Cluster 2 chaining the.., p.25
Show Girl, page 25
I was helpless in the face of an attractive person giving me instructions. It was how I ended up in a dress in the first place. I put the card in my bag; it looked like she’d written a subreddit URL on it. At least there I was on familiar ground.
“Okay,” I said, smiling.
Vicky squeezed my arm. “This is normal, you know,” she said. “Lots of people transition. You’re not alone.” She glanced at her phone. “I have to go, but before I do, I want you to promise me you’re going to go to that website and you’re going to talk to a trans person.”
“I will,” I said. “I promise.”
She got up, and pulled on my arm until I got up, too. She hugged me, and I hugged her back.
“You be careful, okay?” she said. I nodded. She pulled away from me for a second, and then kissed me on the lips, softly and briefly. “Enjoy your dinner.”
I smiled. “Enjoy your strategy meeting,” I said.
“That,” she said, “is absolutely guaranteed not to happen.”
Chapter Nine
Vicky reminded me one more time to be careful and left for her strategy meeting. As I watched her go, I admired the way she filled out her jeans but realised as I did so that I wasn’t imagining what it would be like to kiss her, undress her, or do any of the things I’d always tried so hard to do with women I found attractive; instead, I wondered how those jeans would look on me. I’d need the bum pads, of course, to even hope to do them justice; without my little helpers, Vicky’s butt was a hundred times nicer than mine was.
I was envious of her! Perhaps a little attracted to her, sure, but mostly I wanted what she had, who she was; I didn’t want her except as a friend.
Had I always been envious of women, and called it desire?
Another blindfold comes off. How many more before I was done? I told Vicky I thought I was trans, and while I was still unsure, it felt like I was this close to seeing clearly for the first time. I just needed a little time…
Lost in thought, I didn’t notice James walking up until he stepped right into my line of sight. He brought me back to reality: I was still standing right where I had been, leaning against the table, hugging my belly, staring blankly at the double doors Vicky had left through.
“I presume it went okay,” James said teasingly, “if you already miss her so much.”
“Hmm?” I said, still not entirely among the living. I replayed what he said and detected a touch of sourness in his voice, despite his pleasant tone. “Oh. No. It’s not that.” I shook my head absently, as if the action might dislodge a few stray thoughts. Was I trans…?
“You kissed!” James said.
I focused on him properly for the first time. “You watched!” I said to his frown. “You said you wouldn’t.”
“What I said was,” he replied, “that I wouldn’t listen.” He tapped me on the nose, which startled me. I was still slightly behind events; my mind was working overtime behind the scenes and had allocated only a few measly brain cells to important things like listening to your boss and standing upright. And they weren’t doing a very good job, either! They were probably the brain cells that normally dealt with unimportant things, like remembering how to spell antidisestablishmentarianism and retaining the ability to ride a bike.
I shook myself again. I needed to be present. I had a lot to think about, for sure, but right now I had an evening to survive, and it would probably require all my attention to do so.
James had sat down, so I followed suit, returning to my seat and finding a new glass on the table in front of me. He must have brought them with him. God, where had I gone?
“If you had listened to us,” I said, “you’d know it was the furthest thing from a romantic kiss.” I sniffed the contents of the glass: rum and Coke, like he told me he used to drink at the cheap bar at uni. “She was being kind. Reassuring me. Giving advice. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a little bit of a mess.”
“You’re not a mess,” he said enigmatically, and sipped his rum and Coke. Before I could ask him what the hell he meant by that, he added, carefully and steadily, “What sort of advice?”
I knew that tone. He used it when he was talking to soon-to-be or just-recently-become ex-girlfriends. On the phone, generally. Neutral, polite, incurious, flat.
He was pushing his emotions down. Why?
“She helped me think about something,” I said carefully. “Something pretty big.”
“And?” he pressed. “What is it?”
I didn’t want to get into it with him, not right here in the hotel bar and especially not before I’d had a chance to properly think it through. I’d spent the last few days like that, bouncing from situation to situation, and it wasn’t doing me any good; I had to slow down, take some time to myself and read up on things, like Vicky suggested.
“Just some stuff. I want to think about it before I talk about it.”
“But you can talk about it with her?” he said, frowning again.
“She brought it up.” Was he upset with me?
“Hmm,” he said. Yeah, he was upset.
His hand was resting on the table next to his glass. I took it. He flinched a little, which was disappointing; I’d hoped we were past that. I massaged his knuckles until he looked at me again.
“I promise I’ll tell you,” I said, “if you give me a little time?” I tried a reassuring smile, and I could have sworn his pupils dilated.
“Um,” he said. His face lost all the signs that he was controlling his expression, which was good; it meant he was coming out of his studiedly neutral mode. “You can’t tell me what it’s about? Not even a little?”
“Patience.”
He was still looking at me kind of strangely, so I had some rum and Coke and let him look.
He looked for a while.
“James?” I prompted, after he’d been quiet for perhaps a minute. “Are you okay?”
He bit his lip — actually bit his lip! — and once again looked at me without quite looking at me, his eyes searching all of me that was visible. “Yes,” he said. “Sorry. Soph said something to me earlier, and it bothered me a little at the time, but before long I was so busy with work, I didn’t have a chance to think about it any more. And then, when I was sitting over there, watching you… it came up again.” He tapped a finger on his temple. “Now it’s all I can think about.”
He went quiet again, so I had a bit more rum and Coke and propped my chin on my wrist, the better to look at him properly. I was tired, and the bit of my brain that was usually pretty good at decoding James when he was being mysterious apparently needed new batteries.
“So,” I said, when it seemed like he was going to spend another full minute staring at my neck without saying anything, “what did she say?” It was either prompt him or give him that kick I’d fantasised about earlier, but I liked my white sandals a lot more than the heels I wore on the expo floor, and they weren’t anything like as tough; I didn’t want to break them against his stubborn calves.
“Hmm?” he said, which very nearly made me kick him anyway; he could buy me a new pair if it came to it. Three pairs, actually. In multiple colours. “Oh,” he continued after a moment, “it’s really nothing I want to talk about right now.” He sounded suddenly more confident and James-like than he had the whole evening.
As much as I wanted to yell at him, to drag from him whatever it was Sophie said about me, I had just insisted on keeping my thoughts to myself, which, fuck. Fair’s fair. Fair’s bloody fair.
I disguised my sigh as a deep breath, and said, “Let’s agree to give each other time to think. If we’re both stewing on something, then we both get some peace and quiet to work on it. Okay?”
He smiled. “Okay.”
“And that’s assuming either of us can stay awake long enough to think about anything tonight. I’ve barely eaten today; I think a full restaurant dinner will send me straight to sleep.”
“Oh shit,” he said, laughing a slightly forced laugh, “I almost forgot about dinner with Sophie.”
“Lucky you,” I said sourly. “It’s been on my mind for hours. But let’s agree, yes? To put our stuff, whatever it is, on the back burner until we’ve survived dinner? And talk about it with each other only when we’re ready?”
I was still holding his hand — I was a little amazed, in retrospect, that he hadn’t ripped it away from me during his crisis, but I supposed he needed all his brain power for being obfuscatory, the same way I needed all mine for staying awake (and for keeping scary and confusing thoughts properly taped up in the box marked for later) — and he took advantage of that, pulling suddenly on me and nearly throwing me off balance, and lancing me with his most punchable smirk when I met his eyes in astonishment.
“Ow!” I protested.
“Got you,” he said, and I knew what he was doing: puncturing the moment, releasing the tension. Teasing me. It was the kind of thing he’d do occasionally at work when I got too involved in a difficult problem. Still annoying, though.
“Sod.”
“Sorry.” He wasn’t sorry. He released me, waited for me to rearrange myself, and continued, “You’re right, though. Let’s just have a nice— let’s just have an evening with my cousin, and deal with our shit later.”
“Right,” I said, nodding and sorting the evening into two categories with my hands. “Dinner with Sophie; dealing with all our shit.”
“By the way, you look fucking amazing.”
I knew it would be impossible not to blush at that, so quite sensibly I didn’t try to suppress it. Instead, I turned my head slightly so my reddening cheek would just about be visible through my light foundation. I wanted him to know the effect he had on me. It was important. I wanted the dream. For a few more hours.
“Thanks,” I said. “I thought I’d try to make myself look nice tonight.”
“For Vicky?”
I flicked my gaze up to meet his. “No. Not for Vicky.” Yeah, I was being more intense than usual, but I needed him to know. This was for him. For me, yes, far more than I expected, but for him, too. I’d chosen this: picked the outfit, done my own makeup, been pleased with the results. I wasn’t going to deny it any more. This was part of me now.
“Do I have Ben to thank for…” He waved a hand, indicating the whole of me, toe to top.
“Nope,” I said, grinning. “I mean, his shopper bought the clothes, obviously. But I picked them out, did my face, all of it. By myself. I think I’m getting pretty good.”
He nodded. “Really good.”
The tension was back, but it was different this time, and I revelled in it. It wasn’t just that I liked being looked at by James, although that was part of it; it was nice simply to forget all the questions about my identity and my future, to be in his company, to be the pretty girl with the handsome boy, to throw myself into the role with everything I had. And it was so different to how it used to be with him. We were more careful around each other and yet more apt to touch. I didn’t mind, though. Quite the opposite.
I looked into his eyes and knew, unequivocally, what I wanted. What a fucking rush.
His phone alarm chimed, and we both sighed. It would have been nice to live in that moment a while longer.
“Dinner time,” he announced, standing up and, as an apparent afterthought, draining his glass. I left mine half-finished on the table. I was already flirting with exhaustion, and the vaguest hint of a buzz from the rum was as close as I wanted to get to being drunk.
I still wobbled when I stood. James caught me, stepping into the space beside me and looping his arm around my waist, taking all my weight. It was like steadying myself on a crowbar. I let my feet sort themselves out, but I also let them take their time because he had his arm around me, and as far as I was concerned, he could leave it there forever if he wanted.
“Forgot I was wearing these for a second,” I explained, leaning against his body so I could lift up a foot and waggle it. Also, incidentally, showing off my sandals (and my calves).
“I thought you were used to the heels by now,” James teased, keeping hold of me and looking exactly where I wanted him to (at my legs).
“I’m used to them, for sure,” I said. “But I’m forgetful. And super tired.”
“Do you, um, want any help getting to the restaurant?”
There was no way I wasn’t going to say yes. Helpfully, it was true that I could use some assistance; it also meant he’d keep touching me.
“It couldn’t hurt,” I said.
He released me, but before I could be disappointed, he presented his arm to me like a gentleman. I linked arms with him and let him lead me out of the bar.
* * *
Sophie’s reaction, when she saw us walking arm-in-arm into the restaurant, was contained entirely within her eyebrows. But between them they did a lot of work. I wondered if James had to persuade her to keep her voice down in polite company, but then I remembered: the rich are trained to be decorous in restaurants; it was only in the wider world, among the plebs, that they really let rip.
She stood as we approached, opening her arms and walking towards us. James let me go — I didn’t stagger — and Sophie and I embraced and exchanged cheek kisses, and goodness me if I didn’t hope against hope that the skin on my face was still smooth and unstubbled; I cringed at the idea that just touching me would be enough to break the illusion.
She stepped back and looked me up and down and I tried my best to look normal.
“You look fantastic, Alex!” she said, with apparent sincerity.
“You too,” I replied. “I love your dress. Oh, and your shoes!”
“Thank you!”
She really did look good. She was overdressed for a mid-priced hotel restaurant, but then, so was I. She wore a midi dress, similar to the one I’d worn that first night, but more flattering, in black, and with a likely price tag in the hundreds of pounds at least. She paired it with a simple but stunning pair of black sandals with a crisscross pattern up her calves and spike heels of sufficient height they made me wince. They also made her taller than me.
I still thought James was the better-looking of the two, though, even discounting my bias. He was wearing another suit from the Very Pricey collection by Georgio Expensivo (I’m a fashion ingénue but I learn fast). Thankfully, for the sake of my delicate equilibrium, it wasn’t the star-of-my-wet-dreams charcoal suit; this one was navy blue, with a matching tie over a white shirt. I felt a familiar stab of lust, gazing at both him and his tailored clothing — accompanied by a stab of pain from my much-abused dick, letting me know, in case I’d forgotten, that it was jammed up against my body and not having the greatest time — but I was also a little sorry for him that his options were limited, in such an environment, to various flavours of fitted suit, while I got to be wrapped in silk.
Sophie had gotten us a spot at the edge of the dining area: three soft-backed chairs around a circular table, so we could be equidistant from each other. She gestured towards the chair that backed against the wall and, walking perilously unaided for the first time in an hour or so, I made it to my seat without falling down or even visibly wobbling. I appreciated the wall behind me — enough people had scared the shit out of me over the last few days by poking or tapping on me from behind that I was beginning to want a portable one to take with me everywhere — but it did mean I was effectively boxed in by McCains on both sides.
Well, Sophie was a Lincoln-McCain. Same difference.
“Alex, you really are adorable!” Sophie gushed, when we were all in place and she could make a proper start on embarrassing the shit out of me without disturbing our fellow diners. “How long did all that take you?”
“Give her a break, Soph,” James said. I appreciated his intervention — I’d already lunged for the breadsticks and was busy chewing — almost as much as I appreciated the pronoun. It was nice to hear it from him.
“I am giving her a break!” she insisted, with an emphasis on the ‘her’ so slight I’m not sure anyone not listening for it would have detected it. It rather spoiled the high from James gendering me that way, though. She directed her attention back to me. “Who picked out that gorgeous outfit for you, Alex?”
“I did,” I said, taking refuge from her inspection behind a breadstick.
“And those curves,” she said. “Are they real? I thought I detected a hint of—”
“Sophie!” James whispered. “Remember what I said?”
She sighed. “Yes. Yes, James, I bleeding well remember.”
“What did you say?” I asked.
“He said,” Sophie announced, “that you were having a hard enough time of it without me—” she placed an innocent hand on her chest, “—causing a fuss. So I should ‘lay off’. But you’re doing so well! Nobody would ever know—”
“Soph!” James hissed.
“—you’d never modelled before,” she finished smoothly.
“Well, I haven’t,” I said, “and however relaxed I might appear to be, I’ve been running kind of nervy all weekend, so a little consideration would be nice.”
“Fine,” she said, dialling down the attitude just a little. I didn’t know what had gotten into her; I was used to pushy Sophie, but tonight she had an undercurrent of something I couldn’t identify. It was making me antsy. “I just think it’s a little unfair,” she continued, “that you look so good, considering, you know…”
She left the dot-dot-dot hanging. I picked it up. “Considering what?” I asked sweetly. “And in what way is it ‘unfair’? What advantages do you think I have? How much did you risk when you put on that nice dress this evening?” Bloody Little Miss I Can Just Throw On A Dress And Look Stunning; I had a perverse desire to pull out a boob and throw it at her.
