Wes Boyd’s Spearfish Lake Tales Contemporary Mainstream Books and Serials Online

The party was just getting rolling good by eight PM. Amber had invited a neighbor couple to come over and handle the grill and some of the food items, so she and Sonja and Liz would have time to hang out with everyone else.

The costumes were pretty good. Aaron – spelled ‘Erin’ for this evening – proved to be wearing a black cocktail dress with a fairly high neckline, so there was no need to deal with his ‘breasts’, other than simple padding. ‘Mary’ thought ‘Erin’ looked pretty hot, especially with a string of cultured pearls and long red hair halfway down ‘her’ back.

In Mary’s opinion, though, the most in-your-face over-the-top outfit was Andy Baker’s – a black leather skirt over black leotards and a black leather torsolette, and black high-heeled boots. That was pretty devastating by itself, but when the heavy handcuffs and slave collar he was wearing were added to the outfit he looked like he’d just stepped out of the pages of Leather Slave Monthly. The effect went a lot further, especially since he addressed Hannah as “mistress”, often from his knees as she held onto his leash. Mary knew it was a serious switching of roles – they’d caught Andy and Hannah at a renfaire once. He’d been wearing a sultan’s outfit, and she wore a rather less elaborate and more revealing “harem girl” outfit than Sonja’s; he’d held onto her leash while she addressed him as “master”. Scott had often wondered just how far beneath the surface those roles went, but they’d explained that they were strictly renfaire roles – which Dayna had confirmed, since she’d seen them at renfaires several times. The intensity of Andy’s outfit didn’t carry over to his wife, who also wore all black; slacks and military-style jacket over a black shirt, with a black military-style wide brim hat. The outfit wasn’t bad, but didn’t quite cover up the fact that she was eight months pregnant.

Only one of the guys present wasn’t dressed in drag, Vicky’s friend Jason – the two were good friends, but not boyfriend-girlfriend; he was quite a bit older than she was and had known her since she was a baby. He was not about to shave a full beard for a party, but met things halfway by wearing a Scottish great kilt in the MacRae tartan, and all the trimmings – sash, sporran, Tam o’ Shanter, along with a fake Scottish accent. To top it off, he had a dirk in his belt, along with wristlets mounting throwing daggers he’d made himself; he had a knife making business on the side. His outfit really wasn’t a costume at all; he was largely Scottish in background and had been involved in Scottish cultural activities. If the mood happened to strike him, he’d occasionally wear a kilt around town as well; his reputation with knives kept the catty remarks to a minimum.

With only a few exceptions, the rest of what Mary had learned from Eve three weeks before to refer to as “genetic girls” were more or less dressed as guys – there were a several suits and ties there, and Mary suspected that there had been some breast binding going on. The breast binding suit and tie wearers included Amber and Emily.

Sonja was wearing the belly dancer outfit by special request, but the most eye-catching may have been Dayna and Sandy. They were wearing striped stockings that didn’t reach all the way up to their short black skirts, garter straps showing, matching wide-striped tank tops, broad-brimmed black hats, and about the equal of half the total makeup that Tanya must have had in her case. The effect was intentionally “cheap street hooker,” and they’d promised to do some of their nastier songs once they got a few drinks in them for inspiration.

Vicky was straddling the fence – she was dressed in a MacRae plaid kilt as well, almost a twin of Jason’s. She was about as decked out as he was, right down to the daggers, so it was a little hard to tell if she was gender-bending or not.

There was a punch bowl in the center of the room – well, not actually a punch bowl, but a black iron cauldron, literally frothing. “Jesus, witch’s brew, yeah,” Mary heard Kevin comment. “Jason, that makes me think of a quenching bath in your shop.”

“Just a little dry ice for effect,” Aaron explained, handing Jason a glass of the blood-red liquid. “It’s actually pretty good.”

Jason took a sniff and shook his head. “Laddie, don’t be usin’ yon witch’s brew as yer quenchin’ bath for yer red-hot blade lest ye burn the house down. Honest Highland single malt it’s nae.”

“Roast goat, Everclear punch, and a cross-dressing Vanna White look alike,” Kevin shook his head as he poured a glass. “Shit, they’re never gonna believe this down at the shop. I’m not sure I believe it now.”

“I suspect a couple ’a wee drams of yon witch’s potion and ye’ll not hae to believe it,” Jason shook his head. “But tha’ idea was for the night bein’ intoxicatin’, so we might’s well be gettin’ intoxicated.”

Knowing a little of what was in the punch bowl, Mary was just a little leery about it – it didn’t taste all that powerful, but there was clearly a delayed punch to the punch. The fact that he’d seen Sonja muttering incantations over it in some language he couldn’t understand just made him all the more leery. Sonja was a nice woman, just about his ideal of a woman, but once in a while she could reach back into her odd heritage in unexpected places and make him wonder just who the hell it was he’d married years ago. This night was showing all the signs.

Whenever anyone opened the sliding doors onto the patio, the smell of the roasting goat shish kebabs penetrated the room. The smell was pretty good, and just about everyone but Liz and Sonja, who already knew, hoped that the taste would be as good as the smell. Mary knew darn well that Sonja hadn’t actually roasted a goat – at least since she’d been married to him – but Liz had, and Sonja had made a phone call to her mother in Israel to get the recipe for her grandmother’s special marinating sauce. Mary really hoped it would work out all right – he could just imagine having to go to the emergency room dressed like Vanna White, even on Halloween.

Mary happened to be standing in the front room, talking with Erin, when the doorbell rang. “Late arrival, I guess,” Erin said, and turned toward the door.

Emily brushed past him with the words. “I think that’s who I’ve been waiting for.” Erin shrugged, and let her do it. She opened the door, and talked with the person outside for a moment, then walked back into the room, put her fingers into her mouth, and let go with a shrill whistle. “Everybody, listen,” she said. “I’ve got a special surprise that even Sonja and Amber don’t know about. Right after the Tylers and the Heislers cooked up the idea of this party, Sonja and Amber told me they didn’t have any idea who could judge the contest for the most realistic costume. I told them I knew someone who could and would be in Detroit this evening, and I thought I could get them to come over here to Lansing. Ladies and gentlemen, and I use the words in the broadest possible terms, I’d like to bring in our judge.”

She opened the door, and a small person entered the room, wearing baggy blue jeans, a loose “Rensselaer Poly” sweatshirt, and a brown baseball cap. At least among the Bradford graduates, there were jaws that hit the floor – their visitor was Eve McClellan, but dressed more or less like the Denis Riley they remembered she had once been! “Thank you, sir,” Eve – well, just at this instant, Denis – replied with a smile, and a voice that was a little lower than they remembered from three weeks before, a little more like they remembered from Denis. “It sort of looks like I’ve wandered into wonderland tonight. Emily, I called you ‘sir’ just now because one of the first rules of etiquette I learned when I got on the road to becoming a woman was that you always address people in the gender they’re presenting.”

“Thank you, sir,” Emily grinned back. “Can you stay long enough for dinner? I think it’s pretty close to ready.”

“I can hang around for two or three hours,” “Denis” replied. “But I’ve got to get back to Detroit tonight, since I’ve got a presentation to give tomorrow morning. I’ll have one drink, and only one, since I’ll have to drive later.” “He” let out a sigh. “And I think I’ll have that drink right now, since this is the first time that I’ve tried to dress as Denis in over ten years and it’s proving harder than I thought.”

“Coming right up,” Amber said, from over near the punchbowl.

“How do you want to do the judging?” Emily asked.

“Why don’t I just circulate for a while and check out the ladies? Then, after a while, I’ll make some comments on the costuming and announce the winner. Would that work?”

“Whatever you want,” Emily grinned. “You have to know more about this than the rest of us.”

“Not that I’m an expert,” “Denis” grinned, as Amber handed him a glass of punch. “I really only cross dressed for a couple years, and that was ten years ago. Now, you want an expert, you have to go to someone like Carl Buttery down at Dress to Desire in Chicago, from whom I learned most of what I know. He forgot more thirty years ago than I’ll ever know. On the other hand, I do have a little perspective he doesn’t.”

“Thank you for coming,” Amber piped up. “And while we’ve got everyone’s attention, we’ll start serving out on the porch. I’m afraid this is going to have to be a stand-up meal. Sir,” she said, turning to “Denis”, “As our honored guest, would you like to be the first in line? After that, I think we’d better go ‘ladies first.’”

Several minutes later, Erin and Mary were standing to one corner of the enclosed porch, struggling to hold a plate in one hand and eat with the other, not mess up their makeup, and talk with Denis; Sonja and Amber were there, too. “Eve,” Scott/Mary said. “I’d like to say for all of us that we really appreciate you coming. We were the ones who cooked up the idea of this party, but I want you to understand that there was never any intention on any of our parts of mocking you with it. We did enough of that in high school through our stupidity, and we don’t want you to think we’re doing it again.”

“If I thought you were, I wouldn’t have come,” Eve/Denis replied simply and soberly.

“You did get us curious, I have to say that,” Erin/Aaron added. “Otherwise we probably wouldn’t have thought of doing this. It, well, gives us a little chance to peek over the fence without it really meaning anything.”

“I understand fully,” Eve/Denis grinned. “You’re comfortable enough in your own gender identities that you can only cross-dress in the context of being silly at a Halloween party. Believe me, I’m no less uncomfortable than you are at my role, because this is the only way I can bring myself to do Denis again, and I know I’m doing a damn poor job of it. I never really liked the little twerp back then and was very happy to be rid of him. I don’t think I’ll try it again.”

“If you’d like to slip back to Eve, I’m sure everyone will understand,” Sonja said.

“I think I’ll let myself do it mentally and not worry about the clothes, at least until I’m done eating,” she replied. “Besides, I’d like to get my hair out of this sweat shirt. Changing the subject on you, this meat is really unusual, but really good. Which one of you is responsible for that?”

“I am, pretty much,” Sonja admitted. “It’s a recipe I got from my mother.”

“What is it, anyway?”

“Iraqi-Israeli roast goat shish kebab,” Sonja grinned. “Aaron smarted off and we took him up on it. Liz Austin, that used to be Goodrow, she and her husband came up with the meat. They raise goats.”

“It’s tremendously good. Is that costume something that’s supposed to represent a national costume?”

“Not really,” Sonja admitted. “I’m only a quarter Iraqi. We bought it at a renaissance faire.”

“Well, it certainly looks lovely and fitting on you, Sonja,” Eve smiled.

“Thank you, Eve,” she replied warmly. “It was really a surprise to see you here tonight. I’m a little surprised you didn’t bring John or Shae.”

“Shae would liked to have come, but she’s announcing a game in Dallas tonight. John would be bored to tears at that conference tomorrow, and I know better than to ask him to do drag.”

“Why’s that?”

“Come on, he’s got transsexuals for a sister and a wife. John is incredibly considerate and understanding about Cheryl and me, but we all recognize there are limits that we’re better off not getting near.”

“We’re very happy you came, anyway,” Scott told her. “Feel free to drop by if you’re in the neighborhood again.”

“I might be, you never know. I have a fairly rare specialty, so I travel doing consultations and seminars once in a while. I’d love to talk a little more, and maybe we’ll get the chance a little later, but I better do a little more circulating and then play judge.”

Half an hour later the goat meat and other bits and pieces of dinner had been pretty well cleaned up, although there would be plenty of snacks and munchies left for the evening. The level of the punch bowl was noticeably lower, and a couple of bottles had been broken out. People were feeling pretty good when Emily got everyone’s attention. “Hey everybody, let’s get started with the judging,” she said. “Would the, uh, non-genetic ladies gather around so we can hear what Eve has to say?”

“This ought to be interesting,” Scott shook his head. “I expect she’ll rip everyone to shreds.”

“She has a sense of humor, no doubt about that,” Aaron agreed as they headed over in Emily and Eve’s direction.

“First off,” Eve began with a grin. “When Emily asked me to judge this little contest, she just said ‘realistic’ was what she was looking for. From my perspective, realistic may not mean the same thing as you would think it might, so I decided to hand out a number of awards. One of my clients runs a trophy shop, and I asked him to make up several award plaques. So I’m going to hand out the awards in no particular order, but I’m going to make some comments about the costuming that you may consider illustrating or funny, but certainly not take as malicious intent.”

She reached into a plastic sack that she’d brought with her, and pulled out a plaque. “Good, Most Glamorous,” she smiled after a glance at the plaque. “If I understand correctly, this is the first time any of you have dressed. I have to say that I haven’t seen a group of transvestites quite like this since the last time I was in the Cloud Nine Club in Chicago. I wasn’t part of the scene but hung around it for a while when I was working on a study. Let’s just say that with one exception, not one of you ladies would look out of place, but I don’t want to make any comments about how out of place you might feel.”

There were some awkward sounding giggles and snickers from around the room, and Eve waited a few seconds for them to die down. “Now,” she continued, “In a place like that, people aren’t looking to pass as women, but to look glamorous, and perhaps feminine. Now, I look at Scott, or maybe I should say Mary tonight, and the first words that come to mind are, ‘I’d like to buy a vowel’.”

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that tonight,” “Mary” laughed.

“With good reason, Vanna,” she giggled. “Actually, overall you look pretty good. I’d say that given normal women’s street clothes, you’d come close to passing, so long as you didn’t say anything, because that voice would give you away in an instant. There’s not a bad start on motions and body language, either. I particularly like the boobs. Most trannies want to overdo the breasts right off, and that can be the first thing to give you away, because the bigger they are the harder they are to get right. There’s a little tape work there, right? Where’d you pick that up?”

“Sonja’s hairdresser,” he grinned. “She said she taped up beauty contestants like this.”

“I hope to hell you used surgical tape,” Eve snorted. “I learned that trick from Carl and tried it a few times early on. It worked OK until I used duct tape one time, and my chest still hurts to even think about it. My other comment is on makeup. With an outfit that loud it’s tempting to overdo the makeup. There’s enough there to reflect the outfit, but not enough to overpower it. The outfit says woman, the face doesn’t necessarily. Put that much makeup on with street dress and it would draw attention to your face, and the masculinity would show through. But, overall, a nice balance. Sonja, this is your work, right? Very good! So the winner of the Most Glamorous Costume for the First (And Maybe Last) Annual Bradford Class of ’88 Drag Queen Contest is Mary Scott Tyler.”

There was a nice round of applause. As it died down, Eve reached into the bag, glanced at the plaque she pulled out, and said, “No, let’s hold that one off till the end,” and pulled out another. “Most Over The Top,” she said. “I don’t think anyone has any question about that. Andy, get over here.”

Hannah let go of Andy’s leash; he walked over to Eve, knelt before her reverently, and said, “Yes, ma’am?”

“Let’s just say that I’ve been in some clubs, strictly for research purposes, where that outfit would not be out of place, and, in fact, on the conservative side. There’s no question you’d pass in that rig. I’m not going to say pass for what, but you’d pass with it.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Andy said courteously from his knees.

“Can I ask where you came up with that outfit?”

Andy twisted his body to look at Hannah. “Mistress, may I?” he asked.

“Certainly, Andrea,” she nodded.

“We have some friends who follow a Dominant/submissive life style,” he told Eve. “We borrowed the items from them.”

“They gave you a little coaching, too,” Eve grinned. “More than a little, in fact. You have the mannerisms and the body language down very good. You could easily pass in the Black Rose Club in Chicago, just to pull a name out of the hat. In fact, you wouldn’t seem out of place at all. Now, passing as female in a place like that, hard to say, but in such a place, Dom or sub is more important, not which gender. Now, to comment on the presentation as a female, not bad. The breasts could look better with a little tape work, like Scott did. Your makeup blurs the gender line, it makes you look like you’re trying to pass, but not give away which way. No doubt that’s your mistresses’ taste, not yours.”

“Yes, ma,am,” Andy said respectfully.

“It makes me wish I’d brought a plaque for ‘Most Into Character’ but I didn’t,” Eve grinned. “So the winner of the Most Over The Top Costume Award for the First (And Maybe Last) Annual Bradford Class of ’88 Drag Queen Contest is Andrea Baker.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Andy intoned.

“Now, come on,” Eve laughed. “Don’t most of you genetic girls here wish you had your husbands trained that well? You might like to get with Hannah and pick up a few of her tips!” There was a little uncomfortable laughter around the room, mostly from the non-genetic girls – and some evil snickers from the genetic ones.

Eve reached into her bag again. She glanced at the plaque and smiled. “This one is a little awkward,” she smiled. “This is a Halloween party, after all, so there needs to be an award for ‘Scariest’. The winner is obvious, even though the only drag involved is how he’d get an Englishman off his horse before he gutted him with one of those daggers. I have a special respect for him for a number of reasons. He saved my butt from bullies a couple times back when we were in high school, and I think he was one of only a few adults in town who didn’t look down on me for being a little odd. He taught me by example that it’s all right to be a little off the wall if you have the courage to do it, so in an indirect way he helped give me the courage to do what I wound up having to do. Jason, thanks, and come over here so I can tease you a bit.”

“Aye, lassie,” he grinned in his broad, if obviously fake accent. “’Tis an honor.”

“Jason,” Eve grinned. “One of the things that you taught me is that it’s possible for a guy to wear a skirt and get away with it.”

“Och, lassie,” he said with a smile. “’Tis a kilt, not a skirt. Kilt is what sometimes happens to the misguided lad who calls it a skirt. Sweet lassies like you, now, an honorable Scotsman gives the chance to mend the error of her ways.”

“Tell me, Jason,” Eve laughed. “What does a Scotsman wear under his kilt?”

“A true Scotsman wears shoes and socks,” he grinned. “Tell me lassie, would you go jogging w’out a bra?”

Eve smiled, suspecting that this could go on for a while, and that slipping one past him was going to be impossible; he’d probably heard every possible variation of kilt joke there was. Still, she gave it another try. “Are you telling me something about what you wear under your kilt?” she asked.

“You’d be the lassie who wants to lift it to find out? ’Tis tradition to not draw a sword lest you be ready to use it. I’d be willin’ but it might be best if the story didn’t get to yon husband.”

“Maybe we’d better not,” Eve replied with a grin. “Let’s put it this way. What’s worn under a kilt?”

“Nothing is worn,” he replied with mock indignation. “It’s all in perfect working order.”

“Jason, do you play the bagpipes?” she asked, taking a different tack.

“Aye, but only to irritate the neighbors,” Jason smiled.

He probably had as many bagpipe jokes as he had kilt ones, so Eve caved in. “Well, to be honest, I can’t comment on the outfit,” she nodded, “Other than the fact that it looks very good and you look very authentic. I’ve heard that you’re pretty good with those daggers. They’re not just for decoration, are they?”

Jason smiled, and looked around the room as he slipped one of the throwing daggers one of his wristlets. “Observe yon jack-o-lantern on the mantle,” he smiled, and flicked his wrist. There was a flash of glimmering light, and all of a sudden the dagger appeared right between the carved eyes.

“Yes, sir,” Eve said respectfully. “There’s a darn good reason why I’m giving you the ‘Scariest’ award. That’s one hell of a nice kilt you have there, sir, and I pity the poor man who calls it a skirt. And like I said, thank you, Jason, not so much for saving my butt those times, but for the inspiration that you were.” She handed him the award, then put her arms around him and gave him a kiss.

“Och, lassie,” he smiled, staying in character. “’Twas no big thing. Just glad ’ta have been of service, tha’ a sweet young lassie like you could be with us tonight.”

It turned out that Eve had brought a number awards with her, enough for everyone; for each one, she called the recipient up, teased them a little, and pointed out several things about their presentation that had been done well, and places where things needed work. Everyone needed work on voice and mannerisms, not surprising for everyone doing it for the first time. Aaron – well, Erin – got the award for Most Elegant.

“I’ve saved the best for last,” Eve said. “I know I’ve been taking a little time on this, and I’m sure that like everyone else I’m looking forward to watching Dayna and Sandy do their best to repair Dayna’s reputation as the black sheep of the class after the number Jennlynn and I did on it. But the last award in my mind is the most important. Emily asked for “Most Realistic,” which I define as most likely to pass at the supermarket, or maybe, most likely to get through a Real-Life Test without getting clocked. “I don’t remember your first name, but Liz’s husband.”

“Mike,” he said, walking out of the crowd. He was wearing a simple brown skirt down to about the knees, and a striped blouse. He was about as overweight as Liz, fifty or seventy-five pounds.

“OK, Michelle,” Eve beamed. “I’m going to be honest and say that I didn’t clock you until I remembered you from the reunion. Not knowing you obviously helped with that. Now, a couple things I’m going to say may not sound flattering, but from my viewpoint, they are. Everybody here is pretty glamorous, right? Except for you, you’re rather plain and dowdy, right? Did you deliberately intend to just look like an average woman, and not stick out from the crowd?”

“Just wanted to look sort of like a woman, and play along,” he smiled. “We didn’t put a lot of work into it.”

“There’s the key,” Eve beamed. “No glamorous clothes, just something of Liz’s that she might wear, well, to the supermarket, if she didn’t just wear jeans, right? In other words, not trying to stick out, but blend into the crowd. In fact, among all the glamour-pusses here you actually do stick out a little, but I’m accounting for that. That’s your own hair, not a wig. You normally keep it in a pony tail, right?”

“Yeah, we used a curling iron to get it looking a little more womanish.”

“You or Liz, you did a good job. A minor detail that had me wondering was the glasses. They’re definitely a woman’s style frames, no man would wear a style like that, and I didn’t catch it until I noticed there’s no lenses in them. Not much makeup, just a little foundation to cover up the beard pores. You could walk down the street, into a supermarket, or like that, someplace where you’re not known, and no one would notice the really relatively minor discrepancies you have because no one would look that closely. The things that are really not quite right are well within the range of what a woman would do, so the observer is at worst left wondering, ‘man or woman’ and all the visual cues say woman. That and your being overweight mask the mannerisms that you don’t have quite right, but again, within the range of what a woman might do. Your voice isn’t bad and could work, but there’s some tricks of intonation that you could pick up. Now, I’m not saying that there’s not things that you could do better, because there are, but on appearance, you could pass most anywhere. Now, I say that with admiration, because I used much the same tricks to pass for quite a while. Don’t draw attention, look like people expect you to look, and don’t give them a reason to take a closer look. For that reason, I’m giving you the Denis E. Riley Memorial Award for the Most Likely To Pass As A Woman.”

There was a round of applause. “Well, thanks,” he smiled. “Like I said, I was just trying to go along with the gag.”

“You avoided the mistake that everyone else here made,” Eve laughed. “They tried too hard. Now, I don’t know if this would be useful information to you or what, but if you’re considering sexual reassignment surgery, the surgeons aren’t real happy if you’re considerably overweight. But if you are considering it, let me leave you my business card.”

“I don’t think so,” he grinned. “Liz might not be too pleased.”

“I could tell you stories, but now’s not the time,” Eve laughed, then got rather sober. “Before we get on to Dayna and Sandy, I’ve got one thing I’d like to add. You’re all aware of the fact that I had a terrible time at Bradford, and I was very happy to leave there and not come back. The only reason I went to the reunion the other night was that Shae twisted my arm rather badly and said that it’d do me good to see that those experiences are in the past. I sometimes think she’s the one who should be the psychologist, because she was right. At that, I didn’t dare out myself until Jennlynn paved the way for me, and I was hardly less surprised at her being a multimillionaire Learjet-piloting prostitute than anyone else. But after an initial shock, everyone at the reunion treated me nicely. With curiosity, of course, and I appreciate that, but no hostility that I could detect. And then, tonight, on top of it. I think I see that most of you have a little curiosity about my side of the fence as a big reason for being here tonight. I know I’m running on, but I’m pleased and happy to say that I do have some friends from the Bradford Class of ’88 after all.”

“You certainly do have friends here, Eve,” Emily smiled. “You’ve taught us a lot of valuable things, especially about tolerance and respecting different viewpoints. I think we can all say we’re pleased and proud of what you’ve accomplished in spite of the difficulties you’ve had, and some of them that we made for you, unfortunately. You’re not in the running for Black Sheep of the class. In fact, if we had an award for ‘When Life Hands You Lemons, Make Lemonade,’ you’d be the hands down winner. You have a lot of friends here, Eve. You’re one of us, and don’t ever think you aren’t. Don’t be a stranger in the future.” She opened her arms and gave Eve a nice hug as she added, “Come back to us.”

There was considerable applause around the room to confirm Emily’s statement, and her hug was quickly replaced by Vicky, and then, one by one, the rest of the Class of ’88 members present. Eve’s face was running with tears by the time they finished up. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you everybody. Yes, I’ll come back.”

Though not exactly nationally known musicians – much of their normal venue was renfaires – Dayna and Sandy were professionals to the core and very good; they enjoyed playing rowdy club dates as much as they enjoyed their regular fare, and they liked getting rowdy. Mostly they tried to avoid that around Bradfordites, but tonight they’d agreed to let out the stops a little.

“In the effort to try to repair my reputation as the Black Sheep of the class,” Dayna grinned, “I’d like to start by saying that the cheap street hooker costumes Sandy and I are wearing aren’t new. In fact, they’re the oldest ones we use regularly, and they go clear back to when we had a seminar on prostitution in the Women’s Studies department at Central Michigan University. That’s where we started collecting songs about prostitution, and we’ve written a few, too. We’ve worn them, oh, now and then, for one show or another. Now, I told this to Emily and Shelly and Vicky the other night, but one of the places we’ve done gigs in these costumes is the place where Jennlynn works part time, which is to say, the Redlite Ranch Bordello in Antelope Valley, Nevada. In fact, we’ve been there three times now just to do gigs, and Jennlynn has made a point of being there when we perform. Now in that effort to repair my reputation, I have to say that she, despite being the real prostitute, always looks sharp and sensual and well-dressed, while we just look like the cheap street hookers we aren’t.”

There was a round of laughter from the people gathered around the room. All the chairs were taken, and people were sitting on the floor, standing in the background.

“Now, since there has been some secrets come out from members of the Class of ’88 in the last few weeks, it’s probably time to let you in on another one, and no, it’s not what you’re thinking. That’s pretty well known anyway.” There was more laughter – that she and Sandy were lesbians was generally understood, although they never admitted it. She continued, “The best known song that Sandy and I have written is a sweet and innocent little thing called Pick Me Please. Can anyone tell me what it’s all about?”

“I always thought it was about a girl at a school dance, wishing a boy would come over and dance with her,” Emily smiled. “You’re saying it’s not?”

“It’s not,” Dayna grinned. “In fact, Sandy and I were inspired to write that song after watching the girls in the lineup at the Redlite Ranch Bordello wishing that the guy who’s just come in the door will take them out back to party for pay.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No, there are a couple of catch phrases in there that are a little odd for a school dance but are likely to be used in a Nevada cathouse. Whenever we’ve done this song at the Redlite, the people there pick them up immediately, but I don’t think anyone outside has ever caught it. What I’m saying is that Sandy’s and my most famous song is about a prostitute on the job.”

“Oh, my word!” Hannah said. “I saw a program at a Christian camp last summer where a girl did that song. She’d just die!”

“Don’t you tell her; it’s just among us ’88s,” Dayna grinned. “Now, what Sandy and I are going to do is to do the cleaner and better known stuff first, take a little break and have a couple drinks before we get into the rougher stuff. So, if you think there’s a danger you’re going to get grossed out, consider yourself warned. Hannah and Andy have heard me do a couple of the raunchier ones, so they have some idea of what we’re getting into. But, for now, Pick Me Please, and see if you don’t hear it differently now that you know what it’s all about.”

The phrase, “Pick me please, so I can give you my love,” certainly had a different meaning to the listeners than it had before, and the song did have a different twist.

“You see what I mean?” Dayna laughed when it was over. “OK, the rest of the stuff that we’ll do first is well-known to greater or lesser degrees, all on the same topic, of course, but some, especially House Of The Rising Sun is a different version than you may be familiar with. The version of the song we do is the old and correct one, not the version that the Animals mangled back in the sixties.”

With that, the two of them bailed off into the old Cole Porter-Billie Holliday Love For Sale, and followed it with Sting’s Roxanne, Reba McIntyre’s Fancy – with Sandy singing, her voice was better suited to country-western – House of the Rising Sun, and a couple others.

“Wow, after that, I’m starting to sober up,” Dayna said. “I think Sandy and I need a drink or two. I know there’s some other musical talent in our class, so before Sandy and I get into the rough stuff, let’s hear some of it.”

It proved that Aaron wasn’t bad with the keyboard and knew some oldies himself; Vicky also knew a few, and it turned out that Liz occasionally did vocals with a country-western band that included Mike, who borrowed Dayna’s guitar and accompanied her on a couple. Eve happened to be close by as Liz finished up. “You like to try one?” Liz asked.

“Oh, I’m no singer, like some people here,” Eve grinned. “I will admit to one song I sing on occasion, but I think John and Shae and Cheryl are the only ones that have heard me do it.”

“You’re setting us up,” Scott laughed, drink in hand. “Eve, you’re good at that.”

“Of course,” Eve grinned. “I’m sure the genetic girls here will agree with me when I say that there are downsides to being a woman as much as there are upsides. I usually find myself singing this when, oh, I’m doing dishes while John is taking a nap after dinner. Now, does the name ‘Christine Jorgensen’ mean anything to anyone here but me?”

She looked around to a roomful of blank stares. “I thought so,” she grinned. “And it proves that time does pass. She blazed a trail that thousands, including myself, have followed. Christine was the first American to go through sexual reassignment surgery, back in 1952 in Denmark. When it was announced, it touched off a huge firestorm of publicity. Christine would just as soon have lived quietly, but she was treated as such a freak she had no chance. She wasn’t a bad singer, and eventually wound up making her living as a nightclub performer. Although she wasn’t the first to record it, this was her trademark song.” She leaned back, and in a voice that could only be considered cutsie-poo, began to sing, and no one doubted that she meant every word of it:

“I’m a girl, and by me that’s only great!
I am proud that my silhouette is curvy,
That I walk with a sweet and girlish gait
With my hips kind of swivelly and swervy.
When I have a brand new hairdo
With my eyelashes all in curl,
I float as the clouds on air do,
I enjoy being a girl!”

Under the circumstances, no one could top that – not even Dayna and Sandy.

All in all, it was a pretty good party; it would have been a good one without Eve there, but she added an unexpected extra sparkle to the proceedings. She still had to drive back to Detroit for her conference the next day, and kept protesting that she needed to leave, but kept hanging around, anyway, obviously delighted in the discovery of old friends she hadn’t known she had. Finally, it was well after midnight and she really had to go – and it happened in a flurry of well-meant hugs and kisses.

That set off a wave of people leaving. It had been a pretty liquid party, and a lot of people were fairly well lubricated, although no one wound up falling-down drunk despite the sneakiness of the punch. A few years before, when many of this crowd had been in college, they’d have been ready to hang the last dog, but they’d grown up since. Still, it was just as well that arrangements had been made to accommodate people who were flying a little too much to drive, and that included Scott and Sonja. Many of the out-of-towners like Shelly had arranged for rooms at a motel in Okemos, and it had been arranged for Vicky to haul them over to the motel in the twelve-passenger van Jason had borrowed. Scott and Sonja took advantage of the van ride and got her to take them all the way home; they could pick up Sonja’s car at the Heisler’s the next day.

“I can’t remember a better party,” Sonja said in the bedroom after she undid the zipper in the back of the brilliant blue dress, and he began to undress as she carefully began to take off the belly dancer outfit and hang it up. “We went to some good ones back in college, but everyone was so interested in getting wasted that they went downhill. This one was great!”

“I thought so,” he agreed. “I know I had more fun than I thought I would.”

“So you enjoyed being dressed as a woman?” she snickered.

“I have to admit, more that I expected. There is a little thrill of flirting with the forbidden that I can’t deny,” he laughed. “I guess I really did get a little peek at the other side of the fence.”

“I know, I picked up some of it, too,” she smiled.

“Maybe we’re not as stone cold straight as we thought we were,” he nodded. “And it was something a little unusual and off the wall, so there might be a story to tell out of it sometime. If we ever decide to do another Halloween party, I don’t know that I’d want to do a drag costume again, but at least a little for tonight, I enjoyed being a girl.”

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