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A Portrait of Two Women Prologue: A Portrait of Tara "Oh Gina, it's beautiful!" Mark exclaimed in awe. "No, it's, it's... I mean..." he's stumbling for words now, which is kind of flattering, "it is beautiful, but it's more than that, it's just so brilliant. The raw emotion in her face is mesmerizing. How did you ever capture that?" So, Mark was one of my two best friends growing up. I say "was" because after we both graduated from art school, Mark took a job out east as a graphic designer while I stayed here, pursuing my dream of being a starving artist, destined to have my paintings discovered and praised long after I was dead. Well, really I had just hoped to be able to make a modest living selling the odd canvas and prints at local art fairs while my boyfriend (and fianc?e) was finishing law school. Actually, the last time I saw Mark in person was at Dan's and my wedding three years ago. Until today, we'd only communicated sporadically via social media. So I was pleasantly surprised last week when he called and told me he had taken a job back here and was coming in this week to look for an apartment. He arrived at my house about an hour ago and I'm giving him a tour of my art studio. Funny thing, my life as an itinerant painter came to a sudden halt when a local collector bought one of my paintings. I had made prints of several of my oil portraits of various women I had painted (mostly of friends and a couple of relatives who modeled for free) and they were selling reasonably well. In my little booth at an art fair out in one of the city's ritzier suburbs, I had a few of the originals hanging on the tent walls with outlandish prices on them because, you never know who might be dumb enough, I mean, sophisticated enough to appreciate them. This man pulled out one of my prints and asked if the original was for sale. It wasn't one of the canvases I had on display because it is quite a large work. It was also one of my favorites because it was of my other best friend and a person very special to me. So when this guy asks the price, I blurt out the first ridiculous amount that enters my head, "ten thousand" and he smiles and tells me, "if the original looks as good in person, then you have yourself a sale". A few months later he sold it in his downtown gallery for fifteen thousand. Since then, my friend has become my principal model and the reason I have a backlog of commissions. Yet she refuses to take any money from me. She says our friendship is too valuable. As Mark stands here looking at my latest painting of Tara, our childhood friend, I am pleasantly amused when he asks, "Who is she?". Chapter 1: Meeting Maeve "Just a woman I occasionally hire," I lied. "I don't suppose I could meet her sometime," Mark said hopelessly with a little laugh. "I get that question all the time, but she is a very private person, and I've promised to never violate her trust," which is not a lie. I promised Tara that I would never reveal her identity to anyone. When Mark first arrived, I was shocked at how much he had changed in three years. As kids, the three of us were outcasts, teased and bullied. Mark was short, pudgy, and always drawing cartoon characters. Perhaps his decision to retaliate by drawing unflattering caricatures of our classmates and post them around the school was not properly thought through, but I did admire his creativity. I was a bit reclusive, constantly drawing, and not terribly eager to socialize. Now that I think about, I can see why I was an outcast. I wasn't the friendly type back then. Tara? Well Tara was not exactly Tara back then. By the time Mark and I graduated from art school, Mark was borderline obese, slovenly, with a scruffy beard. He didn't look any better three years ago, maybe even worse. The Mark that arrived at my house was forty or fifty pounds lighter. His hair was longer, his beard was gone (not clean shaven, but gone as in nothing there to shave). He smelled of lavender (definitely not slovenly anymore), and his nails were manicured. After talking mostly about my life and career, I finally got Mark to talk about why he was moving back after all this time. I was really tempted to simply jump to the obvious and ask about his gender transition. But I made that mistake once before, so I patiently waited until he gathered his, excuse me, her courage. "So, this is exciting, having you back here. I was so happy when you called," I said, while pouring us each a lovely cup of herbal tea. "I'm dying to hear about your new job". "Well, it's a bit of a career change. I'm going to teach graphic design at a junior college near downtown. Hoping to find an affordable apartment nearby. I'm taking a significant pay cut, but it's a lot less expensive to live here, so I should be better off." "I bet your parents are happy you're moving back." "Ok, you have to promise that everything I tell you is strictly just between us, please." Mark pleaded. "Of course." I can see how nervous Mark is becoming. "Listen, I'm still keeping your secrets. I've never told anyone about the rose tattoo on your butt. Bet your parents still don't know about that. You can tell me anything." I got a small smile, but Mark is still nervous. I'm glad I didn't mention the secret about seeing him wearing his sister's clothes. "I haven't told them yet. I need to work a lot of things out first." I'm just sitting here trying to give Mark as much time as needed. "Six months ago I was at a professional conference and met a graphic artist from here. He invited me out for dinner with his girlfriend. Not long after we were seated, she started talking about how they met. Until then I didn't have a clue she was... that she was transgendered. She looked at me knowingly and laughed, saying, 'see it's easy to talk about when it's about your true self'." Mark sighed, shrugged her shoulders and said, "my true self has always been female, for as long as I can remember. I started transitioning over a year ago. I've been taking hormones for almost six months." A complicated look of both relief and anxiety spread across her face. "Can I ask what your name is?" "Maeve" "With your red hair, that is a perfect name for you. I like it very much." After several minutes of crying and hugging, she gave me more details about her move. Maeve had been keeping in touch with the trans woman, Samantha, that she had met. She teaches at this junior college (that fully supported her transition) and had told Maeve about an opening in the art department. She applied and was offered the position. When she starts in three months, it will be Maeve teaching (not Mark). "Gina, I was serious earlier, it's really important to me that no one knows about this unless I tell them. You know what a horrible time I had growing up. I'm taking a chance coming back because I'm still afraid of some of the people who bullied me. I've looked at their social media pages. They haven't changed. But I was so alone out east that now knowing I have you and Samantha, maybe her friends, and maybe my family to support me, this is where I need to be." After Maeve left, I sat there thinking. I had had almost an identical conversation with Tara several years ago. When we were kids, she was still a boy named Thom. Thom had gone away for college and neither Mark nor I had heard from him for four years. Then one day, after Mark had already moved out east, a young woman stopped at my booth at one of the art fairs. It took me awhile, but when I recognized her, I embarrassed Tara by yelling "Thom! You're a girl!" Tara said it was her own fault for stopping and surprising me. She didn't even know I was at the art fair. But when she saw my booth she couldn't resist looking at my paintings. We met later for coffee where she made me promise to never tell anyone about her. She and Maeve were really emotionally scarred. Now I am proud and happy that each one trusts me to still be a friend. But, come on! How am I going to get the three us to be friends again without breaking my promises? Chapter 2: Meeting Tara Three days later Maeve sent me a text letting me know that her friend Samantha had helped her find an adorable apartment near the school that would be available at the end of next month. At that time she plans on donating all of her 'boy stuff' and then driving back, hauling her remaining minimal belongings in a trailer. A few minutes later a second text asked if I was interested in helping her move in and help her buy clothes for her new job. "Love to" I texted back. Then sent another, "Moving anything heavy?" "Yes. Sam's bf might help. Maybe Dan?" she replied. Ok, that took me by surprise. "U ok with Dan knowing?!!" "Not fair to ask you to keep secret from hubby (except rose tattoo)" "LOL, ok. Give him $1 retainer so covered by attorney/client privilege" "LMAO, thanks girlfriend" "xxx" Now I am probably (definitely?) reading too much into a few text messages, but those did not come across as written by the pudgy, depressed person I grew up with. I'm inclined to picture a slightly more confident and happy young woman now. In the meantime, my other confidant and girlfriend is expected any minute now for another portrait sitting. I'm spending a lot of time on this one. With all the commissions I'm working on, I rarely have the time to paint just for the fun of it. Dan and I are banking every dollar I make for a possible early retirement. So while I seem to be popular and in demand, this makes sense (or is it cents) to me. I can do more experimental work later. However, my one exception is painting Tara. She is the reason I am successful. As Maeve observed, Tara's expressions can be mesmerizing. Learning how to capture them in paint has made me a better artist. But maybe even more important, I relish our time in the studio, sitting there and talking for hours. Growing up, Mark was always the moody one. Thom on the other hand was sweet and gentle. We could sit on my bed and talk and talk and talk. At the time, I wished I had another girl, a BFF that I could talk to. Now I realize that I already did. One other reason I'm taking so much time on this painting is that it needs to be special because it is a gift. Tara can refuse to take cash, but she can't refuse a gift. Each year we celebrate her "re-birthday", the anniversary of her GRS. This is her fifth year, so I want my present to be special. After Tara arrived we headed over to my studio that adjoins the house. Tara takes a seat near a window with natural light streaming in. I sit in front of my easel and start to mix paints. To be honest, she really doesn't need to be here. I'm working on her "hair" today. My style mixes photorealism and a surrealism. I always paint the subject's face photorealistic while peripheral elements might be more fanciful. This is one of the reasons Tara hasn't ever been recognized even after photos of my paintings of her have appeared in print and online. I've never painted her real hair or her body. In real life, Tara works in fashion and does some runway modeling. No one ever pictures the expressive, clean faced woman in my paintings as a heavily made up five foot ten inch, stoic, fashionista. Since that day I recognized her at an art fair, several more years of hormones have erased all traces of Thom. So despite images of her circulating in public, she's been able to remain unrecognized by any past tormenters. While I'm mixing paint, I thought of a way to casually broach the subject of childhood. "Oh, you might find this interesting maybe, or maybe not. Anyway, last weekend my mom dropped off a couple of boxes of junk she's been saving. They're threatening to sell the house again and move to some place warm. You know, one of these years they might actually do it. So the boxes had old pictures I'd drawn in grade school. She thinks they're valuable now. I hated to break it to her, but only childhood scribblings by da Vinci might have any value." Then I continued, "but there was this crayon drawing of you and Mark holding hands, it was probably the first time I ever drew you." "That is weird," Tara said. "Because you two were holding hands?" I asked. "Yeh, did we actually hold hands when we were kids?" "Well, yes, you held everyone's hand. You were pretty girly. Still are sweetie." I laughed. "If I remember right, Mark was a hand holder too. He was always grabbing mine." I said. "That's because he had a crush on you for years, remember. For that matter, so did I", Tara said. Then she added, "it's so sad that two children can be shamed and ridiculed for being affectionate. Poor Mark liked girls, but only you would talk to him because the other girls stupidly thought he was gay. Of course, turned out I actually was gay, but a lesbian. The idiots couldn't even get that right." "Sorry for stirring up old memories." I said. "No, that's ok, really. I'm so happy with who I am, that I can afford to reflect a little now and then." "Ever wonder what became of Mark," I ask. "You know, I do. I hope he is happy somewhere. He was at your wedding, wasn't he?" "Yes, wish you could have been there." "Too many old acquaintances there, even if they were the nice ones." "If you ever want to reconnect with anyone, I can help." "Thanks. I'm happy with the way things are, but I'm still a work in progress, so, maybe, we'll see." "Ok, new topic! Are you dating anyone? It's been quite awhile since you broke up with that French model." Tara just gives me one of her complex facial expressions telling me to shut up and paint. Chapter 3: Moving Maeve Getting Maeve moved into her new apartment was a snap. Helping her buy new clothes was not. Maeve had hit upon any interesting way to come out to her parents and family. The last time her parents had seen her in person was nearly two years ago when they flew out east to visit. She had already started to lose weight, lost the beard, and had begun some laser hair removal. To her parents it simply appeared that their son was finally taking care of himself. But now, she realized that she clearly looked like more than someone just being healthy. Just looking at her now would announce that she was trans before she would have the opportunity to explain her decision. Taking a clue from an old movie, she sent them a hand written letter telling them about her need to transition, what she had already done to that end, and apologized for not having the courage to tell them earlier. She then told them she was moving back and if they still loved her and wanted to support her, she could use their help moving into her new home. She wrote down the address and the time and date that she'd be at the apartment. She wrote that she hoped they would be there, but understood if they weren't. When Dan and I arrived at Maeve's apartment on moving day, I could see a woman with red hair standing next to a trailer being hugged by an older man while an older woman sat on the building's steps crying. I had always liked Mark's parents. They were a little quirky like their son. After seeing them embrace their daughter, I now love Maeve's parents. Since I hadn't seen them since art school graduation I was also on the receiving end of a few hugs. In the meantime, another car pulled up with Maeve's older brother, his wife, and three year old girl. With a little prodding, the girl went up to Maeve and said "hi auntie Maffe". Even my husband had to wipe a tear away after that. So the heavy furniture was quickly moved and arranged by Dan and Maeve's brother. Her mom and sister-in-law took care of most of the unpacking of kitchen stuff while Maeve and I put away linens and bathroom items. By the time we were finished and looked around, I was struck by how feminine the place looked. It was obvious that slovenly Mark no longer existed. I am going to miss him, but I'm much more excited to be friends with Maeve. That is until the two of us went shopping the next day. Since she ditched her male clothes, her remaining wardrobe mostly consisted of dresses and heels she would wear to take Instagram selfies and to occasionally go out to gay clubs. Her friend Samantha had given her a very helpful list of friendly consignment shops and boutiques. Unfortunately, since today is Sunday, a lot of them were closed. When I arrived at her new apartment, I had planned on first taking her over to Eastgate Mall and Target to look for some inexpensive essentials like undies, socks, t- shirts, jeans, and shoes. Then check out the shops on the list that were open for some good quality jackets, tops, and slacks for teaching. When Maeve opened the door, I almost started laughing. Fortunately I controlled my response because it would have certainly gotten our renewed friendship off on the wrong foot, especially with someone who was laughed at unmercifully as a kid. "Maeve, wow... you look really sexy," I said because it was the nicest thing I could think of saying. Maeve had on a red minidress, heeled strappy sandals, and more makeup than I've worn in the last year. Yesterday was the first time I'd seen her dressed as Maeve. After she had just driven halfway across the country, she looked like any other tired twenty something woman wearing yoga pants, t-shirt, tennis shoes, and a splash of lip gloss. That Maeve I could take to a crowded Sunday at a mall overrun with marauding packs of teenage girls. This Maeve will draw a lot of unwanted attention for any woman let alone a trans woman. Now don't get me wrong! Maeve already looks great with her slimmed down five foot five inch body and longish red hair. I never would have imagined that there were delicate features hiding behind the face of the chubby boy I once knew. I can see that by the time those hormones finish working their magic, she'll be as stunningly beautiful as Tara. If we ever become a trio again, I'm going to end up being the ugly duckling of the group! "Umm... can I ask you something?" I ask. "Sure" "Have you ever gone shopping at a suburban mall? As yourself, as Maeve?" "I tried. Several times. But I never had someone to go with, so I'd lose my courage," she said sadly. "Ok, so I bet you were afraid of not being seen as female. Right?" Maeve nodded yes. "So when I go shopping, I just want to shop. Not be judged or starred at. So I'd love it if you would wear this outfit to my next gallery opening. But how about finding something like you were wearing yesterday?" Maeve looked a little defeated, but she sighed and went to her bedroom and found a Disney princess t-shirt, a pair of shorts, and a pair of flat sandals. I decided to call this a victory and not push her to tone down the makeup. At least now she looks like a prepubescent teen girl who had watched one too many YouTube makeup videos, and at least there would be dozens them at the mall. The odd thing is, a prepubescent teen girl is what Maeve essentially is at this point in her transition. I have a feeling I'm going be more like her mother than her friend today. Maybe that will be good practice. Besides Tara's and Maeve's secrets, I have my own. Dan is up for partner at his firm. That's not the secret. The secret is that I'm pregnant. Because of offices politics, we don't want my pregnancy to affect the partnership decision. I just know that by the end of this shopping trip, I'm going to want a couple of glasses of wine. And I can't! We went to a Target to get Maeve accustomed to being around mostly adult women shoppers who were too busy with their own shopping lists to care about us. I was feeling optimistic after we picked out several pairs of socks, sleepwear, and some fuzzy slippers without any arguments. Then I suggested picking out a few tops and Maeve's interest peaked. She hurried over and started sifting through racks of tops pulling out everything that had sparkles, bare midriffs, or, I'm not kidding, unicorns. I had to force her to also take a few age appropriate plain tops to the changing room. Minutes later, she popped out to show me "how cute this one is". I heard a woman standing somewhere behind me stifle a laugh at the sight of Maeve wearing a midriff baring, purple top with two sequined unicorns, one on each breast. "No, no, no!" I mutter and rush her back into the changing room. After much pouting and a borderline tantrum, we bought the tops I picked out (and the unicorn one, only after Maeve promised to never wear it in public or post it on Instagram). Several hours at the mall resulted in several more disagreements over what she needed to buy versus what she wanted to buy. I won most of the arguments thanks to some very kind salesgirls (of course the things I picked were usually more expensive so the they were more than happy to support me). Our biggest problem was buying jeans. No arguments, just problems. Maeve was getting pretty depressed because nothing fit until we finally hit the jackpot at the last store we went to. As we paid for several pairs of jeans, an exhausted Maeve shocked me by telling the salesgirl how hard it was to find jeans because she was transgendered. The girl looked up from the register and said "no, it's hard to find jeans that fit because you're a woman, welcome to the club." That girl is going to go far in her sales career. With that, we called it a day and decided not to hit the consignment shops. Instead, we decided to ask Samantha to take Maeve shopping for work attire since she would know best what is required. We took our purchases and headed back to Maeve's apartment and ordered pizza to be delivered. She apologized for not having any wine or beer yet. So I didn't have to come up with a clumsy excuse for preferring lemonade. Chapter 4: A Portrait of Maeve "Gina, I really like this one! You're experimenting! Who is she? Is it a commission?" Tara asked while she was getting ready for her final sitting. "No. One of Dan's clients is kind of a quirky woman. She was goofing around and I noticed how expressive she was. More with her body rather than facial expressions like you. She let me take a few photos and I'm only painting from them. She doesn't sit for me. So, yes, experimenting." All true. Maeve did give Dan a dollar retainer. This one is going to be a gift for Maeve. "She looks cute and fun. I don't suppose she's a lesbian is she?" Tara asked somewhat hopefully. Damn. I hate this. One of these times I'm going to break and I won't care if either one or both hates me. Hmmm, wait, they only asked me to promise not to tell who they were before transition. Both of them are open about their gender transition and sexuality. "Sorry, I think attorney/client privilege extends to the wife. So I can't divulge her identity, but between you and me, she's definitely a lesbian." As I got ready to put a few final adjustments to the pigmentation of the eyes now that I have the exact early evening light hitting Tara's face, we start our usual girl talk session. "Are you going to be able to make the gallery exhibition Saturday evening?" I ask. "Yes, schedule is all cleared. I don't have to fly out to LA. We agreed to a contract yesterday," she answered. "That's great. So congratulations are in order then? You're now officially a dress designer with her own label?" "As scary as that sounds, yes," Tara said. "Really proud of you babe," I say, "make sure you bring business cards Saturday, lots of rich people will be there." I remind her. "Absolutely, count on it." Ok, this might work out beautifully. I promised Maeve that the next time there was a gallery show she could attend and wear her red minidress and heels. That was three months ago. Since then she has grown out of her teenage girl stage. I haven't met her friend Samantha yet, but she's been a maturing influence on Maeve. So I feel quite comfortable inviting Maeve to a sophisticated soir?e. Just wish my uterus felt as good. If they don't hurry up and make that partnership decision soon, this kid (it's a girl, shhhh don't tell anyone) will be in high school. We're suppose to hear next Monday. Not drinking and gaining weight has both Tara and Maeve worrying about my health. They're going to be so embarrassed when they find out with those two huge clues starring them in the face. Saturday evening Dan and I picked up Maeve at her apartment. I told her she could invite a date but in the short time since she moved back, she hasn't met anyone yet. I must say she really surprised me when she came out of the building entrance (Dan gallantly went up to escort her to our car). She decided against the red minidress and instead was wearing a beautifully understated black lace cocktail dress and black sling back pumps. Her hair was pulled back into a chignon and her makeup was perfect. Best of all was her smile. I have never seen this person this happy. "Oh Maeve, you look absolutely stunning! I see you decided against the red dress," I teased a little. "Yeah, I decided it was maybe another relic from my past and the time for it to go. I brought it into the same consignment shop where I found this little black dress that fit me perfect. Guess I lost another four or five pounds since I moved back." I think that was meant as a comment on my weight gain, to inspire me to hit the gym. I dug my nails into Dan's thigh to ensure that he didn't laugh or smirk. Once we arrived at the gallery and headed to the reception, I had to apologize to Maeve for having to leave her to her own devices while Dan and I worked the crowd, schmoozing collectors and other would be patrons. Tara, on the other hand was an old hand at these things. She barely acknowledged me as she strutted about in her four inch stilettos mingling and making business contacts. Her signature ploy is to come up behind someone looking at a painting, stand for awhile looking over their heads (an intimidating presence, especially with those shoes on), and then make a very insightful comment about the artist's intent. Invariably a conversation ensues and Tara often ends up with a potential customer. About one hour into to the exhibition I watched in utter amazement as Tara came up behind an unsuspecting young woman in a black lace cocktail dress admiring a rather pedestrian figurative painting of a small child. Maeve is an exceptional digital graphic artist, but she has no feel for more traditional art, although she does like my work. I watched intently as Tara and Maeve interact. Normally, Tara spends no more than than ten or twelve minutes chatting before looking for her next target. It's been over a half hour and they're still chatting after heading together to the bar. Eventually, Tara moves on, continuing her routine. But I can see Maeve's face and she is absolutely glowing. When I turn around to go back to my routine, there is Tara hovering over me. "Shit, Tara, stop doing that! You always scare the hell out of me," I yell. "Sorry Gina, I forgot again. I need to ask you something privately," she whispers. "Ok, what?" "There's this really cute girl at the bar in a black dress," she's says. "Can you take a quick peek and tell me if that's the one in your painting?" she asks me. So I pretend to take a careful but discrete look and turn back to Tara. "Well? Well, is she?" Tara pleads. "Yes, but she's Dan's client, so I won't tell you anything more." "I understand, but can you at least assure me she's not an ax murderer or something worse?" "Worse than an ax murderer? Come on Tara, you know Dan just practices business law." "So if I said I wanted to ask her out, you'd be ok with that?" "Sure, why not. Just don't mention Dan, me, or the painting." Tara gives me a big hug, then whispers "I found this great spinning class, give me a call if you want to try it with me." Now, I've come to the conclusion that my promises to both Tara and Maeve were stupid when it came to telling them about each other. I could take Tara over to Maeve and tell them and they would fall into each other's arms and squeal and laugh and generally make a spectacle of themselves. But I'm not going to do that. I'm having too much fun now. Besides, I'm pregnant, my feet are killing me in these heels and I'm pissed that Tara is running around in stilettos like they're bedroom slippers, and I deserve a little entertainment before I'm knee deep in diapers. On the way back to Maeve's apartment, she sat in the back seat of our car with a huge grin plastered on her face. I had the feeling she might be back in "teenage girl" mode the way she giggled when I asked how her evening was. Now, I was dying to know if Tara actually did ask her out. I just couldn't figure out a clever way to find out. Turned out I didn't need to be clever. My husband, noticing how happy Maeve looked, simply said, "sorry we had to run around all evening talking with potential buyers, hope you were able find some less pretentious people to talk to." "I did," she answered, "I thought I would be nervous, but there were so many eclectic people there, I sort of fit in." "Fit in?!" I turned around and looked at Maeve, "you hardly come across as eclectic my dear." "I mean that, there were a couple of people that even I couldn't figure out their gender. Can you imagine how embarrassed I would've been if I misgendered someone! So I completely forgot to be nervous about being trans," she laughed. "So you were able to relax and talk to people, really happy for you," I said, then adding, "meet anyone interesting?" "Hmmm.... maybe," she said coyly. "Well, there was this one woman who designs dresses, and you won't believe this, does some modeling. Anyway, I was telling her that I have a couple of students taking one of my intermediate classes so they can improve their fashion sketches. So when I told told her that I always thought of designing clothes as an art form, because it really is once you think about it, she smiled and drew some figures on the back of this exhibit program, see. She's really talented." "Those are good, " I said, thinking that Tara has never shared any of her drawings with me. "So, ahhh... I can't really believe this, but I have a date with her next week. I'm just meeting her at a wine bar after work, just to talk some more. But I am kind of excited about it." "Wow, that's fantastic," I said, tying hard not to smirk. "Please tell me you're not going to wear your purple unicorn top," I teased. Maeve gave me one of those teenage girl eye rolls. I wonder if those are hormone related. Maybe not, Dan is giving me a similar look. Right at that moment my phone beeps with a text message from Tara. "Have date with cute girl. Def not ax murderer." I text her back a 'thumbs up' and a 'happy face' emoji. "Fun fact. She is tans! U know?" Tara texts back. "Sorry, att/client privilege" I reply, just a little obfuscation. "She know about U?" I add on. "No. Want to wait and see how date goes." Tara replies. "Understand. Keep me posted." Now at this point in her transition, I think Maeve can already be, what did Tara call it... can be stealthy (or something like that). Looking at her sitting in the back seat, certainly 'trans' isn't the first thing that comes to mind. Pretty much the only thing that would suggest that, is her voice (No! Seeing her naked is not what anyone should be thinking!). When she talks too fast, she starts to sound too monotone even though her pitch actually goes up a little. So what I'm getting to, is how did Tara know? I turn around again to talk to Maeve, "ok, sensitive friend question, did you tell this woman about, you know, you, I mean... you know." Wow, how clumsy was that. Dan is giving me a weird look, so I give him my "shut up and keep your eyes on the road" look, which is pretty much the same as my "give me a break, I'm pregnant" look. "Well, teaching a bunch of inquisitive college kids, no, make that nosey college kids, has desensitized me a bit. I just blurted it out. The really weird thing was Tara, that's her name, didn't bat an eyelash. It was like I'd just told her my favorite color. She's one on those eclectic people I mentioned. Also, she's like really, really tall." "Oh her, I've seen her around at these functions. Kind of intimidating don't you think?" I say. "You would think so, but she is really nice." "Well, I'll be interested to hear how your date goes. Keep me posted." Chapter 5: News, Good and Bad Dan made partner! Yay for him! Yay for us! To tell the truth, I still don't know what that actually means. I know more money is involved, so I sort of lost interest in the details after finding that out. More importantly, I can tell people that I'm expecting a baby girl. That is, tell everyone except Tara and Maeve. Now, to be honest, we did already tell our immediate family and our neighbors (but no one associated with Dan's firm). Other acquaintances had already figured it out. All, except my two best friends. If anything, I would've thought estrogen would make them more attuned to what my body was going through. They better figure it out before little you know who pops out of my you know what (I'm trying to be polite, rather than say that I'm going to have to push another human being out through my vagina). And that is going to be a more enjoyable experience than having to tell Tara about a phone call I got this morning. Remember that first painting of Tara I sold? Apparently it was recently sold to Harry Markeson, the owner of several local car dealerships and supporter of various conservative, make that right wing causes. On the surface, this isn't an issue for me, but I went to school with his son Bret, and Bret was the leader of the group of kids that harassed and bullied Mark, and Thom, and me, and several others he considered himself superior to. Bret was the one who called me right after Dan called with his good news. "Hey Gina, Bret Markeson here, from high school." "Ok, what do you want?" I actually sneered at my phone. "Hey, no need to be nasty, we're not kids anymore. Besides, I've got a business proposition for you." "I'm certain I'm not interested, what kind of deal could you possibly have?" I should have just hung up and not given him an opening to say more. "I want to use one of your paintings in an ad campaign for our dealership. My dad bought the painting, but our attorney tells us you probably still own the copyright. We want to buy the rights. Simple deal for you. Yes?" "Absolutely not! No way!" I scream. "You see, my dad thinks the expression on the girl in the painting just screams 'I love the car I bought at Markeson Motors'. I don't see it, but dad wants that face in our ads to bring in more women buyers. Guess you chicks are a demographic now." "Never!" I say a bit calmer but sternly and offended. "Yeah, I told dad you're a bitch. Bet you won't even give me the name of girl so we can see if she wants to be the face of Markeson Motors." "You bet right." "Well then, we just cut you out of the deal, find the girl ourselves. Our tech guy says your painting looks like a photo. He says he can use facial recognition to find her. Since we guess you used someone local, it might be easy." With that he hung up. There is no way I can tell Tara this over the phone. I need to see her in person. But first I check with my attorney husband to see if there is anything he can do. Maybe we can sue. Unfortunately, Dan tells me that everything is legal. He said I could sell the rights to the single image, but he thinks they really just want Tara and were hoping you'd tell them. Also unfortunate, is that they are likely to find Tara because the software isn't fooled by makeup or different expressions like humans are. Finally, and worse, if they do find her and she says no, is Bret the kind of person would try to find dirt on her and blackmail her into saying yes? Of course the answer to that is "yes". That is exactly what Bret will do. I am crying as I drive to the warehouse district where Tara has her fledgling fashion house. I didn't call ahead because she would have heard the crying and panic in my voice. Several minutes after I relay the conversation to her, Tara is sitting at her desk quietly thinking. No crying, no swearing, no expression, nothing. Finally she looks at me and almost smiles. Now I'm really worried. I'm envisioning horrible headlines in the local paper about a deranged fashionista shooting up local car dealer. "You know Gina, this might be interesting" she says. "What the fuck are you talking about? This is homophobic, misogynistic, and certainly transphobic Bret Fucking Markeson we're all talking about!" I jump to my feet and stomp the floor in rage. Shit, did the baby just kick me? I hope she didn't hear me swearing. "Gina, you don't have to protect me anymore. I know I made you promise years ago, but I think, no, I know I've changed since then. I've been thinking, the cute girl I met at the gallery, her name's Maeve, she had no issues telling me she was transgendered. I'm out, but I don't embrace it the way I should. My business backers know, my clients know, everyone important to me knows. Bret Markeson won't change that. If Bret finds me, I think I know how to deal with him, even to my advantage." Now it's my turn to sit quietly and think. Ok, obviously my brain is stuck in neutral, it's not producing anything remotely like a good, workable idea that gives Tara the advantage. What is she thinking? But she's not saying right now, only that she wants to "mull over the details first". I'm still worrying that one of those "details" involves shooting Bret. Before I leave, Tara gives me a big hug and tells me I'm the best BFF a girl could have. Then she goes back to her desk and starts working as if I had just told her the copier was jammed. Then the baby kicked again and I became fixated on her. Chapter 6: A Celebration A month later, still silence from Markeson. Tara temporally removed any full face photos of herself from her own social media sites. But she knew there were more out there on various fashion sites that she modeled for. Besides, tonight is Tara's re-birthday party and she wasn't about to let a fat, balding annoyance from her past upset her (we checked Bret's Facebook page and were having trouble imagining the poor woman who married this piece of human excrement). In the past it has just been Tara and me, and once Dan joined us when Tara was dating the French model and she came along too. This time, we're having a party at a LGBTQ bar and several of Tara's other friends are joining us. Dan decided to bow out because it was obvious from the guest list this was going to be an all girl party. And that now includes her steady girlfriend, Maeve. By this time I assumed that Maeve might have introduced Tara to her recognizable parents or Tara introduce Maeve to hers, either way they would have recognized each other then. So I keep a careful watch to see if they've figured out who each other is, because it would be just like them to turn the tables on me, and pretend they're clueless just to get back at me. After all, that's what BFF's sometimes due, you know, just for fun. But so far, if they have, they're both damn good actresses. This evening will be the first time since the gallery exhibit that the three of us will be at the same place. And it's a forgone conclusion that we'll end up chatting together. So no doubt, tonight's the night for the dam to burst and the tears to start flowing, or not. I'm one of the last to arrive (last minute change of clothes, don't ask) and find my self a nice comfy seat in the party room and kick off my shoes. One of the other guests has left a half full glass of red wine on the table. The waitress taking care of the party asks me if I want anything to drink and I stare at the glass of wine, sigh, and say "lemonade". At that moment, Tara and Maeve, hand in hand, walk towards me to say "hi". But instead, Maeve says, "I guess there's no need to introduce my girlfriend, Tara, is there Gina?" "So you figured it out, that I'm BFFs with both of you?" I say. Ok, here it comes, dam about to burst... "It took me awhile, but after getting to know Tara and you knowing I loved the woman in the portrait, I figured it out. You we're trying to play matchmaker and get us together at that gallery show." Maeve says triumphantly. "Yes," starts Tara, "and because I liked your painting of Maeve, you pretended she was some mysterious woman so I would be intrigued." "We just want to say to you..." Tara paused, then both say "Thank you!!!" and hugged me. The dam still seems to be intact. Then seeing the glass of wine, Tara angrily yells at me, "What the fuck are you doing drinking while pregnant?" "I am not!" I say adamantly, "and by the way, thanks for finally figuring it out." "Oh we've known for ages," says Maeve. "What about the not so subtle hints that I needed to lose weight, huh...?" "Well, ok, maybe not for ages," Maeve adds sheepishly. "So why are you doing a painting of me?" Maeve asks. "Oh, what Tara has seen is part of a larger experimental work. Don't worry, it's never going to be sold. I'll show you when it's done, ok?" Maeve smiles and nods her head then looks up to Tara and giggles, "guess that makes me a model too." "Indeed it does babe" Tara says, then gives Maeve a very tender kiss. Before I have a chance to tear up, I say, "so, I think that this is then the perfect time to give you your re-birthday present," and I wave over to one of the staff to bring out my painting of Tara. There were a few gasps, and one woman exclaimed, "that looks like an original Gina Thomson painting! Do you have any idea how much that is worth?" Tara, with her hands covering her mouth, tears running down her face, remarks, "I don't care, because I have something more precious, the friendship of the original Gina Thomson!" Afterwards, the three of us are sitting together at a table off to the side. It's probably the first time since our high school graduation party. Ever since these two started dating, I've been trying to pry information out of one or the other whenever I see one of them. But the answers always devolve into endless giggles. I suspect that this is because their relationship mostly consists of sex, and a lot of it. But in soberer moments, both have been apparently reticent to reveal anything about their pre-transition selves to each other. Old wounds heal slowly. So for most of the evening, because I'm growing a new human being inside me, the conversation was centered on me. Actually, make that centered on the baby. I think Tara and Maeve are a bit envious and a bit sad that they won't have this experience. So I've assured them that at the least, they'll be able to be doting aunts (and selfishly, two babysitters for when I need some 'me time'). "Ok, how about Aria?" Maeve suggests yet another unique baby name. "Ummm, no" I repeat. "Then maybe, Fleur or Seraphina?" "Also no and no" I laugh. "Oh, I know! Thomasina, it goes perfectly wIth Thomson." With that last suggestion, I see Tara's horrified expression at the eerie similarity to her dead name and I quickly try to end the discussion, "it's a miracle you came up with such a beautiful name as Maeve. But thanks anyway for the ideas" I chided. "Yes sweetie, I'm pretty sure Gina and Dan can handle this," Tara says as she gently pats Maeve's hand. "I suppose... anyone interested in some birthday cake? I can run over and get us some" Maeve offers. "Sure, that would be nice," I reply. As soon as she's out of earshot, I turn to Tara and ask if she's ok. "Just a little twinge of dysphoria whenever I hear anything close to 'Thom', I'm ok now," she answers. "When are you going to discuss your past with her?" I ask. "We've been kind of beating around the proverbial bush about it. We've been starting to talk above this being a serious long term relationship. But this is Maeve's first romantic relationship and I'm still getting over my last one. Maybe soon. I know I feel really happy and comfortable when I'm with her, like I've known her for years." A moment later, Maeve returns with three slices of cake, handing me the biggest piece because, you know, I'm eating for two. "Why the big grin on your face? Have you been talking about me?" she asks me. "No dear, little Aria or Fleur just kicked me, must be hungry" I teased. Chapter 7: My Lunch With Tara A few days later I get word from Tara that Markeson has found her. When I meet her for lunch, I'm expecting her to be in tears, but when I find her in a booth near the front door of the restaurant, she is sitting calmly, sipping on a glass of white wine. "Oh Tara, I'm so sorry this is happening to you!" I cry and hug her. "Gina, it's ok, really, trust me." "Ok, but just a couple of days ago you almost broke down just hearing a name." "But that had nothing to due with being bullied by Bret and his gang. That was dysphoria and it sometimes still gets to me. But dealing with it has let me love myself and a bunch of self loathing idiots can't destroy that. When you asked about sharing my past with Maeve, I realized that having someone I love and who loves me, will allow me to confront my past when I'm ready. And I think I am ready." "Ok, very proud of you sweetie," I say with a few tears running down my cheeks. "So, tell me what's happening." "Well, it seems the tech guy managed to match my face to several photos at one of the modeling agencies I worked for. They traced me from that. But so far as I could find out, that's all they know about me. That I'm just some lowly model you hired and that, I quote, 'that selfish bitch' is hurting my career, and that I can get back at you by being the face of Markeson Motors." "Wow, I'm so sorry I'm such a bitch," I laughed. "A selfish bitch," Tara corrects and giggles. "They want me to film a few commercials and pose for a few billboards around town. They're also offering some decent money." "Then what?" I ask. "They want to run them for about a month, then have me do a personal appearance at the opening of a new dealership over on the west side. And you won't believe this. It's being built on that empty land where that art festival was when we met!" Tara and I are now laughing so hard, everyone in the restaurant is starring at us. I'm now pretty sure about what's coming next, so I ask, "can I guess?" "Sure," Tara smiles devilishly, "go ahead." "So are you going to..." Chapter 8: Lights, Camera, Action The next six weeks were hard on Maeve. Seeing her girlfriend working for Bret Markeson, albeit indirectly was painful. I spent several hours each week talking to her, explaining that this was just a job and that the money was helping her launch her fashion label. Fortunately, Maeve was so in love that she bravely hid her feelings. But I could tell she was nearing her breaking point as the date of the grand opening neared. Tara had asked that she and I attend, and the thought of seeing Tara stand next to Bret in front of local tv coverage was tearing Maeve up inside. On the day of the opening, Tara asked if Maeve and I could arrive early so that we could stand close by. I tried to convince Maeve that this was to give Tara support because she might be nervous speaking on live tv. I also wanted to be close enough to make Bret uncomfortable, perhaps worrying him about why I was there. After Bret's insipid, self gratuitous remarks, he finally got around to introducing Tara, the face of Markeson Motors. The first obvious thing I noticed as she walked (make that strutted) out onto the small riser outside the main showroom, was that Tara was dressed as her old familiar fashionista self and not the fresh faced girl next door portrayed in the tv commercials. All five foot ten of her perched on ridiculously high heels, wearing a revealing tulle dress from her own collection (definitely a bold choice considering the rather cool weather outside), and makeup fit for a red carpet, stood towering over a stunned Bret, taking the microphone from his meaty hand. "Thank you so much Bret and your entire family, for giving me this rare opportunity to speak about the wonderful way Markeson has embraced this community and for the commitment they are making to serve all of their customers with the same honesty and attention that they have shown me. Everyone is welcome at Markeson Motors." I can see Bret grinning from ear to ear and imploring the crowd to clap in agreement. Tara leans in and gives Bret a little hug and a kiss on the cheek, then continues speaking. "I know this to be true because asking me, a transgender woman and a lesbian, to be the face of their company is such a public endorsement for equality and tolerance that I cannot fully express my gratitude to Bret. At least I can now show him here, in front of all of you." With that several of Tara's friends bring out a large placard that Tara presents to Bret naming him an honorary member of the LGBTQ community. Bret is standing there hopelessly confused. With wild cheering from the crowd (suspiciously filled people I know I've seen before) and tv cameras rolling, all he can do is try to smile and wave. Then an angry looking older man, presumably Bret's father, starts yelling at Bret. Tara is standing nearby trying to listen. The more his father yells, the calmer Bret looks, which is a pretty weird response considering that the next thing he does is turn to Tara, shake her hand and whisper something in her ear. Tara smiles and gives him another hug and the two of them walk back into the showroom. As the crowd disperses, Maeve and I are dumbstruck. "What the fuck just happened?" Maeve asks me. All I can do is shrug my shoulders. I'd pretty much guessed the part where Tara announces she's trans and gay. But that whole scene at the end had me baffled. As Maeve and I walk to my car, Tara texts me. "Let's meet at your place in about an hour" Chapter 9: Revelations Tara must be running a bit late. Maeve and I are already on our second glass of wine before I hear a car pull up in my driveway. As soon as I open the door, Tara rushes in, looks around, and quietly ask me where Maeve is. "She's in my studio getting a little numb on wine," I answer. "Ok, good." Tara then grabs my hand and pulls me away from the door and into my living room on the opposite side of the house from my studio. "What was that scene at the end all about?" I demand. "Ok, get this. Bret's dad comes running over and tears into Bret for linking his company to a bunch of... I'm not not saying it, but a bunch of gays, only he used the 'f word for gay'. Before Bret says anything, his dad tells him he's done with him and his fucking lifestyle, then he storms off." "His what!?" I ask. "Apparently Bret is gay. Because he whispers to me, 'I don't understand why you did that, although I can guess Gina over there filled you in on my, ahhh.... on the way I've treated her and a lot of others. I'm sorry. So no need, really, to explain or apologize." "We went into his office in the showroom and he offered me an extension to do more ads. Then for about an hour he told me about his fake marriage and everything else he did for his abusive father. He kind of laughed, because ever since he took over majority ownership of the business, he's been trying to find a way to come out. He said my little stunt was probably the perfect way. Like ripping a bandage off." "I, I, I am speechless," is all I can say. Then I asked, "did you tell him who you really are." "No, but I plan to, probably the next time I see him. I think he's had enough of a shock for one day," Tara giggled. "Now, I really need a glass of wine and a hug from my girlfriend." As soon as we walk into my studio, Maeve runs over and grabs Tara around the waist. Tara, still in her heels, standing well over six feet, and Maeve in her stocking feet, make a very odd looking couple, but clearly, a couple in love. After pouring Tara a glass of wine, I casually walk over to a large easel, draped with a tarp and tell my two best friends that I want to show them something. "So many, many years ago, I started working on a portrait, but at the time, I wasn't the artist I am now. So I decided recently to try it again. I think it came out much better this time and that hopefully I captured the subjects' true essence. I'd be honored if you two accept it as a token of our friendship." With that, I pull the tarp off the painting I started of Maeve that now has her holding hands with Tara. "If you don't mind, I am keeping the original." I say as I reach for a small, framed crayon drawing of Mark and Thom. To use words to describe the range of emotions that flooded their faces would be futile. But they are seared into to my memory. I think it will make for a great painting someday. Maybe a wedding gift.