Theresa — Chapter 43

The Story So Far (TGF subscribers can read earlier installments): Terri has had her SRS procedure. As she recuperates at home, she finds that she has few people to hang out with. She calls Lisa Tulley, who invites Terri and Jessie to visit Littlefield. Terri then learns from her lawyer that the Norrises are going to court to seek custody of Jessie. It’s a state court, so if she and Jessie go out of state and can’t be found, there’ll be nothing the Norrises can do. Karen comes to the rescue: she cuts Terri’s and Jessie’s hair in a male style. Daddy Terri, Mommy Karen, and little Billy get out of the building just as Mrs. Norris is arriving.

The Tulleys, warned by telephone, were expecting us when we arrived in Greendale that afternoon. I’d told Lisa, without going into detail, to expect the unexpected. As usual, they were completely unfazed. I was identifiable enough, of course; even though I bore little resemblance to the Alan they’d known. I introduced Karen to them.

“And this must be Jessie,” Lisa said.

“No; I’m Billy,” Jessie informed her.

“Ah, those Sayers – always in character,” John observed.

“The game’s over now,” I said. “You can be Jessie again.”

“Okay. Can I have my hair back now?”

“I’m afraid not – but you can have your clothes back. Come on; let’s get changed.”

It was a relief to be dressed properly again. Like Jessie, I wanted my hair back, too. Karen took us in hand; with a little careful trimming and brushing, she converted our male haircuts into stylish gamin hairdos – just the thing for hot weather comfort, I told Jessie.

Karen, who had seen little of New England, was quite taken with Greendale and the Connecticut countryside. She happily accepted Lisa’s invitation to stay for the night before going back to New York. After dinner, with a tired Jessie asleep upstairs, the rest of us gathered on the porch to catch up on our recent histories.

“Littlefield and Greendale don’t seem to have changed much since I was here,” I said.

“They haven’t changed much in the last century,” John said. “At least, not physically. The only change is in the students, of course – we get a new crop every year.”

“There’s been one huge change,” Lisa said. “Did I tell you? Littlefield is coed now.”

“No!”

“Yes. We’ll be starting our third coed year this fall.”

“And I’m the first alumna, just a few years ahead of my time,” I said. “But I don’t suppose Littlefield will want to brag about that. How is it working out, having girls here?”

“Pretty well, as far as I can see,” Lisa said. “Don’t you think so, John?”

“Oh, yes – in most respects.”

“Poor John,” Lisa said. “He’s lost his Elizabethan authenticity.”

“What do you mean,” I asked. “No more all-male casts in the Shakespeare plays?”

“That’s right,” Lisa said. “The trustees said he couldn’t do it any more.”

“I had my first female Juliet last spring,” John said mournfully. “She couldn’t hold a candle to you. Alan…ah, Terri…was the finest Juliet I ever had,” he said to Karen.

“Changing the subject completely,” Lisa said to me, “what’s this problem you’re having with your in-laws?”

I summarized the Norris imbroglio. “That’s why Jessie and I were in disguise,” I said. “I didn’t want anyone to be able to tell the Norrises that they’d seen us drive away in Karen’s car. Besides that, I thought we might have to bluff our way past a process server – not that disguises would have done us any good with Mrs. Norris there and Jessie shouting ‘Grammy!’”

“What are you going to do now?” Lisa asked.

“I don’t know. I withdrew some money from the bank first thing this morning, so we can get by for a little while. I had actually lined up a small part in a Broadway play, but I called the director this morning and bowed out. I guess I’ll have to look for a job.”

“Something theatrical?” John asked.

“I’d like that, but I don’t dare use any of the names I’ve used before, so there’s no way I could put a resume together.”

“I might be able to help,” John said. “I know a few people who’ll take unknown actors on my recommendation. Let me check around.”

***

I felt quite safe in Greendale; I didn’t think the Norrises would look for me there. Jessie and I roamed around the town fearlessly. There weren’t very many people in the area who had known me as either Alan or Juliet; few of them would remember me and I doubted that any would recognize me now. If I happened to meet someone I knew, that would be fine, but I decided not to go out of my way to see any of my former teachers or old friends, not even Ann Lamontagne or Valerie Olson.

SOCIAL NOTES FROM ALL OVER

Miss Theresa Sayers and her daughter Jessica, both of New York City, are visiting Mr. & Mrs. John Tulley of Greendale. Miss Sayers, the former Alan Sayers, is enjoying our lovely countryside and avoiding the service of papers in a suit for the custody of her daughter…

I really didn’t think so…

***

Once I found myself reinstalled in my old bedroom in the big Tulley house, I realized once again how much I’d enjoyed John and Lisa’s friendship during my months as their “niece.” It wasn’t quite as if we’d had no contact since then, because I’d seen them several times in New York during my Professional Unpleasant Teenager period, and we’d exchanged occasional letters. It hadn’t been good contact, though; I’d been far too absorbed in my various problems to give our relationship anything like the attention it deserved. Sad to say, we hadn’t actually seen each other since their visit to New York a month before my marriage, when my mind was in its maximum state of disarray.

Lisa and I had grown so close in my Juliet days that the loss of that intimacy had been one of the most painful aspects of my forced reversion to Alan. At least, it had seemed to me that a male teenager had neither the right nor the opportunity to continue to enjoy a relationship like ours, so I’d forced it from my thoughts and believed it lost forever. To my delight, it returned as soon as Lisa and I had a few uninterrupted minutes of conversation.

“I’ve missed you so much, Julie – sorry, Terri; I’ll probably always think of you as Julie. We’d become such good friends, and then you were gone, sunk with just one trace and that a surly boy – sorry again, but that’s what you were.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” I said. “I agree with you completely – that’s exactly what I was. I was in so much pain and turmoil – ”

“I knew you were, but I couldn’t think of any way to help you – especially with your father feeling the way he did. Has he come around at all?”

“Some. He accepts without approving – that’s progress, as far as I’m concerned. I have two kinds of family and friends, Lisa – those who accept without approving and those who will never accept.”

“Three kinds.”

“Three kinds? What do you mean?”

“I accept and I approve,” Lisa said. “I’m so happy to see you happy again.”

“Are you really? I sort of remember you advising me differently.”

“It may have come out that way, but I was really just trying to warn you about what you’d have to face – non-acceptance and disapproval.”

“I guess I expected you’d accept me, but I never thought you’d be happy about me. Why are you so different from everyone else?”

“Because I’ve thought of you as a woman for years now, ever since the day your father came to take you home from Littlefield. You were so brave and confident that afternoon, and I felt so proud of you. After that, whenever I saw you as Alan, I was afraid that the spark had gone and you’d become one of the Lost Girls.”

“Lost Girls?” I repeated (including the capitalization).

She laughed. “That’s my personal term for men and boys who want to be women but don’t do anything about it – not that I’ve known so many of them, but I have met a few. For every one of them trying to cope with life, there’s a poor little Lost Girl who never gets a chance to be born and grow up. But you had the courage to go ahead and find a way to do what you felt you had to do, so I approve – and applaud.”

I threw my arms around her and hugged her. “Oh, Lisa! I love you! Thank you; thank you ever so much. I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made me.”

***

“Well, Terri,” John Tulley said a few days later, “I’ve checked around and I don’t have very encouraging news. I’ve called everyone I can think of, and there’s not a single opening for an actress. They all say they’re all set right through the fall season and even into the winter. One or two said they’d let me know if someone fell through, but they weren’t encouraging. I’m sorry.”

“I thought it might be difficult this late in the summer – but thanks so much for trying.”

“It’s just as bad for male actors,” John said. “Only one company had an opening – a good one, though. They need a Petruchio – the fellow they had in mind got an offer from Hollywood before they could get him under contract.”

“Petruchio?” I said. “I could do Petruchio.”

“I’m sure you could, but would you want to?”

“I’ve got to do something. Which company is it?”

“The Berkshire Players.”

“I’ve heard of them,” I said. “They’re a touring company, aren’t they?”

“For the most part. They tour western Massachusetts and Connecticut – a night or two in small towns; as long as a week in bigger places. Last year they did contemporary American plays; this year they’re doing Shakespeare – The Taming of the Shrew and Romeo and Juliet in repertory.”

“Petruchio,” I said. “I’d have to disguise myself again – but I could do it.”

“There’s something you need to know. They’ll be playing engagements in upstate New York in October, two or three weeks worth.”

“That’s no problem. If my disguise is going to fail, it will fail before then. But they must be looking for their Petruchio now. Is there someone I can call?”

“Their director is Rudy Fletcher; I’ve got his number. His Petruchio backed out this morning, half an hour before I called him. I said I might be able to help him, and he said he’d wait until tomorrow noon before he starts looking.”

“He doesn’t know…?”

“No. He thinks I have a male actor for him. Do you want his number?”

All the effort and cost and pain not to be male. “Well…” It would only be for a few months. Either I’d find a way to work things out with the Norrises or Jessie and I would make new lives for ourselves far away from them. “Yes…please.”

To Be Continued

Category: Fiction