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Have a little dream on me Before: Another long story (a very very long story) and back to the world of music and New York City. It hearkens back to Sweet Confusions, a piece I wrote years ago while not being a continuation. I think it grew so long because I enjoyed going back to the time when I was a musician going to open mikes. I hope you don't get bored. Take it in pieces. To Begin I looked closely at the mirror. Brushing on a little more powder I looked again. A touch of eyebrow pencil, some more lip gloss and I was satisfied. Taking off the towel that protected my dress I reached out and picked up the wig. The elastic hairnet gripped my scalp and I tucked and brushed until the shoulder length auburn bob looked right. "You decent?" "Yeah come in." Peter Scolles came in and looked me over. "Looking good. Christ it's hot out there. Front house says we're already about two thirds full. I was thinking, do you mind if we start with Stardust tonight? My fingers feel stiff and I'd like an easy piece." I nodded, clipped on my necklace and threaded in the gold loop earrings. "Fine by me. I'm going to warm up a bit. Pass me the banjo please. Thanks, oh did you take look at the house?" "Yes, it's about two thirds full." "Oh right." I strummed a chord and started to sing. "Don't know why, there's no sun up in the sky, stormy weather. Since me and my man ain't together, Seems rainy all the time." Chapter 1. Out of the Cold I listened to NY1 as I ate breakfast and even in the warmth of my apartment I shivered. It was going to be a damn cold day in the city; seven degrees, with snow and blustery wind. I may be a northeastern native and never travelled further south than Baltimore but I am not a lover of winter. I put on my down parka, wool watch cap, heavy gloves and boots and stepped outside. I usually enjoyed the thirty minute walk from my lower east-side apartment to my part time job at Heckman Music. That morning I fought my way onto a subway car and blessed the crush and warmth. We looked like a bunch of polar explorers as puffy parkas pressed against furs, fake and faux. Swaying and jostling I thought about the prior evening. I sat with my laptop running, a page of notes and a determination to be honest. My bank account was low and my bills were mounting. I had made a good run of it. For eight months I worked part-time and devoted myself to music. Now I needed to bite the bullet and accept that performing would not pay the bills. People just didn't want to hear me. Oh I was good and the band was good also. The East Pier Jammers were a swinging New Orleans and Dixieland band. We only played gigs that paid scale and performed almost every a week. But the checks, split six ways, just weren't enough. I would speak to Saul Heckman that morning about going back to full- time. I didn't think it would be a problem. The pay was not bad, there were benefits and it was connected to music. I just hated admitting to myself that I couldn't make it as a performer. On the corner, waiting for the light to change, I turned to avoid a gust of wind and bumped into an attractive woman in a fur edged jacket. We laughed and grimaced. "Gee, and to think I turned down my lover's offer to fly me to Jamaica." I laughed at her joke and agreeing that Jamaica sounded nice waved and turned back into the wind. We parted and I scurried the remaining blocks to my job. Jack Heckman let me in joking how I looked ready for Everest and as I hung up my garments talked to me about some tasks that needed doing. Heckman Music was a seller of sheet music, music books and related materials. The shop had been at its location since 1963. Back then the front would be full of musicians pawing through music; gossiping or drinking a free cup of coffee, now three quarters of the business was done online. I waved at Saul who was on the phone and held the door open for Marti and Fred, the other employees. We wasted time cursing the weather and pouring cups of coffee to warm our frozen bodies. Saul said he'd talk to me after lunch and I got to work downloading orders and packing the sheet music and books for shipping. It was mindless work as I grabbed the orchestral score for Handel's Water Music, a modern French bassoon concerto and a history of tracker organs. I couldn't avoid the taste of bitterness. Here I was, a skilled musician, sending music to others who would perform and, at least in my imagination, be paid well. Back home I sorted through the mail tossing the bills into the shoe box that held my "to be paid" crap. The rest was junk and went into the recycling bin. My answering machine told me my father had called but I let that pass. He would ask how I was doing and then start in on how I should give up on New York City and join him at his insurance brokerage in Philadelphia. I leaned back and listened as the windows rattled. Saul had been more than happy to have me come back full-time. Marti was putting in a lot of overtime and not liking it. Fred couldn't handle technical tasks. The website needed updating. I was welcomed back with open arms. I didn't need open arms. I needed affirmation and despite the cold I grabbed an instrument and headed out into the storm. It was Thursday and that meant Jazz Open Mike at Marcie's. I'd play some music, grouse to fellow musicians about life and remind myself that I really was good. My Deering Boston Jazz Banjo weighed down my arm as I ducked my head and made my way through a city full of frozen people. I thought about calling up Diana to see if she wanted to join me. We were in the off phase of an on-again, off-again relationship. You had to expect problems when a struggling musician and an ambitious surgical resident tried to be a couple. But I didn't want her suggestions about what I should be doing with my life. I would have a single man's night out. Marcie's was pretty empty for a Thursday evening. The cold kept the regulars at home and even the tourists were staying uptown. Jan was on the piano playing a medley of show tunes and Mark was slowly thumping on the bass behind her. She saw me come in and beckoned with her head but I signaled "later" and sat down. Catching the waitress's eye I ordering a burger and beer and waved at an acquaintance across the room. In one corner two businessmen huddled over some papers. A young couple, obviously tourists, leaned against each other and listened to the music. At the bar a man in an ugly orange and green sweater nursed a drink with his eyes closed. This place was like home to me. Just to enter a bar with live music made me happy. To sit down at Marcie's meant I was among friends. Burger done I tuned up the banjo and grabbing a chair went on stage. I joined in as Jan and Mark finished up Little Girl Blue. "What do you want to play Sean?" I thought for a moment. "Ain't Misbehavin' in F, OK?" I strummed the first few chords and then played the melody in a mix of chords and runs as Mark used his bow to provide a low accompaniment. Jan came in and I started to sing. "No one to talk with all by myself, No one to walk with but I'm happy on the shelf. " My high tenor was smooth and soft and the three of us worked our way through the Fats Waller melody. Jan and I traded solos and when we were done the small crowd applauded. I nodded to Mark and started up the old viper's tune "Jack I'm Mellow." The up-tempo music brought a spark to the room and as we were finishing a tenor sax player I knew came up and added a quick solo. Two pieces later I went back to my table to find a fresh bottle of beer waiting for me. I waved thanks to the bartender and listened as the sax player did a fair job on a Coltrane piece. The crowd warmed up and a few more people came in. I was almost nodding off when I heard the chair next to me scrape and opened my eyes to see the sweater man from the bar looking at me. "May I join you?" "Sure, sit down." "Another beer?" "No thanks. I'm fine." I looked him over. He wasn't any musician I knew, so I waited to see what he would say. "I really liked your music. In fact the Fats Waller piece was as good as I've heard done in a while. Hey, let me introduce myself. I'm Lou Cole. I'm with The Whistler Agency." I came to full attention. Whistler meant big time. Those guys represented a lot of classical types but also some jazz combos. They had strong connections with a couple of the recording companies. I gave Mr. Cole a smile. "Well I am very glad to meet you. My band has been trying to hook up with a big name agency for a while." We talked. Lou got himself another drink and I sipped my beer slowly. I told him about The East Pier Jammers but other than commenting that he thought the name "sucked" he showed little interest. "Mr. Fellows, Dixieland musicians are a dime a dozen. We probably have as many good professionals here in the city as they have on the whole Mississippi and most are earning batshit. I'll go onto the Jammers' website but I doubt I'll be interested. Nope, what interests me is you. You see Whistler represents a coming band that needs a vocalist and I think would like your banjo work as well. They're earning good money, though I doubt they can live on it yet and gig seven or eight times a month; mostly local, the City, Jersey City, White Plains, that kind of stuff. They did a trip to Boston in October." He stopped and took a sip. For a moment he waited and I wondered if he was deliberately letting tension build. "They play a lot of stuff from the thirties and forties. Play some of the big band tunes even it's a quartet, quintet if they can find a vocalist who also is an instrumentalist. Call themselves The Pearl Buttons. The name works." He gave a wry smile. "So Sean Fellows, how do you feel about singing in a drag review?" Chapter 2: Considerations "Hell I would have jumped at the chance." The Jammers were setting up for a rehearsal and I told of the prior evening's encounter. Dave, our drummer, stunned me with his response. "You would have?" "Sure, a band that gets paying gigs more than once a week and has Whistler do the repping. Sign me up." "You'd look terrible in a dress Dave" said Anne. Anne was our keyboard player and she and Dave had fought good natured battles since the band was formed. "I mean you're more the tight spandex cat suit type." We dissolved at the thought of tall and somewhat overweight Dave in spandex and then got down to work practicing the Twelfth Street Rag and other commonly requested tunes. It was later, as we popped a few beers and Dave lit up a joint that someone thought to look up Pearl Buttons on the web and opened their web page. "Shit, they are good." We listened to three song clips in silence. Close your eyes and Pearl Buttons sounded like a high quality recording of a 1940's combo. The vocalist was only so so, but the rest were top notch. I looked at the photos. With one exception all were obviously men in drag. The clarinetist could have fooled me though I assumed that in person the illusion would falter. What struck me was the classic clothing and the lack of over-the-top image that I had expected. I stared at the screen for a bit. Anne broke into my thoughts. "So Sean, you going to call up Whistler or what?" "I don't know Anne I can't see myself in drag. Anyway the banjo strap would probably snag on my bra." After the laughter our bass player spoke up, which was a rarity. "Let's think about this. We wear black pants, floppy white shirts, sleeve garters and bright red vests when we play. I don't wear that on the street. It is a costume. " We went onto YouTube and found a clip of Pearl Buttons and watched them tackle Bie Mir Bist Du Schoen. When it was done there was silence until Dave let out a lungful of smoke. "Damn. Ok guys we know we're good but they're really a step up in class. I'd go listen to them." "I can't be in two bands Dave. I mean I've started back fulltime at Heckman's and I am trying to keep something going with Diana." "Well on that matter..." We looked at Anne. "Look I was going to tell you this evening anyway. I think I've got a gig in a daytime TV show; Jenn's Kitchen. It's five days a week and the pays really good. But it means early mornings and I mean..." Again we sat in silence until our trumpeter took the lead. "Anne, that is great. I hope you get the gig. Sean if I were you I wouldn't toss out the lead without checking into it. As for me, well it's always been more of a hobby. The Jammers were good. We have two more gigs. Let's play them and have a party and no hard feelings." I felt choked up but it wasn't the first group I had been in that split. We talked for a long time, mostly reminiscing and when I got home it was almost 1:00. I checked my emails and answering machine and lay awake a long time remembering gigs we had played. "Oh good afternoon Mr. Cole. Thanks for calling back. What. Oh OK, you are Lou and I'm Sean. Uh huh. Yes I discussed it with the other members of the band and they think I'd be a fool not to find out more. What? Sure. When? Oh, great I'll wait for your call." I hung up the phone. I felt faintly guilty even though Saul and Jack didn't mind the occasional use of the phones. Maybe it was because I was taking another step to killing off the Jammers. I got back to work revising the Heckman website and by the time Marti signaled to me that I had a call I had lost myself in the task. "Tonight. Seven. Uh let me write that down. Thanks Mr... I mean Lou. Thanks, I am not sure at all about this. Yeah, nothing ventured. Bye." After work and quick snack and change of clothes I ran back out of my apartment with banjo in hand to grab the subway to Brooklyn where some members of Pearl Buttons were waiting to meet me. I had a fit of laughter as I switched from jeans to nicer slacks and a button down shirt when I thought of myself putting on one of Diana's dresses. They'd hardly fit anyway, I am a lot thinner and way taller. Frozen again by the New York weather I arrived at The Jeopard's Coffee Counter in Brooklyn about ten minutes early and stood looking around to see if I could spot anybody obviously in drag. While I was standing there a man in his thirties came up and looked at the banjo case. "Sean Fellows? Hi, I Mike Sherr. I'm keyboards with Pearl Buttons." I must have looked pretty stupid because he gave a big laugh. "Nope, no frills off stage. My wife would kill me if I got coffee on a costume. Come on over, Phil isn't here yet." I followed Mike to a table in an alcove and stored my instruments in the corner while he went to the counter to get coffees. As he walked away I tried to find something feminine in his walk or clothing but he looked like every other New Yorker. He came back with another man and I was introduced to Phil Ligotti the drummer. Once we had settled down Phil spoke and it was obvious that he was the leader. His voice and body language all spoke of command. I looked him over as he spoke and saw a slightly built man in his thirties. Some thinning of the hair and wrinkles around his eyes belied the initial image of youth. "Lou gave us a call and we looked that your band's web site. Sean I don't want to sound negative but frankly the East Pier Jammers don't sound polished. They sound more like, well I guess jammers. Lou said you've been on our site and seen a YouTube clip." "Yes I was very impressed." "Great, and we like your singing and banjo work too. Here's the thing. Pearl Buttons strives to be the best it can be musically. Sure we're a drag group. Yes we attract a lot of attention by how we dress but our goal is a sound as good as any other jazz group out there." I heard the message loud and clear; either be prepared to work hard or duck out now. I was getting excited. The Jammers were always not quite getting in as many rehearsals as they should, or choosing an easier version of a piece because practice time was short. Phil and Mike told of rehearsal sessions that ended so late the group slept on the rehearsal space floor. Phil was starting in on how the finances worked and the need for the current members to hear me and play with me when Mike broke in. "Hold it Phil, easy, easy. You'll scare Sean off. Look Sean, Phil is right. We are serious musicians but we have a lot of fun as well. I bet you have as many questions though about Pearl Buttons the drag band as you have about how we divvy up money. Right?" I nodded and sipped coffee for a moment trying to figure out how to start but Mike laughed and kept on going. "OK, you might have figured that I'm probably not gay seeing that I'm married and you're right. On stage I'm Michelle. Phil is Phyllis and we don't know his status because he is a very private geek. Carl, that would be Carla our clarinetist, and Andrew, who is Andrea the bass player, are a long term couple. Also Carla is the only one of us who cross-dresses off stage." He gave me a smile and Phil nodded and then spoke. "Sorry Sean. They call me the drill sergeant. Yeah fire away and then let's walk a couple of blocks and play some music." They started me off with an arrangement of Smoke Gets in Your Eyes which I figured was as much to see how my sight reading was as anything else and then joined me for Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out. The quality of musicianship was very good and I was hard pressed to rise to their standard. Part way through a stick-thin man came in, picked up the bass and joined in. When we had run through some more pieces I was introduced to Andy who explained that Carla was under the weather and then I played two solo pieces. Phil told me to think sweet and clear and I smoothed out my voice as much as I could. Finally I rested my banjo on the floor and looked around. Pearl Buttons rented a small loft as a rehearsal space and an electronic keyboard shared space with some chairs, a table, a ragged sofa and a basic digital recording setup. A calendar with gig dates was on the wall next to a large mirror and there was an air of "we are a business" in the layout. Andy caught my attention. "Okay, I'll start. Sean you're fine by me. We kicked out our last vocalist. She, I mean he, just couldn't cut it both musically and on stage. You'll do fine. Phil? Mike?" Phil just nodded but Mike spoke for a few minutes about tone and repertoire. I finally managed to get in a word. "I'm not sure I want in guys. I mean you are better musicians than my old band and seem like a good bunch but, well..." "You are afraid to cross dress." "Damn straight Mike. Can you imagine me in a dress? Can I imagine me in a dress? I'd look like an idiot and freeze in public." Andy shook his head. "Nope, you'd look more or less like us three; a guy in drag but not outrageous. You are slender and have a nice smooth face. As for freezing, we all felt that way at one point or another but as soon as the music starts the professional takes over. So in or out?" I took a deep breath. I had a ton of questions, fears and doubt, but the music was very, very good. "I'm in, what's next?" Chapter 3: Discoveries Lou hadn't lied to me; he just hadn't told me everything and I was unprepared for the high-end, business-like attitude of the band. Pearl Buttons was all business. I met with Phil and signed papers. I found out that one quarter of all earnings went into a corporate account to cover expenses. I sat with Mike who went over rehearsal schedules, and Andy who was the musical leader who discussed styles and repertoire. Pearl Buttons would do one gig as a quartet and then in just over a week I would join them. I looked at the calendar and gasped. I had to practice seven pieces to sing or play with them, and prepare one solo. The first few gigs I'd stay as much in the background as they would let me. I also had to find a dress. That is where Carla came in. Unlike Andy, Phil and Mike, Carla lived full-time as a woman and was Andy's domestic partner. Even up-close the image was persuasive though after a while most people would start to get suspicious. It was Carla's voice that really gave her away, though as she remarked the clarinet spoke for her on stage. It was on a Friday evening that I met Carla for the first time and we sat in the back of a bar to talk. I liked the Charles Dodgeworth Bar and Grill the moment I walked into it and looked around for a "stunning blond in a green dress". OK, stunning was meant sarcastically though Carla might be thought attractive if you like overweight women. She was blond and wore a green dress. I came over introduced myself and sat down. After a beer and introductions Carla got down to business. "So Phil said you were keeping tomorrow open right? Good. I bet you don't know much about drag. Right?" "That's for sure and I'm scared shitless. I mean how am I supposed to choose a dress? I can't just walk into a shop and..." "Hey calm down Sean. You're going to hyperventilate. No problems, really, I mean it. I bet you didn't know there were image specialists who work with just these matters, right. Uh, huh and Pearl Buttons has a deal with Dana Russell." "An image specialist?" "Right. You'll meet with her tomorrow. She'll help you choose some clothing, give you some tips on drag, and the rest is up to you with our help. Right?" We talked for a long time and Andy joined us after a while. Part of what I heard calmed me down; I would change at the clubs and would be unrecognizable. Part really scared me; details on makeup, shaving, undergarments. Fortunately we mostly spoke about music and mutual acquaintances. I was still nervous when I sat in a Starbucks coffee shop the next morning waiting to meet Ms. Russell. I was told she would know me by a photo from the Jammers web page and sure enough at exactly 10:15 a woman walked in, scanned the customers and without hesitation came over to me. "Mr. Fellows? Oh good. I'm Dana Russell. Keep your seat. I'll be back with some coffee in a moment." I watched her as she went to get coffee and as was becoming a habit looked closely to see if I was looking at someone in drag. All I could see was an attractive woman in her forties, dressed a little better than most New Yorkers on a Saturday morning. I would find out that Russell was as straight, businesslike and boring as could be and that cross-dressers were only a small part of her clientele. "Well Mr. Fellows do you want to be called Mr. Fellows or Sean, or is there another name? I'm Dana to my clients." "Sean is fine." "Alright Sean. I like to meet potential clients in a public place first. It's less threatening. I have a studio a few blocks from here but Starbucks is almost a second office to me. I've worked from scratch with Mike and advised Phil, so I know Pearl Buttons and how you need to dress and act. First things first, did Phil discuss finances with you?" "Yes, he told me how it would work." "Good. Well let me explain what I do or actually what I will do for you. I do a lot of image consulting for things that carry into people's full lives. You however need an image on stage, and that is a lot different from an image for business or normal life. So I will help you select and purchase two outfits, including undergarments and accessories. I will show you how to wear them and how to take care of them. I will give you the basics of make-up and wig care. Finally I'll coach you a little on stance, decorum, attitude." "Whew." I looked at Dana wide-eyed and she nodded. "A lot to take in, I know. Normally we would do this over many weeks, months, but you get the crash course and you're on your own. You do have a big advantage over most people." She stopped and waited as if to see what I could come up with. I gave it some thought as I sipped coffee. I was slender but hardly sylphlike. My face was regular rather than craggy. I wasn't a giant at five foot nine. I gave up and shook my head. She chuckled. "You're in a drag band. No one expects you to be perfect. Everyone will know you are a man. You don't have to persuade people. If you had to you would need to work for months and even then might not be prepared. So are you ready to take a short walk and some big steps?" I finished my coffee and nodded. Wrapped against the cold I followed Dana to Eighth Avenue and a few blocks downtown and walked up three flights above a store that sold wholesale lace. The door said "Russell and Fields Imagery" and she pushed open the unlocked door. "Hi hon." I almost panicked, not having expected to find anyone else on the shop. A man waved. "I'm the Fields of Russell and Fields imagery. Sorry to sound paranoid but until we know our clientele we like to have two people in the studio. I'll stay out of the way. Can't help you much anyway, I specialize in foreign clients trying to fit into the American lifestyle." Fields went back to some paper work and Dana had me remove my cold weather garments and stand against an off white wall while she took a series of photos. Standing there was the last bit of rest I got until, when at 4:15 that afternoon, Dana shook my hand and wished me good luck. I walked out of the building and stopped to let the cold air clear my head. I had two large shopping bags in my hands and my wallet was a lot lighter. Pearl Buttons paid for Russell and Fields' services but I paid for two dresses, what seemed to be a ton of underwear, a pair of breast forms, a make-up kit, three pair of shoes and a wig. Even though Dana took me only to wholesale shops and discount stores (thank God for back rooms and discretion) I still paid out about six hundred and eighty dollars. As I rode the subways home I thought about my financial status and knew that at the end of the month I wouldn't be able to pay off the credit card bill, would have to make a partial payment and get hit by finance charges. At my apartment I shoved the bags into a closet and quickly showered. I was meeting Diana for coffee and desert before she went back to work at the hospital. Dog trotting through the cold streets I tried to figure out how to tell her about Pearl Buttons and decided to only say I was talking with some jazz bands. Thinking about my decision later I realized the minor deception was the beginning of the end of our time together. Sunday I worked. I slaved. I sweated bullets. With my banjo's resonator stuffed with a towel and the bridge mute clamped on I practiced for almost three hours. I played another three quarters of an hour on the ukulele. But that was the easy part. As soon as breakfast was done I went into the bathroom and carefully shaved. Then with a tube of Magic Shave depilatory for men I stepped into the shower. My first reaction on stepping out of the shower was to shiver. I guess it was mostly emotions for the Lord knows I wasn't that hairy to begin with. I quickly tossed on my ragged old robe and tied it around my waist. Toweling my hair dry I went back into the only room in my studio apartment and looked at a list sitting on the table. Printed on Russell and Fields Imagery letterhead was laid out a series of exercises I was to do at least twice a day while dressed in women's clothing. Next to it was a pamphlet on makeup and below that "How to Care For Your Eleganze Wig". I pulled the bags out of the closet and laid the clothes out on the bed. Dana had told me to "Look at your purchases and try to view them as tools. Try and divorce emotion from them. Use them." I looked at the purchases and started to laugh. I'm an organized type and unconsciously had laid the garments on the bed in order of size. "Ok then; the dresses are the baritones and the panties are the sopranos." It had been hard sitting in Dana's office as she handed me a book on cross-dressing and then discussed very personal issues in a matter-of- fact fashion. I squirmed in embarrassment as she talked about "tucking" and "cleavage wrapping". I nearly died when she commented on my physical attributes. It was easier in the quiet of my studio apartment to look at the clothing with some equanimity. I dropped my robe and picked up a pair of panties. Dana called them "firm control" and indeed the material was thick and not particularly stretchy. She told me they were the right size but they looked ridiculously small. Two minutes later I was sitting on the bed feeling compressed. That is the only word for it. The panties held me very firmly tucked in and came high enough on my stomach to make me feel uncomfortable. I tried to imagine singing and gave off a few notes, gratified to find that I actually could breathe. Standing I looked down and could see only the slightest suggestion of a penis. The panties were binding but not terrible. The brassiere was just plain uncomfortable. Dana told me not to use adhesives on the forms at the beginning and I was at least spared that. I struggled into a brassiere, which is not easy to do gracefully and then inserted the floppy envelopes of silicone. Taking a deep breath and feeling the constriction I turned and faced the mirror. Quickly I put the robe back on and turned on the kettle to make some tea. As I moved I felt the sway of the forms and the binding of the panties. With the kettle on I went back to the instruction sheet. "With panties, bra and forms in place get comfortable walking around your apartment and doing normal tasks such as cleaning, reading a magazine, eating, etc." I drank my tea and listened to the news. I put away the dishes. I walked around the apartment feeling like a fool. I pulled on some slacks and a shirt and looked in the mirror again. I took a deep breath, felt the bra press on my ribs and then picked up the banjo. The music helped and when I stopped for a latish lunch I had almost forgotten about the clothing. Putting away the instruments and moving the music stand it all came back and I stood in the middle of the room arguing with myself. I could find a hundred reasons not to go on; pride, embarrassment, finances (I'd be incurring more expenses before I started seeing money flow in), difficulties with Diana or any other woman for that matter. In the end the negatives were trumped by one thing; I was thrilled by the music of Pearl Buttons and felt that they really appreciated me. Then there was another reason and I forced myself to be honest. I suppose a lot of boys when they are young try on their sister's or mother's clothing at least once. I did once. And then I did again. I don't know whether it was in fifth or sixth grade but I dressed up a few times when my parents were out for an evening. Later, as I blended in more and more with my friends and learned to laugh at "fags", "fairies", "homos", I shoved the memories down into the deepest cellar of my mind. Now I pulled slacks and a sweater over the lingerie and felt the thrill I had forgotten about eighteen years earlier. Facing the bathroom mirror and practicing with make-up, one eye on "The Charlene Guide to Evening Makeup", I felt stirrings and emotions. I stared at my poorly made up face and tried to smile but I felt more like crying. The other band members voted and my stage name would be Irene Melody. We couldn't come up with a good alternative based on Sean. "Hi Irene and welcome to my life." Chapter 4: In F "Any key you want, well in reason." "I like to do this in F." Andy nodded. "Let's take this slowly. Mike you start and Irene will follow." Mike slowly played out the first chords for Smoke Gets In Your Eyes and I provided a rhythmic strum on the banjo. Andy, Carla and Phil sat back and listened and watched. It was my first rehearsal and I came with my banjo and a bag. From the bag I pulled out clothing and disappeared into the small bathroom to transition in Irene Melody. This was my first chance to be with people and play music while in drag, but still in a "safe" environment. In the bathroom I struggled and bumped into the sink, shower stall and toilet as I dressed. I sat on the toilet and pulled the shiny pantyhose over the tight black panties. Clipping the brassiere band around my waist I swiveled the garment and then, straps over my shoulders, dropped in the forms. We had a long argument about those. Dana told me that drag required large breasts and pushed me to use c-cups. I argued for some sense of dignity and we compromised on Bs. The dress was the easiest garment to accept. It was a simple dark blue item with a hint of d?colletage. It fell to mid calf and had some extra folds below the neckline to provide, as Dana said, "a sense of elegance and timelessness." I stepped into the shoes and opened the door. Carla was leaning against the wall looking at a magazine and came in to help with make-up and to look me over with a critical eye. I passed inspection, with many comments and suggestions, and then put on the wig which she combed. Finally she stood back and nodded. "Yeah not bad at all, not bad. In fact when you've settled into yourself you might almost be classy. Time for some music, right?" Not feeling classy in the least I stepped out. I don't know what I expected; raised eyebrows, laughter, a wolf whistle. I wasn't prepared for three men in casual clothing and one in a pink running suit to slowly look me over and then start making suggestions. "You'll need more eye makeup on stage." "Get a bracelet for your right hand and lose the watch honey." "I like the shoes Irene, I really do." More than the comments it was the tone that threw me. I wasn't expecting "honey" or to be called "Irene". I quickly caught on; when a member of Pearl Buttons was "en femme" they were called by their stage name. It was easy for me to remember the others' names because they followed a pattern. Mike was Michelle, Phil was Phyllis, Andrew was Andrea and Carla was always Carla. They'd have to remember that Sean was Irene. So would I. Three times through Smoke gets in Your Eyes, four run-throughs of Don't be That Way, and on and on. When Phil and Andy finally signaled an end and Mike stood up and stretched I was exhausted. I glanced at the clock; it was past midnight and we had been rehearsing for almost four hours straight. "Oh God, I have got to get out of these clothes." "Let me use the john first" shouted Andy and ran to the bathroom. We put away our instruments and gossiped. Back in my street clothes, I turned down an invitation to hit a late night spot to listen to afro- jazz. It would be after one by the time I got home anyway. We had two more rehearsals scheduled and then I'd be a member of the audience as Pearl Buttons played a drag bar in Brooklyn. Riding the subway home I hummed bits from Clarinet Marmalade, ala Pete Fountain. Carla did a nice version of it and I was able to join in, playing rhythm on the banjo. Mike and Phil were both amazed by the soft tone my Deering could produce if I used the mute. Jazz plectrum banjo players are becoming rarer and rarer and its fun to watch the reactions of people when I play. In my apartment I put down the banjo and dropped the clothes. I'd hang them up after washing. It was late and I was tired. I showered, paying extra attention to removing every last trace of makeup. Sitting at my table I decided to sip a bit of bourbon before bed and turned on a CD keeping the volume low. Years ago I had dressed in my mom's clothes for the thrill of it. I couldn't admit it to the band, well maybe to Carla, that I felt that thrill again this evening. Returning for occasional sips I hung up the dress, tossed the bra and panties onto my laundry pile and decided I could wear the pantyhose another time. Phil insisted I rehearse en femme for a bit to get used to the clothing and I protested very little. As I pulled the blankets around me and shut off the light I had to admit I was looking forward to tomorrow's rehearsal and it wasn't just for the music. City Lights in Brooklyn surprised me. It was my first time in a drag bar despite hanging around with a freewheeling crowd. I didn't know what to expect but campy red velvet, polished brass and a mixed crowd was not it. I sat with Mike's wife Melinda, feeling better for having a woman at the table with me and we talked about nothing in particular and watched the crowd. Melinda, who knew the scene, pointed out the men, and a few women, hunting for a cross dressing "date". She introduced me as "a friend of Mike's" to a few acquaintances and then we quieted down as an outrageously dressed MC told jokes to warm the crowd up. The MC was bold, brassy, overweight, and dressed deliberately not to pass. The jokes were new to me and not very funny but the crowd greeted them as old news and laughed and booed in a good natured way. Finally Scarlatta, for that was the MC's name, announced The Pearl Buttons and the four came on to scattered applause. I half listened to the music, paying as much attention to the crowd. Andrea announced that they were short a vocalist that night, Carla joked back that their missing vocalist wasn't short. Phil hit a drum and the band took off. The crowd got into the music and even though Michelle's croaking wasn't good her singing was fun and the music grabbed the crowd. I watched a few couples dancing and occasionally leaned over the Melinda, pointed out someone and asked "male or female?" Usually there was no need to ask. When Pearl Buttons left the stage, to a good deal of applause, Scarlata came back and joked for a while before bringing on the next act. I was surprised to see a male pianist in a blazer come on and sit at the piano but Melinda explained that Peter Scolles was the club's resident accompanist. A badly dressed man, obviously trying to pass as a woman rather than playing to the camp or funny side of cross dressing, came on and stood before the mike. Scolles played an intro and he/she opened her mouth and it went downhill from there. Let's see, the voice was pitched too high; maybe two tones down it might have been a decent tenor. There was a lack of rhythmic sense, no handle on volume and frankly the dress was poorly chosen. When she had sung her two pieces the audience gave a smattering of applause and settled back as Scolles did a wonderful version of Take Five. Other singers and comedians followed and got their ten minutes of fame. With Pearl Buttons back on stage I looked at the band very closely. I took in the image with a critical eye. Carla was persuasive and Phyllis, hidden behind the drum set, would fool many people. Andrea and Michelle were obviously male. The thing was that the classic clothes, the attention to detail, and the relaxed attitude made the performers dignified rather than foolish. The set done, Carla came down to sit with Melinda and me, and bit by bit the others, now back in men's clothes, joined us as well. We sat and BS'd for a while, then Phil leaned over. "OK Sean, honest and brutal, what do you think?" I complimented the music and said it was what I expected then I took a sip and thought for a moment. "Respect and yeah also dignity. Class. That's what I saw up there. I mean I already knew you were great musicians. I'm not surprised that you can be funny, but compared to all the others up there you just have a great image." Phil nodded. "You nailed it Sean. And Wednesday night at the Blue Hat you'll be in front of the mike. Ready?" I gave a grimace. "I don't feel ready, but we have another rehearsal and I'm a pro. When the music starts, I'll be there." We drank some more and I watched the crowd. I compared myself to the men in drag. Was I ready to perform? I didn't know, but I had to admit I looked better than most of the people dancing that night. Chapter 5: Back Stage and On Stage I've played enough clubs not to be disappointed. The front of the Blue Hat Bar was polished wood, nice carpets and classy bartenders. I quickly learned this was the highest of the high end of drag clubs. The back was like every damn club I had ever played. It was dark, chilly, all corners and tight spaces and somehow five members of Pearl Buttons, a cross dressing magician and a comedian had to change, put on make-up, warm up sleight of hand tricks and somehow not tear clothing or skin on sharp objects. Dana selected two dresses for me; the dark blue one and a tailored number in a garnet and black print. For no good reason I felt that the blue dress was more "protective" and somehow between the crowded bathroom and dressing room I managed to clamber into panties, pantyhose, bra and forms and finally the dress. Carla turned me around and adjusted this, pulled on that and declared me acceptable. I worked on my make-up and when I was done Michelle reworked it adding more lip-gloss and eye-shadow. "Irene, you are not trying to pass on Madison Avenue hon. Remember, bright lights, distance, glamour, and you need a little more pizzazz." I dropped my watch into my duffle and put a small gold chain on my wrist. Clip earrings pinched my lobes and I looked at the mirror. The lipstick was too bright; the blue eye shadow seemed outrageous. I just had to hope that Michelle and Carla knew what they were talking about. I tuned up the banjo and slowly warmed up with some chords and then a riff or two from Up A Lazy River. The manager stuck his head around the door. "Ladies, in five." Phyllis blew him a raspberry and then winked at me. "Come in about five seconds after you hear audience quiet down. As you approach the mike, Michelle and Andrea will start on Stardust. Put your banjo on the stand, smile really big and start to sing." I leaned my banjo against my chair and wondered why I felt sad, disappointed, almost melancholic. Carla misinterpreted the look on my face and assured me I would do just fine. It was as Phyllis stood up and adjusted the waist band on her black velvet pantsuit that it struck me. In the past, as a child or even over the preceding week when I dressed up, there was a mixture of forbidden thrill and magic in the act. Here it was hustle and bustle, joking and bumping. The ritual of transformation was changed into a utilitarian act. "You're up now." I was shaken out of my reverie and stood up. Letting the other four precede me I listened to the applause, slowly counted to five and then tried to walk. I stumbled on my heels and barely caught myself before I fell onto the stage. The manager grabbed me and whispered "breathe." I took a breath and walked onto the stage. Lights in my face made the audience near invisible. I placed my banjo on its stand and walked to the mike. The timing was good. I smiled and waited. The intro was done. I began to sing and the moment took over. "And now the purple dusk of twilight time, Steals across the meadows of my heart." To make my life easy this first song was played straight through with no instrumental breaks. I didn't have to think about the audience watching me. All I had to do was sing and let Hoagy's lyrics carry me along. I smiled, used my hands a bit and tried not to be stiff even though my heart was racing. Andrea finished the piece with a few slow notes on the double bass's bow and for a split second there was silence. Then the applause began and I smiled and gave a wave to the audience. The next piece had me playing the banjo and I turned to get my instrument and sit on the folding stool I carried to gigs, but Carla took me by the elbow and brought me back to the front. "Isn't she great? This here is our new vocalist. Please welcome Irene Melody." The applause started again and Michelle brought down her hands and started playing a rag piece, "Nighttime Mary" and I sang the first verse. While Carla soloed I picked up the banjo and slipped off the mute. Back at the mike I sung the next verse and then hammered out some ragtime, alternating riffs with Andrea's bass runs, and the crowd went wild. I assumed that when our first set was done we'd sit in the back but I was dragged, no pun intended, to the front to sit with the rest of the band. We watched the magician and I laughed so hard it was difficult not to cry. Yes I was on edge and nervous but the guy, or gal if you want, was that good. Mysteriousa was done up in a sparkly green jump suit with short rather than long legs. Lycra hose showed off a nice set of gams and she had the large bosom Dana wanted me to display. Standing on stage next to her little magician's table she joked with the audience and did some quick tricks. Then she called for a volunteer and a young man in white tie and tails came up. He was obviously a plant but the image was great for here was the reversal of the standard setup. The magician was the feminine, sexy person, albeit a cross dresser, and the assistant the male in black and white. Mysteriousa was sort of persuasive in her woman's getup but even better as an entertainer and I was disappointed when she wrapped up by producing a bouquet of flowers from her "helper's" back pocket. She thanked her assistant for the flowers and the audience for their time and left to cheers and laughter. The comedienne then took the stage and as she cracked poor jokes Pearl Buttons finished drinking and we went back to get ready for our second set. I went over to Mysteriousa to compliment her on her act. Her assistant was there drinking a beer and they thanked me. Then her assistant, Al, made a flagrant pass at me and I started to stutter in astonishment. Phil laughed and came to my rescue explaining that I was new to this drag scene and needed to concentrate on the music and anyway was hetero. "Never know 'til you try Irene" was Al's response and Mysteriousa, or Frank as he introduced himself, punched Al in the arm and we laughed and then got ready for the next set. We walked back on stage and the manager gave us a smile and a nod. The applause came up and I forgot about Al. We smiled and waved and Phyllis started up a Gene Krupa beat and Carla came in with "Swingtime". It still astonishes me that a quintet can do this piece but Pearl Buttons does and I invite you to go to the web site and listen to the sample. Later I sung "Up a Lazy River" and then sat back to provide rhythm and occasional riffs for the rest of the evening. Future gigs would feature me as the vocalist. This time I had it easy. My eyes adjusted and I was able to watch the audience as I strummed along. There were couples both hetero and same-sex. Outrageous drag types, and I had to wonder how they travelled to the club dressed like that, and men seriously trying to pass as women. "Thank you all. We've had a great time and I hope you did as well. Remember the five ladies who have been entertaining you are The Pearl Buttons, good night." That was the signal to swing into a hard but short series of hot jazz riffs and then to good applause we waved and blew kisses at the audience and left the stage. Backstage Phyllis and Andrea immediately began dissecting the performance. Everybody came up for compliments," Irene you sang great but you need a bit more volume", and criticism, "Irene, loosen up and smile more. Don't fret girl, it will come." I used the bathroom to change, a bit shocked at how freely Mike, Phil and Andy disrobed in the shared dressing room. Carla helped me take the off makeup and showed me how to best fold up the dress so it wouldn't wrinkle. The manager came back to talk with Phil and then to my surprise Lou Cole came in with a middle aged woman. He introduced his wife, gave me a big wink and settled down to talk business. I went out front to the bar and got a bourbon and ginger ale and sipped it slowly. Music was playing through the speakers and the crowd was starting to thin out. "Hi, were you Irene up there?" I turned to see a man looking at me. "Uh, yeah." "Liked the sound. I really did. You are new to this right?" I must have nodded because he went on saying how he could tell men who had just started cross dressing. I was waiting for the pickup line but it never came and after a minute he waved at someone, said "goodnight" and wandered off. Carla and Mike joined me and we sat and drank in silence letting the energy and excitement slowly leave our bodies. We talked about sharing cabs and got ready to leave. It seemed strange to be standing behind the counter at Heckman's the next morning. I was helping two young musicians looking for violin duets. One of them told me they needed something different for a performance at their school and how nervous they were. I chuckled and said that once the music started they'd be fine. When they were gone I thought about it. Sure, I felt good singing and playing, even in a dress. The music was a screen I stood behind. Irene was like a shadow play, safe behind the riffs and solos. It wasn't as scary as I had imagined it would be. Mondays and Tuesdays are pretty dead nights for live music in the city and Pearl Buttons didn't have a gig until Friday. We were scheduled to rehearse Tuesday and Thursday so I had an evening off. I was self-conscious in the laundromat as I shoved a mixture of boxers and bras, panties and gym socks into the machine. I relaxed when I realized that nobody was paying any attention and reminded myself that I could just as easily be doing a girlfriend's laundry as anything else. Coffee in hand I settled down with a book and pretended to read as I thought about the prior two weeks. I left one band, though we still had two gigs to go, joined another, learned new music, performed while wearing a nice blue dress and then called my parents and told them that nothing special was going on. As I transferred the wash from the washer to the drier I chuckled. Back in my apartment two pair of pantyhose hung in the bathroom. I washed them in the sink earlier and it did not seem to be anything special. Chapter 6: Wine and Loneliness "See you tomorrow." I waved goodbye to Marti, Fred and the Heckman brothers and left the building. It was a nice night for February in New York and I walked home slowly stopping to look in store windows and watch the passing crowd. The night before, Pearl Buttons played at a raunchy bar in Patterson. The crowd made up for the venue and we had a great time before piling into Phil's clapped out old van for the ride back to the city. Sitting in the back I dozed and half-listened to Mike and Phil talk basketball. "You were great on Swingtime." "Huh?" "Oh go back to sleep Sean, I was just saying that you sung Swingtime really well." Now I closed my apartment door behind me and tossed the mail on the table. I could see a couple of bills had come in but felt no stress about them. Heckman's would pay me tomorrow and I had a Pearl Buttons, Inc. check for $287 in my wallet. I argued with myself as I put away the items I grabbed at the supermarket. I wavered as I got water boiling to make some pasta. I tried to discuss things in an objective manner. Finally I laughed at myself and went into the bedroom to change clothes. Images of myself as a kid standing in front of a mirror wearing my mother's bra, listening for the sound of the garage door opener, came back to me, and I felt a wave of guilt and fear. Instinctively I froze and listened and then laughed at myself, but still I went and checked that my door was locked and the shades pulled down. I used the adhesive to attach the forms and then slipped into panties, brassiere and hose. I pulled the garnet and black dress over my head and twisted around until I could pull up the zipper in the back. I put on a pair of black sandals with one inch heels and sat down to buckle the ankle straps. For a moment I closed my eyes and sat on the bed. I was shivering and it wasn't from the temperature. I was shaking as though I had a fever and the emotions that I missed when I dressed as one of the Pearl Buttons overwhelmed me. This was the rush, the eroticism, the guilt and the thrill that was lacking when, as a group, we put on our costumes. I looked at myself in the mirror and then with shaking hands applied makeup. I used far less than I would on stage and did not attach the clip earrings that Irene wore when she performed. I didn't put on the wig but just stared at the reflection. "My God Sean; Wow I don't look bad." I turned my head from side to side and mussed my hair and recombed it. Moving into the main room I swung open the closet door and stared at the full length mirror that hung on the back. Picking up the wig I put it on and then took it off. Repeating the act a few times I just looked at myself. Finally I broke the spell and sat down to a dinner of pasta with sauce from a jar and some salad. I had half a bottle of wine in the fridge and slowly worked my way through it. Eating dinner alone was a common enough occurrence. This night I desperately missed company. I knew Diana would not be able to deal with me cross-dressing and there was no way I was walking out of my apartment like this. I turned off the lights and opened the shade. Glass in hand I leaned against the window sill and watched the passersby. Idly I caressed a breast form and then in the dim light from the street stood again in front of the mirror. "Shit. Learn how to put makeup on right Sean and you might just pass. Oh hell there is no way I'd have the guts to go out like this." I finished the wine and spent the rest of the evening softly playing on the ukulele. It was more doodling than practice as I moved from tune to tune idly. Time passed and in the dark apartment I became more comfortable in the dress. Going to bathroom I giggled tipsily as I pulled down the pantyhose and sat to pee. In bed that night I pulled the blankets tight around me and tried not to think. Tomorrow was a rehearsal and we would be working on a new piece. I concentrated on the music in my head and pushed panties, forms and makeup to some side lobe of my brain. In time I slept. I was edgy all day and played poorly during rehearsal. Phil said that I was "gripped up" whatever that meant and Carla asked if I was OK. I wasn't. I needed someone to talk with and for the first time in my life felt completely alone. If it had been a musical question, including career, I could easily name five or six people I could sit down with. Finances, no problem; I could even talk with my father about that. Girlfriend problems, there was Dave or Ann from the Jammers. But cross-dressing, I could think of no one I dared sit down with. As I played the ukulele on Lazy Bones and listened to Michael croak out the lyrics I found myself wishing I was wearing one of the dresses. I briefly thought about wearing panties under my jeans when I went to rehearsal and tossed that idea out as stupid. Now the thought didn't seem so outr?. I forced myself to concentrate and watched Carla as she played a short break. Up close you could tell she was transgender. It wasn't obvious though. I was getting pretty sophisticated when it came to judging the pass-no-pass criteria and Carla would pass in four out of five situations. More important I don't think she worried about the fifth situation. She was the most comfortable person I had met but I couldn't see myself pulling her aside and asking her to sit down for a chat. We ended early, in part because I was out of sorts, and discussed the next rehearsal and gig. I walked back and noticed Barnes and Noble was still open and went in. Twenty minutes later, feeling very self- conscious, I walked out with a copy of Drummond's book, Transitions. It was a late night, or early morning, before I shut off my light and lay back. I read for hours and only the pain in my eyes forced me to put down the book. In the dark I listened to the ever present sound of the city, sirens, horns, passing cars. In my dreams I was having trouble restring the uke and it was only at breakfast that I realized that I had been wearing a woman's bright sweater and had breasts as I wrestled with the recalcitrant instrument. I swallowed my coffee and got ready for work. On a whim I went into the bedroom and took off my pants and boxers. Leaving the apartment that morning I felt as though people could see through the layers of winter clothing and I was half expecting someone to point and shout; "Oh look at the perv. He's got on blue lycra panties." Marti and Pete commented on how I seemed a lot happier and I was. I kept chuckling to myself as I answered phone or dealt with the occasional customer. I would hand over a copy of Lambert's book on Schubert and Goethe, thank the customer and then silently say "...and you don't know I have on a pair of light blue panties." It may not seem like much but it helped me get through the day. I ate at a jazz club that night and leaned back with a beer listening to Caribbean flavored music. Friends drifted in and out and we caught up on each other's activities. I let one acquaintance know I was playing with Pearl Buttons and other than commenting that he'd look up the web site he said nothing. As each acquaintance passed in front of me I asked "is this a person I can talk with" and each time I had to say no. Around eleven I was getting ready to go when I heard my name called and turned to see a college acquaintance coming toward me. Inwardly I groaned because Fred was one boring, two an insurance broker, and three tended to try and relive his college days by reminiscing. I was polite however and waved at some seats and turned to look at his two companions. One was his girlfriend I had met before and then I turned to look at the other woman. Put together every song about love at first sight, every corny melody and sugary lyric you know, add stars and sunsets and other romantic stuff and you know the feeling I had. I swear my mouth didn't drop open but I do remember feeling my pulse in my throat. "Ellen this is Sean. He was a year ahead of me at Fordham. Sean Ellen works at Sterns and Parker..." Fred then lapsed into a long and unrelated story about me doing wheelies on a mountain bike on the campus and I let him drone on. "Hi." "Hi." Ellen smiled back at me and any hope I had of escape was gone. I can't objectively describe her; tall, jet black hair, shapely, and a smile that opened up the world. I probably sounded like a fool to her but somehow I managed to get a promise from her that she'd join me for a drink after work then next day. I told her I played jazz in a couple of bands (hey I still had one gig left with the Jammers so it wasn't a lie) she said she was a marketing rep. I floated home that night humming stupid love songs. It was only when my fantasies became erotic that I remembered the panties. It would have been awkward if she had taken the lead and said to come to bed. I sat on my bed and laughed at the image and then flopped down and slept a deep and dreamless sleep. Chapter 7: Out and In As bad as the prior rehearsal was this one was good. Still high from drinks with Ellen I positively bubbled, and it made me sound good. Mike complimented me and Carla told me it had "good energy". The drink with Ellen was short but who cared. We met at a bar near her office and had a quick one. We talked a little, agreed to meet again when we could take more time and parted. The fact the Ellen was into hip-hop, a genre I despise, rather than jazz didn't detract from the moment at all. As Phil and Mike discussed some business I improvised on the banjo and Andy plucked his bass. Carla cleaned and put away her clarinet and watched us. It was past midnight and Phil had already told us he was sleeping on the couch. This was Pearl Buttons unbuttoned. I was relaxed and happy. The band was sounding good. We had five gigs on the calendar. "So why is Sean smiling so much now? You look like the proverbial canary filled cat." I looked over at Carla and was at a loss for what to say. I just smiled and said something about life being good at the moment. Carla nodded and leaned back. "Hey Andy it's late. Let's go home. Phil we'll see you. Mike, Sean; bye." I put on my coat and followed them out the door. As we parted Carla commented again on how good I looked. I watched them go down the street, hand in hand and envied their closeness. The next day at Heckman's I was surprised to see Carla come through the door. She gave me a wave and went to look at the jazz section. I was involved in a discussion about inventory and forgot about her until later. With Saul in the back and Marti at the counter I looked up to see Carla smiling at me. "Hey Sean, it's afternoon. How about lunch? Is there any place good around here?" We sat down at S and J's and waited for our salads. Carla made no small talk but came straight to the point. "Andy and I are worried about you Sean." "Huh?" "That's right. Look, give this a minute, right? Andy and I have been a couple for four years. I've been cross-dressing fulltime for five and we are both long time denizens of the New York gay scene. So we see with different but informed eyes. Carla stopped while the waitress put down salads and coffees. We assured her we needed no extra pepper and watched her go." "Nice buns" said Carla. "OK back to reality. We look and we see and we aren't dumb. Right? Now you've got something to tell me, I think I can guess what it is and it isn't the woman or I guess it could be a man, though I doubt it, that made you so giddy last night. So this is your friend Carla speaking; spill." I stared at my salad, closely studying the quartered tomato as if its hothouse existence would give me some clue as to what to say. I speared and ate a cucumber slice, sipped some coffee and then met Carla's eyes. "It's nothing I want to talk about." "Bullshit. Right? You want to talk about it you just can't figure out how to start or who to talk to. Come on Sean we're together three or four nights a week. Pearl Buttons crams into dressing rooms, Phil's van and taxis. The only person who manages to keep secrets is Phil and probably not as many as he thinks." We compromised. I promised to have dinner at their apartment and Carla agreed to drop the subject for the moment. The rest of the lunch was spent chatting and it was only as I got ready to go back to work that Carla went back to the earlier discussion. "So we'll see you tonight at seven, right?" She lowered her voice "If you want come as Irene that's OK too." I stopped dead in my tracks. "Is it that obvious?" "No Sean it's not. But now I know. Before we just suspected. I'll see you tonight." I walked slowly back to Heckman's and apologized for being ten minutes late. It was hard to concentrate on work and I was thankful I was stocking and packing rather than working on the database or the website. How the hell did she and Andy figure it out? I tried to remember something I said, some way I dressed, something. "Just the look on your face as you moved back and forth between Sean and Irene." Andy handed me a second beer and Carla went to check on something in the kitchen. Andy and I would have BS'd for a while but within a minute after my coat was taken Carla got to the point. I was coming to realize that Andy was the soft, laid-back member of the couple. Carla looked pink and fluffy and was the steel in the relationship. I felt embarrassed but very relieved and as Carla and I shared some experiences of dressing as kids I felt much less alone in the world. She too had listened for the sounds of a parent coming home. Like me she had looked at the girls in her school with envy, though unlike me she didn't combine lust in the swirl of confused emotions. Andy mostly sat back. He began cross-dressing when he met Phil and Carla and they were creating Pearl Buttons. His view of the world was through gay tinted lenses but except when performing he wore his standard jeans and canvas work shirts. I tried to imagine him at his job in the IT section of the City University and could easily believe the image. "It's not easy Sean. I mean if you think you can take Irene off the stage a