peg, the wardrobe lady at GlobalNet Studios. Still, it was early days. Taking my hand mirror out, I applied some lash serum to my top lashes. Debbie tells me a daily application accelerates the growth of those bad girls. A steady hand is optimal.

The eyelash curler is next. Peg tells me my top lashes naturally grow out and down so I need to use the curler. Finally, I apply mascara. Again, a steady hand is absolutely necessary.

Just as I was checking the job I’d done on my lashes, Buzz cleared his throat, leaning against the door jamb of my office.

“Those lashes really make your eyes stand out. I’ll bet you whip your boyfriends into shape with those lashes—”

“Buzz, don’t you ever knock?”

“Sorry, I was mesmerized and I forgot to. I’m heading out to Rancho Cucamonga to see the people from The Quakes. Do you have a thumb drive with our minor league baseball presentation on it? I kinda misplaced mine.”

I got up from behind my desk and bent down to retrieve a thumb drive from the bottom drawer of the lateral file cabinet next to the window.

“That’s one hell of a view you got there.”

I handed the thumb drive to him.

“Oh, yeah, you can see the San Gabriel mountains on the horizon.”

“The mountains? Oh…the mountains. Yes, nothing like seeing the wonders of nature to show a man the true joys in life.”

I gave him a puzzled look.

“I’ll be back to pick you up at…uh…2, 2:30. Make sure you bring the golf presentation—”

“All of the presentations are on my laptop. Don’t worry.”

“And get the golf samples from Mei Ling. She’s got the keys to the stockroom. See ya later.”

The instant I sat back down at my desk, my cell phone rang. It was Juan Moskowitz, my putative agent.

“Hello, Juan. What’s the word?”

“Hey, Evie. Just got off the phone with Alastair Knowles and you’ve been cast in Newport: The Series! Congrats, girl!”

“Wow, Juan, I never thought I’d actually get the part. I’m shocked—”

“Pleasantly, I hope. You’re my first client! The execs here at CAA are dumbfounded. When I told them I met you in a dog park, they thought I was joking.”

“So, what happens now?”

“I’m negotiating your contract. Maybe sometime next week, they’ll have you come in to sign it. Do you have a lawyer?”

“Not really. Oh, wait. My boss Chuck is an attorney. He knows about contracts. You know, he told me he wanted to be a sports agent before his sisters started this company—”

“That might be a conflict of interest, Evie. After all, you’d be leaving your job if you sign this deal. He probably wouldn’t want you to leave—”

“Oh, we talked about it already. There are ways I could do both, sort of part-time between production dates. I mean, I wouldn’t be shooting all year round, right?”

“Evie, this isn’t going to be your one and only acting job. Danny and Alastair think you could be the next big thing. You’ve got the looks and that special something. We all agree. It’s just not something I can put my finger on…”

“You better not.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. Anyway, how much are they paying me?”

“Sorry, Evie, but since this is your first gig, they’ll try to keep you close to the SAG-AFTRA minimum for lead actors in an hour-long TV program. I’ll do my best to boost that somewhat. Parenthetically, I’ve put you in for a SAG card. You should get it pretty quickly. GlobalNet’s a big name in the industry.”

“Juan, just tell me what the number is—”

“The minimum’s only 12K an episode. They’re planning on 13 episodes in season one. That’s…let’s see…that’s $156,000 total. My first counteroffer will be 250 thou. Maybe we’ll meet in the middle somewhere. I can also ask for certain perks that are not monetary in nature. Anything you’d like in your trailer or dressing room?”

“Well, a large bowl of M&Ms would be nice—”

“Got it. Do you need to exclude any particular colors?”

“No, I’m all for diversity.”

“Oh, yeah, two more things. Are you on social media? Instagram, Tik Tok, Twitch, etc.?”

“I’m not even on Twitter…anymore.”

“I’d advise you to get on as many platforms as possible. Your fans will need to interface with you on a daily basis. It’s what everyone does these days. Also, think about starting your own Only Fans—”

“I’m not doing porn, Juan!”

“No, you don’t need to do nudity. Bikini pics are fine—”

“No, Juan…I can’t.”

“Well, think about it. It’s another revenue stream. You’ve got an MBA, girl, it’s all business.”

“What’s the other thing?”

“Trent Foster. He’s been asked to participate in the celebrity softball game at the All-Star Game in Seattle next Monday. He wants you to go with him.”

“Why?”

“Maybe he needs some hitting tips. I don’t know. He didn’t say. All I know is he told me he’s dropping by your office to talk to you about it. I’m giving you forewarning. Listen, Evie, watch it with this dude. He’s a real player. I don’t want to see you get hurt—”

“Oh, Trent’s a really cool guy. I met his parents on the 4th. They’re nice people. You people in show business think the worst of everyone. Not everyone’s a pervert.”

“Well, from what I’ve heard—”

“La la la la. I’m not listening!”

“Okay, Evie. Just be careful. I’ll keep you posted. Bye.”

I was beginning to think what Juan told me about Trent dropping by was him just winding me up for some reason. A quarter to noon and no Trent…yet. That’s when I heard a cacophony of feminine voices from the other end of the office. I walked to the door and opened it to find Mei Ling about to knock on my forehead. Her fist stopped an inch short of the bridge of my nose. Flinching, I jumped back and almost lost my balance.

“Mei Ling! What’s going on out there?”

“I was about to tell you that Trent Foster is here to see you—”

“Thank you, Mei Ling. I was expecting him. You should have just escorted him back here. Or pointed him in the right direction?”

“I took him to the lunchroom.”

“Why the lunchroom?”

“He looked hungry. It’s almost noon. And everyone in the office wanted autographs—”

“That’s what the ruckus is about.”

I pushed Mei Ling out of my way and walked quickly to the far end of the office. I entered the lunchroom and saw Trent sitting at a table, surrounded by a gaggle of women, some of them waving legal pads, others clicking photos with their phones. All of them raised a high-pitched din.

Trent spotted me at the entrance to the lunchroom and waved.

“Evie! Help me! I’m a little overwhelmed here…”

“Ladies! Ladies!” I put two fingers between my lips and let out a loud whistle. That did it. They all turned their heads my way. “Trent promises to sign everything and take all your selfies—”

“I will? Evie—”

“Just give Trent and me a few minutes. Then he’s all yours, ladies.”

A cheer rose up from the girls as they moved away from Trent, forming a corridor for me to approach. Kyle, who was in his last weeks as our chef, pointed to a table in a corner of the lunchroom. Taking Trent’s hand, I practically dragged him to it and sat us down, our backs to the crowd.

“Evie, your co-workers are like a pack of she-wolves! Thanks for rescuing me.”

“Oh, poor Trent. The drawbacks of being a heartthrob. Boo hoo.”

“Lose the sarcasm, Evie. When all your guy fans drool over you, you’ll probably be thrilled. GlobalNet has millions of subscribers, you know.”

“I still can’t believe I got the part. Frankly, I almost peed myself during the screen test, I was so nervous.”

“Wow, that adds a little…uh…stimulation to the scene we did. You’re going to be wild to work with, Evie. So, listen, why I’m here. MLB invited me to participate in the celebrity softball game at the All-Star Game on Monday—”

“I can give you some hitting tips. There’re some batting cages on Venice Boulevard we could use—”

“No, but thanks. I’m good. I mean, I played varsity baseball at Pepperdine so softball will be a cinch. What I’m asking is…have you ever been to Seattle?”

“No but I’ve always wanted to visit.”

“Come with me. It’s just a couple of days but we’ll see some of the nightlife and I’ll get you an AB in the game. After all, you’re a soon-to-be celebrity.”

“I don’t know, Trent. I’ve already missed so many days of work. It’s one thing for Chuck to let me do the screen test but to miss a workday for a date—”

“I’ve got an idea. Just tell Chuck you’re going to the All-Star Game to talk up Sisters Sportswear. Execs from every major league team will be there. It wouldn’t be a total lie—”

“But what do I wear? I’ve got a very limited wardrobe. I’ll look like a fangirl who snuck into the stadium to stalk you.”

“I thought of that. I talked Peg into putting together a few outfits for you to wear. After all, you’re going to represent GlobalNet when they see you in Seattle. They already leaked your casting to the trades—”

“I hope the New York Post didn’t pick that up. They’re always taking things out of context and spreading unfounded rumors—”

“There’s no such thing as bad publicity, Evie. Anyway, go see Peg on Saturday morning. She sounded really enthusiastic about it when she agreed to do it.”

“Well, it’d be a thrill to go to the All-Star Game. And I’ve always wanted to visit Seattle…”

“Is spending a couple of days with me only third on your list?”

I must have blushed because Trent gently laughed and touched my cheek. My God, he does have the most expressive eyes. A girl could get lost in them.

“Now, go and sign those autographs and take those selfies. After you’re done, come by my office and you can take me out to a proper lunch. I’m up for sushi. Let’s go to Yumami.”

“That’s in Lincoln Heights.”

“Well, hurry up then. I’ve got to be back in the office by 2.”

“Do I get a kiss at least?”

I smiled and pointed to my cheek. Trent kissed me smack on the lips instead, holding my head securely. The girls hooted and hollered. I left the lunchroom and caught a last glimpse of a horde of squealing women swarming poor Trent.

Peg rushed forward and hugged me the second I walked through the door. She was wearing her usual gypsy-cum-hippie ensemble and looked like a middle-aged Stevie Nicks performing at Woodstock. We did the obligatory “faire la bise” and then she held me at arm’s length.

“Evie Rivers, you angel! Congratulations. You’re going to be the biggest star! Just you wait and see.”

“Peg, this is my sister, Debbie and her friend Otis.” They nodded at Peg and she gave them both a little wave of her hand. “Otis was nice enough to drive us over here.”

“I’ve got the cutest outfits ready for you, Evie. Try them on.” She pointed to the rack behind her. “Do we want Otis to see the unveiling, as it were?”

Debbie pushed Otis toward the door. “Babe, go sit in the van. This won’t take long.”

“Peg, have you given any thought to office plants like Dracaenas or Philodendrons? Green is good! I can give you a free consultation—” Debbie slammed the door shut.

“Try this on first, Evie. Debbie, help your sister.”

“I’ll show you how to tape yourself up for the halter top. But I went with summer whites mostly and a little nautical theme because it’s Seattle. You can keep the accessories too, honey. Trent told me it’s all covered in his contract under expenses. By the way, how long do you think you can keep Trent from discovering your…your—”

“Fringe benefits?” interjected Debbie.

“Well, I insisted we get separate hotel rooms in Seattle.”

“Just keep an eye on your alcohol consumption, sweetie. Resistance is futile once you knock back a few of those girly cocktails.”

“Evie’s got the liver of a champion,” Debbie snorted.

“That’s not the organ I’m most concerned about,” Peg pointed out, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose as she straightened the flared bottoms of my slacks.

Sunday evening in Seattle. The celebrity softball game was on Monday afternoon just before the home run contest. The All-Star Game itself was on Tuesday night. Trent had booked us on a 10PM flight back to Los Angeles on Monday night. I was a little disappointed. I’d never seen an All-Star Game live on site. Just on TV. But I’d promised Chuck I would return to the office on Tuesday. We were pitching The Lakers on Wednesday and we needed to run through the presentation at least two or three times.

We landed at SEA Airport in the mid-afternoon on Sunday, picked up our car rental, and drove into Seattle to check into our downtown hotel. We went to our separate rooms and freshened up for an early dinner in the Capitol Hill section of the city. I showered and changed into my halter-top outfit with the flared bottom pants. I think Trent just took a nap and a dump, in what order I’m not sure.

Chophouse Row is a mixed-use development established in 2015. The site was previously an automobile repair shop. Now, it houses approximately 15 businesses amidst apartments and office spaces. Since it was still bright outside at barely 6PM, we decided to have dinner at one of the restaurants with a patio at the far end of the Row.

Since the Row was only a few blocks from our hotel, we walked. I was very self-conscious about my boobs, or lack thereof, in my halter-top. Even with the light jacket covering most of my top, I felt ridiculously exposed. I must have been absent-mindedly fidgeting with my artfully manipulated “breasts” because Trent noticed.

“Are you pleasuring yourself in public?” laughed Trent as he slurped his oysters.

“What? Oh, no. It’s this halter top. I’m not used to wearing tops like this.”

“Can’t be that much different from a bikini—”

“I’ve never worn a bikini.”

“You’re kidding. I don’t believe you. Come on! Well, you’re going to be in bikinis a lot in the series. A lot. Newport? It’s a beach, literally.”

“I’m going to have to go to the ladies’ room and adjust myself. Excuse me, Trent.” Flustered, I jumped off my chair and went to look for the ladies’ room. Trent’s confused expression was cute but, finally, he shook his head and returned to slurping his oysters.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I found the ladies’ room devoid of ladies. My reflection in the mirror was not a reflection of how I felt. Apparently, the halter top looked to be perfectly tidy and configured correctly. I checked the athletic tape that was pushing my breasts together and it was secure. So, I told myself to calm down. I needed to stop fussing about it. After a final pat or two around the sides of my top, I freshened up my lipstick and washed my hands.

“Back out there for the second act, girl,” I told my reflection in the mirror. Two young women entered, laughing. They came to a dead stop when they spotted me by the sink.

“Look, Natalie, it’s that girl with Trent Foster!”

“Are you an actress or a model?” asked the other girl.

“Neither at the moment. I’m in sportswear—”

“You’re trippin’, girl. That’s a Valentino pantsuit if I know my haute couture…and I do, right, Natalie?”

“So, how did you meet Trent?”

“I screen tested for his new series on GlobalNet.”

“Tell us. Is he really packing down there?”

I stood there, my mouth agape, as they waited with expectant expressions.

“Really, girls, that’s such a gross thing to ask—”

“Oh, Natalie, he must be huge! You’re a lucky girl! Are you into group stuff?”

“Excuse me? What about your dates. You had guys at your table. I saw you.”

“We can lose those clowns if you’d like. Where are you guys staying?”

“We can meet up at your hotel later tonight.”

I bolted for the door and didn’t look back.

It was two hours later that evening. Trent had insisted we return to our hotel after dinner. On the walk back, he divulged his plans for the night. There was a ‘70s disco night at Neumos, the leading music venue in the city. It was a one-night-only theme show that tours North America year-round, presenting disco dancefloor bangers of the decade from ABBA, The Bee Gees, KC & The Sunshine Band, Donna Summer, Cher, Elton John, Queen, and others. Not surprisingly, these well-attended events inspire a lot of people to show up replete in ‘70s fashions and hairstyles. Which is why Trent presented me with a garment bag that contained my “costume” for the night, including a Little Orphan Annie wig. His costume reeked of John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. At least it got me out of my uncomfortable halter top outfit. On the other hand, we got some odd stares from passersby all the way up Pike Street on the way to Neumos.

My initial trepidation over the security guy scanning my Driver’s License (which clearly denoted my gender as male) was assuaged when he waved me in almost immediately.

“Boy, these guys don’t scrutinize IDs very carefully. I mean, suppose someone was pretending to be a different gender—”

Laughing, Trent ushered me onto the vast dance floor. “They don’t give a fuck about that. Half the people here tonight are probably cross-dressers. It’s Seattle. It’s Capitol Hill. They’ve got LGBTQ+ colors painted on the crosswalks. As long as you’re legal drinking age, they really couldn’t care less.”

“What do you think of cross-dressers or…or trans people, Trent?”

“I’ve never met one…that I know of. Have you?”

“Generally speaking though. Do you have an opinion about them?”

“Never given it much thought. Hey, look, the show’s about to start. Get down and boogie, Evie!”

We danced the night away. Although most of the music was unfamiliar to my ears, I found myself enjoying the sensuality of it all, the physical abandon that it engendered. Trent knew all the dance moves. When everyone tried to form lines to do the Hustle, I lost one of my shoes. In fact, I just missed conking a guy on the back of his head by a few inches. Trent had to wade through the crowd to retrieve it. Then, when I bent down to put the shoe back on, someone behind me bumped into my butt and I started a chain reaction like a stack of dominoes. When I got to my feet, they were arguing over who the clumsy idiot was that started the cascade in the first place. Trent figured it was a good time to take a break and get a drink. Remembering Peg’s warning, I stayed with the well drinks like rum and coke while Trent guzzled vodka martinis. I sipped my drink slowly, catching my breath between forays onto the dance floor. Around 11:30PM, the crowd started to thin out and the DJ was signaling the closing of the show. I decided we shouldn’t tempt fate by walking back to our hotel, so I ordered an Uber, as if Trent was in any condition to weave his way back anyway.

I helped Trent into his room and halfway carried him to the bed. Taking off his shoes and sunglasses, I pulled the blanket over his snoring mouth and turned on his air conditioner. It was an uncharacteristically hot July night in the Great Northwest. I made my way back to my own room, removed my makeup with a cotton ball and baby oil, changed into my extra-large Titans t-shirt, and slipped into bed, falling fast asleep almost immediately.

When Trent and I arrived at T-Mobile Park in the SoDo section of Seattle (South of Downtown), the celebrity softball game was a mere 15 minutes from starting and Trent was nursing one heck of a hangover. He had difficulty changing into the uniform they handed out to all the celebrity players and was the last one to emerge from the clubhouse out onto the field. Kevin Hart and Jake Gyllenhaal flanked Trent in centerfield, periodically glancing at him with worried looks. Trent’s sunglasses were more to conceal his bloodshot eyes than to shield them from the afternoon sun. The one ball hit toward him in the first inning eluded his dive and he lay motionless on the grass for a full minute while Kevin and Jake called time out and got him to his feet. At the end of the inning, Trent had a brief confab with his team’s manager, Jimmy Fallon, and came over to where I was sitting in the front row of the stands.

“Babe, you gotta go in for me. Jimmy said it was okay. I’m going to go and sleep this off in the clubhouse. Let’s see if they have a uni that can fit you. Oh, my head hurts.”

After seeing that Trent was comfortably asleep on the couch in the trainer’s room, I changed into a uniform and made my way through the corridor leading to the visiting team’s dugout when I heard someone approaching from behind. I turned to look.

It was Richie Morrow. I had paid so little attention to baseball in the last two months that I didn’t expect Richie to be selected to the All-Star squad. Rookies rarely are but he was having a great season. We last exchanged texts over a month ago. I just assumed he’d forgotten all about me.

“Evie, what are you doing here? How did you get into the celebrity game?”

“Richie. Long time no see. It’s a long story. I’m subbing for Trent Foster.”

“Trent Foster? Yeah, he’s three sheets to the wind if you ask me. But how is he connected to you that you’re subbing for him?”

“I came to Seattle with him. He asked me to.”

“Oh, I…I didn’t know. Evie, I’ve been really negligent about keeping in touch—”

“Richie. I’m in centerfield. They’re waiting for me.”

“Sorry.” He stepped aside. “We’ll talk after the game. Okay?”

I waved in reply but started to run. I was excited to be back on a ballfield. Even if it was just a silly celebrity softball game.

After figuratively bumping into Richie Morrow on the way to the dugout, I literally collided with Jimmy Fallon, our team’s player-manager, as I sprinted onto the field.

“Hey, we’re playing softball, not football! Are you Evie? Trent said you’ve actually played before—”

I pulled my cap further down on my head and nodded. “Yes, skip. Well, baseball. I’ve never really played softball—”

“Whoa! A regular bad news bears, eh? You kinda look like Jodie Foster—”

“Believe me, skip, I’m nothing like Jodie.”

“Whatever. Get out there. You’re centerfield.”

We trotted out to the field. It was then I noticed that T-Mobile Park was almost filled to capacity with fans. The retractable roof was open, letting the late afternoon sunlight shine in all its early summer glory on the verdant grass. Jimmy went to first base as I settled into my defensive stance in centerfield, midway between Kevin Hart in left and Jake Gyllenhaal in rightfield. It was the top of the 2nd inning and Felix Hernandez, a retired Mariner great, was tossing slo-pitch to the visiting team. The game was scoreless. Ryan Howard, another retired ballplayer (a Phillies all-star in his prime), awaited the first pitch of the inning in the batter’s box. I moved back, almost to the temporary fencing they had installed at Little League distances solely for the celebrity softball game, respecting Howard’s powerful 6’4” frame.

Felix, although a Hall of Fame level pitcher in his time in the bigs, turned out to be eminently hittable, tossing from the softball circle, 43 feet from home plate. He gave up two runs, including extra base hits from Bad Bunny, JoJo Siwa, and Donovan Mitchell, a current NBA player. With two outs, he loaded the bases again with consecutive walks to Jennie Finch and Joel McHale. With The Miz, a superstar wrestler with bulging muscles and a decent swing, coming to bat, I positioned myself two steps from the fence, giving myself space to jump up if I had to. And I did.

The Miz sent a humpback pop fly toward the centerfield fence. I launched myself into the air and the ball nestled into my outstretched glove. It was the final out of the inning. The crowd roared and my teammates gave me high-fives as we returned to our dugout.

In the dugout, Kevin slapped me on the back. (Unnecessarily hard I might add) We sat next to each other on the bench as Felix walked by.

“Nice catch. I thought it was gonna clear the bases.” I smiled in reply, fidgeting with my cap.

Kevin stared at me for a long second. “So, you’re Trent’s new girl? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around—”

“Trent’s new girl? Well, I’m certainly a new girl. It’s only been a couple of months.”

“You a model, an actress?”

“I’m in sportswear—”

“Everyone’s a comedian! I didn’t ask you what you’re wearing. I can see that. What do you do?”

Skylar Astin, known for his character Jesse Swanson in the Pitch Perfect movies, interjected from the other end of the dugout, “She’s been cast in that new GlobalNet series that Trent’s starring in. Based on the movie Newport: It’s a Beach.” He smiled and waved.

Jimmy Fallon stopped in front of us and offered me a stick of bubble gum. “It’s Trident. I’d offer you some chewing tobacco but they want to keep the dugouts clear of puke before the home run derby tonight.”

“I’m good. I’m afraid I’d just swallow it if I had to slide headfirst like I normally do.”

“A regular Pete Rose we got here. You’re up third this inning. Go pick out a helmet.”

“You can use mine. Don’t worry. It doesn’t have cooties like Jake’s,” laughed Kevin as Jake Gyllenhaal walked by, chugging a bottle of water. He winked at me. I blushed and wondered why I’m suddenly noticing how attractive some guys are.

They had allotted an hour and a half for the game so when we came to bat in the bottom of the 4th inning, it was our last chance to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Behind 3 to 2, there were two outs and a runner on first base (Zach Lavine, another NBA player and native of Seattle) when it was my turn at bat. Jennie Finch, Olympic gold medalist, had come in to pitch for the save. Normally, it would be huge advantage Finch but, as this was slo-pitch, it was reminiscent of the tee-ball games we played as 4- to 6-year-olds. Still, Jennie could put a wicked spin on the ball, making it drop out of sight as it crossed the plate.

She got me to swing and miss on two of those spinners and I was down to my last strike when she left one up in the zone. Muscle memory kept my head down and still as I kept my hands back, swiveling my hips and timing the hanger just right. I barreled the ball and sent it screaming (well, not actually) over the leftfield fence. It was a walk-off home run! I rounded the bases as the hometown crowd exulted. Jennie tipped her cap as I approached home plate. I jumped on the plate and was immediately subsumed in a human cloud of my teammates. To my surprise, Trent came out of nowhere and hugged me, trying to lift me above the scrum.

“Trent! You look fine. You’re not hung over at all, were you?”

“Evie, it was my way of getting you into the game. And here you are, player of the game! You won the game!”

“Put me down! You tricked me!” I chased Trent around the field. We were both laughing and the crowd lapped it up, thinking they were watching romantic hi-jinks between a matinee idol and the newest ingenue. Finally, Mina Kimes, one of the ESPN reporters covering the celebrity game, signaled to us to stand by her and be interviewed before a national TV audience. A jubilant Jimmy Fallon was right next to her, beckoning us to come over.

“Evie Rivers, walk-off hero with a two-run homer in your team’s last at bat. Before I ask you the usual questions about what you were looking for and what you hit, I have to ask…who are you? You weren’t among the names on either roster.”

“I never planned on playing in the game. I’m sort of Trent’s guest.”

Trent leaned into Mina’s microphone. “Evie is a brilliant actress who’s co-starring with me in the new GlobalNet series, Newport, streaming this Fall. And quite a ballplayer, as you can see.”

“You know, Mina, from the very moment she crashed into me coming onto the field today, I had the inkling she was going to be our MVP. If she’s half the actress she is as a ballplayer, we’ll be seeing a whole lot more of her in the future, on TV, in movies, magazine covers—” babbled on Jimmy as Trent snaked his arm around my waist and snatched the cap off my head, allowing my hair to tumble down to my shoulders.

The rest of the interview pretty much passed me by as I was overwhelmed by the crowd, the camera, and the moment. I was relieved when Trent and I finally got the chance to change out of our uniforms and into our civilian clothes. The Mariners’ training staff was kind enough to allow me to use the shower in the trainer’s room…a chivalrous gesture for my privacy. JoJo Siwa was loud in her protests over my preferential treatment. “She’s not the only woman here, man!”

As Trent and I hurried out of the stadium, our luggage in hand, headed for the rental car in the parking garage and hoping to elude rush hour traffic on our way to the airport, Richie Morrow caught up with us just before Trent pushed the exit door bar.

“Evie! Evie! You’re leaving?”

“Richie. I have to be back at work tomorrow morning. Our plane takes off at 10. It’s almost 7 now.”

“I was hoping we could spend some time together. I mean, you’re going the miss the game tomorrow. They tell me they might give me an inning—”

Trent took the luggage from my hands and started out the door. “I’ll wait for you at the car, Evie.” I turned back to Richie.

“I’m so happy you’re having such a great season. You’ll forgive me for not answering your texts but I’ve been really busy. New job, moving to LA…”

“Trent? Are you and he…is he?” I shook my head. “So, you’re acting now? You look…so good. I always thought you were pretty but, my God, you’re beautiful!”

“We’ll talk, Richie. After the season, either you could visit me in LA or I could see you in New York.”

“Don’t forget me, Evie. Promise.” I reached up and caressed his cheek, surprised how soft my hands had become as I felt the bristles dig into my palm.

“I won’t, Richie. Good luck tomorrow. Don’t drop your arm on your sweeper. Remember.” I pushed the exit door bar and gave Richie one last finger wave.

“Are you always acting, Trent?” I looked at Trent as he took his earbuds out and turned to me. We were flying business class, scheduled to land at LAX sometime before 1 in the morning.

“How so?”

“You asked me to ride with you in the 4th of July parade. You insisted I come with you to Seattle. All of this was just to get some free publicity for your new TV series. I’m not even signed to a contract yet—”

“That’s a mere technicality. Your agent will haggle with the producers. It’ll get done. And I do have feelings for you, Evie.”

“Do you really? What if I had botched the screen test? Would you still have invited me to the parade and Seattle?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Evie. Like Danny says, there’s something very special about you. It’s a bonus that I’ll be working with you but I am attracted to you. A great deal.”

“Juan warned me you were a player. We should just keep our relationship professional from now on.”

“Is that how you feel? Maybe you’re the one who’s acting. I thought you and I had a certain electricity between us. My mom is already planning the wedding. She’s convinced we’re a match made in heaven.”

“We hardly know each other, Trent. You absolutely know very little about me.”

“Oooh, a woman of mystery. So, do I get three guesses as to what your big secret is?”

“You’d never guess.”

“You’re really a man!”

I almost jumped out of my seat but managed not to scream. The stricken expression on my face alarmed Trent.

“Calm down, Evie. I’m joking. Don’t count that as a guess. Let me think—”

“Let’s drop it, Trent. I’m going to use the free wi-fi and check my texts. Go back to listening to your own beats.”

“Maybe I can get Tim Henson to lay down a solo for this track,” he mumbled as he replaced the earbuds. “Is he with CAA? Can you talk to Juan about hooking him up with us?”

The unforeseen consequences of Trent’s handiwork started to bleed into real life when we landed at LAX. The moment we stepped off the escalator to enter the terminal meeting area, we were deluged by a veritable sea of cameras. Correction: I was the target of all this attention. Trent gleefully passed through the throng almost incognito. Even before I could catch up with him, a small but persistent group of fans asked for my autograph. Apparently, in the three hours I was in the air, I had become a national celebrity because of my softball heroics. And Trent had added the imprimatur of television ingenue to boot.

I walked into my office on Tuesday morning and found a soft-boiled egg snugly sitting in a solitary egg cup on my desk. Before I could call the kitchen and ask Kyle if he had placed it there, Mei Ling showed up in the doorway, cutlery In one hand and a plate of whole wheat toast in the other.

“I figured you wouldn’t have had time for breakfast. After all, you landed at LAX after one in the morning. How much beauty sleep did you really get? And getting enough sleep is crucial for a growing girl like you.”

“You shouldn’t have, Mei Ling.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem. Are you going to crack that egg or should I do that for you?”

“I can do it myself, Mei Ling. Now if you’ll let me eat in peace… Thanks for your thoughtfulness. It’s appreciated—”

“I only wish I could do more—”

“I’m sure you do. Close the door behind you, please.”

Our presentation on Wednesday to The Lakers went very well. I think a tentative agreement had already been reached by the time we played the short promotional video that the production house had delivered to us the day before. The first half hour of the meeting was monopolized by Magic Johnson singing my praises to the roof. Of course, everyone in the meeting had either seen my softball exploits live or replayed on social media. Magic had even arranged to show a video of my arrival at the airport and the ensuing chaotic scrum of real and ersatz journalists, autograph-seeking fans, and Trent Foster sneaking past camera range in dark glasses and a smirk.

The Lakers’ marketing staff asked more questions about Trent Foster than the custom sportswear the Sisters brand was offering. Chuck seemed miffed but didn’t interrupt as I answered as much as I could, given I had only known Trent for little more than a week. Everyone, including Magic, hugged me as the meeting ended. They perfunctorily shook hands with Chuck. By the end of the session, Chuck was an afterthought to the Lakers contingent. The head of marketing, a youngish man with a headful of dreads, made a grand gesture of handing me his business card. He asked me if I liked Kool & The Gang. They were appearing at the Hollywood Bowl on Friday and Saturday nights. Did I want to go? I stumbled over my words before Chuck interceded and said we were going to be late for our lunch meeting across town. Chuck took my arm and we walked quickly to the elevator.

“Thanks, Chuck. I didn’t want to reject the poor guy out of hand like that,” I said as we sat in his car, five minutes later. “You never know. He might have reacted badly and scotched our deal.”

“Looks like you’re getting a lot of practice at rejecting guys,” he mused, his foot on the brake as he pressed the engine start button, put the car in reverse, and backed slowly out of the parking space. His right arm looped around my shoulders absentmindedly as he looked through the rear window.

“Are you upset at me, Chuck?”

“Let’s go get lunch. Such a nice day today. The air quality’s better now the farther we get from the 4th. You can actually see the hills—”

“We should’ve packed a pick-a-nick basket, Yogi.”

“Don’t fret, Boo Boo. There’s a Ricky’s Fish Taco truck that’s parked outside of Echo Park. Are you up for some half-fish, half-shrimp tacos? I’ve got a beach blanket in the trunk.”

“Drive on, Jeeves.”

An hour later Chuck tossed the beach blanket into the trunk of his car and, looking toward the lake inside the park, laughed as he asked, “Have you ever pedaled a Swan boat?”

“Not since I was eleven. They have swan boats in Asbury Park in New Jersey, where I grew up.”

“I’ve seen pictures of those. The ones here in Echo Park are bigger and nicer looking. Let’s go rent one—”

“Chuck, don’t they expect us back at the office?”

“Hey, it’s good to be the king, right? I’ll go swan boating if I want. Who’s gonna stop me?”

“Not me. Let’s go.”

They gave us life jackets to wear. We looked quite a pair as we paddled out into the center of the lake, passing other mid-day revelers. The life jackets over our business suits, I’m sure, were seen as a comic juxtaposition.

“Now I’ve got you where I want. You can’t escape me now.” He laughed maniacally.

“I can stop pedaling and we’ll just go around in circles. Stop with the cackling.”

“Evie, how’s the contract talk coming along? Do you think Juan might not be in over his head? You’re his first client.”

“Juan is cool. He’s aggressive, takes chances. He’s what they call a go-getter.”

“Speaking of which, is acting what you want to go and get? You have an MBA and you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You’re not just a pretty face. Which you are. I’m not saying—”

“I know what you mean, Chuck. Let’s just say, even two months ago, I could never have imagined being called an ingenue by the media. Never mind knowing what an ingenue was in the first place. It’s mind-blowing. I have to admit I like being complimented for my acting ability.”

“And celebrated for your looks?”

I turned to Chuck. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

“No. I don’t.”

Raising my voice along with my hackles, I protested, “Well, I never—”

“You’re not pretty. You’re beautiful. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, well…thank you…I guess.”

“Not saying that actresses aren’t smart but, Evie, you’re not an empty-headed booby. You’ve got a graduate degree in business and you’ve already proven to me at least that you’ve got a real talent for marketing. Why get involved with show business? There’s more crushing failure than transcendent success in that industry.”

“I want to give it a try. I’ll always have my business background to fall back on. And, last resort, I can go back to coaching baseball. I’m still in my mid-20s.”

“You stopped pedaling, Evie. We’re going in circles.”

“Stop talking. You’re distracting me.”

Dad: How’s Hollywood life, Evie? Consuela says all the doctors and nurses at the hospital want to know when you’re coming to visit. They all want autographs and selfies!

Me: It’s been less than a week but people seem to recognize me everywhere I go. Even at Trader Joe’s in San Gabriel. It’s funny being asked to take a selfie while you’re squeezing honeydew melons in the produce section. Debbie doesn’t like being ignored too.

Dad: I’m proud of you, Evie, but I’m also very worried. My two cents. Stick with the marketing job. How long do you think you can keep these Hollywood types from finding out?

Me: I’ve got it under control, dad. Don’t worry.

Dad: I have the money, Evie. Get the confirmation surgery now…before it’s a big mess.

Me: If I get the surgery, it’ll be with my own money, dad. Juan thinks he can get me a quarter of a million to work on this series with Trent.

Dad: Stay away from this Trent character. He’ll hurt you, Evie. Richie Morrow calls us here quite often because you never answer his texts. He’s a nice boy. I think he’d like you even if you told him your secret.

Me: I’m not interested in getting involved with anybody right now. My priority is my career. Whatever that might be.

Dad: Consuela’s got vacation time soon. We’re coming out to spend some quality time with our girls. I’ll keep you posted when we’re coming.

Me: I can’t wait, dad. We’ll show you the sights of LA. It’ll be fun! Love you, dad. And Consuela!

I looked across the coffee table from Juan Moskowitz as he told me the details of his negotiations with Alastair Knowles and the people from GlobalNet. Debbie and Otis were sitting on the loveseat, their jaws dropping as they heard Juan recap the series of offers and counteroffers. Juan aimed to impress us and he did.

“They were upping the offer even before I could turn down the previous one. They’re desperate to sign you, Evie. I don’t know if Trent had it all planned but the free publicity he got for you with the parade and the celebrity softball game made you indispensable to them. It almost doesn’t matter if you can act. Of course, you can. I saw the screen test. I was there.”

“I wish you had invited us, Evie,” whined Debbie.

“It wasn’t my call, Debbie. These things are pretty closed door, you know.”

“Anyway, as I was saying. You’ve saved them a lot of time and trouble promoting this new series. Sure, they’ve got Trent headlining but—you, Evie—you’re the lynchpin. They can get a lot of mileage with the two of you as a pair like Brangelina or Bennifer. You should look into hiring a manager. I can’t handle all the interview requests and photo opps I’ve been getting for you.”

“They’ll be thrilled to know Evie’s ready to bear his child—”

“Debbie!”

“Oh no, Evie,” Juan cried. “Getting pregnant now would be the worst thing for your career…and mine.”

“Don’t worry, Juan. Debbie’s just trolling. I’m not having anybody’s baby…and you can take that to the bank.”

“Good. You had me panicked there for a moment. Just use protection when you’re with this guy, Evie. I’ve heard on the down low he’s been a baby daddy more than once.”

“Look, that’s not happening so…what’s the final number?”

Juan handed me a copy of the contract. My eyes found the line that stated the amount and screamed.

“What is it, Evie? Is it less than the SAG minimum?”

“No,” I said, breathless. “It’s…it says here…it’s a million dollars!”

“U.S. dollars?”

“Of course, Debbie. Do you think they’d pay me in Iranian Rials?”

“Oh my God, Evie! You’re a millionaire! Sign that thing! Sign it now!”

“No hurry, Evie,” Juan interjected. “We could get more if we play hard to get. But show it to your attorney. See what they think.” He packed up his briefcase and stood up. “I’ve got a late date. Gotta go. I’ll check back with you on Monday or Tuesday. I’ll show myself out. Oh, by the way, I get the standard 10% fee. Just to remind you. Good night, kids.”

“We can get a car, a new apartment, new clothes…” Debbie turned her back to Otis and, under her breath, she added, “and you can get that…you know…done.”

“It certainly looks that way. I’m going to let Chuck look at this. He’s a lawyer, after all.”

“Yeah, but can Chuck be objective? He’d hate to lose you.”

“He can always hire another marketing person.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Chuck agreed to look over the contract although his expression showed a lack of enthusiasm for the task. As I placed the contract on his desk, he barely looked up from the putting set on his office floor. He missed a two-footer and cursed.

“Evie, just a minute. I might not be able to get to it until the weekend. How about we get together on Sunday and I’ll give you my take on the contract. The money certainly looks good but you might want some perks not mentioned.”

“Sure. Sunday. I can get Otis to drive me to your place in Corona Del Mar.”

“No need. I’ll pick you up. There’s a concert at the Hollywood Bowl I really want to see. Do you mind coming along? We’ll talk about the contract afterwards.”

“Oh…well…o.k. Who are we seeing?”

“They Might Be Giants.”

“Never heard of them. Are they like hip hop?”

Chuck laughed raucously. “Evie, you are the most delightful woman I know. Your sense of humor is fantastic—”

“I guess they’re not hip hop?”

Debbie surprised me by booking an appointment for me at this ritzy hair salon off Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills for Saturday morning.

“Why do I need to get my hair done?”

“You’re a movie star, Evie!”

“Television, Debbie. And I haven’t even shot a single scene of the show yet.”

“Whatever. You’re a star! You’ve got a shitload of split ends and I told them to give you more of an auburn tint. Not red, red but reddish brown. You’ll see. You’ll thank me later.”

“I suppose you’re getting your hair done as well.”

“Oh no. I’m not a movie star—”

“TV!”

“Same difference. Otis and I will drive you there and pick you up later. While you’re getting the works done, Otis and I will do some antiquing. There’re oodles of antiques places around there.”

“Those places are very expensive, Debbie. You guys don’t have that kind of…oh, I see. Spending my money before I’ve even seen a penny of it?”

“We’re not buying. Just pricing some items that we might buy. And, anyway, Otis said he’d pay if you refused—”

“Poor Otis. I’m going to bed. I’ll need to be wide awake for this salon thing tomorrow morning. You’re a great sister, Debbie. Just dandy.”

“Before you hit the hay, Evie, I want to show you this.” She fired up her laptop and typed in a URL, then pressed enter to start a video, turning the screen toward me.

“It’s your boyfriend Trent. He’s in Cozumel with that blonde bimbo, Bambi Bunson.”

“Who?”

“She’s that YouTube influencer who has like a million subscribers. She gives makeup and haircare tips to trendy young bimbos like her. That’s not a bikini. That’s dental floss! Look, Evie!”

“He can see other people. We have an open relationship. The same goes for me.”

“What other people are you seeing?”

“Well…uh…I’m going to see some hip hop act at the Hollywood Bowl on Sunday night with Chuck.”

“He’s your boss and you asked him for some legal advice. You’re not dating…or are you?”

“No, we’re not dating! Turn that off, Debbie. I really don’t care who he dates. He means nothing to me.”

“But you told me you wanted to have his babies.” I tossed a throw pillow at Debbie and stomped off to the bathroom. She cackled for five minutes straight.

My sleep was uneasy, filled with visions of Trent and that YouTube influencer frolicking in the surf in Cozumel and drinking tequila sunrises in cocktail glasses with tiny paper umbrellas, sprawled on pool chairs. Dental floss my ass! (that sounds painful) Then there was my anxiety about going to a hair salon for the first time in my life…as a woman. Peg’s help at the studio doesn’t really count. She put me at ease when I told her my secret. But these women at the Beverly Hills salon might not be as understanding or tolerant. For some reason, I kept flashing on that old Bugs Bunny cartoon where he pretended to be a beautician. I remember laughing at what Bugs did to Gossamer, the clueless monster sent to do away with him by a mad scientist. I identified with Bugs as a child. Now, would they see me as the monster instead?

I was standing on the corner of Rodeo Drive and Wilshire Boulevard, waiting for Otis and Debbie to pick me up, when a couple of people who looked like tourists starting snapping photos of me with their phones, speaking in some indecipherable foreign language.

I had just finished my session at the salon. I had to admit it went smoother than I had feared. In fact, the staff and even some of the other patrons asked for my autograph and a few obligatory selfies. Of course, they kept asking about Trent. The girl who washed my hair even tried to commiserate with me on Trent’s cheating treachery. I told her I’d get over it and he wasn’t all that after all. She clucked her tongue and shook her head in disbelief. “Oh no, you need to look the other way. He’ll tire of her and come back to you. You wait and see.”

So They Might Be Giants really weren’t a hip hop act. Who knew? Chuck is a big fan of theirs. He sang along with almost every song. I found them kind of nerdy but in a boho Brookyn Park Slope kind of way. Not my cup of tea but Chuck certainly enjoyed himself. Finally, after three encores, the concert was over and I thought Chuck would go over the contract with me.

We left the parking lot of The Hollywood Bowl and took a circuitous route along Cahuenga Boulevard to connect with Mulholland Drive. We reached the Overlook and Chuck parked. Just over the guard rails, we could see a beautiful view of the Hollywood Bowl, the lights of downtown Los Angeles at night, and, in the distance, the ocean and Catalina Island.

“I looked over the contract and everything seems copacetic. You know, Evie, you’re a very lucky girl. Not many actresses get a million-dollar deal first time out of the box. You should tip your hat to Trent, even if he is a cheating skunk. The guy knows how to promote.”

“So you think I should sign it?”

“I don’t see a reason for you not to sign it.”

“I’m worried about one particular thing though. It’s sort of a legal question. I’m afraid they might void the contract if they find out.”

“Find out what?”

“Sooner or later, you were going to find out, Chuck, so I might as well tell you. It’s not something I did intentionally. You have to believe me. Debbie’s the one who pushed me to do it—”

“What are you trying to say, Evie?”

I exhaled dramatically. “I’m biologically male. There, I’ve said it.”

“Is that all?”

“What? Aren’t you the least bit surprised…shocked…disgusted?”

“I already knew.”

“Oh no, Mei Ling told you, didn’t she? That busybody—”

“She did tell me the day after your screen test. But I already knew.”

“But…but how? Nobody ever seemed to suspect other than Mei Ling and she had to really dig to find out.”

“Maybe I’m a bit more observant that you give me credit for, Evie. It’s not important how I know. I do have a question for you, though.”

“Ask away.”

“Are you presenting as a woman to establish a career for yourself? Or are you genuinely gender dysphoric? Do you actually want to be a woman?”

I opened my mouth to answer but no words came out. Moments passed as I struggled to give Chuck an honest reply.

“Do you?”

Chuck faced the illuminated city of night below us. His voice was invested with emotion. I wondered where that was coming from.

“Are you presenting as a woman to establish a career for yourself? Or are you genuinely gender dysphoric? Do you actually want to be a woman?”

I opened my mouth to answer but no words came out. Moments passed as I struggled to give Chuck an honest reply.

“Do you?”

Prodded, I blurted out, “I…I’m not sure. I mean, yes…no! I don’t know, Chuck.” He turned to face me. The anger seemed to rise in his glare. “Help me…”

“Do you think I’m a gullible moron? What’s really going on here, Evie? Is this some kind of clever ruse that you and Debbie pulled on us? Is there a master plan? World domination through cross-dressing?”

“Chuck, I didn’t plan this. It just kind of snowballed. I’ll resign immediately. I’ll clear out my desk on Monday. Please don’t blame Debbie. She was just trying to help me—”

“Fuck the job, Evie. I was beginning to care about you—”

“What? But how? I wasn’t trying to lead you on. I’m fully aware of who and what I am.”

“Are you? Really? I want an answer, Evie. Do you wish you were a woman?”

“I honestly don’t know, Chuck.”

“You need to make up your mind. Soon. That’s if you’re actually going to follow through with embarking on an acting career.”

“It’s not just the money—”

“You’d turn down a million dollars?”

“It’s the…the way people react to me. They like me. They’re interested in me. What I think. What I want. What I say…”

“You’re beautiful. That’s what they’re reacting to.”

“Is that all you see in me?”

He turned back to the city lights below us. A light breeze played with his sandy brown hair. My heart skipped. I realized I wanted Chuck to think I was beautiful.

“The company will really miss your skills. Even Buzz had to admit you’re the best marketing person we’ve ever had. And he normally just notices three things in a woman. Clark called me on Friday. He wants us to meet with him at the training complex next week. Well, he just wants to talk to you. I’m your chauffeur, as far as he’s concerned.”

“You’ll find someone else who’s just as good a marketer. Probably better.”

“It’s late. My legal advice is, sign it. It’s a pretty standard 7-year contract with built-in increases based on the on-going success of the series. Even if it’s cancelled after season one, you’re guaranteed a cool million. Pretty extraordinary for a first-time actor.”

“Can they void the contract if they find out—”

“That’s more of an issue for you. I would think if it got out that you’re not a cis woman, they’d reap the benefits of a lot of free publicity. They might even write it into the show. Frankly, GlobalNet’s audience isn’t the Bible belt. The issue is how you’d cope. Your life would be a 24-hour-a-day news cycle all by itself.”

“So far, the only people who know are you and Mei Ling. Maybe I can keep it a secret until I make a decision. You won’t tell, will you?”

“I’d never do anything to hurt you, Evie. If this is what you want, I’ll do what I can to contain any leaks. Don’t worry about Mei Ling. If someone told Misty that her husband was fooling around with her company’s executive assistant…”

“That someone wouldn’t be you, would it?”

“I’ll take you home. Let’s see what Clark wants before we decide how to proceed with your future at Sisters Sportswear.”

Relieved, I rushed forward to hug him. Chuck moved aside and gently nudged me back toward the car. We got in and Chuck gunned the engine. 30 minutes later, we were back at Eastlake Avenue. I expected a kiss. We shook hands.

So it was that, instead of cleaning out my desk on Monday morning, Debbie and I arranged a half day at the office in order for me to sign my contract with GlobalNet at 11AM in their Vine Street headquarters. Debbie insisted on coming along. For moral support, she claimed. Which was fine with me. I was nervous and excited. Holding her hand helped to calm me as we slid into my agent Juan Moskowitz’s car. He picked us up at half past 10, plenty of time to make sure we were professionally punctual. Sitting next to Juan was a pretty young woman Debbie and I had never before seen.

“Ladies, this is my wife, Glynnis.” She waved at us from the front passenger seat.

“Juan, you never told us you were married—” my sister declared.

“You never asked.”

“That’s a good reason, Debbie,” I pointed out.

The four of us were ushered into a small conference room and offered something to drink while we waited. Apparently, another meeting was just ending. After about five minutes, Alastair Knowles, Daniel Dantley, the director of Newport: The Series, and Mary Legler, EVP of the Legal Department, entered, dispensed with the pleasantries, and sat down across from us at the conference table.

After Juan announced that we agreed to the terms of the contract, I signed both copies and initialed certain codicils. Debbie looked over my shoulder and made noises of delight. It was fortunate she didn’t rub her hands in glee. She hugged Juan and Glynnis instead.

The whole thing took little more than ten minutes and handshakes and fist bumps were made all around. Alastair hurried to the door, pulling Dantley along with him.

“You’ll excuse us but we have another meeting at the bottom of the hour—”

“Enjoy your summer, Evie. We start shooting at the end of next month…God willing and the creek don’t rise,” Dantley said as his head disappeared from view in the doorway.

Mary Legler zipped up her briefcase and smiled at Evie. “You’ll get your 10% advance at the end of the week. Don’t spend it all in one place.” She laughed as she hurried to catch up with Knowles and Dantley. Almost at the same moment, the office assistant magically materialized to escort us to the elevators.

“Ladies, I’ve reserved a table for lunch at Jemma Di Mare in Brentwood—”

“Juan, that’s the capo di tutti capi of Italian restaurants in LA!” screeched Debbie as Juan navigated the labyrinthine streets of Los Angeles to arrive at the restaurant on San Vincente Boulevard in Brentwood. A native Angeleno, Juan knew to avoid the paralyzing mid-day traffic by driving in the opposite direction to his destination. He drove north instead of south, passing through the Hollywood Hills, Studio City, Sherman Oaks, and Bel Air before ending up in Brentwood. He made the trip in less than 30 minutes. I was impressed.

Jemma Di Mare was one of those posh eateries where a reservation was definitely de rigueur, even for lunch on a Monday afternoon. Debbie whistled at the well-appointed interior as we were shown to our table.

“Juan, this is going to set you back half a week salary almost—”

“Correction. It’s being charged back to your sister’s account. As of an hour ago, Evie’s a millionaire.”

“You’re going to need a business manager, Evie. I’d keep my eye on these people.” She turned to Juan and smiled sweetly.

“Ladies, order anything you want. Expense is no object. Thank you, Evie. I recommend the lobster fettuccini.” Juan pointed to the entrée on the menu.

“In Applebee’s, they put pictures of each dish on the menu so you can get an idea of what it might taste like,” noted Debbie.

“Debbie, you know what a lobster looks like. Just imagine it being stuffed with fettuccini.”

“O.K., Juan. Evie and I will share the lobster fettuccini—”

“Share?”

“Yeah, it says here it’s enough for two. You need to watch your girlish figure, sis.”

“Debbie’s got a point there, Evie.” Juan handed the menus back to our server and ordered for us.

“So, Evie, it must be a girl’s dream to be dating Trent Foster,” Glynnis allowed. “I read where Trent’s mom says she’s expecting a wedding in the Fall. Has he popped the question?”

“I’ve never even gone out on a proper date with the guy. I rode in a parade with him and went disco dancing with him in Seattle. I hardly consider that a courtship.”

“Maybe you’re more interested in your boss. That dreamy Chuck Connors. He’s worth a gazillion dollars!”

“And then there’s that ballplayer, Richie Morrow,” added Juan as he noisily munched on a garlic knot, his wife nudging him to slow his mastication to a socially acceptable pace.

“People! People! I’m not seeing anyone seriously. Technically, I’m not seeing anyone at all. Trent’s a publicity hound. Chuck’s my boss. And Richie’s just a sweet kid. I’m not interested in guys…right now, that is. Career first, romance later.”

“You told me you wanted to have Trent’s babies,” laughed Debbie.

I threw a handful of garlic knots at her.

“Hey, I wasn’t finished with those. Babe, get our server to bring some more garlic knots to the table.” Glynnis shot him a glare.

Chuck kept his eyes on the road and his mouth shut as he drove us the 40 miles to Clark Ruskin’s L.A. Drillers training complex in Costa Mesa. It was the first day of training camp for many NFL teams including the Drillers. Clark had asked us to meet with him right after the morning portion of the two-a-day practice sessions.

“Cat got your tongue, Chuck?”

“Not feeling too chatty this morning, that’s all.” He flashed his credentials to the security guard at the entrance to the parking lot. He waved us through.

“We’ve barely exchanged five words other than Hello, Good Morning, and Goodbye this week.”

“That makes nine words, doesn’t it?”

“I thought we were okay with me signing the contract. The show doesn’t start production until September. I’ll be 100% concentrated on Sisters Sportswear until then. Buzz says he’s got a dozen sales calls lined up from now until the end of July…”

“I know Buzz’s schedule. I’m his boss, after all.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, not at all. I’m…disappointed, maybe.”

“Why? Because I’m not a real woman?”

“Because I look at you and you’re more woman than any cis woman I’ve ever known except for my mother and my sisters. I thought we might have had the beginnings of something…something real.”

“I am real, Chuck.”

“I can’t tell you what to do, Evie. But I can help you if you’ll let me. I can help you find the right therapists, professionals who deal with dysphoric patients—”

“I won’t be your problem in about six weeks, Chuck. Don’t feel you need to “help” me. I can handle this myself. So far, I’m doing just peachy—”

“Here we are. Clark said he’s on the field, watching practice. I hope this doesn’t take too long. I’ve got some stuff back at the office that’s kind of pressing right now.”

We went through the stadium (a miniature NFL field with a single tier of stands that the city of Costa Mesa used for scholastic sports events the rest of the year) and emerged into the mid-day sun and stifling heat. The team was going through its morning session. You could hear the slap, slap, crunch of bodies colliding, footballs being thrown or punted, and the grunts and groans of the players as they ran through different offensive set plays. Standing nearby, dressed in black sweats, a laminated sheet listing all the plays in his right hand, was Clark Ruskin, Misty Connors’ husband and Chuck’s brother-in-law. He was also the majority shareholder in Sisters Sportswear.

We had intended to wait politely at the edge of the field until practice was finished but Clark spotted us and waved us over to him.

“You’re early, guys. Say, Evie, this must seem familiar to you. You’ve run a lot of practices in baseball, right?”

“Yes, Mr. Ruskin. You learn a lot about a player by how he practices.”

“You’re right about that, Evie. And call me Clark. We’re all family here. Right, Chuck?”

“Yeah, Clark.”

“Chuck, you don’t need to stay. I want to speak to Evie alone. I’ll see that she’s driven back to the office when we’re finished here.”

“Alright, Clark. I’ll see you back at the office, Evie.” Chuck walked quickly toward the exit. He didn’t look back, even as I waved bye bye to him. Clark laughed.

“Chuck’s kind of awkward around women. Especially women with an ounce of intelligence. Like you.”

“Awkward? Everyone tells me he’s dated a long line of models and actresses. All beauties.”

“He wouldn’t know the first thing to do with a real woman. Not those brainless clothes horses he spends his time with.”

“You’re saying I’m a real woman?”

“Obviously.” He winked at me and then handed his laminated sheet to a young man with large headset subsuming his rather small head.

“This Trent Foster character. He’s just a kid. Don’t waste your time with him. He’s using you. You’re going places he’ll never even touch. Because you have talent.”

“How do you know that? I’ve never acted in anything before.”

“Danny Dantley’s a good friend. He showed me your screen test.”

“I had like five lines. You can tell from five lines?”

“You lit up the screen, honey. A lot of men will want to get next to you. And maybe some women too.”

“And you?”

“I’m not crass, Evie. I’ve never forced myself on any woman. There has to be a mutual attraction. A commonality of spirit. You and I are similar people. We’re smart, ambitious, multi-faceted, and damned sexy as all get-out.” He laughed again. Just as his laughs subsided, one of his players came within an inch of crashing into him.

“You okay, Mr. Ruskin?”

“Crawford! They asked you to run an out route and you’re running a dig route! Didn’t they show you the route tree in college? Damned rookies. Where did we draft you? Wasn’t the first round, that’s for sure.”

“Sixth round, sir.”

“Figures. Why did we waste a draft pick on you? We could’ve signed you as a free agent for next to nothing. I told them not to pick someone from Rutgers. Name me an All-Pro who came out of Rutgers.”

“You went to Rutgers? I went to Rutgers too. Of course, I graduated about three years before you. Are you related to Ray Crawford? He pitched on the baseball team when I was…when I was there.”

“Yeah, Ray’s my older brother. What’s your name? I’ll tell him I almost bumped into you today.”

“Evie Rivers.”

“Rivers. Rivers. Yeah, there was a kid named Rivers who was like an analytic guy on the team. Couldn’t pitch a lick but was a real brain with the gameplans. You his sister?”

“Sister? Oh, yeah, his sister. Say hello to your brother for me.”

“Practice is almost over, Evie. Let’s talk over lunch. What are you standing there for, Crawford? They’re serving lunch in the cafeteria in about ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir. Nice to meet you, Evie.” He ran toward the other end of the field to rejoin his teammates.

“There’s a nice place about a mile from here that’s got a patio. There’s a great view of the ocean. We can talk while we have lunch. Come.” He took my arm and we walked out of the stadium and to his car, a black Tesla Model X.

It turned out the nice place for lunch was not a mile away but 35 miles away. And the great view of the ocean was beyond a beach, Redondo Beach. On the 40-minute drive, Clark regaled me with an account of his superior talents. He painted a portrait of himself as a combination of Steve Jobs, Jeff Bezos, and Al Davis (the legendary maverick owner of the Oakland Raiders). But, of course, he was better looking than all three of them.

“You notice I’m not asking you any questions about yourself,” he remarked. “That’s because I do my homework. I know everything that’s important to know about you. You have an MBA, you coached minor league ball for The Titans, you’ve just been signed to a million-dollar contract to star in a TV series for GlobalNet. You turned 24 years old in April. You have a younger sister, Debbie, who also works for us. Your father was a widower, now remarried to a woman of Spanish descent. He’s a real estate lawyer who’s wheelchair bound. You grew up in the wilds of New Jersey. Did I miss any bullet points?”

“You just read my resume, Clark. That didn’t take too much detective work.”

“What don’t I know?”

“Well, for starters, why have I never had a steady boyfriend? In fact, I’ve never had a boyfriend. Ever.”

“That’s easy. You’re a woman of very high standards. You don’t suffer fools or little boys. You want a man. A real man. Someone who’s lived, loved, seen how the world works and took it by the throat, achieved success after success—”

“The Drillers finished next to last in the conference last season. Not very successful…”

“That’s what sets you apart from most women, Evie. You know sports. Yeah, my Drillers sucked last year but we’re an expansion team. I made a promise to our fans that we’d win a Super Bowl in 3 to 5 years and I stand by it. As long as my front office can resist drafting longshots like Crawford. What the hell did they see in him?”

“His brother was a great baseball player at Rutgers. Until he tore up his knee doing stupid motocross just before baseball season started in his senior year.”

“I sense you and Crawford’s brother had a thing going on, eh? Was he your college sweetheart? The one that got away?”

“No, of course not. Ray was a guy. He didn’t swing that way.”

“Gay, huh? Ray was gay? Unfortunately, it rhymes with his name.”

“Not gay. He was a guy. A guy.”

“I think we’re having a failure to communicate here. Here we are. Rocky’s Redondo Beach Bistro. Hope you’re not a vegan. Their burgers are to die for.”

Clark was right about the burgers. I scarfed mine and gave serious consideration to ordering a second but decided that would make a very odd impression on Clark. And Debbie was right. I need to watch my girlish figure. Ha ha.

With my mouth full of delicious 80/20 beef chuck, there was little opportunity to carry on intelligent conversation, so Clark and I just moaned now and again from the heavenly flavors we were tasting. Nevertheless, Clark kept staring at me, like a carnivore sizing up his prey.

Clark suggested we walk off our protein-packed lunch by strolling the Redondo Beach pier. It was early afternoon but there was still a large group of amateur anglers along the rails. I started to get a little weepy remembering the summer days when my father would take me fishing in Farrington Lake, near East Brunswick.

“Boardwalks make you emotional?”

“It’s all the fishermen. My dad used to take me fishing when I was 8, 9 years old. We had the best times—”

“Then you grew up and got interested in girly things, right?”

“No. My parents got into a bad car accident. My mom was killed and my dad hasn’t been able to walk since.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know the details. That’s…sad. It must have been hard growing up as a girl without your mother to learn from. That’s probably why you’re into sports so much. Your dad raised you like a son instead of a daughter.”

“But he knew. He always knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m just rambling.”

“I’ve got a cabin cruiser. It’s docked in Marina Del Rey. We can go deep sea fishing sometime if you’d like. Would you like to?”

“You know, that sounds like fun. Thank you, Clark. Maybe some weekend when the series isn’t shooting.”

“I’ll put a reminder on my calendar. Fishing with Evie. I bet you’d look great in a bikini.”

“What exactly did you want to talk to me about, Clark. I’ve been with you for almost two hours and I still don’t know.”

Clark took me by the shoulders and kissed me hard. I pushed him away.

“Clark, please don’t. I work for you. I’m not dating you.”

“That can be remedied. I’m planning to take a three-day weekend in Cancun soon. Ever been?”

“No. Isn’t that near Cozumel?”

“Yeah, Cozumel’s an island off the peninsula. Why?”

“Trent was there with some bimbo.”

“What did I tell you? He’s a child. A little boy playing with tonka toys. You need a man. Come with me to Cancun, Evie.”

“What about your wife, Misty?”

“She’s busy with her soccer team. She hardly notices my absences. And, frankly, she probably doesn’t even care.”

“I doubt that, Clark. Does she know about you and Mei Ling?”

“You wouldn’t tell her, would you?”

“I don’t want to get involved. And, Clark, I’m not interested in being your sidepiece.”

“I understand. Quid pro quo. Okay, I’m willing to pay you handsomely to be a consultant with Sisters Sportswear even after you leave for that acting gig. You wouldn’t have to do anything and pick up a nice piece of change. Just be a willing companion to a lonely man. Someone who’s worthy of you. We can be heroes, like David Bowie sang.”

“Is this the elevator pitch you give to all the women you find, fuck, and forget?”

“Is the thought of being with me so distasteful?”

“I’m going to order an Uber to get back to the office, Clark. Thank you for lunch. You were right. The burgers are to die for.”

I looked around to get oriented and then ran as fast as I could. I took off my heels and carried them in both hands, running until I reached West Torrance Boulevard. Finally, I stopped and looked behind me to see if Clark had followed. No sign of him. I took my phone out of my purse and used my Uber app to order a ride.

I was certain Clark would have me dismissed tout de suite but when I awkwardly bumped into Chuck back at the office more than an hour later, he merely nodded and muttered, “you’re late.” Still, I sat at my desk, waiting for the axe to fall.

“There you are.” It was Mei Ling, standing in the doorway of my office. “Do you sisters synchronize your work schedules as well as your monthlies?”

“Huh?” I relied cleverly.

“Debbie came back from lunch five minutes before you. She was looking for you. You can catch her in the cafeteria right now. She’s doing show and tell with everyone.”

I got up from behind my desk and stopped a foot away from Mei Ling.

“I know that you know, you know?”

“Now that you’re leaving, I couldn’t care less. You’re somebody else’s problem. Have fun with Trent Foster. I hear he swings both ways.”

She cackled in my face. Literally turning the other cheek, I shoved her aside and went to find Debbie in the cafeteria.

“Oh, look, she’s here!” my manager Dulcie pointed at me as I crossed the threshold of the cafeteria. Debbie was surrounded by a dozen staffers. They were all ogling her left hand, which was being waved in mid-air in a semi-circle, making cooing sounds.

“Evie, look! Otis proposed!” I ran forward to look at her engagement ring. Grabbing her left hand, I examined the 14K emerald in a two-tone gold-leaf setting.

“Oh my God, Debbie. I’m so happy for you!” We hugged. I almost forgot myself and tried to lift her up in the air like I did when I was her big brother. Well, I guess I still am. Maybe her sister now. Brother adjace.

“When did he pop the question?”

“Over lunch today. We had fish tacos and ate in Almansor Park. He went down on one knee right next to the picnic table. Just like in the movies—”

“Otis’ next time in the office is tomorrow morning. We should all give him the silent treatment just to mess with him,” Dulcie proposed. The other girls laughed and agreed.

“Say, Evie, you sisters could make it a double wedding. Debbie and Otis, you and Trent Foster!”

It was Chuck, his arms crossed, leaning against the doorway, a smirk on his face.

“Why does everybody think I’m dating Trent, much less marrying the guy?”

Chuck politely asked everyone to get back to work and we filed out of the cafeteria. As I passed him, he wondered aloud, “How’s the weather in Cancun this time of year?”

“Clark told you he asked me?”

“I know his act. He didn’t have to tell me. So, you’re going to have to come up with an elaborate excuse when he makes his move. And he doesn’t suffer rejection well.”

“I’m not going with him. I’ll go clean out my desk now—”

“Why?”

“It was nice of you not to immediately fire me when I walked in the door but let’s just get it over with. I’m sure Clark called you right afterwards.”

“Clark? No, I haven’t spoken to him. You’re not fired, as far as I know. Actually, I thought you would take Clark up on his offer.”

“You really have that low an opinion of me?”

“My opinion obviously doesn’t count, does it?” He walked away toward his office and I saw Debbie standing about ten feet away, a concerned look on her face.

“Evie, what have you done?”

Saturday morning. Debbie, Otis, and I were sitting around the kitchen table, discussing potential dates for the wedding.

“A Fall wedding in New Jersey with the leaves turning yellow, brown, and gold. A nip in the air. We could hold it at the Estate at Farrington Lake.”

“Debbie, that’s a great idea. Daddy would love it. Remember when he’d take us fishing in the lake. We’d go out in that rented dinghy with the blue striped bow…”

“I was thinking we’d have it right here in LA. My people come from a radius of about 50 miles. I don’t think they’d be able to travel all the way across the country—”

“The bride’s family chooses the wedding location, Otis. It’s tradition,” Debbie sniffed.

“We should compromise and hold it in St. Louis.”

“Evie, your humor is not helpful!”

The buzzer sounded, announcing someone was downstairs.

“Who could that be at this time of day? And on Saturday.”

I pressed the speaker button and asked the person to identify themselves.

“Evie, it’s Peg.”

“Peg? From GlobalNet?” I pressed the button to unlock the front door.

“I didn’t know Peg even knew where I lived. The studio might have given her my address.”

When I opened the door, Peg was standing there in her usual gypsy/hippie outfit, a garment bag folded over her arm.

“Come in, Peg. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Trent asked me to do him a favor.”

“Trent Foster?” asked Otis, his head swiveling between Debbie and I.

“He’s going to the World Media Awards Show next Tuesday night. And he wants you to be his date for the evening. You’ll need a dress for the occasion. Here.” She held the garment bag up for me.

“I haven’t spoken to Trent since Seattle. Are you sure he wants me to accompany him?”

“He’s paid me a pretty penny to “borrow” this from the wardrobe department. I think it’ll fit you. Just a few small alterations and voilà, it’ll look smashing on you. You’ll be the belle of the ball, on the arm of the hottest actor in the business. Come on, try it on.”

“Otis, can you go to Trader Joe’s and pick up a quart of milk? We’re all out.”

“The closest one is in San Marino, babe. Okay, okay. Otis must never catch a glimpse of big sister’s naughty bits. I’m going. Nice to see you again, Peg.”

After Otis left, Peg took the dress out of the garment bag and placed it under my chin. She held it at arm’s length. Both she and Debbie smacked their lips and pronounced the dress perfect for an awards show. I looked down at the green floral, diaphanous gown and cried, “But it’s practically see-through! How can I pull this off?”

“You might have to worry about Trent pulling it off,” declared Peg as she lowered her glasses and winked.

Our limousine was inching its way toward the entrance to Crypto Arena, site of that evening’s nationally telecast World Media Awards. I was still fidgeting with my dress, making sure the see-through parts didn’t show anything worth seeing. I looked to my right and saw a very nervous Trent Foster, chewing his fingernails.

“Trent, why are you nervous? You’re the odds-on favorite to win your category, Best Actor in a Theatrical Feature Film. Your only competition is that Nathan Adams guy. He’s so yesterday’s news.”

“You never know with these awards. I’ve been nominated a dozen times for various awards and I’ve won a grand total of one. I hate having to keep smiling while they call somebody else’s name. Somebody like Nathan Adams.”

“It’s more a reflection of the quality of the movies they’re in than their acting per se…”

“So you’re saying I keep acting in movies that suck?”

“You might try holding out for a good script rather than accepting the biggest salary—”

“You have so much to learn, young Padawan. Here we are. Ready for the red carpet?”

Like a perfect gentleman, Trent helped me out of the limousine. Fortunately I managed not to rip my dress to shreds or break a heel. I was a little wobbly on my three-inch stilettos but Trent wrapped his arm around mine and we made our way into the lobby, waving to the teeming millions out in TV land.

It took us 15 minutes before we reached the head of the line to get interviewed by someone I’d never heard of. She shoved a microphone in Trent’s face and began the inquisition.

“Trent, so wonderful to see you with your new co-star in Newport: The Series—”

“Premiering on GlobalNet in November,” Trent made sure to mention.

“And this lovely young lady is Evie Rivers, who’s a new face to us. Where did you discover this beauty, Trent?”

“On the beach at Newport, actually.” He laughed. I joined in a beat later. “Yes, Evie’s a true surfer girl. Dan Dantley, our director, was the one who really found her. Isn’t she just adorable?”

“Yes, she is. Evie, reports have it that you and Trent are dating. In fact, Trent’s mom has told the press that we might be looking at a Fall wedding. Is that true?”

Trent rushed in before I could answer. “We’re…we’re seriously thinking about it. Nothing definite yet. Our schedules are so full. We need to find the right time and place.”

“Trent likes Cozumel for the venue,” I chirped, laughing as if it were a private joke between us.

“Oooh, I’d love an invitation. That’s a destination wedding to top all destination weddings.”

“So, Trent, what do we have to look forward to with your new series—”

“Newport,” Trent interjected. “It’s a new challenge for me. I’m looking to play more mature roles. Roles with more adult themes. I’m tired of playing aging teenagers.”

“How old is your character in…”

“Newport. He’s a mature 27.”

“Thank you so much for stopping by, Trent and Evie. Back to you, Bill.” We shook hands with her and were ushered into the arena to be seated.

Awards shows are snore-fests. They’re interminably long and front-loaded with categories no one outside of the most crazed media consumers would even care about. About two and a half hours into the evening, I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. The awards for best actor, actress, and movie were the last ones handed out. There were the awards for the most popular influencers in several categories on social media coming up, then we’d hit the home stretch.

For whatever reason, that was the category the producers of the awards show had chosen Trent to present. So, I sat uncomfortably next to an empty seat as Trent went backstage to await his turn on camera. In the rows around me were such celebrities as Taylor Swift, Nathan Adams, Dwayne Johnson, Beyonce, and Kevin Hart. In fact, Kevin kept trying to get my attention. I finally gave in and finger waved to him. He sat back down and was animatedly explaining to the people next to him who the hell I was. Trent stepped out into the lights as the announcer recited his name with dramatic emphasis.

“We live in an age where the average person can receive counsel on every detail of everyday life through the marvel that is social media. And there are a small number of givers of knowledge who number millions among their subscribers and viewers. In the field of beauty care, these three social media giants have proven to be the leaders in the category. The nominees are: Cheryl Lafferty for her podcast, On the Beauty Tip, Marsha Jackson for her TikTok account, MizMarshaJ, and Bambi Bunson, for her YouTube channel, The Ultimate Bambi Bunson…”

Bambi Bunson! That blonde bimbo that Trent was cavorting with poolside in Cozumel! I hope she loses…badly. I had no idea who the other two were but I was rooting real hard for either of them to win.

“And the World Media Award goes to…Bambi Bunson! For her YouTube channel, The Ultimate Bambi Bunson.”

The audience was a lot happier about this turn of events than I was. Bambi ran down the aisle from her seat way back in the arena. She high fived several people sitting on the aisle as she rushed the stage. I thought seriously about accidentally placing my leg in the aisle just as she passed my row but, I’m not that person. Am I?

She practically tackled Trent when she reached the stage. Trent had to extricate himself from her suffocating full-body hug and place the award trophy in her fat hand. She was almost hyper-ventilating when she finally remembered to give an acceptance speech.

“Thank you to the award committee and to all my subscribers and viewers. I couldn’t have done this without your tremendous support. And, if you’ll allow me a few seconds, I’d like to especially thank this gorgeous man standing behind me, Trent Foster. He’s made me the happiest woman on Earth. No, make that the galaxy! As so many of you know from the videos I shared on my channel, Trent and I just spent a wonderful three days in Cozumel just frolicking in the sunshine. Of course, the most fun came after sundown…”

Trent came forward and tried to back Bambi away from the microphone. “Thanks, Bambi, but that was a bit TMI. Can someone play us off with some music already?”

“One last thing! That Evie Rivers biatch just better watch herself because Trent is my man. Mine, you hear?”

Music blared and Trent dragged Bambi toward the wings. The audience, not sure whether it was a comedy routine or an actual meltdown, laughed nervously. I felt a million eyes on me. The laughter seemed to be aimed at me. I bolted from my seat and ran up the aisle to where I had no idea. I just had to get out of there.

I locked myself into a stall in the ladies’ room. Intermittently, women would enter, do their business, and leave, while I tried to stop bawling. I tried to stifle the sounds of my crying but I probably sounded like a small, wounded woodland creature. After about 20 minutes, I decided I had to either return to my seat and support Trent as he accepted his award or find a way to get home. I dreaded having to order an Uber and facing anyone who might recognize me so I took my phone out and called Debbie.

“Evie! Where are you? We saw you on TV running out of the arena—”

“Debbie, I can’t explain right now. Can you come and take me home?”

“What about Trent? And the limo.”

I almost screamed into the phone. “Debbie! Just come and take me home. Please!”

“Calm down, Evie. I…I can’t go and pick you up right now. I have guests in the apartment—”

“Guests? Who?”

“I’ll have Otis pick you up. You’re still at the arena, right?”

“Yes, Debbie. Please hurry. The show is ending in about 15 minutes. I don’t want to see Trent. Ever again. Ever.”

“What happened, Evie? Is it that routine with Bambi Bunson? Wasn’t that a bad attempt at comedy?”

“No. Nooooo. Debbie, send Otis now!”

“He just went out the door. He’ll be there in 10 minutes, Evie. Evie?”

I disconnected. Carefully, I stepped out of the stall. No one was in the room. I did my best to dab away the mascara running down my cheeks and finger-brushed my hair into some semblance of normality. As I exited, I side-swiped Taylor Swift, apologized, and made a beeline to the street outside the arena.

I walked into our apartment, curious as to who these guests that Debbie mentioned were. Sitting on the couch was Consuela, my stepmom. She smiled broadly and reached out to hug me.

“Consuela, why are you here? Who? What?”

“Debbie called us and told us the happy news about Otis and her getting engaged. We decided to come out right away and see our two beautiful girls. After all, we were planning to come out this summer anyway.”

“Where’s dad?”

At that moment, Debbie wheeled dad in from the bedroom.

“Evie, honey. Come here and give daddy a big hug.”

“Dad was taking a short nap. He was very tired from the plane ride.”

“Why the tears, sweetheart?”

“Tears? I’m not crying—”

“But you have. I can tell. What’s wrong?”

I fell to my knees and wrapped my arms around my father. The tears started again.

“Oh, daddy, what craziness have I gotten myself into? I’ve made a mess of everything. How can I face anyone?”

Dad held my head in his strong hands and looked into my tear-filled eyes.

“You’re my sweet girl, Evie. Whatever the problem is, we’ll get through it. I’m so proud of you. Don’t cry. Look around the room, we all love you. We won’t let anyone hurt you. Ever. Do you believe me, Evie?”

My right hand squeezed dad’s hand and I looked up at his smiling face.

“Yes, daddy, I do. I believe.”

“You look lovely, dear,” Consuela purred as she stroked my arm, trying to calm me down.

I was sitting next to her on the couch. Dad was facing us in his wheelchair and Debbie was standing behind him, wringing her hands, a look of deep concern on her face.

“Thank you, Consuela. Obviously, Trent doesn’t think so. That was so embarrassing—”

“Trent called just 5 minutes before Otis brought you back. I disconnected him in mid-sentence. The creep!” Debbie dropped herself on the couch, sandwiching me between her and Consuela.

“He’s not important, Evie,” my father declared. “They want you for the show, regardless of him. You’re going to be the star, not Trent. You’ll see.”

“Dad, Trent’s the lead on the show. He could have me fired even before they start shooting the series. I’ve outlived my usefulness to him. I barely made it past two weeks.”

“That’ll be their loss. Honey, this only emphasizes what we’ve all been trying to tell you all this time. You’re a girl. No, a woman. And you’ve hesitated long enough deciding whether to affirm your correct gender. I say, the hell with Trent Foster and GlobalNet. If they don’t want you, you’ve still got a great future with Sisters Sportswear. You need to just get on with your life…as a woman.”

“You can start by having your gender changed on your birth certificate and driver’s license. Daddy can have you fill out the forms and submit it back in New Jersey,” suggested Consuela.

“It’ll take 2 months to go through. Max.”

“Then you can start the whole process of transitioning. Before you know it, you’ll be in both mind and body what you always should have been from birth,” Consuela said, smiling as she and Debbie threatened to massage the skin off my shoulders.

“What do you say, sweetheart?”

“I…I want to think about it some more, Daddy.”

“Oh, come on, Evie. What’s to think about? You’re a girl. You’ve always been a girl! Everyone we ran into over the years thought you were my older sister. Just with terrible fashion sense.”

“Chuck says it might be possible to keep my transition under wraps. At least Trent and the people at GlobalNet don’t suspect anything…yet.”

“You told Chuck?” Debbie stopped massaging me.

“No, he already knew. But he says only he and Mei Ling, our executive assistant, know. I mean, Clark Ruskin, the company president, thinks I’m a girl, for sure. He made a pass at me last week.”

“You didn’t tell me that, Evie! You just have to stop being so sexy. It’s annoying.”

“Debbie, I can’t help it. I’m drawn this way—”

“Debbie, do something useful. Go online and print out those forms I wanted from the New Jersey Department of Health.”

“Okay, Daddy. I’ll shut up.”

“Now that we’ve settled that—”

“Do you think Trent suspects? That’s why he’s seeing other women?”

“Other women? That’s a good one, Evie,” Debbie muttered from behind the screen of her laptop.

“It’s Hollywood, Evie. I'm so proud of you being cast in a TV series—Consuela’s co-workers can’t stop complimenting her on having such a famous stepdaughter—but please, please stay away from these Hollywood actors. They’re…excuse my French…scum! Find yourself a nice fella. A normal fella.”

“Like Chuck,” shouted Debbie as she pulled the forms out of the printer.

“Chuck isn’t interested in me. He likes cis women.” I frowned and placed my head on Consuela’s shoulder.

“There’ll be others who appreciate you and will love you for who you are. When your face is on billboards and magazine covers, Chuck will see the error of his ways.” Consuela kissed my forehead and Daddy patted me on the back.

It was a gloomy, rainy Wednesday morning in Los Angeles as Debbie and I stepped gingerly out of Otis’ van and ran into the lobby of our office building. Javier, one of the security guards, held the door open for us. As we were folding up our umbrellas, he sidled up to me.

“That pendejo Foster did you dirty, Ms. Rivers. You’re too classy for him. Let him have that bimbo, Bambi. His loss.”

“That’s kind of you to say, Javier, but, really, we weren’t dating or anything. I went to the awards with him just for the show’s sake. Newport: The Series. Coming in the Fall!”

In my office, someone had placed the morning edition of The Los Angeles Daily Times on top of my desk, smack dab in the middle. Splashed across the front page were pictures of me running out of Crypto Arena, almost bowling over Taylor Swift coming out of the Ladies’ Room, and tumbling into Otis’ car outside the arena. Alongside these snapshots was one of Trent facing a phalanx of reporters, Bambi Bunson’s arms wrapped around his torso, beaming in apparent victory.

“Looks like Ms. Humpty Dumpty fell off her wall.” It was Mei Ling in the doorway. She snickered and then strutted off, keeping her nose in the air.

I had to restrain myself from leaping out of my chair and tackling her in the hallway. Then my phone rang. It was Juan Moskowitz.

“Good morning, Juan. What’s good?”

“Not much, Evie. We’re being called on the carpet by GlobalNet. Alastair just called and insisted you and I show up at their offices at 11AM. It’s about…what happened last night—”

“Don’t tell me Trent got me fired.”

“No, Evie, he’s been asked to show up too. Michelle Gravesend wants to talk to both of you.”

“That sounds serious.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Anyway, if I leave now and come pick you up, we’ll just about make it in time. It’s raining cats and dogs out there so I’ll pick you up on the run. Stay inside the lobby until I drive by. See ya.”

Michelle Gravesend, the Chief Content Officer for GlobalNet, walked slowly to her desk, picked up the tabloid, and tossed it onto the round table where we were all seated: Juan and me, Trent and his agent Gavin Montrose, Alastair Knowles, Daniel Dantley, and Mary Legler, Chief Legal Officer.

“Alright, kiddies, we have a situation here. Anyone want to tell me exactly what the fuck is going on here?”

“Hey, why is everyone mad at me? I can’t control that ditzy dame, Bambi. Jesus Christ, it was a weekend in Cozumel not a honeymoon in Paris—uh, sorry, Alastair, nothing wrong with that, of course.”

“Maybe keep it in your pants for more than five minutes, pal,” sneered Juan, waving his right hand dismissively.

“Hey, can he talk to me like that? Who is he, anyway?”

“Look, everyone, I don’t care about who you fuck or what you fuck. As long as it doesn’t harm the bottom line of this network. And this shitstorm of ugly publicity is going to torpedo the show before we even begin shooting it, no less when it premieres in the Fall.”

“Isn’t there no such thing as bad publicity?” offered Trent’s agent.

“I don’t think our audiences are going to want to turn out in multitudes to watch some punk actor who they’ve witnessed toy with the affections of Miss Polly Purebred here.” I turned to Juan. He shrugged his shoulders. Who the hell is Polly Purebred?

“Well, it’s a fait accompli. What’s to be done about it?” Danny Dantley lamented.

“You, Trent, are going to have to publicly grovel before Evie and admit your sad mistake in cheating on her—”

“Now, come on, Michelle, this is my personal life we’re talking about. And how is this going to look to my fans? I don’t want to be seen as a simp—”

“GlobalNet has a lot of money invested in this project, Trent. If we don’t remedy the situation somehow, how are we to expect the women in our potential audience to believe in the sincerity and basic decency of your character. Especially when you’re playing opposite the woman you scorned rather spectacularly on national television. We might be forced to re-cast your part--”

“You can’t do that! Trent’s got an ironclad contract,” Gavin interjected.

“Mary?” Michelle turned to her for her legal expertise.

“Ahem. And I quote: “The Performer shall not commit any act or do anything which might reasonably be considered: i) to be immoral, deceptive, scandalous or obscene; or ii) to injure, tarnish, damage or otherwise negatively affect the reputation and goodwill associated with GlobalNet or its subsidiaries.” I think you’d be wise to avoid testing that clause, Mr. Foster.”

“Can I say something?” I asked.

“Go right ahead, Evie.”

“Despite how much my feelings may have been hurt by this…this incident, I think we’re being too harsh on Trent. I have to blame myself for being naive enough to fall head over heels for him. I thought we had the beginnings of a real relationship but last night showed me I was stupidly, stupidly wrong. I’ll chalk it up to learning about the ways of Hollywood. Maybe, Trent and I should shake hands and promise to work together without rancor…on either side.”

Trent reached his hand over the table to me but Michelle rolled up the newspaper and swatted it away.

“It ain’t that easy, kids. The only way to clear the decks on this disaster is to make a public rapprochement, something our potential viewers will be able to see or read about.”

“Short of a wedding in Disneyland, what do you propose?” asked Trent.

Alastair spoke up. “Trent, you have a concert at SoFi Stadium this Friday, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Think of a song you can sing to our little ingenue here as a public apology. Something that’ll convince your fans and everyone else that you’re truly remorseful about your scandalous behavior and that Evie is really the girl of your dreams, not Bambi Bunson.”

“I’ve got two days to put an arrangement together. That’s going to be tough—”

“I’d get right on it if I were you. Also, we need to script this like it’s real. So, you’re going to invite your parents, Trent. And, Evie, I want your parents there as well. It’s a bonus that they’re actually in town. Almost like they anticipated this whole scenario.”

“Is this necessary? My parents are going to know it’s a set up. What about Trent’s folks?”

Blushing, Trent slowly drawled, “Well, my mom thinks we’re serious. She’s already planning the wedding for the Fall. It’ll be the highlight of the social calendar in Pacific Palisades if she gets her way. You’d have to convince her we weren’t about to get engaged!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Trent!” exclaimed Michelle. “On the other hand, their reaction to the whole thing on Friday might be real enough to be believed. Good idea, Alastair. You’re clever but evil.”

I turned to Juan. “What just happened? Am I betrothed to Trent?”

“Nah, it’s only make-believe. Like Hollywood itself.”

SoFi Stadium is a new multiple use outdoor arena built to host The Los Angeles Rams NFL team, located in Inglewood in the bosom of southwestern LA. It also hosts Clark Ruskin’s NFL team, The Los Angeles Drillers. However, Ruskin is planning to build his own stadium and is currently looking for a site somewhere near Disneyland in Anaheim. Chuck was able to get Dad and Consuela into the accessible seating area with his connection, of course, to his brother-in-law.

On the insistence of Alastair Knowles and Michelle Gravesend, I had to sit with Trent’s parents in the VIP seats, in clear view of the dozen or so video cameras documenting the concert. Fortunately, there was an opening act that made polite conversation almost impossible for our first 45 minutes in the stadium. Basically, I tried to listen to the music coming from the stage while Trent’s mother kept staring at me with a goofy smile on her face. I assume she was envisioning me as the future vessel of her 2.8 grandchildren. Oh, the humanity!

Unfortunately, the opening act finished its set and there was going to be an interregnum before Trent and his band came on stage. Mrs. Foster turned to me immediately after the final chord of the final encore faded and a tepid ovation died down.

“So your parents only had you and your sister? No brothers? Trent’s father and I wanted a daughter but God didn’t bless us with but only the one son. Isn’t that so, Conrad? Conrad?”

“I think Mr. Foster went to get a beer. If you want something, I can go and—”

“Oh, don’t bother but thank you, dear. You’re so thoughtful…and beautiful. Your children will be so lovely. They’ll have your eyes and cute little nose and Trent’s ears and chin—”

“Mrs. Foster—”

“Please call me Eloise.”

“Eloise. I think you’re assuming Trent and I are, let’s say, farther down the road than—”

“Do you want all boys, all girls, or boys and girls?”

“Eloise!”

“Yes, dear?”

“Trust me. Trent and I have not discussed having children—”

“Oh, he’s putting up a front, Evie. He loves children. This “playboy” image is just a p.r. thing his management thinks will make him seem “cool” to his fans. Believe me, Evie, he’s a one-woman man. I raised him the right way.”

I slumped back down in my seat, defeated. Luckily, Mr. Foster returned from the concession stands at that very moment, a tub of popcorn in one hand and a 20-ounce cup of beer in the other.

“Conrad, why didn’t you ask me or Evie whether we wanted something to drink?”

“I did. Several times. But the music was too loud. I guess you either didn’t hear me or ignored me and didn’t want anything. I’m sorry. I’ll go back and—”

“Never mind, dear. Evie and I can get something later.” She turned to me. “Trent always takes a break in the middle of his set. We’ll get something then, okay?” I nodded and reached into the tub of popcorn in Eloise’s lap to grab a few kernels.

Applause rose from the crowd as Trent and his band sauntered on stage. As the band members tuned their instruments and warmed up, Trent came over to the skirt of the stage and waved to us, blowing kisses. Eloise blew kisses back. I sank further into my seat, hoping to avoid the inquisitive eyes of the audience. I couldn’t avoid the omnipresent cameras though.

After the announcer introduced Trent, a minutes long ovation welcomed him as he approached the microphone stand. Finally, as the applause subsided, Trent greeted the audience.

“Hello, Los Angeles! Great to be back home again. We’ve got a new album coming out in a few weeks so you’ll hear a bunch of new songs tonight along with some old favorites. We might even reach way back in time to play some songs from like last year!” The crowd roared a mix of laughter and cheers. “But I want to start off with a special song especially for a special person. Is that even English? Ha ha. But I want to send this one out to a girl who I’ve sorely disappointed recently. Maybe this song can communicate something of how I really feel about her. And she knows who she is.” He stepped back from the mic and the drummer counted down the beat.

Somehow, a spotlight found me as Trent sang. A buzz went up in the audience as they realized who I was. Some girls screamed out something indecipherable, more cries than words. Like the spotlight, Trent aimed his attention at me, literally singing to me. Uncomfortably, I smiled. Part of me, I must admit, was transported, charmed, bamboozled, bedazzled. Trent can be very persuasive. All the best liars always are.

Midway through the song, Eloise grabbed my hand and squeezed tight. There was no gentle way to extricate my hand from her grasp so I just bit my lip and squeezed back. She whispered in my ear, “You two were made for each other. I’m so happy that Trent has found the perfect girl…”

When the song ended and the spotlight swung back to the stage, I thought about bolting from the stadium but there were my parents to consider. I could just take an Uber home and let them get picked up later by the car service that was scheduled by GlobalNet for us. But I found myself stuck to my seat. Even during the mid-set break, I sat there with Eloise as Conrad went on another refreshments sortie. I couldn’t even talk to my parents since everyone’s phones were locked up in Yondr bags.

Finally, after a 90-minute concert (not counting the 15-minute mid-set break), I said goodbye to the Fosters and waded through the exiting crowd to reunite with my parents in the accessible seating area. By the time I reached them, I discovered the Fosters were only a few steps behind me.

“Evie, please introduce us to your parents!” Eloise shouted.

I made the introductions. Everyone shook hands. Eloise, of course, was the most enthusiastic among us. Dad and Mr. Foster quickly started up a discussion of legal topics. Consuela and Eloise discussed…you guessed it…how many grandchildren they wanted and the breakdown by gender.

“I’ll bet you’d like some male grandchildren seeing as you’ve got two girls. Just like I’d love some granddaughters. We tried to give Trent a sibling but it didn’t happen. Did you try for a boy after Evie and her sister?”

“Well, no. I’m Evie’s stepmother. Evie’s biological mother passed away when Evie was just 12 years old.”

“Oh, poor child. Well, even without a mom at such a crucial stage in life, Evie turned out to be a beautiful young woman…and so talented. Smart too.”

“That she is. That she is.”

“How long are you in town? Conrad and I would love to have you visit our humble abode in Pacific Palisades. Maybe this weekend?”

“Mom, you know I’m away this weekend. Concerts in San Diego and Santa Barbara.”

Trent kissed his mother, hugged his father, and then leaned in to plant a kiss on my cheek. As he did so, I noticed the camera person right behind him. He was effervescent in exchanging greetings with Dad and Consuela. The camera person, as if on cue, lined everyone up for one last group shot. Trent and I were in the middle, flanked by our parents on either side.

“The cars are here. Geno?” He waved to one of the roadies breaking down the stacks of Marshall amplifiers on stage. “Geno, do me a favor and escort our folks here to where their limos are parked.” He turned to me. “I need to speak to Evie for a few minutes.”

“Of course, sweetheart. You kids need to talk. Conrad, why don’t you help Consuela with Mark’s wheelchair?”

Trent and I sat down in the empty first row as the cleaning crew busied themselves in the stadium.

“I think everything went really well, don’t you?”

“Trent, your parents…that is, your mother has the wrong idea about us—”

“How do you mean?”

I laughed. “She thinks we’re going to give her 2.8 grandchildren to dote on.”

“I’d hope we could round that up to 3 grandchildren. I really want kids myself.”

“So, does Bambi feel the same way?”

“Look, Evie, forget about Bambi. That was a mistake. A big mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking—”

“It’s best to use your brain when trying to think not some other organ.”

“Touché. I deserve that. Can we start over? I really like you, Evie. I’ve never met a girl like you.”

“You have no idea.”

“I’m getting too old to just play around. You’re the kind of person who I could be with for the long-term, you know.” He took my hands in his and laser-locked his baby-blue eyes with mine. “When I get off this mini-tour I’m on, we should spend more time together. There are places in SoCal I’d love to show you. And, I admit, my mother is besotted with the idea of you and me getting together. She said just the other day, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re smart, talented, and so very beautiful—”

“Are you reading off a script they handed you? Alastair and Danny? Are you doing this to get better press for yourself and the show?”

“No, I swear, this is me. I’m not acting. Trent Foster really likes Evie Rivers. I can see myself falling deeply in love with you. I am…already.”

“I don’t know what to say, Trent. I like you a lot. What girl wouldn’t. But I don’t want to be used. I don’t want to be hurt.”

“I won’t ever hurt you again.” Trent pulled me toward him and placed his lips gently on mine. He waited for me to respond. I couldn’t stop myself from swooning and kissed him back hungrily. It was a long, wet, sloppy kiss. I’m sure I moaned at least twice. His hands started to explore regions of my person that he mustn’t.

“Trent. Our parents are waiting. We can pick this up when you get back next week.”

“Okay. Here, let me leave a bookmark on this page.” We kissed. Another long, wet, sloppy kiss.

Friday night’s shadow play for GlobalNet’s benefit left me confused. Fortunately, the upcoming weekend would flush all of those conflicting thoughts out of my brain. For two days, the Rivers and Mellons families would get together to celebrate the engagement of Debbie Rivers to Otis Mellons. Saturday was a group outing to Disneyland in Anaheim that started with a two-car caravan. Car one was Otis’ Acura with Debbie, Consuela, Dad, and I packed tightly inside. Car two was the Mellons’ SUV with Carl Mellons at the wheel, his wife Olivia next to him, and his 16-year-old son Ryan, Otis’ brother, lying across the back seat, listening to some New Metal band on his earbuds.

The Mellonses didn’t know anything about me, other than whatever Otis had told them…which was the bare minimum, in deference to Debbie’s wishes. And I wanted to keep all conversation among the parties centered on Debbie. It was her day. She was so happy. And I was thrilled to tears to see how much she and Otis were in love. Of course, the two sets of parents spent much of the day discussing the geographical location of the proposed wedding ceremony. Ryan seemed shy, sneaking furtive looks at me as we lined up for the first ride, the Buzz Lightyear Astro Blasters.

“Can I call you Evie?”

“Well, that’s my name, so, yeah, go for it, sport."

“I think Otis should’ve asked you to marry him. You’re so much prettier than Debbie.”

“Thank you for thinking that, Ryan, but Otis obviously doesn’t think so. Debbie’s a real beauty. You ought to see me without all this makeup. It’s scary.”

“But you’re an actress. Trent Foster is dating you!”

Ryan’s still adenoidal voice alerted everyone around us. Suddenly, at least a dozen young women and teenagers, surrounded me, asking for my autograph. Apparently, news travels fast in the digital age. Probably the scene from the concert last night had already been viewed a zillion times by 9 this morning.

A woman with mouse ears on her head exhorted, “Drop that loser Trent! He’s too immature. You need someone who treasures you. Like a precious gem.” I just nodded as I signed her half empty bottle of water. A girl about 16 or 17 asked for a selfie with her and her three friends…individually. I demurred when an older woman asked me to sign her baby’s diaper (which was still on the little tyke). I posed for a selfie with her and her baby instead. Just before we were about to board the ride, a man who looked to be in is forties, asked me to sign his bicep, which he was flexing rather impertinently before my eyes. I was dotting the i in Evie when he hissed, “I’ve got another muscle you could work on too.”

“Hey, you creep!” Debbie shouted at him. Otis stepped forward.

“Move along, dude. You’re harassing my future sister-in-law.” The guy stood there for a moment, looking at the incomplete autograph on his arm.

“Okay. I’m good. I was just talking about my other bicep. Geez, some people have such dirty minds.”

Disneyland has over two dozen rides that are accessible to wheelchair users in their twin theme parks, the original Disneyland and Disney’s California Adventure. Debbie and I decided to split up the rides between us, so it was that I sat with Dad on the second ride, The Jungle Cruise. It was similar to the Jungle Cruise at Disney World in Orlando, which the family had visited more than a decade ago. Same jokes. We disregarded the running commentary and chatted.

“You never told me what you and Trent talked about after we were escorted to our limos.”

“Oh, Dad, it was nothing. He tried to convince me that he had real feelings for me—”

“Your face was a little flush. He kissed you, didn’t he.”

I didn’t reply. I was afraid I’d blush so I turned away just in time to see the boat with the animatronic chimpanzees. That made me laugh. Then the laughs turned into tears. I put my head on Dad’s shoulder.

“What is it, Evie? Tell daddy.”

“I don’t want to feel this way, Daddy. I can’t…I can’t fall for that stupid…he’s full of himself. Just a narcissist.”

“You have good sense, honey. Use it. Keep it a professional relationship—”

“His mother already thinks I’m going to give her grandkids!”

“Have you talked to Chuck about seeking help with your transition?”

I sat back up straight and wiped my eyes. “Yes, I spoke to him. He says he knows a doctor who specializes in cases of gender dysphoria. I think he’s going to set up an appointment for me.”

“What do you think about Chuck? I know he’s your boss but can you trust him?”

“He’s probably the only person in this town other than Debbie I have total trust in. He’s a really good guy.”

“He likes you, doesn’t he.”

“Oh, no, Dad. Like I said the other night, he’s strictly interested in cis women. When he found out about me, he was very disappointed. Not his type, you know. But I think he’s a friend, above and beyond being my boss. And a few weeks from now, I won’t be working for him anyway.”

“I’d like to meet Chuck before Consuela and I go back home. You know, a father’s plea to keep an eye out for his little girl. This is a brutal town. A mean industry, Evie. You’ll need someone on your side.”

“I have an agent, Juan.”

“He’s got a 10% interest in you but that’s as far as it goes. He’ll get other clients. Your file will just go to the back of the cabinet.”

“Maybe you and Consuela can move out here permanently. With Debbie getting married soon, I’ll be all alone.”

“You’re a big girl, Evie. You have a good head on your shoulders and you have a way about you. Just make sure no one takes advantage of your good-naturedness. And I’m just a plane flight away if you need me.” He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and kissed my forehead. It was comforting, if only in the moment. I was glad I had my family with me this weekend. And my heart was filled with the love they had for me. I smiled as I pictured myself being Debbie’s maid of honor at her wedding. The animatronic elephant trumpeted its approval.

The following week must have warmed the cold, calculating hearts of Michelle Gravesend and Alastair Knowles at GlobalNet. The media were “shipping” Trent and me, galvanized by the video clip from the concert that was making its way to Alpha Centauri as we speak. Unfortunately for GlobalNet, aliens probably aren’t metered by Nielsen. Juan called me Monday morning, practically in tears.

“Evie, I can’t handle all these requests for interviews and photo shoots that I’m getting for you. The phone’s ringing off the hook! You’ve got to get a public relations agent. I could suggest one or two that I’ve dealt with…”

“But I’d rather not be interviewed and I’m not a model. Why would they want to take pictures of me, Juan? I haven’t even started acting yet.”

“You’re hot as molten lava, Evie. Trent singing to you like that made you the flavor of the month. You’re a complete mystery and everyone’s competing to be the first to solve it.”

Chuck was out of the office, on his way to see the Special Events people at the L.A. Clippers offices on Flower Street, two blocks away from Crypto Arena. I made a voice call to him in the hopes he could pull me out of this morass.

“Evie, what’s up?”

“Juan called and said there are too many requests for interviews and fashion spreads than he can handle. He said I should get a P.R. agent. And he gave me a couple of names. I don’t know how to do this, Chuck. Help?”

“I’ve got a meeting until about 11. Okay, here’s what we can do. I’ll call Juan and have him forward any requests he gets to me. I’ll look them over and see which ones are worth accepting. I think the ones most useful to you will be TV interviews and podcasts. The print stuff and the photo sessions can wait. Sound good?”

“Yes, of course, Chuck. I trust your judgment—”

“That’s what my first wife said too—”

“Chuck, you were married? You never told me—”

“It’s a joke, Evie. A joke. I’m pulling into the parking lot right now. I’ll call you back when I can.”

As he promised, Chuck got back to me about two hours later, just as I was sharing a green salad with Debbie in the cafeteria. He decided I should do a TV interview on a local morning show the next day, bright and early at 8:30AM. He said not to worry about makeup and hair. They have people to do that for guests. Just pick out a nice, flattering outfit to wear, he emphasized. He gave me the address and disconnected.

Still half asleep and shaking in my boots (I was wearing some strappy sandals with low heels), I showed up at the TV station precisely at 8:30AM. They hustled me into hair and makeup and made me look presentable. When I stepped out of the room, I saw Chuck sitting in a folding chair, checking the texts on his phone. He stood up when I approached and I threw my arms around him.

“I didn’t expect you’d be here. I’m so nervous. I’m st-t-tuttering.”

“It’s the air conditioning, Evie. You’ll be okay. Just act natural. Don’t be taken aback by any stupid questions. These people are not rocket scientists.”

“Miss Rivers? You’re on after the next break,” the production assistant announced.

“I’ll be alright now you’re here.” I squeezed Chuck’s hand, which was almost twice the size of mine.

It was only a 5-minute spot but things turned out well. Now and again, as my interviewer droned on, asking inane question after inane question, I would peek behind her and see Chuck just off-set, giving me the thumbs up sign. I reflexively smiled each time. I suppose the viewers must have thought I was one very cheerful girl.

The rest of the week went rather smoothly. Chuck screened the requests for my time and I ended up having two more TV interviews, three podcast guest spots, and one National Public Radio feature segment. My voice filled with snark when I told Chuck I didn’t think anyone listened to terrestrial radio anymore. “I do,” he replied and walked away. Later, I learned that Chuck had interned at the LA NPR station when he was in high school. Back then, he wanted to be a radio sports talk host.

Misty Connors asked to speak to me in her office on Friday morning. I was half-expecting this so I girded my loins and quietly presented myself at her door. She looked up from her laptop and waved me in.

“Come in, Evie. Sit down.”

I looked around her office. There was a cabinet filled with trophies and badges denoting team championships and personal honors in the soccer careers of her and her sister Christy. On the walls hung photos and framed documents predominantly related to her athletic accomplishments. There was one photo that caught my eye. It was a shot of her and Clark, probably taken in the early years of their marriage or, perhaps, even earlier.

They seemed very happy, although it’s significant that Misty’s smile is open mouthed and broader than Clark’s tight-lipped smirk. My mind reeled and the memory of that episode from the week before in Redondo Beach made me gasp slightly. Misty looked up.

“Are you alright, Evie? Have some water.” She handed me a bottle. I twisted the cap off and took a long draught. Unfortunately, that made me choke. Misty came over to slap me on the back but I held up my hands as if to say I was okay.

“I wanted to speak to you before you left us. I know that’s not for another few weeks but my schedule in the summer is so packed, I’m not going to be in the office much. So…”

“You’re not firing me?”

“Of course not. What makes you think that? Chuck can’t stop speaking in superlatives about you. Enough to make me want to convince you to turn down Hollywood and stay in marketing—”

“Is that what Chuck wants?”

“No.” She laughed. “He and I both know that’d be mission impossible. It’s every little girl’s dream to be a movie star…or to marry one. Looks like you’re more than halfway there already.”

“You can’t believe everything you read or see on TV…”

“Regardless, I haven’t spent much time with you at all and I’d really like to get to know you a little better. Outside of the office. In a more casual environment. Even though this environment is pretty darn casual. Some of these girls don’t change their clothes days at a time. I pray they change their underwear regularly.”

“I try to wash out my bra every night. Sometimes I forget—”

“Evie, Clark and I are going out on our boat this weekend. I’d like you to come. Bring a friend if you wish. Bring two! Clark usually likes to do some fishing in the Santa Monica Bay. Come join us tomorrow. If you don’t like fishing, you can sunbathe. That’s what I do.”

“Would you mind if I brought my dad along. He’d love to do some deep-sea fishing. He and my stepmom are going back to New Jersey on Sunday—”

“Bring them both. Plenty of room on the boat.”

“You can fit all these people on a cabin cruiser?”

“Cabin cruiser? Clark’s got a yacht. A relatively small one, sure, but it’s a yacht!”

“Then would you mind if I brought my sister and her fiancé?”

“The more the merrier. Debbie’s engaged?”

“Yeah, you missed the showing last week in the cafeteria. Emerald in a gold-leaf setting.”

“Nice. When’s the wedding?”

“In the Fall.”

“Debbie’s going to have a famous movie star as her maid of honor. Bet she’s over the moon about that. Well, Chuck will pick you guys up tomorrow morning. I thought he would’ve already told you. Back to the grind. See you tomorrow, Evie.”

I bumped into Chuck in the hallway a few minutes later.

“What time should we expect you tomorrow morning?”

“What time? Oh, right. I’m picking you up at 8:30. Is that okay?”

“Misty said I could bring Dad and Consuela along. Dad really wants to meet you too.”

“It might not be best idea to go, Evie.”

“Why? And it’d be rude to turn down an invitation from Misty herself.”

“Misty? No, Clark asked her to invite you. It was Clark’s idea. He said you enjoyed fishing.”

“Oh. It was Clark’s idea.” We looked at each other in silence for a moment. “Look, what can happen? Misty will be there. My Dad and Consuela will be there. Heck, Debbie and Otis are coming too. And, most importantly, you’ll be there.”

“Famous last words?”

I yawned as I clambered into Chuck’s Honda Passport at the ungodly time of 8:20 on a Saturday morning. Chuck laughed and plopped a sun hat on top of my head, tousling my barely brushed hair.

“What’s this?” I asked after closing my gaping mouth. I placed the hat on my lap and tried to tame my wild auburn mane with the splayed fingers of my right hand.

“You’ll thank me when we get out into open water. The sun can be brutal this time of year. Did you bring a bathing suit?”

“No, I wasn’t planning on getting a tan or swimming in the ocean.”

“Clark will be sorely disappointed,” Chuck cracked as he gunned the engine. “So, your parents aren’t coming?”

“Dad and Consuela got invited to Trent’s parents’ house in Pacific Palisades. Debbie and Otis have to go along since they’re driving them there. Dad said it’d be impolite not to go, especially since today’s their last full day in LA.”

“I take it you’re okay with Trent’s extracurricular activities?”

“Oh, Chuck, it’s all show biz. You know that. We’re faking it until the show premieres. If the public wants to “ship” the two of us, so be it. I’m over him.”

“Still want to bear his babies?”

“Oh, shut up! My sister repeats everything to everybody.”

“Hungry?” I nodded. “Reach back behind you and grab that bag. I stopped off in Chinatown to pick up some breakfast burritos and beverages. Coffee or juice?”

I reached into the bag and handed one of the burritos to Chuck. He chose the coffee. I preferred the orange juice. We chomped on our burritos and sipped our liquids as Chuck drove in a southwesterly direction toward Marina Del Rey, a 45-minute trek from Alhambra.

In the latter third of the journey, we passed SoFi Stadium in Inglewood, where Clark’s Drillers played and Trent had warbled his public apology to me. I turned away from the sight and found myself looking straight at Chuck’s profile as he kept his gaze on the road ahead of us. In the clear light of morning, I couldn’t help but take notice of how handsome he was. He didn’t have Trent’s dark, smoldering, even petulant features but…

“I promised to help you find some professional counseling—”

“And I appreciate that, Chuck. I need some guidance. Some objectivity. Is what I’m feeling real or just a result of the wacky last few months I’ve been through? I can’t take everyone else’s opinion as fact.”

“I can’t begin to know what you’re going through but you’re certainly a smashing success as a woman…even if it’s not the “real” you. Although…well, you should explore your feelings with people who deal with cases of dysphoria on a daily basis.”

“Did you find anyone?”

“Yeah, Dr. Jocelyn Petry. She’s a pediatric endocrinologist at Children’s Hospital on Sunset.”

“I’m an adult, Chuck, not a child.”

“She can point you in the right direction. To the best therapists in the city. She’s a transwoman herself.”

“Oh, I think I saw her at the benefit gala that Juan took me to. That’s where I met Alastair Knowles from GlobalNet.”

“She’s got a free hour on Monday morning. 10AM.”

“I’d rather not go alone. Could you…would you…”

“I’ll take you, Evie.”

“Thanks, Chuck. You’re a good friend…and an okay boss.” He laughed and patted my thigh just below the hem of my shorts. I placed my left hand on top of his and smiled.

“You look so cute in that sun hat,” Misty declared as she greeted me with a hug when I stepped onto main deck of the motor yacht.

“Chuck gave it to me. He said the sun can be brutal—” Clark wrapped me in a friendly bear hug, grinning, his eyes hidden behind navigator sunglasses.

Chuck embraced his sister and shook Clark’s hand. “We’re a little late. The traffic was surprisingly congested for a weekend morning.”

“Your parents didn’t come, Evie?” wondered Misty. “Clark told me your dad was an avid fisherman.”

“Trent Foster’s parents invited them out to their home in Pacific Palisades. My sister and her fiancé had to drive them, of course. I’m afraid it’s just me today…”

“Well, a smaller sailing party will just make for a cozier outing. We can still get in some prime deep-sea fishing later in the afternoon,” brightly noted Clark.

“Let me give you a tour of the boat, Evie.” Misty took my arm and led me into the interior of the yacht.

“It’s a yacht, Misty! Not a boat. Right, Chuck, my boy?”

“It’s a question of semantics.”

“And a few tens of millions of dollars, Chuck.” Clark laughed. “Ready for another long drive contest? I’ve got the swim platform all set up. This way.” He pointed toward the stern of the yacht and waved Chuck toward him as he walked away.

Clark’s motor yacht was the largest size below Super Yacht at 90 meters from stem to stern. So large that it required a crew of six, including a pilot and a chef. It moved so smoothly that I hadn’t even noticed that we had raised anchor and was already leaving the marina, heading into Santa Monica Bay.

“My God, Misty, the price on this must have been 20 million at least.”

“40 million to be exact.” I let out a low whistle. “Of course, Clark’s savvy enough to write off business expenses on it that pretty much pay for its mortgage. Business meetings, corporate parties, donating the use of the yacht for charitable organizations to stage their events. We even used the yacht for week-long cruises down the coast all the way to Puerto Vallarta and back. Fans win them in these clever contests that Clark runs for the Drillers during the football season. I’ve been pushing for a couple of those cruises for our soccer team.”

“Sounds like a great idea. What does Clark say?”

“Still working on him. He says he needs some time on the yacht for himself after all. But, with our schedules, Clark and I don’t have the coinciding free time to use the boat. I say boat because I like to needle him about it, Evie. When he first bought the boat about five years ago, he was so excited that we took it to Hawaii. We cleared about a month off our schedules. You know, Evie, at 8 knots an hour, it took almost two weeks to get to Honolulu. The kicker is we spent a total of two days on the island and turned right around, took another two weeks to get back home. Almost 4 weeks on the ocean to visit Hawaii for less than 48 hours. Clark was happy though. He got to be the captain of his own boat. I didn’t even get to sleep in a luxury hotel suite. We came back to the boat each night.”

“Bummer.” Misty showed me the living quarters that she and Clark luxuriated in. It was like a penthouse version of a railroad apartment. We strolled through a living room with an entertainment center (they had a marine satellite dome mounted on top of the yacht) and enough space to seat a dozen people comfortably on couches.

“With Christy away in New Zealand as an assistant coach on the U.S. team in the World Cup for the next few weeks, I took the opportunity to spend some uninterrupted time with Clark. More than we’ve had in a long, long time. It’s good to actually see your husband more than a few days a month.”

“You’re really in love with Clark, aren’t you?”

“Why would you think otherwise, Evie?”

“Oh, nothing. I guess it’s just that since I’ve been working at Sisters, I’ve rarely if ever seen the two of you together. I was thinking…”

“That it’s purely a business relationship?” We walked past a fairly large kitchen area and waved to Chef Robby, who was busy preparing lunch.

“Well…it’s a logical assumption.” Misty stopped and faced me straight on.

“Clark and I first met over 15 years ago, when he was working for his dad’s waste management company and I was training for the Olympics in Beijing. His dad was a big sponsor and Clark came by our training facilities in San Jose. He asked me out within 15 minutes of being introduced. It was love at first sight for both of us.”

We continued the tour and entered a bedroom fit for a queen and her consort with an en suite bathroom almost equal in size.

“I know about Clark’s…shall we call them…dalliances. It’s partly my fault. A man has needs—”

“It’s the 21st century, Misty! That’s bullshit. Excuse my French.”

“Clark loves me and I love him. I forgive him his trespasses. He always comes back to me after these brief flings.” She put her hand up to stop me from interrupting. “I know about Mei Ling. Clark’s even told me about it. She’s very good at her job. Runs the office like a well-oiled machine. And Clark will get tired of her soon enough—”

“I’m not that sure about that.”

“I even know what he’s thinking…about you.” I gasped. “I’m a blonde but I’m not an idiot. I like you, Evie. And I think you’re strong enough and independent enough to block any and all of his attempts to seduce you. After all, you’ve already got two men pursuing you.”

“What two men?”

“Well, Trent Foster, for one. Word of advice, sweetie, he’s bad news. Loyalty is not one of his attributes—”

“Like Clark?”

“Trent doesn’t have an excuse. He’s just a player. He’s already played you.”

“Trent and I are…co-workers. This whole psychodrama is just something the studio cooked up to get some free publicity for the TV series. We haven’t even started shooting it yet. But millions are already aware of it because they believe Trent and I are a thing.” I laughed, convincingly I thought.

“Good. Then you can concentrate on the one who’s really perfect for you.” We both sat down on the Alaskan King size bed. She took my hands in hers.

“What do you think about Chuck?”

“He’s been really nice to me. He’s a wonderful boss to work for. Smart, dedicated, caring.”

“He really likes you. He can’t stop talking about you. And you’re the right kind of girl for him. Has he asked you out yet?”

“Noooo, Misty. That’s not happening. First of all, I’m not interested in dating anyone right now. I’m very career oriented. And my life is complicated enough trying to pursue three different careers – business, baseball, and acting – without getting involved in stuff like that. Secondly, Chuck doesn’t want someone like me. He needs a real woman.”

“What do you mean?” She poked my shoulder. “You seem real enough to me.”

“I…I can’t have children.”

“You can adopt. Chuck loves children. They don’t have to be biological—”

“I’m not sure I have a maternal instinct.”

“Oh, pish posh. Of course you do, Evie. All women do. Clark and I are undergoing another IVF cycle in September. I’m praying it clicks this time. They say third time’s the charm.”

“I didn’t know, Misty. I hope it goes well for you this time. Is this something Clark is really invested in? He doesn’t strike me as much of a family man. No offense.”

She laughed but her eyes were starting to water and redden. “Clark told me just the other day. He said “I hope we have a baby girl” because he wants another exact copy of me to love and cherish. And I want to give him a son. A little boy who’d remind me so much of his daddy…”

The cynic in me reeled. The love lives of the rich and famous astounded me. But could it be? Were Clark and Misty truly in love? And did she really want me to get involved with her brother? Get married? Adopt children? Oh, the humanity!

On our way back past the kitchen area, Chef Robby informed us that Clark wanted to see us on the swim platform. He and Chuck were about to begin their long drive contest.

“Clark never beats Chuck but he keeps trying. Come on, Evie. We can cheer our men on.”

Our men?

When we reached the swim platform at the stern of the yacht, the scene before us was reminiscent of something out of Fellini’s La Dolce Vita, his parodic send-up of the lives of the rich and famous.

Chuck and Clark, 1 iron golf clubs in hand, were standing on a patch of artificial turf, pointing into the distance of Santa Monica Bay, and engaged in a loud discussion of the finer aspects of golf. One of the crew members was holding a laser rangefinder at the ready while, some 300 yards away, another crew member was idling on a jet ski, holding a pin flag in one hand.

“Clark wanted to use a driver because he thinks he’s got Chuck on brute strength. It was Chuck’s idea to use a 1 iron because the face of the club is flat and smaller, giving the advantage to the golfer with the better swing. You’ll see. Chuck’s drives will be straight and true. Clark’s drives might be longer but they won’t be straight, subtracting yardage from his result. So, Clark always ends up losing.”

“Did Chuck play golf competitively? In high school or college?”

“No, our grandfather loved to play and started Chuck out on golf from the age of 7 or 8. Well, you know Chuck’s a natural athlete. He’s good at almost every sport. The two of you have so much in common.”

“You have no idea.”

Clark teed off first. He wiggled and waggled, taking a few practice swings before addressing the ball. As Misty had predicted, Clark’s drive veered off to the left, reducing its actual distance from the tee by almost 30 yards. The crew member in the jet ski quickly rode to the spot where the ball plopped into the water and raised his pin flag. The rangefinder measured the distance to the pin flag and it was announced as 195 yards. Clark stopped within a few inches of smashing his club against the floor, cursing loudly.

Chuck addressed the ball without taking any practice swings, composed himself, keeping his head down, and swung. His smooth, levered swing caught the golf ball dead solid perfect and it soared high and far into the distance, straight as an arrow. After it plopped into the bay, the jet skier rode to the spot and raised his pin flag. The drive was measured at 225 yards. Chuck walked away from the tee and nodded at Clark.

“It’s the average of three drives, Chuck. Don’t celebrate just yet. Wanna put some money on it?”

“Clark, keep your money. It’s just a friendly contest. You’re the one who insists on doing it every time I’m on the yacht.”

Unfortunately for Clark, his two other drives were almost identical to his first – hooking badly to the left. His average for the three drives was 198 yards. On the other hand, Chuck was just as consistent, in a positive sense. His straight drives, right down the middle of the fairway, averaged 220 yards. Clark punctuated the contest by tossing the rangefinder into the bay, accompanied by a slew of expletives. He stomped off the swim platform and climbed up to the main deck, leaving Chuck smirking as he handed his 1 iron to the crew member, now bereft of Clark’s cursed rangefinder.

Lunch was served on the upper deck. Chef Robby had prepared a delightful meal, starting with a Caesar salad (Clark had a bowl of New England clam chowder instead), followed by a choice of grilled Cajun mahi wraps or panko crusted sand dabs with lemon garlic cream sauce. Misty egged me on to feed Chuck some of my mahi wrap. He almost bit into my fingers but I laughed at his exaggerated response after tasting the grilled mahi. He moaned with pleasure and wrapped his arms around himself just like Snuffles the Dog did when Quick Draw McGraw fed him a delicious biscuit.

“Correction, Misty. Chuck doesn’t love children; he is a child.”

Everyone laughed. Except Clark.

“It’s very clear you like seafood, Chuck. Now let’s see if you can actually catch some fish this afternoon. Maybe even a sand dab or two.” He turned to me. “Not likely. Chuck’s really good at golf but a piss poor fisherman. Stick with me, Evie. Between us we’ll catch us something for dinner tonight. A couple of sea bass or sheepshead. It’s a cinch.”

“Clark, why are you always competing with Chuck? We’re having a fun day on the boat—”

“Yacht! Misty, it’s a yacht!”

Early afternoon. The sun was high in the sky and the dappled still waters of the bay shone in our eyes as Chuck and I stood by the railing, laughing about lunch. Misty had decided to change into a bikini and sunbathe on a lounge chair on deck. She was reading her kindle when Clark emerged from below, holding three rods and reels in his hands.

He handed one to Chuck, kept one for himself, and gave the last to me.

“Have you ever done any saltwater or sea fishing, Evie?”

“No, my dad and I used to go fishing in Lake Farrington in New Jersey where I grew up.”

“Well, what you have in your hands is a 7-foot medium-action rod with a heavy bait caster reel and 20-pound test monofilament line. Exactly what’s required for offshore saltwater fishing. Think you can handle it?”

“Chuck can help me if I have any trouble.”

“Not if he’s on the other side of the deck. Chuck, go over by your sister. If we’re all on this side, we’ll get our lines tangled up. I can help Evie. Okay, Evie?” I shrugged my shoulders as Chuck shuffled off to the other side of the yacht.

A crewman brought out a tackle box and set it at Clark’s feet. Clark opened it and I saw it full of lures and jigs, some shaped like tiny minnows and others like squid. They came in a rainbow of colors.

“Live bait is a little messy, even for an experienced angler like me. I find these lures work just as well. Let me bait your hook. What’s your pleasure? Minnows or squid?”

Chuck picked out a few squid lures. “I’m a squid guy myself.”

“Take the minnows, Evie,” Clark advised. “We’ll see who catches the first fish.” He winked at me.

The first hour or so went by uneventfully. Chuck caught a couple of small sea dabs and had a black cod wriggle off his line. Clark and I came up empty. I asked Clark if he wanted to try switching to squid lures. He brusquely declined, saying we should stay patient. “We’re after bigger fish, Evie.”

Misty stretched her arms and yawned loudly, putting her kindle down.

“Guys, I’m really sleepy. I think I’m going to go below and take a short nap.” She disappeared before getting an acknowledgement from any of us. Clark moved closer to me and took hold of my arms.

“Let’s recast. Maybe try a spot just a little more to the right. Over there. Betcha there’s some sea bass just waiting for some dancing little minnows to drop in.”

“I can recast myself. The rod’s not too heavy to handle. And the motion’s sort of like an overhand delivery by a baseball pitcher.”

“Just trying to help. Give me a shout if you hook something.”

Chuck glanced my way and shook his head. I smiled and returned the shake. About ten minutes later, I got a nibble on my line. I started to turn the reel.

“No, Evie! Give him some run. Slack off,” Clark exclaimed. “When it stops, then you reel it in. But slowly. Don’t jerk the line.” He stood behind me and kept my arms still so I couldn’t turn the reel. His hot breath poured over my neck as he crushed the brim of my hat.

“You’re hurting me, Clark. Back off!”

“I’m only trying to help you.”

Suddenly, I felt Chuck grabbing Clark’s shoulders and pulling him off me.

“What the fuck?!!” Clark turned around and pushed Chuck away. “Don’t put your hands on me!”

“Leave Evie alone, will you? She’s perfectly capable of reeling in her own catch. Stop trying to cop a cheap feel.”

“It’s alright, Chuck. Clark just got a little over-excited.”

“Don’t defend him, Evie. He’s a fucking horndog. He was just waiting for Misty to go below so he could molest you. I’m not having it.”

“Look who’s talking. The only reason Chuck hired you is he’s got a boner for you. Why do you think 99% of the staff at Sisters are women? He’s fucked at least half of them.”

“It’s not true, Evie. He’s lying.”

“I don’t care who’s lying and who’s telling the truth. I’m not interested in either of you. I’m not interested in dating anyone. Why can’t everyone get that through their tiny little minds? Meanwhile, I just lost the fish that was on my line. Whatever the heck it was.” I showed them the end of my line, minus the lure and the hook. There was a mystery fish out there somewhere with indigestion.

“You’re like a bad rash, Chuck. I wish I could get rid of you. If it weren’t for Misty begging me to give you the job in the first place—”

“Like you’re some kind of business tycoon? You broke a dozen federal laws dumping all that garbage on a landfill in Arizona. You’d be twice as rich if you didn’t have to pay off every politician in the state.”

“Shut the fuck up! Get off my yacht! Now! I’m calling a tender. I want you on it. You hear?”

“Fine! I hate your fucking boat anyway. I only came to keep your grubby hands off of Evie—”

Clark grabbed the front of Chuck’s shirt and they pushed against each other, sliding along the wet, slippery deck. I tried to pull them apart but it was futile. They were six-footers, each weighing 200 pounds at least, and pretty fit. I was athletic but small compared to them.

“What the hell is going on?” It was Misty. She emerged from below, wearing a kimono covering her bikini. “Stop it! Stop fighting. You’re scaring Evie.”

They separated but stood warily a few feet apart, still seething.

“I want him off the yacht, Misty. He’s a damned buzz kill. He just accused me of trying to rape Evie. For God’s sake, I was helping her reel in a fish. Then your moron brother attacked me.”

“Chuck, is that true?”

“Of course not. Evie told him to let her go. Ask Evie.”

“Evie?”

“I think it’s all a misunderstanding. Yes, Clark grabbed me a little too tightly but he was trying to help me reel in that fish. Chuck got a little too over-protective and…I guess things got out of hand. Please, I don’t want to come between you three. I should have just stayed away after my parents couldn’t come. You’ve all been so nice to me. And all these bad feelings are because of me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

Misty embraced me. “You’re not to blame, sweetie. It’s this stupid rivalry between them. I wish they’d act like adults instead of little boys.”

“Call for the tender, Clark. You’re not kicking me off. I’m leaving of my own accord. Happily.”

“Chuck, stay.”

“No, Misty. The fun’s over for today. I’ll wait on the swim platform for the tender.” He turned to me. “Sorry for ruining your afternoon, Evie. Misty’ll see that you get home. I’m sure Chef Robby has something special planned for dinner.”

As soon as Chuck left, it dawned on me that the rest of the day on the yacht would be a horror show. I had nothing to say to either Clark or Misty. I was as embarrassed for myself as I was for them. And I felt very bad for Chuck. He had acted to protect me from Clark. He risked Clark’s anger and retribution to save me from his clutches. And I had failed him by mealy mouthing the whole situation. I was ashamed of myself.

“I’m really exhausted, Misty. The heat’s getting to me. I think I should take that tender with Chuck and get back to solid ground before I swoon. Despite how it ended, I really enjoyed my time today. You’ll excuse me. Goodbye Clark. Misty.” They seemed a little stunned by my early exit and just nodded. I left them there, facing each other from opposite sides of the deck.

Sitting close together in the cramped confines of the tender as it sped toward the marina, Chuck gave me an incredulous look. Then he laughed.

“That wasn’t the smartest thing to do, Evie.”

“What? I alienated Clark…and maybe Misty too?”

“Yeah. Did you think were sticking up for me?”

“I should have been more…upfront about what happened.”

“Clark wouldn’t have gotten angry at you. If anything, he likes women with spunk. Makes him even hotter for them.”

“That’s not what I want.”

“What is it you want, Evie?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

“Maybe Dr. Petry can help you figure it out. Like I said, she’s a transwoman herself.”

“Chuck?”

“Yes?”

“Do you really like kids? Like Misty said you do?”

“Sure. I’d like to have a family someday. Why?”

“What if they weren’t your biological children? Would you love them just the same? Could you?”

“Of course. Parent-child bonding isn’t exclusively dependent upon sharing the same genetic material.”

I turned away to face the coastline and the marina just minutes away in the distance. The breeze felt cool against me and I pulled my sun hat down more securely to keep it from blowing away. I heard Chuck laughing as I must have looked silly. I stuck my tongue out at him.

Chuck drove me back home. I thanked him and apologized again for ruining the day. He waved me off and wouldn’t take back the sun hat.

“You’ve twisted it all out of shape anyway. It’s yours. Maybe you can make a fruit basket out of it. See you Monday morning. Oh, and wear clean underwear. You want to make a good impression on Dr. Petry.” I took a swipe at him with the battered sun hat.

I called Debbie and told her that I was already home from my yacht outing. I didn’t go into detail about the afternoon’s events. When I asked her how things were going with the visit to the Fosters, she told me dad and Consuela were getting along very well with Trent’s parents.

“The Fosters think you’re going to marry Trent. And they’ve practically convinced dad and Consuela that the two of you are deeply in love. You’ve got a real situation, sis.”

I poured myself a nice glass of iced tea and sank into the couch, deciding to take my mind off a thousand worrying thoughts by opening the mail which Debbie had allowed to pile up unopened on the coffee table. The third envelope contained my union card from the Screen Actors Guild. I guess I’m legitimately an actor now. I’ve got the card to prove it.

Sorry for being a bit late with this latest chapter. Real life caused some delay in my posting schedule. To make up for this, please enjoy this longer than usual chapter.

The cartoon elephant that was extruding from the wall loomed above my head, looking every bit as ponderously large as the real thing. I couldn’t help glancing nervously over my left shoulder at it.

“Want to switch seats?” Chuck asked me, a wry smile on his lips.

“No, it’s okay. That thing looks almost real…for a cartoon, of course. You’d think it’d scare the bejesus out of a little kid…”

We were sitting in the waiting room of the Gender Health Services Division of Children’s Hospital on Monday morning. Chuck had arranged an appointment for me with Dr. Jocelyn Petry, a pediatric endocrinologist. I don’t know why but I was dressed in a summery blouse and skirt combination and open-toe low heel sandals. My right leg was anxiously bouncing.

“Boy or girl?” asked a woman seated across from us, a male child of about 10 or 11, just before the onset of puberty, quietly playing a video game on his handheld console.

“Excuse me?” I stuttered, not knowing who or what she was referring to.

“Boy or girl? Is your child a boy or a girl?”

“Neither.”

“Oh, dear. You’re like me. My child…” Looking at her child with an expression of profound sympathy. “The doctors suspect he or she… They? They might be intersex. Is your child in with Dr. Petry right now?”

“No, you misunderstood. We’re not…we don’t have any children. We’re here to see Dr. Petry about another matter…”

“Well, if I may say so, when the two of you do have children, they’ll be absolutely gorgeous. What an attractive couple you make.” She leaned forward to take a closer look at me. “Oh, can it be? You’re Evie Rivers! Trent Foster’s girlfriend! I’ve seen you on TV.”

The other people in the waiting room and the two nurses behind the reception desk turned their heads our way. Unconsciously, I retreated into Chuck’s side. He placed his arm around my shoulders as I tried to shrink from view.

“Please, lady, don’t make a scene. Can we have some privacy?” Chuck pulled me into his side even further.

“I’m sorry.” She surveyed the room before lowering her voice. “I’m confused. Can doctors determine gender dysphoria in fetuses now? What wonders will they come up with next?”

“She’s not pregnant,” spluttered Chuck.

“Don’t worry, I won’t blab it to the media. You can confide in me.”

At that moment, a nurse emerged from Dr. Petry’s office, looked around the room and settled her gaze on Chuck and me.

“Evie Rivers? The doctor will see you now.”

Both Chuck and I rose from our chairs. I placed my hand on his chest.

“It’s alright, Chuck. You can go back to the office now. I’ll order an Uber later.” He shook his head and squeezed my hand.

“Are you sure? I’m good at hand holding…”

“Go. I’ll be okay. I’d rather do this one on one.”

As I walked into Dr. Petry’s office, I overheard the inquisitive woman say to Chuck in a chiding tone: “You seem like a nice young man. I’d stay away from these Hollywood types if I were you. Her baby daddy won’t even take her to see the doctor. Take my advice. She’s beautiful but she’s not worth the trouble.”

“Evie? Evie?”

I was deep in thought, mesmerized by the low bookcase in Dr. Petry’s office, lined with conventionally gender-assigned toys. Reeling in the years, I wondered. Would I have reached for the plush animals or the die-cast model cars? Or both?

“Sorry, Dr. Petry. I was lost in thought. Those toys…”

“There’s a minor diagnostic utility to them but, in all honesty, they’re to occupy my younger patients while I speak to their parents. Oh, and you can call me Joey. My patients call me Dr. Joey.”

“I feel a little awkward seeing you, Doctor. I think I’ve aged out of your core demographic.”

“Gender dysphoria exists in all age groups, from toddlers to senior citizens, Evie. May I ask you how long you’ve been presenting as female?”

“About two months, give or take a week.”

“That surprises me. You look so…so convincing as a young woman. When Chuck first told me about you, I expected to see someone…let’s say…less evolved in the real-life test. But then I googled you. Forgive me, I’m not a big pop culture consumer. However, one can’t avoid seeing video of you and Trent Foster all over TV and social media—”

“It’s a nuisance, really, Doctor. I only decided to “present” as a woman to land a job here in LA. It’s my sister’s wacky idea. Everything else that’s happened – the acting job, the press coverage, the need to keep up appearances – wasn’t what I wanted or expected.”

“Before you go on, Evie, I must tell you. I am not very tolerant of people who come to me to sign off on hormone replacement therapy so they can further their professional careers, be it performing in legitimate theater and film, drag revues, or, heaven forbid, porn. I deal with patients who have medical conditions or suffer from real gender dysphoria. Strictly. So, if that’s not the case with you, we can end this session right now. You can obtain hormones through other means and from other sources, although I’d caution you not to use them independent of any medical supervision—”

“No, I want to go through the proper channels and everything. The last two months have confirmed what everyone in my family has been trying to tell me since I was 6 or 7 years old. That I’m really, in mind and soul if not body, a girl. I’ve fought against accepting it. I tried to be what a male person is supposed to be, to feel, to act. And now, I’m ready. Ready to claim my true identity. I’m a woman. I’ve always been a woman.”

“Well, that’s quite a little speech. I’m inclined to believe you. However, it’s my professional and ethical duty to verify that you suffer from dysphoria. That’s how I roll.”

“I understand totally. How do we start?”

“I’m going to refer you to a therapist who is among the best in the region. Don’t worry, she works with adults. But first, I want to do some blood tests to check your hormone levels. You might be suffering from partial androgen insensitivity syndrome.”

“What’s that?”

“Inability or reduced capability of your body to process testosterone. But it’s only a hunch. We’ll confirm or rule it out when the results come back in a few days. Then, we’ll proceed. Okay?”

“Sounds good to me. I don’t know if my company’s health plan covers this—”

“Chuck’s taken care of it. I thought you knew that.”

“Chuck shouldn’t have. I can pay. Down the road, when my SAG-AFTRA plan kicks in—”

“So GlobalNet knows you’re not a biological female?”

“Well, no…not yet. I’m not sure it’ll go over well if I tell them. They might fire me on the spot.”

“Alastair Knowles is your producer, right?”

“Yes, he is.”

“You lucked out, Evie. If there’s anyone in Hollywood who is supportive of transgender people, it’s Alastair. His wife, Joanne, is a transwoman. I’m sure he’d be sympathetic to your situation. But don’t act like you were trying to hide the facts from him. No one likes being deceived.”

“Chuck told me you’re friends with Alastair and Joanne. How do you come about knowing them?”

“Through my mother. It’s a long story. And not that pertinent to your situation. Now, if you’ll go into the next room, Nurse Krumholtz will come and draw your blood samples in a few minutes.”

I shivered. “I don’t like having my blood drawn. It gives me the willies.”

“It’s only 30 milliliters. That’s a little bit more than one ounce, Evie. You’ll survive. After you’re done, you’ll be asked to fill out our patient forms with your contact information, etcetera, etcetera. This is the first step in what I hope is a successful journey on the road to womanhood.”

We shook hands and I sauntered into the adjoining room, plopped myself onto the exam table, and waited for the nurse to appear and do her thing. About two minutes in, my phone rang. It was Juan Moskowitz, my intrepid agent.

“Hi Juan. What’s good?”

“Hi, Evie. Alastair Knowles confirmed with me that you’re on strike—”

“What? But I’m not a writer—”

“SAG-AFTRA voted to strike in solidarity with the WGA. Pretty much every production in town has been shut down. Sorry, Evie, this might go on for a while. Maybe even until deep into the Fall if past strikes are any indication.”

“But how am I going to make a living in the meantime? Hypothetically, I’ve given notice at Sisters Sportswear—”

“Maybe they’ll rip up your resignation, Evie. I’m sure they’ll understand the circumstances.”

“Not if Clark Ruskin has any say about it.”

“That’s tough, Evie. But, hey, I’m working on an acting job for you that could happen as soon as next week.”

“How’s that possible? I’m on strike—”

“Under the working agreement we have with the industry, there are loopholes. Music videos are one such loophole. Union members are allowed to work on those, among some other things.”

“But I’m not a singer or musician, Juan.”

“Evie, they just want you to appear in it. It’s a video to support a music track that’s being released as soon as they can finish editing it. And the best thing about it is the artist is your good friend Trent Foster!”

“Oh, no, Juan!”

“Oh, yes, Evie. Danny Dantley’s directing and he and Trent are desperate to cast you in it. Like real, real desperate. I can get you top dollar…no, make it over the top dollar for this. I’ll close the deal in the next 24 to 36 hours. Hey, the label’s paying for it anyway. Get your passport ready, Evie. You’ll be in Berlin next week!”

“I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Gotta go, Evie. I’m meeting with Trent’s label execs in thirty minutes. I’ll update you when I can.”

“Berlin?!!!”

He had already disconnected. I stared at my phone, incredulous. Nurse Krumholtz walked in.

“Which arm do you prefer, Ms. Rivers?”

I stumbled out into the midday sun, still a bit woozy from having had my blood drawn. That nurse took more than an ounce, I swear. The orange juice didn’t help. I felt weak. And hungry. As I headed west on Sunset Boulevard on foot (was I the only pedestrian in sight?), I dismissed the choice of eateries I passed: Starbucks, Sunset Bistro aka Café 233, Los Burritos (the Original), Fun Ol’ Cakes. I was five long blocks west of Children’s Hospital, slowly being baked by the sun, with the famous Palm Trees that the city was planning to replace with native plants providing no shade as well as breaking the cooling breeze that might have partly remedied my threatened incineration.

Not only was I hungry (and thirsty), but I also badly needed some time to process my morning and what had transpired over the weekend. Here I was, getting a prospective green light to begin my transition, feeling good about being proactive about my gender issues, when I get smacked in the head by this darned SAG-AFTRA strike. On top of facing being fired the minute I walk into the office, what a comedown! Even with the advance I got from GlobalNet (minus tax, Juan’s 10% commission, and all the billed-back expenses), how am I going to survive in Los Angeles if the strike goes into late Fall or even winter? Now I can’t even afford a car, of which the sweat dripping down my forehead is a cruel reminder. And forget about paying for the therapy sessions, hormone treatment, and medical consultations!

Finally, I reached Shangri-La, otherwise known as Burger King. You can get a real meal there. A Whopper of a meal. As expected, most of their business was through the drive-by window. Inside, only a handful of patrons sat at scattered tables, and I was already second in line to give my order at the counter. Five minutes later, I carried my tray of the vaunted Whopper Meal (Whopper with cheese, medium fries, and a medium Diet Coke) to a secluded table close to the exit. As I was about to chomp down on my Whopper, a woman who looked to be in her 60s suddenly appeared behind my left shoulder.

“You’re Evie Rivers, aren’t you?” I pegged her as a woman in her 60s, but she was dressed like Kendall Jenner: cropped white tank top, beneath which just a tad bit too much flesh was protruding, lime green wide-legged trousers (likely a knock-off of the Frankie Shop original), and mahogany brown platform sandals. To literally top it off, her sunglasses sat on her head.

“Yes?” Instead of shaking my hand, she gave me a tiny finger wave from less than a foot away.

“I’m so excited to meet you. Especially here. Where the elite meet to eat!” She laughed a smoker’s laugh, ending in a sound that made you think she was about to spit up a furball. “I’m Hanna Van Gogh.” She emphasized the pronunciation of her last name. It was with a soft g, the way people living in the South of The Netherlands did in Vincent’s time.

“Nice to meet you. Do you want an autograph?” I reached into my purse for a pen.

“No, thanks. I want the same thing you want at the present time: a job.”

“Does everyone in this town read the trades? Don’t you people have other things to follow like sports or politics?”

“I don’t know about everyone, but I do. I’m an extra in the same boat as you. I’m on strike. In fact, I just applied for unemployment this morning. You should probably do the same.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not eligible in this state. I haven’t worked the minimum three months prior to applying and, technically, I quit my regular job, thinking they’d start shooting the series at the end of next month. I’m fucked. Excuse my French.”

“Well, you’re lucky though. You’re handled by CAA. They’ll find you some work in the meantime. Me, I’m going to be eating a lot of PB&J sandwiches. Not this haute cuisine.” She dramatically spread her arms.

“Hanna, give me your name and contact information. I’m not 100% sure but there might be some work on a music video—”

“For Trent Foster? Oh, girl, you need to close the deal with that boy. Hang on for dear life. There’s community property in this state!”

“I’m not about to marry him just for a meal ticket. I’m not really into him anyway. So, do you have a valid passport, Hanna?”

“Umm, yeah, why?”

“Clear your calendar for next week, just in case. I promise I’ll get you in on this if my agent isn’t talking out of his rear end. Let me finish my lunch. I’ve already ordered an Uber. It should be here… (I looked at the app on my phone) …in ten minutes.”

The Uber ride back to the office was…exasperating. The driver immediately recognized me. Duh. I ordered the car under my name, brother. Then he annoyingly teased me about being picked up at a Burger King on Sunset and North Kenmore. I snapped back at him by replying that I liked finding out how the other half lived, like using a ride-share service. The snarl in my voice kept him silent for the rest of the ride.

When I came out of the elevator on our office floor, I was greeted by Debbie, who peppered me with questions about my appointment with Dr. Petry. As we walked toward Chuck’s office, I tried to shush her. Too late. Buzz Feiten, leaving the office on his way to a sales call, crossed our path, stopped, and asked why I had gone to a doctor. Debbie blurted out, “Female troubles!” At that, Buzz frowned and walked quickly toward the elevators. “Well, best of luck. No need to go into detail. See you, ladies.”

I ignored Mei Ling as we approached the open door to Chuck’s office. “I have to speak to Chuck, Debbie. Something’s come up. Something unexpected.” She nodded and didn’t slip her arm from mine. We both just managed to squeeze through the doorway together. There was a groan but not from me. Good thing I ordered the Diet Coke instead of a regular Coke.

Chuck looked up from his desk and smiled, greeting me warmly. He moved quickly to close the door.

“How did it go?”

“Well. It went very well. Dr. Petry took some blood samples to check my hormone levels. Once we get the results, she’ll refer me to a therapist who’ll confirm that I’m ready to undergo HRT. That’s what I’m hoping anyway. But there’s something else. First of all, Chuck, I didn’t expect you to pay for my treatment. I was capable of paying for it myself—”

“Don’t argue with me, Evie. It’s something I want to do.”

“Unfortunately, things may have changed. Drastically. I can’t turn down your help now. I’m on strike and the series has been shut down indefinitely. Who knows if GlobalNet won’t just scrub the whole project if the strike goes past November! And I’ve technically tendered my resignation from Sisters. And Clark is going to fire me anyway—”

“Whoa, Evie. Take a breath. Clark’s not firing you. Not that I’ve heard. Misty said he was sorry that whole episode took place on Saturday. Told her it was all a huge misunderstanding.” He shrugged his shoulders. “As far as I’m concerned, you can work here as long as you want. Now stop hyperventilating, okay?”

“Are you sure Clark’s not thinking of firing me?”

“I’m still here too. He would’ve fired me first if he was still hot about what happened.”

Chuck’s office phone rang. He picked up. There was a brief exchange, and he replaced the receiver.

“Well, that’s strange. Clark wants to see both of us—”

“I knew it! It’s been one thing after another today.”

“What’s strange is he’s not coming up. He wants us to meet him in the parking lot. He’s there right now. Let’s see what he wants.” Chuck followed me out of his office. Debbie caught up to us at the elevators. “I’ve got your back, sis. I’ll quit if he fires you!”

“Don’t be an ass, Debbie. One unemployed daughter is all our dad can tolerate.”

By the time we got down to the parking lot, we had unwittingly brought along almost half of the office with us. Clark Ruskin stood by a shiny new red Corvette Stingray Coupe, a mile-wide smile on his face.

“Come get your new car, Evie Torch red. I hope it’s your favorite color. Kinda goes perfect with your hair.”

With one hand over my mouth, I approached the car slowly, my other hand trembling as I touched the smooth, warm carapace of the Corvette. It was a sensual experience. I looked at Clark, then Debbie, and finally, Chuck.

“I’m flabbergasted. Thank you! Thank you, Clark. I need a car, badly. But I thought you were going to fire me after what…what happened…”

“Fire you? Why would I do that? Because of the little kerfuffle on Saturday? Come on. It’s forgotten already. Hey, Chuck has apologized. Not a big deal.”

“I never apologized, Clark—”

“Well, not in so many words but I could sense the spirit behind what you did say.”

“Whatever, Clark. I did not apologize—”

“Boys, boys. Let’s bury the hatchet, okay?”

“Mei Ling, can you pass me the hatchet? I know the perfect place to bury it.”

“I know you’re joking, Chuck. Cause there’s no hatchets in the office. Right, Mei Ling?” He laughed and took my arm. “Now, Evie, let’s take this baby out for a spin. It’s got a top speed of 194. Shame the speed limit is about 130 miles per hour below that.”

Clark handed me the keys and I slipped into the driver’s seat. Before Clark could turn the corner to take the seat next to me, Debbie rushed in and claimed it for herself. Undeterred, Clark leaned in and gestured for Debbie to step out.

“Debbie, don’t you have some work to do this afternoon?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry. I guess there’s plenty of opportunity to ride in it. After all, we’re sisters. We share everything.”

“Just step out.” Debbie extricated herself from the car and walked back toward the rest of the gathered office crew. Clark sat down and took the remote to raise the barrier gate out of his shirt pocket. “Let’s roll! Gun that engine!”

“Where are we going? Once around the block?”

“Nah, what’s the fun in that? Let’s see how this baby handles. Head north on East Main and make a right onto South Mission Drive.”

“I never realized there were so many Jack-in-the-Boxes in this part of town.”

“Never been to one. I’m a Burger King guy myself.”

“That’s funny. I just had a Whopper meal for lunch.”

“I like women with a hearty appetite. Misty was a vegan for a while. What a buzz kill. Good thing she gave it up finally. I’m glad you like meat, Evie.”

“Clark, about my leaving the company to start shooting that TV show—”

“Yeah, I know. You’re on strike. Every production in town is on hold. Bob Iger’s a close friend and he tells me the strike could go until November, maybe December. No offense, Evie, but you can’t have the peasants running the castle, if you get my drift.”

“So, you see me as a peasant?”

“Just a figure of speech, honey—”

“Don’t call me honey.”

“Look, there’s another In and Out. Speaking of which, you’re welcome to stay in the company as long as you want. I told Chuck to tear up your resignation letter.”

“Well, that’s a load off my mind, Clark. I thought I’d lost two jobs in one fell swoop. I was out of work for almost two months before I came to L.A. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. Where can we turn back? Do we take a right on Valley Boulevard?”

“No keep going. Up ahead, we can merge onto I-10.”

“Why are we getting onto I-10?”

“It’s the quickest route to Las Vegas. I’d say we’ll be in downtown Vegas in less than 4 hours. We can switch seats if you get tired after a while.”

“I’m not going to Las Vegas with you, Clark!”

“Come on! It’ll be fun. I’ll stake you a couple of grand and you can try the poker or blackjack tables. Or you could just sit by me and watch me break the bank. I’m a high roller just like my dear old daddy.”

“Don’t you have a wife to go home to?”

“Misty decided to go watch Christy coach our World Cup team in New Zealand. She left on Sunday.”

“That was sudden.”

“We…uh…had some words. You don’t know Misty that well. She’s got a temper on her.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t something you might have said or done over the weekend—”

“I like a woman with a sarcastic streak. But let’s not talk about Misty. Let’s talk about how much fun we’ll be having in Vegas tonight.”

When the light turned green at the intersection of South Mission and Valley, I made a right. I had turned on the GPS while Clark was fantasizing about Las Vegas and set a course to return to the office.

“You’re a hard nut to crack, Evie, but I’ve got the right size pliers for the job. And I’m a very patient man.”

The man was building a great harassment suit against himself. But I needed the job and there was something about me that just didn’t need to be exposed right now. I just have to remain strong and grin and bear it…for now.

Every night that week, Debbie and I drove through Los Angeles from east to west, Pasadena to Santa Monica, and north to south, Van Nuys to Irvine. 1500 square miles of neighborhoods, communities, and towns. The City of Angels transforms itself into The City of Night. A sprawling mass of humanity like no other in the Western World. I thought about how different it would be if I had experienced this as a man, not the woman I am now. Yes, I am woman. Hear me roar!

Wherever we stopped to gas up the car, purchase some drinks and snacks, or have a taste of more than a hundred different world cuisines, I got recognized, sometimes ogled and whistled at. I posed for countless selfies, signed a few autographs, and petted several dogs. I was even asked to kiss a baby, though I don’t recall ever declaring a run for political office. Debbie was thrilled and shot picture after picture on her phone, which she showed Otis after we returned home at the stroke of midnight.

By Friday morning, I had convinced myself that my surprising interlude in show business had ended abruptly with the ill-timed strike halting all TV and film production. I hadn’t heard from Juan since Monday morning, so I assumed the music video gig had fallen through. Not that I especially looked forward to working with that player Trent, but the money would’ve come in handy in paying for my transition costs.

But I did receive some good news that morning. The results of my blood test had come back. Dr. Petry said my hormone levels were well within the parameters of “normal” people assigned male gender at birth. Now we have a baseline to use as a guide to determine the proper dosage of hormones when I start HRT. She also gave me the name of the therapist she had recommended and left it to me to set up an appointment at my convenience.

Chuck took Debbie and me out for a celebratory lunch: the house special Green Stripe pizza at Blaze’s, a few blocks down the street from the office. We came back to the office, laughing like characters in a network sitcom. You could almost hear the upbeat background music choreographing our happy steps. Buzz Feiten crossed our path, as is his wont, and asked us what the joke was. Debbie answered quickly, “Evie’s female troubles are over!”

“That was quick. It’s amazing what medical science can do these days. We should leave for Cucamonga in fifteen minutes. Let’s take your car this time. I haven’t ridden in a Corvette since my college buddy’s father got him one for his graduation. Can’t wait!”

Rancho Cucamonga is part of the Inland Empire in San Bernadino County, 45 miles east of downtown Los Angeles. Named after the native tribe that inhabited the region, the Kukamonga. Buzz and I tooled my brand-new Corvette Stingray to LoanMart Field, home of The Rancho Cucamonga Quakes, Single-A affiliate of The Los Angeles Dodgers, where we hoped to finalize a deal to produce 10,000 Quakes t-shirts, sponsored by LoanMart, a company that processes car title loans, for a Labor Day give-away.

Buzz practically jumped out of the car 10 seconds after I parked near the bungalow next to the stadium which housed the team’s executive offices.

“Come on, Evie. Get a move on. We’re ten minutes late!”

“Hold on, Buzz. I gotta change shoes. It sucks trying to drive in heels.” I switched into my black 3-inch pumps and carefully got out of the car, mindful not to flash Buzz.

“Women,” he harumphed. “But the heels do make your—”

“Watch it, Buzz. And don’t lag behind me. I know what you’re doing.”

“That went really well, Evie. Nice touch getting them to order 10,000 more. They severely underestimate the national market for minor league tchotchkes these days.”

As we reached the front door of The Quakes’ offices, a tall figure in a Quakes warmup jersey came into view behind us.

“Evie? Evie Rivers?”

I almost dropped my briefcase when I recognized Ray Crawford, my old college teammate. My heart skipped a beat. My free hand went right to my mouth to suppress the embarrassing squeal I felt about to emerge.

“Evie, my brother told me he’d bumped into you. My God, you…you look different. Different and beautiful. How?”

“Ray. It’s been a dog’s age. What are you doing…” I noticed Buzz holding the door handle, his expression a mixture of amusement and confusion. “Buzz, could you wait for me in the car. I’ll be out in a few. Okay?”

“Old boyfriend? Gotcha. I’ll…uh…give you some privacy. Nice to meet you…”

“Ray. Ray Crawford.”

“I’ll be in the car with the A/C full blast.” Buzz left us alone.

“He doesn’t know.”

“Neither do I, Evie. Somehow, I’m not surprised but how did you suddenly become a Hollywood starlet and Trent Foster’s new squeeze? I couldn’t believe the hot babe on TV and my old Rutgers teammate were the same person. But here you are. It is you!”

“It’s me,” I admitted, grinning goofily. “It’s a long, crazy story. But what are you doing here?”

“I’m the Quakes’ general manager. The youngest GM in pro ball.”

“You disappeared after you wrecked your knee in that stupid bike race—”

“Motocross is not stupid, Evie. Well, I couldn’t pitch anymore so, being it was my senior year, I buckled down to get my degree on time. I guess I didn’t hang out with you guys because I didn’t want to be reminded and distracted.”

“Was I a distraction, Ray? I thought we were best buds. We roomed together on road trips—”

“That was the problem, Evie. Hey, you disappeared too. I tried to contact you after graduation, but your dad said you didn’t want to return my call.”

“I guess I didn’t want the distraction either. Getting my MBA was hard. You know I wasn’t the best student in the world.”

“Bullshit. You’re the smartest girl…I mean guy…or girl I’ve ever met.”

“I’ve got to go. Buzz will try to hot wire my car if I don’t hurry back.”

“I’ll walk you.” We stepped out into the hot afternoon sun. With my free hand, I reached into my briefcase, took out my sunglasses, and put them on.

“I’d like to catch up with you, Evie. Come to the game tonight. You can sit with me behind the dugout. Maybe you can scout my pitchers. You were always good at analysis. And then, after the game, we can get a bite nearby in Victoria Gardens. Please?”

“I’d like that, Ray.” We stopped at my car and turned to face each other. Awkwardly, Ray first held out his hand to shake, then raised both arms to embrace me. I walked into his arms and looked up at him. Even in three-inch heels, Ray was half a head taller. He leaned in and kissed me. I was shocked but my lips responded, my heart beating fast and furious.

Moments later, after changing my shoes again, I settled into the driver’s seat, and Buzz deadpanned, “I think he likes you.”

The stadium was packed on a hot summer Friday night and the hometown Quakes were destroying the opposition, 7 zip, in the 5th inning. Between innings, they showed my face on the giant scoreboard. Sitting behind the Quakes’ dugout, Ray and I kept being interrupted by players popping their heads out from under the dugout roof and whistling. The worst was the batboy, a pimply teenager who kept repeating in a sing-song lilt, “Ray Ray’s got a new girlfriend. Trent’s gonna kill you. Na na na na na.”

I was providing my scouting notes on the Quakes as the game progressed but, every few minutes, a line of fans would form in the aisle, asking for autographs and selfies…from me. I could see Ray wince every time some young girl or woman would ask me if Trent Foster was as dreamy in person as he seemed on screen.

“So, you and Trent are pretty tight, huh?”

“It’s just good publicity for the show…whenever the hell this strike ends. It’s professional, not personal.”

“Things would have been a lot different if I had known back in school that you liked guys.”

“What does that mean?”

“Can you sign my autograph book, Evie?” I looked up at the teenage girl holding out a spiral notebook, open to a page that already had Trent Foster’s signature on it.

“I got Trent’s autograph at SoFi last week. But it was the show the night after he sang that apology song to you. It’d be so epic if you signed right below him. I can’t even…”

“Ray Ray’s got a new girlfriend. Trent’s gonna kill you. Na na na na na.”

“Just shut up already. Wanna see me play whack-a-batboy?” Ray turned to me and mock-laughed. “You’re a bigger draw than the team, Evie. Sorry to interrupt your fanfest with a baseball game.”

“Who’s he? Your bodyguard?” the girl asked, as I posed for a selfie with her, taken at arm’s length, Ray’s bemused face in the background.

“Man, you’re on top of the world, Evie. Look at this car! It makes my Dodge Challenger look like shit. Your boss just gave you this like a bonus or something?”

“Sort of. It’s kind of a make-up gift for something he shouldn’t have done.”

“Clark Ruskin, huh. Yeah, he’s a well-known horn dog. I would’ve punched his lights out. Just take the next right.”

“Oh, wow, you’ve got a Shake Shack here.”

“Just opened this Spring. Unfortunately, it closes promptly at 9:30. Pretty much everything in Victoria Gardens closes at 9:30. It’s not like L.A. where things are open 24/7. But Silverlake Ramen is still open. There’s free parking.”

Being the only restaurant in the area still open, the place was filled almost to capacity. Because of Ray’s celebrity status, we were led to a corner table almost immediately. The maître d showed no sign that he recognized me. Which was fine and boosted Ray’s ego a bit.

“Didn’t you once tell me that once you graduated, you’d never eat another bowl of ramen again to save your life?”

“Okay, I exaggerated. But they’ve got other good stuff here. Check out the menu.” He pointed to the items on the sheet. “There’s rice dishes like the Spicy Tuna and the Chicken Karaage. Or if you’re into sushi, there’s the California Roll or the Shrimp Tempura Hand Roll. My favorite is the Pork Bun. I order that when I want to pig out—”

“Your sense of humor hasn’t changed since school, Ray. Awful. Just short of dad jokes.”

“Tell me about it, Evie.”

“It’s Debbie’s idea. When the Titans fired me, I was desperate for a job. My MBA’s in marketing and branding so…she got me an interview with her company here in L.A. Quite by accident, an agent for CAA recruited me in a dog park and got me a screen test for this new show on GlobalNet, starring Trent Foster. Before I could exhale, they signed me to a million-dollar deal. And everyone thinks I’m a girl. That’s about it.”

“You convinced me you’re a girl back in college.”

“Really? I mean, you knew I was guy…anatomically. We roomed together. I showered with the rest of the team. You must have peeked over the partition—”

“Turns out I was sure but you weren’t. That about sums it up, no? I would’ve told you how I felt about you, but you never gave it away. I didn’t want to make you think I was gay or something.”

“I didn’t know, Ray.”

“So, are you going to transition or just keep hiding behind the pretense? Everyone’s bound to find out. Especially Trent. If you two are serious—”

I placed my hands on my hips and kept my voice low, but my expression hinted at a scream.

“Look, there’s nothing between Trent and I. Nothing, zilch, nada. He’s a…a co-worker. That is if they don’t scrub the show due to the strike. I get to keep my advance in any case but that’ll be the end of my brief but meteoric career in show business. Evie, we hardly knew ye.”

In his best Jim Carrey voice, “So you’re telling me there’s a chance?”

“Don’t make stupid jokes, Ray. You don’t want to be involved with me. I’m a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.”

“I love a mystery, Sir Winston. I’m not making a funny, Evie. If you’re not involved with anyone right now… Would you want to spend some time together? We’re both in SoCal now. I’m not seeing anyone—”

“I’m starting my transition. I got referred to a therapist and I could be on hormones soon. Do you really need to be dating someone going through that?”

Ray took both my hands in his and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I fell in love with you the first year we made varsity. All the time we were in school, I thought it was an impossible dream. But now, here we are. I love you, Evie. I always have.”

“This is crazy talk, Ray. You want someone less complicated, more stable. You need a real woman—”

“But that’s what you are…already. Is it because I’m just some low-paid baseball wonk in a backwater minor league town? I believe in myself, Evie. I’m gonna make the majors. You’ll see.”

“Ray…I…” My phone rang. “Excuse me. It’s Debbie. I’ve got to take this.”

“Yeah, Debbie. What’s up?”

“Evie! Juan’s been trying to get in touch with you all evening. Voice calls, texts, everything.”

“Oh, shit, Debbie. I turned my phone off when the game started. I just turned it back on when we sat down to eat. I didn’t even check to see if I’d gotten any calls or texts.”

“Well, call him. He’s at home. Do it now! It’s very important.”

“What’s it about?”

“Just call him, Evie!”

She disconnected.

“My agent’s been trying to get in touch with me. I’ve got to return his call. Do you mind?”

“Of course not, go ahead. I’ll have some of your California Roll while you make the call.”

I crossed forks with Ray. “Don’t you dare. You’ll get cooties all over it.”

A woman answered my call.

“Oh, Evie! Juan’s been trying to get in touch all night.”

“Hi, Glynnis. Stupid me. I had my phone off until just now. Is Juan available?”

“He’s coming now. He just got back from putting the garbage out. Here, Juan. It’s Evie.”

“Thanks, honey. Evie! Evie Rivers! I’ve got great news!”

“The strike is over?”

“No, not that. I just closed a deal with Trent’s label. You’re in his new music video. I got you in way over scale. I had them over a barrel because Trent and Danny really, really wanted you. How does $20,000 for two, maybe three days’ work sound?”

“Oh my God, Juan. You’re a wizard of an agent. I need that money in the worst way!”

“Okay. I am good, aren’t I? Anyway, the shoot begins next week Wednesday. In Berlin. That’s Berlin, Germany. They’re emailing the e-ticket to you. Flight's on Tuesday morning.”

“Can I request two things, Juan?”

“Sure. What are they?”

“I know someone who could be used as an extra. I’ll send you her name and contact info. I sort of promised her I'd find her work—”

“I thought you were going to ask to have all the red M&Ms removed from the candy bowls in your trailer.”

“That too, Juan. Just kidding. The other thing is I must have Peg Somersby as my makeup & wardrobe mistress. That’s non-negotiable.”

“Peg? Sure. No problem. Danny’s worked with her a lot. Okay. We’ll be in touch. Don’t turn your phone off, Evie. Please.”

“Sorry, Juan. It won’t happen again. Good night.”

I put my phone down on the table and looked at Ray. He was chewing on a piece of my California Roll. His eyes flashed guilty surprise, but he didn’t stop chewing.

“You’re going to have to order another California Roll for me, buster.”

“Done. So, what’s the word from your agent?”

“I’m shooting a music video next week in Berlin, of all places. And I’m getting paid $20,000 for two days’ work.”

“$20,000 for standing around, just looking beautiful. What a racket. I guess the video is with—”

“Trent Foster. He’s touring Europe right now.”

“Looks like you can’t get away from him. Try as you might.”

“He does have his good points…”

Peg had to hold me back from giving Hanna a roundhouse right to the jaw, I was so exasperated with her warbling. I was sitting between Peg and Hanna in the main cabin on our flight to Berlin, Sunday evening. Yes, Sunday evening. The plane departed LAX at precisely 6PM, scheduled to land at Berlin Brandenburg in 15 hours, 6PM CEST Monday evening. There would be a 2-hour layover in New York’s JFK. Since it would be 2AM in New York, I expected to spend the 2-hour layover in a dark corner of McDonald’s, charming the sparse crowd with my ladylike snoring.

Saturday morning, Juan had called to tell me that he’d miscalculated the departure time for our flight to Berlin. In order to be there, bright-eyed and raring to go on Tuesday morning, we would need to leave at least a day earlier than originally planned. Consequently, our premium class seats would have to be downgraded to the main cabin. As Peg pointed out, the benefit of this change in travel plans was not having to get up at the break of dawn to catch the Monday 6AM flight.

Fortunately for both Hanna and me, Peg didn’t have to hold my arm back too long before they served us our first of two major meals on a 13-hour flight. For what it’s worth, Hanna thought I was just joking around so, as the attendant placed the food on her tray table, I put my arm around her shoulders and smiled. There was no singing while we ate our chicken dinner and quinoa and cherry tomato salad. There was the promise of ice cream for dessert!

Because of Hanna’s cringe-worthy singing, at least half the plane now knew who I was. Girls and women were waving at me while men and boys just stared. Fortunately, seatbelts were on. Otherwise, I could just imagine lines forming in the aisle, waiting for a selfie and an autograph. Oh, the humanity! That’s what I get for doing a good deed. And for eating at Burger King.

Thankfully, there was no more singing after the ice cream. Instead, I had to sit between Hanna and Peg as they discussed my “love life” as if I were invisible. Even with my Bluetooth earbuds snugly in place, I couldn’t escape the point-counterpoint battle being waged.

“Hanna, you’ve been in Hollywood long enough to know that matinee idol types like Trent are just a heartbreak waiting to happen. Our girl here must be very, very careful not to fall for his charming lies…”

“I’d stare into those lying eyes anytime. Not saying giving it away for free, Peg. Trent’s the one on the hook. From what I’ve seen and read, he’s head over heels for the girl—”

“Hanna, I keep telling you. Trent and I have a professional relationship. We’re just putting up a good show for our potential audience. Explain it to her, Peg.”

“I don’t know about Trent but Evie’s a great little actress. She has zero interest in the guy…outside of working with him. The only thing Evie really loves is baseball. Right, Evie?”

“Well, that’s a bit of an exagger—”

“She doesn’t have to love the guy. He’s nice to look at and he’s worth zillions. He’s box office and he’s shipping platinum in cds—”

“Nobody buys cds anymore, Hanna.”

“You know what I mean. And people do still buy cds and dvds! Get a ring from the dude and your own career will zoom! And if you get tired of him, listen, there’s community property in this state…”

“This state? We’re over Texas right now—”

“There are nine states that have community property laws.” She counted on her fingers. “Starting from the West: Washington, California, Nevada, Idaho, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Louisiana, and Wisconsin. I’ve been married in three of those states.”

“I’m not getting married to Trent!” I shouted. It was louder than I realized because of the earbuds. The buzz in the cabin subsided to near silence. I blushed beet red and hid my face behind my hands as Peg tried to calm me down.

“Just leave the girl alone, Hanna. Please.” Peg kissed my head. “Listen to your tunes, Evie. Close your eyes. There, there, sweetie.”

“Juan said Danny would send someone to pick us up. Peg, look for some guy in a chauffeur’s cap…” I pointed in a vague direction as we stood in the arrivals area of Berlin Brandenburg Airport, Terminal 1. Fortunately, we didn’t have to loiter at the luggage carousel since all three of us carried minimal baggage for a 3 day stay that we stowed in the overhead bins. Well, Peg did have her professional makeup case that she managed to just barely fit under her seat. It took us a surprisingly brief 20 minutes to get through Passport Control/Immigration and so, there we were at 6:40PM on a Monday evening in Berlin.

“There’s a guy over there holding a sign with your name on it,” pointed out Hanna.

“Do either of you speak German?” They shook their heads. “Well, I had two years of high school German which I’ve never had to put into practice. Here goes nothing.” I approached the guy with the sign, giving him my best friendly smile.

“Hallo? Sind Sie hire, um Evie Rivers abzuholen? Das bin ich. Und meine beiden Freunde.” I indicated Peg and Hanna standing ten feet behind me. “Hat Danny Dantley Sie geschickt? Wir arbeiten am Trent Foster-Video...”

He lowered his sign, took off his sunglasses and laughed. I was taken aback. Had I unknowingly said something untoward in my poor German? I only got a B minus in German. It wasn’t UN translator level, I’m sure.

“I don’t know what you asked me since I don’t speak a word of German but I’m guessing you’re Evie Rivers.” He clicked his heels and bowed his head. “I’m Julian. Mr. Dantley’s assistant. Now if the three of you young ladies will follow me, I’ve got my van parked outside.”

I turned around to call for my traveling companions, but they were both standing right behind me. We followed Julian outside. Being a gentleman, he carried Peg’s heavy makeup case for her.

“We’re staying at Hotel nhow. It’s the place where all the bands stay when they’re playing Berlin. Depeche Mode and Simply Red just left this weekend. Last month, Elton John and The Who had whole floors to themselves. You must be hungry. The hotel’s only 30 minutes from the airport.”

“Actually, we’re still on West Coast time. It’s like 10 in the morning for us. We just had breakfast on the plane.”

“That’s perfect. It’ll give you a little more time to settle in before Danny takes you out for the evening.”

“Where’s Danny taking us?” I asked, not expecting to do anything more physically demanding than catch a late dinner and finally lie down on a real bed.

“I’ll let him surprise you but I’m sure you ladies will enjoy it. I know Danny will.” He laughed.

“Will Trent be coming with us?” Hanna asked, almost breathlessly.

“He’s in Paris right now. Appearing on some French TV show. You know he’s got three concert dates in Paris next week. Then he’s touring UK and Scandinavia.”

“I was so looking forward to meeting him tonight,” Hanna sighed.

“Well, it’s only an hour and a half flight from Paris. He’ll be back in his hotel bed by 2AM. Or, at least, some bed in town.” He laughed again. “He’s pretty popular. I don’t doubt he’ll have to beat off the frauleins with a stick…uh, sorry, I mean, Ms. Rivers—”

“It’s alright, Julian. It’s no skin off my nose.” I turned to Hanna. “Maybe Trent is into milfs. Julian, can you get Hanna into Trent’s hotel room? She can be a one-woman welcoming committee.”

“If only you weren’t joking, Evie. That boy is a rizz monster. Most women would die to get next to him…”

“I’ve only been around Trent a short time but he’s always talking about you, Ms. Rivers. I know he fought with the label to get you hired for this video. They wanted someone better known like one of those supermodels. But, no, Trent told him it was you or no video. He was adamant. And Mr. Dantley too. He thinks you’re going to outshine Trent on the show…when and if it premieres.”

“If?” Peg asked, in an arch tone.

“Well, I’m not supposed to say anything, but Mr. Dantley thinks if the strike goes past September and October, GlobalNet will just toss the project, not even re-schedule it. Of course, that won’t happen if both sides can come to an agreement before then.”

Duly disheartened by that tidbit, the rest of the half-hour ride was spent in pensive silence as I watched the green and red Ampelmännchen traffic lights switch back and forth along the streets of the Gray City.

The three of us stood in the lobby of the Hotel nhow, nestled on the eastern bank of the Spree River, waiting for Danny Dantley to emerge from the elevator. We had claimed our respective hotel rooms, freshened up and changed into suitable going-out-on-the-town outfits. That, of course, meant a charming top and modest, short skirt for me. Oh, and slinky low-heeled sandals.

“I hope it’s not German food. I’ve heard it’s real heavy in carbs and fat…” Hanna declared.

“Berlin’s a very cosmopolitan city, Hanna. I’m sure a bon vivant like Danny knows all the 3-star restaurants in town—” Peg interjected.

“3 stars? That sounds pretty meh to me. I’d expect at least 4 stars—”

Danny Dantley appeared before us, as if materializing out of thin air. He was wearing a dark shirt with a button-down collar, his gray t-shirt showing underneath. Black jeans and sneakers completed a picture of utter casualness. Suddenly, the three of us felt over-dressed.

Hanna whispered in my ear. “We’ll be lucky to get 2 stars. I think we’re going for Das Cheeseburger and Fries…”

“Ladies! I hope you’re ready for a hot time in Berlin town tonight! Our car is waiting. It’s a 20-minute ride to Potsdamer Platz. We can catch up on the way.” He waved us ahead toward the front doors. “And after our evening’s adventure, we’ll have a late dinner in the best Indian restaurant in Central Berlin.”

Peg took Hanna’s arm. “A nice curry will do you a lot of good, dearie.”

Turning to me in the passenger seat of our rented Tesla, Danny refused to divulge our destination as he merged onto the Bundesstraße 1, a highway that would take us directly to Potsdamer Platz and environs.

“You’ll all be pleasantly surprised. I’m excited for it myself, to be honest. Anyway, how have you been, Evie? The strike’s put a crimp in our plans, eh?”

“Juan, my agent, told me it could be a long strike. Well into Fall. Like November.”

“I’ll be straight with you, Evie. The best we can hope for with the series is we get moved back to the Spring of next year. These things can get really sticky. Both sides are dug in.”

“That sucks, Danny. I’m having real second thoughts about pursuing this acting thing.”

“Don’t tell Trent but, frankly, my dear, you’ve got more acting ability in your pinky fingers than he’ll ever develop in his entire Hollywood career. He’s not half bad as a singer. I’d advise him to concentrate on his music. You, on the other hand, are going to win at least two Oscars—”

“Listen to him, Evie. You were born to be a star!” Peg declared enthusiastically from the peanut gallery.

Hanna moved close to the side of my head rest and whispered. “As a fallback, you should rethink your ‘professional’ relationship with Trent. Just in case.”

“We’re here.” Danny was inching the car toward the ticket booth of the Tiefgarage Potsdamer Platz, convenient to all the restaurants, shops and cultural attractions in the area. “It’s a five-minute walk to our destination.” He retrieved a ticket and drove through after the barricade was raised. “Good thing I can expense the parking. If you thought parking in LA was exorbitant, you ain’t parked in Berlin, sister.”

I was stunned, flabbergasted, confused, embarrassed. I still couldn’t believe we were sitting at a table closest to the stage of a male strip show in The Sixx Paxx Theater and Ladies Club. The mid-sized room was near capacity with tables full of women of all ages stretching from wall to wall. We were not the only tourists in the crowd. The woman from the table right next to ours told me she was from Canada, seconds after asking for my autograph. Even here, in a strip club in Berlin, sitting in semi-darkness, I got recognized.

“Does Trent know you’re here?” she teased. “We’ve got tickets for his concert tomorrow night!” She indicated her four friends at the table. They waved at me and giggled.

“Trent who?”

The lights went down and One Direction’s ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ banged out of the speakers. They were loud, the speakers, and I’m glad because it almost drowned out the voices screaming like banshees around me. Including Hanna, Peg, and, yes, Danny! I was shocked that a man of his age and size could scream in such a shrill tone. Then a booming voice began the countdown. I clutched Peg’s arm. ZEHN. NEUN. ACHT. The women were shouting along. SIEBEN. SECHS. I tried to look casual and normal like I was enjoying this, but I was not. FUNF. VIER. This promised to be excruciating. DREI. ZWEI. EINS. LAAAAAADIEEEEES! HERZLICH WILLKOMMEN BEIM SIXX PAXX!

Five giants bounded onstage. Their biceps and chests and smiling faces and slicked back hair filled up our line of sight right away. They started doing a dance routine to Justin Timberlake’s ‘Like I Love You’. The five of them were in perfect sync. Suddenly and without warning the men jumped forward, ripped their t-shirts off and threw them into the crowd. The women screamed in unison. My head was in my armpit and my arms were clutching my face and my elbows pointed upwards. I peeked out at Danny. He was mesmerized by the spectacle, mumbling the lyrics to the Timberlake song, clapping his hands arrhythmically.

The studs on stage ripped off their trousers now, which had velcro down the sides, and the music slowed down. Disappointing myself, I found two of the strippers oddly attractive. They were both bearded, built like brick shithouses, and they looked the most decent in my opinion, like underneath it all they were really good, caring guys. One of them even reminded me of Ray Crawford a little. Or maybe it was top of mind since I’d just seen him last Friday for the first time since our college days. I also realized that I’d taken my arms away from my face and was no longer curled up against Peg. She gave me a maternal look.

“It’s o.k., Evie. It’s natural for women to react to musk.” She laughed and resumed clapping.

The curtain drew closed, hiding the SIXX PAXX from view, and a brown-haired dimpled man, the Sixth Pack I suppose, came onstage with a microphone. “Ladies ladies ladies,” he said (he spoke in German, I’ll translate). “Welcome to SIXX PAXX!!!!!!” There were loud screams. “Tonight, I want you to forget about your boyfriends! Forget about your husbands! Tonight is all about YOU, ladies!!!” More screams. “Is anyone here from North America?!” he asked in English. Hands went up. Hanna, Peg, and Danny raised their hands as well. “Well – we’ll make sure you enjoy your visit to our fair city.” Danny’s hand pumped feverishly. I sank lower into my chair, trying to hide from view.

“Now I don’t want to see anyone being bashful.” He leaned forward and moved his microphone past me. He stopped in front of Hanna.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“H-H-Hanna.”

“Well, H-H-Hanna, honey, I want you to get up here and stand behind me and I want you ladies out there to shout ‘stop’ when it gets too steamy.”

Hanna jumped on stage and stood behind Dimples like there’s nowhere else on earth she’d rather be.

“I guess they don’t often pick men out of the audience,” Danny muttered. “It’s a damn shame.”

Dimples took Hanna’s right hand and put it on his taut chest. He slowly ran it down his body, bump, bump, bump over his washboard abs. The room was quiet. No one shouted stop! Bump, bump, bump and she reached his pubic bone and now it was under his belt and – I can’t believe it – her hand was inside his pants. Hanna was clutching his manhood!

The rest of the two-hour show seemed interminable to me. There were more set-pieces in which the dancers impersonated, in some random order, fighter pilots, firemen, highway patrolmen, sailors in the German navy, heavy metal rockers, and, curiously, characters from action movies like The Matrix, John Wick, Mission Impossible, and Black Panther.

As a finale, they roamed the room for women to bring up to the stage for some lap-dance shenanigans. I really didn’t want this! I cowered in Peg’s shadow, hoping they’d overlook me. But Hanna raised my hand just as the guy who reminded me of Ray Crawford passed by our table. Before I could resist, the guy dragged me onto the stage and sat me down on a comfy chair facing the room. I trembled visibly as he went behind me. Some kind of electronic dance music was assaulting everyone’s ears. He rolled his hands down my body, over my ersatz breasts and ON my groin area (which I don’t believe is legal). Then he started body-rolling all over me like a giant eel. He took off his shirt and made me feel his abs and, to be absolutely fair, if someone held a gun to my head and demanded my opinion, I would say that yes, okay, it was kind of hot. It was over relatively quickly, and I was escorted off the stage, wobbly and half-blinded by the footlights, to a loud ovation. I practically fell into Peg’s arms as she helped me into my chair.

“Oooh, he really likes you,” Hanna cooed. “He got in some extra body-rolls on you, honey.”

“We had a lot of fun tonight, didn’t we, girls?”

Danny was leading us up the street toward India Club Berlin, a five-minute stroll from the Sixx Paxx Theater. I was between Hanna and Peg, our arms interlaced as we walked. Strangely enough, I felt light-headed, not because of the discomfort of having been groped on stage in full view of 200 screaming, estrogen-fueled women, but the night seemed like my unofficial initiation into true womanhood. Yes, it’s silly to think an event so trivial could signify so much. But, that night, I was one of the girls. Absolutely to the nth degree.

I was lying wide awake in my hotel bed at 2AM Tuesday morning local time, trying to read myself to sleep. But my eyelids didn’t start drooping, even as I reached page 80 of some random book loaded onto my kindle. My body was still on Los Angeles time, specifically 5PM, Monday afternoon.

There was a loud knock on the door. Maybe it was one of my fellow Angelenos, also unable to fall asleep. I walked to the door, forgetting to put a robe on over my babydoll nightie.

“Who is it?”

“Evie, it’s me. Trent. Did I wake you?”

I opened the door and was gob-smacked by Trent’s smiling face. Good lord, he’s a cutie. Even at this ungodly hour.

“I’d like to say you woke me up out of a deep sleep but, honestly, I’m still on LA time.” I looked down and realized my state of undress. “Eyes averted, buster! Come on in. I’m going to put on my robe. Keep looking away!”

“I’m not looking. I’m not looking. So, Danny texted me that he was taking you girls to that strip show. How was it?”

“I felt dirty.” I came out of the bathroom, tying my robe tightly together. “One of the dancers slithered all over me. On stage!”

Trent crossed the room to me and began to mimic what the stripper had done to me, rubbing himself against my backside. “Like this? Bet you enjoyed it.”

“Well, he didn’t slobber all over me like you’re doing.”

“Can’t help it, Evie. My mouth waters immediately when I see you.”

“Okay. We’ve dispensed with the pleasantries. Now go back to your room and sleep fast. Danny says the whole crew is meeting in his suite at 9 in the morning. Bring your own coffee.”

“Before I go, Evie, I just wanted to tell you how ecstatic I am that you’re in this video. Danny and I almost threatened to shut it down if the label didn’t accede to your participation.”

“I’ll try to do my best, Trent. It’s nice to know you have so much confidence in my acting skills.”

Just before he shut the door behind him, Trent turned toward me. “I think a lot of you and a lot about you. Night.”

Peg and I were sipping our morning coffee, sitting together on one of the couches in Danny’s suite, watching Selene, a Berlin native who was the makeup and wardrobe person on the video shoot, having an apoplectic breakdown, shouting at Danny in both German and English.

“Also bekommt sie ihre eigene Make-up-Person? We can’t fit four people in that tiny trailer. Ich dachte, ich wäre die einzige Make-up-Person in diesem Video. I’m not getting my pay cut in half! Das ist lächerlich!”

“Calm down, Selene. We’ve picked up another trailer for Evie and Peg. You’ll continue to work with Trent and Peg will do Evie. Separate trailers. And you’re not getting a pay cut. Verstehst du?”

Selene eventually calmed down and Danny moved onto the other items on his agenda. Trent sat down on the floor in front of me, shooting puppy dog eyes at me while Danny droned on. The bullet points of his roll call speech were:
1) neither Trent nor I was involved in today’s shoot,
2) Hanna would double for me in long shots and driving a VW bus on location today,
3) Peg would spend today setting up the trailer with my makeup and wardrobe for Wednesday, and
4) Danny expected to wrap up the shoot by sundown Thursday.

I was about to accompany Peg and the crew out to today’s location when Trent stopped me in the hallway.

“Where are you going?”

“To keep Peg company and to watch them shoot today’s footage. I could observe by just watching. Yogi Berra, philosopher.”

“I’ve got a better idea. I’m not scheduled to do anything until the concert tonight. Let me take you on a mini tour of Central Berlin. It’d be a shame to be here for three days and not seen any of the sights.”

“Don’t you have to do a soundcheck?”

“We’ve done the same setlist all summer. The whole band can play it with their eyes closed by now.”

“Wish we had someone local as a guide. My German is pretty piss poor. Do you sprechen sie Deutsch?”

“Not really. But 60% of Germans speak pretty good English and they’d prefer foreigners not try their bad German on them anyway. Plus, my parents and I spent a month in Europe when I was 16, including 4 days in Berlin and 2 days in Cologne. I won’t be too bad a guide, will I?”

“Lead the way, my personal Indian guide, Mr. Sacagawea.”

Our day of being typical tourists began with a 15-minute stroll along the East Bank of The Spree River that started the second we left the front entrance of The Hotel nhow. The first sight of the day was The Eastside Gallery, a series of murals painted on a 4,000-foot-long remnant of The Berlin Wall. In the Spring of 1990, after the Wall fell, this section was painted by 118 artists from 21 countries. The artists commented on the political changes of 1989/90 in a good hundred paintings on the side of the Wall that was formerly facing East Berlin. Due to urban development measures, it is no longer completely preserved, and instead of the originals from then, only the replicas from 2009 exist today, including The Fraternal Kiss by Dmitri Vrubel. The painting depicts Leonid Brezhnev and Erich Honecker in a socialist fraternal kiss, reproducing a photograph taken in 1979 during the 30th anniversary celebration of the foundation of the German Democratic Republic.

After a 10-minute walk to The Berlin Ostbahnhof, Trent and I hopped onto a 300 Line double-decker bus to cross the Spree River into Central Berlin. From our perches on the top deck, we could take in all the sights on route to The Brandenburg Gate, a 30-minute ride through Berlin’s central borough of Mitte. The Brandenburg Gate is an 18th-century neoclassical monument built on the site of a former city gate that marked the start of the road from Berlin to the town of Brandenburg an der Havel. It is considered not only a symbol of the tumultuous histories of Germany and Europe, but also of European unity and peace.

Only a block north of the Gate sits The Reichstag Building. Originally the seat of the German Parliament, it was burned down 4 weeks after Adolf Hitler was sworn in as Chancellor in 1933. Hitler used the incident, which he blamed on communist insurgents, to suspend civil liberties and pave the way for the establishment of the Nazi Regime. Reconstruction of the building was completed in 1971 and it has been the seat of unified Germany’s Bundestag since 1999. The addition of a glass dome on top of the building in 1999 has made The Reichstag Building the second-most visited attraction in Germany.

Also within walking distance is The Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, a memorial inaugurated in 2005 to the Jewish victims of the Holocaust, consisting of a 200,000 square foot site covered with 2,711 concrete slabs or "stelae", arranged in a grid pattern on a sloping field, organized in rows, 54 of them going north–south, and 87 heading east–west at right angles but set slightly askew. An attached underground "Place of Information" holds the names of approximately 3 million Jewish Holocaust victims.

The next half-hour was comprised of visits to Checkpoint Charlie, the best-known Berlin Wall crossing point between East Berlin and West Berlin during the Cold War (1947–1991), as named by the Western Allies, and The Berlin Wall Remains, east of Checkpoint Charlie along Zimmerstraße. These are the sparse remnants of the former 96 miles long concrete wall that separated West and East Berlin.

It was well past noon and we decided to try Berlin’s signature street food, doner kebab. The best purveyor of said kebab was a food truck parked near the Mehringdamm metro station, Mustafa's Gemüse Kebap. There was a long line waiting to have their kebab and eat it. Trent told me that sometimes it takes an hour to get to the front of the line. Luckily, we only waited half an hour. When I finally chomped down on the much-ballyhooed kebab, I discovered it was a slightly better version of what we call in the States, a gyro. I couldn’t finish mine, so I fed the remainder of my kebab to Trent. This got a reaction from an elderly couple who were walking by us. The woman smiled and said, in lightly accented English, “You make a lovely pair. And you, young man, must never let this one get away. Einen schönen Tag noch.”

Ten minutes later, we were riding the N6 bus north toward Weidendamm Pier, where we could catch the 1:30PM departure of The Spree River Cruise Boat. It’s a leisurely nautical jaunt up and down the Spree River that lasts approximately two and a half hours. Everyone sits on the open top deck and looks across from one bank of the river to the other.

You can see in passing, the TV tower in Alexanderplatz, the old quarter of Nikolaiviertel with structures that date back centuries, Museum Island which contains five iconic museums, including the Bode Museum, the Pergamon Museum, and The Old National Gallery, as well as the Berlin Cathedral, an historically prominent edifice linked to centuries of German dynastic power. We also passed the Mercedes-Benz Arena, where Trent would perform three concerts starting that evening, and our own hotel, The nhow.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” observed Trent.

“Right now, my future is all mixed up. I have no idea where I’m going—”

“They’ll eventually settle the strike. I’m not too concerned. With my new album coming out, I could just tour non-stop for the next six months. My manager tells me they’ve had inquiries from Japan and Korea…”

“That’s all well and good for you, Trent. And you deserve it. But I’m stuck in a precarious situation in the job I have right now. The job I was going to start in a few weeks might not even exist in a few months. And I’ve got…uh…some medical issues I’ve got to deal with.”

“Medical issues? Nothing serious, I hope. You seem pretty healthy to me. But, of course, I’m no doctor—”

“Well…I’d rather not talk about it. But it’s going to cost a helluva lot more than I currently have or expect to make in the near future.”

“I can help, Evie. I’ll write you a check. How much do you need?”

“No, Trent, thank you but it’s something I want to pay for myself. Chuck Connors has already offered to pay but I’m going to turn him down.”

“He’s the kind of rich kid who tries to buy people, Evie. Good for you turning down his offer. But me, I’m not looking for some kind of quid pro quo. Please let me help.”

“Why do you want to help me so much, Trent? I’m not a good target for your lust, I’ll tell you now. The last thing I need is to deal with a relationship. Eyes on the prize and all that.”

“I’m not the lothario people make me out to be. It’s just…I’m a celebrity. You wouldn’t believe the number of girls who try to latch onto me. They all want something from me, you know—”

“Some of them even get weekends in Cancun with you—”

“That was Cozumel. And it was my way of breaking it off with Bambi…gently. Look, anyone else would’ve just ghosted her. But that’s not how I roll—”

“Whatever, Trent. I like you. Really, I do. You’re funny, cool, easy to look at. Everything any other girl would want in a guy…”

“But not you. Is there someone else? It’s not Chuck. He’s as boring as watching paint dry. Who?”

“Are you Trent Foster?”

She was 16, maybe 17 years old, with a distinctive Boston accent.

“Yes, do you want an autograph?”

“Well, can you take a picture?” She held up her phone.

“Sure. Do you want to slip in next to me and take a selfie?”

“It’s not with me. It’s my mother.” She pointed to a woman in her late thirties, smiling nervously, seated several rows in back of us.

“Okay.” Trent turned to the girl’s mother and shouted above the white noise of the boat slicing through the river. “Come on over! Let’s all get in the picture.”

The girl managed to get all four of us in frame with her selfie and then Trent handed her and her mother two tickets to his concert that night. They were obviously thrilled to get free tickets and the mother even gave Trent a quick peck on the cheek before they went back to their seats.

“Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?”

“Nowhere important, Trent. I think we’re on different paths in life.”

After we got back to the hotel, Trent had to leave for the Mercedes-Benz Arena. He explained that he always took a nap before a show, just to recharge his batteries and clear his head of any extraneous matters…like me, I suppose. His shows start at 8PM. We agreed that I would see his final concert in Berlin on Thursday evening, after wrapping up the video shoot. Peg, Hanna and I were booked on a flight out of Brandenburg Airport on Friday morning.

Around 7PM, Peg and Hanna returned from their day of shooting. Hanna was brimming with energy despite 8 laborious hours doubling for me in long shots and even driving a VW bus through the streets of Kreuzberg, a trendy, bohemian neighborhood in Central Berlin. She and Peg planned to explore the nightlife in Kreuzberg and asked me if I wanted to go. I begged off, saying I was tired from sightseeing with Trent.

My stomach was grumbling so I decided to have dinner in the hotel restaurant. When I walked in, before the maître d approached me, Danny Dantley waved at me from a corner table. He was by himself. I made my way to his table, followed by the maître d, who deposited the menu on the table in front of me as Danny held my chair for me to sit.

“You look either tired or sadly wan. Which is it?”

“Maybe a little of both, Danny. I could use some laughs or words of wisdom.”

“Yup, that’s the usual result of spending some time with Trent Foster. Listen, girl, he’s bad news. Good singer, decent actor, but not the most serious person I’ve ever known. Just keep your emotional distance from him.”

“So…what’s good on the menu?”

“But I can’t wear that! My father would be scandalized.” I heard a snigger from behind me and shot Selene, our ‘other’ make-up person, a sneer.

“Wo hast du sie gefunden? In der Grundschule?” She laughed. “Don’t tell me no one has ever seen your popo.”

“Selene, please,” Danny interceded. “Now, Evie, it was clearly stated in your pages for today. And I quote: ‘Young woman awakens in her VW bus, yawns, stretches with gamine charm, and, facing away from the camera, slips a pair of shorts over her thong panties.’”

“Umm…” I tried to find a loophole. Suddenly, it came to me. “Why don’t we use Hanna for that shot? After all, she doubled for me all day yesterday.” Hanna eagerly stepped forward.

“Mr. Dantley, I’ll be glad to have you use my popo instead of Evie’s.”

“I’ll bet you would, Hanna.” Danny turned to me and gripped my shoulders. “The audience will know it’s not your booty. No offense, Hanna. Now, let’s go into your trailer and get ready to dazzle the world with your callipygian beauty.” He actually slapped my butt as he directed me toward the trailer. Hard.

“Owww! That hurt!”

“Du täuschst mich nicht. She likes being spanked. All the Hollywood types do.”

“Don’t worry,” Peg whispered to me. “I know a way we can hide all your non-girly bits. It’s a neat magic trick I’ve had to deploy now and again over the years for a few ‘special’ actresses.”

“Promise me it won’t hurt, Peg.”

We were in the bohemian neighborhood of Kreuzberg in South Central Berlin. Trent, I gathered, was still asleep in his hotel suite. His pages weren’t going to be shot until the afternoon. The morning was all me. Lucky me. There was no dialogue to memorize. The music video was a series of scenes to embellish the lyrics of Trent’s song, a cover version of “California Dreamin’.” In the video, Trent and I play two young Berliners in the heat of a typical German summer who dream of California sun and surf. For the entire video, I’m wearing a bikini bra and board shorts. And carrying a surfboard around the streets of Berlin.

For the three-second shot of me slipping on my shorts over a pair of string thong bikini bottoms, Peg maneuvered my bits into the tightest tuck imaginable. I didn’t know you could put them up there! Of course, Danny had me do six takes!

I didn’t have to drive the VW bus through the streets of Kreuzberg. Hanna had already done all that the day before. But I did draw a crowd as I sat in the bus or moved around outside, waxing my surfboard, doing close-ups of my various dramatic expressions, putting on my mirrored sunglasses and taking them off. The locals were mesmerized by what, to the film crew and me, were boring stretches of setting up shots, doing several takes of each sequence, and then Danny viewing the digital replay of what we’d just shot. Tired of sitting and waiting in the trailer, shooting the breeze with Peg as she touched up my makeup, I put on a white denim jacket, placed a baseball cap backwards on my head and stepped out.

“Where are you going?” asked Peg.

“I figure it’s going to be another half-hour before they’re ready. Might as well go for a walk. See what’s slapping in the hood around here…” Peg immediately picked up her handbag and caught up to me after locking the trailer door.

“Oh, no. I’m coming with you. Dressed like that, they’ll think you’re a pro—”

“I’ve got a jacket on, Peg.”

“Button it up, Evie! All the way!”

The rubberneckers watching this morning’s shoot had dispersed by now, returning to their daily routines or places of employment. I overheard the whispers wondering where Trent was. I’m sure they were disappointed that an unknown like me was on camera instead of him. The streets now unobstructed, I decided to check out the colorful shops and restaurants along Bergmannstraße, only two blocks from where our trailer was parked.

“Oh, these sidewalk cafes are charming, Evie. I’m famished. I wish we could break for lunch already.”

“There’s still some croissants on the craft services table if you’re hungry, Peg. Anyway, we need to get back in 15 minutes. Just enough time to window shop.”

“Oh, no. I forgot to bring my sunglasses. The glare is blinding!”

I patted Peg on top of her head. “Peg, your glasses are on your head.”

“Good thing I didn’t forget my head.”

“Look, Peg, a Turkish rug store. Let’s go inside. I’ve been trying to think of a nice house-warming gift for Debbie and Otis when they move into their hew house. A big area rug would be perfect—”

“There are oriental rug stores in LA, dear. Look at the price tags on these! A thousand euros for a rug? I could get you a good deal on one of the carpets they used in the last live-action Aladdin movie—”

It was serendipity indeed to find a Turkish rug store here on Bergmannstraße, smack dab in the middle of a block of cafes and clothing shops. We were half a mile or more from Little Istanbul, the real center of Turkish culture in Berlin.

“These are Turkish Kilim rugs, Peg. They’re flatweave rugs hand-woven on looms and no kilim rug has the same pattern or design as any other. They’re works of art!”

“If you say so.”

I picked out a 2 X 3-meter wool and cotton rug with an interlaced diamond pattern and, using a combination of high school German and New Jersey-accented English, I was able to negotiate its purchase with the Turkish saleslady who kept asking me when Trent Foster was showing up. For no additional charge, she offered to ship it by UPS. Very nice of her. Peg and I took a selfie with her and her husband, who rushed out from their stockroom when his wife announced our presence.

Peg was adjusting her sunglasses as we stepped out into the midday glare, satisfied, for my part, at solving the big question of what house-warming gift to buy Debbie and Otis. We almost walked into a film crew, in front of which stood Ashlee Woolcott, star reporter for the streaming program Entertainment World Now, her microphone insolently pointed in my face.

“Evie Rivers! Ashlee Woolcott of EWN. A few questions, please?”

“Uh, no, I’m not doing any interviews—”

“Is it really true that you played major league baseball for The New York Titans?”

“No, where did you get that? I…was a coach in their minor league system. I never played in the majors—”

“Why did you quit The Titans? You could have been the first woman to play in the majors—”

“Like I just said, I was not a player. Look, can you please not block the street? My friend and I need to get back to the set—”

“That leads to my next question. Has Trent Foster proposed yet? Rumor has it that his parents are canvassing wedding venues in Pacific Palisades as we speak—”

“No…what? How?”

“Ashlee, please stop the inquisition. She’s needed on the set right now.” It was Trent, wearing an Adidas bucket hat and a smirk.

“Oh, Trent. Well, we can do this later. Will Evie be at the show tonight? We can interview both of you together—”

“We can do this in Paris next week. I’ll have more time to sit down and do a proper interview.”

“That would be perfect! The two of you in the City of Love! This feature will write itself. C’mon guys, give them some room on the sidewalk.”

As the three of us walked quickly away, I grabbed Trent’s arm. “Thanks for rescuing us but you’re not on call until this afternoon in Viktoriapark.”

“I felt guilty about not being with you this morning, seeing as you’d be all alone on set with only Danny and Peg as familiar faces—”

“I’m a fully functioning adult, Trent. I don’t need a babysitter. And I can speak German. You can’t.” He stopped in mid-stride, turned around and looked into my eyes.

“I had to see you. I didn’t want to wait another two hours. I dreamed about you last night—”

“Aren’t we supposed to be back on set…like right now?” asked Peg.

“I just said that to get rid of Ashlee. Danny’s still going over the footage. We could get a table at one of these cafes and have an early lunch.” He looked back over our shoulders and nodded. “They’re gone. She’s like a bloodhound. I swear she was on the plane from LAX when we flew to Europe last week. Anyway, this place looks nice.” He ushered us toward a table a row back from the curb. “Kellner! Bitte drei Flaschen Gerolsteiner.” Turning to us with a grin, he crowed, “My German’s not bad at all.”

When we returned from our alfresco lunch, Danny and his crew were munching on the sandwiches laid out on the craft services table, laughing at some remark made by Selene in German. She stopped laughing the moment I appeared behind Danny’s shoulder. Danny looked up at me, still laughing heartily. Trent and Peg stood on either side of me.

“Oh, Evie. I see Trent finally located you and Peg. Stopped for a bit of lunch, perhaps?”

“Yeah, Danny, it was close to noon anyways. Hope we didn’t hold up the shoot…”

“Nah, one more sequence here and then we’ll pack up, move to Viktoriapark, and I expect you’ll have plenty of time to get to your rehearsal at 5PM.”

“What about the scene at sundown? I looked it up and sundown today is at 9PM. Your concert starts at 8, right?”

“Evie,” interjected Danny, “we’re going to use some movie magic. You’ve heard of ‘day for night?’ Well, we’re shooting the sunset scenes at sunrise tomorrow morning. A little filmic sleight-of-hand and no one in the audience will know the difference.”

“But that means—”

“Yeah,” Peg sighed. “We’ll have to be in Viktoriapark by 4:30AM. No clubbing for you tonight, Evie. Or me for that matter.”

After we shot the fake sunset scene at sunrise on Thursday morning, Danny allowed the whole crew three hours of nap time before we resumed some random re-shoots of scenes from earlier in the week, most of which involved Trent and Hanna as my double. So, much of the day was spent in the trailer, and between pigging out on German pastry and cups of Dallmayr prodomo coffee (from Ethiopia!) and reading books on my kindle, Peg would harangue me with her warnings against getting too involved with Trent.

“Not for you, honey. He’s not for you. You won’t be able to hide your ‘condition’ from him much longer. And do you think he’ll be able to accept that when he finds out?”

“I’m not falling for him, Peg. There’s zero chance of getting involved with him. In fact, after this video, I might never work with him again. I’m through with acting—”

“Don’t say that, Evie. You’re a natural. And you don’t ever have to cross paths with Trent again if you don’t want to. By the time the series starts…if it starts—”

“You don’t think the show’s getting produced, do you?”

“By the time the strike is over, GlobalNet will have other fish to fry. And, truth be told, Trent might not want to act in it anyway. He might be too busy with his singing career. I read in the trades where his manager is lining up a year long world tour if his new album really slaps. Japan, China, Australia, India, the Middle East, Africa, you name it.”

“Who does he think he is, Taylor Swift?”

“No joking, Evie, but Trent might be a billionaire in a couple of years.”

“So, you’re saying I should avoid getting involved with a guy who could be worth a billion dollars…”

“You’ll do well enough on your own, honey. You’ve got oodles of talent. You don’t need Trent…or anyone, really. Sisters are doing it for themselves, honey.”

One last thing before Peg, Hanna, and I left Berlin. I had promised to attend Trent’s final concert at the Mercedes-Benz Arena on Thursday night. While Peg and Hanna caught up on lost sleep back at the hotel in order to rise early to catch our 9AM flight on Friday morning, I would be sitting in the sold-out arena trying not to yawn too obviously while Trent and his band performed.

Surprisingly, I felt really good about the music video we had just shot. Of course, I wouldn’t see the final product until it was officially released a couple of weeks later. When I finally watched it, I was a mixed bag of good feelings and awkward memories. Here it is:

Halfway through the concert, Trent asked to have a spotlight shone on me where I was sitting in the first section of field seats. Truthfully, my eyelids were drooping, and I was fighting off unconsciousness. I had been up since 4 o’clock in the morning. I caught the last part of Trent’s intro to his next number. He dedicated “Every Time You Go Away” to “meine spezialle freundin.” It was the same song he’d sung to “apologize” to me after the embarrassing incident with Bambi at the awards show. The crowd appreciated the gesture more than I did.

The woman sitting next to me shouted in my ear: “Du bist so glücklich. Ich beneide dich.” Lucky? Envy me? I yawned. Not in reply. I was just struggling to keep my eyes open.

As one of Trent’s roadies escorted me backstage after the concert, Ashlee Woolcott walked by.

“See you in Paris. We’ll talk!” She smiled and waved. I smiled in return but did not wave.

Trent wanted to take me to some 4-star restaurant in Prenzlauer Berg, only ten minutes away from the arena, but I reminded him that I had an early morning flight to catch.

“Let’s do this then. I’ll order room service and we’ll have a farewell dinner in my suite. You’ll be tucked in before midnight. I promise. You must be hungry. You probably haven’t had a decent meal all day. Okay?”

I was too tired to argue and too hungry to turn down a good, hot meal.

I couldn’t resist the temptation of ordering the Crème Brûlée for dessert after having vanquished my main course of Orange Chicken. Trent had the over-priced Cheeseburger with French Fries. Typical. After a dainty, ladylike burp or two, I looked up to see Trent pouring out two glasses of Kirschwasser, a clear, colorless brandy made from distilled Morello cherries. I’d never drunk it, but I knew the citation from Steely Dan’s “Hey Nineteen.” Normally, I believe, it’s served in brandy snifters.

“That’s a lot of brandy, Trent. Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Me? I’m disappointed in you, Evie. No, these are the only glasses in the room. I guess they think Americans drink it straight from the bottle. You don’t have to gulp it. Just sip. Savor the sweet cherry taste. You know, they use this to make cherries jubilee.”

The closer we got to midnight, the faster I sipped the Kirsch, until I had reached the bottom of the glass. That’s when Trent giddily poured more brandy into my proffered glass. Soon enough, my eyes were spinning, and I must have blacked out.

I groaned as I turned in bed. Someone was drawing the curtains and daylight was streaming into the room, forcing my eyes open. Trent was standing by the windows, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, a broad smile on his undeniably handsome face. This wasn’t my hotel room; this wasn’t my hotel bed. Alarmed, I lifted the bedsheet to discover I still had all my clothes from last night on. I reached underneath myself and felt no rips or tears in my pants. Oh, mercy, at least he hadn’t raped me or attempted to. No, he wouldn’t be smiling if he had.

“Hey, sleepyhead. You could’ve told me you can’t hold your liquor.”

“Unnhhh,” was all I could manage to say in reply.

“I’m gonna go downstairs and bring up some breakfast for us. Give you time to shower.”

“Wait a minute! What happened last night? Why am I waking up in your bed? Oh no, what time is it? I’ve missed my flight!”

“Danny called me about ten minutes before take-off. He said Peg tried calling you from 7 o’clock onwards but nobody picked up. I guess I was as dead to the world as you. I explained everything to him and told him I’d get you on a later flight today…if that’s what you want.” He moved to the door.

“What do you mean, if that’s what I want? You’re the one who got me blotto and made me miss my plane. Also, I have no idea what you might have done while I was asleep in YOUR bed!”

The door slammed shut. After a few minutes, I decided the best thing to do was take a shower.

I was making good progress on my eggs over easy and home fries as I resumed my interrogation of the criminal Trent Foster. He was standing by the window of the common room in his suite, sipping a cup of coffee. He said he wasn’t a fan of big breakfasts.

“So let me get the facts straight. After I fell asleep…here, in the common room…you carried me to YOUR bedroom and placed me in YOUR bed—”

“You’re a big girl, Evie. And the other bedroom was farther away. As it was, I just barely made it to MY bedroom and onto the bed.”

“I don’t weigh THAT much!”

“I was tired and sleepy too.”

“Then you didn’t try to take off my clothes?”

“I thought about it, but you were out like a light. There’s no fun in having your way with an unconscious girl. And I like to keep the A/C on high at night. Didn’t want you to freeze.”

“But you slipped into bed with me. You slept next to me all night!”

“You make some really cute little girl noises when you’re asleep, Evie.”

“You probably snore like a choo-choo train.”

“I admit I did spoon you from behind—”

“Oh my god! Good thing I was wearing my chastity belt.”

“What? You wear a chastity belt? But, how? There’s no sign of it under your clothes—”

“Just kidding, stupid. Now, about my flight back to the good ol’ USA…”

Trent picked up his acoustic guitar from behind the sofa, sat down, and started tuning it.

“I’ve got a proposition for you. Just listen to this song before you decide.”

“Trent, there’s no decision to be made. Just have your road manager book me on a flight later today. I’m sure you can afford the ticket.”

“Shhh. Just listen.”

“I’m a changed man, Evie. You changed me.”

“It’s not going to work, Trent. We’re not…compatible. You’re a big star with millions of admiring fans—”

“And you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known. You’re not like any woman I’ve ever met.”

“You have no idea. Look, I have a job I have to get back to and my sister’s probably already cracked up the new car I just got last week. I need to get home.”

“You can’t tell me you feel nothing for me…”

“Let’s table the discussion for now. You’re in the middle of a concert tour and I’m in the middle of failing miserably at life so…”

“Spend the weekend in Paris with me. You can fly back on Monday. Chuck will give you an extra day, won’t he?”

“I don’t know.”

“All expenses paid. Paris is just a two-hour flight from here.”

“I get a separate room?”

“I have the same setup in Paris. A suite. You can have the larger bedroom. I’ll miss out on the spooning though—”

“I’m not joking about that!”

“Okay, okay. I won’t try to molest you. Swear to God! We can spend all day together, Saturday and Sunday. See the sights, get some good eats. What is it they say? Paris is the…the…of…”

“That’s Montreal. Montreal’s the Paris of North America.”

“No, I meant Paris is the city of lights…or is it love?”

“Don’t try to think too hard, Trent. It must be difficult for you.”

“Hey, I went to Stanford. Okay, I was a legacy because of Dad but…anyway, I don’t have a concert until Monday night. You’ll be the only item on my agenda for two whole days.”

“I’ve always wanted to see Paris—”

“I see Paris, I see France. I see Evie’s underpants—”

“You wish. Okay, when do we leave?”

“Our flight’s at 4PM. Land at Charles De Gaulle a little after 6. Hôtel Plaza Athénée by 6:45.”

“I have to call Chuck and let him know my change of plans.”

“Do it tonight in Paris. Remember there’s a 9-hour difference between here and Los Angeles.”

“One more thing. Ashlee Woolcott said your parents were looking at wedding venues for us. Is that true?”

“Well, my mom’s been known to do things behind my back. You can ask her yourself when you get back to L.A.”

“You’re insufferable!”

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry.”

The first thing I did when we got into Trent’s suite was make a Skype call to Chuck. It was still Friday morning in Los Angeles and Chuck was undoubtedly in his office. We made a connection and Chuck’s familiar friendly face appeared on my laptop screen.

“Hey, Evie. You’re still in Berlin? It must be 7:30 at night there. Problem with the airline?”

“Hi, Chuck. No, there’s been a change of plans. I’m in Paris right now. I’ll be back in the office on Tuesday morning.”

“What happened?”

“Uhh…well. I’m spending the weekend in Paris with…with Trent. He invited me and—”

“You couldn’t refuse. I see.” His expression turned taciturn. “You’re a big girl, Evie. It’s your life. Just take my advice for what it’s worth. He can’t be trusted. Especially with your ‘special’ circumstances. You’re playing with fire, Evie.”

“Chuck, it’s just I’ve never been to France. I’ve always wanted…Chuck, don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad, Evie. I’m concerned, that’s all. Well, have a great time in Paris. Don’t say hello to Trent for me. Gotta go. It’s been pretty busy in the office this week. It’ll be nice to have you back in the fold next week. Good night.”

“Have a nice day, Chuck. Bye.” I leaned back in my chair and exhaled.

Trent came back into the room just as the Skype call ended.

“So, everything copacetic with Chuck?”

“Yeah, he had no issues with the extra day.”

“Ready to head out?”

“Head out? Where?”

“You have three changes of clothing that you’ve already gone through. You need something to wear while you’re in Paris that’s not wrinkled like a prune. So, I’ve arranged for some after-hours time at the Louis Vuitton store in the Avenue de Champs-Élysées. The French record label distributing my new album in Europe has a lot of pull and I called in a favor. They’re expecting us. Grab your handbag, woman! Let’s go.”

Announcer: Welcome to Entertainment World Now. Tonight, Ashlee Woolcott is live in our Paris studio, reporting on the hottest news in entertainment…right now!

Ashlee Woolcott: It is 3AM Monday morning here in Paris, France. As I told you last time, EWN planned to provide exclusive coverage of the first leg of Trent Foster’s European concert tour which kicked off in Berlin, Germany this past Tuesday.

(Footage of Trent performing in the Mercedes-Benz Arena before a sell-out crowd)

Trent’s three sold-out concerts in Berlin were an indisputable success. But the real headline story behind Trent’s whirlwind week on the continent is his traveling companion on this trip.

(Footage of Evie and Trent filming segments of the music video for “California Dreamin’)

This is Evie Rivers, shooting scenes from Trent’s soon-to-be released music video off his new album, displaying the natural assets that have made her a sensation on social media even before actually performing in front of a camera. She and Trent met when she was cast as the female lead opposite him in the proposed GlobalNet series, Newport. Production on that series will have to wait until the current SAG-AFTRA strike is settled.

(Footage of Trent presenting an award to Bambi Bunson at The World Media Awards Show, Bambi making her pointed remarks, and Evie bolting from her seat in response)

Our viewers may remember an incident that occurred at The World Media Awards just last month. Evie was seen rushing out of the event when Bambi Bunson, Trent’s erstwhile paramour, publicly admonished Evie, sitting in the audience as Trent’s plus-one for the awards show. Well, if this past week is any indication, their relationship has not only been repaired but may have entered a very serious phase.

So, the question we will try to answer tonight is Who is Evie Rivers and What does the future hold for her relationship with Trent Foster?

Evie and Trent arrived in Paris on Friday evening, giving them three full days to enjoy The City of Love before Trent’s first concert at Paris La Défense Arena on Tuesday. Within an hour of landing at Charles De Gaulle Airport and checking into the Hôtel Plaza Athénée, Trent took Evie shopping after-hours at the prestigious Louis Vuitton store on Avenue des Champs-Élysées.

Properly outfitted for their romantic weekend in Paris, Evie explored the sights and ambiance of the city with Trent over the next 48 hours. Not only did our cameras capture glimpses of their wanderings but we at Entertainment World Now must thank a source close to Trent and Evie for some very candid, personal footage.

Room service breakfast on the terrace of their hotel room, with a view of the Eiffel Tower behind them, started their day on Saturday. They strolled through the medieval courtyards and pretty streets of Le Marais, stopping to peruse the fresh produce in the Marche des Enfants Rouge, France’s oldest covered food market. The winding streets and slate roofs of Montmartre, the Parisian village of the past, the city of the Belle Epoque, and its squares and cafes was the next destination for our pair of lovers. After lunch at a charming bistro in the district, they visited The Louvre, where Trent showed off his knowledge of art history to an attentive Evie.

A stroll through the Tuileries Garden, a stone’s throw from The Louvre, with a stop in Ladurée Bakery to pick up a bag of their famous macaroons, made them reverse course to one of Paris’ few remaining covered arcades, the Passage des Princes. In one of the toy shops there, Trent tried to interest Evie in a giant teddy bear. Ultimately, Trent had to be satisfied with a cute selfie taken by the store manager (who breathlessly told him that she had tickets to his first concert on Tuesday).

Saturday afternoon drew to a close as Trent and Evie made a pilgrimage to Père Lachaise Cemetery to pay their respects to American rock music icon Jim Morrison of The Doors who is buried there. While there, several American tourists recognized Trent and asked him for autographs and selfies. Trent made sure to include Evie in every shot.

After sunset, Trent and Evie decided to take in the beauty of The Eiffel Tower and the Champ de Mars at night when The City of Light earns its surnom. The spectacle obviously moved our pair of lovers as this candid kiss with the Tower looming in the background testifies to.

But the clearest evidence that Trent and Evie are seriously in love happened on Sunday morning when they took a road trip to Giverny, a village just an hour’s drive from Paris, to visit the famous Impressionist painter Claude Monet’s house and gardens. There, overlooking the water lilies in Monet’s water garden, captured so beautifully in his masterpiece work, “The Water Lily Pond,” they kissed deeply and languorously.

But who is Evie Rivers? What is her story? To get answers to these questions, our cameras caught up with several people who play integral roles in her life, including her sister, her agent, the man who will be directing her in her first screen appearance, her boss, and, perhaps, her future in-laws.

(Debbie is sitting behind her desk in the Sisters Sportswear office)

Off-camera voice: Looking forward to having a celebrity as a brother-in-law?

Debbie: What are you talking about?

Off-camera voice: Your sister and Trent. Have they set a date yet?

Debbie (angrily): Look, I’m telling you. There’s nothing to these rumors. She’s just shooting a music video with him. It’s a job. With the strike, who knows when she’ll be able to work as an actor again. I’m her sister. Believe me, I’d know if they were seriously involved.

Off-camera voice: What we’ve seen in Berlin, it looks like they’re pretty hot and heavy—

Debbie: Well, there you go. She’s a great little actress.

Ashlee Woolcott (voice-over): Juan Moskowitz, her agent at CAA, discovered her in a dog park in Los Angeles.

(Juan Moskowitz, getting off the phone in his office, before sitting back down behind his desk)

Off-camera voice: Are you concerned that marrying Trent Foster will hurt her career?

Juan (laughing): Well, her sister Debbie says she once admitted to wanting to bear Trent’s babies but, seriously, Evie’s a dedicated artist. Acting is everything to her. I mean, it’s a little sexist to say marriage will derail her career but no one wonders if Trent’s career will be affected by marriage.

Off-camera voice: Yes, but what if she does get pregnant right away? How would the producers of Newport deal with that possibility?

Juan (forming a triangle with his hands): They’d write it into the show. (laughs) After all, it’s a primetime soap opera, isn’t it? No, but really, Evie has no plans of starting a family anytime soon.

Off-camera voice: Doesn’t Trent have any say in that?

Juan (looking serious): Hell no.

Ashlee Woolcott (voice-over): Oscar winning director Danny Dantley believes Evie Rivers is the Next Big Thing in Hollywood and is justly proud to be the one who gave her that first big break.

(Danny is sitting in front of an editing console, ostensibly working on the final cut of Trent’s music video)

Off-camera voice: You first saw her surfing on Newport Beach?

Danny: Yes! A natural mermaid with gamine grace and beauty. I know talent when I see it.

Off-camera voice: But she’d never acted before. From what little we know about her; it seems she was a baseball player. With an MBA. No indication that she ever thought about acting—

Danny: There’s such a thing as a late bloomer. To be a great actor, one needs real life experience to call upon—

Off-camera voice: So, what job did you have before you went into filmmaking?

Danny: I was a hairdresser.

Off-camera voice: Really?

Danny: You can learn a lot about life cutting people’s hair.

Off-camera voice: Like what it’s like to actually have hair?

Danny: Bald jokes are so jejune.

Ashlee Woolcott (voice-over): Chuck Connors is the Executive Vice President of Sisters Sportswear, where Evie works as the Director of Marketing. Rumor has it that he had a brief workplace dalliance with Evie. Logic leads one to believe he might be a little bitter about Evie’s involvement with mega-star Trent Foster.

(Chuck is carrying his surfboard, having just gotten out of his car in the parking lot behind Newport Beach)

Off-camera voice (breathing heavily as he tries to keep up with the fast-walking Chuck): Do you plan to attend the wedding?

Chuck: What wedding?

Off-camera voice: Trent and Evie’s wedding.

Chuck (stopping to address the interviewer): You don’t know what you’re talking about. She’s not getting married. She’s not even dating the guy—”

Off-camera voice: They look like a couple in love, for sure. Here… (his arm appears in frame, holding a Nikon DSLR, the screen facing Chuck) this is them in Berlin.

Chuck (waving the camera away): They hired her to be in a music video. It just happens to be a Trent Foster video. Nothing more, nothing less.

Off-camera voice: Are you bitter? Angry? Resigned?

Chuck: All of that. But not about Evie and Trent. I AM resigned. From Sisters Sportswear. There’s your scoop, bro. Surf’s up! Later!

(Camera follows Chuck as he runs into the ocean, flops onto his board, and begins paddling out to catch a wave)

Ashlee Woolcott (voice-over): We came across Conrad and Eloise Foster, Trent’s parents, on Sunday afternoon, strolling on a stretch of beach near their Pacific Palisades home. They were kind enough to speak to us on the record.

(Conrad and Eloise standing on the beach, smiling affably)

Eloise: She’s a honey of a girl. And Conrad and I are just beside ourselves over the prospect of having Evie join Team Foster. Aren’t we, dear?

Conrad: Oh, yes, dear. The boy finally got it right this time.

Off-camera voice: Has Trent proposed yet?

Eloise: Not officially. But it’s a fait accompli. They’re so much in love!

Off-camera voice: Will the wedding be held in California or New Jersey where her family is?

Eloise: That’s not an issue. She’s a Californian now. And forever! Right, Conrad?

Conrad: Yes, dear.

Off-camera voice: Fall wedding? Winter?

Eloise: Well, Trent’s tour takes a break in October. A Fall wedding would be perfect! And a grandchild in the Spring—

Off-camera voice: Evie’s pregnant?

Eloise: Did I just say that? Oh, Conrad, how could you let me let that slip?

Conrad: What? Evie’s pregnant? No one told me.

Eloise: No one told me either. But Evie’s got that special glow about her. Definitely, she’s got a bun in the oven!

Off-camera voice: You know this will be broadcast worldwide tonight.

Eloise: Oh my! I should have taken these clunky glasses off.

Ashlee Woolcott (at news desk): So, there you have it. An October wedding. A baby in The Spring. What more reliable source can you have than Mrs. Foster?

(Theme music rises in the background)

Until next week, this is Ashlee Woolcott, in Paris, signing off for Entertainment World Now. Good night and good luck.

Monday morning. Paris, France. Trent Foster's suite. I padded out into the common room between the two bedrooms. No Trent. He was still sawing wood. We had stayed up until past 2 in the morning, sipping Amaro and whispering terms of endearment, kissing to be clever. The agreement we had signed in blood (or so it seemed) was that I would stay in Paris long enough to attend the special one-off concert at Le Club Reynard Monday evening for a by-invitation-only audience of French record label execs and guests. Immediately after the final chord of the final encore, Trent would accompany me to the airport to catch a 10PM flight back to Los Angeles.

After déjeuner at Chez Alain Miam Miam, a trendy sandwich stand we had discovered while checking out the fresh produce at the Marche des Enfants Rouge in Le Marais, Trent and I would go our separate ways until he returned to our hotel at 6:30PM to pick me and my baggage up and go to his concert at Le Club Reynard. Trent’s road manager had secured some rehearsal space for the band in the 9th arrondissement. For my part, I planned to do some window shopping along the Champs Elysees all the way to the Arc du Triomphe and back. Not to buy, just looking. I’m starting to really appreciate nice clothes. It doesn’t hurt that someone else is footing the bill. Someone with deep pockets like Trent.

Tired, thirsty, and hungry, I found myself at mid-afternoon bypassing some notable eateries like Café George V, Café Joyeux Champs-Élysées, and Azur Café to seat myself in a Starbucks. I ordered a Strawberry Waffle Cone Frappuccino and a Blueberry muffin.

I mused on the absurdity of traveling almost 6,000 miles just to enjoy a coffee and a muffin at Starbucks. Did I just laugh like a madwoman? I looked around the shop to see if anyone had noticed. Before I returned my gaze to the muffin in front of me, I caught a glance to my right of someone who looked awfully familiar.

It couldn’t be. What would she be doing sitting in a Starbucks halfway around the world from home? We locked eyes. She seemed to have the same vague feeling of familiarity with me. She got up and walked toward me, carrying her coffee and croissant with her.

“Joanne Knowles? Funny meeting you here of all places.”

“What? In Paris?”

“No. In a Starbucks!”

We laughed. She sat down at my table, putting her food down.

“No sign of Ashlee Woolcott or her camera crew,” she said, scanning the room.

“Is she profiling you and Alastair?”

“No, silly, you.” Her confused expression turned quickly to acknowledgement. “You haven’t caught the latest episode of Entertainment World Now, have you?”

“I’ve been busy the last two days.” I smiled.

“Yes, Ms. Woolcott made that abundantly clear in her dispatch from a studio just a few blocks from here.”

“What do you mean?”

“So, does Trent know?”

“Know? Know what?”

“It’s alright, Evie. Joey Petry told me.”

“I thought doctors kept information about their patients confidential—”

“Besides the fact that we’re both transwomen, Joey and I are very close. She’s almost like a daughter to me. And she’s a good friend of my stepson, Eliot Bradshaw, the basketball player. Who, in turn, is close friends with your boss, Chuck Connors…”

“Does Alastair know?”

“No. And I won’t tell him. I suspect you’ll want to tell him yourself. When you’re ready.”

“I don’t see the need. With the strike unsettled, it’ll be next year before we start shooting the series…if GlobalNet doesn’t scrub it entirely before then. Hopefully I’ll have had my procedure done by then.”

“By the time your wedding to Trent takes place, I’m sure your little secret will be out—”

“Wedding? I’m not getting married. A girl spends a weekend with a good-looking rock star in Paris and a crazy rumor like that starts?”

“It’s not a rumor, according to Ashlee Woolcott’s reportage. Trent’s mother is on record saying there’s an October wedding after Trent’s tour takes a break.”

“It’s not true. Not true at all! It’s a set-up! Trent set me up! He made me miss my plane in Berlin on purpose. The Kirschwasser! He got me drunk!”

Joanne lowered her voice to nearly a whisper, leaning forward. “He raped you?”

“No! Well, I don’t think so. No, he left my clothes on and just spooned me in bed. His bed. He…he doesn’t know. You know?”

“You’re in deep do do, girl.”

“My plane home leaves at 10PM tonight. I hope I never see that self-obsessed jerk again after today. Forget about acting! I’ve got a real job anyway…”

“Spurning Trent like that would be a disaster. He could ruin you. The public would definitely be on his side. And he’d go for the kill shot if he found out about you being trans. No, just play it cool. Let him go on thinking he’s bamboozled you. Alastair has a lot of pull in the business, and he’s dealt with some sticky situations in his time. He’ll make Trent understand the ramifications of the situation. Don’t panic, Evie.”

“But then Alastair will know—”

“He’ll be fine with it. You know, he’s kind of got a soft spot for transwomen. He married one…” She smiled broadly and reached across the table to stroke my hand.

“Is Alastair here in Paris?”

“Yes. Even with the strike, there’s pre-production stuff to work on. GlobalNet has two projects planned with Canal Plus. We’re here for a couple of weeks so he can tie up some loose ends.” She looked toward the table she had been sitting at before walking over to me. “You just missed Alastair by five minutes. That’s his half-eaten double chocolate brownie. He’s halfway to the Canal Plus offices in Issy-les-Moulineaux as we speak.”

“Oh, thank Alastair for me, Joanne! My life is such a mess right now. I need all the help I can get. You’re a doll! Alastair’s a doll!” I reached across and gave Joanne an ecstatic double cheek kiss. The traditional French “la bise.” Except I did it two or three more times…for emphasis.

“I have to get going myself. Alastair’s parents are back at our little temporary pied-à-terre in the 7th arrondissement. We’re treating them to a performance of “Don Giovanni” at the Palais Garnier tonight.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything by him. I’m not into current pop music. More of a classic rock fan myself.”

For an intimate private concert, exclusively attended by invitation-only guests, Le Club Reynard was packed to the gills with wall-to-wall music industry suspects from French and European companies. True to its avowed purpose, the congregation was already bouncing to tracks from Trent’s soon-to-be-released album, Fostering Another Delusion, when we found our way backstage. The show was about to begin in 15 minutes as Trent introduced me to the band members and the rest of his crew. Some of them shook my hand while congratulating us on our impending nuptials. I grimaced while Trent patted my back and grinned like a fiend. Trent’s road manager Felix escorted me out to the crowded dance floor, acting as my bodyguard amidst the sea of bodies screaming Trent’s name. The room erupted in chanting and applause as the band emerged onstage.

Toward the end of his 45-minute set, Trent interrupted the flow to point to me in the crowd. The lighting master tried to pinpoint me with a spotlight which flickered across my face. Trent made some obscure remark about me that nevertheless met with applause from the audience. Then he performed a full-band version of the song he’d sung to me the morning after in his Berlin hotel suite.

I received a text on my phone as Trent began the guitar coda to the song. Looking down on the illuminated screen, I opened it and read:

The first 15 minutes of our ride to Charles De Gaulle Airport passed in uneasy silence between Trent and me. He looked confused by my demeanor. I kept my face turned to the view of Paris streets whizzing by beyond the car window.

“Something wrong, babe?”

“Tired.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to sleep on the plane. I sense you want to say something.”

“It’ll keep until you come off your tour in October.”

“Sounds ominous.” He turned in his seat to face me directly. “This week with you is the best time I’ve ever had. I don’t know how I’ll manage without you for the next few weeks. Maybe we can re-connect in Rome at the end of September. You can stay with me for the last leg of the tour.”

“Just before the wedding?”

“Yeah…I mean, what? That’s just my mom talking shit. I think sometimes she’s getting early-stage Alzheimer’s—”

“That’s a very nasty thing to say about your own mother.”

“I was joking, Evie.” We turned away in opposite directions and remained silent for the rest of the ride to the airport.

I felt glad and somewhat comforted that Chuck would be there at the other end of this transcontinental flight. I wondered what personal news he had to tell me.

Chuck stood waiting in the arrivals area, a single yellow rose in his right hand. When I emerged, loaded down with three bags, including the Louis Vuitton Keepall that held my booty of designer outfits from Paris, he smiled and proffered the flower. We embraced and I kissed him on the lips. He was surprised.

“I’m happy to see you too but, isn’t your fiancé going to be annoyed that you give out kisses on the lips to complete strangers?”

“Not if the stranger is cute and a good friend…as well as my boss. Anyway, I don’t have a fiancé—”

“But it’s all over the media. You and Trent—”

“Don’t mention his name!” I let out an aggravated roar. “Where’s your car? Let’s go somewhere and I’ll give you the details.” Chuck took my other two bags in hand, but I clung onto the Louis Vuitton bag for dear life.

“What have you got in there? Gold bullion?” I snickered. “We’re an hour away from your place. It’s almost 1 in the morning. No traffic. Maybe we could cut that to 45 minutes.”

“No, Chuck. There’s no one home. Debbie moved in with Otis. I don’t want to be alone right now. Can we talk at your place?”

“Sure. It’s the same distance either way. I’ve got some news of my own to tell you as well…”

---

About a half-hour into our drive to Chuck’s house in Corona Del Mar, the conversation finally turned to Chuck’s personal news. I use the word conversation loosely since he mostly stared straight ahead at the road and occasionally interspersed a ‘yeah’ or ‘really’ in my monologue. I told him about the music video in Berlin and spending the final evening attending Trent’s concert and having a late dinner in his hotel suite. Chuck whistled when I told him that I’d drunk the equivalent of five shots of Kirschwasser. Then I related the farce of waking up, still completely clothed, in Trent’s bed the next morning and missing my flight back home.

“Trent swore he didn’t try to do anything. He…uh…spooned me. But that was it!”

Chuck shot a glance at me but quickly returned his attention to the road. He said something under his breath, but I didn’t catch it. I went on to guiltily admit I swapped out a bit of my dignity for an all-expenses paid weekend in Paris. “And a small fortune in designer clothes.” I nodded at the Louis Vuitton bag sitting in the back seat. “But I made him agree to separate bedrooms in his suite. There was no hanky panky whatsoever.”

“Looked like at least some panky, from what they showed on TV…”

“No, Chuck. Well, when a really cute guy smacks you on the lips every chance he gets—”

“I wouldn’t know from ‘really cute guys,’ Evie.”

“You know what I mean. Anyway, the takeaway from all of this is…there’s no engagement, no upcoming nuptials, not even a relationship. He hired me to act in a music video. That’s it.”

Chuck remained silent.

“You believe me, don’t you?”

“Is it important to you what I believe?”

“Of course, you’re my best friend in Los Angeles. And I work for you—”

“Not anymore.”

“What?”

“I quit this morning. Came into the office and cleaned out my office. Called Clark and Misty and told them I resigned, effective immediately. Well, that’s my news.”

“Why, Chuck, why? Where does that leave me? You hired me in the first place. Who’s going to keep the wolf at the door. And by wolf, I mean Clark Ruskin.”

“You gave notice already. Remember? I accepted your resignation. You’re an actress now, right?”

“Chuck! I’m on strike! I can’t work in the industry until this thing is settled. And that might be months and months from now. I need the job!”

“You just shot a music video in Europe. Juan told me you cleared over $13,000 after agency fees and taxes.”

“That was a one-off because Trent’s a publicity hound and a horndog all in one. Who’s going to hire me with no prior acting credits if GlobalNet cancels the show before it even starts shooting? I can’t survive in LA on that and the two months salary from Sisters Sportswear!”

“What about your advance from GlobalNet for the series?”

“They suspended all payments until the strike’s resolved. I never got it, Chuck!”

“Don’t get hysterical, Evie! We’ll think of something.”

“And then there’s the medical bills for my transition—”

“I told you I’d pay them for you—”

“No, Chuck, it’s something I need to do myself, for myself…”

“I can’t see myself working there without you, Chuck. Clark is plotting my seduction. He bought me a sports car for goodness’ sake! He’ll throw me overboard his yacht when he finds out the truth about me.”

I was sitting on Chuck’s cushy, cream-colored sofa in his Corona Del Mar house, stood a hundred yards from the beach. He had listened attentively to my whining without comment. Then, abruptly, he simply got up from the sofa and walked away, toward the kitchen. I was afraid he was weary of my plaintive monologue. But I looked up to see him carrying two cans of Decaf Green Tea, offering me one as he sat back down.

“Thanks, Chuck. I’m still on Paris time so it’s like 11 in the morning for me. Too early for wine or any kind of alcohol. I’m sorry. You should drink what you want. Don’t deprive yourself because of me—”

He tried to stifle a yawn, but I could tell he was very tired.

“I’m gonna flake out any minute. The sofa’s fine for me. You can take my bed.” I gave him a dubious look. “I changed the sheets this morning.”

“I’m not sleepy, Chuck. I’ll just sit here in total darkness until I lose consciousness due to sensory deprivation. You go to bed. Go ahead. I’m fine.”

“We haven’t finished discussing your situation, Evie. Now, just listen to me. You should go back to the office and act like nothing’s changed. Clark’s too busy with the impending NFL season to plot your seduction…at least until the team goes on its first losing streak. Misty’s a fan of yours. In fact, everybody loves you.”

“Except Mei Ling—”

“Now that I’ve quit, she’ll have no reason to plot against you. After all, the last thing you want is to be Clark’s side-chick.”

“But what are you going to do now, Chuck? I guess you don’t need to work—”

“I’m going to do what I’ve wanted to do all along. Be a sports agent. I got my law degree mostly so I could learn all about contract law.”

“On your own?”

“I used my contacts at CAA and if I can bring in a good starter list of clients, they’re open to adding me to their sports department. I’ve already got one NBA client.”

“Who?”

“Eliot Bradshaw. The Lakers just traded him to the Knicks and I’m negotiating his contract extension with New York. Eliot’s an old friend. We played together on a couple of U.S. amateur squads when I was at UCLA, and he was at Columbia. We made it to the quarterfinals at The World Cup after our Junior year. That’s how I got your referral to Dr. Petry. They’re close friends.”

“That was quick.”

“I’ve been thinking about leaving Sisters for a while. In fact, your coming on board was the sole reason I stayed. Of course, I had no idea this would all happen—”

“Sorry, Chuck. It’s all Debbie’s fault. No, that’s not true…”

“It’s no one’s fault, Evie. Most certainly not yours.” He yawned again. This time he didn’t bother trying to stifle it. “I need some shuteye. I’ve got to drive you to the office in the morning and then I’ve got an 11AM flight to JFK to start negotiations for Eliot with The Knicks. Hopefully, I’ll be back in a couple of days. Why don’t you head off to bed?”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa, Chuck. You know, I fall asleep pretty quickly to music. Like soft, low volume pop stuff. It’s got to have a bit of a beat though.”

“I have just the playlist for that on Spotify. Give me a few seconds and I’ll set it up.” I sat on the sofa, thinking it was an impossible task for me to actually fall asleep at, for me, midday. But the music started emanating from Chuck’s high-end bookshelf speakers.

“This is perfect, Chuck. It’s almost danceable.” I laughed. “Just leave the remote and I’ll turn it off when my eyelids start to droop.”

Chuck held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

“I can’t dance.”

“You’re an athlete. I’m sure you’re coordinated enough to get the hang of it after a few steps.”

“Okay but just watch your toes.”

We slow-danced. It took a few bars into the song, but we went from arms-length to cheek to cheek. He smelled freshly showered. I was hoping that I didn’t smell like the interior of a Boeing 777. We locked our eyes and exchanged warm smiles. Suddenly, he leaned down and softly kissed my lips. A kiss that intensified as our bodies molded into each other. We had stopped dancing. Just standing in one place, intertwined arms and hungry lips, our hearts beating in unison.

By the time the next song on Chuck’s playlist started, we had fallen onto the sofa, and a universal force greater than gravity placed me on top of Chuck, my tongue exploring the inner sanctum of his mouth. His strong hands gripped my shoulders and pulled me down into the well of his soul. My whimpers and sighs harmonized with Chuck’s ecstatic grunts. Neither of us knew what was playing over the speakers only ten feet from us.

Chuck started pulling at my clothes, trying to touch parts that didn’t exist on my body. But lust has a way of disputing all logic. When he tried to unbutton my jeans, my brain instantly defogged. As I tried to disentangle myself from his embrace, my hand unintentionally brushed against the front of his pants. He was in a state of extremis.

“No, Chuck, we can’t. I’m…I’m not ready for that.”

“I want you, Evie.” He looked like a little boy whose little red Radio Flyer wagon had just lost its rear wheels. My heart really melted for him at that moment, and I decided to lend a hand to his problem. Unzipping his pants, I took hold of the situation.

“Did you do this for Trent?” I stopped my ministrations.

“Of course not. I’m not some cheap whore. How could you think that, Chuck?”

“Don’t stop. For god’s sake, Evie. I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Half an hour later, after Chuck had gone off to bed and I had cleaned up the mess on the sofa, I was still listening to Chuck’s Spotify playlist, drifting into unconsciousness in his darkened living room. I pressed the remote and killed the music. With a heavy sigh, I shut my eyes and counted sheep. I think it took thirty-odd bleating sheep before the curtain finally fell.

---

We got off to a late start on Tuesday morning. Chuck and I both slept through our alarms and didn’t hit the road until almost 8AM, partly due to the full breakfast my host prepared: eggs and bacon, wholegrain toast with avocado mash, orange juice and coffee.

Remarkably, Chuck did not get stopped for speeding as he drove like Grand Prix champion Lewis Hamilton through the early morning haze descending upon Orange and Los Angeles counties. We arrived at the Sisters Sportswear office building in a record-time hour and a half. Since it would take another 45 minutes to an hour to reach LAX, there was only time enough for two quick kisses before Chuck dropped me off in front of the building.

As I rushed through the turnstiles, Javier, one of the security guards, tipped his cap to me.

“Welcome back, Ms. Rivers. We missed you all week last week.”

“Thanks, Javier. It’s good to be back!” I ran into the open elevator cab and only noticed my sister Debbie standing behind me after the doors closed.

“Well, hello stranger. I assume you were too busy last night to call and tell me not to wait up for you at the apartment—”

“Sorry, Debbie. I didn’t think you’d be waiting for me. I thought that’s why you sent Chuck to pick me up.”

“Oh, that was Chuck’s idea. Otis and I planned to pick you up all along but when I told him when your flight was landing, he insisted on doing it himself. Speaking of which, did he tell you why he up and quit suddenly? Caught everyone by surprise. Especially Misty. Guess what, Buzz is your new boss now—”

“It’s no secret. Chuck’s been planning to leave for a while. He’s getting into sports representation. Got the inside track with CAA.”

“Enough about him. What’s the deal with Trent? Don’t hold out on your own sister—”

The elevator doors opened onto the Sisters floor.

“There’s nothing to it. It’s just his idea of impression management. Fake relationship with a fake girlfriend so his public image improves. I’m through with him—”

“Yeah, he doesn’t deserve you. Maybe he’ll go back to that Bambi bitch.”

Mei Ling appeared in front of us as if from a puff of smoke.

“Evie, welcome back. Misty wants to speak to you. She’s in your office, waiting.”

“Thanks, Mei Ling.” Turning to Debbie. “We’ll talk over lunch, sis.” Debbie walked toward her corner desk, and I strode with erect carriage to my office, waving to co-workers as I passed.

When I walked into my office, the smile on my lips faded quickly as I saw Misty jump up from behind my desk, an angry scowl across her pretty face.

“Come in, Evie. I’ve got a lot to say to you. Sit down.” I sat down and nervously waited as Misty approached my left side.

“As you know, my brother resigned yesterday, quite abruptly and without offering a satisfactory reason. I can only assume it’s because of you. Yes, you! You’ve done nothing but cause chaos in this company and my family since you started. You charm the pants off my brother and then reject him for some fuckin’ pop star who can’t keep it in his pants. You set your sights on my husband and have him fall under a spell. I mean, how did you get him to buy you a frickin’ sports car? With company money, no less. My sister and I technically gifted you an $80,000 car. On top of trying to destroy my marriage and my family, you’re only here half the time. You’re in Seattle or Berlin or Paris or on some movie soundstage. Next thing, you’ll be on a spaceship to Mars! Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Misty, nothing you just said is true. I never—”

“Oh, so you’re accusing me of lying? Making this all up? Here’s a true fact for you. You’re fired! Pack up your things and leave the premises immediately.” She walked quickly to the doorway, didn’t look back, and shook her head as she stepped through.

Debbie rushed in as I sat stunned by the rapidity of what just occurred.

“Misty fired you?”

“That’s about the gist of it.”

“She can’t do that without cause. I’m in HR, I deal with these issues all the time. File a complaint, Evie.”

“No use, Debbie. If I pursued the matter, you know what they’d find out in discovery. Then the tables would be turned. Not only would I get in trouble but so would you.” I sighed. “I’m on a streak, sis. Can’t win for losing.”

“Oh, Evie. It’s all my fault.”

“What’s done is done and I’m definitely done here. Help me pack up. And give me the keys to the car. You can get Otis to drive you home.”

“I wonder why she’s letting you keep the car.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll get Clark to pay for it. In more ways than one.”

I drove around Los Angeles aimlessly for an hour or two. Ironically, my itinerary resembled the tooling around Debbie and I had done the first week Clark unexpectedly gifted me the car. My eyes welled with tears, and I had to use my shirtsleeve to wipe them away. Around noon, I found myself on Sunset Boulevard in the proximity of Children’s Hospital and I was reminded that I hadn’t called to make an appointment to see the therapist to whom Dr. Joey had referred me. My concern before this was when to schedule it, given my work commitments and hours. Well, that wasn’t a concern anymore.

Hungry and thirsty, I reluctantly decided to pick up a Whopper and fries combo from the nearby Burger King. The same one I had “discovered” Hanna Van Gogh in. I assumed I’d drive back to my apartment and eat my lunch there. Afterwards, I’d have to seriously begin planning my post-Sisters Sportswear life. As I sat in my car waiting for my food, a familiar face appeared behind the driver’s side window.

“Nice wheels. Funny meeting you here after you’ve seen Paree.” It was Hanna, dressed more appropriately for her age than when we first met.

“Hey, Hanna. Come around the other side and get in.” She scooted around the car and slid into the passenger seat, carrying her bag of Burger King victuals.

“So, what you up to, girl?”

“Very little, Hanna. I just got fired from my real job.”

“I’m sure Trent will help you out. I saw that show Sunday night. A family of four could live on what he spent on your designer clothes for a good three months.”

“There’s nothing between Trent and me. It’s just a show for his fans. He wants them to think he’s not a playboy anymore.”

“Well, at least you got a weekend in Paris and some new threads out of it. Say, where are you planning to eat your lunch? I live a few blocks from here, north of Hollywood Boulevard. My place is kind of small but cozy. We can share war stories.”

As I helped Hanna set up her folding table, I looked around at her 400-square-foot apartment. It was tiny but neatly kept and homey. For a person living alone, it wasn’t that bad. Sitting in one of her red lacquer folding chairs, enjoying our Burger King feast, I recalled the summer lunches Debbie and I would have at Mom’s best friend’s house when we were 9 and 6 respectively. The difference being those lunches were on picnic tables in Mrs. Willets’ backyard. And the Willets’ cocker spaniel Freddie always got a potato chip or two or three from me and Debbie, unbeknownst to Mrs. Willets.

“Show business can be a real bitch, Evie. Sorry to hear about your situation. But don’t give up. Look at me. Acting is all I’ve ever wanted to do. I’ll be playing doddering old grandmas when I’m a doddering old grandma myself—"

“You have kids?”
“My daughter lives in Sacramento with her husband. He’s a dentist. Right now, she works with him as his assistant, but she wants to start a family soon. I’m looking forward to being a grandma. You will someday too, I’m sure.”

“I don’t think so, Hanna.”

“Don’t want children or can’t have them?”

I hesitated for a pregnant moment but then decided there was nothing to hide now.

“I’m not able to have children, Hanna. I’m transgender—”

“No, really? You were a boy once?”

“I was nominally a boy until three months ago. But I guess I’ve always really been a girl in here,” pointing to my head, “and here.” I patted my padded bra. “It just took this wild idea of my sister’s to throw the switch.”

“So…may I ask? You still have your boy parts?”

“Yeah, I haven’t even started my HRT yet but I’m seeing a therapist very soon and, if everything goes well, I could have gender affirmation surgery within a year. But, getting the money together for it is going to be tough…”

“Maybe when the strike is over…”

“There aren’t many roles for trans girls who haven’t transitioned yet.”

“Well, nobody knows. You’re on national TV, portrayed as a cis woman who’s got Trent Foster wrapped around your little finger. And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I really like you, Evie. And you did me a solid, getting me the gig on that music video.”

“I wish I could share your optimism, Hanna. And the irony of it all is I’ve never dreamed of being in show business. Three months ago, I would’ve called you crazy if you told me I’d be promoted in the media as an ‘ingenue’.”

“What is it that you really want to do? What is it you really enjoy doing?”

“I’ve always loved baseball.” Hanna burst out laughing. “No, really. I pitched in college, and I was a minor league coach for The Titans just last year.”

“Evie, you’re unbelievable. You’re tall but you’re a mere slip of a girl. How could you play a sport like baseball? You’re shitting me.”

“Well, I guess I wasn’t that good at it. My fastball was about the speed of most pitchers’ changeups. That’s why I turned to coaching. But, Hanna, being on a ball field was when I felt most alive. Like my life had some purpose.”

“Then go back to baseball, your first love.”

“I tried. That’s how I ended up in LA. I thought the Dodgers were going to hire me, but Debbie got me this marketing job with Sisters Sportswear. I have an MBA that I’d never used.”

“Go for it again. I’ll bet you the Dodgers would love to hire the first female coach in the big leagues.”

“Maybe. But not the first transwoman—”

“You’ll never know until you try. My daughter always wanted to be a veterinarian. She’s a dental assistant by default, I guess. Don’t give up on your dream like she did.”

“Want the rest of my fries, Hanna?”

---

After lunch at Hanna’s, I found myself driving past my apartment building in Alhambra. I wasn’t even fully conscious of where I was heading. Driving east, past El Monte, Covina, San Dimas, Pomona, and into San Bernadino County. Ultimately, 45 minutes after I left Alhambra in my rearview mirror, I parked in front of the bungalow offices of The Rancho Cucamonga Quakes. I hadn’t called ahead but I was certain Ray Crawford would be sitting behind his desk, probably reviewing game video from the previous series with their opponent tonight, The Lake Elsinore Storm.

Ray’s assistant ushered me into his office. There was no need to announce me. Ray jumped up from behind his desk and wrapped his arms around me, hugging me tightly.

“Evie! Good to see you again.”

“Ooof! I forgot you played football on the Junior Varsity.”

“I was all-county at linebacker in high school. Washed out in college though. Eh, I liked baseball better anyway.” He held me at arm’s length and smiled broadly. “I guess I need to congratulate you on your impending wedding to Trent. He’s not worthy.”

“I keep telling everyone none of that is true. I’m not marrying Trent! I was in Europe shooting his new music video. It was a job. Plain and simple.”

“You’re kidding, Evie. You were lip locking with that dude a lot as far as I could see—”

“Ray, you know I could never fall for a guy like him. He’s a phony, through and through.”

“So, are you saying there’s a chance?”

“Ray, we were best buds in school, but I don’t think of you that way—”

“Friend zone, huh? I’m destroyed, Evie.”

“Ray!” I hugged him. “Please don’t! It’s just…well, we knew each other as guys back then. I don’t think I can handle you seeing me as a woman—”

“But that’s what you are…to me. Always. I knew, Evie. I knew!”

“How could you, when I didn’t even know. Let’s stay best friends, Ray. I don’t want to hurt you by promising something I can’t deliver—”

He let go of my arms and hung his head down for a moment, before lifting his eyes to meet mine. He seemed to be searching my soul for the truth. Finally, he spoke.

“I can accept that. I have to accept it. Now, you came here for a reason. What can I do you for?”

We sat down and I went through the whole mish-mosh of the past week, ending with my dismissal from Sisters Sportswear that morning. I admitted to Ray that I didn’t really know how I decided to drive to Rancho Cucamonga. It was an irresistible impulse.

“Would it be possible for you to let me suit up and maybe pitch batting practice? I need to feel the sod under my cleats, the smell of well-manicured grass wafting in the air, even the beads of sweat falling off the brim of my cap—”

Ray took my arm and walked to the door of his office with me.

“The team takes afternoon BP in about half an hour. We’ll see if we can find you a uniform and cleats. I don’t know if we have anything in your size. You’re going to look like those old-timers from the ‘30s in those ballooning flannels.”

“It’s alright, Ray. Just being out there throwing to batters is the important thing. I’d even do it wearing a bikini if I had to—”

“Damn it! I knew I should have requisitioned those string bikinis for the team.”

It was glorious. I threw batting practice to these kids, all of whom were just a year or two younger than I was. 15 batters each had six swings per round. That added up to 90 pitches for me as one of their coaches took over after the first round. The whole point of throwing batting practice is to give the batters something they can make contact with. I’m not trying to strike them out. So, my 83 miles-per-hour fastball was the perfect fodder for them. Normally, a pitcher wouldn’t feel good about a batter hitting home runs off them but let’s just say, I left a lot of baseballs in the outfield stands for the stadium crew to collect.

I marveled at the thought that it was only 5 months ago that I had last thrown batting practice to professional baseball players. It seemed like memories from another life. As I toweled off in the dugout after my round of BP, sitting next to Ray, who had emerged from his office halfway through my stint on the mound, a vision of my future started to crystallize.

“Maybe Hanna was right. I shouldn’t give up my dream just because someone thinks I could be an actress on some smarmy soap opera.”

“I just got off the phone with the Dodgers’ front office. You know, we send some of our minor leaguers to the Arizona Fall League for a six-week season starting in October. As part of our agreement with MLB, we have to provide coaches for the teams as well. How would you like to be one of the coaches we send to Arizona? The front office gave me approval.”

“Wow, Ray, that’s…that’s a lifesaver. Of course, I’ll go. But what do I do from now until October?”

“Our season here goes through September. All the way through to September 30th if we make it to the championship series. I can add you to our coaching staff…today. We alternate weeks home and road games, so you’d only be working part-time but it’ll give you some income and time to do other things as well.”

I shook Ray’s hand enthusiastically. He kissed me on the cheek. I wagged my finger at him.

“Show up tomorrow at 2:30 and I’ll formally introduce you to everyone. We’ll get the clubhouse guys to make some alterations to your uniform—”

“And I should put my hair up in a ponytail.”

“Maybe go light on the makeup too.”

I slapped Ray on the shoulder as we walked out of the stadium back to his bungalow office. He said I could take a shower in his en suite bathroom.

“I need a shower myself. It’s pretty humid out there today.”

“No, you don’t, Ray. We can’t take showers together anymore.”

“But we’re on the same team again…”

After I confirmed my Thursday morning appointment with Dr. Francine Zhao, the therapist Dr. Petry had referred me to, I texted Chuck to give me a voice call in return whenever he got settled in his New York hotel room. There was so much to tell him!

There was an hour before Debbie and Otis would be home. I’m sure, despite my getting fired earlier today, they’d want to hear all about my week in Europe. We’d probably go out to our favorite neighborhood restaurant, Chef G on 4th Street, where Debbie would always order the Pad Thai and Otis would order the Crying Tiger (otherwise known as a ribeye steak). Having to watch my girlish figure, I would barely satiate my hunger with the Papaya Salad.

Thinking about what had transpired between Chuck and me last night, I wanted to listen to his Spotify playlist again. The music spurred my heightened sense of being, feeling Chuck’s arms wrapped around me, our intense, soul-melting kisses, the carnal need in his eyes. I blushed even though I was alone. My lips parted and almost cried out Chuck’s name. That was when my phone rang. Caller ID apprised me that it was from Eloise Foster, Trent’s mom.

“Hello, Mrs. Foster. Nice to hear from you. To what do I owe this pleasant phone call?”

“Oh, Evie! I just happened to be doing some window shopping in Palisades Village. You know, they have the most wonderful little boutiques and shops and it’s not like those nondescript malls that you see…anyway, I happened to come upon Bridal Dress Alterations, a lovely shop with the most beautiful wedding gowns. You can look them up on the internet. 5-star reviews! There was this one lacey thing that would look so angelic on you, dear. The décolletage is a little revealing but, overall, it’s very classy. I’m sure Trent would approve…”

I dropped the phone onto the couch.

More than two months after Misty Connors fired me from Sisters Sportswear, I stood alongside the relief pitchers of the Rancho Cucamonga Quakes in the bullpen area squeezed between the left field foul line and the fenced off benches of The Hot Corner Grille. We were all on our feet, cheering at the top of our lungs. This was the third and deciding game in the Class A California League Championship Series. One run down in the bottom of the ninth inning with The Quakes, the home team, at bat. A man on third and two out. The sold-out crowd in LoanMart Field rose to its feet as one in anticipation as our best hitter, shortstop Miguel Amaya, strolled calmly into the batter’s box, accompanied by his walk-up music, “25/8” by Bad Bunny.

Seeing Miguel reminded me of my “former” boyfriend, Chuck Connors, who had just signed the kid on as a client. Well, technically we still live together in his Corona Del Mar house. I had moved in the week after I was relieved of my employment at Sisters and, happily, we had enjoyed the amenities of blissful cohabitation for the first few weeks. But Ray Crawford got approval from the Dodgers’ front office to upgrade me from part-time to full-time coach and I had to accompany the team on road trips as well. At the same time, Chuck began visiting NBA teams to follow up on leads for players looking to secure new representation. Two or three days a week, Chuck would be out of town. We barely saw each other. Ultimately, we decided that it wasn’t working out and that, after the last game of the season, I’d move out. It was sad but I think we managed to part as best friends forever. Debbie and Otis were in the stands tonight, planning to pick me up and my luggage after the game. Unfortunately, Debbie quickly sublet our apartment to a co-worker at Sisters so, for the immediate future, I’d be rooming with Debbie and Otis in Otis’ apartment.

Radio play-by-play announcer: With the game and the season on the line, Miguel Amaya comes to bat. Two outs and a man on third base. Miguel led the league with 26 home runs in the regular season. He’s the last hope for The Quakes.

I could never have expected the last seven weeks to have been such a happy and successful time in my life, given the disappointments of my tenure with Sisters Sportswear and my brief, almost non-existent strike-aborted acting career. The Quakes surged in the last month of the season and qualified for the post-season, all while I was reliving my salad days as a baseball coach. Even the four-hour bus rides to places as far north as Stockton and San Jose were a joy, especially once the players and other coaches got accustomed to having a woman in their traveling group. Most of the kids played video games while I played gin rummy with the “adult” coaches. Ray Crawford, who usually came along on our road trips, would make sure I got a single room in the motels the team would stay in.

The third week I was with the team, in Stockton, the new issue of Glamour Magazine came out. I had almost forgotten that Juan had been approached by Glamour to have me do a photo spread. I didn’t know they would put me on the cover. It was an unpaid gig (I think the people at Glamour rationalized they were giving GlobalNet free publicity for Newport, when and if it ever resumed production). Plus, I was a hot commodity due to Trent’s insane attempt to conquer all media all the time.

I entered the clubhouse the next morning to almost stumble upon a carpet of towels laid out on the floor, leading straight to my locker. There was another line of towels leading from my locker to the manager’s office. The players knew my daily routine was to change in and out of my uniform in the manager’s office. After the games, I was always the last person to shower. Sometimes there’d be some grumbling because I’d hold up the bus from leaving the stadium.

Some knuckleheads started singing “There She is, Miss America,” badly and off-key. They were holding up copies of the magazine. Ray stepped out of the manager’s office with Frank Hardy, the Quakes’ skipper. Hardy raised his hands to quiet everyone.

“Okay, guys, enough already. Practice starts in ten minutes. I expect to see all of you running laps by the time I’m out on the field.”

“How could you forget doing a photo shoot, Evie?”

Ray and I were picking over our lunch at Cast Iron Trading Co., a cozy little gastropub at the east end of Lake McLeod, about a 10-minute walk from Banner Island Ballpark. I took a swig of the beer Ray had ordered for us, Allagash James Bean, a Belgian-style golden ale aged in bourbon barrels and blended with cold-brewed coffee, before answering. Arghhh!

“It happened the same day I had my first session with my therapist. I was so nervous I had to ask Chuck to drive me to the appointment that morning. And then, after lunch, he had to drive me to the photo studio for the Glamour shoot. Poor Chuck, my chauffeur for the day. Wasted his whole day just driving me around town—”

“I’m sure he didn’t have anything better to do. I mean he’d just quit Sisters, right?”

“He just got off a red eye from New York. Was talking contract for one of his clients on the Knicks. Three hours sleep later he was on the freeway. Remind me to ignore your beverage recommendations, Ray.”

“I like my beer like I like my women: robust and bittersweet. Sort of why I like you—”

“I’ll ignore that remark as well. Chuck’s been so wonderful to me, Ray.”

“So, he’s ahead of Trent Foster in your book of numbers?”

“Way, way ahead. I sent him a long text basically ghosting him. At least his mom stopped calling me about wedding gown fittings.”

“Well, then, it’s mano a mano. Me and Chuck.”

“Ray, please don’t go there. We’re old friends—”

“I’ll change the subject. So, how did it go with the therapist? I don’t see you carrying bottles of pills around with you…”

“You’re the second movie star I’ve had in my office. It’s exciting!”

“Really? Well, I’m no movie star. I haven’t even acted in anything yet. Tell me, Doctor, who’s the other movie star?”

“No, I can’t tell you that. Confidentiality, you know. Now, let’s start at the beginning. How long have you had these feelings, this sense that you are not the gender you were assigned at birth?”

I told Dr. Zhao about the time when I was maybe 4 or 5 years old. We were waiting for Mom near the restrooms in Six Flags out in Jackson Township. Daddy’s arms were full of all the tchotchkes, plush animals, and assorted bags we had accumulated during the day. I was cradling my toddler sister Debbie in my tiny arms. I enjoyed treating Debbie as my dolly since I didn’t have any of my own, being a boy. An older couple passed by us on the way to the restrooms, stopped, and the lady addressed my father with a bright smile.

“Such a pair of beautiful little girls! You must be one proud father. What’s your name, cutie pie?”

I quickly answered the lady, telling her my name was Evie and my sister’s was Debbie.

Daddy put some of his burden down, brushed my long hair away from my face, and corrected the woman. “Oh, Evie’s a boy. He’s my son. People make that mistake all the time.”

After the couple walked away, the lady shaking her head in disbelief, I angrily responded to my father’s seemingly factual statement. “'Why do you have to tell! Why do you have to say anything!'"

When Mom returned from the restroom, she tried to calm me down as my father acted confused by my vehement reaction. I think my mother knew there was something unusual about me from the earliest days.

Around the age of 7 or 8, I started “borrowing” Mom’s clothing. I would take a long T-shirt and belt, and fashion it into a dress. This went on for months until one day, Mom found me crying inconsolably. I tearfully explained to her that I simply could not get the T-shirt to look right.

Mom surprised me when she simply asked, 'You really want a dress to wear, don't you?' My face lit up, and I practically shouted, 'Yes!'" That afternoon, Mom piled me and Debbie into the family car and drove us to the Target store in Bridgewater. I thought I was going to hyperventilate and faint because I was so incredibly happy, knowing that we were going to Target that day to pick out my dress.

Mom allowed me to get two dresses (Debbie got two as well, the little crybaby). When we got home and I modeled the dresses for Daddy, he was initially angry but ultimately demurred when he saw how ecstatic I was, twirling and posing in my new dresses. Even so, he wouldn’t allow Mom to buy any more dresses for a year afterward, so I had to wear those two dresses every day when I wasn’t in school or out in public until I got sick of looking at them. I remember him insisting to Mom that I would gradually grow out of my “obsession.”

“I don't mind him being a little effeminate, as long as he's not gay.'"

As I progressed through elementary school and then entered middle school, the pressure to conform to boyhood norms and behavior ramped up and, much to my father’s relief, I seemed to be adjusting to being Evelyn in male mode instead of Evie, the pixie strawberry blonde with the giggly demeanor. I discovered baseball and, unexpectedly, was athletic enough to make varsity teams from 9th grade onward. Of course, I was still acutely body-conscious and would routinely be “shy” about changing and showering with the other boys. My coaches would chide me about always being the last to leave the locker room before and after games and practices.

When I was twelve, Mom died in an auto accident. Some drunk driver crashed into my parents’ car on John F. Kennedy Boulevard coming back home from the Somerset Diner. It left dad in a wheelchair. From that day going forward, my personality seemed to be split in two. For my father, I was the academically smart, sports-playing son he hoped for. For Debbie, I had to be a second mother, exhibiting the maternal instincts that have always been a fundamental part of my being. Seeing how I “raised” my sister and knowing the stress I was under to live up to my male persona, Daddy began to slowly realize that he really had two daughters, not just one. He and Debbie, along with my stepmother Consuela, are even more convinced than I that I am and have always been a girl and now a woman.

Dr. Zhao said little as I recounted these incidents in my life, furiously taking notes on her tablet, occasionally nodding or uttering a soft “uh-uh.” Finally, as I took a long break in my soliloquy, she twirled the stylus in her right hand.

“Very interesting, Evie. These are all quite definitive signs of gender dysphoria. I will recommend to Dr. Petry that she start you on a regimen of HRT immediately. And I would like to continue our sessions. Both to monitor your transitional progress and for us to delve further into your gender issues. I’d like to schedule bi-weekly sessions for you.”

Before I could answer positively to her suggestion, Dr. Zhao initiated her own soliloquy.

“You know, you’re exceptionally fortunate, Evie. You already conform to the physical attributes of a beautiful cis woman. My own journey was much more tortuous. I had to undergo a whole litany of feminization processes: laser hair removal, plastic surgery to reshape my forehead, brows, nose, cheeks and jaw, tracheal shave to minimize my Adam’s Apple. Phew! My mother almost didn’t recognize me! I even had the fat grafting procedure to augment my breasts…”

Fortunately, our hour was up before my eyes lost focus.

Radio play-by-play announcer: Swing and a miss! Amaya is behind in the count 1-2. The Quakes could be a strike away from ending their season one win short of a championship. Or they could be a big swing away from celebrating on their home field. Here’s the 1-2 pitch…

As the crowd roared, electrifying the atmosphere in LoanMart Field, the pitch clock counted down and I could see Miguel’s hands tightening their grip on his bat handle. As the tension escalated, my mind turned to the events of the past week.

Sunday night, as I picked up Chuck at LAX, returning from a client recruiting trip to Miami, I was on top of the world. The Quakes had just won the Division Series against The Inland Empire 66ers of San Bernardino and were slated to play for the championship starting Tuesday night against The San Jose Giants. I was packed and ready to take the bus ride to San Jose on Monday morning.

Additionally, and most importantly, I was well into my transition process, having already received my first two monthly injections of estrogen and anti-androgens. Sessions with Dr. Zhao were helpful in clearing the fog from the years after my mother’s death that effectively split my personality in two. Things were humming smoothly both professionally and medically. But the drive home from the airport was silent and Chuck’s sullen demeanor burst my pretty balloon. Although there had been warning signs in recent weeks, I was not prepared for Chuck’s sour mood when we settled into his living room in Corona Del Mar.

Chuck poured three fingers of Maker’s Mark bourbon into a Glencairn glass and took two quick swigs. He stared into space.

“I take it, your recruiting trip didn’t go well—”

“It was a shitshow, Evie. I’m hitting a wall. The word’s gotten around that I’m a failure.”

“How could that be? What have you failed at? I don’t get it.”

“Clark’s gotten in everyone’s ear. The league thinks I’m a fuck-up and he fired me for incompetence. One of the players I met with told me the word was I only got the job at Sisters because Misty and Christy took pity on their idiot brother.” Chuck took a long gulp of his bourbon. “Maybe they’re right. I am a fuck-up. At this rate, I’m never going to get into CAA. I’ve got three mid-tier clients, not counting Eliot.”

“It’s early days yet, Chuck. You’re not a fuck-up. Clark’s just being a spiteful loser.”

“It’s up for debate who’s the loser. Evie, we need to talk about where we are and where we’re headed.”

“What are you saying?”

“It’s not working out. We barely see each other. You’re on the road with The Quakes half the time and in October you’re going to be starting six weeks in Arizona—”

“Well, speak for yourself. You’ve been away half the week every week on recruiting trips.”

“I can’t take coming home to an empty house. Especially when I’m going through rough times with this agenting shit. I don’t want to sound whiny and needy but…I just wish you’d be here to support me more. I’m sorry—”

“You don’t support me, Chuck. How many games have you gone to? I know you had meetings scheduled but we just played three games in the Division Series, and you didn’t show up to a single one. Maybe we’re not meant to be—”

“Together? Hardly if we’re not even geographically in proximity to each other. You deserve more. I deserve more.” Chuck finished his glass and poured another three fingers of bourbon, his face obscured by his left hand, fingers raking his wavy, light brown hair.

“It’s late, Chuck. I’ve got an early bus ride to San Jose in the morning. We’ll talk when I get back on Wednesday.”

“I’ll be in Boston. Probably until Saturday.” Without another word or glance, I walked away toward our bedroom, stifling a yawn.

Radio play-by-play announcer: A long fly ball pulled to left field! And it’s foul! Bucky, I think everyone in the park thought that one was gone. The count remains full. Amaya takes a short stroll behind the batter’s box before climbing back in. Mumphrey looks in for the sign and sets.

Just ten hours ago, Debbie and Otis dropped by the house in Corona Del Mar to pick me up and take me to LoanMart Field. Practice for tonight’s finale was slated for 2:30 in the afternoon. The plan was to drive to Rancho Cucamonga, have lunch in Victoria Gardens, deliver me to the park, and then, while I carried out my coaching duties, Otis and Debbie wander through town until the game tonight. After the game, they would take me and my luggage back to their apartment. After Chuck hadn’t bothered to return my text during the week, I had decided to move out of his house. I wouldn’t let this speed bump in my love life stall my personal progress.

“Evie, you have to watch this! Trent released a new music video yesterday. Where’s your laptop? It’s better on a bigger screen…”

“Debbie, I’m not interested. It’s been weeks since I broke off my non-existent relationship with him. And his mom finally stopped calling me. Thank God!”

“But the video’s all about you.”

“Really? Is it like a Taylor Swift revenge song? I don’t need to hear Trent running me down—”

“Chuck’s got a Roku stick, Debbie. Here’s the remote.” Otis tossed the remote to Debbie, who fumbled it and had to pick it up off the floor. “I forgot who had the ball skills in the family.”

The three of us sat down on Chuck’s cream white sofa and waited for Trent’s YouTube video to fire.

“You’re crying, Evie.”

“Did I make a mistake, Debbie? Was I wrong about Trent?”

“That was quite a tribute to you, sis. Maybe you turned him around. You know, the power of a woman’s… Don’t say it, Otis. I warn you.”

“Nothing. I wasn’t gonna say nothing.” Otis turned the TV off.

“Men! You can’t live with them, and you can’t shoot them.”

“Well, I’m a single woman now. Totally. Despite that video, Trent’s still an immature narcissist with the attention span of a gnat. And Chuck’s a damaged case himself. I can’t be their partner and their therapist all in one.”

“I was so sure Chuck was the right guy for you, Evie.”

“I thought so too.” Debbie handed me a kleenex.

“There’s still hope. Maybe you shouldn’t move out just yet. He’s back tomorrow, isn’t he?”

“He wouldn’t even return my text, Debbie. It’s over.”

“What about Ray?”

“What about him?”

“He really likes you. Even when you were a boy—”

Otis looked up from inspecting Chuck’s framed photo of his senior year UCLA basketball team. “Huh? A boy?”

“I mean a tomboy. Tom. Boy. Tomboy?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s just I can’t imagine Evie ever looking like a boy.”

Radio play-by-play announcer: Here we go! For all the marbles. The 3-2 pitch. (loud crack of the bat) It is high, it is far, it…is gone! Miguel Amaya has just won the California League championship for The Rancho Cucamonga Quakes with a two-run home run in the bottom of the ninth inning. The crowd erupts in cheers and, as Miguel steps on home plate, a dog pile forms in the infield as the celebration begins!

Everyone in the bullpen sprinted out to the infield to join the celebration. I wasn’t far behind, but I hesitated when I reached the dog pile. My bashfulness stemmed from my short tenure with the team. I was part of the team and, yet not really a part of the team. But I looked on with a broad smile.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. As I turned to see whose hand it was, Ray Crawford wrapped his arms around my waist and planted a big wet kiss on my lips.

“We did it! We did it! Evie, you’re my lucky charm!” He kissed me again. “We have to celebrate! After the trophy presentation, let’s hit the best steakhouse in San Bernardino County!”

“I’d love to, Ray. But Debbie and Otis are here to drive me home—”

“They can come with us!”

“No, Ray, I’m sorry. I’m moving into Debbie’s apartment. I’ve got my luggage with me.”

“You and Chuck broke up? Looks like tonight’s looking even better than I could’ve hoped for.”

As usual, I was the last person to shower, change, and leave the stadium. Carrying my luggage in both hands, I shouldered the push bar of the exit door and emerged into the team’s parking area. Standing there, looking cute, holding hands, were Otis and Debbie. As I walked toward them, they let go of their hands and parted to either side, revealing a figure who stepped into the light shining down from the LED towers.

It was Chuck! He held out his arms and beckoned to me with a big smile across his face.

“Congratulations, Evie.”

I threw down my bags and rushed forward, literally jumping into his arms. I kissed him with everything in my soul. A long, lingering kiss. Debbie swore later that she could see sparks flashing from our lips, like sparklers on the 4th of July.

“Come home, baby. I’ve been such a child. A whiny baby having a ridiculous tantrum. Will you forgive me?”

“Yes, Chuck. I’d forgive you almost anything. But I’m going to be in Arizona for the next two months and you—”

“I’m going to Arizona with you. I can work from anywhere. All I need is a phone and the internet. I hear Glendale is really nice in the Fall.”

“You would do that for me?”

“Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“No, but a kiss would make the same point.”

We kissed.

Note: One more chapter to go, dear readers. See you then.

It was a lazy, hot Sunday afternoon in October. The first off-day on the Arizona Fall League 6-week schedule that ended on November 11th. Which was perfect for me since Debbie and Otis’ wedding would be held the weekend after. I was lounging in the watermelon slice pool float Chuck and I had purchased in a mall in Glendale, half a mile from our cute, little short-term rental garden apartment. We had moved into it barely an hour after we drove into town from Corona Del Mar. It took over 6 hours by car. We could have chosen to fly instead. A 75-minute flight. But, as it turned out, spending half a day in close quarters, listening to Chuck’s Spotify playlists and sneaking kisses on the side, was a very romantic way to pass the time.

I looked at the watch on my left wrist and started to paddle toward the near side of the pool. I had just enough time to change clothes and make the half-hour drive to Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport to meet Chuck’s flight coming in from Cleveland. It was a good thing we hadn’t availed ourselves of the housing the league provided the other players and coaches. The anonymity in these surroundings was a balm after all the media attention in Los Angeles. That is, until the teenage sons of two of our neighbors came bounding down the stairs, stopped in their tracks as I was toweling off, and just stood there ogling. They caused a bottleneck on the landing, and I blushed beet red as the people behind them whispered my name to each other. They also mentioned Trent Foster in the same breath. A name I wish to never hear again. I was trying to figure out how to get past this mob and re-enter my apartment when my phone rang.

“Evie, I texted you twice in the last hour, but you never responded.”

“Juan! I haven’t heard from you in a dog’s age. Sorry, but I was on a float in the pool here. The team’s off today—”

“I have some bad news, Evie. Alastair Knowles called this morning. On a Sunday! Well, GlobalNet just pulled the plug on Newport—”

“I figured as much with the strike and all—”

“That was only part of the reason. Your ex-boyfriend Trent wanted to re-negotiate his contract. I guess the success of his new record has given him an even bigger head than he already had. GlobalNet basically said fuck off.”

“There goes my showbiz career. Oh well, it was nice working with you, Juan. You’re the best agent I’ve ever had.”

“I’m the only one, Evie.” Silence. “Listen, this isn’t the end of the story. I’ve got some irons in the fire for you. Danny and Alastair still think you have great potential.”

“Don’t go out of your way, Juan. I’m sure there are better clients you can work with than me. I haven’t earned you much in commission for all your trouble. And I’m happier back in baseball anyway. What’s that noise in the background? Where are you?”

“I’m at the AC. Just finished playing squash. Lost two sets to one. Hey, I’m not giving up, Evie. Say, how are things with you and Chuck? I’m glad you two got together. That Trent character wasn’t right for you.”

“Chuck and I are doing well. We’ll be back in LA next month. Did you get your invite to Debbie’s wedding yet?”

“Oh, yeah, Glynnis and I will be there with bells on.”

“By the by, they’re registered with Crate and Barrel.”

“Got it. Alright, Evie. Glynnis is expecting me back home right about now. Did I tell you she’s got a bun in the oven? Looks like a Spring baby. You and Chuck would have beautiful children. The two of you really won the genetic lottery—”

“I have to go and pick Chuck up at the airport now. If we don’t speak until next month, I’ll see you at the wedding. Goodbye Juan.”

I disconnected and, sighing, walked toward my apartment, carrying my towel and the pool float. During the phone call, the crowd had dispersed. Strangely, I didn’t feel depressed by the news Juan had delivered. My acting career was always an afterthought. It never thrilled me like being involved with baseball again. Or Chuck. I smiled as I closed the door to my apartment.

The convenience of playing in a league where five of the six teams are located less than 30 miles from downtown Phoenix (Salt River was 120 miles to the east, necessitating a two-hour bus ride) meant sleeping in your own bed every night. On nights when Chuck wasn’t on the road, recruiting clients from various NBA and NFL teams, he’d drive me to the games and sit in the stands, rooting along with the other players’ and coaches’ spouses. One particular night in Salt River, early in November, as I customarily was the last to shower, change, and leave the locker room, I almost ran headlong into Ray Crawford.

“Oh my God, Ray! I didn’t see you.”

“Hi, Evie. I’ll take it as a welcoming hug. How are you finding coaching in the Fall League? Good?”

“Great. It’s been fun working with these kids. So, why are you here in Peoria, of all places?”

I started to walk toward the exit and Ray took two long strides to catch up.

“I could lie and say I was checking up on Miguel’s progress but he’s headed to Double A next season so that shouldn’t really concern me.” He reached out and gently grabbed my arm to stop me. We stood in the corridor leading to the side exit to the parking lot. The rest of the team had already boarded the bus back to Glendale. Another five minutes and the porters would probably turn out all the lights and close up the stadium.

“Ray, Chuck’s waiting for me. It’s a two-hour drive back to Glendale and he’s got a flight to San Francisco to catch in the morning—”

“Yeah, I know. I sat with him during the game. He’s alright, Evie. I like him.”

“Well, I like him too.” I laughed. “A lot.”

“I told him if he ever hurts you, I’d find him and choke the life out of him.”

“Chuck’s 6’4”. He towers over you, Ray.”

“Basketball players are greyhounds. I’m a baseball player. We’re Rottweilers. Look at my forearms—”

“This is a silly conversation, Ray. I have to go. We’re playing here tomorrow night. Maybe we can have a drink after the game.”

“I’m going back home tomorrow, Evie. The real reason I’m here tonight is to tell you what I found out from my contacts in the Dodgers’ front office. They’re thinking about offering you a coaching job with their AAA team in Oklahoma City next season.”

“You’re joking! No, you’re serious? Wow!”

“They’ll probably wait until after the New Year before formally offering you the position.”

“I can’t wait to tell Chuck—”

“Do you think he’ll want to spend 6 months of the year in Oklahoma?”

“We’ll work it out. We’re in love, Ray. Really, truly in love.”

“I hope it all works out for you, Evie.” He leaned in and kissed me lightly on the lips.

“Thank you, Ray, for rescuing me. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t offered me the coaching job in Cucamonga. I might have decided to go back to being the nondescript girlish man with an uncertain future I was before Debbie came up with the crazy idea of interviewing with her company—”

Ray held my face in his massive hands. “I’ll confess I wasn’t thinking about your issues when I gave you the job. When you came by the office that first time to pitch the promotional t-shirts, I saw you…saw you as you really are, for the first time in all the years we’ve known each other. I slapped myself for not admitting I’ve always been in love with you. When we roomed together on road trips during our junior year, I’d pretend to be asleep so I could watch you in the other bed. You looked so beautiful—”

“You’re creeping me out, Ray.” I removed his hands from my face and started to turn toward the exit. “Chuck is probably worried about what’s keeping me. So long, Ray, thanks for the great news!”

“If you need anything, Evie, you know where to find me.”

Back home in Glendale, Chuck and I quickly slipped between the sheets. Chuck had an 8AM flight to San Francisco to catch and I wanted to make him a nice breakfast so, as the old baseball bromide goes, we had to “sleep fast.” Just before I felt my eyelids getting too heavy to keep open, I remembered to tell Chuck about the Dodgers’ possible coaching offer. At first, he didn’t respond, and he seemed to react to my broad smile by turning his body to face away from me. I was apprehensive. Was this too far a bridge to cross?

A couple of minutes later, still facing away from me, he said, “They say the climate in Oklahoma from April through September is lovely. There are five major airlines that fly direct to OKC. And there’s a couple of potential clients on The Thunder—”

I wrapped my arms around Chuck’s back and kissed his neck repeatedly.

The final week of the Fall League season started with an off day on Monday for all six teams. Chuck and I flew back to Los Angeles after the game on Sunday evening so I could receive my monthly injections of estrogen and anti-androgens on Monday morning from Dr. Petry.

We planned to have Debbie and Otis over to our Corona Del Mar house for dinner that night. I had Consuela teach me how to make Arroz Con Pollo, using her mother’s recipe, over a zoom call. She started weeping over the chicken as she showed me how to season it with a spice mix of salt, pepper, and cumin.

“Consuela, why are you crying?”

“Oh, mi hija…I’m handing down a family recipe to my daughter just like my mother did to me. You’re a woman now, Evie…”
She couldn’t continue as she choked up but managed to keep rubbing up the chicken breasts, tears blinding her.

“You’re making me cry now, Consuela. We’ll never get this cooking lesson finished.”

Chuck had his arm around my waist as we searched the parking lot of the hospital for our car. Playfully, he patted my buttocks, and I winced in pain. I was about to turn around and remonstrate him for doing that, just ten minutes after Dr. Petry had planted two spikes in my gluteus maximus on the upper right side of my hips. Showing bravery, I had declined the ice pack to numb the area. It stung!

“Evie? Evie Rivers?” I stopped laughing and looked up to see Eloise Foster, Trent’s mother, standing in the middle of the lane.

“Mrs. Foster! So…nice to see you. Are you visiting a patient here?”

“No, I was visiting a friend who just had a procedure of a female nature. Across the street in Hollywood Presbyterian. But I parked here because it’s cheaper than their rates. It’s only $15 for an hour if you self-park. Oh, who is this?”

“This is my…fiancé, Chuck Connors. Chuck, this is Trent’s mother, Mrs. Foster.”

“Please call me Eloise.”

“Nice to meet you…Eloise.”

“Evie, can I have a word with you?”

“Evie, I’ll go and locate our car. It was a pleasure, Mrs. Foster.” Chuck walked off.

“Handsome young man you have there, Evie. Quite tall as well.”

“He played basketball at UCLA. What is it you want to speak to me about?”

“I know you broke it off with Trent months ago but…Evie, he’s still pining for you. I just had a long zoom call with him from Dublin where he’s finishing his European tour. Completely sold out, Evie. They had to add dates to satisfy all the demands for tickets! He even had to go back to London for three more concerts at Wembley Stadium! Imagine!”

“I’m glad for Trent. He’s very talented. But you were saying?”

“Oh, yes. He was practically in tears, Evie. I don’t think he’s ever liked a girl as much as he adores you.”

“He didn’t like me enough to keep Newport in production. I lost a million-dollar contract when GlobalNet cancelled the show because Trent wanted more money—”

“Well, that’s business, sweetie. I told Trent they were low-balling him. I mean, he’s got the #1 streaming album in the world right now. Relatively speaking, they were expecting him to work for coolie wages—”

“Eloise, Chuck’s waiting for me…”

“I’ll cut to the chase. You know, Trent’s too bashful to ask but I’m a practical person. He’s returning to LA after Thanksgiving, and he’s scheduled for a pair of dates at Dodger Stadium. It’s already 90% sold out! He’d like you to come on stage to make an appearance when he sings ‘California Dreamin’.’ The audience identifies you with the music video. It was a smash hit.”

“I’m a practical person too, Eloise. How much is my fee for this cameo appearance?”

“I would think the value of free publicity would be payment enough.”

“Have a nice day, Mrs. Foster. Nice bumping into you.” I walked quickly away in a random direction, not really knowing where we had parked our car. Fortunately, Chuck rolled up behind me and stopped to let me hop in the passenger side. Eloise stood stock-still as we drove out of the lot.

Debbie and Otis were married on a late Saturday afternoon before Thanksgiving Day in an outdoor ceremony held at Friends Corner Ranch in Ventura County, 60 miles north of Los Angeles. For most of the past century, Ventura County was known for its citrus groves, but the industry moved its center of gravity to the San Juaquin Valley in Northern California a few decades ago. Friends Corner Ranch, once a full-service farm, has morphed into a rustic inn, country music club, and popular wedding venue. Otis’ family, The Mellons, had roots in this county as farmers and citrus growers, having moved here from Oklahoma in the Dust Bowl Migration of the 1930s. And they brought their favorite music with them. Old Timey music, the sort of folk balladry that led to Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, and The Weavers.

As Debbie’s maid of honor, it was my first social ritual as a legally recognized woman. The paperwork my father had submitted to the New Jersey Motor Vehicle Commission had been processed and approved. Although it was Debbie’s wedding, the smiles on my face and the faces of my family and loved ones in the wedding party bore witness to the event as my true coming-out ceremony. Chuck was especially complimentary of how beautiful I looked in my bridesmaid gown.

“Better than the Glamour Magazine cover?”

Debbie jumped in. “She’ll look even better in a wedding gown, Chuck. Don’t you think so too, Consuela?”

That instigated a torrent of waterworks from Consuela as she hugged Dad and blubbered, “Evie would make the world’s most beautiful bride, honey. Our girls are all grown up…”

At the reception in the inn, we were serenaded by a local family of musicians, playing songs to accompany dance steps I’d never heard of, much less knew how to execute. Chuck and I looked like city slickers as we stumbled around trying to square dance, clog, and buck dance. The Mellons family laughed good-naturedly at our clumsy attempts.

Around midnight, back in Corona Del Mar, Chuck and I sat in our backyard, looking up at the stars embedded in the black velvet night sky. Dad and Consuela were asleep in the guest room. Debbie and Otis were on a plane headed for San Francisco, en route to their week-long honeymoon tryst in Big Sur. Debbie reserved her remaining vacation days for our planned Christmas week with Dad and Consuela at the end of the year.

“Debbie and Otis looked really happy,” noted Chuck as he sipped his Chamomile tea.

“They’re blissfully in love.”

“Seeing what a travesty of a marriage Misty and Clark have, I didn’t think I’d ever want to take the plunge myself.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

“By the way, I forgot to mention this, but we’re invited to Thanksgiving dinner at Christy’s house.”

“Oh, no, Misty and Clark will be there. I’m not going—”

“Christy says Misty’s planning to come without Clark. Something’s up, I guess.”

“Even so, she fired me and accused me of trying to steal her husband. How can I even be in the same room with that woman?”

“Do it for me, Evie. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. Please.”

“If she starts anything, I’m leaving. Even if I have to walk all the way home.”

“I’ll leave with you.”

“Okay but you promise.”

“I promise. Let’s go to bed.” He took my hand and ushered me into the house, his hand tracing circles over my backside.

“Chuck, my parents are in the next room.”

“We’ll be quiet…”

I was backed into a corner, literally. I felt the handles of several umbrellas impinging on the seat of my jeans as I stepped back into the stand in the entryway. Unconsciously, I put my hands out in front of me as if to push her away.

“Evie, please, I need to speak to you. Watch out!” I stumbled and almost fell to my knees. Misty grabbed me by the arms and lifted me to my feet.

“I don’t blame you for running away from me. Are you alright?”

“Yes, thank you, Misty. But we really don’t have much to say to each other—”

“But I do, Evie. I do. I’m sorry for over-reacting and firing you so…so summarily. You never did any of the things I accused you of. I found out the real story. I’ve had it with Clark’s flaunting his extra-marital affairs in front of me and everyone. I’m getting a divorce.”

“How did you come to this realization?”

“Mei Ling spilled the beans.”

“I hope you fired her—”

“Oh no, she’s Clark’s victim. Just like you were. She had to do what he asked. To keep her job.”

“Cool story, bro.”

“Huh? Ultimately, she showed her loyalty to me and the company. Her talents are wasted as an executive assistant. I promoted her to sales manager. Now that Buzz is running the company, I think he and Mei Ling will make a great team.”

“I’m sure Buzz would agree.”

“Now, I hope you’ll forgive me for my rash accusations. As you well know, Clark can charm the pants off you. He can lie through his teeth, and you’ll believe every word. Christy and I have controlling interest in the company so, with the divorce, Clark’s history. I’d like to give you back your job if you want. I do hope you’ll seriously consider coming back.”

“I’ll…uh…give it some thought, Misty.”

“You don’t have to give me an answer right now. Maybe after the New Year?”

“Maybe.”

She walked back into the living room to join everyone as they watched the 4th Quarter of the Cowboys/Commanders game. She patted Chuck’s shoulder as he emerged from the room, ostensibly searching for me.

“You’ve got a peach of a girl there, bro. Better put a ring on it before she gets away.”

Chuck smiled and locked eyes with me.

As Debbie and I had planned, weeks before the wedding, we spent Christmas week in New York City. My sister and I went shopping while the boys did whatever boys do. It’s been half a year living as a woman that I’ve forgotten what boys do. Of course, we took in Broadway shows, took romantic strolls in Central Park, ate at several trendy restaurants in downtown Manhattan, and even ventured into the Boho regions of Brooklyn. But mostly, we shopped.

After opening presents at my parents’ house in Somerset, New Jersey on Christmas morning, Chuck and I drove into the city to sit in celebrity row at Madison Square Garden, taking in the Knicks game against the Milwaukee Bucks. Chuck got the seats through Eliot Bradshaw, starting shooting guard for the Knicks and Chuck’s biggest client. As we settled into our seats some 20 minutes before tip-off, I noticed Alastair Knowles and his wife, Joanne, sitting several seats down from us, almost on the court itself.

Distracted by some of the players emerging from the locker rooms to warm up on the court, I didn’t realize that Alastair and Joanne had ambled over to us. We exchanged pleasantries and greetings of the season, standing up to shake hands.

“Come to watch your favorite client, Chuck?”

“Of course. Evie and I are in town for Christmas and Eliot comped us these great seats so here we are. Evie, you know that Eliot is Joanne’s stepson, right?”

“Yes, and I’m a patient of Dr. Petry’s, Eliot’s good friend. Small world.”

“I’m glad to run into you, Evie. I was going to wait until the New Year, but I’ll let you know right now. We’ve been trying to cast “Painted from Memory,” Joanne’s screenplay, and we’re at a loss to find someone to play the main character from age 21 to age 33. We’ve tested and read a dozen actresses.”

“But I insisted that we give the role to a trans actress. I put my foot down on that, didn’t I, Alastair?” Joanne smiled at me.

“The long and short of it is…we’d like to try you in the role—”

“But I’ve never acted really. I might be horrible on screen.”

“We thought about that. How would you like to take acting classes. On GlobalNet’s dime, of course. Production probably won’t start until the Spring at the earliest. You’ll have a good eight weeks of classes at least. Danny Dantley thinks you’re a natural.”

“Do it, Evie. I’d be thrilled to have you play that part in the movie.” Joanne took my hand and squeezed.

“Do you need to know my answer now? Like my agent Juan likes to say, I’ve got some irons in the fire…”

“Of course, take your time. Let us know when you’ve sorted out your various irons. The game’s starting soon. Enjoy the game, guys. Hey, there’s Eliot. He’s waving us over. Happy New Year!”

At the end of each quarter, the giant scoreboard suspended over center court would display celebrity sightings in the stands. There were so many that I lost count: Aaron Rodgers, Spike Lee (of course), Pete Davidson, Emma Roberts, Aaron Judge, Trevor Noah, Michael J. Fox, rapper Jack Harlow, Paul Rudd, etc., etc. I was glad Trent Foster was on another coast that week. I looked around just to make sure.

At half-time, there was a buzz in the crowd. Probably another celebrity sighting, I didn’t bother to look up from the plate of nachos I was sharing with Chuck. Then someone tapped me on the shoulder from behind and pointed up at the scoreboard. I was stunned to see myself on the board, half-chewed nachos still in my open mouth. I quickly swallowed. The camera zoomed out and Chuck was on one knee, holding open a jewel box with a glittering engagement ring sitting smack dab in the middle of it. Above the din of the crowd and the incessant music being played at every opportunity through the loudspeakers, I half-heard and half lip-read Chuck’s question.

“Will you marry me, Evie, and make me the happiest man in the universe?”

The crowd chanted “Say yes! Say yes!”

I whispered, “I should kill you for doing this in front of 20,000 people.”

In a loud voice, I answered, “Yes. I’ll marry you!” Nervously, Chuck slipped the ring onto my finger. We rushed into each other’s arms and kissed. A breathtakingly long and passionate kiss.

The crowd erupted in cheers.

I don’t really recall who won the game.

Author’s Note: Thank you, dear readers, for following this story through these many months. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it as much as I have writing it. Until next time…