Friday April 9 2004
San Diego
The men's restroom at the Brewhaus was never going to be featured in a decorating magazine, Bobby thought. Though it looked to have been recently cleaned, the mismatched furnishings were plain, cheap, and utilitarian, and had clearly seen hard use. The Lysol odor was strong, but not enough to completely hide the smells of stale beer, piss and vomit, which were likely soaked into the walls. The partitions between the urinals and surrounding the toilets had been torn off the walls and put back up numerous times, judging by the patterns of holes around the mounting brackets, and the cheap paneling was rubbed bare of woodgrain above each urinal just at forehead height.
Bobby opened the door of the nearest stall and looked inside. The painted concrete floor showed the expected two worn spots in front of the toilet - and a second, fainter pair just inside the stall door, from the toes of the patrons purging their Happy Hour Specials. He shook his head, did his business at one of the urinals, and washed his hands thoroughly before going back into the riot.
The noise hit him as soon as he opened the bathroom door. The Sirens were on break, but the jukebox was going strong, and the crowd was at least three drinks into their night, amping up the conversation volume. The girls were more numerous and more rowdy than he would have expected here, as if they were at a male review instead of a college sports bar with a garage band on weekend nights. He passed an all-girl table, and one of them leaned way out of her chair to slap his butt. He ignored the indignity, and the laughter that followed him, and made his way to the band's big round break table beside the stage.
"Charming," said Alex, looking at the table of drunken girls who were still staring after the band's only male member. "I thought it was just guys who acted like that after six beers."
Lori scoffed. "You've never been to a bachelorette party, then. Or even a bingo parlor that serves. Those old gray-haired ladies are the worst."
Rej, sitting beside her, said, "When have you been to a bingo parlor?"
"Research assignment," she replied, toying with the hair on the back of his head. "Budding documentarist, remember? I've been lots of places you wouldn't expect. And done things you wouldn't believe."
"Ahem," said Melanie as Bobby sat down between her and Rej. "Was the bathroom like the rest of this place?" She sat with her back to the stage, looking out over the room; her eyes took in the undecorated sheetrock walls, painted brown, and the black-painted ceiling with its exposed steel trusses and ductwork and electrical conduit. The Brewhaus had formerly been an auto-parts store, and the new owners had put a bare minimum into renovations.
"Worse. It must get busted up and put back together pretty regular."
"Well, at least the men's doesn't have a line," Alex said, chin-pointing at the girls waiting beside the door of the women's restroom. "You'd think somebody could figure out an all-stalls bathroom would have to be bigger than the other kind, if they're trying to accommodate an equal number of women."
"I don't think this is a normal mix," Melanie said, hoisting her glass of Diet Coke to her mouth. "Bet this place is almost all-male on weekdays."
"About ten to one," Rej said. "I've been here. But the mix is generally about seventy-thirty even on weekends. And I've never seen a band here draw such a crowd. The Sirens have a following, Melanie." He included Bobby in his glance. "Mostly male, until recently."
The clamor in the big room paused, and then resumed, louder and higher-pitched. A boy hooted loudly. Melanie looked toward the door, and saw Kat heading their way, Joel in tow, his hand gripped in hers. Someone else hooted, and another onlooker clapped. "Fanta – see!"
"Study hard, Richards!" Someone else called. Joel turned to glare, and Kat tugged him along, followed by a chorus of laughter.
"Feed the Kat!" A chorus of boys said raggedly, and thumped on their table, making their bottles rattle. "Feed the Kat!"
When they reached the band table, Bobby and Rej stood to give up their seats. Caitlin smiled and waved them back down. Alex looked up at Joel, possibly expecting a greeting kiss, but instead Mel's brother said, "I'll go round up some chairs," and left.
Melanie said to Kat, "Thought you guys were too busy to come."
"Guess we weren't as busy as we thought." The big redhead took in the crowd: a great many of the men were staring back, unashamed and oblivious to the displeasure of their female companions. She took a deep breath and let it out, drawing half the eyes in the room to her chest. Mel could see her cheeks warming in the dim light of the bar.
"Kat," Bobby said, "you don't have to stay."
"I want to hear you guys perform on a real stage, you know that," she replied, turning her eyes to the eight-inch-tall platform barely large enough for the band and their equipment.
"I think the acoustics in the garage are better," Melanie said, "but I'm glad to see you anyway. Especially with my hermit brother. You're a good influence on him."
"Second that," Alex said, smiling.
Bobby said, "Sarah staying out of trouble at home?"
"No." Kat wouldn't meet his eyes. "I talked to Roxanne. She said Sarah got a call that had her throwing on street clothes and rushing out the door."
Bobby raised his Diet Coke glass to his mouth. "Evening's looking up for her then."
Joel returned with a pair of metal folding chairs. "All I could get."
Alex slid her chair closer to Caitlin's, to make a gap between her and Melanie, while still leaving room for Caitlin opposite the band's leader, letting the big redhead sit facing the stage with her back to the crowd. Joel brought his chair to the offered space between his girlfriend and his sister. Kat set her chair up a few feet from the table and gingerly eased herself onto it, as if testing its ability to hold her, then sat flat-footed with her knees bumping the edge of the table.
"Jeez, Kat." Mel shook her head. "You look like Parent-Teacher Night in a first-grade classroom. Stick your legs under the table and scoot up."
"I'm afraid I'll kick somebody."
"I'll take the risk. Come on, Kat, people are staring at you."
"On the minus side," Joel said, shifting as the big redhead clumsily humped forward, dragging the chair with her. "Half the losers in the place are ogling your legs. Now they won't have anything to stare at but your ouch ouch! Dammit."
"Sorry," Kat said through her teeth. "I'd tuck them under, but there's a rung on the chair."
"You barely touched me," Joel said, rubbing at his thighs. "Alex and Mel were pinching me under the table."
"Should have used a bottle on you," his sister muttered. "Clearly, the socialization process is incomplete."
"I don't know," said Bobby, giving Joel a hint of a smile. "Any guy might have said that. We're not at our smartest around girls."
Kim Perlman stood at the table opposite Bobby. There was no sign of her retinue. "Hi," she said.
Bobby's face closed. "I'm with my friends, Kim."
"That's why I'm here." The blonde diva's eyes swept around the table, taking them all in. "Melanie, Alex, Lori, I was rude to you at practice the other day. I'm sorry. I guess I just don't play well with others -" The corner of her mouth quirked. "So to speak. At least not at rehearsals. I can understand why you'd want to ditch me. So I won't be coming back. But my offer to sub still stands. I think I have enough of your playlist down to fill in for anyone who needs a day off, if my schedule allows. I'm better at behaving myself on stage, I promise."
After an exchange of glances with her other band members, Melanie said, "Okay. Thanks."
The slinky blonde nodded. "Bobby, could I have a private word with you?" She added quickly, "We don't have to leave the building, or even go out of sight. Surrounded by strangers would be good enough." There was no pleading in her eyes, but none of her usual confidence either.
"We're on in five," Lori warned. Actually it was more like ten, but letting Miss Trophy Hunter have that much time with Bobby out of earshot of his support group seemed far too risky. And somehow, she just knew the man-child would be going with her.
Bobby stood. "Five minutes enough?"
"I think so. I doubt I could talk to you for much longer without putting my foot in my mouth."
Everyone at the table watched as Kim led him away, straight to the cleared space that served as a dance floor just a few steps removed. A slow-dance tune drifted out of the overhead speakers. "The nerve," Lori said.
Kim kept going until they were nearly to the other side of the thinly-populated area, then turned. "I don't expect you to dance with me," she said, arms at her sides. "It's just the best place to talk without being overheard."
Bobby nodded. "Okay."
"I've been thinking about what you said. About my song, and about me."
He shrugged. "I was kinda harsh."
"But you wouldn't take back a word of it." She smiled crookedly. Then her gaze drifted away. "I thought I knew what love was, once. My first real boyfriend. I was fourteen, and already thinking I'd found my forever man. He dropped me for an older girl who put out – but not until I caught them together. He'd been banging her like a drum for five months while he kept me on the string, saying all the right things to me and acting like he was all mine. When he knew he was busted, he got all angry and insulting, as if he'd caught me. He told me he would have left me already, but he felt sorry for me. Like he'd been doing me a favor cheating on me. I ran off in tears, wanting to just die."
She scoffed and shook her head. "It's all so Psych One-oh-one, I know. But every time I see a girl looking at a man with stars in her eyes, I want to knock him off his pedestal for her. So she can see what faithless scum they all are, before he can hurt her worse. Poor little Kimberly, going through life with a broken heart and sharing her misery with the world." She glanced across the dance floor to the band table. "If you can't love her, don't string her along. Don't keep her wondering. You're not going to pretend you don't know who I'm talking about, are you?"
"No," Bobby said, wondering what she was talking about. Mel's interest in him seemed casual enough; surely she wasn't risking her heart on a guy she'd dated once and barely knew.
Kim's eyes dropped to his chest. "I, uh, I'd like to ask a favor."
He waited, silent.
"I'd like you to write me a song. A love song that you think I could pull off." Her eyes rose to meet his. "That is, if you're up to the challenge. I'll pay you for it, and credit you when I play it at recitals. Maybe I'll learn something."
He thought about it a moment. "I've got an idea," he said. "If it works out, you can use it. But it stays mine – keep your money and your mentions. I may want to play it too – my way. And if I don't like what you do with it, I'm taking it back."
Eyes still locked on his, Kim nodded. "Okay."
-0-
Lori looked out across the dance floor at Bobby and the blonde diva, standing close enough to be mistaken for dancers, oblivious to the crowd around them. "Playing him?"
Alex's nostrils flared. "Like a violin."
"No." Under the table, Kat took the hands of the girls on either side of her and gave a brief squeeze. "She might think she is, but she's just fingering the strings, is all. We don't have to worry about him."
La Jolla
"He called me a fucking trap, can you believe it?" Sarah's companion spoke just loudly enough to be heard over the sound of passing cars in the street just a few yards away. She leaned forward to take a pull on the straw of her disposable cup sitting on the table, which brought her face under the shadow of the metal umbrella over them and softened the multi-shadowed glare of the fast-food joint's outdoor lights. "The guy's been coming on to me since the start of classes. I've been putting him off for almost the whole time. I dropped every hint I could come up with – short of dropping my pants for him, anyway. And he still kept hanging around and asking me out." She scoffed. "I actually started thinking he knew and didn't mind. So I finally came out and talked to him about it – getting it out in the open, you know? And all of a sudden, it's The Crying Game." She shook her head, staring at the lid of her drink. "How can guys be so dense?"
Sarah ignored the traffic noises and the buzzing clamor of the nearby drive-thru speaker, and studied her classmate Michelle – whose first name was 'Marcus' on her birth certificate, driver's license, and all other official paperwork. She was sure that Michelle made a good first impression on any boy she met. Near Sarah's height, but with a willowy slenderness that made her seem small and delicate. Regular features, nicely sculpted brows – impeccable grooming overall, Sarah thought. Nice smile, not that Sarah was seeing it tonight. Shoulder-length reddish-brown hair and dark green eyes behind rimless lenses. Her skin looked smooth as Anna's, and Sarah was sure her face had never felt a razor: hormone therapy from puberty, no doubt, which spoke of supportive parents at least. B cup, at a guess, and Sarah doubted she padded her bras. Actually, she'd make a pretty good impression on anyone. "He just saw what he wanted to see."
"What's so funny?"
"Sorry. For a moment, I just wished you could be a lesbian. Your life would be so much simpler."
"Hm." Michelle toyed with her straw. "I'd have a bigger dating pool, anyway."
Sarah nodded. The official climate at MacArthur was reasonably tolerant and open towards gays, and finding someone compatible was easy and risk-free: on her first morning at school, Sarah had spotted a notice on the student union bulletin board from a 'Bi/F' looking for 'a roommate, any gender, to share expenses and good times,' and another promoting a 'black triangle' event at a local park. And she had turned away to find herself bracketed by two girls sizing her up, both of them quite open about their sexual orientation even in the school's public spaces. Aside from occasional Neanderthals like the two who had tried to bar the classroom door to her, the people here were willing to live and let live.
But those advantages didn't obtain for someone like Michelle. She wasn't looking for another TG to date. And, by their own preference, the trans approach toward disclosure was circumspect. In her own mind, Michelle was a straight girl cursed with an awful birth defect, a private problem discussed only with close friends. That problem was mostly correctable with medicine and surgery, but, at least until the surgeries were complete, she was going to have a hard time finding a boyfriend.
"Going to get the procedure, right?" Sarah asked.
"Oh, sure," Michelle said. "In about ten years, if I can find a decent job right out of school, and I can stand the taste of canned spaghetti for that long. GRS isn't cheap. Or covered." She sighed and took a sip of her drink while Sarah brooded.
"We were out in the middle of the quad," Michelle went on. "Everybody outside the buildings must have heard him. And seen him, waving his arms like he was standing on a carrier guiding a plane in for a landing. The way he acted, you'd think I'd been stalking him." She met Sarah's eyes. "I almost thought he might get physical, just for a second."
"Well, you know why he was angry."
"Sure." Michelle grasped her straw between two fingers and slipped it up and down through the plastic top, producing an oo-hoo oo-hoo sound. "He was disappointed I didn't have a cunny to stick his dick into."
Sarah winced at her friend's uncharacteristic vulgarity, but didn't comment – the girl was upset, and rightfully so. "Partly, maybe. But mostly, it was because of pride."
She scoffed. "Pride."
Sarah took a pull of her drink. "Boys his age-" she deliberately used the diminutive term – "are all struggling with their sexual identity, trying to define and declare themselves. It's why the straight ones show off so much, and why they act like they want to screw ten different women every day."
Michelle frowned at her drink. "I guess. Like bucks prancing around and locking horns in the spring. But-"
"But to the overwhelming majority of guys, having a penis means you're a man – no exceptions, no mitigating circumstances. And a man who's attracted to other men is a homosexual." Without removing her straw, Sarah used it to swirl the ice in her drink. "And a homosexual male who pretends to be a female is a predator trying to lure hetero men. They're nearly all homophobes, you know, just under the surface. I'm sure you gave him all the warning he should have needed."
She shook her head. "I know. But-"
"But he wanted you, badly enough to blind himself to inconvenient observations. When you rubbed his nose in the truth … His obsession with you put his sexual orientation into question. Which called for a declaration, an extreme one."
Michelle rested her elbows on the table and her forehead on her palms. "God."
Sarah continued to toy with her straw. "I'd bet his friends knew, and were grinning about it behind your backs, just waiting to see how far things would go. I'm sure they'd have laughed themselves sick if he'd found out by sticking his hand up your skirt."
"Stop," Michele said, eyes hidden under her hands. "I already hate him. I'm not ready to hate every man on Earth."
"Neither am I," Sarah said. "But most of the ones I know are no better than probationary human beings, just the same." She reached across the little table and took hold of Michelle's hand. "What happened isn't your fault. You know that, right?"
"I guess," the girl said, clasping Sarah's hand in both of hers and giving it a brief squeeze. She daubed at her eyes with a paper napkin, careful of her makeup. "But hearing somebody else say it keeps me from feeling all alone."
The drive-thru was only a few feet away. At the menu board, a car full of college-age boys watched Michelle and Sarah, grinning to one another and exchanging muttered comments. Sarah didn't recognize them: they might have been Caltech students, MacArthur students she just didn't know, or out of school entirely. To them, she and Michelle might just be two strange girls getting sized up as sex opportunities, or the boys might recognize Sarah and think she was with a girlfriend, or they might recognize Michelle from the fireworks at the quad this afternoon. The knowing, almost predatory looks on their faces would be exactly the same regardless. "Michelle, I really think you shouldn't be alone for a while."
"I don't need somebody to hold my hand and wipe my eyes. I'm not made of glass," said the transgender girl, dropping her forearms to the table. "It's not the first time this ever happened. The worst, but not the first."
Sarah met Michelle's eyes. "That's not what I meant. I don't think you should go anywhere by yourself. It's not safe."
The girl's face tightened. "He wouldn't do anything like that."
You misjudged him once. Why not twice? "Stipulated. But you said it yourself. Plenty of other people know – from the quad, and probably elsewhere. People you don't even know may be talking about you right now. It wouldn't take much to convince some jerk you needed to be taught a lesson."
On the far side of the standing car, the rear door opened. A tall muscular boy got out, looked their way unsmiling, and shut the door as the vehicle moved forward in line. He stepped stiffly toward them. Michelle's back was to the action, but she saw Sarah tense and turned. "I know him," she said, her voice low and tight. "He's on Mitch's track team."
The young man closed. Sarah's hand dropped to her purse before she remembered that she didn't have the Mace anymore. She felt her hair begin to bush up with static charge.
He stopped a step from the table. "Michelle. Sarah."
"What do you want?" Sarah didn't know this boy, and though she was certain many people at school she'd never met knew her name, the familiarity now seemed ominous.
His attention switched from her to Michelle. "I can understand if you don't want to talk to a guy ever again right now," he said. "I was in the quad this afternoon. I just want you to know that nearly everybody I talked to about it thinks Mitch was an asshole."
Michelle bit her lip. "And the ones who didn't?"
"Anybody gives you any trouble, you let me know. Or even if you just feel threatened, maybe need an escort or something." He pulled a pen from his pocket, touched a finger to Michelle's paper napkin, and drew it toward him. He jotted a number. "I don't care what time you call." He turned away, towards the car and his grinning friends. One of them gave the girls a little wave as his friend got back in.
Michelle stared after the car as it disappeared around the corner of the building. "Did he just …"
"I think he did." Sarah smiled. "But he left the next move up to you." She took a final sip from her straw, making the cup gurgle. "Maybe telling half the school that you're trans wasn't without its benefits."
-0-
After the encore applause receded into the bar-noise background, the band and their friends began packing up gear. Rej stepped in front of Kat as she was reaching for one of the big bass speakers. "I've got this." He bent, grasped the handles on either side of the waist-high box, planted his feet, and straightened, lifting it a few inches. "Thing must weigh a hundred pounds."
"Rej," the big redhead said, "I dead lift more weight than that in my basement gym. I'm stronger than I look."
He turned and waddled with his burden toward a furniture cart a few steps away. "You look quite capable. That isn't the point. You can't be expected to do this sort of thing when there's a man around."
Alex began disassembling her cans. "Lori," she said, "where did you get him? I want to go there."
"Next year at the Chi's, unless you ditch us for a weekend of beer and bad mariachi in TJ," Lori replied. She collapsed her keyboard stand, grabbed its handle, and wheeled it toward the door. "Does Kim know how to play drums?"
"If she doesn't, she will by the end of the first set." Alex carefully folded her stands and packed them in their big travel box. "At least, nobody will tell her different."
"Don't be so sure," Joel said, watching Bobby close the cover on his acoustic guitar.
"Sixteen," Alex said under her breath.
"What?"
She stacked the last drum in her box and closed it. "The number of words you've spoken to me since you got here. You've been quiet all week, Joel. Do we need to talk?"
He hesitated. "Yeah."
They loaded Alex's box into her little Suzuki pickup and headed for Joel and Melanie's house. The cab of the little vehicle was small enough that Joel had to press up against the passenger door to avoid being elbowed when Alex shifted gears. At least, that was what he told himself.
They pulled up to a traffic light and stopped. Alex said, "Mad at me about something?"
"What?" He sat up straighter. "No."
"Then why are you treating me like a leper?" She reached for his wrist, then tugged him away from the door and placed his hand firmly on the inside of her thigh. "Thirty seconds. Talk or kiss?"
He stared at the windshield. "I had a job interview Monday."
"Oh, yeah…" Alex head-shrugged. "Jeez, Joel, are you really that bummed out over your first turndown?"
"They didn't turn me down." His eyes traveled up to her chin and stopped. "They made me … an incredible offer. I couldn't pass it by, Alex."
"And of course it's not local."
"No. Colorado."
She made an exasperated little noise. "Joel, I told you I wasn't expecting anything from you past graduation. I know how much your career means to you."
He swallowed without relief; the lump stayed right where it was. "They don't care about my last year. They want me to start right away."
Alex frowned at him. "What about your degree?"
"I'll come back for it when I need it. It's not just the money," he said quickly. "The research opportunities…"
A horn blared behind them. Alex shifted quickly and took off; when she hit second, her elbow knocked into his, and he took his hand off her. She said, "I expected this, but not so soon. As the saying goes." Then she said, "When do you leave?"
"End of the semester." He felt heavy, and tired in a way that had nothing to do with the hour. "If you had known a month ago…"
The truck swerved to the shoulder. Alex shut off the engine and reached for him. A minute later, she withdrew her lips from his and said, "I would've pushed harder, and maybe got you sooner." She started the vehicle and regained the road. "But we always think there's enough time, don't we? Won't make that mistake again. Pack a bag when you get home, Joel."
16
