Chapter Twenty-Four

            After over a month of shooting, I’m disappointed when everything just kind of peters to a stop. One day we’re filming, the next day Mila calls to tell me we’re through. I’ll need to hang around for another week just in case, but she tells me she’s already booked my ticket home. She says we’ll have dinner before I leave.

            I’m kind of bummed that I won’t get a chance to say goodbye to the crew or Michael or even Natalia. Or that they apparently weren’t interested.

            I do get an email from the director of Cinder-Suzie’s upcoming movie, the one that I’ll be in. He’s polite, if not a little snippy. I wonder if he resents Mila’s mother’s influence in my casting. Oh well, I’ll just have to work that much harder.

            I use my last few days to do a little shopping, to buy some souvenirs for my family, and say goodbye to Rochelle. I purchase some men’s clothes. I’ll have to ask Rochelle to cut and dye my hair before I leave.

            I sit in my hotel room, trying to picture going back to Iowa, to a house without central air conditioning, and explaining to my family where I’ve been. Will they be furious or ashamed?

            A couple of days before I’m to leave I get a text from Michael, saying I have to sign some release forms and that I need to come down to the home office at three o’clock. Why not? I’ve got nothing better to do.

            I should have seen it coming. The receptionist tells me that I should meet Michael in conference room B. For some reason she finds this amusing. She giggles as I leave.

            I locate the room and open the door.

            “Surprise!” Almost all of the crew is waiting in the meeting room, now decorated with balloons and streamers. A sheet cake and punch bowl sit on the table. An image of my face is projected onto a screen, over the words GOODBYE SHANNON.

            I gasp. Then I take a deep breath to keep from crying. “You guys…”

            Michael is here. Natalia. Mr. Lawrence. James. Everyone, actually, except…

            “Where’s Mila?”

            “She’s running late,” says Natalia, taking my hand and pulling me to the middle of the room. “She’ll be here soon.”

            Someone thrusts a drink into my hand. I’m surrounded by the people I’ve worked with this past month. I glance around, but there are no cameras. This isn’t staged. I don’t know if they do this for every participant on Becoming, but I’m touched.

            “A toast!” says Mr. Lawrence. “Shannon, you are our sixty-somethingth guest on this show, and I have to say, you’re one of our favorites. So polite.”

            “So many good ideas,” says James.

            “So smart,” says Michael.

            “And such a great little actress,” says Natalia. “Let’s not forget what a great actress Shannon Ferguson of Des Moines turned out to be. So versatile.”

            Everyone claps in assent, but I’m suddenly a little uncomfortable. Something about the way Natalia is smiling. I wish Mila were here.

            “Shannon,” says Mr. Lawrence, “Would you like to say a few words?”

            The crew members bang on the table.

            I take a sip of my drink. I’m really going to miss these people. “Okay. I just want to tell you all—”

            “Hang on,” interrupts Natalia. “Before we get to that, we’ve got a surprise. The tech department cooked up a little treat for you. Michael, hit it!”

            Michael has his mouth full of chips and seems a little unprepared for this request, like it was supposed to happen later. But Natalia is asking, so he goes to his laptop and hits a button. The projection on the wall fades to a short film.

            Set to the theme song of Becoming, it’s a series of clips of my time on the show. It starts with me first meeting Natalia at her ranch, my first makeover, the time at the zoo the water buffalo snotted on me…God, that all seems so long ago. Everyone laughs and claps at their favorite scenes.

            And then, suddenly, the music stops. The film keeps going, but it changes. It’s an older clip. I recognize my audition tape. The one I sent in to apply for this show. The one where Mila mistook me for a girl. Looking at it now, I can kind of see why she thought that, though I’m not sure why they’ve included it in this best of Shannon compilation.

            Michael seems confused too. “Sorry, something’s wrong.” He stands to adjust the laptop, but Natalia stops him.

            “No, let’s watch this.”

            Something is wrong. This clip show was obviously supposed to be light hearted and funny, but this tape, with me talking about how lonely and sad I feel, is kind of personal. Several people look uncomfortable.

            Have you ever been so close to a disaster that you don’t immediately realize what’s happening? Yeah. When a photo of me in boy mode pops up on the screen, my initial reaction is ‘How did they find that?’ rather than ‘I’m so screwed.’

            It’s from my high school yearbook. The online version. There I am, Shannon Ferguson, sophomore. With my close cut hair, my toothy grin, and that unfortunate attempt at a mustache.

            Oh shit.

            Another photo of me from my freshman year, with the forensics team. Not too many people in that club. Very close shot of my face.

            The people in the meeting room begin murmuring.

            And then, a headshot. The one I mailed out to dozens of studios and agents. Up close, recent, and very, very male. 

            The screen splits. Now there’s a headshot of female me alongside the male version. A caption reads ‘Shannon Ferguson.’

            They are unquestionably the same person.

            Freeze frame.

            I tear my eyes away from the screen. Everyone, everyone is staring at me.

            James tries to break the tension. “So, Shannon, something you want to tell us?”

            I am frozen. Mila and I knew there was a chance that I’d be found out, but we’d assumed I’d be thousands of miles away when the shit hit the fan.

            Mr. Lawrence looks enraged. Michael won’t meet my eyes. And Natalia…

            Natalia is smiling. Not meanly. Not smugly. Just smiling.

            Mila was right. She didn’t like being upstaged for any reason. She decided to dig up some dirt on me.

            And Jesus, did she ever find some.

            I mumble something. I grab my purse. I hurry out the door.

            Alone in the hall, I fumble for my phone. I have to call Mila. I have to warn her. I have to know how to best control the damage.

            I have to leave town.

            Before I can dial, a hand snakes out and grabs my wrist.

            It’s Mr. Lawrence. He’s furious.

            “Did you think this was all some kind of joke?” he snarls. I try to pull away from his grip, but he won’t let go.

            “Let me explain…”

            “Explain?” he hisses. “I allowed a man to go into the dressing room with Natalia Jenkins! Do you have any idea how angry she’s going to be?”

            Oh, I have an idea all right. But more importantly, I’m remembering how Mr. Lawrence knocked around Michael for a minor mistake. Now that he knows I’m not a girl, will he do the same to me?

            “You little bitch. You can be damn sure this episode is never going to air. We can sue you for this. We can sue your parents for this. Am I getting through to you?” He shakes me. “Are you hearing me?”

                All I can think of is the threat of a lawsuit against my family. And the vice hard grip of this powerful and pissed off man.

                “Okay, that’s enough, Mr. Lawrence.”

                The voice is confident and authoritative. It takes me a moment to realize who it belongs to.

                “Go away, Michael,” snaps Mr. Lawrence.

                “No. Let go of her. Right now.”

                Michael is standing at Mr. Lawrence’s shoulder. And for the first time since I met him, he doesn’t look nervous or confused or unsure of himself.

                “Now, Mr. Lawrence.”

                My wrists ache as he releases me. The two men stare each other down, yet another macho pissing contest.

                Mr. Lawrence blinks first. He turns to me with a sneer. “I want you out of that hotel by the weekend. I want you out of the city by Monday. You’re dead to us. This never happened.”

                He storms off.

                I turn to Michael, humiliated and afraid. Maybe he has some words of encouragement. Some kind of advice.

                He looks at me without expression.

                “I think you need to leave, Shannon.”

                He turns and walks away.

*

                I’m blubbering into my phone as I wander into the parking lot.

                “Shannon?” snaps Mila. “Calm down. Tell me what’s wrong.”

                “It was…it was at my going away party.”

                “Wait, I thought that wasn’t until Thursday.”

                In my hazy state, I realize that Mila had been given bad information. Natalia arranged it so the one person who might have defended me wouldn’t be there.

                “Mila, everyone knows.”

                “Knows what?”

                “What do you think?” I practically scream. “You were right. Natalia found out. She told everyone. Mr. Lawrence fired me.”

                “Shit.” There’s something very comforting about the way she says that four letter word. Like her devious little mind is already making plans. “Go back to the hotel. Talk to no one.”

                I sniffle. “How soon can you get here?”

                “Shit.”  This time, she doesn’t sound so confident. “The thing is, I’m in Sausalito. I’m not supposed to fly back until…look, don’t worry about it. I’ll get an earlier flight.”

                “Mila, I—”

                “Shannon, I need to talk to Mr. Lawrence. I have to let you go. Listen, it’s all going to be…we’ll figure it out.”

                The line goes dead.

                I’m suddenly very, very frightened. I’m fired. How much longer will the credit card that’s been paying for all my meals and transportation still work? How will I get back to the hotel? Am I even still welcome at the hotel?

                Panicking, I hail a taxi and ask to be taken home. As I sit, sweating, in the back, my phone begins to blow up.

                Texts from an unknown number. Just a URL. Wishing I had the courage to ignore it, I open the link.

                It’s a little video clip.

                BECOMING the Girl of His Dreams: Gender Bending Natalia Jenkins Fan Goes the Extra Mile to Meet his Idol.

                Wait. It’s a YouTube video. But it’s a corporate account.

                Hollywood Insider. A nightly gossip show. This is a commercial for a segment that’s airing tonight.

                How long had Natalia been planning this? This was no overnight surprise, it had to have been at least a week. Before she smiled at me and said she was proud of me.

                “Driver!” I squeak. “I changed my mind. I want to go somewhere else.”

*

                Rochelle. Once again, she meets me after hours. Once again, she’s there for me when I need her. She’ll know what to do. She’ll give me some advice.

                She listens to my story of how I’d been caught and how everyone was going to know I was really a man. How it was going to be on the news.

                When I’m finished, she does not smile understandingly. She does not pat my knee. She does not offer me a cup of tea.

                Instead, she stands and looks at her reflection in the mirror for a long time.

                “I take it, Shannon, that you are not actually transgender?”

                “What? No. It was all for the show.”

                Another long pause. “I see. All for some stupid reality program.”

                I’m beginning to suspect I’m not going to get the shoulder I was hoping to cry on.

                Rochelle still doesn’t face me. “Let me tell you a story, Shannon. Is that really your name, Shannon?

                “I guess it doesn’t surprise you to realize I never felt comfortable in a man’s world. I could never understand why. But when I was about fourteen, there was this fashion model who came out as a trans woman. No one had suspected her past. And I realized that being a boy wasn’t my only option. I had an older sister. We were close. And one night, I got up the courage to ask if I could try on some of her things. I kind of made it sound like I was joking, but she knew I was serious.”

                Rochelle pauses just long enough for me to feel like I should say something. But then she continues.

                “She told our parents. And my father beat the shit out of me. I’m serious. He used his belt. Made me bleed. I couldn’t walk for a day.”

                I’m sickened by this story. “Rochelle…”

                “Don’t interrupt. It was then that I realized that the model was a fluke and that normal people didn’t wish for sick things like that. My family never looked at me the same again, but damned if I didn’t try to be a son they could be proud of. I played sports. I dated girls. I got married at twenty. Had a daughter. And then one night I found myself alone in the bathroom with a handful of sleeping pills and I knew if I didn’t live the life I was supposed to, then I really didn’t want to have a life. So I came out. To everyone.

                “My wife left me, of course. My daughter won’t talk to me. And by the time I’d paid off all the child support and got back on my feet again, I was fat and bald and old. I make a pretty woman, but not a convincing one.”

                She finally looks at me. “When you came to me last month, I honest to God thought you were transgender. And I thought about how much things have changed. I thought you were living the life I dreamed of back then, being true to yourself. And I promised myself that I’d do anything to help you live that dream. Maybe it was a stupid fantasy, but it made me so happy to know that I was helping a young woman achieve the happiness that I could never have.”

                Her voice drops to an almost masculine tone. “And now you tell me that this was all for some stupid publicity stunt?”

                I’m still reeling from her painful life story. “It wasn’t like that, Rochelle.”

                She raises a pencil thin eyebrow. I lower my face.

                “Okay, maybe it was.”

                “Well pardon me for not sympathizing. I guess I’m too busy thinking about the suicide rate among transgender youth. Or how a guy could slash your throat and then get off with a warning because, after all, you’re just a tranny.”

                I’d felt like shit when I came here, and the guilt trip makes me feel worse. Mostly because I know she’s right.

                “I never meant for this to happen.”

                “Well, it did. You’re going to be famous. And now every asshole who likes to rant about the perverted guy in the skirt is going to have more fuel to add the fire. More stories about the sickos who like to dress as women. You’ll go back home and be a man. It’s the rest of us who are going to pay the price. One step forward, two steps back.”

                Her exquisite face is hard as rock. Not only did I hurt myself, I hurt her. And people like her. And probably Mila as well. And much as I’d like to blame Natalia, I know it’s ultimately down to me. I stand.

                “Goodbye, Rochelle. For what it’s worth, thanks for everything.”

                I head for the door.

                “Shannon?”

                I freeze.

                “Shannon, are you going to be okay? Can you get back home? Can you go back home?”

                I turn. “I’ll be okay.” I have no idea if that’s true or not. God, everyone back in Iowa is going to see that Hollywood Insider episode. Maybe I won’t be welcome any more.

                “Are you sure? Shannon, I’m angry, but I’m still your friend. Do you need anything?”

                I shake my head, but then stop. “Actually, I could use a reverse makeover.”

                She smiles a tad. “Come by in two days. Linda can give you a hand.”

                We stare at each other, awkwardly.

                “Rochelle? What can I do? I want to make this right.”

                She runs her fingers through her wig. “That’s something only you can decide. But don’t let other people fight this battle for you. Tell the truth, and tell it soon.”

                The truth. The one thing I’ve been avoiding for over a month.

                “Thank you, Rochelle.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

            Some disasters, like a car wreck or shooting, unfold instantly. Others, like watching your promising acting career go down in a public bonfire of humiliation, take days.

            I sit in my hotel room, staring at my phone, watching each indignity with the detached air of a bystander. I’ve been pretending to be female for so long, it’s almost easy to imagine that this boy, Shannon Ferguson, isn’t someone associated with me.

            Almost.

            The Hollywood Insider segment is nothing but four minutes of fluff, basically implying that I must have been some starstruck teen hoping to get close to Natalia. It’s capped off with a twenty second video clip of Natalia, giggling and blushing, and implying that I’d seen a lot more of her in the dressing room than I should have.

            All lies.

            The Google Alerts for ‘Shannon Ferguson’ start coming right after the show and continue the following day. It’s amazing how in a nation with such low voter turnout, people can still get fired up.

            I take a little mean comfort in all the rude comments about Natalia. But even then, I’m kind of offended. Can’t you talk about what a bitch she is, not what you’d like to do to her?

            Men.

            Of course, most of the comments are about me. Rochelle was right. I’m called everything from a peeping tom to a drag queen. I’m threatened with everything from rape to murder. Hour after hour after hour.

            I don’t recognize any names from back home, but I’m sure it’ll happen sooner or later. I am pretty hurt when I recognize Sherona, the girl I went clubbing with. She posted a picture of us together in the night club and laughs at how she hung out with a tranny.

            What is even more upsetting are the posts of support. People saying that the show had no right to fire a gender fluid person like me. That I shouldn’t be ashamed of identifying as female. There’s talk of a protest. Talk of a boycott of the show’s advertisers. The Wymynist Council of Southern California offers to pay my legal expenses, should I decide to sue the show (or should they decide to sue me).

            My family has to know. They’ll have seen this. And with no warning, what will they think? That this was some immature stunt on my part? Or will they think that wimpy little Shannon is finally living as his true self?

            Should I even go home again?

            Mila texts me constantly but vaguely. She quickly goes from optimistic (Mr. Lawrence screwed with the wrong chick) to hopeful (this is going to blow over in a few days) to apologetic (we may have to wait a bit on casting you in one of Mom’s films, just till everything settles down) to somewhat frightened (Just landed at LAX. Meeting with Lawrence in the morning. Things aren’t as bad as they seem. We’re going to be okay).

            We’re going to be okay. She’s in this too, and has more at stake than her reputation.

            Another alert. A blog post this time.

            Shannon Ferguson has given me the courage to be my true self. The other night, after the Hollywood Insider episode, I came out as trans to my family. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done in fifteen years, but the worst is over. I never would have had the courage had it not been for her. Thank you, Shannon, wherever you are.

            Nope. That’s it. Natalia hung me out to dry, and I guess I can take what’s coming to me. But I’m not going to be a hero to people because I was inconvenienced for a month. And I’m not going to let Mila suffer careerwise because of me.

            Plus, I’m too chicken to call my parents and tell them the truth. I’d rather they hear my story without me having to tell it to them face to face.

            It’s time everyone knows the truth. Better it comes from me than from all the speculating Natalia Jenkins fans out there. I compose a statement on my phone:

            My name is Shannon Ferguson. I am a heterosexual, cisgender man. For the past month I have passed myself off as female to appear on the television show Becoming, alongside Natalia Jenkins. I did not do this due to any sort of gender identity expression, nor, as it has been implied, to view Miss Jenkins during intimate moments. Rather, it was a practical joke that got out of hand.

            I filmed an audition take using a female persona as an acting exercise. I submitted the tape to the show as a joke. I was as surprised as anyone when I was selected. Having always been a Natalia Jenkins fan, I thought it would be an opportunity to meet her, as well as obtain a free trip to California. It was an immature plan, and I deeply regret it.

            I would like to offer my apologies to Miss Jenkins

            I have to force my fingers to type that bit

            and state again that I never once attempted to do anything inappropriate with her or with any other woman while passing myself off as female. I would also like to apologize to my family, who were unaware of where I was this summer. I’d like to apologize to Mr. Harvey Lawrence, who was kind to me.

            I’d especially like to say sorry to Mila Nevins, who treated me as a friend and whose kindness I betrayed. Above all, I hope she’ll forgive me for my falsehoods.

            And I hope that statement gets her off the hook. If I do this right, she won’t be blamed for any of this.

            I hope the world will see what I did as I intended: a silly stunt. I’m sorry that I allowed it to progress so far, and I’d like to remind everyone that while I am not a transgender person myself, their struggles are very real, and they deserve our support.

            Regretfully yours,

Mr. Shannon Ferguson

            Well, it’s no Oscar speech, but it’ll have to do. I need to get it out there.

            The problem is I don’t know how. While my name is all over the place, how will anyone know this statement is really from me? Especially since I nuked my social media accounts a month ago. I need to make an official press release.

            How do you do that? Mr. Lawrence wouldn’t help me and Mila would refuse to let me take all the blame. But there is someone else.

            I text Michael.

            I need to make a press release. Can you help?

            He answers in under a minute.

            Get it to me. I’ll take care of it.

            I send the file. I expect that to be the end of it (I’m sure he’s now even more embarrassed by our kiss), but he texts me back almost immediately.

            Is all this true?

            I answer. Every bit. I’m sorry, Michael.

            Sorry for what? You offered me nothing but friendship. When I pressed for more, you politely declined. You have nothing to apologize for.

            Always a gentleman. I really hope he finds a girl who appreciates him.

            Thank you, Michael.

            Are you going to be okay, Shannon? Do you need money or anything?

            Again, I worry that Natalia would have had my plane ticket canceled out of spite, but as far as I know, it’s still good. It’s what’s going to come after that terrifies me.

            I’ll be okay. Thank you for everything. You were a true friend.

            Stay safe. And Shannon, for the record, if you really were transgender, that wouldn’t have been a deal breaker for me.

*

            The next morning, I get up early, shower, and put on my makeup. I dress in a short skirt, sleeveless top, and heels. I’m going to check out of the hotel, and I might as well do it as the guest they’ve come to know. Plus I’d feel like an ass, with my girl haircut, trying to wear boy clothes. This is my last time as a woman ever. I’m going to give it my all.

            The press release went out last night. I don’t know if anyone read it, but at least I went on record saying that Mila and my parents had no idea what I was really up to. I hope that puts them in the clear.

            And now I’m going to go to Rochelle’s salon. Her friend will cut and dye my hair. I’ll change my clothes. I’ll leave my feminine side behind.

            Tomorrow morning I’ll fly back to Des Moines. I’ll explain to my family my side of the story in person.

            They won’t understand. Chris will laugh. My parents will be both angry and ashamed.

            But you know what? My father’s not going to beat me with his belt. And I can be thankful for that.

            I head for the door, purse in one hand, bag of male clothes in the other. I take a look at the luxurious hotel room, the likes of which I’ll never see again. I may never see California again. And I’ll never see the girl in the mirror again.

            She’s still plain looking and gangly. But she’s gained a bit of poise this past month. A bit of self confidence. A bit of class. Maybe a bit of charm.

            I’m going to miss her.

            But no point in dwelling on that. It’s all over. I head for the door. One foot in front of the other.

            And when I open it, there’s someone standing in the hall, poised to knock. She looks exhausted. Her overnight bag is slung over her shoulder, and her hair is a mess. Obviously a long and unpleasant flight.

            Chris and I stare at each other for a second. Then, without warning, she throws her arms around me and throttles me in a bear hug.

            “God, Shannon. I was so fucking worried.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

            Chris shoves past me, collapses on my bed, and kicks off her shoes.

            “Nice digs, Shannon.”

            Confused, I sit down next to her. It feels like it’s been a year since I’ve seen her. Why did she come?

            “How did you find me?”

            “I kept calling the studio. Eventually they transferred me to some dude who knew you, and when I finally convinced him I really was your sister, he gave me this address.”

“Was his name Michael?”

“I think that was it. He repeated directions to the hotel about eight times.” She squints at me, blearily. “You look different. You change your hair or something?”

            I almost laugh. “Why did you come here? Is it about…that Hollywood Insider thing?”

            “Of course.”

            “You probably want to know why I’m dressed like this.”

            Chris’s exhaustion seems to drain away. “No, Shannon. I’m wondering why the hell you never called us. I’m wondering why when we saw you on TV the other day, it was the first time in a month I didn’t worry that you were dead. That’s what I’d like explained.”

            I’ve never heard my sister sound hurt before. “You didn’t really think that.”

            “The hell I didn’t!” For a second I think she's going to tackle me. “You tell us some story that you’re going to be in a movie and then you vanish? You delete all your accounts, disconnect your phone, drop off the face of the earth…we all thought something horrible had happened to you. And I kept reminding myself that I could have stopped you that night you left and I didn’t, and it was all my fault.”

            Somehow, even after the shitstorm that has been this week, the words of my sister make me feel ten times worse. She’s right. I could have checked in. I could have let them know I was okay.

            “How are Mom and Dad?”

            She shakes her head. “Not good. Out of their heads. They tried to hire a private detective to find you, but they didn’t have much to go on. Seventeen-year-old leaves home of his own free will to be in a movie…so he’s probably in California or maybe New York. It was pointless. And then the other day Aunt Joan calls us up and says you’re going to be on TV. Nice legs, by the way. What’s up with all this?”

            She’s not mocking or upset. She honestly wants to know.

            “Well, I made a video entry to be on Becoming. And you know how you’re always saying I’m a sissy boy? Guess you were right.” It’s so embarrassing to admit this next part. “They thought I was a girl. I didn’t realize that until I got here.”

            Chris bites her lower lip and I can tell she’s dying to say something cruel. But she holds it in. “So why did you stay?”

            I shrug. “The producer, Mila, had a lot invested in this episode. She basically bribed me. Said she’d get me a real part in a movie if I went along with it.”

            My sister suddenly stands. “Typical Shannon.”

            “Excuse me?”

            She stares down at me. “It means any other guy would have hopped the next flight back to Iowa. But not you. You saw an opportunity and you took it. You always do.”

            I can tell she doesn’t mean for that to be a compliment. “So what’s wrong with that?”

            Chris begins pacing. “Nothing. I mean, you want to be an actor. And you’re poor and you’re ugly, and with anyone else I’d say it was never going to happen. But you…I always knew you were going to make it. You’d do whatever it takes. Which is why I got so scared. I was afraid you’d gotten in over your head.” She laughs. “Nope, you’ve been living in a fancy hotel room, hanging out with stars and damned if you don’t look cuter than I would in that outfit.”

            “I should have called. I’m sorry.”

            She snorts. “Forget it. We might as well get used to it.”

            I stand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            Chris still towers over me. “What do you think it means? One of these days you’re going to get your big break, and you’ll forget all about your white trash family. This was just a practice run.”

            “How can you say that?” I bellow.

            She shakes her head. “And you call yourself an actor. Totally unconvincing.”

            “I’d never forget about you!” I shout, offended.

            “Better. But I’m still not buying it.”

            “You’re my family! I love you!”How can she not know that?

            Sarcastic clapping. “There. Nailed it. Bravo.”

            I’m getting furious, and mostly because she may be right. “I always tried to fit in, Chris. You guys always made me feel like I didn’t belong.”

            She nods. “Yeah, I know. Mom and Dad always go on about how smart and talented and driven their son is. And their daughter…um, well, she’s certainly nice too.”

            I fire back. “Hey, don’t you get all self righteous! How many times did you drag me to parties and football games and shit so I’d act normal? So you’d have a brother you weren’t ashamed of?”

                Her eyes widen. “Ashamed? Jesus, I just wanted you to have fun. Forgive me for wanting a brother that I could have a good time with. Who wanted to hang out with me sometimes.”

                We’re both yelling now. “All for my own good, eh? Just like beating the crap out of me was for my own good?”
                She snorts. “That was just messing around.”

                “Was it?”

                She freezes, and for the first time since she arrived (and maybe long before that), really looks at me. “You’re my brother. It was just fun.”

                I’m silent.

                “I never hurt you, Shannon. You’re a boy, you’re supposed to…”

                “I know what I’m supposed to do. And I’m obviously not very good at it. And every time you smashed my face into the floor or sucker punched me or got me in a headlock, it just drove home that my sister is more of a man than I’ll ever be.”

                Chris stares at the floor. After a while, she speaks.

                “I guess I shouldn’t blame you for running off.”

                It takes an effort, but I approach her and put my hand on her shoulder. “You should. I had no right. I should have let you know I was okay.”

                “I should have let you know…it’s not important.”

                We both chuckle, uncomfortably. This is the longest we’ve talked in years.

                “Chris? Why did you come out here? Why not Mom or Dad?”

                She collapses in a chair, looking tired again. “I asked to. Mom and Dad didn’t know what to say. They were afraid you weren’t planning on coming back.”

                “I can’t stay in California, not now.”

                “Um, that’s not what I meant, Shannon.”

                It takes me a second to catch on. I laugh as I look down at my padding and womanly legs. “Don’t worry. This was an acting job, nothing more. I’m actually getting my hair cut this afternoon. And I’m flying home tomorrow. I’m done.”

                Chris grins. “Thank God. Thought I was going to have to cram you in an overhead compartment or something.”

                My phone buzzes with a text. I frown when I read the message. “Chris, I hate to do this, but I have to go meet someone. Do you want to rest here?”

                She’s on her feet, instantly wary. “Nope. Promised Dad I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

                I know better than to argue. Instead, I grab my purse.

                Chris laughs. “God, going out with my brother, and he’s the prettier one.”

                We head out the door. “Please. At least you’re not all padding. Though if you come with me to the salon, I know a girl who might be able to help out. You ever hear of a new thing called makeup, Chris?”

                “Don’t think I won’t mess up that pretty face of yours, Shannon.”

                We enter the elevator side by side, the old hostility slightly returning. But not like it was before.

                I still have a family. And I have a lot to answer for. It’s time to go home.

                There’s just one more loose end to tie up.

Chapter Twenty-Six

                My Becoming charge card still hasn’t been canceled and I use it to pay for our ride. Chris peppers me with questions about the show.

                “So Natalia Jenkins…she’s not that nice in real life, is she?”

                I sigh. I can finally answer this question honestly. “She was the one who ratted me out to the press.”

                Chris’s eyebrows lower, and I picture her laying out Natalia with a right hook. I quickly change the subject.

                “But James Gunderson is actually a lot nicer than you’d think. And so is Josh Jones.”

                She looks impressed. “Get out? You met the Chairman of the Joints himself?”

                I shrug, modestly. “Actually, he asked me to be in one of his movies.”

                Chris laughs. “One month. One month and you’re hanging out with the stars.”

                “Yeah, well, fat lot of good it did me.”

                Chris draws back her fist to sock me in the arm, but stops herself. “I think it did. I know this is kind of embarrassing, but who knows? At least you got your name out there. It’s what you always wanted, right?”

                Was it?

                “This is our stop.”

                We pile out of the taxi. Mila’s old car is parked in front of her house. I have so much I need to say to her before I go back home.

                “Chris…would you mind terribly waiting at the Starbucks down the road? I shouldn’t be too long.”

                She nods. “Yes. I’d mind that a lot, actually.” She trots down the walkway to Mila’s door and I rush to catch up.

                I steady myself and ring the bell. As we wait, I’m reminded of the day I did the same thing at Natalia’s. This time, there are no cameras pointed at me.

                Mila opens the door and immediately grabs both my hands. We don’t say anything for a second. Then we hug.

                Chris clears her throat.

                “Oh, sorry.”  We disengage. “Mila, this is my sister, Chris. Chris, this is my producer, Mila.”

                Mila nods. “I’m glad you came out, Chris. Um…would you like to grab something to drink? There’s cold beer and fruit juice in my fridge. Then maybe you can go relax on the lanai or the sun porch.”

                Chris rolls her eyes at the obvious attempt to get rid of her. “Listen to Miss Fancy Britches here. Ooh, look at me, I have a refrigerator.” She barges past us into the house.

                Mila smiles. “I like her.”

                We wordlessly sit on a pair of wrought iron chairs on the porch.

                “Shannon, you shouldn’t have done that press release. You could have let me take some of the blame.”

                I remember what Rochelle said about taking responsibility. “Nothing doing. I was the one who was a fake, I’m not going to throw you to the wolves.”

                Mila, of course, wants to argue. “The faking was my idea. I forced you into this.”

                “I think you’re overestimating your persuasive powers. I wanted to be famous. I wanted to get ahead. I knew what I was getting into. And now your job is safe. You can still keep working for the studio and…and…what?”

                Mila isn’t meeting my eyes. Something’s wrong.

                “Shannon, I quit my job yesterday.”

                I’m horrified. Even more so than when my secret got out. “Mila! How could you! You knew I was taking the heat for everything! All you had to do was act surprised that I was a guy. Why the hell would you quit?”

                She looks up and her jaw hardens. “Because Natalia Jenkins threw my friend under the bus and no one’s going to hold her accountable for that.”

                “So what? She’s just an overgrown child. But you…you’re something special. Don’t throw all that away just because Natalia wanted some petty revenge.”

                Mila touches my knee. “It’s not just about Natalia. I went to talk to Mr. Lawrence yesterday. I was ready to admit my role in all this, but first I wanted to see if we could salvage your episode. I told him you were just a silly kid whose prank got out of hand and we ought to frame the show like that. Maybe bring you back for an interview, get a laugh out of it.”

                “I take it he didn’t like the idea?”

                “Um, he liked it a little too much.”

                I start feeling sick. “What do you mean?”

                She seems to have a hard time getting this next part out. “He wanted to make it look like you really liked dressing like a girl. Not like a transgender person, but like a drag queen.”

                “Jesus. How did he expect to pull that off?”

                “Remember when you were running lines with Natalia? That whole ‘ideal man’ monologue?”

                “Yeah?”

                “Well, he wanted me to get Michael to do some creative editing. Make it look like you weren’t running lines.”

                When the full implication of what she’s saying hits me, I’m numb. It wouldn’t take a lot of splicing to make it look like it was me, not me as Natalia’s character, fantasizing about hot, naked men.

                Mila continues. “He was going to hire a body double, reshoot some scenes, make it look like you’d been trying to seduce James. When I told him you weren’t gay, he didn’t care. “

                “Well…neither do I.” Though I do care. A lot. “You should just let him do what he wanted.”

She shakes her head. “Nope. I refused to help him and I refused to let him do it, and he threatened to fire me, so I walked out.” She grins, proud.

                I feel like shit. “I guess you were my only friend, after all.”

                “None of that. Most of the crew is pretty pissed at Natalia, though they won’t admit it. And Michael wanted to quit with me, but I talked him out of it.”

                I feel so guilty. Mila, the woman who made my life hell and forced me to dress as a woman and looked out for me and protected me…just sacrificed everything she worked for.

                “I’m sorry, Mila.”

                “Quit your blubbering. I didn’t do this for you. I’d like to be able to look at myself in the mirror sometimes.”

                “You had such a promising career.”

                She pushes her chair next to mine and wraps her arm around me. “I still do. It’s just been delayed slightly. I’m not giving up. And you dressing like a girl was all my idea, not yours.”

                “Yeah, but I went along with it. I was the one who sent in that that crummy video and lied about my age and—”

                Mila removes her hand. “Lied about what?”

                “Um, nothing. But…I wish you’d never seen that tape. You’d be happier.”

                Mila slowly leans back in her chair and crosses her legs. “Yeah, well, it was a learning experience. And I guess spending a month with you wasn’t as unpleasant as it could have been. It just…oh, hell, you’re my friend. I enjoyed it.”

                “I did too, Mila.” My voice cracks.

                We look at each other for a moment, and it’s both awkward and comfortable.

                “So what now, Shannon?”

                “I’m going back to Iowa tomorrow. Let everyone laugh at me for a while and finish my last year of school. You?”

                “Gonna spend some time with my mother. Schmooze a little. Figure out my next move.”

                More silence. I stand. “I’m going to miss you, Mila.”

                Mila joins me. “You too. You kind of helped me get some things straight in my head.”

                “You helped me see what jerks all men are.”

                “Not all men, Shannon. You’re a rare exception.”

                We smile. We don’t hug. We stand there and stare at each other, our faces very close.

                “Shannon? Maybe…you know, when this all dies down, you’ll come back and visit me. I should be back on my feet by then. I can audition you for something as a man.”

                “I’d like that a lot.”

                More staring.

                I’m leaving town. I won’t see her for a year.

                It’s now or never.

                I touch her cheek. She doesn’t pull away.

                My lips move closer and closer to hers.

                They touch. They press. Just for a few seconds.

                We part.

                Mila’s eyes are wide. I’m sure mine are as well. And then Mila giggles.

                “Mmmn, cherry lip gloss. My favorite.”

                I blush. I’m debating whether I should give her another taste when I realize we are not alone.

                Chris is standing in the doorway, a bottle of beer in her hand, shaking her head.

                “Jesus, Shannon. You never stop, do you?”

                She rolls her eyes and walks toward the street.

One Year Later

                “Mila Nevins Productions, Shannon speaking. Yes, Mr. Blackwell. Tomorrow at four. We’ll see you then.”

                I hang up and smile at Mila, whose desk sits immediately across from mine. We’ve come down in the world, this past year. Instead of working out of the mammoth NBS Studios, Mila’s company is a one-room rented office. She is the only employee, if you don’t count me. And I don’t.

                Mila gives me a wink and goes back to her computer screen. The woman is a hard core model of industry. It’s not unusual for her to put in eighty hours a week.

                I glance at the poster on the wall behind her. Silent Voices, her documentary. It’s about the prevalence of sexual assault in the entertainment industry. It just came out last month, and people are already talking about it.

                I wish I could say I helped with it, but I’ve barely been back to L.A. for a month. I decided to gut things out at home for my senior year. Mom and Dad were just happy to have me back. And even though that episode of Becoming never aired, I still caught holy hell from my classmates from that Hollywood Insider report. But time passed, other kids had other drama, Chris busted a few noses, and by Christmas, I was just that weird drama kid again. I didn’t even bother to audition for the spring musical. Once Josh Jones pukes on you, high school theater is a bit of a letdown.

                After graduation, I was kind of at loose ends. When Mila called me to offer me a job as her assistant, I jumped at the chance.

                “Shannon? You ready to call it a night?”

                I nod, wearily. It’s amazing how tiring being on the phone or sitting in front of a computer can be. Not to mention scouting locations, arguing with equipment rental places, filing for filming permits, organizing interviews, and fetching coffee.

                And I find I’m good at it. And I find that I enjoy it.

                Mila stops to adjust my tie. “I still cannot get used to you in boy clothes, Shannon.”

                Of course a lot of that has to do with my boss. She’s gone from unemployed to producing her first short film in just over a year. At first I’d assumed that her mother was secretly funding her projects. A month after I was hired, I signed for a package at the office, which turned out to be a couple of keys of primo ganja. That’s when I realized who her actual silent partner was.  While I didn’t get to be in Josh Jones’s newest film, he stops by the office sometimes to hang out with us. He’s not the only one. Rochelle did the makeup on a lot of our shoots. And Michael still stops by sometimes. Him and his new girlfriend. Her name’s Cheryl and she’s a promising young soap opera star. I’m a little jealous.

                Jealous of Michael and his hot girlfriend. That’s what I mean. Just clarifying.

                We leave the office and climb into Mila’s new car, one of the few luxuries she’s allowed herself, and head out.

*

                “Mila, dinner’s ready!” I pull the pan from the oven.

                “Smells great, I’m starving.”

                “Well I hope you’re hungry. They had a sale on meat lovers. Hand me the slicer.”

                Yeah, that’s the problem when neither you nor your roommate cooks. A lot of take out. A lot of frozen food.

                Mila and I take our plates out to the porch and eat as we watch the sun set. When I first moved back to California, staying in Mila’s guest room was supposed to be a temporary arrangement. But when I started working for her, I insisted that she send half of my paycheck to my parents, who fought with me about that until Chris intervened. By the time all that was over, I realized I had no way to rent my own apartment. But Mila never brought it up. Every time I try to mention moving out, she changes the subject. I’m glad. Rent out here is insane.

                Fine by me. I’m living in a great house, with a great view, with…

                I glance over at Mila. She smiles back at me.

                Yeah.

                I know that kiss didn’t mean anything. It was over a year ago, just a goodbye to a friend after a crazy experience.

                But still…

                No, forget it, Shannon. She’s 24. You’re barely nineteen. She’s a college graduate. You just got out of high school. She’s a successful producer. You’re her assistant.

                Of course, we also spend almost all our time together. And she buys my clothes. And we sit on the couch together and watch movies. Not exactly snuggling…but not exactly just roommates either.

                It doesn’t matter. If there’s one thing last year has taught me, it’s that the guy should wait until he’s absolutely, 100% sure. And then probably let the woman make the first move anyway.

                “Hey, Shannon, why so deep in thought?”

                “Um…nothing.”

                She rolls her eyes. “You move your lips when you think.”

                “I do not!”

                We both kind of laugh.

                Then, much to my surprise, she drapes an arm around my shoulder. For a few minutes, we sit and watch the stars, and listen to the nearby ocean. It’s the most stressful, rigid relaxation I’ve had in a long time.

                “Shannon?” asks Mila after a moment. “Now that we’ve wrapped up production, what do you say we take a little time off?”

                I’m kind of shocked. This is the first time she’s suggested anything like a vacation since I’ve known her.

                “I’d like that. What did you have in mind?”

                “Mom has a place in Oregon. I figured we could fly up there, stay for a few days. I know it’s cold, but we could hang out on the beach. It wouldn’t hurt your pasty ass to get outside.”

                “Sounds like fun.” Sounds like a lot of fun, actually.

                “Great. We’ll go Tuesday. Pack your stuff. Don’t forget to take some nice shoes.”

                “I know.” Geez, she’ll never let me forget the time I showed up to a fancy party in sneakers.

                “And a jacket. It gets cold up there.”

                “I know, Mila.”

                “And maybe bring that new outfit you just got.”

                I suddenly feel shivery. I pull away from Mila’s arm. “You mean that suit jacket you bought me?” I ask, knowing that’s not what she meant.

                She smirks at me. “No, Shannon. The one you got on your own. The one Rochelle helped you pick out. You know, the skirt with that cute top.”

                I stand. I thought I’d been careful. I thought she believed me when I said I was just meeting friends. I thought I’d pulled one over on her.

                There’s no tricking Mila.

                She gently takes me by the hand and pulls me back to a seated position. She scoots her chair closer to me.

                “Shannon, it’s okay.”

                “No, it’s not.”

                “Why not? You had a great time last summer, for the most part. Why wouldn’t you want to show off your feminine side every once in a while?”

                How can I explain it? How can I tell her that I don’t like dressing like a girl, that it’s all behind me, and yet…sometimes…I kind of do miss it.

                “Mila, you don’t know how many times I had to tell people that last summer was just an acting job. That I don’t like crossdressing. That I never planned to do it again.”

                She’s hitting me with that intense smile. “No one has to know.”

                “But…if anyone found out…”

                “Hello? Secluded beachfront property. C’mon. It’ll just be the two of us.”

                I’m silent. There’s something I want to tell her, but I can’t.

                “Out with it Shannon.”

                She’ll make me tell her sooner or later. “It’s just that…I dunno. I don’t want you to think that I’m…less manly.”

                She laughs her musical laugh. “I don’t think you’re a sissy, if that’s what you’re worried about. And you know my past. I like you. The way you are. Now I don’t want to hear any more complaining. Your secrets are safe with me. They always have been, always will be.”

                She wraps an arm around my shoulder. There’s no denying the closeness.

                Am I making a huge mistake? If I keep dressing like a girl, maybe that’s how Mila will always picture me.

                But there’s more to me than my clothes. More to me than Shannon the actor or Shannon, the actress, or Shannon none of the above. I’m tired of pretending. I like being pretty every once in a while, and it doesn’t bother Mila.

                Besides, when you have legs like mine, you owe it to yourself to show them off sometimes.