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Part 3

Reminder to readers: The name after the chapter number tells you who is narrating that chapter.

Chapter Thirteen — Linda Pryce
August 29th, Friday Evening

Melinda looked wonderful under the lights cheering for her first varsity game. James had taken her to several Harvard-Yale games and explained the silly rules to her. I hadn’t understood what was happening on the field when I cheered. She also has the advantage of being taller. She could have any boy in school she wanted.

Morgan was wearing one of Melinda’s cheer sweaters. He was sitting with Zack and a couple of big girls. Every so often, one or two students would walk over to Morgan. I couldn’t tell what they were saying; I could only imagine. In my day, he would have been dragged outside the stadium and taught a lesson in selecting a suitable wardrobe.

~Morgan ... son of Diane Smith, the woman I despised most.~ During our sophomore year, I had written my project on what I was going to do with the family business when I took it over. My business plan for the next fifteen years included the education and training I would need. I had never strayed too far from that blueprint to create the success I enjoyed.

Diana’s project involved a study of women in literature. She proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that female literary characters were doomed to fail if they tried to run a business. It was a shot across my bow that I used as motivation. Every time I had to make a sacrifice to achieve my goals, I thought of the gauntlet she had thrown down.

After the game, I found Melinda. She had mentioned that “her” Morgan would be coming over to our house. She had no interest in going to one of the house parties to celebrate the victory. Richard Betson had been the hero of the game. They would have been so perfect together.

“Mom, did you see the game? Wasn’t it fabulous?”

She was absolutely beautiful, flush from cheering and the excitement of the win. No matter how many times I saw her, my heart never failed to swell with pride. “I saw the last few minutes; I had some things to attend to at one of the shops.”

“Wasn’t it great, Mrs. Pryce?” Morgan asked. “Did you see Wayne score his touchdown?”

“I really don’t know much about football, Morgan.”

“Wayne scored on a trick play, Mrs. Pryce. It’s called a tackle eligible pass.” He turned to talk to Melinda. For some reason, she had opened the front passenger-side door for Morgan and crawled into the back by herself. “Wasn’t it great? After everything that happened today, I hope Rich called that play and not the coach.”

“Did you call your mom?” Melinda asked Morgan. Why didn’t it surprise me that he was a mama’s boy? Diana had really fallen asleep at the switch with him.

“I called home before the game started and left a message telling her everything went well. I reminded her that I probably wouldn’t be home until my curfew at twelve thirty.”

“Don’t worry, my little Cinderella,” Melinda said. “I’ll have you home well before your carriage turns into a pumpkin. Of course, the dresses you’ll be trying on won’t be rags.”

~Dresses he’ll be trying on? I need to get to the bottom of that!~

“Melinda,” I said. “I hate to talk about such things in front of Morgan, but since it does involve him I think it appropriate. I got a call from Principal Halsted this afternoon. She filled me in on what’s been happening at school. Melinda, I wish you would talk these things over with me before you decide to make a spectacle of yourself. Morgan, I see you’re still wearing Melinda’s sweater. Are you planning on wearing more of her clothes?” I laughed at my joke.

“Actually, he is,” Melinda said. “Morgan and I are considering gong to ‘The Sting’ at the theatre tomorrow night. If he looks presentable in some of my things, we might carry the reversal of gender roles we’ve been doing in school a bit further.”

“Why do you want to do that, honey?” I asked.

“Our project requires total commitment,” Melinda said. “Gandhi said, ‘We must become the change we want to see.’ The more commitment Peaches shows to our project, the greater dedication others will have.”

Melinda was such an innocent. Gandhi? What had that silly little man actually accomplished? His country was still filled with ancient ideas and squalor. I drove in silence as the two chatted. He kept saying how other students were telling him how much he was doing for them by wearing Melinda’s sweater. Peaches had a hearty imagination.

It was obvious Melinda was taken with him. She was crying out for attention, using him to tell me how badly she was hurting. I couldn’t let her act the fool for too long. People would talk. I had to open up her eyes.

“Melinda, are you sure Morgan wants to dress in your clothes?” I asked.

“Mrs. Pryce,” he said. “It’s okay if you call me ‘Peaches,’ everyone else does. I’m okay with trying on some of Melinda’s things. It’s no big deal.”

I tried to imagine Richard Betson sitting next to me telling me ‘trying on’ Melinda’s clothing would be ‘no big deal’. The thought was ludicrous. “Okay ... ‘Peaches’ it is.”

It was an apt name for the tiny boy. I thought I would keep the conversation going a bit to allow “Peaches” to dig himself into a hole. If he backed out, he would be a wimp in Melinda’s eyes. If he went along ... well, no girl's going to want a guy in a dress!

“Melinda, what did you think Peaches should wear?” I asked.

“It'll be a movie and dinner date,” Melinda said. “A mid-length, soft pleated sundress, low heels ... with a sweater draped over his shoulders.”

“Peaches ... judging by the way Melinda’s sweater fits you, you would swim in Melinda’s sundresses. What do you wear, about a six petite?”

“Petite?” Peaches asked.

“Dress size,” I said. “What is your dress size?”

“I have no idea,” Peaches said. “I’ve never worn a dress.

~He had worn a padded bra under my daughter’s sweater to school, and I was supposed to believe he had never tried on a dress?~ I hoped Melinda was noting his dishonesty. If there was one thing Melinda couldn’t stand, it was a lack of honesty. It occurred to me that I could take the bull by the horns and show Melinda exactly what he was.

“Melinda, I don’t think your things will fit Peaches, do you?”

“I suppose you’re right, Mom,” she said. “Maybe some of yours would fit?”

“I don’t think Peaches wants to go around looking like someone my age, do you, Peaches?” I asked.

“You look real nice, Mrs. Pryce.”

“So, you would like to try on my dresses?” I asked.

“No!” Peaches said. “I mean ... I’m sorry for sounding so negative, but I don’t think I would want to do that.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea either, Peaches,” I said. “Although, I do have a few things that might work for you.” I looked over at Peaches; he was squirming. I had to be careful. “Melinda, what were you planning on doing for underwear?”

“I thought he could wear some of my old things,” she said. “Is that a problem?”

“It is if you want them to fit,” I said. “It also seems unseemly to have someone wearing your underwear. I know. Let’s go down to my shop in Millwood and pick up a few things.”

I was almost to our driveway when I turned the car around and started back in the other direction. “This will be fun.”

“Are you sure you want to do this, Mrs. Pryce?” Peaches asked. “We can just forget the whole thing. It’s not that important to my project. My project is really about what happens in school between boys and girls.”

“No, it isn’t, Peaches,” Melinda said. “Your project is about a normal relationship, and that would include outside of school. You’ve already taken it as far as Luigi’s. Mom, I don’t think Peaches should spend a bunch of money on an experiment.”

“This is all my idea, Melinda,” I said. “I get the clothes wholesale, so the cost will be minimal. My treat. At least, you both will get an accurate idea of how Peaches looks properly attired.”

I drove to my store on Broad Street. I owned two kinds of shops. Style by Linda Newlands was my flagship chain, with over fifty stores throughout New England, New York, and New Jersey. Those stores included a full line of ready-to-wear, including lingerie. I also had over thirty-five stores named Ruffles and Flourishes. They featured new and used formalwear and costumes. Our Broad Street store included both concepts under one roof. We had both logos and store names hanging on the mini-mall façade.

As we entered I noted about ten female shoppers ranging in age from 14 to 80. I had six people on the floor, with two helpers who rang up the sales.

I took Peaches to our misses section and started holding dresses up to him.

“What do you think of these, Peaches?” I said. “Is this what you had in mind?” I wanted to humiliate him in front of Melinda, but didn’t want her to realize what I was doing.

“I really didn’t have any idea,” he said. “What do you think, Melinda?”

“These dresses are what a girl your age would wear, if they were doing something that required a dress,” she said. “Dresses are such a personal choice; I think it’s best if you decide.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. She was actually encouraging her boyfriend, Diana’s son, to shop for and wear a dress. I studied the faces of several customers browsing in our part of the store. They didn’t seem to be bothered by what was happening. I suppose Melinda’s sweater, Peaches’ long hair, and that padded bra were enough of a costume to give the impression all was well.

“This one is in your color, Peaches,” I giggled. It was a peach shirt and skirt combination. The crinkled rayon outfit included a button front shirt, with long sleeves designed to come to the middle of your hands when they hung loose at your side. The full skirt was ankle length and fully lined. It had a matching leather fishnet belt that tied at the side. It was romantic. Much more girly than anything Melinda would wear. We had it in a size 6P.

I had been watching Peaches’ eyes closely. The first two dresses I had selected hadn’t made much of an impression on him. They were nondescript shirtdresses I wouldn’t expect anyone under fifty to wear. His eyes dilated as he examined my choice. An experienced sales person knows how to read the client. I’ve seen it in women for years, when I’ve suggested something provocative and daring. There’s a charm about the prohibited that makes it dreadfully attractive. ~He wants this dress!~

“The waist might be a problem, but it should fit you well through your shoulders and bust.” He flinched when I said bust. “We’ll use my office for you to try it on.”

I carried the dress and walked quickly toward the office I kept in the back of the store. I didn’t look back to give them a chance to argue. I opened the office door and turned on the light. Stepping aside to let him in, I said, “Melinda, you stand outside the door so no one comes in, I’ll check on a few things and be back in a minute to see how it fits.”

I laid the outfit across the back of a chair and left him to make a decision. A decision I was sure would be the one I had predicted. I would have bet the store he would be in that dress faster than you can say Christine Jorgenson.

Quickly, I went up and down the aisles of the lingerie department, gathering bits and pieces. I was now Peaches’ personal shopper. I was sure of his size and felt almost as sure of his inclination. My hands were filled with rose dew and camellia pink panties with matching bras. The panties were high cut bikinis and full cut briefs. They were satin or rayon, a few dripping with lace trim.

Moving with the speed of a power shopper, and knowing the whereabouts of every piece of merchandise in my store, I filled two shopping bags with slips, half-slips, pantyhose and thigh highs. One of the thigh highs had a lacy pattern woven into them. I even found three nylon nighties, a baby doll, a waltz length, and a chic apricot peignoir.

My last stop was in the foundation department, where I found several padded girdles, waist cinchers, and elastic panties. I set the packages by the front desk, taking only a pair of panty hose, one of the briefs, a bra, a cincher, and a girdle with me to the back room.

Melinda was in the office with Peaches when I got there. He had put on the skirt and blouse. As I had suspected, the blouse was hanging open. I knew it would be too tight around the waist to button.

“How is everything?” I said to my newest customer. I moved right in on him with the lingerie in my hands. He backed away a step as I approached. My desk blocked his escape. I reached out and caught him by the waistband, checking the fit. The waistband was elastic and had three buttons to allow for about a four-inch swing in size. He had set it on the largest size to get it on.

I pulled him toward me to get a closer look, through his open blouse, at the bra he was wearing. It was fairly utilitarian sports bra. ~My goodness! Those are his breasts.~ He must have been taking estrogen. I had heard there were boys like him, but I’d never expected to actually meet one.

“Mrs. Pryce,” Peaches explained, “I have gynecomastia. It's causing my chest to grow larger than normal.”

He must have noticed me staring. Despite everything else, at least he was honest. ~I can’t lose my focus though. This is not the boy for Melinda!~ “With the proper underwear, Peaches,” I said, “this outfit will look like it was handmade for you.”

“Mom, I don’t think Peaches needs to wear those things. I think this is a little much, don’t you?” Melinda said. Her boyfriend was standing in front of her in a swishy dress and his bra and she was trying to set fitting boundaries.

My dad always said you needed to give a fish a little line every now and again in order to land him. “Oh, of course, what was I thinking of? I didn’t mean to upset you, Peaches. Can you forgive me?” I asked.

“That’s okay, Mrs. Pryce,” he said. “You haven’t embarrassed me. I think you’ve been very nice to try to help us.”

“Are you sure, Peaches?” I said. “I can put everything back. Here let me help you out of that blouse.” I grabbed the blouse and started to help him out of it. He must have remembered his bra. He jumped like I had pressed a hot poker against his smooth, fair skin.

“No, that’s okay, Mrs. Pryce....”

“Okay,” I said. Not letting him finish his sentence and intentionally misunderstanding him. “Then let’s get a move on, so I can get home. Mr. Pryce will be home later tonight, and I want to prepare something for his dinner. Here, can you put this on yourself? Or, do Melinda or I have to help you?”

I held out the frilly bra. This was the moment of decision. If neither Peaches nor Melinda wriggled too much, I could net him and bring him in the boat.

“I can do it,” he said. That was a dead giveaway that he had been in Diana’s things. Most boys were good at taking off bras, but only a few 'fairy nice' ones could put them on.

“What size men’s shoes do you wear?” I asked.

“Five.” he said.

“Melinda and I will look for a pair of shoes for you while you get dressed. In a few moments, we’ll know if Melinda has a hot date for tomorrow night or not. This is such a lark. You two are such good fun for each other. Thank you for letting me lend a hand with your project. Melinda doesn’t ever ask me to help her with school anymore. I’m looking forward to having you around the house more. You’re something special. Now, you’re sure you don’t need any help?”

“I can manage,” my little speckled lake trout said as he flopped around the bottom of my dinghy.

Melinda and I looked for size seven shoes for the next few minutes. I grabbed a few pairs of Peds. Melinda settled on opened toed sandals that would look divine with his new clothes. I grabbed some dressy white flats, a pair of black two-inch heel pumps, and a pair of dressier shoes with a medium heel to go with an A-line dress of mine I might give him later in the evening at home. I slipped the shoes I had picked out into a bag and placed them by the other bags I had set aside.

We walked right by the costume jewelry. It was easy to convince Melinda to find a bracelet and a pair of clip-on earrings.

When we got back to the office, he was fully clothed. He was standing by my bulletin board reading a notice about a new position I was creating for an assistant buyer.

“Interested in a job, Peaches?” I asked.

“Not for me. What kind of person do you want to hire?”

“If you had more fashion knowledge, you would be perfect. I’m looking for someone about your age I can groom to create more of a youthful line for our shops. Someone who’s in touch with what’s in vogue.” ~I would hire you if I wanted to know what the young transvestite was wearing.~

Everything fit perfectly, once I adjusted the straps on his bra and yanked the waist-cincher up an inch or two, to where a girl's waist would be. He seemed to be a novice, but it certainly wasn’t his maiden voyage.

Melinda helped him slip on the earrings and the bracelet. He put on the sandals. I opened the closet door to access the full-length mirror that hung on the inside of the door. The closet door didn’t open fully. To get a good look he had to step partially into the closet. It was ironic for someone like him, dressing fully in front of people for the first time ... to go into the closet.

Melinda hadn’t said a word since we got back with the shoes. I needed to reengage her. “What do you think, Melinda?” I asked.

“I think ...” Melinda said. “I think I’ve got a date for tomorrow night. I also think I had better watch out or Peaches is going to make me look shabby.”

That wasn’t the reaction I wanted. I needed to raise the ante. “Should I wrap it for you, or do you want to wear it home?” Peaches looked at me in horror. I don’t know what scared him most, the idea of taking off his new duds, or the hint that I might actually force him to go out in public looking like he did.

“Mom,” Melinda said. “Peaches isn’t ready for that, yet. Let’s give him a minute alone to change into his things.” Melinda took me by the arm and steered me out of the office, giving Peaches the privacy he needed. My bet was he would leave on most of the underwear.

In a few moments, Peaches opened the door. I had given him another shopping bag and a garment bag to help him take his clothes home.

Just to the left of my office was the costume department. I saw Peaches looking in that direction and asked him if he would like to look around.

“Sure, Mrs. Pryce,” he said. “You’ve got a really neat store.” He probably was appraising Melinda’s inheritance.

“Melinda,” I said. “You mentioned a sock hop. I’ve got everything imaginable for you here. Look at these poodle skirts. We even have the old-fashioned bras that will make the angora sweaters look authentic.”

Peaches was staring at an Edwardian gown on display on a dummy. “Isn’t it lovely?” I asked.

“It’s exactly the kind of gown women wear to the Scott Joplin festivals,” he said. “It really is exquisite.”

~Exquisite? I’ll bet Rich Betson hasn’t used the word exquisite in his life.~

As we left the store, I picked up the other bags and asked Melinda and Peaches to carry them out to the car for me. They didn’t know they contained a transvestite starter kit. If Melinda wasn’t convinced tonight that she was caught up with a queen, she soon would be.

As we got in the car, I automatically pulled down the mirror I had clipped on the driver’s visor and checked my make-up. ~Make-up! Of course, the coup de grace.~ “Melinda, were you intending on using make-up on Peaches?” I asked.

“I thought I would,” Melinda said. Peaches turned and stared at her. “Girls wear make up when they go on dates to the movies,” she admonished him. “If this is too much for you, we can wait until you aren’t so scared.”

“I’m not scared, Mel,” he said. “I’m just surprised.”

“Melinda, you know I don’t approve of you borrowing make-up from other girls,” I said. “Peaches, you wouldn’t know this, being a boy, but make-up can carry all sorts of germs. It just wouldn’t be right for you to use Melinda’s make-up.”

“I guess we’ll have to skip the make-up,” Peaches said. “Oh darn! And I was really looking forward to it.” He was unmistakably making a joke, but I pretended not to get it.

“Oh! It’s no problem,” I said. “We’ll just pop into Millwood Drug and get a few things.”

“Mom, we don’t need to do this,” Melinda said.

“Mrs. Pryce,” Peaches said. “I really don’t want you to do this, really. You’ve already spent too much money on me.”

I pulled into a spot in the strip mall lot where the drugstore was located. I turned to Peaches, who again had been placed in the front seat by Melinda. I took his hand in mine.

“Peaches, Melinda hasn’t had many boyfriends. I’m not real good at this yet. As Melinda knows, I like to spend money. It is one of my favorite things. Sometimes when I spend money, I don’t consider the other person’s feelings as much as I should. Do you have a job, Peaches?”

His hands were extremely soft. He was cuddly, like a plush toy. A plush toy I needed Melinda to leave with her childhood, like her “blankie.”

“Yes, I work cutting lawns in the neighborhood,” he said.

“That’s good,” I said. “A boy should have a job and learn how to handle money. I’ll bet your mother is proud of you having a job. In a good day, a day when you cut quite a few lawns, how much money do you make?”

“I make about forty-five dollars, if I work four or five hours and cut about five lawns. Most of our neighbors are older. I don’t charge them as much as some people would,” Peaches said.

“You’re such a nice boy,” I said. I gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Melinda, you’ve got a very nice boy here. Peaches ...” I waited until he looked me in the eyes, which wasn’t too long. He makes a lot of eye contact for a boy! “Peaches, my businesses made about $6 million for me last year. The other day, I calculated that for every minute I worked last year I made just over sixty dollars. If I want to spend a bit of that, do you think I have that right?”

“I would think you have the right to spend what you make any way you want,” Peaches said.

“Good,” I said as I patted his hand. I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek like he was my son and not the son of my worst enemy. “Now that we’ve settled that, let’s get you some cosmetics, so I can get home and start on that late dinner for Mr. Pryce.”

We walked into the drugstore, which wasn’t busy on a Friday evening at about 8:00. The cosmetics section was just to the right of the front door. I was sure I wouldn’t get any more static from Peaches. I started dropping item after item into the shopping basket I had taken from the front of the store. His complexion was actually quite nice. No acne. Even under the fluorescent lights, he didn’t look sallow. In a way, it was too bad he wasn’t born a girl.

In a flash, I had covered the bottom of the basket with eyeliner, shadow, blush, foundations, lip-liners, etc. I had dropped several lipsticks in the basket, in shades I thought appropriate. I opened one of them and studied it.

“Peaches, come here a minute.” I took his face in my hand and pursed his lips. I had chosen a fairly light color called Aerial. “You could wear this to school. It’s so subtle. What do you think, Melinda?”

Her boyfriend was standing in front of her in a store with lipstick on his lips. It was a light color, but I had applied it quite liberally. It left him with a rose gleam on his mouth.

“It might be just the thing for school,” Melinda said. Was there no way to get her to see him for the fop he was?

The perfume was next to the cosmetics. I took the L’Air Du Temps and misted the air around Peaches. ~Take that, Diana!~ “What do you think of that fragrance?”

“It’s nice,” he said.

“Good, I thought you’d like it,” I said, as I filled the basket with L’Air Du Temps cologne, body lotion and powder.

“Melinda, would Peaches and you find me some aspirin and one of those small disposable cameras?” As they scurried away, I took the opportunity to jam in feminine deodorant, shampoos, hair spray, conditioner, body wash, hair binders, clasps, and dozens of other necessary things for my never-to-be son-in-law.

I gave Melinda the keys to the car and told her I would be out in a minute. I finished finding every little thing a teenage girl would want on her dresser or in her bathroom drawer and paid for it at the front counter. It came to about five minutes worth of my time. That price was a bargain to settle an old score and steer my daughter back to reality.

Chapter Fourteen — Melinda
August 29th, Later Friday Evening

Mom and Peaches were chatting away in the front seat like old friends, giving me a chance to catch my breath and think.

What a turn of events! One day, Mom is trying to steer me back to Richie, the animal. The next thing you know, she is doing everything she can to help with Peaches’ project. I guess she saw how important it is to us.

Some of what she did was strange. What the heck was the deal with the perfume and the lipstick? I could see the clothes. Clothes are my mom’s life. There is no “going overboard” when it comes to clothes.... She was used to spending scads of money keeping her wardrobe fashionable. Money meant nothing to Mom on certain things. Her Botox shots cost her much more than she spent tonight, and their effect doesn’t even last that long.

That dress Peaches chose was really something. It was much too femme for me. But on him, it looked really cute.

“Melinda, honey, give me a hand with some of these packages,” Mom said. We were in our garage. “Those four can just stay in the car. The cosmetics are in that bag. And this one, this and this; Peaches will need them for your little fun tonight.”

We carried everything into the house. “Mom, what room do you think Peaches and I could use to do our thing?”

“Why don’t you just go up to your bedroom, honey?” she asked.

“Mother! A guy in my bedroom, have you gone insane?”

“Melinda, don’t be such prude,” Mom said. “Peaches is one of the girls tonight. He’s here for a makeover, not to seduce you.”

The look on Peaches’ face was one of delight, fading into misery. He was being handed the keys to the Forbidden City, only to realize the “city mother” considered him to be no threat to her daughter’s virginity.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Don’t be silly, Melinda,” she said. “If I can’t trust Diana Smith’s daughter, who can I trust?”

“Son, Mom,” I said quietly, hoping Peaches didn’t hear her faux pas.

“Of course, son,” Mom said, “What did I say? Are you hungry, dear? Can I make you two a sandwich?”

“I’m not hungry.” Peaches nodded in agreement with me. “I’ll microwave some kettle corn later to eat while we watch our video. We’ll be up in my room.”

Peaches and I gathered all the packages and went down the hall and up the front stairs to my bedroom suite. I had a full bath off my bedroom and a walk-in closet. I finally had convinced my dad to let me decorate my room. I got rid of the canopied bed I had had since I was three. Out went all the white and pink, and in came more green, blue, and lavender pastels.

“Now what?” Peaches asked, as he plunked down on the over-stuffed chair where I spent hours reading.

“First things first,” I said. I took his hands, pulled him out of the chair, and circled his waist with my arms. His perfume was strong, but not offensive. He offered no resistance as I brought him to me. It was unusual kissing someone wearing lipstick. As our mouths slid against each other, it evolved from odd to exotic to tantalizing.

We rocked in each other’s arms, the bed called to us. It was an arm-length away. With my mother in the house, it might as well have been five hundred miles across the Sahara Desert. ~Besides ... no sex until my senior year, at least.~

“Peaches, you’ve had a rough day,” I said. “If you’d rather not do this tonight, we can just watch a video.”

“It’s up to you,” he said. “I’m ready and willing to follow your lead.”

“Okay, I did some thinking, planning for this.”

“I imagined you would.”

“The first thing we need to do is wash your hair.”

“It’s clean, I washed it this morning.”

“I’m sure it’s clean,” I said. “You’re very neat. But I want to try putting a little curl in it, so I want to shampoo and condition it first.”

I had him take off my cheerleading sweater, and then I gave him a sunny, yellow dressing gown. To get make sure his jeans didn’t get wet, he pulled them off. He was dressed in only his bra and shorts under my tricot robe. The bright yellow brought out his wholesome complexion

I had a low-backed chair in my closet that I brought into the bathroom. I had him sit in the chair with his back to the sink. Once he bent far enough back in the chair, I was able to wash and condition his hair, which was soft and manageable. I wrapped his hair in the standard towel turban and put a mudpack on his face, and told him not to talk until I took it off.

“You’ll owe me big time for this beauty treatment,” I said. For the next twenty minutes I had him all to myself. He couldn’t say a word. I took full advantage of the opportunity to tell him how truly wonderful he was. I sang his praises for every great thing he had done over the past few days. I compared him favorably to Rambo and Rocky. After I said those two names, I wished I hadn’t, considering how small Sylvester Stallone is.

When the mudpack dried, I rinsed it off and envied his flawless skin. I had been playing with make-up most my life. Mom encouraged me to experiment, as long as I didn’t wear too much outside our house. I was no cosmetician, but I knew what worked and what didn’t.

I decided to go with full nighttime, formal make-up. It wasn’t what he would use to go to a movie, but seeing himself looking really good might give him the confidence to try dressing completely as a girl for our date. As I was finishing, Mom came in. She didn’t knock, nor did she show any surprise at how Peaches was dressed.

“Peaches,” she said. “I found this old cosmetic case in my closet. I don’t use it any more. You’ll need something so all your things don’t get spoiled. I also found a few slacks and shirts that you might feel comfortable wearing. I haven’t worn them in years; I’m sure they would fit you.”

Mom pulled each item out and held them up for our inspection. The pants were navy and black and were stretch; they were made of rayon, polyester, and spandex. There were six blouses in a variety of colors. They all were form fitting and a little daring, but very Ann Taylor. One was a blue striped, wrap silhouette blouse I had seen my mother wear when she wanted to look sexy. There were two square neck sweaters ... that would certainly emphasize his bust. She had brought them in, in a box along with belts and scarves to match. At the bottom of the box was a dark teal A-line dress. It was a slightly stretchy blend of acetate and Lycra. It would float around Peaches as he walked. Like most of my mother’s clothes, it was simple and elegant.

My mom kept up a stream of advice as to when and where he should wear each item. Peaches respectfully listened to her, not asking any questions or betraying what he was thinking.

“Mrs. Pryce,” Peaches said, when she finally took a breath. “You’re really being good to me.”

“It’s nothing,” Mom said. “I owe this and much more to you mother.”

“Mom,” I said. “We’ll be done in about fifteen minutes. I’ll bring Peaches down, once I get him back in that dress. I’ll bring him to the kitchen, so you can see him and give us your honest opinion. Then Peaches and I want to watch a video. When will Dad be home?”

“Your father called, he'll be here in an hour.”

“Okay,” I said. “I don’t want him to meet Peaches for the first time in a dress. Once you’ve helped us make our decision, he’ll change into one of your outfits.”

“Why can’t I wear what I had on when I came?” asked Peaches.

“I think Mom’s clothes are less of a problem than Dad seeing you in my cheerleading sweater,” I said. “It’s just a guess, but if I were a dad, I wouldn’t want to see a boy in my daughter’s clothes. I would wonder when, where, how, and why he took them off her.”

Peaches blushed so deeply I could see it through his make-up.

Mom left and I went to work on his hair. I clipped here and there, but mostly created sweeping waves with my curling iron. As I worked on his hair, I told him how sexy he looked in his dress. I also told him how perfect his make-up had turned out. Mom had done a great job picking the colors.

I accidentally dropped my hairbrush on his lap. When I grabbed for it, my hands brushed against his hard penis. I looked into his eyes and saw fear. The last thing I wanted was for Peaches to fear me. My hand went back to his penis, “I didn’t think your penis would be so big.”

The only other penis I had ever touched was Richie’s, that night we had parked. Peaches’ was bigger than Richie’s. Given their relative body size, I would have expected Peaches’ penis to be much smaller.

“Stay there,” I said. I went to the door and closed it and set the lock. As I came back to him, I asked him to be very quiet.

“Would it be all right if I looked at your penis?” I whispered in his ear. He seemed to like it when I whispered in his ear. He nodded his head. I pulled down his jockey underwear. I hadn’t looked at Richie’s thing. I had been too scared. I had seen pictures in medical journals, but they didn’t do Peaches’ penis justice. It was handsome. “May I touch it?” Again, he nodded.

It was smooth, incredibly smooth. I whispered in his ear again, “I love the way your penis feels.” When I whispered, his penis lurched in my hands. “Oh!” I said, “That feels so neat.” I kissed his ear and his penis lurched. I kissed him lightly on the lips and it throbbed. It made me feel so wanted. It was instant feedback telling me what my Peaches enjoyed.

“Peaches,” I said. “Have you ever masturbated?” He nodded again and blushed his pretty little blush. “What would you like me to do?”

“Rub my penis with body lotion,” he said. “Rub up and down and squeeze it like you squeeze my hand.”

I was close enough to the sink I didn’t have to quit holding his penis to reach the lotion. I didn’t want to quit. I had grown quite fond of his penis over the past few minutes. I spread lotion along his penis with my left hand, never losing my purchase with my right.

“Peaches, do you love me?” I asked. “Will you always be like this with me? Will we always be this close? Can we stay like this forever?” I was whispering all of this.

Peaches was tensing. His penis was like a rock in my hand. A pulsating rock. When Peaches answered, pledging his love and devotion, his voice was more melodious; he spoke with a lilt.

Suddenly he moaned. His come shot across the bathroom again and again as his penis throbbed and throbbed. I’ve never felt anything like that. I looked at his perfectly made up face, his heaving breasts, and made a vow to myself to make him do this with me again and again. From the look on his face, I didn’t think he would object.

His BVDs were covered with his bodily fluids and lotion. I rinsed them in the sink. When I came out of the bathroom, Peaches hadn’t moved; he was sitting on the bed with his head down. There were tears in his eyes.

I sat next to him, hugged him, and quietly asked. “Peaches ... what’s wrong?”

“Melinda, is it wrong for me to like wearing girls’ clothes?”

“Heavens, no!” I said. “You are you. I find you enormously attractive, no matter what you wear. Olive Juice!” We snuggled.

He asked me to leave the room while he changed into his lingerie and dress.

“How’s he coming?” Mom asked.

I jumped, as I hadn’t heard her climb the stairs. “We’ll be down in a minute. He’s changing.” My heart was pounding from the massive amounts of adrenalin surging through me.

When I went back into the bedroom, I gave him a big hug to reassure him. He looked extremely cute, but somewhat disoriented. I helped him get his hair right, his jewelry on, and fixed the damage I had done to his face.

When we went downstairs, Mom said he was perfect and that he would have no problem getting people to believe he was born a girl. I could see no flaws, other than his mannerisms and speech, and we would work on those.

Mom took a bunch of pictures. He changed into a pair of Mom’s slacks and one of her tops. It was an ice blue, rayon/nylon tied v-neck sweater with three-quarter sleeves. While it was the most demure of the tops she had given to him, it made him look hot. The outline of his new bra was visible.

He used the same sandals. His figure suggested that he was still wearing the other lingerie Mom bought as well. I suppose he had no choice, his underwear was wet. I noticed some hair on his arms. That would have to go; another night. I was looking forward to holding him again as soon as possible.

When Dad came home, he poked his head in the door of the movie room. He didn’t really look at us other than to see we were cuddled together on the couch with our clothes on. I’m almost sure Dad didn’t notice Peaches was wearing Mom’s hand-me downs or the make-up on his face.

As we cuddled, I realized I enjoyed Peaches’ perfume. From the bulge in his ... uh ... Mom’s jeans, it appeared he was enjoying himself, too.

Chapter Fifteen — Diana Smith
August 30th, Early Saturday Morning — Just After Midnight

My mother had always been up waiting when I came home. As much as I trusted Peaches, I would be there, give him a small kiss, check his breath for alcohol, and his eyes for dilation.

I didn’t go to the window when Linda’s car pulled into our driveway. I waited a few moments then reached for the light switch on the wall next to my chair to turn on the outside light. I could hear their excited voices.

The door opened. Peaches slid in several packages. His arms were full of boxes and bags as he struggled to get in and close the door behind him. ~What was he wearing?~ His back was to the chair where I sat, with my book opened on my lap. He hadn’t seen me yet. He had done something to his hair. His hands went to it, fluffing it as he turned. He was smiling. His body language insinuated self-assurance. There was a floral essence about him. I gasped.

“Mother, did I frighten you?”

He was dressed like a member of the Maple Ridge Women’s Club. His face was done in full make-up, a bit overdone; even for a girl his age. ~Where did he get those clothes? Why? What was this all about?~ I had noticed someone had been going through my things. I assumed Peaches was curious or was looking for something. ~Was he wearing one of my bras?~ His bust line was all wrong for the sports bra I had purchased for him.

“Mom, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

~A ghost; maybe a specter from the past?~ “It’s amazing.” He was still wearing the locket I had clasped around his neck. I got out of my chair, turned him toward the mirror by the front door, opened the locket, and then asked him to compare my picture to his reflection in the mirror. His hair was styled much like mine had been. Had I retained my youthful glow, we would be twins.

“Why are you dressed like this?” I asked.

The words tumbled from his mouth as he detailed the last seventeen hours. It was plain to see he was deeply in love with Melinda. As easy to see was the perilous game they were playing. He had been lucky so far. It pained me to see how excited he was; knowing this had to stop. Maple Ridge was progressive, but it did have its limits as to what it would accept.

We had moved to our kitchen table. For some reason, Peaches and I had most of our best talks around that table. I had placed a dark green tablecloth on it earlier in the evening and had brought in fresh flowers from my garden. Their scent was being overpowered by Peaches’ perfume. My fingers traced the embroidered pattern in the tablecloth as he chirped with excitement.

Everything he said related to Melinda in some way. The game was awesome, with Melinda cheering the team on to victory. The convocation had been thrilling, because Melinda had given such a stirring speech. The sun and moon were doing their jobs, because Melinda had orchestrated their movements. ~Was I envious? Jealous?~ I had been the woman in Peaches’ life up until a few days ago. He had a great friend in Mouse, but she was more of a tomboy.

As we talked, I marveled as to how mature Peaches looked. It wasn’t just the make-up and the clothes that were designed for someone older than him. There was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there last night.

There was maturity in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. It was nearly two. I was torn between being a good mother by sending him to bed and a desire to know everything. He got up and went to the refrigerator for another glass of skim milk. I had made brownies, which we were devouring between bites of our conversation. As my eyes followed him, they fell on the packages he had left in the front room.

“What’s in all those bags and boxes?” I asked.

“Some of them are filled with things I’ll need while I’m working on my project,” he said. “But, there’s three or four ... I don’t have any idea what they are. Mrs. Pryce just handed them to me with the other stuff. Some are from her store. She’s been so nice to me tonight. You know, at the start of the night I didn’t think she liked me at all, but as things went on, we became best buddies. She is so giving.”

I went with Peaches to look at what he had brought home. His sandals had enough heel to influence the way he walked. He had a disconcerting sway in his hips.

He first showed me the cosmetics he had used to look the way he did. Then he let me see the dress he had worn. It was so sentimental. I thought back to my college days. Back before I became ‘Marian the Librarian’ with my white button-down cotton blouses and my simple skirts. His dress was something I would have worn when I was 18 or 20. There was a time when the hue of that dress was my favorite color.

Another bag contained slacks, blouses, and the other dress Linda had given him. They had hardly been worn. To my eye, they were all still very much in fashion. ~Why would she give him those things?~ They had designer labels. It was at least two thousand dollars worth of clothing.

There were two large bags from the drug store. Their contents astounded us both. They were packed with things a girl would use. Perfume, hair products, hair clasps, nearly everything imaginable a girl would buy for her private needs at a drug store. I half expected there to be sanitary napkins mixed in. ~What was the idea?~

He had started to pull items from another bag from Styles by Linda Newlands when he quickly shut the bag and blushed. I reached for the bag and pulled out piece after piece of light, airy lingerie. It wasn’t the no-frills cotton panties and bras I had become used to wearing; it was underwear made to thrill.

There were shoes, pantyhose, slips ... our living room resembled a college dorm room with clothes and girly things strewn about. The last bag contained three of the most frou-frou nighties I had ever seen. A few years ago, I had gone into a Victoria’s Secret to see what all the “to do” was about. Their merchandise was a bit silly for me. ~What was Peaches supposed to do with that nightwear? Maybe she’d bought him gifts so he could give them to Melinda?~ That made no sense. Furthermore, I’m not sure I wanted my son giving girls such intimate things!

Other than odd, embarrassed, short statements of wonder, we hadn’t said much to each other. I was lost in thought. The confidence that had been all over Peaches’ face had changed to anxiety.

I quit thinking about myself and concentrated on my son, who clearly needed me. I was back into a role I understood. For a while tonight we had become sisterly. It was pleasant, but unfamiliar ground.

I found myself going to the phone to demand an explanation from Linda. At the last moment, I realized it was almost three in the morning. It would have to wait until tomorrow.

“Do you have any idea why Mrs. Pryce did all of this?” Peaches asked.

“Not at all,” I said. I asked Peaches to hang up some of the clothes so they wouldn’t get wrinkled. They would have to go back to the store and Linda’s closet. I went to get hangers.

I had stored some old high school things in a box on the shelf in my closet. I took it down and found what I had been thinking about. It was Linda’s high school project. The school had made Xeroxed copies for each sophomore. She had won the contest hands down.

I took the hangers out to Peaches. He was trying to fold the lingerie and was having problems. He would learn, I thought. ~What? Where did that come from?~ There was no reason for Peaches to learn how to take care of lingerie. Sure, he had to wear a bra, but that was just for a short while. There are some things men don’t do.

I sat down with Peaches on the couch. I pulled him in tight to me and showed him Linda’s paper.

“Peaches,” I said, “there are certain things men don’t do.” He looked out at me from under a heavy coat of mascara. He looked like a doe in headlights. “And, there are certain things women don’t do. I wrote a paper for my high school project that mildly protested the treatment of woman in fiction. My point was to illuminate how women were pigeonholed as incompetent business people in books.”

“Did you prove your point, Mom?” Peaches asked.

“I did, but it was really a meaningless gesture. The women’s movement was gaining steam and I wanted to do my part. Writing an insipid little paper was about all my mind would allow. I was throwing spitballs at the onrushing freight train. It had been incredibly hard for me to do even that. But Linda. Linda was so far ahead of the curve. The rest of us talked about glass ceilings and how we would be prevented from attaining our due. Linda planned, plotted, and did. She easily won the sophomore project contest.”

“Were Linda and you close friends?”

“About as close as Mouse and you,” I said. “We were together ten hours a day, doing something. Then she became preoccupied with her plans. By the end of our sophomore year, she no longer had time for me. She was conquering the world. Her grandfather started Newlands Dry Goods and kept it going for thirty years. Her dad expanded it into a chain, but it wasn’t until Linda became its CEO that it really took off. Last I heard she has over eighty stores. Not bad for a girl who couldn’t afford to have her own car in high school.”

“Do you wish you had conquered the world? You’re smart and hard working. If you had wanted to, I’m sure you could have.”

“I’ll leave that up to the Lindas of the world. I’m just a spitball thrower. Linda was the one to break down labels. I admire Linda for what she’s done — and she’s raised quite a daughter.” A spark of confidence shot across Peaches’ face at the mention of his girlfriend.

“Mom,” Peaches asked, “do you know how to jitterbug?”

“Sure, why do you ask?”

“I need to learn how before the sock hop. Could you teach Melinda and me?”

“I could, but I don’t know the men’s parts. Maybe Gordon would help. He’s an excellent dancer.”

“Gordon?”

“Mr. G.”

“Oh, yah, maybe he would be good....” Peaches had stretched out on the couch next to me with his head in my lap as we were talking.

“I almost forgot to tell you, Judy called. She wants your help with her project.”

“Uhmmm ... I’ll call her in the morning. I want to talk to her about a job opening I saw.”

Peaches nodded off snuggling into me. I would have to wake him and help him cleanse his face. He couldn’t sleep in that make-up. But for the moment, I would let him nap. I brushed his curls with my fingertips.

My thoughts ran to the things that still were tossed all about us; the satin and lace that scared me so much. Linda liked her potatoes covered with salt, pepper and gravy. I was content to eat mine right out of the skin with no adornment.

Was she so wrong to want Peaches to push his project to the extreme? I remembered Mr. Woodrow telling us that our sophomore projects might change our lives forever. What would Peaches discover over the next few months?

He wasn’t going to be my little boy forever.

Chapter Sixteen — Zack
August 30th, Saturday Afternoon

The sophomore project was making everyone think and act eccentrically. Peaches’ new relationship with Melinda was unsettling. LeighAnn was distracting. Whatever it was, I wasn’t the student I had been in the past.

Mr. G wrote a new Mark Twain quote on the board on Friday: “I never let my schooling get in the way of my education.” I had no trouble deciphering that one.

Before my sophomore year, I went to school and learned as much as I could. I would then go home, do my homework, and prepare for school the next day. Mouse and Peaches were there to help me or for me to help them. All three of us centered our day on our classroom studies.

As a sophomore, I couldn’t wait to get out of class so I could move on with the more vital part of my day. I was still attentive in school and worked hard to make sure my homework was done properly, but my focus was divided between the process we had entered into to change the school, and, of course, LeighAnn. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was that a girl like her was interested in me.

Mouse came over to my house Saturday afternoon, the day after the first football game of the season. I had just spent an hour at the keyboard working on a new ragtime tune I was writing. Mouse was dressed in a pair of jeans that had seen better days. Some of our classmates bought jeans that came off the shelves tattered and torn. The ones Mouse bought were dark blue and stiff. Even so, if Mouse had a younger sister, she would never wear hand-me-downs. If Mouse wasn’t out on a mountain trail or thinking about being out on a mountain trail, she wasn’t happy.

“What do you think of Peaches and Melinda?” she asked.

“A week ago, I was scared for them. Now I’m terrified.”

“Terrified?”

“Did you hear about what went on in the locker room after the game?” I asked.

“I expect there was a wild celebration. We had to win that game to have a shot at the conference championship.”

“It was a huge victory, but that didn’t stop things from becoming confrontational. This morning I went to the weight room. Several of the players who didn’t get in the game much were lifting. All they could talk about was the fight between Rich and Wayne.”

“Fight? Was anyone hurt?”

“Not really. Rich threw a punch. Wayne wrestled him to the ground, and held him until Coach Ratzlaff broke it up.”

“They won the game,” Mouse said. “Both of them scored touchdowns. What did they have to fight about?”

“What do you think?”

“Melinda and Peaches?”

“Yep. Everyone was excited after the game. One of the guys pretended to interview Rich for television by asking, ‘Rich Betson, you just won the biggest game of your life, how are you going to celebrate?’ Rich was supposed to say, ‘I’m going to Disneyland,’ so everyone could laugh. Rich decided to go for an even bigger laugh. He supposedly said, ‘I’m going to find me a little weasel in a cheerleader’s sweater and KICK his butt.’ I guess there wasn’t much laughter. Wayne yelled at Rich, ‘You touch Peaches and I’ll kick your butt.’”

“Really.”

“That’s when Rich lost it and tried to punch Wayne.”

“Lucky for Wayne, Richie missed him,” Mouse said.

“No. Lucky for Rich. Rich is big, but he’s small compared to Wayne. Wayne can bench almost as much weight as I can. Both of them were put on Coach Ratzlaff’s probationary list. Neither of them can play in the first quarter of the next game. If they do something else during the season, they’ll receive a full game suspension.”

“That’s tough for Wayne.”

“I don’t think it bothers Wayne that much. Our next game is against a weak team. Wayne wouldn’t play much anyway once the score was one-sided. Coach Ratzlaff won’t run up the score on anyone.”

“Then it’s over,” Mouse said. “Why did you say you’re terrified?”

“The suspension is no big deal to Wayne, but it’s huge to Rich. There are recruiters at every game watching Rich. They’ll see that he’s been benched. Most college coaches don’t want troublemakers on their teams.”

“Richie can’t possibly blame Peaches for his own mistake, can he?”

“That’s part of it,” I said. “Let me take you inside Rich’s brain. Rich is homophobic, amongst other things. Melinda was once his girl friend. Now Melinda is dating someone Rich thinks is a homosexual because he’s small, wears a bra, and wore Melinda’s sweater to school. That makes Rich suspect of being a homosexual by association.”

“That’s nuts! — All we can do is watch Peaches’ back. Do you think Peaches is homosexual?” Mouse asked. “He does seem to enjoy the female role.”

“I don’t think he’s homosexual at all,” I said. “He’s definitely attracted to Melinda, but I agree that there’s something different about this game Melinda and he are playing. I don’t believe for a minute that it’s entirely about his sophomore project, but if he is homosexual, I couldn’t care less. That’s his business, not mine, and certainly not Rich’s.”

“Too bad there isn’t a pill we can sneak into Rich’s food to make him a decent human being,” Mouse said.

“Actually, scientists are finding more and more links between the chemicals in our bodies and personality traits,” I said.

“That’s what you should do for a project,” Mouse said. “You should go into your laboratory and mix up an anti-jerk serum.” We both laughed. Mouse has always been able to make me feel comfortable. I couldn’t ask for two better friends than Peaches and her.

“Speaking of projects; after I lifted this morning, I had Mom drive me out to where you found your butterfly.”

“I almost forgot. I was down at State College this morning meeting with Professor Kjellen. He’s almost certain my butterfly is a new species. He has to verify his findings. He wants me to gather a few more specimens today that he will pick up tomorrow. He should have a definitive answer within a month.”

“Congratulations!” When Mouse got excited, she went through a metamorphosis and became gorgeous, just like one of her butterflies. When we were little, Mouse’s mom had sung a song about Molly Mouse. I had always thought I would give Molly Mouse a whirl. ~Why hadn’t I?~

“You probably couldn’t see much from the road,” Mouse said. “The brush in the ravine is pretty dense.”

“I went down to the actual site.” It had been really hard. I couldn’t use my crutches on the rough terrain, so I walked on my hands. Luckily, I had brought heavy gloves.

“Why on earth did you do that?”

“I wanted to share your discovery with you. Even though it appears this is a new species, and I hope it is; I’m just as certain there’s pollution in Wilderland, from either Mudd’s or Betson’s. There’s so much mutation happening around the United States. My initial research for my project has centered on the Minnesota mutant frogs. The ravine is a weird spot. To the one side you’ve got all that junk on Mudd’s property; on the other side are the manicured fairways of the country club. Not too far away is the chemical plant. The butterflies’ little island of nature is in between.”

“I love going there. You know, it’s possible we’re both right. I’m hoping you’re wrong about Betson Chemicals causing the pollution. It would pour gasoline on Richie’s fire.”

“Mouse, have you ever read “Silent Spring” by Rachel Carson?”

“Of course. Mom and Dad think it’s one of the most important books ever written.”

“When Rachel Carson started writing about pesticides, she couldn’t find a magazine that would publish her story; so she expanded her research and wrote a book. For quite some time after her book came out, she was attacked from all sides, especially from the chemical companies. She had to win many, many battles to prove her point. If I have to win a few battles in Maple Ridge, I’m going to prove there’s pollution in that ravine. If the culpability falls on Betson Chemicals, Rich is just going to have to deal with it.”

Chapter Seventeen — Mouse
Saturday Afternoon 9/5

We had been talking about the sock hop and who was bringing whom. As they went on and on about this couple and that couple, I thought about the possibilities of asking a girl. I reasoned I had better come out to my parents first, and then think about making my sexual preference public.

Zack was throwing a party for Peaches’ fifteenth birthday. LeighAnn glided into the Murphy family room with a huge, beautifully decorated cake. I wouldn’t have worn the dress she had on if you horsewhipped me. She looked like a cross between Martha Stewart and Scarlett O’Hara. Any moment I expected her to say, “I do declare, life is too complicated not to be orderly.”

Zack liked her; otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to stand her. She was as sincere as her false eyelashes. She had put a great deal of effort into making that cake, but it seemed as if she wanted to make Peaches’ party all about her.

~Ahhh. I was just being a cat instead of a Mouse.~ I didn’t like sharing my friends. I had had Peaches and Zack all to myself for years. I needed to lighten up and cut LeighAnn some slack. No. That didn’t really explain it. Mel and I were starting to feel real close.

“LeighAnn,” I said. “Can I help you? That cake is so big and inviting. I can’t wait to taste it.” The cake gave off a strong aroma of vanilla and lemon.

“Well, thank you, Mouse,” LeighAnn answered as she pushed the cake into my arms. I turned and placed it on the table, which she could’ve easily done. “I’m plumb tuckered from baking all morning. I need to sit down and rest a bit, or I’ll faint dead away and miss the gosh darn party.”

~We wouldn’t want LeighAnn to get the vapors or anything!~

Peaches, Melinda, Zack, and I had been waiting for LeighAnn to show. Her grand entrance occurred forty-five minutes after the party had been scheduled to start. The rest of us were in swimsuits. Evidently she hadn’t read the invitations. She must have thought she had been invited to a cotillion.

LeighAnn sat down in a chair, even though there was plenty of room on the couch with Zack. Everyone was paused until her dress was positioned just so around her.

“As I was saying,” Zack said. “There are a lot of people going to the sock hop. Everyone is talking about wearing a costume. Wayne told me he’s going with Judy.”

“Judy!” LeighAnn screeched. “Are they cousins or something?”

“As far as I know, they’re not related,” I said.

“Then why is he dating her? He’s a fine-looking guy. Surely he can do better than her. She does have a pretty face and such, but, my goodness, she’s as big as a house.”

There was a long moment of silence, broken by Zack. “Judy’s a fine person. I think Wayne is too. They should have fun together.”

“Zack, honey,” LeighAnn said. “I’m sorry if I said something to upset everyone. I didn’t mean Judy was big like you, Mouse. You’re big and lovely, that’s much different than just being big.”

~Little LeighAnn and her little cake would look lovely in Zack’s little pool. ~

“Did I tell you Judy has a new job?” Peaches’ face was a deep red. He was making a Herculean effort to keep his temper in check and change the topic. “She’s working for Mel’s mom.”

“She is?” Mel looked puzzled.

“She started two days ago,” Peaches said. “You remember that job listing that was posted on the bulletin board in your mom’s store?”

“Uh huh, Mom was looking for a buyer trainee, someone young who knows fashion.”

“Judy is always carrying fashion magazines. I talked to her about the job, and she went in for an interview. Your mom hired her on the spot. Your mom even called me and thanked me for sending her in. She said Judy really knows her stuff. She said Judy was much more informed about the fashion industry than she expected any high-school girl would be.”

“Isn’t that amazing?” LeighAnn said. She didn’t elaborate, which kept her and her cake dry, for the moment. “Peaches, I thought for sure you’d be coming to school in dresses this week,” LeighAnn said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did you chicken out?” She meant it as a joke, but Peaches wasn’t catching the humor.

“Actually, I did,” Peaches said. “Mel was going to take me to the movies last Saturday dressed like a girl. At the last moment, I couldn’t do it. We went to the movie, but I pretty much wore boys’ clothes.”

Peaches had gone to school all week dressed as he always had. Except, you could tell from his shape and by the straps noticeable through his shirts that he wore fancy bras. He didn’t go anywhere without his gold locket. His hair was cut in a more feminine way with bangs. Mel and he had expanded their role reversal.

“Peaches is going to go to the sock hop as my girl date,” Mel said. “And, I’m going as a guy.”

“Really,” LeighAnn said. “Do you think that’s appropriate? You might be spoiling the evening for everyone else.”

“Why would that spoil anyone’s evening, LeighAnn?” asked Zack. Zack still had a friendly tone to his voice. I guess he was looking at her through those special rose-colored glasses guys wear when they’re in heat. That must be why you see so many raccoons getting killed in the spring — stupid from love.

“Wearing a girl’s sweater to school as a joke is one thing,” LeighAnn said. “But, going to a dance all decked out as a girl is an entirely different matter. He could get arrested.”

“If the school board is any indication of the public’s attitude,” Peaches said, “I don’t think I’ll get arrested.”

Peaches had brought along a copy of the resolution passed by the school board that previous week. He gave it to LeighAnn to read. I read it over her shoulder, and was ready to help her with the big words, if necessary.

Maple Ridge Schools

Resolution of Gender Rights

Every human being has within themselves an idea of who they are and what they’re capable of achieving. That identity and capability shall not be limited by a person’s physical or genetic sex, nor by what any society may deem as “masculine” or “feminine” behavior. It is fundamental, then, that each individual has the right to assume gender roles congruent with one’s self-perceived identity and capabilities, regardless of physical sex, genetic sex, or sex role.

Given that each individual has the basic right to assume gender roles, it then follows that each individual has the right to freely express gender roles in any manner that does not infringe on the freedom of another individual.

“What does this all mean?” asked LeighAnn.

“It means Peaches has the right to wear layers and layers of petticoats under his poodle skirt,” Mel said. “We are going to win the costume contest and maybe the dance contest as well!”

“I don’t know how good we’ll be, but we’ll be ready!” Peaches said. “Mom and Mr. G are going to teach us some dance moves tonight.”

“Mr. G is going to be at your house tonight?” LeighAnn said. “That man is okay. He’s not as handsome as Richard Gere, but there’s no doubt about his wiring. I’d like to be his teacher’s pet!”

“Watch out, LeighAnn,” Mel said. “Peaches’ mom already has him claimed.”

“That would be okay by me,” Peaches said. “He’d be a fahn — taus — tic, Dahhdee.” Peaches managed to look and sound just like Audrey Hepburn in ‘Sabrina.’

“Peaches,” I said, “You haven’t opened your presents.”

Peaches opened mine first. I gave him a cashmere scarf from the Whole Earth catalog. It was dyed with dark green and blue hints to represent the environment. It also went well with his strawberry-blond hair and ocean blue eyes. It would keep him warm in case Melinda put him in something skimpy this winter.

Melinda gave him a bottle of perfume. She said it was men’s cologne. It was called ‘4711.’ She said it was one of the oldest fragrances for men in the world. It is made in Germany. To me it smelled just like a perfume Mrs. Steidl wore. Mrs. Steidl was our choir teacher in Junior High. She had glasses with rhinestones and those cords that hang the glasses from your neck when you’re not wearing them. The scent contained lemon, roses, and sandalwood. I could tell that Peaches liked it. He put some on.

Zack gave Peaches Patrick O’Brian’s book, “Master and Commander.” He also gave him a software program. It was called, “Barbie Beauty Styler.” Peaches looked at the box in silence for a bit. Then he looked at Zack and smiled. He jumped up and down and squealed, clapping his hands.

“Oh, a Barbie Beauty Styler, a Barbie Beauty Styler, it’s just what I allll — waaays wanted.” His voice was different than I had ever heard it before. It was feminine. He ran over to Zack, put his arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, Zacky, you are such a sweet, sweet boy.”

Zack was laughing uncontrollably. He had thought his gag gift was funny, but Peaches had turned the tables on him and made it hilarious.

“Ohhh! Zacky, Zacky … looky what it says.” Peaches excitedly pointed to the software box. “We can create hairstyles for Barbie using the ‘MAGIC’ brush ... Ohhh, Zackipoo! The MAGIC brush. Think of it!” Zack was thinking about it ... we all were thinking about it, as we struggled to keep our sides from splitting, but he wouldn’t let up. He kept reading the box. “Zack ... Honeykins ... we can decorate outfits with sparkles and jewels and more ... and more, Zacky ... and more.” Tears were rolling down my face. If I could have breathed, I would have yelled at him to stop ... He was prancing back and forth between us, bubbling like an eight year-old girl. “Mousey, Mousey, it has animated butterflies, just for you and me, animated butterflies and bubbles and RAINBOWS! Can we go play with it now? Can we? Can we? Can we?”

He held the small software box above his head and peered at it. “Heyyyy ... how do they get Barbie in there?” He leaped over to where Melinda was doubled over giggling and pushed his way onto her lap, “Mel, Mel, my big, strong hunk, will you help me with my computer? Will you show me how this game works, so I can play with my new Barbie toy? Please, Mel. Pretty PUH LEEZZZEE! Oh, Mel, if you’ll help me, I’ll just love you to bits, Mellly ol’ Mel, Mel, Mel!” He had his arms around Mel’s neck and was covering her face with little peck kisses, each accompanied by an audible smack, as he pumped his legs and feet in uncontrolled animation.

He finally stopped. His energy had been at Robin Williams level. His timing had been perfect. When Zack could finally stop laughing enough to talk he asked, “Peaches, who were you impersonating?”

Peaches looked at him with a devilish grin and vamped. “Why, Zacky, whatever are you talking about?” He touched his head with his forefinger. “There’s no one in here, but lil’ ol’ me.”

“It’s a good thing they’ve got you going to the counselor, Peaches,” Zack said, as he wiped his damp eyes. “How’s that counselor thing going?”

“It’s been fun,” Peaches said. “He’s given us all sorts of tests to see if we’re certifiable, or just weird. So far, I think I’m on strike three and Mel’s not-guilty by reason of insanity.”

“It has been interesting,” Mel said. “The counselor has been talking to us about all sorts of things. Most of which ... I haven’t been able to relate to what we’re doing. Most of the time, he works with us one-on-one. We only get to team up on him once in a while.”

“Someone should send Rich to a counselor,” Peaches said, “Every time I’ve seen him in the halls this week, he’s growled at me. Just like a great big Chihuahua. GRRRRRRRR!”

“Peaches!” Zack said.

“Aw, you take away the pain in the rear from Rich and he’s smaller than me.” Peaches said. “Then you subtract his sneer and he’ll disappear like the Cheshire Cat.”

“Peaches,” Zack said. “I mean this. You watch out for him. I’ve heard he’s a mean drunk.”

“I don’t plan on going around him, if he’s been drinking,” Peaches said. “And, he had better stay away from my new computer game, or ... I’ll ... I’ll change his hairstyle with my magic brush.”

When we finally did cut into LeighAnn’s masterpiece; it was as tasty as she was tasteless.

Peaches left early with Mel to help his mom. She was making a special dinner for Mr. G, Mel, and Peaches before their dance lesson.

It had been a fantastic afternoon. The only sour note was the vibe I was getting from LeighAnn. If she was truly into Zack, she had a funny way of showing it.

Chapter Eighteen — Mr. G
September 5th, Saturday Evening

It never felt entirely right going to a student’s home. Teaching is a high-wire act. You kept a professional distance, yet a good teacher got involved with his students. I wasn’t sure what kind of teacher got involved with a student’s mother.

My former wife and I had parted without a whimper five years ago, after a marriage that could only be called a good partnership. The love had ended long before the divorce decree, when she realized my ambitions stopped short of her lofty goals.

I wanted to be an effective teacher and, if possible, a passable writer. Being the first left no time for the second. She couldn’t stand watching me waste my talent. I believed my true talents were in shaping young minds.

My idea of marriage included children, lots of children. She was happy with an occasional stray cat to feed; one that would leave the next day, to find another handout, without obligations to purr or rub. She had an advanced degree in language arts. I had stopped just short of my doctorate in American Lit. We couldn’t communicate.

I had been going to the library for years. During the past year, I had noticed there was more to the library than the books by Clemens, Wilder, Thurber, and Shakespeare. There was a feminine side. I was in love with the red-haired librarian.

Her son was one of the most outstanding kids I had ever had the pleasure of teaching. Neither Peaches nor Melinda seemed to realize that Diana and I had been courting each other for months. The dance lesson would afford us an opportunity to tell them.

By the second week of school, all the surprises were usually over for the year. Peaches and Melinda had certainly started the year off with a boom, and I was about to receive another shock.

When Peaches answered the door, he looked like a participant in one of the early “American Bandstand” shows. I’m not old enough to have seen the show when it originally aired from Philadelphia in the late fifties, but I had seen enough footage on cable to know that Peaches was dead-on in his portrayal of the girls on that show. Diana hadn’t warned me that Melinda and he were going to be holding a dress rehearsal for the sock hop.

Peaches was outfitted from the skin out in authentic period costume. His “bust” was the pointy style that went out with the huge tailfins on the cars of that era. All night long, he looked over and around his shoulder, making sure the seams in his stockings were straight. He was wearing a light pink, short-sleeved fuzzy angora sweater with a rounded white collar. The skirt was lightweight, gray flannel with a poodle appliqué. Every step he took, his gold charm bracelet rattled.

His hair was pulled high on his head and tied in a ponytail with a black velvet ribbon, which seemed to go with his bobby sox and black-and-white saddle shoes.
His face was made up with red lipstick, shaped and penciled eyebrows, and heavy mascara.

Melinda was dressed in a white sport coat with a pink dress shirt. She had slicked back her hair with “grease” into a bun at the back, and she wore a black bowtie, black pegged pants with no cuffs, and white bucks with white sweat socks. She had apparently done something to bind down her breasts. Unlike Peaches who looked “her” part, Melinda looked like a girl in boy’s clothes.

Peaches was carrying his role to the extreme, bubbling around all night being the perfect hostess. He wouldn’t let “Mel” or me do a thing. “He” was to sit in the living room with me and talk sports while Peaches and Diana served us cold sodas and fretted over our comfort. At one point, Peaches even offered to get slippers for “Mel.”

Diana served a wonderful meal of roast beef with real gravy, oven-browned potatoes, and steamed vegetables. The table was set with fine china and elegant linen. The conversation was stimulating. There is a release from the heart that can’t be described when you experience genuine hospitality. But it is immediately felt, and puts the guest at ease.

Diana had mastered a broad array of disciplines. Of course, she is a librarian. Peaches and Melinda held their own. They didn’t fake it if Diana and I went too deep into our discussion of favorite authors. It was rare we could lose them, if either Diana or I would have wanted to.

I could have enjoyed the evening if they simply allowed me to sit in a corner and watch them. All the other wonderful things were icing. The décor put me at ease immediately. In comparison to the sterile room I lived in, this was nirvana.

I had taught Melinda’s older brother, Allen, and had written a strong letter of recommendation that helped him win acceptance from Dartmouth. I liked Allen … super kid, but Melinda’s mother was a handful. She got all over me when I pushed Allen to do better. She was the typical career parent who made up for the lack of time she spent with her child by harassing teachers. Melinda and she looked a lot alike, if you discounted the cruel twist at the corner of the mother’s mouth.

“Gordon, I received a letter from the school today,” Diana said. She handed me a letter written on Maple Ridge School District letterhead. “I need you to help me understand school-speak. It appears the school stopped just short of suggesting Peaches might have a gender-identity disorder.” She left the room to change into dancing shoes, giving me an opportunity to read the letter.

Peaches also took leave to “powder his nose.” When he came back, his make-up had been freshened and he had spritzed himself with perfume. He caught me staring at him, and then explained, “Perfume is one of my favorite parts of the project research, but I can’t wear it when I cook. It interferes with my taste and sense of smell.”

Diana had taken a few moments longer. She had changed into a much fuller skirt, more suitable for dancing. I got the feeling Diana was subconsciously competing with her “daughter.”

We sat in their living room. Diana was next to me on the couch. Peaches sat on the floor in front of Melinda, who sat in one of the overstuffed chairs. From time to time, Peaches rested his head on Melinda’s knee as Melinda played with his hair. As I finished the lengthy letter, the Westminster chimes of their grandfather’s clock told us it was eight.

“The letter was carefully drafted,” I said. “They want to make every student comfortable in the school environment. They believe they can provide an atmosphere at school that will allow Melinda and Peaches to explore their project. Is there a room where we can talk?” I asked. Melinda and Peaches were great for and with each other. Yet, I didn’t want to talk in front of them, if Diana was uncomfortable doing so.

“I trust Melinda,” Diana said. “Even though she’s new to our family... she is family.”

“Mr. G,” Peaches said, “when I read that letter, it almost sounded as if they wanted me to come to school in skirts.”

“I think the school district wants you to come to school in whatever clothing makes you most comfortable and ready to learn,” I said. “You expected some of this kind of reaction to your project, didn’t you?”

“We thought the school district would understand what we’re doing,” Peaches said.

“People are really strange when it comes to questioning the sanctity of gender roles. We live in a male-dominant society that is bent on keeping it that way. One of the keys to male domination is to convince people there are two distinct genders that are very different.”

“There are plenty of differences,” Peaches said. He patted the thick project notebook he carried with him at all times.

“But there are also many, many similarities,” I said. “The trick is to understand the differences, not to fear them. We are free to be what we want to be.”

I thought back to Roslynn in college. When I first met her, she was known as Gary, and was extremely confused. When he sought help, he was told he was mentally ill, and that he would require extensive therapy to “cure” him. Instead, Gary over-compensated and became a promiscuous drunk, with a cocaine habit that broke him. Gary had been a good friend. We had talked dozens of times. I didn’t understand him, but I was one of the few that cared to try.

I had spent quite a lot of time over the years researching the subject of transgendered people. If the signs were right, and Peaches continued to have the support of people like Diana and Melinda, he would have a full and wonderful life. I believed being transgendered could be a blessing, as it allowed a person to express much more of their whole self.

“Bottom line, Peaches,” I said. “You are free to be what you think you need to be. For the time being, you just need to know you have many, many options available to you to help you explore yourself.”

“Mr. G,” Melinda asked, “do you think our project is really stupid? Are we actually doing anything? Some people think we’re insane.”

“From what I’ve seen around school, you’re opening peoples’ minds. Mark Twain once wrote, ‘Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great ones make you feel that you too, can be great.’ “

We went down into the Smiths’ basement, where they had a tile floor. At first, Melinda danced with me and Peaches danced with his mom. I taught Melinda the boys’ steps, and Diana taught Peaches the girls’. Once they had their steps down, we paired Diana with me, and Peaches with Melinda.

After a night of very physical jitterbugging, it was relaxing to sway to the crooning of Paul Anka while holding Diana close. Every now and again, they glanced over at us. Diana and I didn’t need to make any formal announcement.

***

Coming in Part 4: The school is having a fifties style sock hop, and is awarding prizes for the best costumes. Peaches’ costume is a poodle skirt with all the trimmings. What will Mel’s old boyfriend think of Peaches’ new look?

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