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Swiss Clinic
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters
Part 1
"Gil, Is that you?" The voice on the phone seemed to be his, but a
little higher.
"It's me, Kane," his client confirmed, clearing his throat. "I'm in
Switzerland."
"I'm taking a lot of crap over here, Gil," said the lawyer. "Up until
now I have been able to say that I had no idea where you were. I won't
tell anyone, of course. Client confidentiality and everything. But I
can't deny that I don't know."
"Look, Buddy," said Gilbert Thorsen, taking a deep breath. "I have funds
over here, as you know. I don't have enough to pay out everybody, but I
was hoping that you might be able to put together a settlement. I could
do 10 cents on the dollar, maybe 12."
"You have to be kidding," sighed Kane Collins, attorney at law, and a
specialist in property development, and therefore insolvencies. "If you
had only institutional investors, and more was known about what happened,
and you were talking 80 cents in the dollar, I might, just might, be able
to get a deal. But some of these guys are not going to take anything
less than 100 cents and interest. One in particular, would be happy to
receive your bleeding corpse, plus whatever money they can get."
"I want to do the right thing. I just don't have enough. Two million
doesn't go far. If I can't buy my way out of this, I will take the money
and hide." Gil meant it. Except that he did not even have the two
million. He had enough to get away but not to stay away.
"On the bright side, I am 100% sure that I can get the fraud charges
dropped," said Kane. "But you have jumped bail, so that's a problem.
How did you get to Switzerland without a passport?"
"That's a long story," said Gil. As he said it he picked up the passport
from the desk in his room. It was his wife's passport. Her photo stared
at him from the page. Anna Jane Thorsen - his wife. The same height as
him. In the photo she was wearing that dark blunt cut wig - the same wig
that lay on the bed. The wig that he had been wearing outside the room
for the last few days. They wanted the passport to check him in. He was
trapped in this town in Switzerland as Anna.
"You have to get these charges withdrawn," said Gil. You know that this
is not fraud. Everything stacked up at the beginning. It was just bad
luck. Maybe even mismanagement. There was never a deliberate attempt to
deceive."
"The DA knows it," said Kane. "It will take a few days, that's all."
"I know I shouldn't have jumped bail," said Gil. "But if you explain
that I am trying to make arrangement with my creditors, the Court should
accept that. If I should not have been charged in the first place, I
should get that bond money back You can hold it as the start of a
settlement fund. I want you to tell people that is what I am trying to
do."
"I am not going to say that you are proposing a payout of less than 50
cents in the dollar," said Kane. "It will not wash. I am telling you."
"You can't get blood from a stone," Gil muttered. "The losses are way
more than anybody thought possible. This was never going to be built. I
could never find the money to pay it all back, even if my reputation were
intact, and it is not."
Kane knew he was right. He knew that it would be tough going for Gil.
He asked, "Anna is with you?"
Gil wondered for a moment if he should tell Kane that he was in even
deeper trouble, but he decided that he needed Kane to focus on the job in
hand. So he lied. "Yes, of course," he said. "She holds the money, as
you know."
And that was the problem.
Kane Collins was from rural Wyoming. He was a good lawyer (he claimed)
because he had a simple outlook. He said that it was his father who had
always said, "The only thing a man should own is a gun and a horse."
What Kane was saying to Gil was that his important assets should be in a
trust. In property development personal covenants were everywhere.
There was a trust set up with Kane and Anna as trustees. Gil could not
be a trustee as he might be compelled to meet obligations. The problem
arose when the trust received certain commissions which Kane disapproved
of. Kane could not be persuaded but had told Gil, "Under the trust deed
you have the absolute power to remove me." So he did.
He had intended to replace Kane with somebody more pliant, but he never
got around to it. So, Anna was the sole trustee. Everything that he had
worked so hard for over the years was effectively in her name. And just
when everything was turning to shit, she announced that she was leaving
him.
It was not just the money. Gil knew that. Things had not been going
well between them. The stress of the problems associated with this
development was a key factor. He had become snappy. A big piece of the
fault lay at his door.
But it was her expression of entitlement that made something in him snap.
She had done little to support him in all the years of marriage. She
insisted on taking him away from important tasks, she was never there
when he needed somebody to cover, she spent his money even when he was
trying to save. It seemed to him that her contribution to the marriage
was minimal. So how could she say that all the money in the trust she
controlled was "my money."
When she lay dead at his feet he wept. He loved her. He would have put
up with her for the rest of his life. It was her decision to end it. It
was her decision to gut him and leave his corpse to the vultures and the
wolves circling, while she lay luxuriating in some expensive spa.
Gilbert Thorsen was an organized person. He knew what he had to do.
Dispose of the body. Remove all traces of foul play, but not to overdo
it and make it look like a crime scene cover up. Fortunately, she had
died on the tile floor in the kitchen. Equally fortunate, he had rolls
of building plastic in the garage to wrap the body. And, a third stroke
of luck, he knew the concrete pour for the neighbor's pool (which had
helped to arrange with contractors he knew) would be happening the
following morning.
It was while he was attending to this task that he came upon the
outrageous plan to take her place.
By chance he and his wife were almost the same size. He was small for a
man, and she was tallish for a woman. She teased him about it,
especially when she was wearing heels. On more than a few occasions they
had worn sweat-tops from the other's wardrobe. And they had even shared
sneakers as their shoe size was close.
They both had fine features. His jaw was a little squarer than hers.
Her eyes were closer together than his, but she disguised this flaw with
clever eye makeup. Her eyes were blue and she had dark hair. He had
green eyes and light brown hair. But her hair was thin, and she wore
that dark blunt cut wig almost always. That wig was untouched and fitted
his head. All he needed was blue colored contact lenses, and he could
pick those up easily.
He could use her passport to travel. He knew that facial recognition
would pick that he was not her, so he could use the passport to leave and
enter other countries, but not to get back. The facial recognition and
fingerprints would not match. It was a one-way ticket out. He would
other papers to get back home.
But from overseas he could make new plans. With money he could be
whoever he wanted to be.
It made sense that Anna would leave to escape the problems. Her
departure for foreign places would be noted without surprise. She had
committed no crime. It also made sense that Gil would disappear
completely. Some of his partners were known to be ... well ...
gangsters, is a fair word. Either he died at their hands or he had gone
to ground to avoid them. Sensible. Logical.
Anna held the purse strings for the trust fund which was money that was
not frozen. He had to be her, at least until the money was in his hands.
He used her phone to send a text message exchange between them. There
were expressions of love and concern on both sides. He would need to lie
low. She would have to work with his legal team to sort things out.
He was careful about concealing the body. The pit for the pool was lined
and he was able to conceal the body under among the reinforcing so that
it would be completely surrounded in concrete. It was 3 am when he got
to bed.
The following morning he decided to rise as Anna. He took a robe from
her dressing room. He had cereal and fruit as she would have done.
Using her phone, he texted himself a morning greeting. But his phone was
in the river.
He decided that a first priority would be to cultivate a female voice.
He needed to call his Swiss bank in Lausanne, using her voice. He went
online and researched the methods used to imitate the higher tones, and
using his voice recorder app he had listened carefully to see that he was
getting it right. He discovered that he could follow a script, but he
had more to do to be able to respond to questions.
As for appearing to be female, he suddenly realized that he had taken on
an almost impossible task. But it was not as if he had much choice. He
would need to present himself at the bank. That meant travelling and
conversing with strangers, as a woman. And he had only a few days to get
it right.
The phone rang, but he did not answer. He knew that he could not risk
somebody calling into the apartment and finding him pretending to be
Anna. He needed to head to the cabin up state. He could work things out
there. He could text her friends, or use Facebook to stay in
circulation. The disguise could only work with strangers. When he felt
he was ready he would get on a plane and leave.
To his surprise he found that the internet was resourced for just this
circumstance. He pictured hundreds or maybe even thousands of
transgendered men doing what he was doing in the privacy of their own
homes - following the online seminars "How to pass as female",
experimenting with body-shapers, clothing and makeup. It all seemed very
odd, but he was convinced that he was making good progress.
So here he was in a hotel room in Lausanne, wearing his gaff, corset and
padding, with the wig on the bed and a dress hanging over the back of a
chair. Day seven and still no money.
The issue was the fraud case was still unresolved. The bank was no
refusing to release the funds, the "gnomes" as they were called, were
just delaying things. He had been in numerous meetings with Kurt Wiesel,
the bank executive handling his account - or rather, her account.
That was the reason for the call - to check to see whether the charges
were to be dropped, and to convince him to open a negotiation with
creditors. That call had finished some time ago, with a request that
Kane send an email through to Anna confirming details.
His laptop warbled and Gil checked the email. It was good enough to
forward to the Bank.
It was almost 3:30. He had spent most of the day in his hotel room
waiting for the workday to start EST. Now he was stir crazy. It was too
late to visit the Bank. It was too early for a drink. At least he could
get a coffee. He slipped into the dress, and checked his shaved legs
It was warm enough to leave them bare. He applied some makeup over his
well razored face, and slicked back his now shaggy hair to don the wig.
He checked himself in the full-length mirror. Very passable, so he
thought.
He told the desk to make up his room and trotted down the Rue de la Paix
to the Confiserie Caf?, his bag over his shoulder. He ordered a coffee
and sat down, opening a copy of "USA Today."
"Excuse me, American?" The woman asking was blonde and statuesque,
superbly dressed and well- presented and very attractive.
Gil was still unsure of himself in the situation, but he replied, "Yes."
"I hope that you won't be offended by this, but being in a similar
situation to you, I recognize a sister in transition ..."
Gill was not initially sure what she was talking about, but she had a
smile and a warmth about her that persuaded him not to brush her off.
And then when he did understand he was curious. He asked her, "What did
I do wrong?"
"May I join you?" she enquired. She thrust out a large but soft and
beautifully manicured hand, and introduced herself as she sat, "Nicole
Nazaire."
"You English is perfect," remarked Gil.
"We Swiss have three official languages so we all need to speak English
as well," she said. But I know the UK and the US very well."
"So, what am I doing wrong?"
"Nothing that I cannot fix," she said. She reached in her bag and pulled
out a business card. "Are you here to visit us at the clinic?" The card
carried a photo of an ornate building. Not a hotel but a clinic. Gil
remembered driving past it a few days before. The card was in French.
"I don't understand," said Gil.
"This is the largest private clinic in Lausanne. We specialize in
plastic surgery."
What a coincidence. Gil had just been thinking about plastic surgery the
evening before. He was wondering if he needed to change his appearance
if he was going on the run. But then he had thought that if anyone was
looking for a body, it would be his. Anne had left the country and was
now in Switzerland.
"We also do gender confirmation surgery," said Nicole. "I am a gender
counsellor."
Gil wondered for a moment. He could say, or he should say, "I am not
interested", but would that show that he was in disguise with bad intent?
He simply said, "I am sure that your services are worthwhile, but I am
not looking for anything like that just now." He said it in his best
feminine voice and with a little girlish flick of the hand to show that
he had the skills she might be selling.
"Oh, I am sorry," said Nicole with a look of dismay. "I am not selling
my services. I am just inviting you to visit the Clinic. I am paid only
to help patients. If you are not a patient, then any assistance I can
give you is ... gratuit. Like a gift from me to you. As I said, I have
been through what you are going through. I would like to help."
Gil was intrigued. "So, what do I need?" he asked.
"You need a facial," said Nicole. "We have a salon and spa next to the
Clinic, but not part of it. I am afraid that it is visible. That and I
can give some advice on how to use your hands. Free advice, but the
facial will cost you. But money that will be well spent, I swear.
"Can they take me tomorrow morning?" asked Gil. "I have a meeting in a
few days and I want to look my best."
"I'll make a call," said Nicole, and she pulled out her cellphone.
As it turned out, there was time if Gil was ready for an early start. He
thought, "Why not?" He had nothing else to do. It would take time to
settle the issue. He was stuck in a foreign city in disguise, with a
suitcase full of women's clothing. He was happy to be out of his hotel
room. And if he was prepared to admit it, there was something quite
liberating about walking down a street in a dress and heels, and looking
good in them.
He sat a talked to his new friend for some hours, and then offered to
take her for a meal. He learned more about being a woman in that
afternoon and evening that in two weeks on the internet. And he found
that he had a new appreciation of the issues facing transwomen like
Nicole, who handled every issue with such grace and class.
"Your problem is very common," said Nicole. "You know that you are a
woman, so you want to be one, and appear to everybody as female. But you
need to feel like a woman. You need to get up and look in the mirror
every morning and say it. You need to love everything feminine, even if
it means little to you. You need to change from within."
It really had been a most enjoyable afternoon. He was at last
comfortable in his disguise, knowing that he did not need to hide from
Nicole that he was not female, but he still did not have to disclose who
he was.
The following morning, he took her advice. For completely different
reasons he wanted to appear as female. He washed his hair. He normally
wore it slicked back, and it was a little longer than usual. But after
washing it could be a pixie cut. He said to his reflection, "I am a
woman. I feel like a woman." He smiled, and was surprised to see how
good he looked, even without dressing up.
He felt strangely confidant. He went to his wardrobe and fingered his
way through Anna's clothes just as she would. He found himself placing
his hand under his chin in a girlish way, without even thinking about it.
He said to himself, "This might just work."
He decided to walk to the Clinic without makeup on. In a dress and with
his hair a little spiky he felt he should test it. He walked in the
style suggested by the website on the topic. Nobody noticed him.
He reported at the salon and spa next to the Clinic at 8:00am, a time not
regarded as particularly early in Switzerland. Nicole was there to make
the introductions but then had to leave for other duties. She reappeared
a couple of hours later after the skin peel had been completed and the
new skin moisturized.
"I have been able to sneak you a subcutaneous ERH, which you can have
without charge," she said. "It will do wonders for your skin and hair, I
promise."
Gil was not really clear about what she was offering. He knew that
"subcutaneous" meant under the skin. He was expecting something in face,
but then there was a sharp jab into his upper thigh.
"It will help with the skin?" Gil asked.
"It will help with everything," said Nicole. "Now let's look at your
hair. You don't need a wig. You just need some extensions. You have
plenty of hair there. Let me see if we can get you into a salon chair
before lunch. If so, you will need to open your purse, but lunch will be
my treat."
Gil somehow felt as if somehow, matters were now completely outside his
control. The skin on his face had been stripped back and was now covered
in cream. He had received some kind of injection. Now he was being
seated in a hair dressing salon - the first time he had ever been in one.
And all the while the conservation about him was in French. He had no
idea what was going on.
Other staff spoke English and talked about all kinds of things, but it
seemed that Nicole was calling the shots.
"What is going on now?" he asked. "What do you have planned for me?"
"Nothing that you cannot undo if you wish," Nicole reassured him. "But
it is really very simple. If you want to present yourself as female; if
you want to walk down the street in a dress like that, then you should
look like one. Now you have done a great job. Your voice is very good,
and you walk and sit perfectly. But I saw though you yesterday. Trust
me. You put yourself in my hands and open that purse a little, and I
promise you that nobody will ever guess that you are hiding anything at
all."
Gil looked at her quizzically. She thrust a salon price list into his
hand.
"This is what I do," said Nicole reassuringly.
Face peels, brow lifts, Botox injections ... the list was long. And the
prices? No more that would be expected for a major refit, or so Gil
thought. After you deal in the expenses of property management all
quotes seem small.
"Let's do it," said Gil.
Part 2
The phone rang and she slid a long painted nail across to answer. She
pushed aside a lock of long blond curled hair aside to answer, holding it
clear of the drop earring.
"Hello," she said.
"Anna? Is that you?" It was Kane.
"Yes," she said. I seemed the sensible thing to say. That was who she
was, these days."
"I was trying to get hold of Gil. I've got some good news for him."
"He's not here," she said. He certainly was not. "Is it about the
criminal charges? Have they been dropped? Can we come home?"
"Well, I suppose I can talk to you," Kane conceded. "Yes. You can pass
on the message that the charges have been dropped. I can send you
through a copy of the minute from the Court. You should be able to
advise the Bank. But, as for coming home, Gil still has angry
creditors."
"Oh dear," she said. Things were not getting any better in terms of
building a fund to settle debts. In fact, the daily trips to the clinic
were eating into the funds. She still had plenty, but she liked being
rich. Why would she want to see money going to those awful people Gil
had done business with? They were his problem, not hers.
"Please pass on the message," said Kane.
"Of course," she said. "Thank you so much for calling."
She took another sip from her coffee cup, looking out over the lake. It
was a beautiful summer day and the caf? was perfectly located for her to
enjoy it. Her dress was light and her legs were bare. The sun shone on
them and she felt warm to her core.
She ran a finger as if looking for a run, in stockings that were not
there. There was a man at the table next to her whose eyes would be
almost falling into his cup. She had taken care to ensure that her legs
were smooth and moisturized. It was so much easier after the permanent
depilation that she had received at the clinic. Not a hair on her body
except the luxuriant mass of blond on her head, her perfectly shaped
eyebrows and just a little patch of pubic hair, which she kept shave
anyway.
There was lipstick on her cup. Rose peach. It reminded her to freshen
up. She pulled out a mirror. She always seemed to be looking in mirrors
these days. There were never enough. Women's bathrooms were now a
favorite haunt. Compact mirrors were far too small. She needed to check
her eye makeup one at a time. Perfect. Lipstick around. Pucker. Lips
pressed. Perfect.
She picked up her phone and her nail touched speed dial.
"Good afternoon, Kurt, it's Anna," she purred. "Yes, thank you.
Actually, I am just having coffee around the corner from the Bank. I
have some good news. The document you need has arrived. I will forward
it to you. I can do it from my phone. That's right. I think that
should sort things out. Shall I come to you? All right. I can be there
shortly. Thank you, Kurt. Goodbye."
The little mirror was still on the table. She held it at arm's length to
see the full picture. The beautiful blonde woman. Nothing like the Anna
in the passport photo. The plain woman that she, in a former life, was
married to. This woman looked spectacular. Everything that the clinic
had promised had come to pass.
Her phone warbled and she tickled the pad to forward the email.
She reached into her bag, and her purse. She left a 10 euro note in the
tray with the check, and put her things back in her bag. She stood
slowly, smoothing the skirt of her dress deliberately over her now
rounded bottom. She new the man at the next table was watching. She
liked the effect that she had on men. It was one of the best things
about dressing like this - about appearing as a woman.
She walked for him too. For him and all the other men whose heads were
turned in her direction. There were plenty. But she looked straight
ahead. She walked with purpose, her heels clicking on the ancient
cobblestones, a hazard to that fashion. Her curls bounced. She imagined
that the man at the table next to the one she had just left might now
have semen in his pants. Perhaps she was right.
The Bank was only two blocks away. Close enough that she could pause to
look into the window of the high fashion boutique and then the shoe shop
around the corner. Just the window. She could come back afterwards,
when she had access to more money.
The entrance to the bank was old and imposing, but not large. It was a
private bank. Select customers. Discrete.
"Anna Thorsen," she introduced herself to the receptionist. "I am her to
see Kurt Wiesel." Kurt Wiesel, the bank executive in charge of your
account.
"He is expecting you," came the reply. "You can go straight in."
She knew the way. She had been here before, more than once. The first
time she had looked very different. And strangely, every time she
visited Kurt seemed slightly different too. He had not changed at all.
He was still the same tall athletic, very Germanic-looking man, but he
seemed non-descript when she first met him. He seemed to appear better
looking every time she came.
He stood to meet her. He said, "Mrs. Thorsen," then he corrected himself
as she had requested on her last visit, "Anna. Please take a seat."
"Thank you, Kurt." She tucked her dress behind her and crossed her
magnificent legs.
"I have your email. Yes, I think that there is no problem in releasing
the trust funds. I apologize for the considerable delay, but you
understand because I have explained it to you. It's the international
anti-money-laundering treaties, you see. So difficult."
"I understand," said Anna. "But I have been able to put my time to good
use." And to illustrate she flicked just a single curl away from her
smooth neck. It had an immediate effect on Kurt. She liked that. She
liked everything about this.
"So, you are the trustee and the beneficiary of this trust," said Kurt.
"That makes you a very wealthy woman."
It was no news to Anna. But she smiled. Free and clear at last. What
kind of life would she lead? Could she ever get home? She would need a
new passport. She could then return as Anna, explaining the change in
her appearance as a radical beauty treatment. Could she get past border
control? Or should she even bother? She could buy another identity in
Europe.
"It also makes you a very desirable woman," said Kurt. "Beautiful and
rich." Then he added with a mischievous grin, "And clever."
"Which is the more important, Kurt?" said Anna playfully. "Would you,
for instance, only be interested in my money, or my body?"
"Well, your body is not yet completely to my satisfaction," said the
Banker. His amusement seemed genuine but somehow threatening. As Anna
looked at him she had a sudden vision of him in a Nazi uniform to match
his heavily German accented perfect English.
"I'm sorry?" She was worried. Very worried. Perhaps unnecessarily?
"I am not sure where the real Anna might be," said Kurt. "I suspect that
she is not in a happy place. But frankly, I don't care. I will take the
Anna I have got."
"I don't know what you are talking about." Anna was on the verge of
spluttering the words.
"Please do not be concerned," said Kurt. "I have a proposal to make. It
is ... a very common proposal. Nothing complicated. And, I have come to
realize that it is as much driven by the heart as it is the mind."
"What is it?"
"Anna Thorsen. Will you be my wife?"
"I am sorry. What did you say?"
"It is very simple. As I said, a common proposal. Here in Switzerland,
as in the United States, a husband cannot be required to give evidence
against to person he is married to. If that were you, your secrets would
be safe with me. And in Switzerland, as my wife, what is yours is mine.
People think of us as progressive, but do you know that women only got
the vote here in 1971? Of course, we would share the money, as a loving
couple should. I hope that we will be a loving couple. Do you think
that we will be? Anna?"
"I cannot be your wife. I cannot be anybody's wife. If you know
anything as you claim, you must know that."
"Oh, yes, I know what you are," said Kurt. "But as for that little
thing, the Clinic will look after that."
The End
© Maryanne Peters 2019
Alma
- 12.09.2020
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