Theresa Part 31 by Hebe Dotson

ï¾ ï¾ The Story So Far: The insurance company has offered a settlement for Sandy’s death, enough for Jessica’s education…and Terri’s sexual reassignment surgery! More good luck: Terri has found a new friend — Christine Riordan, a trainee sales associate at the department store. Their friendship deepens as they learn more about each other. Chris is invited to a party in the Village, and she persuades Terri to come along. One of the five party hosts is a beautiful young woman who (Terri suddenly realizes) is none other than Jim Walters, the one-time fellow student at Littlefield Academy who had almost beaten her out for the role of Juliet. Terri, not wanting to be recognized as Alan, makes minimal conversation and goes off “to get a drink”. Jim and Chris, appearing to be quite interested in each other, barely note her departure. Terri is about to leave the party when Brad, another co-host, intercepts her. He’s quite charming, he’s seen her on the stage, and he seems interested in her. He asks for her phone number and she gives it to him. Terri realizes that she must share her secret with Chris before her friend learns it from Jim. She invites Chris to dinner at her apartment.

“Everything smells so good!” Chris said. “You’ve been putting me on when you said you didn’t cook.”

“I never said I couldn’t cook,” I said. “Just that I usually didn’t. Mother does most of the cooking when she’s home, but Jessie and I can put a meal together if we have to.”

“If you’d just open the window and let those wonderful aromas out, you and Jessie would have to beat off your gentleman admirers with clubs.”

“I used to make apple pies for a gentleman admirer…” I mused.

“And…?”

“He’d be about ten now. He just loved those pies. Are you ready to eat?”

“We are, aren’t we, Jessie?”

“Yes!” Jessie said, clapping her hands gleefully.

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Dinner was an unqualified success, judging from the amount we ate. Chris was wonderful with Jessie, cutting he r food into child-size bites and including her in our conversation, which didn’t get terribly weighty. Jessie wasn’t overstocked with accurate information, but she had opinions on almost everything, and she was more than happy to share them with us. She was highly entertaining, and I was glad I’d decided to let her enjoy haute cuisine chez Sayers with Chris and me.

“All right, Sayers!” Chris said. “We’ve eaten, we’ve tucked Jessie in bed, and we’ve cleaned up the kitchen. It’s explanation time — just what mysterious things do we need to talk about?”

“Well…” I said, still not quite sure what I was going to say or how I was going to say it. I was saved by the bell — the telephone bell. “That’s probably Brad,” I said. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Sure you will,” Chris said. She took a magazine from the coffee table and I picked up the phone. It was Brad. He apologized for not calling earlier, and I assured him that it was quite all right, since I’d been at rehearsals nearly every evening. He invited me to dinner Saturday evening at an interesting new restaurant he’d found, and I declined with regrets, pleading a prior engagement. That wasn’t strictly true, but Mother had a performance and I didn’t want to explain my baby-sitter requirements on the phone — and I didn’t want to seem too available. He had to work Sunday evening — how about Monday, then; same restaurant? I’d be delighted, I said, after verifying that Mother had nothing on her calendar for that evening. We set a time, I revealed my address, and we rang off.

“How was that?” I said to Chris.

“I wasn’t timing you, for Pete’s sake!” Chris said. “But if I had been, I’d say it was just under five minutes. Not bad, Terr.”

“I’d like another glass of wine,” I said. “How about you?”

“I’d like to talk,” Chris said, “but if you’re going to stall by getting yourself a glass of wine, I might as well join you.”

I went into the kitchen, poured two glasses of wine, and returned to the living room. I handed one of the glasses to Chris and sat down beside her on the sofa. I took a sip of wine and set my glass on the coffee table. “Well…” I said.

“You said that already,” Chris reminded me.

“So you’re having lunch with Jim tomorrow?” I said. te And then you’re going to the Met?”

“That’s the plan,” Chris replied. “Assuming you and I finish our discussion before tomorrow noon.”

“Smart-ass!” I said with a smile. She smiled back. “You like him, I guess.”

“Yes, I do. He’s the most interesting guy I’ve met in this town.”

“Because of the way he dresses?”

“No; that’s not it — well, that’s certainly not all of it. We talked and talked last Saturday night, about everything. We see a lot of things the same way, and we have so many interests in common. I just like him. I like everything about him, except that he’s prettier than I am and has nicer dresses.”

“He is gorgeous,” I said. “That makes you two of a kind right there. But how did you figure out he was a guy? Did he just tell you?”

“No — not right away, anyway. When he meets new people, he likes to lead them on for a while. We were just talking, and I really thought he was a girl, and I asked her where she was from and where she’d gone to school. She said she was from New Haven and she’d gone to Littlefield Academy and the University of Connecticut. Well, I’d heard of Littlefield — it’s pretty well known in New England — and I knew it was, or had been, a boys’school. ‘It must have gone coed,’ I said. ‘I don’t think so,’ she told me. ‘It was all boys when I was there.’ I guess my mouth must have been hanging open, because she said, ‘I’m sorry; I forgot to give you my name. I’m Jim Walters, and you’re…?’ ‘Chris,’ I said, ‘Chris Riordan.’ ‘You’re a guy, too?’ he said. ‘No way!’ I said. ‘I’m Christine.’ ‘That’s good,’ he said, and we went on from there. We were having a great conversation and I thought you’d enjoy it, too, so I told him I wanted him to meet my girlfriend and string her along a little too, and I went off to find you.”

“It doesn’t bother you, the way he dresses?”

“Of course not,” Chris said. “He’s so much fun, just a wonderful person. It doesn’t matter to me how he dresses for parties. He’s pretty forthcoming — he told me he doesn’t want to get involved with anyone who disapproves of his ‘hobby.’ And I’ll get to see the real Jim tomorrow.”

“So you’re involved, then?”

“Not yet, silly. But I do like him…and I wouldn’t want to say I’d never get involved with him.”

I reached for my glass and saw that it was empty. “I think I’ll have one more glass of wine,” I said. “How about you?”

“I still have half a glass,” Chris said. “I’ve been doing all the talking and you’ve been doing all the drinking. But if you’d like to top me up…”

“Sure,” I said. I stood up, and Chris stood too and followed me into the kitchen. I took the bottle from the refrigerator, refilled my glass, and topped hers up. We returned to the living room and took our seats on the sofa.

“Tell me, Miss Theresa,” Chris said. “Have you really had your panties in a twist all week because you wanted to ply me with wine and ask me about Jim Walters? Or did you have something else in mind?”

“Well…” I said.

“Aren’t you going to tell me you’re really a guy too? A guy named Alan Sayers?”

I felt a cold, wet sensation in my lap. I’d dropped my wine glass there.

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To be continued…

Category: Transgender Fun & Entertainment