After The Fire free porn video

Chapter 1: A Life Ablaze Virginia. April 1956 It was the extreme heat that brought Robert Tierney out of his stupor. Gaining consciousness quickly, he saw the flames splashing around him, the walls were already consumed by fire and the roof of the shed was aflame looking ready to collapse. Pulling himself onto his unsteady legs he could hear the sirens in the distance. Stumbling to the door, he reached for the handle, quickly pulling back his hand at the extreme temperature of the metal. Taking off his shirt and wrapping it around his hand, he quickly pushed the handle down lurching outward into the misty rain, coughing from the smoke that scorched his lungs. Feeling lightheaded from the inhalation as much as the drink from the night before he made it another ten feet from the shed before falling to the ground. Two men from the fire department pulled him to his feet and walked him to the front yard before unceremoniously tossing him aside. He could see in the confusion of smoke and woozy headedness other fireman running past him with a hose. He passed out. He came to in the back of an ambulance sitting parked in front of his house. It was difficult to tell how long he had been out, but there was no longer smoke coming from his back yard and the fire department had left scene. Despite the light rain falling, the street was filled with his neighbors looking on, many glancing at him openly in disgust; a look he had been getting used to lately. Gaining his faculties, Robert thought it odd he was in a back of an ambulance instead of a hospital. Then he remembered his drunken fist fight with Doc Cabot, and perhaps even a nurse (it was all very hazy) after Robert had fallen off his roof from drink. He was, he vaguely recalled, banned from the hospital unless he was on death's door. Standing before Robert was Sheriff Phil Greene, his old friend for twenty odd years despite finding themselves at great odds these days. And beside him, underneath a black umbrella, a pinched faced gray-haired schoolmarm looking woman who probably hadn't smiled a single day in her life. Watching Robert carefully to determine he was fully awake and cognizant, Sherriff Greene shuffled his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot before speaking. "Blast you Robbie," the Sheriff began, adjusting his hat as the rain came down more quickly, "you could have burned the whole damn neighborhood down. You're lucky it was only your drinking shed. And yes, that's exactly what it is because before you give me some excuse, the boys at the fire department fished out two dozen bottles of scorched hooch from back there. You can't even drink regular whiskey from the liquor store like everyone else but keep throwing down this moonshine. I don't even know where you get this stuff around here. And I don't want to know." "Phil ..." Robert started to say before being interrupted by the schoolmarm. "Enough small talk Sheriff. He hasn't even asked about the girl. That tells me everything I need to know. I will return first thing in the morning." The woman's voice was as sharp and piercing as the expression on her face. "He just came out of a fire and his head is foggy with smoke. Cut him a bit of a break here." The woman frowned. "A fire he started from smoking around flammables while near black out drunk is my guess. Sheriff. You can defend your friend all you want. We already have more than enough complaints, but this was the last straw. Are you going to wait for him to burn down his house with the girl in it next time? Robert Tierney our decision is made." She turned on her heels in an almost precise military fashion and marched away on her short tree trunk legs. Robert scratched his head, "How is Melody now that the old bat mentions it?" "She's fine Robbie. Fire didn't get to the house and she wasn't in it anyway. Do you even know where she is?" Robert stood up to test his unsteady legs. His lungs still felt horrible, but the rain felt good. He tilted his head upward to let it wash over his face. "I assume," Robert said, "she was out doing whatever it that she does." Sheriff Greene put a hand on Robert's shoulder and guided him to the front of the ambulance out of ear shot of the people gathered on the street. Looking pained he said, "That's the problem right there Robbie. You don't know what she was doing. She's twelve years old. And she needs guidance." Robert bristled, "I never asked for a kid. My no-good twin sister pops up with some sob story and moves in with me. And bam! she rides off on the back of some guy's motorcycle leaves her daughter with me and suddenly I'm supposed to be Uncle Bob the dad overnight? It's not right." "Maybe not. But she's still just a kid. You're a thirty-year-old man. And men in this world take on responsibility when life throws them a curve ball. Especially when it comes to kids. They don't spend it feeling sorry for themselves drinking their world away. Besides, you are all she has ... or at least had." "Had?" "That woman with me was Anita Stormfrank. She works with the state ... Children's Bureau I think ... never could keep all these agency names straight. She's taking Melody to the orphanage. First thing in the morning." Before leaving, voice as cold as ice, he left Robert with this thought, "She's not your problem anymore Robbie. So maybe you can quit feeling sorry for yourself, quit drinking and get on with your life." +++++++ True to her world Anita Stormfrank was knocking on his door at eight in the morning. She was accompanied not by Sheriff Greene, but a policeman, maybe from the city, but Robert didn't recognize the uniform. Carrying a small suitcase, the twelve-year-old Melody got into the Stormfrank's blue sedan without even a backward glance at Robert. It didn't take a mind reader to see that she was hurt. Robert signed some paperwork in the driveway, and without another word, they were gone. Half saying, half convincing himself, he muttered, "This is a good thing, right? I'm not dad material." Robert never knew his mother, she passed giving birth to the twins, but when Robert Tierney's father died two years ago, he inherited the family home. He was always the logical choice as his twin Sylvia was a great disappointment to their dad; a girl always a bit on the wild side, who went off and had a child without a husband with one of those exotic European musician types. And, as everyone predicted would happen, he disappeared leaving Sylvia with a child. A year later Sylvia darkened his door just looking for a place for her and Melody to stay while she "got back on her feet." Two months later she met a man in a biker bar. A note tucked under Melody's pillow which read simply, "I'm ok honey. Be good for Uncle Bob" was the last contact she ever made. But Robert Tierney wasn't made for small town Virginia. He always felt he was different. A tortured soul; a writer of artistic merit. With the house now in his possession, it was his plan to sell it and move permanently to New York and get a small apartment. Although he had never been, he just knew in the center of America's artistic heart, he would walk the streets, sit in cafes and write. He had felt, since a very young age, that his soul was a tortured one for reasons he never understood and only expressing himself through words, could he come to peace with it. Lacking an outlet, he tended toward the destructive ... booze and Pall Malls being chief among his vices. But now he was free. Melody was gone, although it didn't feel half as good as he expected. In fact, pangs of guilt nipped at him like so many yapping dogs. Perhaps spending some time in New York, to see what his life could finally be like, would help. ++++++++++ Reading about New York was nowhere near the same as finally visiting the city. Tired from his long drive he found it crowded, smelly, bustling, unfriendly and loud. Asking for directions was as likely to get you a "beat it buster" as it was being ignored completely. And it didn't feel romantic, artistic, or magical, it felt claustrophobic. Buildings thirty floors, perhaps even much higher, loomed above you hemming you in to the never stopping flow below. As an escape, Robert popped into somewhere he felt at home: a tavern. There he sat sipping drinks from midafternoon until well past dark. After a while, two well-dressed men, one in suit and tie, the other more casual but impeccably neat, sat down beside him and ordered martinis. Feeling a little drunk he decided to find the New York he was looking for. Turning to the man beside him in the light blue suit he inquired, "Hey, listen, where can I find the arty side of this city? Where the artistic souls go to find likeminded people?" The man sitting with him in a pullover sweater eyebrow raised. "Likeminded people? Don't answer that he's a cop. Don't know what you're talking about mister." The man in the suit laughed, "He's no cop. Look at him. Cops aren't that skinny and small. He's an out of towner looking for the ... artistic ... side of this berg. You heard him. They don't have any ... artists ... in his small town probably. None that would be artistic in the open anyway." "Your funeral," Pullover Sweater said, "but when he and his cop buddies bust the place, I'll be the first to say, 'I told you so'." The entire tone of the conversation was off balancing, confusing, Robert thought, but at least he was getting somewhere. Thanking the gentlemen for the detailed directions penned onto the napkin he was handed, Robert ventured off the find the true soul of the city. ++++++ "Wink Wink" was an odd name for a club, a far cry from the Finney's and O'Hanlon type names that dotted the landscape of Virginia, but it was the most impressive thing he had seen, it looked to be straight out of a film musical. There were women in cocktail waitress outfits serving drinks on trays. There were cigarette girls. Every bar tender there was a woman. And the audience ... the audience had people of all colors in the same room and to Robert's pleasant surprise, often at the same table. Now this is an artsy place. But it was the stage that captivated him right away as he sat down and ordered another drink. Standing there, in a sparkling white gown with matching sparkling heels and white stockings, belting out a tune with a beauty and vibrance he had never heard before, was a Dorothy Dandridge type. No, Robert thought, that did her a disservice, she was far more beautiful than Dorothy Dandridge. By the time she finished her three-song set, Robert knew it was the most magical thing he had ever seen. He had to meet her. When she finished, he made his way around the crowd and in a moment of inspiration, he snatched a bundle of flowers adorning a table center piece. To his surprise no one stopped him from going backstage. The singer stepped into her dressing room and Robert knocked on the door. "Come in," she said. Feeling awkward, he wasn't sure what he was going to do when he got here, so slightly stammering said, "You, you were wonderful. Kind of like Dorothy Dandridge only even more ..." He held the flowers out for her to take them. He was far more nervous than he would have thought. But he had never met a star before, even if he knew she may not be known outside of local clubs. "Oh honey, I don't think you want to do that," she said smilingly at him, her warm brown face glowing. "But you're so ... I mean, don't have any problem that you're ... I liked that everyone out there was mixing together," he finally managed to spit out, flushed with embarrassment. He was butchering this. She laughed. It was musical. Wonderful. "Oh honey," she said again, "It's not my color, or yours that's the issue." She crossed her legs, leaning forward putting an elbow on her thigh, resting her hand on her fist. Being able to see the tiniest bit down her sparkling white dress made his body temperature increase. He quickly looked further down but found himself staring at her stocking encased legs in those jewel sparkled heels. It was so elegant, so show business, so ... he flushed even more. She examined him closely, then asked, "Where do you think you are? This club I mean?" "I'm not sure really," Robert answered honestly, "I'm from a smaller town down in Virginia. I came up for a long weekend and asked a couple of guys where the artistic side of town was. I'm not even sure how to get back to my hotel." "Artistic side of town?" She laughed loudly this time. "Well you certainly made it. What's your name sweetheart?" "'Robert'. Friends call me 'Robbie'." "Sit down Robbie." He did as he was asked. "All those girls you see walking through the hall behind you there getting ready to perform? The one's you saw dancing on stage on stage with me? The waitresses? Cigarette girls? Bartenders? We're all drag performers Robbie. Do you know what that is? We're men who go through a great deal of trouble to look like women and perform." "No. That can't be ... is that ... is that true?" "It's true my small-town Virginia friend. It is the reason I think it might be better if you didn't hand me those flowers you spent good money on. Maybe its best if you just shook my hand said, 'lovely show' and go on your way." Robert was stunned. How could this be? There were men in the world who could look just like women. He had seen comedians on television dress up in drag for laughs, Milton Berle for example, but he would have thought this was damn near impossible. Was his life that sequestered and out of touch? Or is this a little-known thing? His voice turned steely and serious, "I see. You're a fella. And one who fools people into believing you're a woman? Can I be one hundred percent honest with you right now? Um ...I never caught your real name ..." "Nope. For now, you call me 'Dorothy' since you said I reminded you of her." Her looked turned wary. She motioned subtly for one of the men in the hallway to move toward the door. "If I'm being completely honest about this situation, I have to tell you ..." he paused for effect then smiled and changed his tone, "I didn't buy the flowers. I nicked them from a table on the way in. But if you let me take you to dinner, I'll actually spend some real money." Again, the musical laugh. He had her going for a moment. With another subtle flick of the wrist Dorothy sent the bouncer away. She took the flowers he had been holding the entire time and smelled them, "Oh, nice. Flowers this expensive, you think they could pay a girl more," It sounded like a joke, but Robbie somehow suspected it was not. "Tonight, I'm exhausted," she continued, "and honey I just need to get out of these heels. But if you are around tomorrow night, I'm doing an early show and can meet you at nine. New York may be the Big Apple, but it gets smaller when you cross two lines like we do. I'll scribble down the only place we can go for drinks and not get hassled," She handed him a napkin with a restaurant name, "I don't think you're ready to dine with what's underneath this dress, you wouldn't even recognize me, so look for 'Dorothy'. Only with fewer sparkles and no stage makeup." +++++++ The restaurant was a small cozy Italian place. The tables surrounding them were all full as the buzz of conversation filled the air. Other than the occasional glance at their table, no one really paid them any mind. The flicker of candlelight made the shadow of the patrons dance against the walls. It was, by far, the nicest place Robert had been. The predinner drinks and appetizers were amazing. So much so that Robert began fretting over how much all of this would cost. And Dorothy was wonderful. She was witty, intelligent, with a wickedly dark sense of humor. And she was truly beautiful, even more so now that wore a simple blue dress, dark stockings and black pumps. Less makeup flattered her. It was as though downplayed clothes and cosmetics allowed the beauty to shine through more. He was surprised at how at ease he was around her; how much he truly was loving this time together. But he was also no fool. Dorothy was only Dorothy some of the time. And she artfully but quite deliberately moved conversations away from life underneath the drag. This was okay with Robert, if a bit frustrating at times. Breaking the illusion may not be a good thing. He enjoyed the company of women. And even if that weren't true, as she pointed out yesterday, crossing two big lines like they were, color and gender, there weren't many places they could exist together. He wondered offhandedly, if her seemingly glamourous world in New York, was as small, maybe smaller, than his back home. Dinner surpassed his culinary imagination and a couple of drinks in (he was careful he wasn't going to spoil this by getting drunk) conversation flowed easily and turned surprisingly personal on his end. He wouldn't have guessed, but he there was much he clearly needed to talk about. "... and she rode off with some guy she just met. She does that. And I felt stuck. I know this all sounds horrible. Like I'm a horrible person. I admit it. I am. I'm selfish. And I spent all that time drinking feeling sorry for myself and life just kind of whooshed by. And now Melody, her niece, is in an orphanage. I thought it was for the best, because she really doesn't seem to like me, but now ..." Dorothy reached across and touched his hands. It was comforting. "I grew up in an orphanage. My dad put me there when I was six years old. Literally tore me out of my mom's crying arms and drove me there himself. I can remember it like it was yesterday." "That's ... that's ... I'm so sorry to hear that. Why?" "Why do you think?" she made a sweeping motion over her body, "He caught me in one of my sisters' dresses one too many times." He had only been thinking about Dorothy as what great company she was and how beautiful she looked. Not for a moment did he consider that along with this beauty must come a great deal of pain. He knows more than a few that would fear and hate, in some cases harm, any man who could successfully look like a woman. He couldn't imagine it was even legal where he was from. She went on, "And you may think that Melody is better off there. And she could be if you're a still a drunk mess at home burning down your town. But most orphanages are hard, cold places. Even the best ones aren't great, but mine was especially cruel, because I was different. I've always been girly. But if you step up and take responsibility, give her a real home, then she would be better with you." "'Responsibility'. A friend of mine just used that word. But I blew it. That ship has sailed. After the fire there is no way I could get her back. Not as the uncle. I'm a bona fide danger. If I could find her mom on the other hand. But who knows how long she would even stay around if I did?" Robert had an idea. "Wait, maybe you could go down there and ..." Dorothy laughed for nearly a full minute. "Oh honey. I'm glad you can see past race. And I might be light skinned, but not that damn light skinned ... but, now here's a wild idea ...you're a twin, right?" "Yeah. Born a bit early too. It's why I'm so little and why ... well ... why my mother passed giving birth." "I'm sorry to hear that. But what I meant was, are you guys close in what you look like?" "I mean I look like me and she looks like her, but we're a little bit close. People say that all the time." "And maybe that little bit is because she's a woman and you're a man? If you want, and you're brave, I may be able to help you. Will take some work though. And it might just jump start that artist inside you. Let me give you an idea to mull over on your trip back to Virginia." ++++++++ Robert Tierney wasn't sure what drove him to do so, but three weeks after his visit to New York he decided on a whim to drive into deep rural Virginia to visit Melody in the orphanage. It was a huge imposing building, reminding him more of a plantation than something in the modern world of the 1950s. Nuns walked the grounds and scores of children, in matching clothes, played on the side of the building on swing sets and in sandboxes under the watchful eye of more nuns. His car was stopped at the gate by a large security guard in an ill-fitting uniform, his well-fed belly exposed for all the world to see. "I'm here for Melody Tierney." "You adopting?" "No. Visiting. I'm the uncle." Flipping through paperwork on his clipboard the guard repeated, "Uncle, Uncle, Uncle, Uncle ... Oh. Here. Robert Tierney?" "Yes sir. Robert Tierney." "I'm sorry you drove all the way out here. But you are circled in red." He held up the clipboard so Robert could clearly see this was true. "Don't know what you did, but that means you are not allowed to see her." Robert sighed with frustration. "I just need to see her for a moment. Make sure she's okay. I have some of her things too." The security guard seemed to genuinely sympathize, but repeated the company line, "I'm sorry. You just can't. I can take the things though, make sure she gets them. I can't guarantee she'll get them all, some things aren't allowed, but they'll be there for her if she ever leaves." He paused as though unsure whether continue but did, "Most kids never do anymore. Something about a baby boom. Only the youngest get picked these days. Infants. Kids under three. The little ones. Says here your Melody is just twelve." "Okay, okay." Robert knew there was no way to win this fight, handing the guard the bag of items in the back seat he said, "Just make sure she gets these. And that she knows I came to visit." "I promise sir. I am as good as my word." Robert turned his car around heading back before noting a thick patch of woods on the northern side of the playground. Pulling his car off the road, he waded into the thicket peering through the fence. Kids played everywhere and looked to be having a good time. The nuns smiled and laughed cheerfully, picking up and dusting off children who fell to the ground before sending them on their way with a pat on the head. They all looked well fed and well clothed. Genuinely happy. Robert felt better. He turned to go but something caught his eye in the distance. It was Melody. She sat alone staring into space. There was not another child near her for yards nor were any of the nuns. She too was clean and looked to have been eating. But her once carefully combed hair was unkempt. He looked around at the other girls around her age, their hair was combed neatly, so it was choice then. It dawned on him. Stupid, stupid, Robert. Melody's mother abandoned her. That had to be traumatic. And just when she needed someone the most, you went on an epic bender, resenting her, before abandoning her as well. No wonder she looks the way she does, she must be devastated. She thinks the whole world threw her away. "I have to make this right," Robert said to no one in particular. +++++++++ Chapter 2: My Kind of Town +++++++++ Phil Greene shook his long-time buddy's hand. "We won't miss you burning down places, but we will miss you all the same. I will, in any case." "It won't be that long I promise. Look. I left you with enough money for the Adams kid to cut my yard for more than a good while. Just don't let the little pirate try to charge you too much. I'm having Phyllis air out the place and keep the cobwebs from building up. I turned everything off, but if you could still pop in every once in a while, to make sure no pipes burst and no gas is leaking anywhere, I'd appreciate it." "Will do Robbie. You can count on us all. What should I tell folks?" "I'm not ashamed. Tell them the truth," Robert lied, "that I'm heading up to New York to get in one of those fancy programs that completely dry a man out. They say it's best to do it out of town, break all those bad habits and what not. And before you know it, I'll come back as sober as a choir boy." ++++++++ It took Robert some time to find Dorothy's apartment. He walked around the warehouse district lost, certain he couldn't be in the right part of town. But as it was within walking distance of the club he had first met her, and was immediately adjacent to "Artist's Town" as he had euphemistically and self teasingly, come to call it, this must be it. He walked up several flights of stairs of what had to be an abandoned building before reaching the top floor. The smell of food recently cooked and a well swept hallway, in contrast the floors below, told him people at least lived here. He knocked on the door at the far side of the hall and Dorothy greeted him with a cup of coffee in hand letting him in. Her apartment was huge although it was clear it wasn't originally designed for that purpose. The ceilings were at least two stories high and full-length windows on the opposite side opened to the world. The room was a single space and standing partitions, and in some cases, bed sheets hanging on wire divided one "room" from another. It was a little cool and drafty, but very homey in its way. Dorothy had taken great care to make it neat, livable and presentable. She came back from the kitchen and handed him a cup of coffee. "I didn't expect to find 'Dorothy' this early in the morning." Robert was still half yawning. He had arrived late night after an hours long drive and the place Dorothy set up for him was tight, cramped and uncomfortable. "Oh, you will always find Dorothy. I still think the difference between who I am now, and who I am then, would be too much for you Mr. Small Town Virginia." Robert began to object, he felt he was as open minded as anyone in the late 1950s. But he caught himself. She was actually and quite probably right. She continued, "How was your apartment?" "Tiny. Especially going from the big home my parents left me. I sleep in my kitchen which is my living room and bathroom." "Well, in Virginia you may pay pennies on the acre for property, here we pay dollars on the inch. The only reason I'm in a place this big is it was an abandoned workhouse from the from the Depression. No wants this property on this side of town. Too many ... artistic ... types (she too, used their agreed upon euphemism) and people of a distinct color. From the size of it, I think my apartment used to be a cafeteria or maybe a church or meeting hall. There's a whole another part of it in the back I don't even use. Too much space for me." She went on, "But that's not why you're here. Now," she said, putting on what almost sounded like business voice while throwing him a pair of black pumps, "put these on." "I thought you were getting me ready to look like my sister. What about everything else? Frocks and ..." Dorothy laughed that wonderful laugh of hers, "Oh honey. How long did I tell you this was going to take? Weeks, right? This isn't vaudeville. You don't just throw on a wig and a dress and fool everyone. You are going to, and here's the word we use, 'inhabit' the role of your sister. Inhabit the role of a woman. And we're starting here with these heels. They will be your second skin. You will not take them off until your feet are aching and too swollen to put them on. Then you're going to put them in a bucket full of ice and start all over again." "You're exaggerating surely. I mean I'm not wearing them outside of course." "A man dressed as a man in heels this high? Honey, I'm not going to lie to you. It will be bold. Even around here where people do bold. But it's not just learning to walk in heels. You'll get that soon enough. It's about leaning to carry yourself a certain way." "I'm not sure I understand." "Do you know why I can walk out this door into a department store and shop?" "Because I'm standing two feet away from you and you are one of the prettiest women around?" "That," Dorothy said with emphasis, "actually makes it harder. The reason I can do it, and some of the girls who can't pass as easily ..." "Pass?" "Pass themselves as women ... some of the girls who can't pass as easily still can go some places because of a relaxed confidence. It's risky. But they can. If I were to put you in a dress and you looked like exactly like Jayne Mansfield someone would be able to read you ..." "You're throwing all this lingo at me. 'Read me'?" "Tell there's something off. And usually that's not just because you would get the mannerisms wrong, although you would at this point. It's because you would hide within yourself, if that makes sense. Feel every eye on you and not want to be seen. Shrink. Be nervous. Act even more wrong. It sets off alarm bells. People looking at you is one thing. That's fine, if they see what they expect to. People puzzling you out ...? Well that's just bad. Puzzle long enough, and they'll come up with the right answer. So, we start with you wearing heels everywhere you go. You'll be stared at. But you'll learn to relax while being looked at." "And," Robert was seeing if he understood the logic, "by the time I'm ready for the whole dress up act, a few people looking in my direction will mean nothing. I get it. But just because I get it doesn't mean I can do it." "You'll be okay, I promise. You'll get looks, but this is our neighborhood. People know what's here. But I am going to draw you a map. You take one step outside of this black and a half block circle wearing those things, and I can't promise what will happen to you. Might get arrested. Maybe much, much worse. Understand?" "I think I do, yes." "Good. You're clearly a straight shooter from the South. People won't think you're a ... I hate this word but ... fruit or something. If people ask, and some will, say 'Candid Camera' or 'fraternal society prank' or whatever works. But for now? Just put these on and get used to them. They're your second pair of feet for now. And you'll need these too." Along with the pumps Dorothy handed Robert the most unusual stockings he had ever seen. Instead of one for each leg, like he had seen countless times, these were a combination panty with stockings connected like trouser legs. "Just wear these under your pants. Dancers in musicals use these, they're called 'panti-legs'," Dorothy informed him, "they're nice because they cover your entire leg and good for costumes where garters shouldn't show. They also help with quick costume changes I've found. No messing about with clasps. Really convenient, I bet they take over for stockings all together soon." Robert considered how much he enjoyed the occasional flash of skin right above the stocking line when a woman bent over or moved just so. "I think I speak for many a man when I say I certainly hope not." +++++ Asked him four days ago, when she first handed him the pumps and Robert would have guessed walking around in them in broad daylight would have been a bigger deal. In the crowded streets of the city where people flowed past one another like water, many people didn't notice, or pretended not to notice, more likely. He was even bold enough to occasionally move beyond the confines of Dorothy's map. He did get from time to time get the odd look, sneer or giggle, but he just moved on. In the tavern he visited daily (he was learning to have just twos drinks a night) the waitresses teased him a bit, but they, and the giant Italian bartender Jake, seemed satisfied with his fraternal initiation tale. There were small hurdles. Mr. Rosenblatt at the market he frequented was having none of it, and made him take them off at the door, which Robert found amusing as stocking feet stuck out even more. On another occasion, he was surrounded by a group of college boys angered by the sight when he was having lunch in the park. He smiled, and without a care in the world told them, "My girlfriend found them under the bed after her sister barely escaped out the window. So, I told her they were mine. She said if they were mine, I darn well better wear them. I'm just glad her sister didn't leave her bra." They laughed and moved on despite it being more of a punch line than a logical explanation. But maybe Dorothy was right, it was the sheer confidence to make light and not be afraid that may have got him through that moment. And there was a decided difference in the way he navigated in heels in the light of day and when he was alone or training with Dorothy. She taught him to move and sway with every step, placing one foot in front of the other while moving his nonexistent hips from side to side. She explained how he was to stand, one foot straight with the other angled behind, hands on hips with fingers facing back (the opposite way he had his entire life) elbows out, with back straight and shoulders out. The entire first part was working. In the daytime he learned to walk in heels, to have them not be something foreign he had to think about, but another extension of his legs, like any other shoe. But with Dorothy he learned to really move in heels, to make them the alluring part of fashion that explained why women had so many pair and why men turned their heads. In his quiet moments, he would cross his legs, making circular motions with his raised foot. Allowing the pump to slip off his heel, he would dangle it from his toes exposing his nylon clad foot. It was enticing, hypnotic and appealing. It may only be his feet in a pair of feet in heels, but it looked to be a woman's feet in heels. It gave him a rush, a feeling of adrenaline and arousal. +++++++ The training went on this way for two and half weeks. Dorothy would introduce something new, and Robert would wear it until it felt as natural as second skin: hip pads, ever tightening corsets, stuffed bras, wigs. Only now, except for his heels (and only certain pair as others were now not just simple pumps he could get away with, but sling backs and open toe sandals) his lessons were restricted to the confines of Dorothy's giant apartment. Drinking tea together in the afternoon, Dorothy was wearing the casual pedal pushers, simple blouse and stilettos - she always wore heels for teaching purposes - that she favored when relaxing. Robert, in a hobble skirt (to teach balance), padded bottom, padded hips completed with scandalously high heels, carved out quite the sight. Perfectly female from waist down, and with his dress shirt, completely male from waist up. Dorothy, after a bit, came to a decision. "I think you're ready." "To get Melody? Thank god. Let's prepare, I can ..." Dorothy laughed at his eagerness. "Oh no. You're jumping the gun. We're going to spend a few days doing makeup until I'm sure you can do it yourself. And then ... only then ... will I get you hired on at Wink Wink doing a bit of this and that and learning to waitress. Pass that test and you'll be ready to get your niece." ++++++++ Robert took a deep breath. He could feel his nerves from the time he woke up in the morning after barely sleeping at all that night. Tonight, it was going to happen, he was going out into the world dressed completely as a woman. No, he was going out into the world to be a woman. He needed to understand the difference if this is all going work long term. Dorothy sat patiently on a stool watching him. "Calm down honey," she said feeling his nerves, "it will be fine. Wink Wink is baby steps, training wheels so to speak. No matter how good you look, no one there will be mistaking you for someone born a girl. The only women in the club are the ones in the audience and most people know that going in. So, relax," She motioned to a dressing area in the back she had carved out for Robert. "I'm not going to help you this time. You need to do this from beginning to end." Robert pushed aside the hanging sheets that Dorothy set to divide "his" area from the rest of her gigantic room turned into an apartment. It was not a cozy space she gave him, but completely functional, resembling in all reality the backstage of a playhouse. There were no closets; dresses hung on racks next to panties and bras, shoes were laid out in rows on the floor in front of them. Spread out across two folding tables were various form pads and wig stands, jewelry, purses and accoutrements. Standing at the edge of the room Robert could see everything he would wear and need at a glance. It made it easy to organize his thoughts and made sure that nothing would be forgotten. Only a padded chair situated in front of a large bright make up mirror, gave a passing nod to a bit of comfort. "Okay," he said to himself. Let's tackle what will take the longest, "face first." Over the years he had seen, although not often, his sister apply makeup from beginning to end. Back then he couldn't tell you what the names of any makeup products, except perhaps lipstick, but the process was undoubtedly transformational. And she was a woman simply putting on her face. Robert now knew the names of every product spread before him. But unlike his sister's relatively straight forward routine, he had roughly twice the number of items. His sister was emphasizing. He was creating. But he was, apparently, creating from a very workable palate. During the makeup lessons, Dorothy told him he was lucky that he didn't have strong male features, they were, now that she worked with them a touch, surprisingly soft. She meant that as a compliment, and in her world it certainly was. Robert just found it embarrassing. He applied the two types of foundation and cover up carefully as he was instructed to highlight his cheekbone, draw light to his eyes and downplay any strength in his nose. With a steady hand he drew on eyeliner, before applying falsies to his lashes. Pulling out tweezers he plucked the thick brows into a thin rounded arch. He wasn't sure how that would look when he was back in Robert mode, but he would worry about that later. He applied smoky black eye shadow to bring out the brightness of his blue eyes. Good. Halfway done and he was already looking very feminine. Taking a large make up brush he spread powder on his face and waited for several minutes for the make up to set, touching it up here and there in places it was spread it too thinly and soaked in by his skin. Vigorously, shaking an aerosol can, eyes closed, he sprayed his face the way one used hair spray. This would seal the makeup preventing it from wearing thin and having any of Robert pop through. He pulled out a ruby red lip liner pencil from the cup of makeup tools in front of him and careful drew a lip line just beyond edges of his natural lips. Once he applied the glossy matching lip stick, it gave him the visual illusion of having larger, plumper lips. He turned his head from side to side carefully inspecting every inch. Perfect. He applied the makeup in a workman like fashion to get the job done, but he allowed himself to relax now that the hardest part was over. He grabbed the corset hanging on the rack and fastened the front the metal clasps. He marveled at the firm construction of the garment. Usually, Dorothy helped him tighten the waist binder to squeeze his insides within an inch of its life, but she wanted him to do everything on his own. Slipping the strings extending from the back of the corset around the radiator, he wiggled and walked slowly away from it all the while strings pulled the constricting binder tighter. When he got to the point his middle was pulled into an almost exaggerated hourglass shape, he unhooked the strings and tied them in the back. At this point he sat down on the floor. The first few moments of being squeezed into this form, always made him lightheaded and uncomfortable. He would adjust in time and the results were unmistakably worth it. Standing up he slipped into the panti-legs carefully. He had learned in his first few tries that the nylons may be less fragile than stockings, but they could run just the same. His shaven legs, pink painted toes on feet which had been exfoliated and lotioned to be nice to the eye and soft to the touch, looked womanly and pleasing. It was an amazing transformation of his lower half. "If you treat your body with female care," he said half aloud to himself, "then the ladies' clothes take you the rest of the way." His panties, much like his strapless bra, were special made for gender illusionist entertainers; a niche market unquestionably. The undergarments were lightly padded with a hard foam rubber to feel real to the touch. He slid the panties over his panti-legs and put on the bra. The final piece of constructing his female form was putting on a long full torso girdle which had a bra of its own. He wondered the first time he put this on if it was all necessary, it felt like overkill, but quickly understood why. The girdle smoothed out the somewhat bulky lines of the padded panties and corset, while the gridle bra added over his strapless version, held the false breasts firmly in place. His body in its pushed, prodded and squeeze form, was to die for. Putting on his scandalously short black cocktail dress - it had to be a full inch above the knee! - and sliding his nylon encased feet into the open toed heeled sandals, he finished off the illusion by carefully tightening head straps on his shoulder length blonde wig. He looked at himself in the mirror and had to admit that he had a little bit of bombshell to him, a regular magazine pinup. Looking at himself turning from side to side as women do, he felt a strange, almost aroused giddiness. He was someone else entirely. Someone that, he, as a man would want. He very much resembled, to his delight and dismay, a prettier version of his sister Sylvia. His sister was wild at heart and gravitated toward the pants and light make up that was becoming fashionable in some of the younger more rebellious types. But this Sylvia, Robert as Sylvia, was version created by Dorothy, a woman who knew nothing but glamor. It was strange and liberating to hide himself, his sex, his past, his mistakes, so thoroughly behind a new gender and a new person. The nervousness and fear he had felt earlier was largely gone. Laughing, he twirled on his heels. This could actually be marvelous. "You've seen yourself in the mirror like this before honey." It was Dorothy. She had been watching him twirl and preen with a bit of warm amusement. "But it's real now," Robert said, slipping into his female voice. "We talked about this. Less breathy when you speak sugar, more natural, you're not Marilyn Monroe. But I'm glad to see this bring you joy. But be careful, don't let joy turn into recklessness. Wink Wink may be a safe spot ... as safe as these places can be ... but outside of our little bubble here, the world is fraught with danger. People don't know too much about us out there. A man finds out that a little blonde snack he fancied turned his whole understanding about himself as a man on its head? It's gets ugly, very ugly. Often very violent." Robert understood. It was a lesson Dorothy took great pains to instill in him on more than one occasion. But for now, looking at himself in the mirror, he was just going to enjoy this being this version of Sylvia, enjoy this feeling of being a lady; a feeling he never knew he had. "Okay, Robert ... Roberta ... Sylvia ...?" "'Vee'," Robert corrected, "I'm calling myself 'Vee', it was my sister's nickname." "Okay, Vee," Dorothy smiled, "let's get you to work." ++++++++ A nightclub the size of Wink Wink was a hive of activity; people hustling to keep moving parts in sync and the patrons relaxed and entertained. Backstage was a whirlwind of motion as acts prepared and changed, and the nightclub floor was just as busy. Vee as the newest girl had the simplest of jobs: cart drinks to the tables and "look pretty." The bartender handed her three drinks, "Table six. Man gets the vermouth on the rocks, red head gets the screwdriver, brunette the glass of wine." "Um ...which is table six? "Oh right. The new girl," the bartender smiled. She was an attractive woman with impeccable make up (like everyone on the floor) with her hair piled into a loose stylish bun. If it were not for her sheer size, she was six foot one in low heels if she was an inch, with vaguely muscular arms, Vee would not have known she was not born a woman. By design, the girls didn't hit the stage until everyone had time to put down a few drinks. This early in the night acts were all big band musicians. Vee kneeled by table six, "A vermouth for the gentleman, a glass of wine for you ma'am and you miss get screwdriver." She started to leave but the red head put a light hand on her shoulder. "We're from Rhode Island. Never seen anything like this. You're one of them, aren't you? I can't even tell. How does a guy look so gorgeous? It's so not fair." Vee wasn't sure what to say but had been instructed clearly on what not to. Tony Strand was owner of Wink Wink and what was known as lifetime confirmed bachelor. Gathering all the floor staff before opening he gave a variation on what, Vee came to understand, was the speech he gave every night. A warning and pep talk of sorts. "You my beautiful ladies are the most exotic flowers these people have ever seen. Give them a couple of drinks and they are going to want to ask you works of art questions. But you are as much entertainment as the girls on that stage. Never break the illusion. They may think they want to know how the sausage is made, but they really don't. Some woman asks you how you get that figure so curvy you say 'a girl never gives away her secrets'. Some guy asks you why you do dress up as a woman, you don't say 'I always wanted be girl,' or 'I like to kiss boys' or any other reasons you may really have; you say, 'a girl's got to pay her rent'. Always 'girl' and always keep it quick and light." So, when the red head at the table asked Vee, "How does a guy look so gorgeous? It's so not fair," she had to think quickly. Stage whispering so the entire table could hear, "What's not fair is walking in heels this high all night." With a wink, she stood and with an elegant, slightly provocative stride, walked away. A pale freckled waitress poked Vee lightly in her corseted ribs, "I heard you back there. Nice, you're a natural. And a looker." Vee smiled, she could tell this was going to be hard work tonight, but it felt good. Robert, once he inherited the house and money from his father stopped working all together. It was day after day with drink in his shed. But Vee had purpose, she was good at what she did, and purpose felt good. +++++++++ A week at Wink Wink and Vee had got the hang of the club's rhythm and had fallen into a routine. She was strictly forbidden by Dorothy to come backstage before she went on to, as Tony Strand would say, to avoid seeing how the sausage was made. Dorothy as adamant that Vee would never meet the man behind the makeup. Vee was well liked by the girls and had a fantastic memory for drink orders. She was able to do three sometimes four tables and never miss a beat. She learned to time her third break to coincide with Dorothy second song so she could catch her finale. On stage in her show gowns with her soaring voice, she was every bit the woman that made Vee steal flowers from the table the first time her saw her. She often marveled at the sheer absurdity of it all; she was a man pretending to be a woman enraptured by a man pretending to be a woman. Vee said to herself, varying the famous film quote, "Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Virginia anymore." "She's wonderful, isn't she?" It was Janice, the pale jet black haired, freckled girl who complimented her on the first night. Janice cut a striking figure. Vee suspected, as pale as she was, that she had red or light brown hair under that wig. But with it on, the contrast made her stand out, like a vampire queen from the movies. "You, know, she'd have a real singing career if the world wasn't the way it was." "That she would," Vee agreed. Vee spent her second break outside smoking. It was the single vice she carried over from her previous life now that her alcohol was under control. Sure, she could smoke in the kitchen with the other girls, but she liked the fresh air and momentary break from the blaring horns of the band. As she pulled a cigarette from her purse a man stepped up, lighter ready. She wordlessly let him light her smoke, took a long, drag and exhaled. She leaned against the wall and assessed the man before her. He was tall with strong distinct features. He wore his graying brown hair very short and slicked back. Vee took him to be in his late forties. He was neatly dressed in a suit and tie although his lapels were distinctly thinner than the fashion of the day and his shoes, while clearly expensive, had a blunt and rounded toe more akin to bowling than dress shoes. Vee didn't pretend to know the ins and outs of big city fashion, but he seemed a step out of place. An immigrant? "Thank you," she said finally. "You are welcome beautiful." She was right. "That accent? It's from ...?" "Belgium. Although I've lived in the States for nine years. I dabble in the music business, but primarily own a restaurant on the other side of town, a lunch place, but I like to wander this way at night. It's more cosmopolitan. Closest thing I can find to Europe." "Is that so?" In her short time as Vee she had conversed with all manner of men; it came with the territory of being blonde and desirable. Some wanted to get under her skirt while pretending not to know what was there. Those were usually the club regulars, and while never leading them on, she could afford to be a bit teasing because they understood the rules of the game and who she was. There were those she met outside the club confines who tried to get under her skirt having no idea what lay in wait. No matter how nice they were, there was an implied danger there, so she let them down as nicely and flatteringly as possible. The ones who were truly dangerous were the ones who wanted to take her to the pictures and go for picnics in the park. That type saw the girl of their dreams in Vee, so they believed, and thought they were falling in love. As the girls in the club warned each other time and time again, a man who has been drinking and full of lust may only beat you if they find your secret; a man who falls in love with you may be driven to kill. In the light of this, Vee had purchased a cheap glass wedding band, that she wore everywhere but the club, as it was not allowed. And she learned to ask open questions that helped her determine what kind of man she found herself with, while giving little away about herself. "Yes," the Belgian continued, "this is a fascinating city in the middle of a fascinating country, but it is still very ... what is the word I'm looking for ..." Vee wasn't going to guide him in any way. "No idea." "'Puritan'. Yes. That's it, 'Puritan'. Places like this," he gestured at the backdoor of Wink Wink, "are hidden in special tiny ghettos in the States. Not so where I live." He raised an eyebrow as though he had just thought of something, "Do you live here too? I mean, in this neighborhood?" Vee was never going to answer that. She dropped her cigarette and ground the butt into the pavement with her heels, "It's been really nice. Thanks for the light. I have to get back to work." "Wait," he grabbed her arm and when she sharply looked down at his hand, quickly released it apologetically. "Sorry. Sorry. I only ask if you live close because I wonder if you ever want to get out of your tiny world," he scribbled on a matchbook and handed to her, "If you ever want to see something more, I am looking for a good waitress for my restaurant. Short daytime hours and it wouldn't interfere with this. Just keep my number there and call me if this is something you would want to do." Noncommittal as always, Vee simply said, "Enjoy your night." "There you are! I was about to cover for you," Janice said excitedly as she walked back into the club. "I was out back," Vee said. She was both amused that her two minute too long break panicked Janice, but equally warmed that the girl would have tried to hide her absence. "I like to get air. Ran into some Belgian man ..." "Raphael Van Hove?" Janice asked. Vee didn't think it was possible, but Janice's voice became even more excited. Vee laughed. "I don't know. He left me a number, but not a name. Said he had a restaurant. Something about music maybe?" "You really are not from the scene. That was Raphael Van Hove. He goes around to little known places to find musical talent. Two years ago, the bandleader from our very club was signed by him. Makes records and tours and everything. And to think he was just an opening act for drag performers. Lightning can strike anywhere if you're lucky." "Huh." Vee was going to toss his number in the nearest trash can, but now reconsidered. She was sure she would never call, but now maybe it was worth hanging on to. ++++++++ Chapter 3: Being Sylvia ++++++++ Two months, nearly to the day, it was time. Vee was not going to learn any more than she knew now, and her confidence as a woman was ironclad. Vee had said her goodbyes to Dorothy in private thanking her for everything. But there was little sadness as they both promised, and knew, they would be in touch regularly and Vee would come up to visit when she could. She said goodbye to the staff of the club, promising to return. To her great surprise, Tony Strand motioned to Vee. Most nights at closing, the owner of Wink Wink was holed up in his office. The club was a cash enterprise, so money needed to be counted, performers paid, cops bribed, tips doled out. But tonight, he was down on the floor with the girls standing next to Dorothy. "I heard about your madcap scheme Miss Vee, trading places, saving orphaned girls and maybe the entire world. It's like something out of the pictures," he gave Dorothy a knowing look, as did Vee for spilling her secret, "Listen. Take this," he pressed a bit of cash into Vee's hands, "and I will not take no for an answer. I'm treating this as a 'until later'. You can always, I mean always, come back home to us. You are too good at this job, and make too pretty a woman, to go back to be some Virginia coal farmer or whatever it is they do down there." Vee was going to object to this wildly wrong characterization, but simply said, "Thank you Tony." +++++++ Robert rose early as he did now that his body wasn't soaked in drink. While he didn't miss the tiny cramped one room apartment of New York, he did miss the club, the energy surrounding it, and most of all, being Vee. She was a blip on the thirty years of his life, but a significant one. Robert enjoyed being Vee, maybe even more than he enjoyed being Robert. Vee was quick witted, sought after, good at her job. Vee had friends that looked after her, and a mentor in Dorothy. He missed the clothes, once a means to an end, the clothes became an end themselves; the feeling of being wrapped in women's garments feeling as beautiful as he looked. It was electric. It was a world of color. Robert's was a world of monochrome. He daily life had to endure the cold stares of a drunk who fell off roofs, nearly burned down his house and watched with an indifferent hangover as his sister's daughter got hauled off to an orphanage. He looked in the mirror. His eyebrows had finally grown out enough that they no longer held the plucked high arched shape that informed his face as Vee. With a little trick of the eyebrow pencil, a tool he was more than skilled with, they looked normal again. Time to set the stage. Robert spent the next few days being seen. He wanted the town to know that he had returned from his alcohol rehabilitation as dry as the desert. But it wasn't without struggle. Vee was a social drinker, who both in personality and the need to keep a clear head and be alert, never over indulged. Robert back in his old life found his old ways fought to resurface. He was glad, for once, that the drinking shed in the back was no more than a burnt husk. But the primary reason Robert was in and out of the market, the five and dime, the hardware store and even returned to church, was not to just rehabilitate his reputation. It was to plant the seed that Sylvia, feeling guilty about abandoning her child, was writing and asking about Melody. He was laying the groundwork for Vee assuming Sylvia's identity. It would be tricky as Vee did not look exactly like Sylvia. She was for one, shockingly, prettier. Vee was also a very different woman in disposition and manner. Vee could try to act like Sylvia, but Robert felt that it would ring too false. Like a performance. But Sylvia had been rarely seen in the several years since giving birth to a child out of wedlock, something frowned on deeply in these parts. He was going to have to rely on their unfamiliarity with her; just be Vee and hope for the best. +++++++ Robert felt an energy this morning which had been gone too long. It was the building anticipation knowing soon he would be Vee; but this time it would be a bit more complex as it would be Vee pretending to be Sylvia. Robert hauled the steamer trunk from the basement, unlocking it and spreading Vee's New York wardrobe across the bed. It was not bad, but a touch city ... racy ... for the sensibilities of this town, no less an orphanage run by nuns. There wasn't a single skirt here that fell below the knee. And the heels while fine for night clubs and places used to style, were far too high for the purposes needed today. "Okay," Robert reprimanded himself, "I should have thought about this earlier. You're just going to have to work with what you have." Once Robert had accepted the enjoyment he got from being Vee, his entire approach to transformation changed. It was more than simple mechanics of getting dressed, there was a ritual involved to luxuriate in every small change. After a long hot bath, he began by not just shaving his legs, but his entire body all including the hair above his manhood. Running his hand across his body the smooth softness of his skin tingled beneath his touch. Impeccably applying makeup, he fastened the wig securely to his head. Looking in the mirror at his made-up, enticing face framed by shoulder length blonde locks, he could feel Vee emerge. Putting on her clothes one article at a time, Vee carefully checked to make sure everything was perfect. Once done she slipped into her high peep toe sling backs and as she had done many times before wondered at the woman in the reflection before her. +++++++ The security guard Vee had met as Robert all those weeks ago was still wearing a uniform which he had plainly been for many years and smaller sizes before. For Vee whose every detail was essential and applied with loving care, wondered how someone could pay so little attention to the way they looked. To Vee's surprise, the guard may have been a shambling monument to the disheveled, but it didn't mean his mind was so. "You must be," he said, "a relative of Robert Tierney, came here a bit back. I recognize the license plate numbers on your Ford. If he was the uncle, you must be an aunt, maybe the mom ...? Hopefully the mom." "I am. I'm Vee Tierney ... Sylvia Tierney is my given name. Can I see my daughter?" "Visiting or taking her home?" "I'm here to take her home," Vee responded. "Then ma'am it would be my pleasure. Park in the lot behind me and I will walk you there myself. This is a nice place. Don't get me wrong. Kids are cared for, but I still love it when I get to see one go." Vee smiled at the guard. She wouldn't have thought such a hairy almost simian man would be so sharp of mind and sentimental to boot. But then again looks are very deceiving. For the first time in her short life, Vee was genuinely nervous. The guard escorted her down a long hall past classrooms and offices finally reaching a waiting area made of scattered folding chairs and small tables adorned with magazines woefully out of date. He brought her a cold glass of lemonade leaving her alone to stare at walls covered in drawings by, what she assumed, were the children that lived there. Some of them were quite good. In her weeks long elaborate plan to "rescue" Melody, Vee had been able to work hard and control every variable but this one. What would Melody do when this woman who was not quite her mother tried to take her away? After an eternity, Melody was escorted in by a gentleman who was as much specter as man in his black suit and tie, black shirt and black hat, despite his being indoors. He had the stern look of a fire and brimstone preacher, and as there are no preachers in Catholic institutions, his presence was made all the more stark. Melody walked into the room; her face brightened upon seeing Vee. She took several quick strides forward, before halting, taking a couple of steps back. Melody's sudden hesitance caused the stern-faced man to monitor the situation warily. Vee needed to take charge before this got any worse. "Melody, honey, please sit down." Melody took a chair on the far side of the room. Her eyes never left Vee. It was impossible for Vee to determine what was in this girl's mind, but the distance she obviously wanted to keep from her "mother' made the situation tense. "You remember your uncle. Robert? He came by many weeks ago to get you. He was very sorry he acted as he did. He quit drinking and realized that you were better off at home, at a nice school, with your friends. Your friends who all miss you, by the way. Robert knew he could never make up for what he did, but he wanted to try. He dropped of some things when he was here. Did you get them?" Melody silently nodded. "When he came, they wouldn't let you leave with Robert because of the things he had done, like the fire. The only person that could bring you home was someone impossible to find. His twin sister. Me. Your mother. But he managed to do the impossible and make me appear. And now I want to take you home. Do you understand what I'm saying? Do you understand what's happening here?" Melody eyes widened as comprehension crept in. Vee turned her attention toward Fire and Brimstone. "If it's all right with you, I would like to take my daughter home." The man had been watching the two of them and listening to that strange interaction with keen interest. But he said nothing more than, "Of course ma'am. Just follow me to sign some things and you and your girl will be on your way." ++++++++ They placed Melody's things in the trunk of Vee's car and left the premises without so much as a glance backward. Vee could barely believe that worked. Melody strongly resembled Sylvia, which meant she strongly resembled Vee. That probably went a long way toward releasing a girl to a woman with no form identification, particularly after that odd exchange. Pointing a dark pink polished fingernail toward the glove compartment Vee said, "Open it." Melody flipped open the compartment to find a Rocky Road candy bar and two candy necklaces. "I remembered you said you like these I hope you still do." Melody bit into the candy bar greedily. Whether the orphanage was one of the better ones or not, Melody probably didn't see a lot of these. They rode in silence for nearly an hour. "You look like my mom you know." "I know. It's why this worked." "Where is my mom?" "I don't know honey. If I could find her I would. It would have been far easier than this." Vee assured Melody, stroking her hair sympathetically. "I don't understand how you're a woman." "Sweetheart, I'm not. I'm a man in a dress so I could fool the orphanage. You did want to leave, didn't you?" "I did. They were nice, but at the same time it was horrible. I mean the place was horrible, but they did their best to not make it that way. Does that make sense?" "It does. It must have been hard. But it's over." "But how come you're a woman?" Melody asked insistently. "I'm not. I just explained it's just me dressed up." "But there's only me and you in the car and you still sound like a woman. You call me 'honey' and 'sweetheart' and smoothed my hair when you had to tell me my mom's not coming back. Those are woman things. You check your makeup in the mirror at stop signs. Your fingernails and toes are painted ... pink even ... mom doesn't even paint her nails." Vee laughed nervously, "Sylvia always said you were quick study. Smartest one in the family," she took a deep breath, "I don't know if you can understand this, but I will try to explain the best I can. In order to fool the orphanage, I needed to learn be just like a woman. The Robert you last saw wouldn't have fooled anyone, high heels or not. And if I would have failed, I would have been arrested right there in that waiting room. And you would have been in there for six more years. So, I went to New York where I ... you could say ... took some lessons and lived as a woman almost all day every day for weeks to learn how. Even had a job." Melody stared at Vee absorbing this incredible information but said nothing. "But me as Vee -" "Vee? Like my mom's nickname Vee?" Explaining to Melody why she took on a woman's personae was easier for Vee than admitting she coopted her mother's nickname. For some reason Vee found that profoundly embarrassing. "Yes," Vee pushed on, "Robert's life was nothing. He had destroyed it completely; friendless drunk and alone. But Vee was a fresh start. And," Vee debated whether to say the next part, but put all her cards on the table, "I like me as a woman. The way I look and feel. Does that make sense?" "No. Not really. It's harder to be a girl than a boy. Why would you choose to be a girl?" "Are there things you like about being a girl Melody?" "Yeah, lots." "Well I like a lot of those things too. But I just found out very recently." The dense unending featureless woods, occasionally punctuated by a field or a farm, whizzed by as Melody stared out of the window. "So, what are you now? Like my mom? Because I have a mom. Sylvia, the real Vee." "To you, I'm your aunt. To the rest of the world, I'm Sylvia, your mom. There's just no other way around it. Robert's not allowed anywhere near you. He can never even be seen, not as long as you're around." Melody turned, putting her arms on the car window edge, stared at out of the window again. +++++++ Chapter 4: Face to Face The phone in his office rang. Donald Barr held up one finger indicating to the head nun he needed to take this call. His phone rang rarely, and when it did it was of import. He had administrative staff and nuns to deal with the day to day workings of the orphanage. His attention was only worthy of conversations with government children's agencies, or in rare cases, the last stage of an adoption. Smoothing his trademark all black attire as though the person on the other end of the line could see him, he picked up the receiver. "Sir, long distance call from California, 213." "Go ahead operator." "Hello," a female voice began, "Is this Donald Barr? Donald Barr of St. Mary's orphanage?" "This is Donald Barr," he confirmed. The woman spoke in rushed tones, "Sorry I didn't call you back sooner. I travel all over. Never one to stay in one place. So, I only got your letter yesterday. Looks like you sent it over a year ago. I have all my mail sent to a P.O. Box you know. Check on it from time to time. Anyway, you wrote me back after I checked in on - " "Ma'am. Miss. Slow down, slow down. You sound in hurry but I - " "Sorry. Sorry. I'm at a pay phone. I'm not sure I have enough change," the woman blurted out. "I understand. But what letter? I write a lot of letters. Who are you?" "I wrote you about my daughter when I heard she was there. You wrote back almost a year ago. I'm ... I've been just everywhere. I haven't been in one place, so I couldn't .... I just got the letter ... but you said she was good. Healthy. Is she still ...? I'm coming back to - " Donald grew exasperated. This woman was all over the map and sounded like she had a bit to drink, "Lady. Stop. You still haven't told me who you are or who your daughter is." "Oh. Oh. I'm sorry of course. I'm Sylvia Tierney. My daughter Melody, she's -" "Sylvia Tierney? You picked up your daughter almost eleven months ago." "I was there ma'am. You had no identification. But you looked almost exactly like your girl." "I promise you I did no such thing." "I thought maybe it was my letter that changed your mind as you came almost right after I sent it." "Again, I promise you I did no such thing. I just got your letter. It's in my hand right here: 'Dear Mrs. Tierney, you will be happy to know that we take great care of our children. Your Melody, a bright and inquisitive child' and on and on it goes." That was definitely the boilerplate he used when writing parents forced to give up a child, "I'm not saying I believe a voice on the phone over my own eyes, but if you're telling the truth, we have a big problem. Someone's had your girl for nearly a year." His mind replayed the scene Melody being discharged. It did all seem a bit hesitant and odd at the time. The conversation surrounding it had a heavily coded feel. "Okay miss, tell me more." ++++++ "Happy birthday dear Melody, happy birthday to you." Melody blew out the candles and the packed living room cheered. Vee took her cake cutter making thin slices for the women, and larger slices for the children and men. "If sixteen is 'sweet sixteen'", Vee asked Melody, "Thirteen must be 'terrible thirteen'. Well, that is if twelve was anything to go by." "Mom!" Melody exclaimed and good humoredly swung an arm out at Vee. "Easy Pumpkin, unless you want cake all over everyone." Vee laughed in response. Mrs. Sandler sidled up to Vee whispering conspiratorially, "I'll take one of those big pieces if you don't mind. Vee slid her a plate with the stealth of someone passing a bottle of hooch in church. "Susan," Vee assured her, "you could eat an entire cake, and nothing would stick to those hips of yours." "Says the pretty blonde in the super cute sun dress. I swear, if you weren't such good friends to all of us girls at church, we wouldn't let our husbands anywhere near you." Susan gave Vee a wink. Candice Fellows, a nice woman in an overly gossipy way, motioned to Vee, taking another large piece off her hands. These women say they want small slices Vee thought ... "I just love what you've done here. This house is so warm and inviting now. And those curtains, you just must tell me where you found them. I've been trying to get Clive to get new curtains forever. But you know Clive. And I don't want to speak ill of your brother, but with all his drinking he just never kept the place up. We started to worry about property values. Where is Robert now?" "Last I heard Canada. Logger or something. Still dry though I think." Melody came over and hugged Vee tightly, "This is a really wonderful party Mom. Everybody's here. Thank you." She kissed Vee on the cheek. "Don't thank me yet. Open your present. I hid it below the staircase." Melody could not contain her excitement. Last night Vee had given her some small gifts, a necklace and the bracelets she had been eyeing, pretending as though that was all they could afford this year. Melody pulled out the large heavy box as her girlfriends raced to surround her. Tearing off the paper like a racoon attacking a trash can, Melody screamed at the top of her lungs. "A record player! Does that mean ...?" "Records?" Vee finished, "One Elvis and one Little Richard 45. Look under my bed. But take your friends and play them in your room. The grownups don't want to hear that racket." "I don't know what you've done," Susan Sandler said grabbing her second large piece of cake, "but I've never seen a girl happier. She's come so far in the last year." "So have I Susan, so have I." Susan lowered her voice, "Have you thought about a husband? Everyone thinks you're the greatest mom. And I mean that, everyone. The way you do all this by yourself ... but a girl needs a father. I know there are some suitors who would love to have you and Melody as part of a family - in a heartbeat. Phil Greene - " "Oh god Susan, no!" Vee laughed horrified. "Well now," Susan nudged Vee, "speak of the devil." The sheriff walked into her home in uniform, his face a mask of concern, alerting Vee he wasn't just popping in for punch. She felt herself stiffen just a bit, hoping no one would notice. Phil Greene was a lifelong friend of the family. In turn, he was the only person in town who truly knew both Robert and Sylvia. Vee tried her best over the past year to minimize her contact with the lawman, but in a town this small, it was virtually impossible. The sheriff observed that there was a difference in the Sylvia he knew before and, Vee, as she liked to be known now that she returned with Melody. The woman who was brazen enough to leave a child behind with Robert for some rogue in a biker bar, evidently went on a journey of both distance and spirit. Her manner was different, she even sounded much different. But no one could question her devotion toward Melody or her contribution to the community. And the scandal of a woman raising a child alone not even to pretending to look for a husband faded. Only the most the most unsympathetic still gave Sylvia the cold shoulder. "Cake, Phil?" "Yes. Please. Sorry I couldn't make it to the party earlier. But something came up at the station. Can we go talk out front? Alone?" "Sure thing Phil." An uncomfortable looking Phil twirled his sheriff hat in his hand staring at the pavement, "Listen. I'm almost ashamed to have to tell you about all this, it being Melody's birthday and all ... and everything going so well, but you I figure you may as well know ..." "Phil," Vee cut in, "for a sheriff it sure takes you a long time to get to the point." "I got a call from a man at the orphanage, you know the one Melody was left at by Robert before you got your act together. You really have done - " "Phil!" "Sorry. He says he got this crazy call from someone in California saying she was you. Asked about Melody. He agreed it was probably some lunatic, you know how they are out there in La La land, but he ... Mr. Barr I mean, said there's was just enough in what she said and something or other about how transferring Melody to you went down kind of strange .... In any case this 'Sylvia' is driving across country to straighten this all out. So, she'll be here in what? Three, four, five days?" Vee willed her heart not to beat out her padded chest, "Well that's crazy." "Of course it is crazy. You're you. A lot different you that I remember but still you. This isn't like that movie from last year, 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers', I don't believe in duplicates. Plus, I think Melody would know if her mom weren't her mom." Vee laughed hoping it wasn't too forced. Steadying her voice, she said, "Well in just a few days crazy California lady will be here, and this will all be cleared up. Assuming she comes at all of course." ++++++ "No." "Sweetheart. I don't think we have a choice. She's your mother," Vee kicked off her heels and sat on the bed with Melody. Melody put her head on Vee's shoulder as Vee stroked her hair. "You're my mother now," Melody spit out petulantly. "I've learned to love you like a daughter, but no, I'm really not." "But it's great here with you. With her we were always moving. Living in crummy places. And whenever she found a guy she would try to leave. She left me in an orphanage!" "No Pumpkin. Robert ... I ... left you in an orphanage. But I changed. Maybe she did to. She's obviously willing to drive across country for you." "But it's the same thing. She left me without telling you and I landed in the orphanage," she insisted, "and it's not the first time. She left me in a house full of men when I was only nine. They paid her for it too I think. I ran away for six days before she found me. She was mad because of all the money lost." "Wait. That sounds like she sold you. That can't be right." "It is. I think I was supposed to be their laundry slave or whatever. And I've always been something that keeps her from finding men, since they don't want to get stuck with a kid. She used to call me 'guy repellant'. Mom, we have to run away like I did then." "Kidnapping is against the law. Pretending to be a woman is against the law. Pretending to be someone else is against the law. Taking a child who's not yours across state lines is against the law. Sweetheart, if I get caught, I will go to jail forever, and you will still end up with your Mom." "I told you. You're my Mom. We have to run away." +++++++++ At the first signs of daylight, Vee, like she did every morning rose. Her nighttime wear was a simple negligee, padded bra and face cream. This was fine to sooth a half awake Melody back to sleep after having the occasional nightmare without having to be in makeup and full Vee wear every night, but it would never do for more than that. The mornings meant Vee had to be reset from scratch. Hair removal products helped, especially now that she delved into the more permanent ones knowing a return for Robert was not on the cards. But panti-legs, makeup, brows, heels and dresses had to be well in place before Melody arose. In much the way Dorothy had never allowed her illusion to be broken with Vee, so Vee never allowed her illusion to be broken with Melody. But this morning was different. It had been two days since Vee heard of Sylvia's imminent return. It was time to leave. Waking Melody a little before eight, Vee served her a large bowl of cereal. "Come on Sweetheart, we're leaving today." "And where would that be Robert?" It was Sylvia, flanked by Phil and the all black dressed specter from the orphanage. Phil's knees weakened and he pulled up a kitchen chair sitting down with a thud. "Vee is Robert? That's impossible. But -" He couldn't deny his eyes. Two very similar women stood before him. It was impossible, but somehow evident. "Vee?" Sylvia laughed a wicked bitter laugh. "You stole my name too? Of course you did. What kind of dress up game are you playing at?" Melody leapt up and stood by Vee, putting her arm around the woman's waist. "It's complicated. Too complicated to explain now. Melody needed a mother so ..." Vee let her voice trail off. "She needed a mother is right," said Donald Barr, "not some fruit in a dress prancing about pretending to be one." "She is my mother!" Melody interjected with a vehemence. Phil finally gathered himself to speak, his tone was that of hurt and anger, "For one year ... one entire year!" he was on the verge of shouting, "You made fools of the good people of this town. You made friends with wives. You chaired the town fund drive. You headed the litter committee. You went to my church like this. My church!" "Phil I -" "Don't. Just don't. And stop speaking like a woman, damn it!" "I won't," Vee said almost too soft to hear. Vee laughed that wicked laugh again. "Oh, my deluded brother. You were a better me than me." "She is! But she's not you, she's better. And she won't try to sell me to a bunch of men. Is that why you're here? You got a good deal for a cleaning slave?" It was the men's turn to look at Sylvia with horrid disbelief. "Sell ...? You damn Tierneys," Phil said at last. "Just when I think it is getting better, you put another stain on this town. I don't know if we can come back from this one. But this is how this is going down. You Robert are under arrest for wearing women's clothes and child theft. And you," he turned to Sylvia, "if what this child is saying is true, you will not see your child again. I will send her back with Mr. Barr here." "Phil," Vee said, "we were friends once. For a very long time even if that is no longer true. But in light of that, let me speak to my sister alone for a moment. Take Melody outside please." Phil and Donald Barr walked Melody outside. "What is this Robert? Really, what is this? You steal my identity, my name, my daughter and live as me for a year in this town? How is that even possible? And what were you hoping to gain?" "The short version? Only Sylvia could get Melody out of the orphanage after Robert's mistakes. No one ever knows where you are so, I gave them a version of Sylvia. And Melody is as happy as she has ever been." "Even if that were true. And even if ever fiber of my being didn't feel violated by this charade, she's my daughter." "Your daughter that you left with me. Your daughter that you tried to leave with others. Strangers at that. I wonder Sylvia, what is your end game? To displace her, take her on the road again from crappy place to crappy place until you run out of money and start thinking the unthinkable?" "She's my daughter ..." At a loss for words, this was Sylvia's only refrain. "I'll save you the guilt. Sell me Melody." "What?" "Obviously I don't mean 'sell', she's a daughter to me. Let me leave with Melody and promise you won't try to take her back and I will sell dad's house and give you half. That's more than enough money. And free of Melody, you can hook up with whatever biker you find next." "I ..." In an equal mixture of hope and disgust, Vee could see Sylvia genuinely contemplating. She pushed the deal a bit further. "But," Vee added, "a copy of your driving license and birth certificate are part of the deal. I see you want to say yes. Call everyone back in." With everyone back gathered around the kitchen table, Vee explained succinctly and pointedly, what was going to happen, "Phil. The town will never recover from this. The scandal of it alone will make your office pariahs, a huge joke. This town will be the center of disgrace and gossip for decades to come," she turned to Barr, "and you, you released a girl into the care of a man in a dress with no identification. Your reputation is just as stained, and I doubt you'll keep your job. Lastly you, Sylvia. To keep tongues from wagging, you are going back to California in the dark of the night and never set foot here again." Vee pulled Melody tight, "And my daughter I will also leave only returning briefly to sell the house. You will never lay eyes on us again." +++++++ Epilogue: 19 months later +++++++ Scooping the tip into her apron, Vee wiped the rest of the table clean and placed the dishes into the bus tray. "I'm off Mr. Van Hoven. Need to walk Melody home from school. Did you think about what I asked?" "Yes, Vee I have thought about it. Every time you've asked it for the past year," he still smiled, "It is a huge ask. But I agree, she has voice as big and unstoppable as a hurricane." "You've seen her plenty of times at Wink Wink. She's wonderful," Vee gushed. "She is wonderful. That's not the issue. It would have to be the biggest kept secret in the history of music. But as I said, I'll think about it." Vee opened the door with her key. Melody put her book bag on an adjacent table, digging out just what she needed for homework. Now that there were wooden partitions set up like walls, so everyone could have their privacy - most of all the privacy of gender illusion - it was impossible to tell right away if Dorothy was home. "Dorothy?" Vee called. "We're back. I brought sandwiches from the restaurant. You hungry?" Dorothy emerged from her bedroom. "My little family," Dorothy chuckled. "How was work Vee?" "It was work. Slinging food, crummy tips, but it helps pay the rent in this giant place we all live." "Well your night job is much more fun." "That it is. I get to watch you." Vee smiled warmly Dorothy's way. "I spoke to Raphael again. I think I'm starting to wear him down. He came to see you sing twice last week you know." "Did he? I really appreciate you trying so hard. But that's a big mountain for him to climb." "I know," Vee smiled, "but I like doing things for you. And maybe one day he'll relent." Vee touched Dorothy's hand. "The way you look at her," Melody chimed in, "just kiss her already Mom!" And shouting together in sync, Dorothy and Vee both exclaimed "MELODY!" ++++++ The End ++++++