Chapter Five

            A dress. Not fancy or risqué in any way, but it’s certainly nothing a man would wear. Long sleeved and ankle length, but it’s still a dress.

            What the hell insane plan does Mila have?

            She starts walking toward me. “We did a little shopping for you beforehand. Had to estimate your size, but I think it’ll fit. Just step into the bathroom and put this on. Look, I bought you some hose too. We’ll get your shoes later...”

            She’s blocking the only door. I step backward.

            “Mila? I’m not wearing that. It won’t fool anyone.”

            Her grin spreads. “But it will, Shannon. We never expected you to be a good-looking girl. With that longish hair, your nasally voice, a little padding...yes...”

            I gently reach out and place my hand on a heavy lamp. “You’re talking crazy. No one’s going to buy that.”

            She’s almost in front of me. She holds the dress out, like I’m sure mental health officials would brandish a straitjacket. “I’ll make it work. When I get through with you, you’ll look the part.”

            Yikes! As she takes another step forward I leap onto the bed, jump, and land behind her. I rush for the door and don’t stop until I’m almost in the hall.

            Mila turns, but doesn’t chase me.

            “Look,” I stammer. “You’re clearly upset. But I want no part of this. If you could just forward me my ticket home, I’ll be on my way.”

            She lays the clothes on the bed. My heart soars when she takes out her phone. But then my guts knot when she plays my stupid video submission again. I wince at how whiny I sound.

            My sister is the pretty one...

            She stops the playback. “Shannon, how would you like it if I put this online? Showed it to everyone who watches Becoming? Forwarded it to your school? And let everyone know that we thought you were a girl?”

            Her grin is evil.

            I feel faint. I know she’s telling the truth. She’ll make sure that everyone in my world knows I got hired as an actress on a TV show. And it’s not just Chris I’m worried about right now. It’s my father. The people at school who always called me a weirdo. Natalia.

            How can anyone be so cruel?

            I guess that’s what lights a fire in me.

            I march back into the hotel room, slamming the door behind me. I don’t break eye contact as I stride toward Mila, stopping when we’re so close that our noses almost touch. She steps back, her smile gone.

            “Do it,” I hiss. “Go on. And go to hell. This wasn’t my fault. I hope they fire you.”

            I expect a snappy comeback, an insult, a slap. But it never comes. And after a couple of seconds, Mila lowers her eyes. When the silence continues, I head for the door.

            “I want a ticket home by tomorrow, or I’m going to raise a stink with your bosses.” I’m already trying to figure out where to spend the night and how to explain my absence to my family.

            “Shannon, I’m sorry.”

            I pause with my hand on the knob. I should go. I shouldn’t listen.

            But I turn around anyway.

            “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have threatened you. I got desperate and scared. I promise, that tape will never see the light of day.” Her head is still pointed downward, but her eyes look up at me, supplicating.

            She’s faking. She has to be. Just an actress playing a role, trying to get what she wants. But I don’t leave.

            “Mila, I’m sorry things are so screwed up, but I’m never going to pass as a girl. You said yourself, it’d never work.”

            She sits on the bed and pats the blanket beside her. Warily, I sit, the dress still spread out between us.

            “I don’t expect you to do the show. You’re right, we couldn’t pull that off. But we won’t start filming for a couple of weeks. If I could just introduce you to my bosses and to Ms. Jenkins, let them meet you and see how charming you are...” She toys with a braid. “And then, right before we’re scheduled to start taping, we’ll say your mother had an unexpected health crisis and you had to go home. An unforeseen tragedy.”

            This doesn’t make any sense. “Why not just say my mom got sick today? Why all the theatrics?”

            For a second, she looks annoyed. “I promised everyone a sweet, innocent, plug ugly country girl. If I don’t deliver, it’s going to be like telling your teacher that your dog ate your assignment. I have to let them know that me casting you wasn’t a stupid mistake.”

            Even though it was? I glance down at the dress. “They’ll never buy it. And why should I, anyway? I’m sorry this happened to you, but not that sorry.”

            She picks up the dress sleeve and absently strokes it. “I’m not going to waste your time whining about how after years of film school and ass-busting work, this is my first and probably last shot at a promotion. And I can’t promise you much in return, I’m not important enough to do you any favors. Yet. But if I don’t blow this, there’s a chance I can start getting ahead in the industry. And maybe in two or three years, I’ll be important enough to start introducing you around to casting directors.”

            That does it. “Two or three years? Thanks, but no thanks. I’m going home.” I should stand up, but I don’t.

            Mila smirks. “You’re such a farm boy. You think you’re just going to step off the bus one day and be cast the next, don’t you? You know how many guys who are taller, more talented, and a hell of a lot better looking than you are fighting to get cast in the latest McDonald’s commercial?”

            So now she thinks I’m a dumb hick? “I know it’s not going to be easy.”

            “No, Shannon, it’s not. But there’s a chance I might make it in this business. And if I do, I’d owe you the favor to end all favors. Not just once, but forever. I’d do whatever it takes to get your foot in the door.”

            I’m about to object, but she continues.

            “Maybe it’s not worth it. Maybe you want to go home and explain to your friends and family why you’re not going to be on TV after all. And twenty years from now, when you get off on the late shift, and your back is aching and you look in the mirror and wonder where your hair went and where that gut came from, you can think back to the time you had a chance—a real, honest to God chance—to make it in television, and you turned it down because it was too hard.”

            I don’t like to admit how much she’s rattled me. How much I fear turning into my parents, working a thankless job in a boring town, never having done anything to make myself different from my classmates or my sister.

            But it’s still not worth it.

            Mila lays her hand on mine. I’m kind of shocked. Not that this is an intimate gesture on her part, but the feel of her fingers wrapped around mine is somewhat nice.

            “Just let me dress you up. One time. If you don’t think it’ll work, I’ll find you a return ticket.”

            I look down at the bland garment. It’s just a piece of clothing. Just a costume. No different from anything else an actor would have to wear.

            “Okay. But only in this room. And I doubt you can make me into a convincing girl.”

            We both stand. Mila smiles, and the old, frightening confidence is back. “You don’t realize how motivated I am, Shannon. Get in the bathroom.”

Chapter Six

            Ever since I was about ten years old, I’d imagined the day of my arrival in Los Angeles. The sun on my face, the wind in my hair, suitcase in hand, ready to take this town by storm. It was going to be glorious.

            It is not glorious. It’s hot. It’s smoggy. I’m stuck in the shotgun seat of Mila’s rusted hulk of a car. We’re trapped in gridlock traffic. Either the air conditioning is broken or Mila won’t turn it on.

            I don’t ask her. Every time I make a sound, she turns and glares at me, like I’m a Band-Aid she found floating in a swimming pool.

            Oh, and I’m wearing a dress. Did I mention that? All yesterday Mila spent dressing me up in clothes that must have been donated to the local goodwill by some Amish woman who found them to be too boring. Probably part of her original plan to make me look like an ugly country girl.

            Now I’m used to being in costume. It’s all part of an actor’s life. And hell, more than one Hollywood star had to do the drag thing in a film or two. But as I sit here slowly roasting this funeral shroud, I’m aware of what a drastically wrong turn my life has taken.

            I can’t take it anymore. I break the silence.

            “So…thanks for driving.”

            Mila’s eyes don’t leave the windshield. “We were supposed to have the limo. But I figure the fewer people who see you, the better.”

            I can’t disagree. I glance at my reflection in the visor mirror. I’m wearing more makeup than Ronald McDonald after an acne outbreak. I could have given Mila some tips: I’ve worked the green room more than once. But she just slathered it on like drywall spackle. She either was unused to making over someone with a lighter skin tone, or simply didn’t care. I’m wearing so much mascara, my eyes keep sticking shut when I blink.

            I refused to let her cut my hair. It’s tied back in a sloppy ponytail.

            “So how long have you—”

            “I’d prefer it if you didn’t talk to me, Shannon.”

            I look at my window instead. Traffic is crawling. Next to me, a taxi inches by.

            I think of my father. He’d be at work right now.

            Only, he’s probably not. I’ve been missing for two days. He and Mom will be frantic. Still, they don’t know the details so they won’t know where to find me.

            I had kind of planned to contact home by now. To send a text or a letter to let them know I’d arrived safely and was okay.

            Yes, to rub it in. To let them know I did this, and I did this without anyone’s help.

            Instead, I’ve kept my phone turned off. I do not dare look at it. Mom’s probably messaged me a thousand times, desperate to know where I am. Frightened not knowing where her son is or if he’s safe.

            But I can’t talk to her. Can’t even text her. Because if I do, I’ll break down. I’ll tell them all I made a bad decision and need money to come home.

            Silly Shannon. Thought he could just fly off to Hollywood and become a star. Poor kid. Barely lasted two days before we had to wire him money for bus fare.

            We all make mistakes.

            No. Despite Mila’s doomsaying, I don’t believe all is lost. If I can just talk to Natalia. Get her alone and let her know how I got into this crazy situation. She’d understand. I mean, the girl got her start playing Chippy the Chirpy Chipmunk on PBS. She knows the sacrifices we make. She’ll help me get on Becoming as myself. I just have to play this exactly right.

            I’m not going home with my tail between my legs. Not yet.

            “Hey, wake up.”

            I realize we’ve pulled off the highway. We’re turning into the gate of a fenced in lot. Behind it, rise the towering offices of NBS studios.

            Mila looks at me, and for the first time since we met, she’s not staring at me with utter contempt.

            “We’re here. And no matter what happens, you’ve already made it a lot further than most people.”

            As we pull up to the security kiosk, I feel just slightly better.

*

            The place is big. And I’m not talking big like Des Moines International Airport. It’s big like…

            Okay, I’ve never been in a building larger than that. But this place is huge. The lobby is all glass and steel and escalators and modernistic sculptures. I pause a moment to take it all in.

            “Wow, you really are from the backwoods, aren’t you?” Mila stands there with her arms folded, smirking.

            I’m done. I’m so through with her attitude. I turn and look her in the face.

            “Listen, Mila. I’m not the one who screwed this up. I’m not the one whose job’s on the line. But I am the one who looks like an idiot at the moment.”

            Mila glances around the crowded lobby. “Shannon, your voice…”

            “No, you’re going to listen to me. I think this is a ridiculous idea. I think we should come clean. I’m willing to go along with this for now. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you stand here and insult me. We’ve both got a lot to lose and the next time you forget that I’m not your personal little, um, uh, abuse doll, then I’m going home. Do I make myself clear? Do I?”

            I’m suddenly aware that a lot of people are watching. I hear some guy laugh and say something about a chick fight. I shoot the gawkers a look and they disperse. But when I turn back to Mila, she’s smiling at me. Really smiling.

            “That was perfect, Shannon.”

            I return the smile, surprised, though I’m not sure what she’s talking about. “What was perfect?”

            “Your voice. That perfect, bitchy, nasally, white girl whine. Sometimes your voice gets a little too low and I worry someone is going to read you. But that ‘wah, wah, Daddy won’t let me drive the BMW’ mode…no one will ever think you’re a man. Heck, I don’t know why we even bothered with the dress. Now move it.”

            She breezes past the security desk without a look back. Meekly, I follow.

*

            We ride two elevators. Pass through several security checkpoints. I get a funny look when a guard goes through my purse and realizes there’s nothing inside it. Corridor after corridor. The tile gives way to carpet. Then more expensive carpet.

            Mila talks as we walk. “We’re going to be meeting with Dennis Avery, the producer of Becoming. I don’t think he’ll catch on. I promised him an ugly dog, and by God, I’m delivering.”

            Was that an insult? Maybe she meant it as a compliment, that I make an unattractive woman.

            I’m guessing insult, though.

            We pause before an imposing, unlabelled door. “Okay, Shannon. Let me do all the talking. If Mr. Avery asks you anything, be brief. You’re nervous, shy, and thrilled to be here. If you can bring it up naturally, mention that your mother is sick, but doing well. A little foreshadowing when she’s hospitalized in a couple of days and you have to rush home to be with her.”

            I don’t like thinking about my mother in the hospital. She can’t even afford that foot surgery. It’s not something people should joke about.

            “Mila, can’t we just talk to Natalia and tell her the truth?”

            Mila is glancing at her phone. “Talk to who?”

            “Natalia.” She stares at me blankly. “Natalia Jenkins? The actress I’m going to shadow?”

            Again the blank look. But then Mila smiles. And laughs.

            “My God, Shannon, are you for real?”

            I don’t get the joke. “What?”

            She just shakes her head. “Just call up Natalia Jenkins. Yeah.”

            “But the show…”

            Mila just rolls her eyes and knocks.

            There’s no answer, but after a moment she opens the door.

            I was expecting some sort of cavernous office to match the rest of the building. Something with lots of windows and a wet bar. But Mr. Avery’s office is small and nearly empty. And dark.

            The man himself sits behind a cluttered desk, examining some papers. He’s an unremarkable lump of a guy, slightly overweight, with an open collar and loosened tie. He makes no indication that he’s noticed us.

            Mila, her confidence absent for the first time, slowly steps toward the desk, motioning for me to follow. She moves so gingerly, I wonder if we should present our hands for him to sniff, to let him know we’re friendly.

            “Mr. Avery, sir?”

            His head rises. He gives no reaction to the two of us standing here. No annoyance, impatience, or even recognition.

            “Sir, this is Shannon Ferguson. Our selection for the Natalia Jenkins segment.”

            Mila places her fingers between my shoulder blades and gently propels me forward. Mr. Avery tilts his head, just slightly, and continues to stare. He’s inspecting me.

            Does he know? Does he suspect? Did Mila really think an ill-fitting dress and too much makeup would fool a TV producer?

            He turns to Mila and raises an eyebrow. I wait for him to ask if this is some sort of a joke. But then he smiles.

            “So, Miss Ferguson, how are you liking Los Angeles? Is Mila taking good care of you?”

            I open my mouth, but Mila interrupts. “We’ve been having a blast. Shannon is really enjoying living the good life. She can’t wait to meet Natalia. Isn’t that right?”

            I nod.

            Again, Mr. Avery looks at me. Again, the eyebrow. “Well, we look forward to working with you. Is there anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable?”

            I almost blurt everything out. About how this is all just a stupid misunderstanding, I’m really a guy, and that I’m sure Natalia will understand once we explain things to her.

            I swallow. I’m sweating.

            “Miss Ferguson?”

            “My…my mother is very sick.”

            “Oookay!” says Mila, taking me by the arm. “Shannon, if you’ll excuse us for a moment, Mr. Avery and I have to discuss a couple of things. Why don’t you go to the lounge and grab a cup of coffee? Just down the hall, I’ll meet you there in a jiffy.”

            She’s smiling so beautifully I know she’s faking. I barely keep it together as I hurry out the door.

*

            I sit in the harsh fluorescent glow of the break room, staring at the steaming mug of coffee that sits untouched in front of me. Just a few days ago, I thought I would soon be introducing myself to the world. That people back home would see me on TV and recognize me. That my parents would beam when the neighbors called to talk about my episode of Becoming. That this was the start of my real life.

            Now, all I have left is the vague hope that I can explain all this to Natalia. Or at the very least, Mila will be good as her word and find me industry work when all this is over.

            All I ever wanted was top billing, a star on the walk of fame, and my own production company by the time I was thirty. Is that really so much to ask?

            I should just go back to the hotel, wash off this makeup, and call home.

            My thoughts are interrupted by a loud clattering. I look up to see a guy staring forlornly at a spilled rack of coffee pods at his feet. He smiles at me, embarrassed.

            “One of those days.” He shakes his head, as if it’s pointless to even try to excuse himself. He’s young, probably about twenty-one. He’s skinny in that awkward way, with a completely disheveled appearance, from his half-tucked shirt to his badly combed hair.

            I clear my throat, trying to make my voice sound breathy and feminine (but not whiney). “I can relate.”

            “Yeah. Well, mine started ten years ago, but I think I’m due for a rally.” He shrugs and begins picking up the mess. Wearily, I get up to help him.

            “So are you the new intern?” he asks, as he accidentally kicks a pod under the counter.

            I shake my head. “I’m…” My God, I’m actually ashamed now. “I’m going to be on Becoming. The Natalia Jenkins episode.”

            “Oh, hey!” He breaks into a broad grin. “Mila’s project! I’m glad to see they didn’t go with that Hawaiian ditz.”

            At this point, I kind of wish they had. “Well, I wish you’d tell Mila that. I think she’s disappointed in me.”

            He laughs, causing several of the pods he’s holding to tumble to the floor. Giving up, he tosses the rest on the countertop.

            “Listen, I know Mila can be a little abrasive, but she’s one of the smartest people here.” He glances over his shoulder. “That’s not saying much, but really, that girl’s going places. You’re lucky to be working with her.”

            I think my expression gives away my feelings on that theory. He takes a step closer. And then he puts his hand on my arm.

            Puts his hand on my arm. And leaves it there.

            “Look…I know how hard she can be to deal with sometimes. But you have to understand, she’s only twenty-four.”

            Your hand is on my arm.

            “It’s not easy to get ahead when you’re a young, African-American woman. You know how people can be, right?”

            Get your hand off my arm.

            “When you’re done with the show, you two are going to be like sisters.” He finally removes his hand. “Trust me.”

            “Yeah.”

            His phone buzzes and he looks at the screen with a grim expression. “I have to run. I guess I’ll see you around. My name’s Michael.”

            “Shannon.”

He grins, as if we’ve really connected, and leaves.

            Ew. Nice enough guy, but don’t touch the merchandise.

            Must just be a handsy guy. No chance he was getting his jollies from touching me.

            Mila returns a few minutes later. She snaps her fingers and points.

            I follow.

Chapter Seven

            I’m just going to text my parents. Let them know I’m okay. I’m not going to tell them where I am or what I’m doing.

            I’m not going to ask to come home.

I sit in my hotel room. My makeup is washed off and I’m back to my old clothes. Phone in hand, I’m trying to drum up the courage to turn it on.

It would be so easy to give up. To just tell them I screwed up, fell for some online casting scam or something, and ask for them to wire me a ticket. They wouldn’t even have to pay for it. I could sell my laptop and some other things to pay them back.

They’d understand.

Just bite the bullet, Shannon. You’re going to be going home in a few days anyway. Might as well salvage some dignity.

But I stop myself. I can’t quit. Not yet. Maybe Mila was telling me the truth. That Michael guy seemed to think highly of her. Maybe in a couple of years she’ll give me a call, offering me a real job as payback.

And if I went home now, my parents will want to know exactly where I’ve been. Hell, they’ve probably called the police by now. The cops would demand to know who I was with. And it would all come out. Humiliating for me, and bad publicity for the show. They’d make sure I was never cast in anything again.

But my biggest hope is that I can get Natalia alone. Just talk to her for a few minutes and let her know how I wound up in this horrible situation.

She’d understand. Last year she bailed on a movie when the filming location’s state passed that discriminatory bathroom law. She’s always been an advocate of gender nonconforming people.

She’ll put Mila and Mr. Avery in their place and let me do the show as myself.

Just one more week. Until I meet Natalia face to face. I can hold out for one more week.

But I need to text my parents. I have to let them know I’m not dead. I owe them that.

As soon as my phone powers up, I get alerts of over 100 unread texts. Mostly from my father. I’m a little surprised. He has a phone he needs for work,[1]  but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him actually text anyone before.

I make sure I’m not logged onto the hotel’s traceable wifi and compose a message.

Mom and dad, I’m sorry if I scared you. I have a legitimate offer to be in a movie. They needed someone who was over 18.

I realize how ominous that last part sounds, so I delete it.

I worried that you wouldn’t let me do this on my own, and I know you can’t miss that much work to come with me. I assure you that I’m fine. This could be a huge break for me. I’ll write you in about a week. I love you.

I hit ‘send’.

Before I can turn my phone off, I have an incoming call. My mother.

I can picture my mom scrabbling over her phone, desperately trying to connect the call. Knowing, after days of uncertainty, that her son was okay. Eager to hear his voice.

I can’t ignore this. Just a quick phone call. Just to let her know I’m fine. To let her know I’m thinking of her. I answer.

“Mom?”

“Where the hell have you been?”

It’s not my mother. It’s Chris. She doesn’t give me time to reply.

“Do you have any idea how pissed off everyone is, you little shit?”

Okay, maybe I’d misjudged my family’s response. Maybe they weren’t worried about me. Maybe this was all just a big pain in the ass for them.

“Mom and Dad are mad at me?”

She practically screams into her phone. “No, asshole, they’re mad at me! I didn’t stop you from leaving. I waited until they found that note of yours. And they were so upset, I let it slip that I saw you sneaking out and you looked like you knew what you were doing. Big damn mistake. Do you have any idea how god damn angry they are at me now? How many times I’ve had to explain why I didn’t stop you? Do you have any idea of the shit you’ve caused?”

So I guess I was wrong about how upset everyone would be. Thinking people would be relieved to hear from me. That maybe my own sister would ask if I was okay and tell me she missed me.

I think of a thousand times I wound up with my face ground into the living room carpet, Chris pinning me down with her knees, while my dad just laughed.

“Chris, tell everyone I’m fine. This is my big break. Don’t look for me, you won’t find me. I’ll be back some time in July.”

“Don’t you—”

I hang up. Then I shut the phone down.

I’m on my own.

*

Two days later, Mila and I are riding in the back of the studio’s limo. The partition is up so the driver can’t hear anything we say, though Mila has been on her phone the whole time.

I can see my reflection in the glass. It’s kind of an improvement. Mila sent over another outfit yesterday. A skirt and a long sleeved blousy thing. They fit better than that hideous dress. I spent a lot of the day practicing with a makeup kit she provided. It was a lot different than stage makeup, but the concept is the same. Emphasize and conceal. Foundation, some eye shadow, a little lipstick.

A pair of clip-on earrings. Longish hair failing free.

Add it all up and you get one ugly ass, awkward girl. Someone you won’t look twice at. Thank God.

I realize Mila’s call has ended and she’s smirking at me.

“Did you stuff your top?”

I glance away, embarrassed. Yes. In an episode I’d like to forget, I bought an extra large bra from a nearby plus-size store. It’s now crammed with hotel washcloths and cutting into my sides.

“You did! Goodness, you’re stacked.”

Well what the hell was I supposed to do? That thing I wore the other day was heavy enough to hide my figure, but now…I don’t want to talk about it.

Time to change the subject. “So tell me the plan.”

Mila’s still staring at my chest. “Good thing this is only for today. That left one’s shaped like the Pentagon.”

I cross my arms. “Just tell me what we’re doing.”

“You’re supposed to meet with Mr. Avery and the director. You’re going to come in all sobby and upset. Your poor mother just took a turn for the worse and you have to go home right away. Really lay it on like you did in your video. I’ve already booked your ticket home for the day after tomorrow. I’ll call that Hawaiian bimbo, and with any luck, we all get out of this unscathed.”

“Whee.”

Arms still folded, I look out the window.

“Hey, what’s your problem?”

            Just that this was supposed to be the greatest summer of my life, and it ended before it began. But not without a little abuse and public humiliation first.

I’m not even going to meet Natalia Jenkins.

“Hey, look at me.”

I shouldn’t, but I obey. To my surprise, Mila actually looks sympathetic.

“You’re pretty disappointed, aren’t you? This was a big deal to you, wasn’t it?”

I consider arguing, but only nod. I wanted this so bad.

 “Hey, it happens in this business. It happens a lot. And if you want to be an actor, you’re going to have to get used to it. You’re eighteen, right?”

Um, don’t go there. “Right.”

“Well, you’re still young. There’s still time.”

Easy for her to say. “You’re not that much older than me, and you’re already working on a show.”

She laughs. A surprisingly pleasant laugh. I’m kind of struck by how pretty she is, now that I’m not entirely terrified of her. Curvy figure. Long braided hair. Dark, dark eyes.

“Shannon, I fought and fought to get where I am. I did this through hard work and kicking ass. And I never once sat down and whined about how hard and unfair things were.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “You’re a liar.”

She takes this with good grace. “Okay, yeah. There were times I’m sure I was almost as bitchy as you. But this is just a setback for both of us. I don’t plan to give up.”

I’m a little buoyed by this. “Well, don’t forget about me.”

She glances at her lap, then back up at me. “Look, we have an office in Burbank that does an internship thing every summer. Next spring, why don’t you send in an application? I can pretty much guarantee you’ll be accepted.”

I want to hug her, until I remember she’s the one who took Becoming away from me. “Yes. That would be great. Thanks.”

“This is no plush job. You’d be fetching coffee, making copies, and any other menial thing they can think of. But you’d meet people and make connections. It’s a start.”

Not much of a start, but it is something. “Yeah. Mila, I’m sorry this didn’t work out.”

“Baby steps, kid. Now hop to it, we’re here.”

*

Just before we arrive at the conference room, we run into Michael. He’s rushing down the hall, carrying so many boxes of donuts that he has to steady the stack with his chin. He stops short when he sees us.

“Oh, hey Shannon. Hi…Mila.” He’s really smiling.

Mila returns the grin. “Hey, cutie. You been working out?”

He chuckles, almost unbalancing the boxes. “Not hardly. Hey, I heard they really liked the pitch you made on Tuesday.”

“Yeah, keep your fingers crossed. And keep that shirt on. A girl can only control herself so much.”

Mila’s certainly a lot friendlier with guys who aren’t me.

Michael gulps and laughs nervously. “I’ll see you around, Mila. Shannon.” He departs down the hall.

Mila shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

“So are you two…”

“What?” She snorts. “God, no. He just likes the attention. You know how it is with nerdy guys, you flirt with them a little and…”

She trails off, looking at me strangely. She then rapidly shakes her head and presses the heel of her hand to her forehead.

“C’mon, Shannon, they’re waiting. Just like we rehearsed.”

We’d gone over it in the parking lot. As soon as we entered the meeting, I was going to break down. My poor mother, who’d been doing so well, had just had a stroke. Mila was arranging for me to fly home. Sadly, I’d have to back out of doing the show, but Mila already had my replacement lined up. Mila’s so great, so understanding, she’s handling this situation so well. You would be lucky to have someone like her on your team.

I work up a few tears, mostly by thinking about how humiliating it’s going to be to fly home tomorrow and try to explain where I’ve been. I’ll leave out the crossdressing, of course. I follow Mila into the conference room.

The place is full. I recognize Mr. Avery. There are about a dozen other men and women seated around the conference table. Some are in suits, but most are dressed casually in slacks or jeans. All conversation stops when we enter. Everyone stares at Mila and me.

There’s an uncomfortable silence. Mr. Avery breaks it. “Ah, Miss Ferguson. Glad to have you with us. Can we offer you a pastry or a bottle of water?”

I stand there gaping like a newly caught fish. I kind of thought Mila would be taking the lead here, and now I’m too flustered to even answer the refreshment question. I knew I should have taken that improv class.

Mila clears her throat. “Um, there’s something we need to discuss—”

“Yes, yes,” says Mrs. Avery, glancing down at a binder. “I got your email last night. I think we have the schedule all sorted out. Miss Ferguson, would you take a seat please.”

A young woman in a pantsuit takes me by the arm and leads me to a chair. Mila scurries down beside me. The doors close.

“Ma’am, could you look this way for a moment?”

I turn and am shocked to see a movie camera facing me. A guy with a backward baseball cap stands behind it. “Just need to take a couple of shots, to help me know how to make the camera fall in love with you. Give me a smile.”

I force a nervous grin. “Great. Turn to your left.”

I turn. Mila is glaring at me. Time to speak up. “Excuse me, I have something I need to say…”

“If you don’t mind, Shannon, we’re in a bit of a time crunch.” The man who spoke, a guy with a long hipster beard and flannel shirt winks at me. “We need to get a lot of things nailed down today. Mila can help you sort out any questions you have after.”

Mr. Avery claps him on the back. “Shannon, I’d like you to meet the director of your segment, Harvey Lawrence.”

His face is unfamiliar, but I instantly recognize the name. “You directed that short film about the Sentinel Islanders! That was amazing work.”

This is evidently the right thing to say. Mr. Lawrence beams. “Good job finding this one, Mila. She’s a keeper.”

Mila tries to speak again. “Yes, about that—”

“All right,” says Mr. Avery. “Down to business. I have a 2:00 tee time…I mean, an important meeting.”

Everyone laughs at the boss’s joke, even Mila.

The pantsuited woman passes me a folder. “Let’s go over our schedule. Tomorrow, you’re going to be meeting Natalia Jenkins. She’s invited you to come to her home for lunch. She’s cooking, and believe me, she’s good at it.”

Natalia Jenkins has invited me to her home. She wants to make me lunch.

“If there’s time, she’d like to take you horseback riding. Did you know she has stables on her property?”

She’s spearheaded equine rescue efforts all throughout California. She owns three rescue horses, Snap, Crackle, and Pop.

“Let’s see, then on Tuesday, you’ll be going to the Los Angeles Zoo. Miss Jenkins sponsored the park’s new chimpanzee habitat, and you’ll be helping her with some publicity shots. You’re not afraid to get up close and personal with some animal friends, are you? Mila, see that she brings some boots.”

I’d get to actually meet the chimps? Childish, but that sounds like a lot of fun.

Mila tries to get her attention. “Actually, there’s a kind of a problem.”

The cameraman interrupts. “Shannon, tilt your chin up just a smidge. Great.”The woman continues. “On Thursday, weather permitting, we’re going to drive out to the Griffith Observatory and hike the trail. It’s a bit of a schlep, but the view from the top is amazing.”

I know. I’ve seen pictures. Before I arrived in Los Angeles, I’d planned to go there on my own if I could. And now Natalia wants to go with me.

“And for the rest of the time here, you’ll be on the set of Darkness in the Daytime. You’re going to be with Ms. Jenkins for nearly a month, learning from her, helping her, becoming her! And not just Ms. Jenkins. You won’t believe who else they’ve cast—”

“Excuse me!” Mila snaps, interrupting me daydream of being on the set with Natalia. The room falls silent. “I hate to interrupt, but Shannon has something important she needs to say.” She stares at me pointedly.

Oh. Yeah. Reality. No one here realizes Shannon Ferguson is a boy, and he is most certainly not invited to lunch, to the zoo, or to the movie set. In fact, he’d be invited right off the premises if they knew who he really was. So it’s time to leave my dreams behind. Forever.

I stand.

Goodbye, Natalia. It could have been beautiful.

Everyone is staring at me. Most of them look annoyed; it’s not my place to address the assembly. But if I hear about one more exciting thing I’m not going to get to do, I may cry.

“I…” No, let the tears come. It’ll help. “I received a call from my mother this morning. I mean, about my mother. I mean…she’s been kind of sick lately and—”

“Hope I’m not interrupting!” The doors fly open and a personality flutters in, followed by its owner.

It’s Natalia Jenkins herself. America’s longtime crush. Everybody’s favorite girl next door. The Hollywood queen who looks like your prom date and dresses like the checkout girl at your local supermarket. Voted ‘Most Beautiful Woman’ by both Hollywood Insider and The ACLU Newsletter.

And she’s not ten feet away from me.

Everyone stands. The cameraman nearly topples over as he zooms in on her.

“I was in the building,” she continues, in that distinctive Brooklyn twang that launched the career of the SNL actress who imitates her. “I heard our contest winner was in the house and wanted to say hi!”

She’s coming toward me. Smiling. She’s even more beautiful up close. I can see the slightly crooked teeth that she refuses to have fixed. The generous nose. The laughing eyes. Everything that makes her so normal and flawed and perfect.

“Hi there, you must be Shannon!” She extends her hand. “I’m Natalia, and I’m so pleased to meet you.”

Numbly, I reach out. I touch her hand. I shake it.

“Shannon, you look a little overwhelmed. Is everything okay?”

Natalia Jenkins is concerned about me.

The director answers for me. “I think our contest winner is feeling a little homesick. Missing her mother.”

And then Natalia Jenkins puts her arm around me. The same arm that’s embraced Chad Herrigton, Luis Ruiz, and Chico the baby polar bear, is draped around my shoulder.

“Oh, Shannon, I know exactly how you feel. When I first left New York I went to sleep crying nearly every night, missing my parents and my pop pop. You’re kind of feeling out of sorts, like nothing is how you thought it was going to be, am I right?”

You don’t know the half of it. I nod, numbly.

“Well Shannon, I think you’d be crazy if you didn’t feel that way. But let me tell you, we’re going to have the time of our lives this month. I’m going to make sure you have the most fun ever! Maybe it feels like you don’t have any friends in California, but you do have one. Me. I’m your friend now.”

Natalia Jenkins is my friend.

“Now are you going to give this a try? Be the actress I know you can be?”

There’s a loud noise as someone bangs their fist on the table. Without looking, I know it was Mila.

And now is the time when I quit. When I tell my new friend that it’s not nerves that are upsetting me, but that my poor, ill mother is on death’s door and I must rush home to be at her sickbed. That I cannot help Natalia with her movie or her good works or her horses. That this is the one and only time I’ll be with my idol. I have to help my mom.

Except my mom isn’t sick. She’s as healthy as a forty-year-old pack a day smoker can expect to be. And apparently she’s angry at me.

My whole family is always irritated with me. None of them ever offered to take me hiking or do volunteer work. I’ve never had a friend who was worried when I was sad.

“Shannon?” prompts Natalia and Mila at the same time.

I smile. I straighten my back. I look Natalia in the eye.

“I’m really looking forward to working with you, ma’am.”

“Please, call me Natalia!”

She pulls me into a brief hug. It almost shields me from the look of pure, animal rage I see on Mila’s face.

*

Miss Jenkins—Natalia—leaves immediately, and the meeting breaks up soon after. I follow Mila out to the parking garage. Neither of us speak. I can tell she has something to say, but wants us to be alone.

When we’re in the parking structure, she turns to me. I expect screaming, but she’s quiet. And smiling. It’s terrifying.

“Mila…”

“Do not speak. Shannon, I thought we had an agreement. In fact, I know we did. So would you mind telling me what was going through your head? Do you mind telling me why you decided to screw me, yourself, and the entire show?”

How can I explain what I don’t understand myself? “Mila, I was kind of star struck. All the things you were planning, all the nice things she said. I sort of forgot myself.”

Mila’s eye twitches. I’ve never seen that happen in real life. “And what are we supposed to do when filming starts? You can’t just march in and announce that you had a sex change over the weekend!”

“Well…maybe we won’t have to.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it. After a pause, she speaks. “Don’t even.”

“Hear me out. I mean, no one suspects the true state of things. So why not just keep up the illusion? You’d get to run the show the way you planned and I’d get to be on it.”

She just stares. She’s gone pale, for a Black person.

“I’m an actor. I can pull this off. She’ll never suspect, and neither will the viewers. And then, maybe in a few years, we can tell the world how I pulled off the role of a lifetime…or not,” I amend, when I see the look on her face.

Mila blinks hard, walks a few paces, and then comes back to me.

“Wow. I knew you were stupid, Shannon. Even when I first watched your video, I knew you didn’t have a lot going on upstairs. But this…wow. I mean, you think being a woman is all about the dress and makeup, don’t you? Just powder your nose, speak in a higher register, and voila, right?”

I’ve studied enough acting methods to know this is far from the case. “Mila, c’mon—”

“Shut up! Thanks to your little performance in there, I guess we’re committed. You want to play the girl’s part, well you got it. And I’m going to make sure you succeed. Because it’s my life hanging on the line there. The first time anyone suspects you have a dick in that skirt, neither of us will ever work again. You’re going to turn into a punch line. Every time someone googles your name, the first hundred results will be about how you like to wear dresses and pretend to be a farm girl. How’d you like that to come up at every audition and job interview for the rest of your life?”

The thought chills me.  I’m already regretting my rash decision. It’s only my friend Natalia’s support that keeps me from panicking.

“No one will know the truth.”

“No, they won’t, Shannon. Because I’m going to make sure they don’t. Because I’m going to train you. Welcome to female boot camp, bitch. By the time I’m done with you, you’re going to look like a woman, talk like a woman, and act like a woman. Kiss your balls goodbye, you won’t be needing them any time soon. Now get your ass back to the hotel, I need to think.”

Her plans upset me, obviously. “Mila?”

“Go. Now.”

“How…how do I get back?” I have no car and no money.

She looks at me with a purely hateful expression. “You’re such a smart girl, you figure it out.”

She walks off, leaving me alone in the dimly lit garage.

Chapter Eight

“I don’t care how badly they hurt you.”

I sit alone in my hotel room, back in my male clothes, watching Cherokee Moon, the film that propelled Natalia to the national spotlight.

“I don’t care what you’ve gone through, or what you’ve lost.”

I can pretty much recite the dialogue from memory. I’m using the movie to try to forget how screwed I am.

“All I care about is here. Now. You. Me.”

When Natalia looked me in the eye at the studio and called me her friend, I could believe that anything was possible. But back here, alone, I doubt it.

I’m going to be found out. If not through my own stupid fault, then Mila’s going to rat me out, purely for spite. She gave me such an easy out. Why didn’t I take it?

“It’s going to be hard. It’s going to be impossible. But darling, is anything really impossible?”

And even if by some miracle, I did pull this off, what then? They’d air the episode. Everyone would see me, and it’s not like I could pretend that was a different Shannon Ferguson, who happened to look a lot like me.

God, everyone would see it. My friends…

Not that I have any, other than Natalia.

My family…

But do I really care what they’ll think? Do I really want to stick around and hear Chris make fun of me for the rest of my life?

“What counts is the here. And the now.”

There’s only one option. I have to tell Natalia the truth. I’ll let her know how I became trapped in this role. She’ll either help me escape or help me pass as a girl for the next month.

I bet she understands. She knows how these shows work. She’ll tell me what to do.

“Just me. And You. That’s all.”

She’s my friend, after all. She said so herself.

She’ll make this right.

*

The storefront is discrete. I’m thankful for that. Mila and I stand outside the beauty salon the next morning.

“I researched this place myself,” she tells me. “They’re supposed to be very good.”

Well, that is kind of a comfort. I mean, when you’re looking for a beautician specializing in male to female transformation, you don’t want to wind up with an amateur.  But I’m not excited.

“Mila, what did you tell them when you made this appointment?”

She looks at me with almost sympathy. “That my friend, Shannon, is interested in presenting as female. That they need a new look, and some help with makeup and hair. Don’t worry, they won’t ask you any personal questions.”

I still make no move to enter. “But won’t they think that I’m…you know.”

“Transgender? Yes, they probably will. I imagine most of their clients are at least questioning their gender identity.”

I feel I need to make a stand. “But I’m not! I mean, I have no problem with transgender people. I totally understand their struggle. But—”

“Oh, you do, do you?” mocks Mila. “I’m sure they’re all breathing a sigh of relief that you approve of them and totally get them. Have you written a press release yet? I bet PFLAG and the Trevor Project are dying to know that the struggle is over.”

Did I ever really think I might have been friends with this woman? “Mila, I’m just saying I don’t want to go in there under false pretenses.” Somehow, I need for everyone to know that I’m not dressing like a female because I enjoy it.

Mila shrugs. “Here’s what I know, Shannon. Unlike you, the camera does not lie. And I don’t want to have to explain to Mr. Avery why the sweet little country girl I promised him has five o’clock shadow. Though I doubt that will be an issue with you, Peaches.”

I resist the urge to rub my mostly hairless cheeks.

“Look,” she continues. “You can tell them the truth, as long as you don’t mention the show’s name.”

I’m suspicious. “Really?”

“Sure. Just tell the beauticians that you landed a role on a TV show, but you have to dress as a woman in order to do it. And that the studio isn’t helping you with this, you have to do it on your own. That’s totally believable. They won’t think you’re just some guy who likes to wear panties but won’t admit it.”

God, I hate that smirk. “Do you have to make everything hard for me?”

“Oh, dear, am I not making things easy for you? I forgot that’s why I was placed on this earth, to serve Shannon Ferguson. Didn’t your great-grandfather own my great-grandfather?”

It’s obvious she’s not going to lay off. “Are you coming in with me?”

“I have some shopping to do. I’ll meet you when they’re done."

I wish Natalia was here. I move toward the door.

“Shannon?”

I turn.

“Remember: it’s just acting. You can make this as hard or as easy as you like.”

*

I’m not sure what I expected. The lobby is dimly lit and paneled. A sign hangs over the receptionist’s desk:  This is a safe space.

Somehow, that makes me feel a little better. No one’s going to laugh.

I approach the slender brunette behind the desk. “Um…reservation for Shannon Ferguson?”

She smiles at me. I check out her jawline and adam’s apple. Then I’m instantly ashamed for doing that.

“Shannon? We have you down with Rochelle. She’ll be out in a moment. Feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

No, too late for that. I can’t sit in the comfy chairs or read the fashion magazines. I end up pacing the floor. The receptionist, bless her, doesn’t say anything, but I think I’m making her nervous.

Then again, I can’t be the first uncomfortable guy to come here.

“Shannon? Would you like to come with me?”

I turn to see the woman who must be Rochelle. She’s around fifty, buxom, with dyed auburn hair, excessive makeup and jewelry, and a friendly smile. I’d call her attractive. I’d call her stylish.

And I’d call her a man.

I know that’s not the correct thing to say.  I know gender isn’t a state of body, but a state of mind. I know outward appearances have nothing to do with how one identifies (believe me).

But I can also tell that Rochelle wasn’t assigned female at birth. Her hands are too big. Her voice is too deep. Her jaw is too square. She chose to be a woman.

And strangely, that’s kind of a comfort. At least she obviously knows what she’s doing.

I follow her back through the doors and into a private room. It’s small, and aside from a sink, nearly every bit is filled with tables covered in makeup kits and mirrors.

            It kind of reminds me of the green room behind the auditorium at my school. The place I spent hours helping the beautiful people get ready for their roles, as I sat in the back waiting for my turn to give my two lines as ‘farmer’ or ‘policeman.’

            Rochelle indicates that I should sit. She settles herself in a chair opposite me, and crosses her legs. They’re covered in black hose, and whatever her gender, they’ve very nice. She places her chin on her knuckles and regards me. I wonder what she’s planning. I wonder if she dresses like this all the time, or just at work.

            “Shannon, how old are you?”

            “I’m eighteen,” I lie.

            She looks at me, and I get the uncomfortable feeling that she knows I’m not telling her the truth.

            “We’ll go with that. Honey, I don’t know why your friend brought you to me. And you don’t owe me any explanations. But I want you to know, you can tell me anything. And whatever you say, it won’t leave this room.”

            I tried out for a reality show and I got accepted, but somehow they thought I was a girl, and so Mila was going to have me dress up as a woman a couple of times until I could bow out, but then I met my idol, Natalia Jenkins, and she said she wanted to be my friend and I kind of panicked and said I’d do the show, but she’s so nice I think if she knew the truth she’d help me, and my family is all pissed off at me for leaving home and now I have to come to you to give me a makeover.

            “Thank you, Rochelle.”

            Her smile broadens. She leans toward me. “So…what are we going to do today?”

*

            I’m back there for two hours. Rochelle is a patient teacher. By the time we’re done, I have a good idea on how to hide what few whiskers I have, how to apply women’s makeup (as opposed to stage makeup), and how to paint my nails. She instructed me on how to shave my legs and armpits tonight.

            But Rochelle isn’t just there as a life coach.

            She shaped my eyebrows. They’re thin now, feminine. If I end up running back to Iowa, I guess I’m going to have to shave them off.

            Same with my head. Rochelle gave me a haircut. A cute little bob, kind of like Natalia’s.

            And she pierced my ears.

            I stare at my reflection in the harsh light of the mirror.

            I’m still ugly. I’m still awkward. I’m still dressed in my male clothes.

            But I don’t look like a man.

            Even with Mila’s never lying cameras, I don’t think anyone’s going to figure things out.

            Rochelle stands behind me with a smile on her crimson lips. “Sweetie, you look great.”

            I can’t stop staring at my reflection. I look like my own unattractive twin sister.  “Thanks. For everything.”

            “I enjoyed it. It’s fun working with younger clients. What I wouldn’t give to be your age again.”

            I turn away from the mirror. “You look fine,” I say, and I mean it.

            She flips her hair, which I’ve since realized is a wig. “I appreciate the sentiment, but that’s not what I meant. Let’s just say I wish I’d told the world about Rochelle when I was your age. You’re doing the right thing, being true to yourself now.”

            She looks wistful. I wish I could offer her some encouraging words, but all I want to do is tell her that I’ve always been true to myself, and this Shannon, the one who’s dolled up in the mirror, is a lie.

            “Thank you, Rochelle. I hope I can come back again. I think I’ll need your advice.”

            “Any time, sugar.”

*

            Mila is waiting in the lounge. I’m horrified to see that she’s carrying several bags from various clothing stores. I don’t think they’re for her.

            She looks at me critically when I join her.

            “Huh,” she says, after a moment.

            Wordlessly, I follow her out of the shop.