From alt.sex.stories.tg Tue Jul  9 01:49:54 1996
Path: mordred.cc.jyu.fi!forwiss.uni-passau.de!suelmann
~From: suelmann@forwiss.uni-passau.de (Michael Suelmann)
~Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.tg
~Subject: Promotional Value
~Date: 8 Jul 1996 21:22:49 GMT
Organization: University of Jyvaskyla, Finland
~Lines: 3157
Message-ID: <4rru79$2sh@mordred.cc.jyu.fi>
NNTP-Posting-Host: beleg.forwiss.uni-passau.de

TG, cd, incomplete					§§§§§§§c

I found this on a BBS. It's incomplete, but I think there is enough to
enjoy it as it is.


Promotional Value

by

Terry Mason

(Terry M.)

Copyright 1991, Wordmaster

[This is the first part of a novel I'm writing based on my
short story "Promotion of the Century" (Promo.Txt). The novel is
more mainstream than the short story, but it still contains
elements I believe will interest the Genderline readers. Many of
the experiences Christopher/Crystal has will probably be
reminiscent of our own first experiences in public. I hope you
enjoy these first chapters. I'd appreciate any comments you
might have since I am revising this for publication. If there is
enough interest expressed I will upload additional chapters as
they are produced.]

Christopher Carter was a modestly good copywriter, but he was a
lousy mechanic. And like most of us who don't know an axle from
a differential, he always felt intimidated int the presence of
the Gods of auto repair--The Mechanics.

"Well, it's the carburetor, Mr. Carter. No doubt about that.
We'll have to put in a new one. It's cost about $500 Now, that's
not an official estimate, understand. Could be less, Could be
more." The mechanic pulled his head out from under the hood of
the 1975 Pinto Chris drove. He wiped his greasy hands on his
greasier overalls and stared at Chris a moment.

"Of course, that's for a new carburetor. You might get a
rebuilt one, but I couldn't guarantee that it would work. That's
not to imply that you have any guarantee on work of this sort."

Chris felt he was losing what little control he thought he had
over the situation. On second thought, he lost that control
earlier in the morning when he turned the key and the car
sputtered, started and sort of jerked down the street.

"Put in the rebuilt one," Chris said at last, "and put it on my
card."

Chris checked his watch and hoped he had enough credit left on
his card. But he still had to catch the 7:35 down town and it
was nearly 7:25 now. "By the way Chris asked without looking
back, "When can I get the car back?"

"Well, we'll have to order the carburetor. That'll take a
coupla days and then it's be a day or so for the work. We should
have it back in a week. Of course..."

"That's not an official estimate, right?"

"Right." Chris could feel the mechanics smirk drill into his
back and he smelled the smoke of the mechanics cigar which had
been sitting in the ash tray under the no smoking sign. He walkd
out the door and didn't look back.



"I'm going to make this as simple as I can Reg. So simple that
even you can understand it. You are
fired...canned...dumped...terminated. Choose any of those you
wish. I don't care."

Reginald Vanderhost, leaned back in his char and locked his
fingers behind his head. He let out a loud contemptuous yawn.

Then he leaned forward. "My Father..."

"Your father owns this paper, but I'm the editor. I'm the one
who gets the flack when things fall apart. You can run to daddy
if you want. Tell him I was mean to his poor little boy. Tell
him I didn't say "ah, that's alright" when you made up quotes
for the British Prime Minister. Especially for the one that
quoted Mrs. Thatcher describing the president as a "real hunk."
I may be wrong, but I suspect your father will side with me on
this one."

Reg sprang from his chair and said, "We'll see about that. This
time tomorrow, I'll be sitting in that chair."

Reg stormed out of the office confidently. When he reached his
car, a fire engine red ferrari his dad gave him when he
graduated form college, he crumpled like a balloon with a slow
leak, and he was not surprised to see his hands shake



His given name was Beuford T. Buchanan, but everyone called him
"Tex." (He was a "just call me Tex" kind of man). The name fit.
Tex had been born and raised in northern California. As a young
man he moved to Texas to work in the oil fields. Oil made him
rich. But he learned the secret of diversification and now
headed a multinational conglomerate. Nevertheless, you couldn't
think of him as any thing else than "Black Gold Tex". At six
foot seven and weighing nearly 300 pounds, he added new meaning
to the phrase "a big man in his field."

As Tex paced around my office, I could swear I felt the
building shake.

"I have only two words for these proposals--dull and boring."
Tex bellowed out in his second-hand Texas accent. "I made a
fortune takin' risks, drillin' where the geologists said there
weren't no oil. The bold stroke, that's my style. These
proposals have all the style of warmed over possum.

I tried to figure out that last metaphor while Tex continued to
fume.

"I bought Cosmo Girl because that make-up really is
revolutionary. I've seen plain girls turn into ravin' beauties
using that paint. Nothin' in your ads shows the women of america
that. I need more than a new model, a few magazine layouts and a
few TV ads. I need a totally orginal concept. I need a proposal
so hot, you don't have to slip it on the barbecue to hear it
sizzle."

Our Ad agency acquired the cosmo girl account six years ago. We
had not trouble with it until Buchanan bough it. The account
meant megabucks to the agency. More than 20 million in media
commissions alone rode on this campaign alone. As account
executive, I knew which head would roll if we lost the account."

"Mr. Buchanan," I said in my most professional
everything's-under-control tone. "Those were just some
preliminary preliminary proposals we thought we'd show you. The
former owners of Cosmo Girl were -- well -- conservative. You
obviously have a more creative outlook on advertising. Some of
my best creative people have generated some fabulous ideas, but
I sort of reigned in their creativity fearing a creative
backlash. If I have your permission to let them go, we can come
up with a promotion of historic proportions."

It was bilge water. He knew it and I knew it, but that's how
advertising executives are supposed to talk.

He stopped pacing and leaned over my desk. The desk creaked
under the weight.

"Just how long will it take for you to give me one of these
history making promotions."

"Well, probably about a month," I said confidently, remembering
that it took more than three months to come up with the
proposals he just threw in the waste basket.

"You have two weeks," he said matter of factly straightening up
to his full height.

"You must be joking. It would take that long just to prepare
the layouts. And then there's the---"

"Do I look like I'm joking," he said. He didn't.

Swallowing hard, I said, "Well it'll mean putting off some
other important accounts, but by working together with my
creative staff, we'll have something for you by this time next
week."

He smiled a big toothy smile. "I'm sure you will. But I'll be
the judge of what's good."

With that Tex strided to the door and walked out leaving it
open.

I poured a glass of water and dropped in two alka-seltzers,
watched them fizz and dropped in two more.

I pressed the button the intercom.

"Come in here Heather, I want to dictate a memo."


 Chapter Two

"You're a little late today, Chris," Megan Lansing held three
make-up brushes between the fingers of her left hand with the
fourth stuck behind a lock of blonde hair covering her right
ear. She brushed a final brush of fine powder over the model's
face and said. "There you are. Go out and knock the photographer
dead."

The model swished out the door and Megan collapsed into the
make-up chair.

"I've done nine of those manikins today. Confidentially, none
of them look like much without their makeup and clothes."

Chris looked shocked and even blushed a little.

"You know what I mean. But some of these girls come in here
looking like tomboys and they leave looking like..like...that."
Megan pointed to a wall filled with cover shots.

"But do any of them come back and say, 'thank you
Megan?' Nooooo."

Megan pursed her lips in such a comic way Chris couldn't help
but laugh.

"But you still haven't told me why you're so late. You're
usually here ten minutes before a shoot starts. Although, you're
the only copywriter I've ever seen down here. The others just
wait for the proofs.

"Well, I'm not as bright as they are. I need more time to get
an idea what I'm going to write. Being here during the shooting
gives me that extra time."

"You know what I think.. I think you're more conscientious than
the rest. I also think it's a shame that all they have you doing
is catalogue copy."

"I guess that's all I'm suited for. But I'm late today because
my car broke down. The mechanic says I need a new carburetor.
$200 it'll cost. Of course, the mechanic won't guarantee it."

"Ouch. So when will it be fixed?"

"In about a week. But then the mechanic couldn't guarantee
that. Come to think of it, he didn't guarantee much of
anything."

"They never do. Look, I live over in your part of town. I'll
take you home until the car's fixed."

Well, I wouldn't want to impose. The Train--"

"Oh forget the train. You're riding with me and that's final.
By the way how's the novel coming."

"Not bad, except I got my hero into a spot I don't think I can
get him out of."

"Well, I have faith in you. Those short stories you showed me
were really good. Did you ever send them off."

Chris looked down like a little boy caught with his hand in the
cookie jar. "Well, I've been awful busy."

"Uh-huh. One of these days I'm coming over to your house,
address the envelopes and take them to the post office myself."

"Well, after paying for the car, I probably won't have enough
money leftover for the stamps. "

"Well, you might win the Cosmo Girl Promotion Contest."

"The What?"

"The Cosmo Girl promotion. Ted sent out the memos this morning.
$1000 is offered for the best idea submitted to his office by 10
a.m. Friday. In addition he's offering one-tenth of one percent
of the total profits from the campaign. From what I hear, Cosmo
Girl is spending Big Bucks on this one. I also heard - and this
is strictly confidential - I heard that Ted's in hot water on
this one. If he doesn't come up with something by Monday, they
pull the account. If that happens, Ted may be working in
maintenance."

"I don't enter contests. I never win so why enter. But you
might enter. I'm sure you could come up with something. After
all no one around here knows more about makeup. And the last I
heard. Your 'get away' fund was getting low. Theatrical make up
is still your passion and Hollywood is still your destination,
isn't it."

Now it was Megan's turn to blush. Chris thought how becoming it
was. In fact, Chris thought nearly
everything Megan did was becoming. However, he could never hope
to be anything other than good friends. Chris heard she was
involved with one of the photographers. People saw him with her
at most parties. Besides, Chris figured, Megan was gorgeous
enough to be a model herself with her trim figure and a mane of
golden blonde hair which looked to Chris like a cascade of
sunlight falling over her shoulders when she let it flow free
instead of being pulled together into a tight braid like she had
it now while she was working.

"I'm not the creative one, you are. It says so on the door to
your office."

"I don't have an office, just a desk next to Doug Morton who's
overweight, bald, and smokes cigars."

"Well, I still think promotions are in your line more than
mine. When the promotion's set, bring the models to me and I'll
make them beautiful."

Chris was about to suggest working together, when the door
opened and Greg, the six-two, perfectly tanned, muscled
photographer stepped in. "Oh, Hi Chris." He flashed a smile
displaying all of his perfect teeth. "Megan, Carla lost an
eyelash, you have a spare?"

"Sure. Right here. Well, Chris, I guess we'd both better get to
work."


 Chapter Three

Megan owned a 1979 Transam. It was the type of car Chris would
own if he dared. Sleek lines, road hugging suspension, tan and
brown, mag wheels. Chris would have enjoyed the ride if he'd been
driving. As it was, he braked with Megan at every stoplight and
accelerated mentally when the light turned green.

To get his mind off the ride, Chris leafed through Megan's
portfolio he found laying in the back seat. She had a full range
of makeup samples from bug-eyed monsters to breathless bathing
beauties. The before and after shots were amazing. Even the
fashion models were different women after Megan finished her
work.

"You actually create faces," he said. "Some of these models are
actually homely before make up."

"The beauty is in the makeup and how I apply it. I can make a
wide nose look narrow. I can cover blemishes and create
birthmarks, I can highlight cheekbones and make a double chin
almost disappear. I guess I'm sort of an artists and those
manikins are my canvas."

"What about this Cosmo Girl stuff. Is it as good as they say?"

"In many ways it's even better. I have a bottle of foundation
in my purse. Get it out and dab a little on those crows feet
around your eyes.

Chris hesitated a bit.

"Look, if you're going to write about this stuff you need to
see what it does."

"I'm not entering that contest. It's out of my league."

"Sure you always talk about makeup while riding in a car."

Until Megan mentioned it, Chris actually hadn't thought about
the contest. He always maintained the real credit for the
promotion went to Megan since she started him thinking he had a
chance.

"Don't worry, Chris. I wont tell anyone you wore make up. This
is just the best way to see how good it is. Just put a little
next to your eye and look in my compact mirror.

Cautiously, Chris dabbed a bit on. He couldn't believe his
eyes. The crows feet disappeared without a trace and without
looking like they were covered up by makeup. When he felt his
temple the skim was soft and smooth.

"It softens, moisturizes, covers and even removes small
wrinkles temporarily." Megan laughed. "I know I sound like a
commercial. But It really is the best make up I've ever used."

"So with this stuff you could make a homely woman look pretty
good."

"Chris with this makeup and my expertise I could turn you into
a high fashion model."

Megan giggled at the thought. Chris sat silent, thoughtful. He
dabbed more of the makeup on his chin and face. He checked the
results in the mirror.

"Megan," he said smiling a cautious smile. "How do you plan to
spend your half of the prize money."

"What?"

"Remember, you said I was the creative one. Can you get back
into the studio tonight."

"I have a key, but..."

"Then turn around and go back. We've got a contest to win."


 Chapter Four

Reginald Vanderhoff the third stormed into the office of
Reginald Vanderhoff the second brushing aside the insistence of
his fathers secretary that the elder Vanderhoff be left alone.

The office was large, but sparsely furnished. At the far end of
the room sat a large mahogany desk on a raised dais. A chair sat
in front of the desk on the lower level of the floor. Behind the
desk sat a man who probably was described as dashing as a youth
and today would be called distinguished. With hair graying at
the temples, a hawkish nose, dark piercing eyes wearing a dark
pin striped suit covering a physique just beginning to show the
settling of late middle age.

Reginald Vanderhoff the Second was the classic image of the
successful corporate monarch who ruled from this throne room on
the seventieth floor of the Vanderhoff building.

"Do you know what that pig of an editor did?"

Vanderhoff looked up from a desk filled with papers.

"I tried to stop him Mr. Van--" the receptionist stuttered as
she trailed the wayward son into the presence of the father.

"That's alright Tara, I'll speak to my son." he said the last as
though it were a supreme embarrassment.

"Sit down, Reg."

"I don't want to sit down. He should be blacklisted. Yes, that
would teach him fine. You can still do that, can't you?"

"Reg, sit down." The words were evenly spaced and emphasized in
such a manner that even Reg could not mistake their meaning."

"Yes, I heard what happened. And I fully agree with the
editor. What is this now? Four of our papers--'

"Five."

"Oh yes. I forgot about the weekly in New Jersey. But then that
job only lasted six hours. No, Reg, one editor could have been
wrong, maybe even two or three but not all five. From what I've
seen you have the makings of a fine journalist. But you insist
on taking short cuts. I've always been big on family loyalty.
But, I can not have the integrity of Vanderhoff publications
jeopardized."

"But, Dad--"

"No, it won't work this time. Perhaps, I'm at fault. You have
never had to hit the pavement and look for work. Well, that is
about to change. You will learn responsibility whether you want
to or not. You won't be working in any "safe" positions. Word
has been sent to all of our publications. You are - persona non
- __ - grata - at all of them. Here is a check for six months
expenses to tide you over till you find work. And Lord help the
newspaper that hires you. Now, please leave. Some of us still do
work around here.

Reg snatched the check off the table and slammed every door on
his way out of the office. One he even slammed twice.


 Chapter Five

Chris Carter was the last person I expected to see in my office
with a proposal. Megan wasn't quite as exciting. She struck me
as an ambitious young woman, but Chris? He was the type to spend
30 years in the catalogue department and barely make senior
copywriter six months before retirement.

The layout was nothing spectacular. The copy was OK but that
was all. The slogan "Any face can be a cosmo girl face" had a
nice ring to it. But the photos were stunning and the concept
was staggering.

I found myself staring in disbelief at a two page spread. On
one side was a picture of Chris with slicked-down hair and
non-descript face. On the opposite side of the page was a photo
one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen.

Dark black hair cascading over her shoulders; luscious lips,
expressive eyes, a creamy white complexion with subtlely
blushing cheeks. She had a haunting quality about her. She
smiled without hardly parting her lips. Her eyes spoke of hidden
passions in a language too mysterious to decode without the
Rosetta stone she hid deep in her soul.

And the kicker was found in a single word printed under each
picture: "Before" and "After."

"See what you do is you get some actor, male model, femal
impersonator, whatever and you let Megan work her magic. This
way you say to all those women in the audience "If this man can
look that beautiful, why not you?"

My mind was racing ahead of Chris' spiel. The idea was perfect
for Tex. It showed off his product. It was bold and just a
little bizarre. The only problem was that the promotion was too
small.

Chris had that problem with all of the other promotions he'd
designed. That was why he stayed locked into the catalogue
department. His ideas were good, but they lacked scope. If he
had invented the great pyramid, he'd have made it six inches
tall.

I tried to restrain my enthusiasm. If the promotion worked out
the way I saw it, it would be the promotion of the millennium.
But in my best this-is-a-pretty-good-idea tone, I said:

"Chris, Megan this has possibilities. I'm going to work it up
into a formal proposal and call Tex. You clear your calendars
for the next week. I want you available when I call.

"But the Morrison swimwear account..." Megan started.

"And the Beeson spring catalogue..." Chris continued.

"They can both wait. In fact, I want both of you to clear your
calendars till further notice. This promotion is more
important."

I don't think even I knew at the time how important the
promotion would be. It changed all of our lives permanently.

Megan and Chris weren't past my secretary's desk before I was
typing up what had to be the wildest advertising gimmick in
history.

Once the proposal was finished, I punched the intercom.

"Gail, type this up clean. And do it immediately. Everything
else can wait. When you're on the last page, get me Tex Buchanan
on the phone.

About twenty minutes later, I was talking to the big
pseudo-Texan himself.

"Tex," I said, "Drop whatever you're doing right now, and get
over to my office. I've got the biggest promotion idea since the
Heavenly Host did a jingle for the Nativity."

In advertising brashness and showmanship are everything. An
opening like that can kill a contract or get one signed. It's a
risk you have to take.

"Why Ted, I can't drop everything and run over to your office
right now. I've got some very important business on my desk
right now."

I heard the business giggle when he said that.

"Look Tex, this is a promotion that will make the company using
it the most famous cosmetics line in history. I called you
first, because we're already working for you. But this idea is
too hot to sit on long. If you don't want to take an hour out of
your schedule to see it today, I guess I could call Carol
Grayson over at Elegant Lady and let her have the promotion.
Thanks for the time, Tex. We'll see if we can come up with
something adequate for you in a few weeks."

Carol Grayson was an old flame of Tex's and his chief
competitor. Tex almost gasped on the phone when I mentioned her
name.

"Okay, I'll be over in an hour," he snorted "but this had
better be good."

I found out years ago, the one sure-fire way to make someone
want something is to hint that they couldn't have it. It's even
better, if they think you'll give it to the competition.

Tex blustered into my office ten minutes early and lowered his
300 pounds into one of my sturdier chairs.

"Okay, what's so all fired important that it can't wait."

"Tex, Imagine what would happen if tommorrow, Christy Brinkley
or another top fashion model--"

"I prefer Cheryl Tiegs," Tex said with a lewd grin. "That
little filly really gets my heart pumpin' if ya know what I
mean." He punctuated his meaning with a lewd wink.

"Okay, let's say it's Cheryl Tiegs. What do you think would
happen if she called a press conference tomorrow, pulled off a
blonde wig and revealed she was really a man in drag, and that
she owed her famous face to Cosmo Girl cosmetics."

It took him a moment to catch on. When he did, he sprang out of
the chair. Or did his version of springing out of a chair.

"Why son, the sales of Cosmo Girl would go into orbit."

I had him hooked, now all I had to do was to reel him in.

First, I showed him Chris as the beautiful raven haired
high-fashion model.

"Now, there's a little filly, I'd like to have in my corral,"
he said learing at the photo.

How dense can this guy be, I thought.

"That filly," I explained carefully, "is really a stallion." I
laid Chris' photo on top of the woman's picture.

"This is unbelievable," he said looking first at one photo then
the other.

"Yes, it is spectacular. Imagine. we hype the new Cosmo Girl,
fashion shoots, ad layouts, talk shows, the works. Then Voila!
we reveal her as him."

"When I said 'unbelievable.' I meant it. I simply do not
believe this man and this woman are one and the same."

"I sort of expected this. I punched the intercom. "Carol send
Chris Carter and Megan Lansing to my office immediately."


 Chapter Six

When Megan came into the office, Tex's X-ray vision went to
work. I could tell. She could tell. Tex didn't care. Megan
remained cool. But I noticed she took a seat as far away from
our client as she could get. Tex glanced once or twice at Chris.

"You claim that you are her," he said with a contemptuous
snort. "You ain't even a very good lookin' man, and you want me
to believe this gorgeous hunk of femininity is you. Level with
me, boy, she's your sister or cousin or something and what
happens is we switch her for you at the last minute."

"No, honestly, Mr. Buchanan, both of those pictures are me.
Your cosmetics really are revolutionary, and Megan is an
excellent makeup artist. She does makeup for off-broadway plays
and sometimes makes ordinary people like you and me look like
monsters or gods or whatever."

"Well, I still don't believe it. It's a great idea if it
worked, but I don't think it will work."

This was what I was waiting for.

"Okay, Megan, Chris, It's showtime. Megan do your magic and get
right back up here. Is 20 minutes long enough, Megan?"

"Just barely."

"Then take 25."


 Chapter Seven

Reg couldn't slam the elevator door, so he just pushed every
button hard.

Reg was on his way down and Chris was on his way up when they
met with a crash in front of the number four elevator on the
17th floor. When he saw Chris sprawled on the floor, skirt askew
and high heel broken, he couldn't help but laugh.

He reached out and Chris let himself be lifted up.

"Terribly sorry, Miss--Miss"

"Cartier," the answer came not from Chris, but Megan who had
just arrived on the scene. "I'm afraid Ms. Cartier has a bad
case of larangitus and isn't speaking much today. Chris smiled,
pointed at his throat and threw his hands up in despair.

"I'm afraid we're late for a very important meeting right now,"
Megan said pushing Chris into the elevator. As the doors closed,
Chris could just hear a voice say, "We'll meet again, Miss
Cartier."

In the elevator, Megan fumed, "Why that insufferable,
boorish..."

"Do you know him?"

"Just by reputation. He's Reginald Vanderhoff III. His father
owns this building and a chair of newspapers and one or two
small countries if the rumors are right. A real SRK."

"SRK"

"Spoiled Rich Kid. Thinks every woman is his personal toy."

"Well, wouldn't he have been in for the shock of his life?"

They both laughed with Megan adding, "It'd probably serve him
right. But lets get your shoe fixed.

With this she took a package of gum out of her purse.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, here chew," she
said handing Chris two sticks of gum. Popping two others in her
own mouth.

Chris chewed. "I'm probably dense. But what does chewing gum
have to do with fixing a shoe."

"Here spit out your gum. I mix it with mine and we put it
between the heel and the base of the shoe. When we're done, you
have a whole shoe. Of course, you'll have to walk carefully.
Don't walk at all if you can help it."

"You don't have to worry about that. I can barely walk as it
is. How do you girls get around on these things."

"Very carefully, and sometimes painfully. But it's really easy
once you get the hang of it. Just balance your weight in the
center of the heel. Walk slowly and take short strides. You put
the shoe on right outside Ted's door, enter carefully and take
the first seat you come to. It should work.



Chris was so intent on keeping his balance on the quickly
repaired pair of stilletto heels, the only pair that would fit
his 10| foot, that he didn't see the big Texan's jaw drop as he
stepped into the room looking like he just stepped out of the
fashion pages of Vogue.

"Ooowee, If I didn't see it, I wouldn't believe it," Tex
shouted. "I'm still not sure I believe it. Is that you in there,
boy?" With this Tex reached up and gently stroked Chris' chin
with the back of his fingers.

"Hey, What are you---"

"Just checking the makeup, babe, er boy."

"How often have I heard that one," Megan whispered to Chris.

"Well, I'd never have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my
own baby blues. It's remarkable. Truly remarkable."

That was my cue. "Now, Tex, Here's what we do. We take Chris
and promote him as your new Cosmo Girl. For four or five months
he's in the fashion magazines, on TV talk shows, in the gossip
columns, you know the whole routine. Then we call a news
conference and make the grand revelation."

"Yeh, I see what you mean. It'll be bigger than those ads with
Joe Namath in pantyhose. And this little filly in the mean time
makes a gorgeous signature model."

"With this Tex patted Chris on the seat and said, "Welcome to
the Cosmo Girl Family, babe. Sorry, force of habit."

I think Chris by this time was sort of dazed by the whole
thing. But Megan wasn't.

"Now, just what does Chris get out of all this," she said. Look
you're standing here talking about Chris like he is a piece of
furniture. Sure, you've got an award winning promotion and
you'll sell enough make up to fill Lake Erie, but Chris is the
one that will be spending the next four months in drag."

"Wait a minute." It was the first full sentence Chris spoke
since coming into this room. "I never meant to be the model. All
I did was come up with the idea. Look, you're talking about
fashion shoots, talk shows, personal appearances. I get uptight
talking to two or three people in a meeting. Look, I'm just the
idea man. You need an actor or one of these drag artists to do
this right."

"Don't be silly, Chris," Megan said, taking the floor again. "It
has to be somebody within the company so we can limit the number
of people who know about it. Besides Chris is a proven quantity.
And since this is Chris' promotion idea, he could just as easily
take it to Dream Fantasy."

"But--"

"Chris, dear, be quiet a moment. We're negotiating."

She had a point, realistically, we couldn't go outside the
agency, and Chris could take the promotion elsewhere. I doubted
that he would but Megan certainly would.

"Okay, here's the deal," I said knowing this wouldn't be my
last offer," Chris gets all modelling fees. The going rate is
$700 a day and two percent of the agency commissions on the
account."

"No way Chris deserves more than that. Besides you know that
top signature models get more than the standard 700. And two
percent is peanuts on an account like this. What about royalties
on promotional items such as dolls, coloring books, lunch boxes
that sort of thing? No, We want 1500 a day 25 percent of the
commissions and all of the royalty fees from the promotionals."

Well, there's no need to bore you with the rest of the
negotiations or with Chris's feeble attempts to get a word in
edgewise. We settled on ten percent of the commissions $1000 a
day, 50 percent of the royalties and a flat $100,000 bonus to be
presented after the unveiling. Plus we settled on an extra 2
percent for Megan's makeup work.

When it was all over, Chris stumbled out of the office leaving
the ill-fated heel on the floor by the door, I heard Chris ask
nervously, "Exactly what happened in there?"

"I just made you a rich famous woman, my good man," Megan said
as the door closed behind them.


 Chapter Fourteen

"Why did you do that to me back there?"

"Do what to you?"

Megan nibbled on a carrot stick she picked up at the salad bar.
After the meeting, both Megan and Chris needed something. Since
neither of them drank they went to a restaurant on the ground
floor of the building.

"You know what I mean. I'm the idea man. I'm not a model. I
can't even get a good picture taken of myself by one of those
arcade machines."

"Well, you sure did a bang up job on those pictures."

"I guess I did, but still--"

"Be careful with that burger, It'll drip on your dress."

"And that's another thing. Why do I have to wear this silly get
up out to lunch."

"It isn't silly. It's a designer original costing more than a
month's salary for either of us--now. Besides, it looks great on
you." A dangerous look told Megan this was no time for jokes.
"Look, you're going to have to get used to it sometime. You
might as well start now."

"I guess so. I'm still not sure."

"You are about to become rich and famous. And I am not going to
do so badly myself. In addition to the money, I'll be able to
write my ticket. And, you. You will never have to write another
piece of catalogue copy again. You can spend full-time on
serious writing."

"Megan, you have a chance to make it with your dream. You have
the talent. I guess I'm living proof of that. But I don't have the
basic creativity to actually complete a novel."

"I don't know about that. You had enough creativity to come up
with a promotion that will probably be recorded in advertising
text books for the next 500 years or so."

"I came up with part of a great idea. Somewhere along the way I
lost control of it. You and Ted turned it into a great idea."

"Chris you have to stop putting yourself down. You have the
talent. You just don't have the confidence. Now, we're going to
have to take you shopping and get you a complete wardrobe. We
can charge it to the agency. I think pinks and reds would look
good on you."

"Hey, do you have cotton in your ears. I'm not through with
this. I'm going into Ted's office right now and tell him the
whole deal is off, to find a new man, give him the money and the
fame and the wardrobe. I may not have done much with my
masculinity over the past 20 years but I plan to hand onto what
I have left."

"Chris, it would only be for four or five months at the most
and if my figuring is right you could make close to a million
dollars. Think about it Chris a cool million just for wearing a
dress for a few months. Half the population does it every day
you know. And Chris, I know this will work on you. I probably
wouldn't be able to carry off the promotion with anybody else.
This is not only your big break. It's mine, too."

"Well, it is just a few months. And it might be fun. Besides, I
won't have to worry much. The first time I go out in public away
from the camera, The game will be up anyway."

"Would you ladies like anything else," the waiter said as he
poured another cup of coffee and scanned Chris from head to
nylon clad legs."

"No that will be quite enough." Megan said. Then after the
waiter left. "You seem to be doing fine so far. That creep just
undressed you with his eyes."

"Do you have to put up with that kind of thing all the time?"

"Sometimes. Most men are more subtle though. But I've got a
feeling that from now on, you're going to be the center of
attention."

"I guess I will. I wonder--"

"Wonder what."

"I wonder what it's like being the center of attention. Instead
of being the invisible man's more boring cousin."

Megan finished the last cucumber on her plate and quickly
changed the subject.

"Well Chris, enjoy that hamburger. It'll be your last for a
while. You're going to have to do some serious dieting to stay a
size ten."


 Chapter Fifteen

"This suit features superb tailoring, Mr. Vanderhoff. Of course,
it fits your physique magnificently. You wear your clothes
well."

"Yes, yes Flaubert, no need for flattery. I'll take it. Just
put it on my account."

"Certainly, Mr. Vanderhoff."

Reg continued to model for himself in the mirror as the
diminutive sales clerk scurried toward the register with Reg's
gold card. Flaubert was right, Reg agreed, he did wear fine
clothes well. That membership in the health club was worth the
exorbitant fees if it kept him in this kind of shape.

Reg wondered what was keeping the clerk and noticed that he was
talking to someone on the phone with a troubled expression.

"Yes, of course, I understand. But this is an old and
established--. Certainly, but his father is--. Oh, yes I see. If
it must be done, it must be done. Certainly, what would a tailor
be without a pair of scissors."

Flaubert approached Reg cautiously.

"I am very sorry M. Vanderhoff. Your credit card has been
cancelled by your father. It is my sad duty-- That is, I've been
instructed by the credit card company to-- to-- well to do this."

Flaubert picked up what seemed to Reg as the largest pair of
shears he had ever seen and quickly cut the gold card in two.

"I am terribly sorry, sir. However, if you wish to pay cash for
the suit or put it on layaway--"

"Perhaps, I could open a private charge account with you."

"No, Monsieur, I'm afraid I can't second guess the wisdom of
your father or American Express in this regard. Either pay cash
or remove the coat."

"Very well," shouted Reg with an indignation that comes with
extreme embarrassment. "You can have the coat back. It was lousy
material anyway."

Reg threw the jacket on the floor and stalked to the door
pausing for a moment.

"You'll rue the day you wouldn't accept my credit. You won't
get any more of my business. And I'll tell my friends not to
shop here either."

With an impish grin, the tailor replied, "Certainly, I expected
you would tell him."

With that Reg slammed the door, stormed into the restaurant
next door hoping to knock down a couple of drinks at the bar.
Instead, he knocked down Chris
coming out of the restaurant with Megan. Chris fell backwards,
sitting down into a small fountain set up in the foyer to the
restaurant.

Chris stood up slowly, water dripping off his dress and soaking
the back of his pantyhose.

"Well, well, well," Reg said looking down at Chris with his
dress swirling around in the water. "I said we'd meet again. And
here we are. It must be fate, how we keep running into each
other." Reg held out his hand, Chris grasped it hard and pulled
Reg in head first.

Chris stood up slowly regaining his balance on the high heels,
shook off his skirt in Reg's face and in a high falsetto said,
"Come along, Meg. I guess some guys just can't help falling for
a pretty face. Megan covered her mouth and tried to keep from
laughing. She succeeded until she was out of the restaurant.


 Chapter 16

"I'm sorry, Mr. Vanderhoff, I don't have any openings at the
Tribune at this time. Perhaps you could try one of the weeklies.
They often take on people with --er-- with your background."

"Look, I happen to know Joe Worthen just left your paper which
leaves an opening in the city room. I have a ton of hard news
experi-"

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid we're looking for-uh-a different type of
person to take over Mr. Worthen's position. You understand."

"No, I don't understand. I have as much experience as Worthen
had when he left. He and I went to school together. My
experience is comparable. I want and explanation and I want it
now."

"Well, Mr. Vanderhoff, since you pushed. I didn't want to say
anything, but I'm afraid your reputation has preceeded you.
You're a good writer, but you're not dependable. A paper like
ours relies on our credibility. If that were ever compromised--"

"It won't be I promise. I learned my lesson."

"No, we can't take the risk. After all this is a respectable
newspaper not the National Expose. Good Day, Mr. Vanderhoff."

With this the editor turned away from the seat Reg was seated
in, and began pounding on the computer keyboard as if Reg didn't
exist.

"Alright, I'm sure there are plenty of other newspaper's in
this town who don't mind a bit of innovative journalism. I doubt
if I want to work here anyway," Reg said as he stormed out the
door. He wanted to slam the door, but this office had no door.

The bravado kept Reg stable long enough to reach the elevator.
He was glad the elevator was empty. His nerve wouldn't hold much
longer. He all but collapsed against the wall as the car
descended to the ground floor. Even though he'd been out of work
for only a month. He was nearly out of money.

Reg couldn't feature how his father figured such a paltry
amount could keep him going for six months. How'd he expect Reg
to live like a pauper. Move into a tenement and hang his wash
out the window.

Reg knew he was exaggerating. He knew the money should have
been more than sufficient. But, he had lived so long blaming
others for his own problems that it had become habitual. And as
they say "Old Habits are hard to Break."


 Chapter 17

I placed Chris in Megan's hands for the next six weeks. She was
his make-up artist, fashion consultant, drama coach, modeling
teacher, and teacher in all thing feminine. Through her Chris
learned to act like a woman, walk, talk, write, respond and if
you ask me, to even think like a woman. She taught him in little
more than a month all those things a mother teaches her daughter
in eighteen to twenty years.

The relationship that developed between Chris and and Megan
during this time is difficult to describe. She was like a
teacher, but not really a teacher. Like a mother but not really
a mother. It was more like a really good friend.

"I never had a best friend. As a child, my folks moved a lot. I
couldn't get close to anyone. Once I got acquainted, we were
moving again. So, I learned just to blend in do my school work
and amuse myself reading and making up stories. Megan is my
first best friend. The only thing that saddens me is that once
this is over, I'll have to move again."

Megan tried to convince Chris it wouldn't end. So did I. Megan
was sincere (or she thought she was.) I'll admit I wasn't
sincere. I just saw the promotion jeopardized and tried to calm
down the main player. I'm not proud of it, but at that time,
Chris was just another employee. An important employee
certainly, but still just an employee.


 Chapter 18

"No, Chris, you have to go shopping for yourself. I've bought
your whole wardrobe so far. But you have to buy some clothes for
your self."

"I hate shopping for men's clothes. Shopping for women's can't
be any better."

"Well it may not be better, but it certainly is different. And I
don't just mean the clothes."

"What do you mean?"

"You have to realize that shopping for women is not just trying
to find something to buy. It is a special social event. It's a
place where you meet other women within a thoroughly feminine
setting. Some of my best friends are clerks in dress shops, as
are some of the women I'd like to strangle."

"I don't quite understand."

"You will."

"Now, how do you shop for clothes?"

"Well, I go in find something in my size and in a color I can
stand, then buy it."

"You'll have to change that habit if you plan on passing
yourself off as a woman."

"I'm not planning on it, you are. I'm willing to trust my
wardrobe to your taste."

"No, it's your responsibility too. Besides, it's part of your
education as a woman. When you shop, look at alot of things in
your size and in the sizes just below your size. Do not
immediately try on the first thing you look at even if you like.
Look at several other outfits then if you like it return and try
it on."

"It sounds awfully complicated. Well, it's not easy being a
girl."

"You can say that again"

"It's not easy being a girl. It's an old joke, but worth a
try."


 Chapter 18

The dress shop was an upscale shop featuring designer originals
and top quality off the rack. There were no sale signs in the
window, no clearance rack, and the price tags were discretely
hidden up sleeves and pinned to the neckline or waistband as if
the management was embarrassed about the price.

When Chris saw the price, he knew why.

"They're asking more for this blouse than I spend on an entire
suit."

"This blouse is a designer original, and don't talk about your
other life here, dear. Remember, you're a woman now."

"Okay, but these prices are still outrageous."

"This is on the agencies account. And they can't have their top
model dressing in K-Mart originals."

"I don't know I kind of like K-Mart."

"Shh. One of the clerks is coming over."

The clerk was about fifty, wore a camel severely-tailored suit
with a scarf draped stylishly over one shoulder and tied at the
neck on the other side. She approached with the air of one who
is sure of her position in the world and that position is just
an inch or two higher than anyone to whom she speaks.

"May I help you ladies find something." She said looking at
Chris and Megan as if they were a major renovation project. One
which this woman would rather not handle.

"I'm just browsing," said Megan. "Although, my friend is going
to need a new dress for a special formal party she'll be
attending."

"Well, we'll need to look for something in a larger size. We'll
want to hide that little bulge won't we."

"Bulge? I've been dieting for a month. I wear a size 10."

"Well, there are size tens and there are size tens, some places
have sizes which run a bit larger than those in - shall we say
the better boutiques. Now, did you have any idea as to color."

"I like yellow."

"Oh no, yellow simply won't do at all. Not with your sallow
complexion."

"Sallow complexion? What do you-- what does she mean sallow."

"I think we'll just browse on our own for a while Megan said
shoving Chris toward a rack of evening gowns.

"Chris cool down, you're losing your voice."

"Oh sorry, but I was just so mad."

"She's one of the clerks women would like to kill. But try to
understand. She serves the beautiful people all day. Even with
her employee discount she can't afford to shop here except
through a payroll deduction. So, she takes out her frustrations
on the customers. But we came here today to look at clothes.
Let's look. I'm going to have fun shopping vicariously through
you."

"Look, Megan, you'll have to go to those parties too. Put one
or two dresses on my account. Ted won't care."

"Well, I don't know."

"I insist. If Ted says anything, I'll tell him you deserve it.
And if you can't get something out of this, then he can get him
another guy-er-girl. I keep forgetting."

"Chris, do you mean that?" "I sure do. Megan, you got me thinking
about this idea. You negotiated the deal. And although I was
upset at first. It's starting to be kind of fun. And the money
ain't hay."

"Then Lets shop."


 Chapter 19

By the end of the afternoon, Chris and Megan had swept through
the shops on Fifth Avenue and had placed some heavy debts on Tex
Beaumont's credit card.

When they returned to the office, Chris slumped down into a
chair behind his new desk in his new office with walls and a
door. He dumped his packages on the top of the desk. Megan
collapsed on the couch opposite Chris' desk. The office was
still sparse. Chris hadn't had time to bring in anything,
besides he was afraid anything he brought would be too masculine
for an office with the name Crystal Cartier on the door. That
was the name they had finally decided on. It was close enough to
Christopher that Chris could still be used as an effective
nickname but it had a sophisticated flair about it that spoke of
wealth and elegance.

"It is different. I think it has to do with options. Women
have many more options than men in their clothing. Men it's
simply a matter of color and fabric. A pair of slacks is a pair
of slacks is a pair of slacks. You can have blue, gray, black or
brown. You can have cotton, denim, wool or polyester. Sometimes
you can decide on having a pleat at the waistline or not. But
take a woman's skirt. Today I bought an A-line made from some
sort of knit, I have a pleated wool skirt, a swingy full-circle
skirt out of a silky fabric, and a simple slim black skirt with
a slit in the back. Then there are dresses, blouses, pants, and
jumpsuits. You can't take the first thing you look at because
you might miss something else further on. And while it is still
tiring, it isn't boring."

"Well, I for one am tired and just want to go home," said
Megan. And just as she began to leave, the phone rang.



"Great. I'm glad I finally caught up with you," I said in my
then normal breathless manner "Where have you been. I've been
trying to reach you for hours."

"I was out shopping with Megan," Chris said. I noticed his
voice was taking on an androgynous quality not really masculine,
not really feminine. The voice training was starting to sink in
and become second nature to him. "You should see all the things
we bought."

"I'm sure I'll see the bills. But look, is Megan still there
with you?"

"Sure. She was just leaving."

"Well, stop her. You and her need to meet with Tex and his wife
Cindy Lou. No Kidding, that's her name for dinner tonight. Now,
Cindy Lou doesn't know our secret. So, you're just our new
signature model and the makeup artist. Oh, you'll both also need
dates. Tex is sending a limo around to take you to his place.
It's a simple dinner party casual elegant. Wear one of those new
outfits you bought today. See you at eight at Maurices.

"Dates.." Chris sputtered.

"Well, gotta run."

"Where am I going to get" I heard Chris mutter as I hung up the
phone my mind so absorbed on other things I forgot the obvious.

Where was Chis, the new "girl" in town, going to get a date in a
little over three hours?


 Chapter 20

Reg had hoped to get an extension on his job hunting expenses
from his father. However, the elder Vanderhoff had just left for
the airport. He was needed at some emergency brewing at one of
the Family's newspapers in London.

While he was waiting for the elevator to ascend, he glanced at
the building directory. - The - __ - National Expose - had
offices just two floors down from his father's. Reg revelled in
the irony. His Dad fired him from the family business for doing
what these papers did on a regular basis. Wouldn't Dad have a
conniption if I worked there? Reg thought. The more he thought
about it the better he liked the idea. Those paper's thrived on
celebrity gossip, flash copy it was called. Well, Reg was
invited to all the parties. He knew anybody that was anybody in
New York Society. He also knew most of their dirty little
secrets. It would be the perfect revenge, he could use his Dad's
connections to sell copies of a sleazy tabloid. Besides they
probably would pay well for the dirt.

When the elevator arrived, he punched 68 and descended to a new
career, a career that would have wide ranging implications for
himself and eventually Chris.


 Chapter 21

"What does he expect me to do? Pick somebody up off the
street?" Chris fumed.

"It's not like I have a lot of boyfriends hanging around, you
know."

Megan was laughing.

"It's not funny. This is a disaster."

"Well, I'm sure that waiter would love to escort you, and take
the long way home."

"Cute, Megan. Look, I'd have a hard time coming up with a date
as a man. But, You and Ted are the only ones I know as a woman.
You have a steady boyfriend. I don't even know any boys."

"What steady boyfriend?"

"That photographer fellow Gary or Garrison or Garth or
something."

"Greg?" Megan Laughed again. "Greg isn't my boyfriend. As a
matter of fact, - he - has a boyfriend."

It took a moment for that to set in.

"Oh. But I hear you go out with him a lot. And I saw you with
him at the last Agency party."

"Look sometimes a girl needs an escort. Greg is nice, and he's
safe. I don't need any commitments. Not now. Relationships are
too hard on me. So, Greg takes me out, then goes home to
Norman."

"Well, still you've got Greg. You think Norman would like to
escort me?'

"Sorry, Norman's out of the country. But let's go downstairs to
the studio. Maybe one of the photographers is still there. I'm
sure anyone of them would love to take you out."

"What about Martha?"

"Her too, I'm afraid."

"Is there something about photographic chemicals I should
know?"


 Chapter 22

The offices of the - National - __ - Expose - rattled with same
kind of organized bedlam that more respectable newspapers did.
Reporters jumping for the phones. Editors pouring over proof
sheets. Classified operators taking calls. The soft clatter of
VDT keyboards blending with the clickety-clack of a manual
typewriter trudging though the newsroom like an aging dinosaur
creeping toward extinction. The smells of coffee and tobacco
blended with that of wet proof sheets and the tuna fish sandwich
a young college-aged girl held between two fingers of one hand
while typing with the other.

She looked up as Reg entered, laid down the sandwich smoothed
down a wisp of thin mousey brown hair and hurriedly pulled the
pencil out from behind her ear under the earpiece of her
functionally-styled eye glasses.

"Just a sec. I have to finish this two headed baby story." She
typed for about ten seconds more then punched a number code and
Enter. "Okay, glad that's finished. How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for your editor. Is he in?"

"Yes, she is. I edit this rag at least until the publisher
hires a permanent editor or gets the current editor out of
jail."

"Oh, I'm sorry. It's just that I didn't expect to see such a
beautiful young woman as editor."

"Cut the crap, rich kid, You were expecting a middle-aged,
balding male with a couple days growth of beard chewing a cigar
and spilling coffee over the papers on his desk. You were
expecting a sloppy Lou Grant. Well, actually, it isn't a bad
description of Mort Walters, ya know the guy in jail. But for
now you're stuck with me Stevie Simms, girl reporter and
sometime editor."

"Well, I'm..."

"You're Reginald Vanderhoff III. We do flash and trash. I have
a whole file on you. Playboy son of Newspaper Mogul Reginald
Vanderhoff II. Ladies Man. Plays at being a reporter on one or
more of daddy's newspapers. You're working now at the Sentinel."

"Was working at the - Sentinel. - I've decided to go out on my
own. Try a different type of journalistic endeavor. I'm tired of
riding on my father's reputation."

"So, you got fired from that job, too. My guess is Daddy
blacklisted you and you can't get a job anywhere else."

"Oh no, I've had several offers. I'm just keeping my options
open."

"Sure, and I'm Mary Poppins. Look, we don't care what happened
at the other papers. Some of our best people have been
blackballed from the mainstream rags. We aren't interested in
how well you cover a city council meeting or if you get all the
quotes just right at the mayor's news conference. Now, if you
find out that the mayor has been seeing City Council Woman
Jeffers on the side, that's the kind of story we want. Even if
you aren't sure, we can write it in such a way as to say the
same thing without being liable. Now, rich kid, what do you have
to offer."

"Okay, since we are laying our cards on the table, here's mine.
I have access to the homes of the rich and famous in this city.
If there's a celebrity bash, I'm invited. I can talk to people,
go to parties, attend weddings that would ban your people from
that side of town. I know who's sleeping with whom and with
what. And I know who their mate's sleeping with. I know who's
broke, almost broke and who's going to break someone else. If
you want the low down on the high-up's. I'm your man."

Simms was almost drooling at this opportunity and Reg knew it
all he had to do was close the deal on his terms.

"Of course, to do this. I'd need to maintain my lifestyle. I'd
need a substantial salary, and an expense account for
entertainment, clothes, car, travel. But I'm sure we can work
these out. The increased circulation which comes when you beat
every other tabloid in the supermarket with megascoops will more
than cover these minor expenses."

Simms sat thinking for a second. Then Reg lowered his voice and
spoke confidentially.

"Besides, this is exactly what you need now, personally."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you want to just sit in for Mort Walters while
somebody hires his replacement or do you want to be his
replacement. Between the two of us we can make this the fastest
growing, most talked about tabloid in the city, possibly the
nation. You could be up there with the Enquirer, The Sun and The
Daily News. And when it comes time to replace Mort, who do you
think they'll choose?"

That was the closer as we say in sales. Stevie Simms answer was
immediate and quotable.

"Sure, rich kid, you got a deal. Have your lawyers meet with
our lawyers and we'll draw up a contract this week. You start
work on Monday."

Reg's comment was keeping in character, "Fine, Now let's talk
about an advance to tide me over till payday."

Reg left Simms office with confidence in himself, a spring in
his step, a sly smile on his face and a ten thousand dollar
advance in his pocket. Then Reg did something silly and very
childish. He took the elevator up to the 70th floor and thumbed
his nose at the picture of his father which hung outside the
office door. Self satisfied he jumped into the elevator, punched
lobby. He was so absorbed with his good fortune and his private
revenge on his father, his family and the journalism community
in general, he didn't notice when the elevator stopped on the
30th floor. He rushed out of the elevator and right into Chris,
again landing Chris on the floor. At least this time Chris
didn't break a heel.

"You know, Miss Cartier, we do have to stop meeting like this."

It was an old, slightly tired joke. But Reg always felt he
brought new life to any old line.

"Listen," he said. "Let me make this up to you. Let me buy you
dinner tonight. You and your friend. I feel like celebrating."

"Celebrating that you knock people down in doorways," said
Chris regaining his balance and straightening his skirt. "I
think..."

Chris and Reg both were surprised when Megan said, "We think
it's a perfectly splendid idea don't we Crystal?"

Not sure what Megan was up to, Chris decided quickly to go
along. "Sure, I guess."

"Oh, that's right we have that little dinner party at Tex
Beaumonts place."

Catching on quickly, Chris continued "Oh yes, Mr. Vanderhoff.
Maybe some other time, or perhaps you would like to be my escort
tonight?"

"Why, of cause, I've known Tex for years. My folks and I were
at his wedding when he married Cindy Lou."

"Good, he's sending a limo around to pick us up here at seven."

"Well, I could take you in my Ferrarri. Imagine it just the two
of us cutting across the city into the country with the top down
the wind rustling our hair."

"Yes, I can imagine," Chris said under his breath, then louder,
"No, I think we'd better go together, Tex is expecting Megan and
me to arrive together, you understand and I'm sure you don't
have room in the Ferrari for her and her date. So, let's meet
here around seven. It's casual elegant." "Now we girls have to
go and get ourselves beautiful for tonight. So, you just go on
home." With this Chris pushed Reg back into the elevator and
pushed the down button."

"As soon as the doors shut, Chris sputtered, "Why did you get
me into that? I though you didn't like him."

"Look you're desperate for a date. He's available. You can't be
too choosy, right now. Later you can find your own Greg. Besides
he is kind of cute in a spoiled rich kid sort of way."

"Sure, that means a lot to me."


 Chapter 23

The ride to Tex's place was congenial in a strained sort of
way. Everyone made the appropriate small talk. The men
complimented Chris and Megan on their outfits. The "ladies"
returned the compliments. Weather dominated the first part of
the conversation until the foursome fell into an uneasy silence.
It was Reg that finally broke up the iceberg forming in the back
of a $70,000 limosine.

"Aren't first date's fun. And Double first date's are twice the
fun, right? Hey, I've got an idea why don't we tell about our
worst first date. I'll start off. There was this girl I went to
college with. Her name was Buffy Whittington. And Buffy wasn't
her nick name. Her parents named her Buffy. Can you imagine
going through life with a name like Buffy. Can you imagine her
becoming a Doctor. Would you go to a doctor named Buffy. Anyway,
this girl was made for the name...."

By the end of Reg's story everyone in the car, including Megan
(much to her surprise), was laughing. Then Greg picked up the
taletelling talking about his first date with a girl in high
school. For Megan and Chris this story was all the funnier
because of Greg's current preferences in dates.

By the time Megan began her story, Chris started to worry about
his story. He dug out a memory of a lousy first date that Mary
Richards had on the Mary Tyler Moore show and planned to tell
that story when it was his turn.

The car pulled into a long tree-lined driveway and pulled up in
front of a stylish mansion just as Megan finished her story.
Chris had the feeling she had elongated certain parts to make
sure the timing was right.

Reg slipped his arm around Chris' shoulder and whispered, "I'll
find out your secrets on the way home." Chris whispered back,
"Not all my secrets. Don't you know I'm the mystery woman of
Madison Avenue."

Following Megan's lead, Chris slipped his hand through the
crook in Reg's proffered arm and set off on his first date as
Crystal Cartier.


 Chapter 24

Tex Beaumont's house was like something Chris had seen in the
movies. Great spiral staircase ascending gracefully from the
marbled floor of the grand entrance hall. Straight ahead, double
doors opened onto a formal parlor. A butler and maid in full
livery met the guests at the door even before they rang the door
bell. Coats were gathered and taken away to some nether region
upstairs.

But inspite of the stereotyped elegance of the house, there
were touches which were pure Tex. Western Art adorned the walls
and sculptures of bucking broncs and weary cowboys perched on
pedestals frozen in time and space. The strumming of banjos and
the twang of a steel guitar drifted from the open doors to the
parlor.

Just as Chris was taking all this in. Tex Beaumont himself came
marching across the marble floor wearing cowboy boots, a
western-inspired suit, and string tie with a silver and jade
clasp. Behind Tex glided a woman about ten years Tex's junior.
She was too blonde to be natural and her nails were deep red and
much longer than is practical. She wore more makeup than Chris
and a form fitting evening gown cut low in the front and lower
in the back.

Chris wondered if this is what they called casual elegant, what
she wore to black tie.

"There are my two fillies and their fine young escorts, now.
And, as I live and breath, if it isn't Corkey. How're your folks
doin', Corkey, They still have that place up on the Cape."

"Corky?" Chris giggled.

"Don't touch it. Yessir. Haven't been up there in a while. Been
working pretty hard. But I'm taking some time off now and I hope
to visit up there soon. We're having a big party up there Labor
Day. Maybe you two can come up."

"We'll see boy. We'll see. Now, how'd you meet up with these
two."

"Oh, you might just say we just sort of ran into each other."

"Well, Corkey, they're mighty fine girls. Mighty fine. I'll tell
you a little secret. The brunette. She's going to be my new
signature model for Cosmo Girl."

Reg saw his first National Expose begin to take shape.

"Really? Tell me more about it. Why don't you mingle a bit
while I talk to Tex."

"Cindy Lou," ordered Tex, "Take these young'uns around and
introduce them to everyone. Well, I saw that girl on the street
a few weeks back, and -- you understand this is strictly
confidential-- Well, I saw her and I said to my self, 'Tex 'ol
boy, there's your new Cosmo Girl...."

Tex's voice trailed off as he left the room spinning the
standard agency tale of beautiful model discovered from nowhere
with Tex being the hero of the tale.

Cindy Lou was actually more sophisticated than her overdone
makeup and provacative evening gown implied. True, she was
working in a diner when Tex met her over apple pie and coffee,
but she came from an old line Texas family whose fortunes soured
during the depression and never recovered. However, much of the
polish from better days remained in the daughter who could
barely recall WW II.

Yet, Chris couldn't help but feel that a fire burned deeper
than was told by the good manners and tasteless clothes. While
she was polite, even gracious, he felt a slight reserve, even
hostility in her voice when she addressed Megan and especially
when she talked to him.

This hostility broke onto the surface when Greg went for
drinks.

"Now, ladies, since it's just the three of us. Let's talk about
Tex. He has a roving eye. Well, what man doesn't? But that's all
that better rove. I am not the forgivin' kind. I'll do anything
necessary to keep my man. So, if either of you are thinkin'
about havin' a little fling with the boss, think again. See
those shootin' trophies on the wall. They're mine not Tex's and
I'll use the .25 automatic in my purse before I'd let Tex fall
into bed with another woman. Is that understood."

About this time, Greg returned with the drinks and the gracious
hostess returned where a jealous wife stood not 30 seconds
before.

"Oh, there are some people, you really must meet. Mr. and Mrs.
Clayborn. I want you to meet two of my husband's models."

"I'm not a..." Started Megan.

Chris punched her in the side. "Don't disagree with a woman who
carries a pistol in her purse."


 Chapter 25

During the balance of the evening, Chris met a selection of
Cosmo Girl executives, stock holders, visiting Texas oil men,
along with their respective spouses and much to Chris' surprise,
a couple of members of the New York literary community.

The conversation might have been stimulating, if Chris knew
what most of them were talking about. Most of the Cosmo
executives and stock holders talked about revenue projections,
portfolio management, and "maximizing end user attractivity
ratios." The oil men talked about pretty much the same thing
with a Texas accent. And the literary people were publishing
company executives who added the term "creative properties," to
the lingo.

In addition, with each person Chris met his tension grew. He
kept expecting one of the Texas good ol boys to say, "You ain't
no cowgirl" and then do something to remedy that problem. And to
make matters worse, Tex had seated himself next to Chris at the
dinner table and his hand kept brushing up against his knee
under the table.

After dinner, Reg drifted away to talk to one of the publishers
he knew. Megan and Greg were discussing some art work across the
room. So Chris was left alone. Chris was never good at parties.
He just could never get down the art of mingling. He never cared
to talk and say nothing which seemed to him to be the essence of
the sport. To avoid looking as foolish as he felt wearing a
dress, sipping a drink and standing alone at a party in a phony
Texan's mansion, he tried to become engrossed in some bit of
statuary in the corner of the parlor. While he was looking at
the statue, he felt a strong arm curl around his waist.

The accent told him at once who his visitor was. That's a fine
hunk of metal. I paid $20,000 for it but it was worth it."

"Mr. Beaumont," Chris said, trying to turn subtlely away from
the arm. Instead, Tex just tightened his grasp. "I hope I'm
doing alright tonight. I frankly feel ill at ease at parties
anyway and meeting all these important people."

"Don't worry, kid. They all love you. You don't have to say
anything to these big shots. Just agree with them. Nod that
pretty head of yours occasionally and smile, let them do the
talking. They'll think you're a great conversationalist. I've
been getting away with it for years."

Tex looked around cautiously in the direction of his wife who
was talking to a group a people in the next room. As he looked,
the group shifted out of view. When it did, Tex spun Chris
around giving Chris the opportunity he needed to slip away from
the Big Man's grip and right into a corner. Tex leaned against
the wall with one arm on one side of Chris and one on the other.

"You know, you look good enough to eat. I still can't believe
you're a fella under all that makeup. Say, if you like this type
of art. I've got more upstairs. Painting, sculptures, prints.
I've got an original Remington hanging in the master bedroom."
From the look in Tex's eyes, even Chris as inexperienced as he
was from the feminine side of such encounters knew the
implications of "come up and see my etchings."

"Well, I-- That is, shouldn't we get back to the party."

"Why worry about that. They won't miss us for fifteen minutes
or so." Tex said. He took one arm down from the wall and grabbed
Chris' hand in a vise like grip and began to pull Chris forward.

Chris planted his high heels deep into the high shag carpet of
the parlor. He considered planting the toe of that shoe near the
zipper on Tex's trousers which seemed to be bulging
suggestively.

He was about ten seconds away from temporarily altering Tex's
singing voice, when he heard a voice from the side.

"Oh, Crystal, there you are. I almost lost track of you. You
really must meet this couple. They're neighbors of Mummy and
Daddy up at the Cape."

Reg slipped his hand under Tex's and pulled Chris away.

"Oh, by the way, Tex, I think Cindy Lou was looking for you a
few moments ago."

Reg said over his shoulder as he pulled Chris away.

"Thanks," said Chris with a sigh. "He was trying to get me
upstairs to 'see his Remington.'"

Reg laughed. "So he's still trying that old dodge. If Cindy Lou
found out about how he used that painting, she'd probably take a
butcher knife to it and then to TeX."

"She does seem to be a bit jealous."

"Saying Cindy Lou is a bit jealous is like saying the Boston
Strangler was a bit annoying. One time, she just suspected some
woman was coming on to her husband. She took that .25 she
carries in her purse, emptied the clip into the woman's
apartment. Slapped in a second and third clip and carved her
initials into the apartment door."

"Didn't anybody call the cops."

"Sure. But a few hundred thousand changed hands and the charges
were dropped. The woman was unhurt. And Even if she was having
an affair with Tex, she probably wasn't in love with him. I
don't think anyone is except Cindy Lou. Besides, the type of
money she got, could help console a weeping heart. I just hope
Cindy Lou's jealousy doesn't get someone killed. That's the sort
of thing you can't buy your way out of."


 Chapter 26

The rest of the evening, Tex watched Chris and occasionally
winked. However, he didn't approach too closely. Cindy Lou also
stayed close to Tex, and shot an occaptional dangerous look in
Chris' direction.

The Limo delivered Megan and Chris, Greg and Reg back to the
office. As the limo pulled away, Reg turned Chris around.

"Well, am I forgiven for our earlier meetings," he said with a
glint of satifaction in his eye. He obviously knew the answer.
Charm came easy to Reg. Reg usually did what came easy.

"More than forgiven. And, hey, I want to thank you once again
for rescuing me. It's scary having a 300 pound man hovering over
you."

"Well, you know what they call me Sir Reginald the Bold, slayer
of dragons and rescuer of damsels in distress." Reg bowed low
with a grand flourish.

Peeking up, he asked, "Does this mean, we might have dinner
together sometime. Just the two of us."

"Uh-well. I'm not sure. Right now, I'm busy getting ready for--
Well, It's too soon to tell that. And then, in just a couple of
weeks--. Look, why don't we wait awhile. Give me a call."

"Okay, what's your number."

"My number. Oh yes, why don't you just call me at the office
here. My extension is 546."

"Maybe, I could give you a lift home."

"Well, I'd love to. But, Ted wants to see Megan and Me in his
office. You know business. Thanks for the offer. And, aside from
Tex, I had a great evening."

An awkward silence followed. Reg looked at Chris' eyes. Chris
could imagine the thoughts going through Reg's mind. He could
almost hear Reg weighing the options: a full kiss on the lips, a
friendly peck on the cheek, a long handshake. Chris decided to
cut the speculation short by seizing the initiative. He stuck
out his hand.

"I'd really better get upstairs. We'll have to get together
again real soon."

Reg took the hand and with a fiendish smile lifted it to his
lips. "Ah yes, fair maiden. Parting is such sweet sorrow. But
I'll say good night until the morrow."

Then with a swirl he marched down the street and Chris
breathing deeply marched into the office building.


 Chapter 27

"That was Brilliant, brilliant."

Megan had already made it to the office. Greg had went home to
Arthur. I was ecstatic. Chris failed to appreciate my ecstasy.

"What was brilliant. Almost being raped by that Texan. Look
this isn't going to work at all. I'm out of this."

"Chris, baby. You were terrific. Everybody loved you. And
arranging a date with one of the Big Apple's most eligible
bachelors was a coup a real coupe."

"You might say Reg just fell into my lap. And there's another
thing. Now, Reg wants another date."

"Great."

"What's so great about it. Lest you forget under these
pantihose is same equipment Reg has. Now, I don't have the same
inclinations as Greg and I doubt seriously if Reg does either."

"Look, go out with him. Bob and weave a bit. Megan can give you
clues on how to turn off a man's passion."

"Thanks a lot," Megan said looking deeply offended.

"No, you know what I mean. How to keep someone at arms length.
The publicity value would be great. Cosmo Girl and her dreamboat
suitor. The tabloids would eat it up. You'd be every woman's
ideal. And use Cosmo Girl we'd be saying and you can land your
own millionaire. Cosmo Girl sales would soar and we could tack
an extra million or so in media buys onto our already growing
account."

"I'm not dating Reg Vanderhoff and that's final."


 Chapter 28

Chris was over at Megans apartment when Reg arrived at the door
with a bundle of roses. He thrust them into Megan's hand.

"Something to brighten up your girl's apartment and for my
lovely date a corsage."

"Oh brother," whispered Megan. "I'll be in my room," she
continued in a louder voice. Then lowering it as she closed the
door, "I'm allergic to applesauce.."

"I guess your roommate doesn't like me much," Reg said with an
almost shocked innocence as if any woman wouldn't like him.

"Oh, she's not feeling too well, right now. Let me get my purse
and let's go," Chris said noting the irony of it all. As
Christopher Carter, he hadn't had a date in three years, little
more than five in the last decade, and now in less than a week
as Crystal Cartier he'd had two dates, but he was the one
grabbing a purse before taking off. Chris took a deep breath as
he slipped the chain of a beaded bag over his shoulder, checked
his hair in a mirror and took headed out the door with Reg's
hand gently drifting around his waist. Perhaps, it was the
gentleness of his touch or the situation or perhaps Chris was
just getting used to being touched more as a woman than as a
man, but he didn't feel as much tension as he did with Tex.

When Chris reached the garage, he saw the car of his dreams
parked in the visitors section. It was red, sleek, and a
Ferrari. Forty Thousand Dollars of glorious machinery. The
grown-up version of a red flyer wagon a dream of speed and
glamour. More than a vehicle, it was a way of life. It took a
special type of man to own and drive a red ferrari. It took a
man of confidence, a man with flair, a man who knew who he was
and was comfortable with it. It was a car for the man Chris
wished he was, but was not. And certainly not for the man who
was balancing on high heels and straightening the hem on his
designer original skirt starting a date with a millionaire
bachelor.

"There she is. My one true love-Carla T."

"You named your car."

"Why not people name their cats and dogs, boats and fighter
planes, houses, ranches and estates. I spend more time in this
car than at home. And I'll tell you a secret. I talk to her.
That's right. When I'm feeling down or I need to work out my
thoughts, I tell it to Carla. She listens, she purrs and she
never argues. Well, my lady, your carriage awaits."

"Are you sure? I mean are you sure she won't mind an extra
person."

"Oh, carla doesn't have jealous bolt in her frame. But then, I
only let very special women ride in her."

"And you know many special women, right."

"Actually, I have another car for the not so special women. I
only take out two or three women a week in this car."

"Well, then I guess I'm honored."

In spite of his uneasiness, once at dinner Chris found himself
enjoying the evening.

Reg carefully blended charm with casual questioning pulling out
of Chris the entire life story of Crystal Cartier. A casual
question followed by some personal reminiscence of the rich life
led into another question equally casual.

This type of questioning probably would have worked if Chris
had actually been Crystal Cartier, but Chris was so unsure of
his pseudo-identity that he gave vague, brief answers and turned
the questioning back on Reg. Reg was proud enough of himself
that he would drift off into another story of old money
shenanigans "at the cape" or in Puerto Villarta or at St. Moritz
during the party season.

Actually Chris found himself enjoying the evening immensely.
Chris wasn't exactly from the slums, but his middle-class
upbringing made Reg's stories of jet setters and petite noblesse
and celebrities as exciting as any of the novels he read himself
to sleep with at night. Through Reg Chris skiied Aspen, sailed
the Caribbean, attended the Cannes Film festival, drank thick
expresso in little cafes from Paris to Zurich.

But Reg wasn't one to give up easily, he started asking about
Chris' family and home town. Chris had easy answers to these
questions handily supplied by a biography crafted by Ted, Tex,
Megan and Himself. It was an alloy of truth fused carefully to
untraceable fiction. His parents were deceased, so were
Crystals. They lived in a suburb of San Francisco before moving
to the East Coast in Chris', senior year of high school, so had
Crystal's. Chris also manipulated a few personal touches. He'd
never been too popular in high school so Crystal became
homecoming queen and head cheerleader. She also won a couple of
beauty contests. Chris wanted to make them writing competitions,
but Ted and Tex vetoed that as sounding too intellectual for a
model. "It ain't really feminine. A sweet little thing like you
should just be thinking about clothes, and hairdos."

"Not to mention ensnaring some eligible bachelor, having a
brood of kids, a house with a picket fence with an all electric
built-in kitchen." added Megan with a slowly rising voice.

Chris probably wouldn't have noticed anything a few weeks
before, but now he could sympathize with Megan. Why couldn't a
woman be beautiful and intellectual at the same time? What was
unfeminine about writing? The irony of it was that when he was
in school, the journalism club was dominated by girls and the
guys thought writing was being a sissy. Perhaps, pursuing a
quiet life in a non-physical manner has just gone out of style.

But it's pretty hard to come up with a complete fictional
biography. So, big holes were left. Many of Reg's questions made
Chris think up quick ways to change the subject or create
answers from thin air. He later said it was great training for a
fiction writer.

At one point to sidetrack Reg from a line of questioning that
was taxing his powers of creative writing, Chris asked Reg, "So
what do you do? For a living I mean. You do work, I guess.
Though, I don't see how you fit it in between jetting off to the
Riviera whenever the party season starts.

Now it was Reg's turn to think fast. He couldn't tell that he
worked for the National Expose. That would ruin his chances of
uncovering the type of scoops he promised the editor. So, he
almost told the truth.

"Well, I write. Sort of freelance. I'm working on a novel right
now. That's one thing about having a rich family, you can take a
year off to work on a novel if you like. It's not like they
would cut you off without a penny."

Finally, Chris found something in Reg he could honestly
understand. Only a fellow writer can understand the sublime
madness that drives a person to commit words to paper. Only
another addict of the typewriter can know the excitement of
seeing words he wrote printed in a magazine, a book or even a
catalogue and know that total strangers will read those words.
This was one point in which the children of a suburban cottage
and a country estate could share.

"Me, too. I write, a little. I've got a novel in the drawer,
that I don't have time to finish. Maybe in a year or so."

"No kidding. What's it about?"

"Well, I has to do with this guy who works in an advertising
agency, but he really works for the CIA..."

The two shared plots, writing tips, market trends and news of
the publishing trade for well over three hours. About eleven
o'clock, the waiter tactfully asked if Mr. Vanderhoff would like
the check.

"I guess that's a subtle hint. Look, if you'd like, we could
go over to my place and I'll show you a few chapters."

He wasn't the letch that Tex was, but Reg's reputation with
the ladies was fairly well known. Chris knew that visiting his
apartment at nearly midnight could lead to other activities than
editing. These were activities Chris could not complete to Reg's
satisfaction.

"No, I don't think so. I'm too tired now. Besides I've got
work tomorrow. Not all of us have the luxury you wealthy playboy
writers have. Perhaps some other time. I still have to get my
beauty sleep."

"Well, you could sleep over at my place. I have a nice large
bed."

"Yes, but I doubt I'd get any sleep. I think my place is
better for now."

"Okay, but you don't know what your missing."

"I know better than you think" Chris whispered as he grabbed
his purse and got up to leave.

When they arrived back at Megan's apartment, Reg escorted
Chris to the door. This time Reg didn't wait for an awkward
silence. He slipped an arm around Chris and quickly planted his
lips against Chris'. The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but to
Chris it seemed like weeks. The strange part about it for Chris
was that while one side of him found the experience unpleasant
another side rather enjoyed it.

"Well, my fair maiden," Reg said with mock british accent.
"Parting is such sweet sorrow. Something, Something till the
morrow. I never did quite get down shakesphere. Seriously, can I
call you again."

"Well -uh- sure. Maybe you could bring along your manuscript
and I'll bring mine."

"Ah, but if I brought it along, how would I get you up to my
apartment?"

"I'm sure you'll keep working on it."

Chris checked the clock as he came into Megans apartment.
Megan was asleep on the coach with a copy of theatre arts
laying on the floor beside her drooping hand. Chris picked up
the magazine, pulled an afghan off the back of the couch and
covered her up.

Chris watched her sleep for a few minutes. Thinking how
beautiful she was even as she slept. He wanted to take her up in
his arms at that moment and kiss her like Reg did him. Then he
almost started laughing at the thought of him trying to kiss
while wearing a blue chiffon dress, high heels, earrings and
carrying a beaded purse.

The irony of the situation struck him. For years he'd dreamed
of being this close to Megan. And when he finally got close to
her, he was a woman. With a deep sigh he picked up his purse and
tip toed out of her apartment, down to his car and back to his
solitary life as Christopher Carter, the invisible man.


Chapter 29

"Mystery Woman Chosen Cosmo Girl Signature Model. The Expose
has uncovered the identity of Cosmo Girl Cosmetics new signature
model. Her name is Crystal Cartier and she is a virtual unknown.
Reliable sources inform this reporter that Cosmo Girl owner Tex
Beaumont discovered the girl working as a waitress in a Madison
Avenue diner. Otherwise, her background is a mystery. She was
born and raised in Northern California and won a couple of
hometown beauty contests before coming to the Big Apple. Fairy
Tales do come true, if you are a devastatingly beautiful five
foot seven brunette who happens to catch the eye of Manhattan's
wealthiest Texan."

Stevie Simms switched off the computer screen. She tapped her
chin with a sharpened pencil as if she was ready to start
marking up the electronically stored story.

"Not bad. For a start. It'll make a good lead for your column.
The other miscellaneous who's dating whom will fill out the
rest. But if you're going to work here, we need more."

"More? Look, there's not over two dozen people in all New York
who know about Crystal becoming the new Cosmo Girl. That's a
bona fide beat on every other celebrity column in the city."

"Sure, sure. It'll sell a few papers. But let me shine a
little light into that dark skull of yours. We call this a
newspaper, but it's not. People don't buy this rag because it
has news in it. They buy it to read about two headed babies
which may or may not be real. They buy it to read about some guy
who became a girl then married his lady surgeon who became a
guy. And for celebrity news, they don't want to know about stuff
which the regular papers will tell them when the press
conference is held. They want to know the dirt. Who's the
Crystal dating? Is he married? Is she pregnant? Does she do
dope? What's she look like in her underwear? Does she like girls
instead of guys? That's the real beat here. Flash and trash
that's what we sell. It tells the people, look the rich and
famous they're just like the rest of us. They cheat on their
wives and their income tax. They get high, they get drunk, they
get stoned."

"Well, I could be wrong, but I think this girl's the real
thing. She seems genuine and sincere. But then, I've only dated
her twice."

"You've dated her?"

"Sure, that's where I got this information."

"Okay, okay this is great. Keep up this realtionship. You can
find out more information. You say she's a mystery woman. Well,
this tabloid nose says that mystery women are women with a
skeleton rattling about in the closet."

"I don't think so."

"It doesn't matter. If we work things right, she could be Mary
Poppins and we can make her look like the Happy Hooker."

"I don't know. I don't mind reporting real dirt, but making it
up. Look where do you think you're working, the New York Times.
Besides you didn't seem to mind making things up at your last
job."

Yes, but...

"No buts. Rich Kid. We advanced you a lot of money. All we've
got so far is the society register's wedding list and one
potentially hot story. You can't get a job elsewhere and if you
want to keep living life in the fast lane you have to have
someone to pay for the gas. So, you can do things my way or find
yourself a job slinging hamburgers at McDonald's."

"Okay, Okay. The publicity, good or bad, won't hurt her
career."

"That's the way rich boy, find a way to make it sound like your
doing a service. We all have to have ways to live with our
consciences when we pick up our paychecks on friday."

Stevie for a moment lost the chiseled marble expression around
her eyes and seemed to be lost in some forgotten memory. Then as
quick as it dissolved the marble formed again. Reg wondered what
she saw behind that haze.

"Reg, if you're going to cover the celebrity beat you'll need
a photographer."

"Hold on. How am I going to work incognito with some
photographer hanging around."

"This guy won't get in your way at all. He's the master of the
telephoto. All you have to do is set the shot up for him. Just
maneuver this girl into some sort of racy, sexy, embarrassing or
outright scandalous position and Sleaze Malone will take it from
there."

"Sleaze Malone?" "The guy's name is Sleaze. It's a nickname
given to him by some of his portrait subjects in gratitude for
his photographic stylings. He seemed to think it was a
compliment. Sleaze is a creepy, low-life, despicable little ball
of slime, and we're lucky to have him working for us."


 Chapter 30

"Ted, you've got to see this," Megan burst through the door
of Ted's office and pushed aside two graphic artists. She threw
down the National Expose open to page 17 "The Inside Track
Column by The Insider."

"So, The Scandal Sheets have a new garbage man."

"Look at the lead story. 'Mystery Woman Chosen Cosmo Girl.'
It's about Chris. Two weeks before we unveil hi--"noticing the
two artists Megan said in confidential tones. "Don't you think
we'd better talk confidentially."

"That's right. And get Chris in here Now."

"H- she was right behind me. Where'd that girl get to?" Megan
reached out the door and pulled a reluctant Chris through the
doorway as the artists exited. She shut the door."

"How did they find out that information? The story even names
Chris' date to Tex's party hinting that there is romance in the
air. "

Ted started laughing.

"Well, I for one don't see anything funny about it," said
Chris as he settled into one of the high backed leather chairs
in Ted's office. As Chris adjusted his skirts in the chair, Ted
thought how far Chris had come during the last six weeks or so.
He seemed perfectly at ease in his new feminine role. He walked
naturally, and even looked sexy as he walked, in his custom made
high heels. He even kept up the feminine voice in private
meetings at the office just in case someone walked in.

"Look, it's not just funny. It's perfect."

"Perfect? It blows the surprise unveiling."

"Sure, but it creates an air of anticipation. I just wish it
had been my idea."

"Where did they find out?"

"My guess is someone at the party. Tex was showing Chris off
to everyone that night. One of the guests or more likely one of
the servants sold the exclusive to a reporter."

"But that bit about me and Reg. That's even better. Everybody
loves a love story and in this one glamour meets wealth. Tell me
Chris. Does this guy really like you?"

"I guess so. He tried to get me up to his apartment and he
kissed me on the steps of Megan's apartment."

"He what?" Megan blurted out. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, it was just a quick kiss. I didn't want to get into any
thing. Besides, I didn't feel too good."

"Chris, we should have talked. It was your first kiss and it
turned around the way you normally did things. Thats the time
for friends to talk."

Ted Broke in "We can get back to the girl talk later. But this
is wonderful. Reginald Vanderhoff III comes with built in
publicity. Dashing, handsome, rich with more than his share of
class. We can play this big."

"What if he wants to marry me?"

"You don't think you could get him to propose do you?"

"Ted," said Chris and Megan in unison.

"It was just a thought. Still--"

"No way," barked Chris losing for a moment his feminine voice.

"Okay, but look at it this way. You'll be going to alot of
parties, dinners, receptions, premiers. You're going to need an
escort. This way with a steady date you don't need one. So, go
after him and keep him coming back to you. You've got the stuff
to make him forget other women for a few months. Megan can give
you flirting tips I'm sure."

"I don't flirt."

"Sure, but show Chris how to get a man anyway."

"Not that I've had a star studded love life the last few years
she said under her breath."

"It's bound to have been better than mine," Chris answered in
his mind.


 Chapter 31

Sleaze Malone's physical image lived up to his name. His small
slouching form was covered by an out of date, maroon leisure
suit. The paisley shirt open to the third button revealed a
hairy chest which looked as if the hairs had been teased to
stand upright. A thin mustache and a perpetual five-o'clock
shadow completed the picture.

Slung across his left shoulder and under his arm was his
camera, telephoto lens poking out behind him like an obscene
misplaced tail. Over the right shoulder hung his camera bag.
Both burdens were suspended by straps wrapped around rolls of
film. The straps crossed over his chest making him look like
some singles bar bandido.

"Malone's the name, and shooting stars are my game," he said as
he stuck out his hand to Reg. Malone stood smiling a greasy
looking smile that said "Your glad to meet me, aren't you."

Reg reluctantly shook Malone's hand, reminding himself to wash
as soon as he got home.

"Malone," said Simms, "Reg is our new celebrity beat reporter.
He knows everybody who is anybody in New York society and he
speaks fluent hoi polloi. He'll set up the shots, all you have
to do is take them."

"That's Okey Dokey with me, boss lady. Who's our first victim."

Reg winced wondering how he got into this. Then remembering,
he felt like throwing himself on his father's mercy and begging
to work on a real newspaper again. But his pride wouldn't let
him. Besides, he was afraid it wouldn't work."

"Crystal Cartier," answered simms, "She's going to be Cosmo
Girl Cosmetics new signature model."

"Cartier. Never heard of her."

"She's new talent. Discovered slinging hash in a diner
according to legend. Who knows. Probably sleeping with Tex.
Every other model he had was."

Reg began to say something. Then remembered he was in no
position to say anything.

"So, you need some candids, street shots and the like."

"For now, yes. If she becomes a hot item then we can work on
something more interesting."

Laughing a snorting kind of laugh. "Who knows maybe she has a
window in her bathroom."

"Look, I've heard just about enough," said Reg surprised at
his vehemence over just another girl. "Crys is a nice girl.
Alright, I like her. So, we'll do a few set up shots, but you
stay away from her bedroom or bathroom windows or you'll be
eating that camera of yours."

Reg had a habit when he was especially angry of suppressing
the tone of his voice which made him sound all the more
menacing. The flash of his dark eyes told both Simms and Malone
this was no time to argue.

"Hey, Hey, Hey. Whoa, good buddy. I'm just kiddin around. I'd
never do anything to invade the ladies privacy. I have my
ethical standards, you know."

Reg knew the ethical standards of Malone, but hoped fear could
keep him from exercising those standards.

Simms broke in at this point, "Look you can discuss artistic
differences later. Right now I need pictures of Cartier for next
week's issue. Reg, you make a date with her. Take her some place
public. Take her someplace fancy where she can dress up. We'll
play the glamour angle on this one. You'll be part of the story
too. Who's that Girl with the city's most eligible bachelor. You
know the route."

"Okay, but I want him out of sight. I don't want any way this
can get back to me. I feel lousy enough being the one to set her
up without her finding it out."

"You, don't have to worry, sport. Discretion is me middle
name, it is. I'm like the chameleon I fit in anywhere."

Somehow Reg couldn't believe that, but he'd take Crys
somewhere where there were big potted plants and hope Sleaze
knew enough to blend in with the dirt in the pot.


 Chapter 32

"Why didn't you tell me about being kissed by Reg?" Megan
fumed as they left Ted's office.

"I didn't know I had to keep you informed about everything
that happened," Chris said feeling like he was being grilled by
his mother on his first date

"Well, you don't. But still I thought that we-- Well that we
were close enough that you could tell me--"

"Actually there wasn't anything to tell. The kiss caught me by
surprise and went by in just a few seconds."

"Well, how was it?"

"What?"

"The kiss."

"I don't know. It's not as if I have a lot of experience to
compare it to. I guess he kisses well enough. This wasn't some
major clinch, you know. It was just a short good night smooch. I
came back to the apartment and you were asleep on the couch, so
I just went home. And I guess I forgot about the kiss until
today."

"Well how did it feel for you to be kissed by a man?"

"It's hard to explain. I wasn't exactly turned on by the kiss.
But I guess I was secretly pleased. It was nice to be
appreciated. It was nice someone found me attractive. You see I
never had that happen before. I've been useful on occasion. But
mostly once my usefulness disappeared so did I. I just took my
place with all the other furniture in the office or home or
wherever. And just like you don't tell a typewriter "Good Job
Smith-Corona" or "I really appreciate you Olympic," no one ever
said "I think you're something special at least for this moment"
in words or deeds at least not until last night. At the moment
of the kiss, I knew I was worth something more than simply the
sum of my talents which is a small sum indeed. He didn't kiss me
because I was useful. He kissed me because I was me or her. I
don't know. There's just no way to describe it. I didn't enjoy
the kiss, but I liked what it symbolized. Then again, maybe I'm
gay and too dumb to know it."

"I don't think you're gay, and I do think I understand what
you're saying. I guess those of us at the agency have sort of
taken you for granted."

"Well, there wasn't much of me to take for granted. I was just
a small man in a very big business. A low profile guy in a high
profile business. There was no reason for anyone to pay
attention. But just cause you understand a pain doesn't mean it
doesn't hurt. I understood but it hurt."

"Life gets complicated sometimes."

"Actually mine never did. I went to work. Came home watched
TV. Worked a little on my novel. Went to sleep. Dreamed about a
life I'd never have. Then began the cycle over again. It was
boring, but not complicated. The ironic part about this was that
that kiss was my first kiss in nearly 15 years. And it came from
a man."

"Well, look at it this way. Your life is getting more
complicated, but at least it isn't boring any more."

"I think I could use a little more boredom."


 Chapter 33

"I don't like it. I don't like it at all." Chris adjusted his
blouse, tucked it into the waistband of the blue chiffon
miniskirt that brushed his legs about four inches above the
knee. "I don't like dating, Reg. I don't like waiting on him. I
don't like riding with someone else. And most of all, I don't
like this miniskirt."

"You look great in the skirt," Megan said. "You have great
looking legs and the Cosmo Girl leg makeup makes them look even
better. Look you're a rising star in the fashion world.
Miniskirts are in now. You'll have to go with the fashion
tides."

"I don't see why Ted wants me to keep going out with Reg even
before we start the campaign."

"You heard him. 'We have to keep the fish on the line so we
can reel him in at the most opportune time in the campaign.'"
Megan's voice dropped a couple of octaves as she imitated Ted.

"I wonder what he means 'reel him in.'"

"Oh that's just how Ted talks. He thinks it makes him look
like a high powered advertising guy. Running it up the flag pole
so he can see how it plays in Peoria and see if anyone salutes.
This whole thing is image. All of those big shots wear makeup
and disguises. Greg pretends to be a macho ladies man. Tex plays
the good 'ol boy. My models become whatever the layout demands.
And I pretend to be the ambitious young makeup artist who wants
to live out her fantasies on the sound stages of Hollywood, when
in fact, I often feel like going home to Coos Bay Oregon,
getting married, and settling down with my husband, my children
our dog Rex and a parakeet in a small cottage surrounded by
Donna Reed's picket fence."

"Where you'd be bored stiff in two months. I know you too
well. You love turning beasts into beauties and vice versa. And
you really come alive when you talk about the theatrical jobs
you do. You love it almost as much as I love writing. Serious
writing I mean."

"Aren't we a pair. We're setting on top of making a ton of
money in the next year, and we're crying about our derailed
dreams and our insecurities."

Chris turned from the mirror. "Well, how do I look."

"Beautiful. And I like the outfit, too."

A short significant silence followed as Chris and Megan
looked past the makeup into the eyes. They moved slightly closer
when the doorbell broke the silence.


 Chapter 34

In the amber glow of the safelight, Reg saw Chris' face and
body fade into view under the ripples of the developing fluid,
like some maritime ghost sailors see floating just below the
water's surface. The picture was stunning and revealing. Chris'
miniskirt had slid up a short way revealing a tantalizing bit of
lower hip.

"There she comes. That's it baby, come to Sleaze. You're a
gorgeous piece of cheesecake, doll." Malone made a vulgar
lipsmacking, smooching sound which nauseated Reg to hear. Reg
had to admit, though, that Chris was especially alluring in that
pose.

"Sometimes ya' just get lucky in this business," Malone
continued as he swirled the picture in the stop bath and plunked
it in the hypo. "Yeah, when that broad reached down to scratch
her leg, her fingernail caught the hem of her skirt and hitched
it up like that. She smoothed it out just a few seconds later.
But, click-click, ol' Tom Malone saved the moment for
posterior."

"You mean posterity."

"You think about what you want to think about, I'll think
about my favorite subjects. By the way did you get a good look
at her from behind. Mmmm, Mmmm, Mmmm. Say, Reggie, how about it.
Tell Daddy Malone, how's that little girl do between the
sheets."

Reg didn't know why sleaze's comments bothered him so. Sleaze
was cruder than most, but Reg had told his fair share of bedroom
tales of varying degrees of veracity. Perhaps it was the fact he
was already feeling guilty about setting up Chris. Perhaps, it
was his growing foundness for this Madison Avenue Cinderella
story. Perhaps, he was just growing fond of Chris, not as
another part of his wardrobe as many women were, just the right
girl to go with the right tie, shirt, jacket, slacks and shoes
to round out the outfit, but rather as an increasingly pleasant
and comfortable part of his life. Perhaps, it was all of these
factors coming together that made him slowly wrap his hand
around Sleaze Malone's loosened tie, pull it taunt and in a
dangerously quiet, but emphatic voice say, "Now, listen here, I'm
not proud about what I'm doing, but it's my job. It is not my
job to stand here and listen to your crude, vulgar and
ungentlemanly remarks. Crystal Cartier is a shining, brilliant,
pure gem sparkling among the Rhinestones along Madison Avenue.
She is pure. She is upfront. She is sincere. She is honest.
Qualities you can neither recognize or exhibit. She's a better
person than you and I and this whole newspaper put together. So,
you cut out the gross remarks or I will personally take your
telephoto lens and insert it into your body in the most
painfully embarrassing way possible. Do you hear what I'm
saying, Malone."

"All right, sport, All right. No harm meant. But don't let
Little Miss Editor know. She's expecting this to be her ticket
to holding that job permanently. You'd better deliver or you'll
be out on the street faster than you can say bankruptcy," Malone
said. He pulled the last picture out of the wash.

"Don't worry about me, sleaze, I'll do my part. As much as I
despise it."

"Well, that's real human of you. Perhaps your lordship should
wear galoshes the next time you go slumming down here. You know,
I think I'm about to do some of my best work. She'll make a good
subject. Real photogenic, she is, that bro-- er--lady."



"I told you I shouldn't have wore that miniskirt. Now everyone
in the United States has seen my thigh--and more." Chris was
fuming at Megan from the right side of my desk.

"Well, if you had been more lady like and didn't scratch your
backside, they couldn't have gotten the picture," Megan
responded from the left side. In the middle was a three column
by six inch full color photo of Chris and Reg at dinner with
Chris pulling up his skirt while staring into Reg's eyes. I had
to admit, The National Expose had a sharp, if opportunistic,
photographer.

"It only took a second. And, in care you've forgotten, I'm no
lady."

"Well, you'd better start acting like one, or more pic--"

I had to break this up.

"Children, Children. Stop this bickering or I'll have to set
you in separate corners. Nobody's really to blame. Chris,
miniskirts are in, you have great looking legs, you'll probably
wear more. A photographer like this poparazzi guy, probably
Sleaze Malone can slip in almost everywhere. You have to be on guard
constantly. This is still great publicity. Listen to the copy:
"Playboy Reginald Vanderhoff and soon-to-be Cosmo Girl signature
model Crystal Cartier share an intimate dinner for two at the
exclusive Chez Garcon Restaurant. Has this lady finally captured
love-em-and-leave-em Reg, the Rogue of the 400? They say they
are just "good freinds," but we all know what that means.
Sources close to the couple report that the twosome is becoming
extremely close. One can't help but wonder what they had for
breakfast."

"You think THAT's great publicity. That writer all but said we
slept together."

"Yes but they mentioned the company's name. People will be
waiting for our announcement. The National Expose is doing half
our job for us."

"Yes, by making me sound like a gold-digging slut."

"Chris, nobody believes anything these papers write. It's all
phoney, and people know it. "

"That's easy for you to say, you're not wearing the dress. I
never really understood what women meant before when they spoke
about feeling like a piece of meat and nothing but a sex object.
Now, I know. That copy you think makes great publicity, just
makes me want to take a long shower."

"Chris is right. No woman wants to look like she's cheap.
Chris, I'm sorry about that crack about not being lady-like.
Sleaze Malone and his type take advantage of the least mistake."

"Well, I'm glad we got that settled. Now, lets plan our next
move with Reg."

"Next move? My next move is to get out from under this as soon
as possible. Besides I'm feeling kind of guilty. After all, I am
leading this guy on. I think he really likes me. And, in spite
of his playboy image, he's a nice guy. Okay, I like the guy."

Megan couldn't contain herself at this point. She started
giggling. "Well, Chris. You and I will have to lay a feminine
trap for him and you can be Mrs. Reginald Vanderhoff in no time."

"A trap. I like that idea." I said. I had the perfect idea to
cement this highly promotable relationship.

Megan and Chris both looked stunned. "Chris, Ted. I didn't
mean..."

"No," I said as a plan formed in my mind. "it's a great idea.
We need to fan the fires of this romance. Chris and Reg make
great copy, you have to admit that. Right?"

They just looked at me with shock, but I pressed on.

"Right?"

They nodded slowly.

"Well, we don't want to let this fish off the hook. So, what
you do, Chris, is host a little intimate dinner for two at
Megan's apartment. Then sort of, well, cozy up to him. Escalate
the romance a little--away from the photographers."

"Ted, you're forgetting something. This romance has no place to
go. I'm afraid Reg will discover that very quickly if we're left
all alone in Megan's apartment."

"Yes, that's right. We'll have to come up with a plan to keep
him from going too far."

Even Chris and Megan had to admit that the plan I developed
was brilliant. Megan would have a date with Greg. He'd pick her
up about 15 minutes after Reg arrived. Then about a half hour
after dinner would be over, she'd storm into the apartment half
crying as if she'd had a fight with her date. This would be
bound to break up any romance between Reg and Chris. Yes, it was
a brilliant plan. It was a shame it didn't work.


 Chapter 35

"Where you going, Richie Rich?" Simms pointed her editing
pencil at Reg as if it were a dart and his nose was the
bullseye. "We're paying you for a full day's work. You can knock
off at 5:00 like the rest of us. I'm sure you can find something
to do until then." Reg stopped in his tracks without even
looking at Simms. "Miss Simms," he said with mock servility, "do
you mind, my lady, if I leave early today," He turned slowly
around to face the editor who was now standing up, leaning over
her desk. "And what could be so important that you need to leave
early. Important business, sickness in the family, death -- your
own perhaps." Reg approached, leaned across the other side of
the desk. "A date," he said quietly meeting Simms hardened gaze
with his own charmingly stubborn one. Simms noted a slight,
confident twinkle in his eye. "Oh, well, that explains it. We
mustn't let a little thing like putting out a paper stand in the
way of the great Reginald Vanderhoff's social life." By this
time the chatter and clatter of the newsroom fell silent. Every
eye was focused and every ear attuned to the confrontation. Even
a few bets were placed on the side. For three tense minutes,
Manhattan stared down the Bronx. The Penthouse faced off against
the brownstone. The clock ticked. The newsroom watched. Finally,
the Penthouse shrugged and smiled a mischievious, confident
smile, "Oh well, I guess you're right. I'll just go over to my
desk and shuffle papers into neat little piles. But, if I'm late
for my date with the future Cosmo Girl...." The Streets took a
deep breath and nodded in acknowledgement of defeat. She slipped
the pencil back behind her ear, and spoke in a professional
tone. "Okay, call Sleaze on your way out and tell him what
restaurant you're dining at and when." "We're not going to a
restaurant. I've been invited up to her place," Reg said as he
adjusted his tie. "I'm impressed, Rich boy. You do work fast.
Well, I guess you do have a sort of oily charm, if you go for
that sort of thing. Does she live on the ground floor, Romeo?"
"The ground floor...well-- No. She lives on the third floor."
"That makes it more difficult, but not impossible. Is there a
building across from her apartment house?" "I think so," Reg
answered uneasily.

"Yes, a plan is beginning to form. A wonderfully wicked plan.
The type of plan that will make us the envy of the other rags.
The Enquirer, The Star, The Globe. They'll be calling us for
stories. And I might just move into that editor's office
permanently." Unfortunately for Chris, her plan worked better
than mine.


 Chapter 36

Things started going wrong with the plan when the phone in
Megan's apartment rang.

"Hi. This is Greg. I'm afraid I can't make it tonight. Gary's
got some sort of flu bug, and he can be a real baby when he's
sick. So, I'd better hang around," he said to Megan. "I'm real
sorry. I know this has something to do with that big promotion
you and the new girl are working on. But, it can't be helped.
Gary's calling for me now. Gotta run.

Megan hung up the phone slowly. The clock read 7:30. Reg would
arrive in less than a half hour. So, they improvised a change in
plan and Megan left the apartment early so that Chris could say
she had already left on her date.

Megan barely picked up her purse and made it to the door when
the doorbell rang. It was Reg carrying an enormous box of
chocholates and a bouquet of roses.

"Thought I'd drop by a bit early and see if I could help you
girls out." he said handing the roses to Chris.

"Well, -- Well, I--" Megan began

"Megan was just on her way out," Chris finished.

"Now where whould a pretty thing like you go all alone at
night."

Megan and Chris looked at each other puzzled.

"The Theatre," Chris suggested, "Right Megan, That play you're
doing the makeup for."

"The play? Right. The play. Oh yes and look at the time. I have
to get there right away or the actors will look frightful."

"Well," interrrupted Reg, "Why don't we all go over to the
play. I can treat you to dinner after the final curtain."

"Oh, no. Please don't. I wouldn't put anybody through this
play. Its one of those experiemental things. The audience sets
on the stage and the actors set in the audience. It's really
weird. Besides, Crystal has spent all day fixing this feast for
you. So, I guess I'll see you love birds after the play."

"Just exactly when will that be, Megan," Chris asked.

Reg broke in, "Oh, we'll have plenty of time those experimental
things run on for ever. It'll probably be after midnight before
you'll be through. Right, Megan.

"Right, Reg." Megan answered hesitantly.

Reg slipped his arm around Chris' waist as he held the door for
Megan, "Well, don't worry, Mother. I'll take good care of this
little girl."

As the door swung shut, Megan thought, Good Lord, how did we
get into this one, and how are we going to get out of it.

"You'd better get those flowers into some water," Reg said as
he laid the chocholates on the coffee table and sat down on the
couch.

As Chris ran off to the kitchen to see if he could find a vase,
Reg jumped up opened and shut the curtains twice signalling
Sleaze he was in the house. He got back to the couch just as
Chris returned.

"Well, how's the hottest new model in town? You've been making
quite a splash in the tabloids."

"We've been making quite a splash. I'm beginning to feel like a
fallen woman after that last piece of trash in the National
Expose. If I could get my hands on that writer, I'd... I'd....
Well, I'd do something that wasn't very lady like," Chris said
plunking down on the couch next to Reg. Although he didn't
realize it, Chris was pouting a very feminine and very
attractive pout.

Reg leaned over and kissed the pouting lips. "Don't worry about
what they say in those rags. It's just that guy's way of making
a buck. Nobody believes those papers anyway. You and I know the
truth about what happened or didn't happen on that date. Of
course, we could make an honest man out of that scum. Your
roomate's gone. The bedroom is empty. There's just you and me
and ..."

A high pitched buzz stalled an approaching Reg.

"Dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Yes, that's the microwave. Dinner's just about ready."

"Dinner can wait," Reg said sliding one arm around Chris'
shoulders.

Chris stood up petualently, "No I put alot of time and effort
into that dinner. You're going to eat it and enjoy it."

"And afterward, dessert?" Reg asked

"We'll talk about dessert after dinner," Chris said firmly,
hoping he could think of some way to avoid dessert before he
became the final course.

With a small kitchen table positioned between them, the
conversation became more neutral. They talked about the weather,
local politics and, as usual, writing. That was the
answer--writing. Chris decided to supplant one passion with
another. He just hoped he could stall Reg until Megan got home.
It was going to be a long night.


 Chapter 37

What Sleaze Malone thought about while he huddled on the fire
escape outside Megan's bedroom window I can't guess. The
workings of the mind of a man who makes his living by invading
the privacy of others is beyond me. I'm greedy at times and
overly ambitious. To my shame, I put Chris and Megan through
more than any two people should have to go through to sell a few
bottles of makeup. Nevertheless, being a professional voyeur is
a job that I couldn't do at my meanest.

The night had turned from chilly to cold. Sleaze carefully
cleaned the lenses on both cameras he carried to assure getting
the shot. It wouldn't do to let frost form on the lens and fog
the picture. This was one picture Sleaze definitely wanted
clear. If Reg did his job, it would be the hottest Crystal photo
yet.

There was only one problem. The shades were still drawn on the
window and the window was latched from the inside. Reg would
have to open the shades soon. He was already an hour late.
Sleaze was becoming nervous, and he was getting cold. But, he'd
been cold before. One time he burrowed into a snow bank at Aspen
to get a shot of Jackie O. and her young ski instructor rolling
in the snow. They explained that they just fell into each other.
Sleaze didn't care. It looked like fun and games. That was all
that mattered. Let the Times worry about truth. He focused his
camera on the fantasy that 8 million readers wanted to believe.

Sleaze took a twisted pride in his abilities. He was at the top
of his profession. Who else got a picture of the royal bedroom
in Buckingham palace with Prince Charles in bed with some
anonymous brunette.

He felt no anxiety about the morality of his profession. When
people put themselves in the public eye, they put themselves at
risk.

Then he saw a flicker of light. He sighted through the
telephoto lens. Yeah, Reg pulled it off. He got the curtain
open. Now, Sleaze hoped that Crystal wouldn't notice the open
drapes.

He focused the telephoto on a spot near the bed and waited....

Inside, Reg fought circumstances and his conscience as he tried
to figure a way to get the bedroom window open. Chris provided
the opportunity when he went into the kitchen to get two cups of
coffee. Reg quietly sprinted into the bedroom, yanked the drapes
open, ran back and closed the door and just as Chris reentered
balancing two steaming cups on Megan's serving tray. Reg tried
to look interested in a print on the wall.

Chris really didn't notice. He was too worried about how to get
out of the amorous clutches of Reg, and how to get to the couch
without spilling the coffee.

The plan from here was simple. Reg would bump her arm and make
her spill the coffee on her dress. She would go into the bedroom
to change. Reg would sneak in slip his arm around her
half-dressed body and Sleaze would snap the picture.

Reg didn't like the idea, but he learned how to put his
conscience on hold many years ago.

"Here let me help you with that," he said jumping up from the
couch catching Chris' right arm with his sleeve. The coffee
arched out of the cup and poured over Chris' new white blouse.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," Reg said blotting Chris' front with
his handkerchief. Chris snatched the handkerchief from Reg's
hand.

"I can handle this," Chris said sharply, "You blot that up out
of the carpet. No, not with a dry cloth put water on the spot
and some soap suds. Now, before the stain sets."

Actually, Chris wasn't quite as mad as he sounded. He was
actually relieved to be able to leave the room. He hoped that by
the time he got back, Reg's passion would have died down a bit.
Chris closed and locked the bedroom door, puttered around in
Megan's closet and found another blouse his size. He thought he
heard something softly rattling the door knob, but didn't think
much about it. Instead, he took off the stained blouse and
adjusted his bra. The breast forms Tex's company made were
almost perfect. They moved and looked just like real breasts.
They could be uncomfortable though. So, Chris lifted them up and
rolled them around a bit. As he did, he saw the open window.

Sleaze wondered where Reg was, but that didn't stop him from
punching the motorized shutter on his Nikon as soon as Chris
entered the room.

"Very pretty. Very sexy. Oh yes, rub them. Lift them. Bounce
them about for Sleaze," he muttered as the camera clicked and
whirred. "Oh you like playing with yourself, don't you? That's
something the readers of Expose would like to see. 'The Untold
Story' and all that. As for me, I'm just enjoying the show."

Through the camera lens, Sleaze saw the surprised look on Chris
face. He saw Chris hands drop to the bed, pull off the
bedspread, wrap himself in it and yank the curtains shut.

"It don't matter, darlin'. Ol' sleaze has it all here on this
little roll of film," Malone said as he began to dismantle the
tripod and store his gear. "Be seein you in the papers,"

It seemed to Chris that he saw a reflection, like a flash of
light in the window across from his apartment. It was probably
nothing. Or just a peeping Tom, getting a free show at Chris'
expense.

"Honey, I got out the spot," Reg said tentatively as he tapped
on the bedroom door. "If you need help with anything, buttons or
zippers, I'm great at helping ladies into their clothes."

"Or out of them?" Chris shouted back.

"Whichever they prefer."

"Well, I prefer to do my own dressing thank you," Chris said
pushing open the door.

"You look so beautiful when you're angry. It's a cliche, but
it's true,"

Reg slipped his arm around Chris' shoulder. and drew him
closer. Chris didn't resist immediately. He was becoming
accustomed to being held by Reg, and in a strange way he was
beginning to like it. Reg didn't stir any erotic feelings in
him, but it was good to be considered attractive. It was good to
be wanted, even though Chris could not supply what Reg wanted.

Reg pulled Chris around and quickly kissed him. As Reg began
his second approach, he was interrupted by a rattling door knob
and the clump of Megan's makeup bag hitting the floor behind
them.

"Whew, what a ni--! Hey, sorry guys. Look if you two want to be
left alone--" Megan said leaning against the doorpost smiling.

"Yes," said Reg.

"No," said Chris.

They both were a bit breathless.

Chris disentangeled himself from Reg's grasp. "Don't be
ridiculous, Megan. This is your apartment, too. Now what about
the play. Tell us all about it. How come you're home so early."

"Well like I said, it was an experimental play. One of the
actors in the middle of the first act thought that he wasn't
getting quite the response he wanted from the audience. So in
the middle of a line he turned to the audience and said. 'If you
don't like the play, why don't you all go home.' Well, they did.
Only about seven people stayed, so by the end of the act we
decided to call it a day."

Reg responded with the graciousness of an aristocrat in a land
where aristocracy comes with inherited money providing time for
learning the graciousness of good manners. And Reg had learned
the art of practicing what he had learned. He released Chris'
hand, sat down on the couch with Chris and spent a half hour
chatting amiably with Chris and Megan. Even Megan had to admit
that this was one Spoiled Rich Kid who was fun to be around.

Finally, Reg made his farewells, give Chris a "friendly" kiss
on the cheek and left.


 Chapter 39

"Keep the relationship going, you said. Keep Reg on the hook
you said. A simple little dinner for two you said. The perfect
plan you said. Couldn't fail you said," This litany of my words
prepared for forced feeding kept pouring out of Chris' mouth
while Megan looked on trying to keep from laughing. I had to
admit that things hadn't worked out quite the way we planned.
The morning hadn't started out well, but it was destined to get
worse.

The sharp buzz of the intercom broke into Chris' harrangue. For
a moment I was glad for the interruption. that relief, though,
lasted just about thirty seconds.

"Mr. ______, the latest issue of the National Expose just
arrived. It has -er- a photo spread on Miss Cartier in it. I
think you'd better see it."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly before answering,
"Very well, bring it in."

There on the front page was a grainy, but recognizable photo of
Chris apparently carressing his breasts. The caption read:
"Revealing photos of Crystal Cartier uncover her secret fantasy
life." The other photos were less revealing, but a vivid
imagination could fill in it's own smut, a fact well known to
the editors of the tabloids.

"How could they have gotten those pic--" Chris began then
stopped short. "I bet that's what happened."

"What, Chris," Megan said.

"Remember, I told you I had to change my dress during dinner.
When I went into the bedroom, I started to change, and I noticed
that the window shades were open. I thought I saw a reflection
in the window of the building across from the apartment. It
could have been from a telephoto lens."

"That's not good news," I muttered.

"That's putting it lightly," Chris screamed in my ear. "I gave
up my gender for this promotion--which still hasn't paid of for
me, Megan, or the company, I might add--and now I'm giving up
my privacy as well."

"Yes, this does complicate matters," I continued not really
listening. "Chris, I assume you take off the dresses and skirts
when you get home and go back to being Christopher."

"That's who I am," he said. "In case you forgot." As he spoke,
I thought how Chris had changed in just a few months. The old
Chris would never have been sarcastic with his boss.

"I think we're going to have to change that."

"What?" Chris and Megan both screamed.

"Look it's obvious this photographer is following you around.
Otherwise, how would he know where you were last night. Suppose
he had caught you at home changing from Crystal into
Christopher. It would blow the whole promotion."

"Exactly what are you proposing," Chris said slowly.

"We'll set you up in a luxury apartment in the city. You store
all of your male clothes, decorations, etc. until the promotion
is over. In short, for the next six months you'll have to be
Crystal Cartier from morning till night. You probably should
sleep in a negligee and bra as well, just in case. And let your
hair grow, so we can do away with the wigs."

"Do you realize what you are asking? You are asking me to
become a woman all the time. I mean, maybe I haven't done a lot
with my gender so far in life, but I'm not someone who is ready
to give it up."

"But you wouldn't be giving it up," I countered. "Just sort of
putting it on hold for six months at the most."

Chris began to open his mouth, but I continued, "And remember
at the end of that time you'll have so much money that nobody,
not even me, can tell you what to do. And, of course, you
wouldn't want to cheat Megan out of her share of the promotion."

That last line did it, even though Megan protested, "Now,
don't bring me into this. Chris, this is your life. You make
your own decision. Don't worry about me. That's a low blow, Ted
and you know it."

She was right, but it worked. So that night, we packed up the
remains of Christopher Carter and stored him away and Crystal
Cartier moved into a penthouse apartment on Park Avenue
decorated in pastels, chintz and lace.