Todd: Mysteries part 3 -- Nothing's ever done

There are a few reasons I found it easy to be attracted to Ginessa. One, she's hot. I have a thing for exotic-looking women; if you'd ever met Alia, you'd understand. Two, we come from the same world, sort of. We understand a lot about each other on a sort-of intuitive level that is difficult to explain. Inn folk, even when they disagree, have a sort of mutual respect, at least the ones I've met. Lastly, she just seems comfortable being herself, whatever that's supposed to mean. She's very at ease in her skin, not a prim and proper lady, but one who knows how to command a situation if she wants to.

The first time we met, and often in our letters, it felt like Inn stuff was off the table for her, conversationally. In a kind of "methinks the lady protests too much" way, she wanted none of it. Once she got the sense that I was not a judgmental guy, though, I think she eased up on it. I think a lot of it is her defensiveness from being friends with Darren/Jamie, which apparently wasn't always an easy thing to handle ("I can't say too much about her, but she's getting better.")

"I just find it amazing," she told me over beers at my place, "I met you, and you were this woman, and here you are, looking completely different... I have a hard time believing it, but you're so much like I remember. It's more than a little weird."

"Having Bry around sometimes, and the blog, helped me keep track of myself."

"Can I be honest?" she says, "I'm so glad I didn't keep up on the blog. One, I'm not a writer. Two, it feels like I would've just spent the whole time beating myself up over it. Maybe I gave in early, but I'm happy, and I have been for a long time. Well, I'm not always happy, but it has nothing to do with my body."

Eventually, the way conversations go off in tangents, we began to reminisce about the moments we decided to first have sex in a female body. I told her I felt like the Universe was conspiring against me. Hal was getting his vasectomy, Anne-Marie was on my case about it, I was horny as hell. So many different signals seemed to be pointing me in the same direction. She laughed at that one, "Yeah, I know the feeling."

I asked her about her first time. She glossed over the details. I get the sense she doesn't really like talking about it. "It was a mistake. I should have waited. I mean, it was way, way too early. I was not nearly ready for it, and I barely knew the guy." It was not her husband, but it was the only other guy she had sex with. She paused a moment and smirked, "I remember when he whipped out his cock, my eyes popped out of my head, like You want me to do what? And now, heh." 'Nuff said.

We ended up going out for New Year's to a house party at a friend of Bry's and I. I watched from afar as Crystal/Alia was being chatted up by a couple of guys, trying to suppress my overprotective urges. We've had talks, and I should trust her, but I didn't. Something about her just seemed untrustworthy. And all night people kept pointing her out to me and asking if it was awkward to be around her now that "we were done." I told them nothing's ever done.

At the party, I made like Ginny was my date. She was more of a life preserver. There was a very, very attractive girl who seemed interested in me. I told her I was taken and she said it could just be our little secret. Cue Ginny, playing like she was my woman, a jealous type ready to choke a bitch getting too close to me. Bry sat morosely in the corner, and spent a lot more time talking to Crystal/Alia than I did.

At midnight, I kissed Ginny, a polite, lips-sealed grade-school type kiss. Then she got drunk and developed the amusing habit of slapping asses. Also at the party were Erica LaFleur and Sean Flaherty, but Sean has made it clear he doesn't want anything to do with me. Eric was polite enough to acknowledge me at the snack table, which is the least she could do since I impregnated her and all.

Ginny and I left early. The next morning, though, she was waiting for me in the kitchen while Bry was still conked out.

"What's up?" I asked.

With the uncertainty of a woman with a minor hangover and some bad news to tell, she said, "Listen, Todd, I wouldn't be a very good friend if I didn't tell you this, but you know how you were saying Bry had a girlfriend he wasn't introducing you to?"

"Yeah." Two posts ago, but really I'd written it sometime earlier, I wrote 'He's seeing someone, although our hours don't sync up to the point where I've met her yet.'

"Well, I saw her last night. Todd, it's Alia. I mean, Crystal."

What.

"I was trying to get to sleep. They came in at about 4, all over each other. I didn't look, but I heard their voices very clearly."

I sunk into the couch. For a while I didn't know what to say. So I asked, "Is she still here?"

"No, she left early this morning."

Hot with rage, I pounded on Bry's door, something that is strictly an emergency measure. Through the door he cursed me out before relenting and opening. When I saw his face, I didn't have any time to be subtle. I growled, "You're fucking Crystal."

He stopped in his tracks and sputtered, "Buh, wha? What makes you say that?" which is exactly what he says when he's called on his bullshit.

"Ginny saw you two last night." I looked over at her for confirmation, and she glanced away, trying to remove herself from the conflict.

Bry tried to wriggle out of it for a while, stammering things like "Is that all the proof you've got? You don't know the whole story, that's not what it is at all," before finally admitting "Well, okay, so we're... whatever. So what?"

"So what? So what?!" I'm flipping out, "You're fucking her! Do I need to spell it out for you?" I ranted and raved about boundaries and respect and all this other self-righteous stuff.

I couldn't believe Bry didn't see what was wrong with this. But he let me keep going, and when I was out of breath, he put his hands on his head like Dr. Cox, and asked if I was through. I'd thought I'd made my point pretty sufficiently, so I wanted to head what he had to say for himself.

So he says, "She's not Alia, you know."

Pause. I tell him, yeah, I know that.

"So what's the problem? You don't own her. She's not your girlfriend. She's a stranger to you. You've barely spoken to her. She thinks you hate her."

"I don't hate her," I objected.

"Well, I know, but that's what she thinks. We've gotten to know each other. She likes me. I like her. Things happen."

"You crossed a line here," I tell him.

"This is beyond your control, Todd. This is just like with Erica and Sean. That has nothing to do with you, and neither does this. She can be with anyone she wants. And you're lucky -- for fuck's sake, you are damn lucky she chose me and not, like, some stranger who doesn't know the truth. She trusts me."

"And what happens if she gets attached to you, when we have to send her away to Maine, and she doesn't want to go?"

"That's not gonna happen."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because she cares about me, Todd. Because she knows I want to help you get Alia back, and she wouldn't betray me that way. We're all on the same side here. Don't act like I'm betraying you here. It's the opposite."

I was suddenly feeling very overwhelmed. I can't remember the last time I'd felt so "put in my place."

I never thought of myself as someone who needed to control things, but my frustration at the Erica-Sean thing seems like part of this. The universe seems so big and unyielding, I want things I can command, but there's so much beyond me. It doesn't do wonders for my ego.

So I ask him, "Does Alia know about this?" He says no, he wanted to tell me first, because he know she'd end up telling me. We ended up telling her later that day. Her feelings were... mixed, to say the least. She has plenty going on in Rob's life, and she's not terribly comfortable with the idea of Bryan coupling with her body, but... well, you have to admit there's something in Bryan's logic. Whether this was something he came up with before or after his pants were off, I don't know.

It was on the 3rd of January that Ginessa headed home. The weather took a sudden turn for the colder in the New Year and Ginny took that as a sign that it was time to head home.

There's something very appealing about Ginny's life. It's not the one she was born with, but it's hers. She told me that when she was preparing to marry Gavin, she was still an ex-man doing what she had to do to survive, living in temporary solutions. It was afterward that comfort and security came, and something she calls love, when she really stopped being Mark and became Ginessa. For better or worse, she has her life, she makes decisions for herself, she is pretty much in control and doesn't rely on anything supernatural to provide for her. I hope to get back to that place as soon as I can.

But it's a long way away yet, and like I said... sometimes it feels like nothing's ever done. Maybe Ginessa proves that wrong. But I know nothing's done for me, yet.

-Todd

Todd: Mysteries part 2

How chaotic my life is that an entry I started trying to write on the 2nd didn't get posted until the 5th, and now here I am on the 7th trying to remember what happened in between.

Ginny had checked into a motel. What kind of fight she must've had with her husband that led to her wanting to make an impromptu trip north she didn't really explain, except that it was about whether or not to have kids, and that obviously it was a big deal. I helped her bring her stuff over to my place and let her crash on my couch. I forgot what it was like to have a female under your roof. I've missed it.

Nobody ever asked me if I wanted to have kids. I woke up one morning in a body that already had them. I hated it for a long time, resented the lack of control I had over my life, or what I thought should be my life. This was made easier to deal with by the fact that I did have a lot of time to myself, but I didn't have anything to do during that time except watch TV, eat and masturbate read. The rest of the time my life was controlled by the demands of the kids and husband I'd acquired, and all the little needs that went along with them. I can't believe how much I left out of this blog. A commenter noted that I seemed a lot happier when I was Anne-Marie. I think I didn't complain too much (and therefore barely spoke about it, because if I had believe me it'd be to complain) because part of me believed I deserved whatever misery I'd gotten. And part of me still believes that, because I've been a shitty boyfriend and a lazy human being. The truth is, I'm probably not those things, but far be it from me to realize that.

I probably seemed happier because I was complacent, glad to go along with whatever I had to deal with because I believed (rightly) that sooner or later it'd be over. If I woke up one day and learned that my chance to go back to the Inn was gone, I probably would've flipped my shit like nobody's business. I'm only unhappy now because of who is not in my life, in case I haven't made that clear. I think I have. I remember one time trying to corral Hayley and Connor into the car for a family gathering but Connor was playing Little Big Planet incessantly and I really lost my cool, yelling at him like some bitchy mom. Once I calmed down I freaked out privately about how out of control the whole situation had gotten, how it was affecting my behaviour. All it was was trying to get "my" kids into the car to go see family members that I don't even care about for reasons I didn't want. And somehow I was still capable of getting that irritated that easily. That's the kind of shit I didn't write about. Maybe I should have. This blog would feel a lot more complete.

I didn't, and don't, believe that the Inn affects the way one feels about things, behaves, thinks, acts, at least not in any magical way. Having lived through it, I certainly believed I was still in control of my every thought and desire, I was still the one making decisions. I only behaved differently because I was in a situation that necessitated a different type of behaviour. We know that the curse make a man into a woman physically; I believe that it's the situation that makes a man into a woman mentally. Bryan didn't want to be a girl acting girly and dating boys, so he became a tomboy who dated a girl. I wasn't going to go around finding lesbians who would want to bang a middle-aged mom, so I took what was there and convinced myself to put up with it.

Ginessa doesn't seem to have been anything other than a woman. I don't mean because she acts like a woman, I mean because she acts like she knows what she is. The morning after she first stayed over, she was sitting at my kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the newspaper, like any regular person. I remember getting to that place as Anne-Marie (Ginny must've gotten there long, long, long ago) where every day stopped being about the horror of a new life and instead about the normalcy of your own life.

I don't know how she fell in love with Gavin, I don't know how any woman falls in love with a man, especially having been one (having been a man who has had a woman in love with him, and having been a woman living with a man. Either way.) I think this baby-thing has really shaken her up, made her question her decisions, or second-guess the place those right-seeming decisions brought her. Who gets married without thinking of kids? She has to have seen this coming. It spooked her good, though.

I told her nobody asked me if I wanted to have kids, but I ended up with them, now almost for a second time. If someone had asked, I'd have said no thanks. But the truth is, being a parent is no worse than accidentally turning into someone else, and if you can handle that, you can handle anything. If you'd asked me if I'd want to spend a year as a woman, a mother, a wife, I would've laughed in your face without a moment's hesitation. And while I wasn't happy during that time, I don't regret it either. There you go, Bry. How could I? For starters, I made it back in one piece. I got an experience that extends beyond the imaginable, beyond what I can truly explain or even understand. Wouldn't have chosen to be Anne-Marie. Even if you lined up a hundred women and said I had to be one, I wouldn't have chosen to be Anne-Marie. I could've done worse, though. And I don't regret it. And I don't see Ginessa regretting a lot of her life either. But this kid thing, man! It's really got her tripped up.

Well, I think this is a problem without an easy answer. And I don't particularly do well when there ARE easy answers. Ginessa will either go back to New York and have a kid, or she'll go back to New York, fight with Gavin about it, and maybe they'll split up and she'll have to forge some new destiny for herself. Sadly, life is not a simple, straightforward story.

While she was here, she played girlfriend. Not romantic girlfriend, but "girl-friend." I indulged her in her shopping and we went to see Avatar, and I showed her the sights and introduced her to people who know about the Inn.

I hate to say this, especially considering the situation, but Ginny's the first woman I've found attractive in a long while. I mean, I see hot girls around a lot of the time but I don't approach them the way I used to, with confidence and, like, a plan. I just watch passively because I don't want to allow myself any dangerous thoughts while Alia is in Philly. Aside from Crystal/Alia and certain other people, Ginessa is the first female I have spent a significant amount of time with since getting back, and it gave me a warm feeling that was tainted by guilt. Guilt of me betraying Alia with those feelings (fleeting though they may be) and guilty of her already being on the rocks with her husband. I hate myself for the fact that, had I done anything, she wouldn't be the first married woman I'd fucked. That year. Ugh.

Once I'd acknowledged it to myself, at the end of the first very long day with her, I felt shitty. So I spilled my guts. "Ginny," I says, "I want you to know that I'm in a very vulnerable place right now, so if you're getting a weird vibe from me, just know that it's because you're just a really hot girl who is also very cool and I like spending time with you. That's all." Yeah, I've really lost my way with words.

She looks at me for a minute like she's trying to wrap her head around whatever it is I'd just said. "Todd, hun, are you saying you want to fuck me?"

"No, no, I mean, yeah who wouldn't, but I don't intend to do anything about that. I just meant it as a compliment."

She laughed a bit and sighed, "That's so wrong. Not quite as wrong as the fact that I've thought about it too, but pretty damn wrong."

"You've thought about it?"

"Sure. I mean, not seriously. I'm a married woman, for God's sake. But the idea had occurred to me that if I was going to cheat -- which I'm not -- I could do worse."

"Well... thanks." Then, since I could think of no appropriate gesture at that point, extended my hand for a shake.

She went in for a hug instead, and said quietly in my ear, "Do yourself a favour and keep it in your pants until Alia comes back." That's my New Year's Resolution.

I told Alia about this later on MSN. She replied with "Lol. You're an idiot, you know. But if you wanna come down here I wouldn't mind." I politely declined, but I'm counting the days until she makes it back to Maine.

The story of New Year's, and other stuff, is a relatively simple one, but I've spent so much time trying to make this little story into big thoughts that I should give it a rest. More later.

-Todd

Todd: Other People are Mysteries

That's what I've learned about the world since my trip to womanhood and back. I got only a fraction of the wife-mother experience, only a sliver of one woman's life and it opened up all these questions, about all women, about men, about myself. I used to want to understand women, now I don't believe such a thing is really possible. It's hard enough just trying to understand yourself. There are so many things I did when I was Anne-Marie that I don't even know why. But this isn't really about that.

Working over the holidays really got me down. My entire life became the retail world. And I like my job, inasmuch as I can enjoy a wageslave retail gig, talking about movies and music to customers who think I'm out to cheat them because I wear the uniform of a big company. It got fairly ridiculous over the holidays and there wasn't much time for me to think about anything else. I sleepwalked through Christmas with my family and made some very obligatory outings on New Year's. More on that later.

There are these kids that come into the store. I don't mean any specific kids, but it's a type of customer we have, teenagers, usually in the first couple years of high school, 15, maybe 16-year-olds. Usually in small groups of mixed boys and girls, usually it looks like at least one couple in the mix, possible their first relationship. That bums me out for whatever reason, seeing these kids with their lives ahead of them, getting the fun of a new romance for the first time in their lives. I miss that. I've thought I was in love a lot of times, but I only really was once, and she's still in Philadelphia teaching high school English.

Todd the former-woman isn't Todd the CD seller. My life has gone on. Bryan's life has. He's seeing someone, although our hours don't sync up to the point where I've met her yet. Maybe it's not serious but I do hear them fucking ever so subtly in the next room. Good for him. I know he's been in love, or at least he once told me he was, but he wasn't loved back, so he doesn't carry a torch. That is a man who knows how to get on with his life. Or maybe he still thinks of himself as a 15-year-old girl pretending as a man. Like I said, other people are a mystery -- Bryan in particular. He never got back to me about his investigation of Crystal the new Alia, beyond the name tracing to a different, more low-rent suburb of Cleveland. I think it was Cleveland Heights.

I was all super-absorbed with my own depression, and then on December 29th, a woman walks into the store. I was busy with a customer so I only caught her from the corner of my eye, but I sensed a familiar appearance. As soon as I had helped that customer, I turned my attention to this woman. She was about 5'6, dressed elegantly but warmly with a sweater, long coat and scarf, the curve of her beautiful round breasts apparent through the layers. Low rise jeans leaving just a hint of skin bare beneath the waist of her sweater -- it was a warm December in Toronto. Leather boots with low heels. Tan, light-brown skin with long brown hair pulled back demurely, small gold earrings, undecorated lips. Big purse slung over her shoulder. She looks at me uncertainly with her big brown eyes and I look back at her to signal that even though she doesn't recognize me I recognize her and I have to interpret she must have come looking for me.

She guesses, "Todd?" as if it'd be embarrassing to be wrong.

"Ginessa," I smirk, overplaying my confidence in our now-mutual recognition, "Long time no, uh, see." I had absolutely no idea how to react because apart from my sparse conversations with Bryan and my usually off-topic conversations with Alia (either Alia) the Inn has not impinged upon my day-to-day life lately.

She melts in the warmness of the situation and hugs me. "Oh my God I am so glad to see you. I'm so glad I was able to find you. When do you get off work?" It was a couple hours yet. She asked if there was a coffee place nearby where we could meet. Of course there was. This is Toronto.

While I continued to work, she browsed the store. I've never mentioned it by name, but I work in a very large CD/Music/Video Game chain store that does not exist in the States. We also sell books, but only if you like books about music or teenage vampires.

Once I clocked out, I took her down Bay Street to a favourite hole-in-the-wall non-chain coffee place I used to go often with Alia. I asked what she was doing in Toronto, she told me, obviously, she'd come to see me.

I say I haven't had the Inn impinge on my day-to-day life that much. That's true. But of course I haven't left it behind. I have had correspondence with Anne-Marie and Alia and through them I get updates on people like Cliff and the new Kalli and Julia. I have also kept a pen pal relationship with Ginessa, whom you'll no doubt remember was once a man named Mark, although that was a lifetime ago for her. I met her once in person, when I was Anne-Marie, back in March. I liked her, I admired how fully she'd seemed to move past her old life. She'd gotten married, although it was technically a green card marriage, she professed she did love her husband Gavin. Our mutual friend was Darren/Jaime, whom I haven't kept in contact with, not through dislike, but I suspect she probably didn't care for me goofing on her.

Ginessa and I were able to bond despite our differences, though, because we had both given in to certain parts of the change. Hers was permanent, mine wasn't -- I hadn't thought it was when we met, and wasn't distressed. Jaime was still stuck in a place where she couldn't seem to admit it if it was. Ginessa, once an aspiring football star, was now a clubbing, would-be actress wife. And it didn't seem to bother her.

Didn't seem to.

She didn't express a lot of discontent in our infrequent letters. She'd vent about Gavin's particular habits, apparently he's a fussy guy (to be a stage director, I guess you'd have to be) and bemoan what she considered to be a sometimes one-sided sex-life. I wondered whether she missed sex from the male perspective the way I did. The female orgasm is nice, but elusive, and there's something really cool about being "in control." Not that women are never in control. Anything can be both ways, and everything is a mystery, like I've said.

But she didn't run away from her husband because of sex. Not directly. She did it because, after three years of marriage, the fact that they had barely discussed children seemed to be eating away at him. It was clear this wasn't just a marriage of convenience, it was a relationship, and he wanted it all.

"And you?" I asked?

She sighed. "I don't know what I want anymore. I don't know if I ever did. I used to think every woman, deep down, wanted to settle down and have babies, and it was their job to convince the man to go along with it. Now I'm a woman, I'd be the one getting pregnant, giving birth, and the idea is too much for me to handle."

"You've been a woman for years, did you really never think about it?"

"Of course I thought about it. But when Gavin suggested I go off the pill, it got real."

"Do you think this has something to do with... the inn? Your old life?"

She hissed, "I'm not Mark anymore. I don't want to go back to the Inn. I'm done with it. I used to have to repeat that to Jaime-- I used to have to repeat it to myself, even before that."

"I know."

"You never gave up on the idea that you were Todd, though. I like being Ginessa. God, if 20-year-old me heard me saying that, he'd kick my ass... if he wasn't against hitting girls. I just don't want this to change."

"Tell him now isn't the right time."

"I can't do that. Financially, we're amazing. Gavin's union has good benefits. We're in love, the sex is great... well, it's good. I'm hot."

"Yeah, you're hot all right."

"I don't want to be a pregnant lady. I don't want this to ruin my relationship with Gavin. I don't want to raise a kid!"

The more she talked, the more I sensed it actually was about the Inn, but that's just my interpretation. Not that she didn't want to be female, but maybe she felt like if things got too real, she could go back and roll the dice again. A lot of (horribly unprincipled) people seem to use it as an exit strategy to their crappy lives. Ginny's life doesn't seem so crappy. But maybe being an Inn-survivor makes you a bit of a commitment-phobe.

I told her, "Did you know I almost cheated on Hal?"

"What?"

It's true. A few months before Bryan and I went back to the Inn, I met a guy named Jack. Not long after that, Hal's father got sick and for whatever reason he decided to express his stress with excessive fucking. And I went along with it because by that point I had this whole philosophy about putting his needs before my own hang-ups because hey, it's not really my life. But things were getting out of control and I needed something of my own.

I liked Jack, the way a dude admires another dude. The poor guy was heartbroken and he seemed nice, smart, kinda charming. So I sent him Anne-Marie's way -- at the time she was "Julia," struggling to keep the reins on "Kalli." She indulged him in a few dates but as far as I know was not overly into the idea of seeing someone. Since I had a friendly connection to him, he complained to me of his sexual inadequacy. I almost fucked him, just to cheer him up.

I told Ginny that a part of me regretted not doing it, because it would've been at least as honest, if not moreso, than fucking Hal. Hell, it would've been far more honest than fucking Donna. But I didn't, obviously, because I didn't want to fuck up someone else's life.

"But you've got your own life, now," I told her. "This is your life to fuck up. But you can't keep things going. Maybe one of you will relent on the kid thing, or maybe you'll end up divorced. I'm definitely not the one to give you advice."

"I know you're not," she smiled, "That's why I like ya, Todd. You get it."

The issue, of course, was far from resolved, and Ginny is still at my place, crashing on my couch... I have a lot more catching up to do with this blog, so stay tuned. But I've got to go to work right now.

-Todd

Arthur/Penny: Away games

One thing I do miss about my time about CalSports is the travel. Calling lacrosse games, they would send me to wherever the teams played, and though I often didn't get much chance to see the city, there's something nice about leaving the hotel room with the bed unmade, having no excuse not to eat out, and not taking the scenery around you for granted. Boston Today is run on a tight budget, so I generally don't travel with the teams; I just blog while watching them in HD and augment that with whatever comes over the wire. The Red Sox in New York is a special occasion, though, where it's worth it to put me on a plane (the train isn't much of a savings) and have me on-site, visiting enclaves of New York Sox fans, getting interviews with players, and generally giving more in-depth coverage.

Not that I got much time to see New York; Sox-Yankees is intense, especially when it's an epic, season-changing ass-kicking that results in a respected veteran getting kicked to the curb. Still, I told the newly-single Ray that I'd spend some time with him in the City over the weekend. He was excited by the prospect, said he'd leave Boston right after work, and then meet up with me after the game. I told him I'd need an hour or so after the game to get interviews done and stories filed, but he said that was cool, just give him a call.

Then, of course, the game went fifteen innings, featured the debut of a much-heralded young pitcher, had the "Alex Rodriguez, clutch hitter" angle... By the time I got out of the park, it was almost 3am, and I wasn't terribly surprised when Ray's phone went straight to voice mail. I left a message saying that I was going to have to hit the hay, then get back to the ballpark around noon to start coverage for the 4pm game. I joked that at least that wouldn't take us much past eleven at the worst-case scenario, and New York is just getting started then. Then I crash.

I get up around ten o'clock Saturday, have a quick breakfast, and make a few calls while I'm on my way to the Stadium. First is Ray, and I apologize profusely for the previous night, although someone following the Red Sox in recent years shouldn't be surprised. I ask him what his plans for the day are, and he mentions some college friends he's looking to connect with. I say that's cool, and then call Mark.

Ginessa, that is. I guess I'm the only person still posting regularly who hasn't seen her since she settled into her new life even more thoroughly than Lyn has. Still, I figure she would know a good place to get a late dinner that wouldn't rely too much on screwing around with multiple subway lines. She's excited to hear from me, though, especially when she hears I'll have a date. Of course, she also says I should have called her to hang out the night before, even if it was 3am. Anyway, she says she'll talk to Gavin, make sure we've got a reservation someplace nice.

So, another game, another loss and even though I haven't been in Boston quite long enough for the Sox to be my team, I've got to interact with a lot of readers online, and that's a heck of a lot more enjoyable when they're winning rather than losing to New York in spectacular fashion. It only runs three-twenty-eight - positively sprightly for Sox/Yankees - I get out at quarter of nine, and Ray's there to meet me. We hug kind of awkwardly, and the kiss is also kind of weird. It's right out in the open, we don't know what it could lead to, and it's got a whole lot more history to me than it does to him.

We can laugh about how weird it was, though, and take the train into Manhattan. The place is fancy enough that both Ray and I feel under-dressed, but a waiter escorts us to Ginny & Gavin's table.

Ginny is - well, she's a supernova. I don't think she's had surgery or anything, but her boobs and butt seem fuller than when I last saw her in Maine, when I'd just become Liz and we were scattering to the four winds. That may just be because she's dressing to accentuate her curves rather than trying to hide them under a baggy football jersey. She wears some expensive jewelry, too, which not many of us other boys-become-girls do (I wore tiny studs in my ears as Liz because I didn't want them to close up before I gave her her form back, and a little more now since I got in the habit from appearing on TV out west, but nothing big). She greets us warmly, saying she thinks its so cool that I'm writing about sports and she's heard so much about Ray, before backtracking and saying she hasn't really heard that much - just for a few months, and "Penny's been discrete, of course!"

Gavin was exactly what I should have expected, but didn't, really. He's got to be twice Ginessa's apparent age, older than Mark would be if he'd never gone to the Inn. He's thinning up top, wears glasses, and if someone asked me to estimate the likelihood of his being gay without showing me Ginny, it would be right around the fifty-percent area. He's nice, though - picks up the check, argues about the ballgame with Ray in a friendly manner, pulls Ginny back when she's threatening to get crazy. He makes some fantastic recommendations, too - the man knows his food.

Afterward, we go back to his hotel room, where there's a nice King-sized bed that kind of scares the hell out of both of us. At first we just lay there for a while, enjoying the fact that we don't have to hurry it. We talk. I tell him I really didn't want to break up his engagement, but he says I didn't - that he and Liz finally realized that they were more like brother and sister than boyfriend and girlfriend, and there's no hard feelings. Even if I'm around? Yes, she's going to forgive and forget. Wow.

Then we make love. It's slow, and nice, and kind of clumsy. It's not like the rushed screwing we did behind Liz's back, or what we did when I was Liz. It exhausts us, but we feel good afterward. I fall asleep in his arms, which isn't something I've done with a man (I don't think) since becoming a woman.

The next morning, we find a bagel place before just walking around the city for a bit. We can't really do much - starting around noon, I'm getting a message on my Blackberry every fifteen minutes or so, and I've got to tap out a few slightly-larger-than-Twitter-sized bits of content for Boston Today's blog. It's a nice day, and I'm sad when five o'clock comes, and he leaves for the drive back to Boston and I head out to the Bronx for the series finale - especially since it doesn't look like we'll have time to meet up again until this weekend.

I am looking forward to it, though - he's got concert tickets for tomorrow night (tonight, I guess), so that will be even more like a real date. If this is what having a regular boyfriend is like, I suppose I could get used to it.

-Art/Penny

Todd/Anne-Marie: The city so nice they named it twice.

I've been piecing this entry together over the past few days, so if it seems disjointed, I apologize... but that laundry isn't going to fold itself.

Once Hal insisted the New York trip not be a girls-only trip, he got very excited about it and started making a ton of calls. It turns out there are a number of ways to entertain yourself in New York that kids are able to participate in.

Friday afternoon, we picked the kids up from school and drove straight to New York, depositing our stuff at the hotel in New Jersey. I had a little moment of Inn-magic when the kids got in the car, and my iPod was still plugged into the sound system, so very suddenly and very uncharacteristically, the family was treated to "Wrong 'Em Boyo" by the Clash. Hayley asked what it was, and when I said it was a punk band from the 70's, she just shrugged and said "Oh, I knew it was something old." Kids today.

At the hotel, we were all to change into our finest duds, as our first stop was a nice restaurant whose name was something Italian I cannot remember. I don't typically dress like a slob, but as I was picking out a set of earrings to bring on the trip I wondered if maybe I was overdoing it. How deeply entrenched in Anne-Marie's place I sometimes feel. But as I slipped on the very tasteful dress I'd brought along, I put on my brave face, and turned to see Hal fiddling with his tie. Envy. I straightened it for him, although I never much liked ties, only had one job where I had to wear one, and haven't been to that many weddings/funerals.

Sidenote: this was the first hotel I'd stayed at since Maine, and part of me expected to wake up one morning totally changed again. I used to have nightmares about it.

Saturday was the busy day, because I had gone behind Hal's back and made plans that didn't involve the family. Under the pretense that I was going to shop for something sexy and intimate to wear, I palmed the kids off on Hal, who took them to the Museum of Modern Art for a few hours. Turns out Hal's into art. Who knew?

(*To cover my tracks I did pick up a little something. It's uncomfortable as hell but it's not like I have to walk around in it... I feel like it's time to try spicing up my sex life a bit, as I'm starting to get bored with the routine.)

The real plan was to head to a little out-of-the-way coffee place in Tribeca, to meet some fellow Inn visitors. I had no idea what to expect or what I hoped to get out of the experience. I have thus far only met the ones directly involved in my life, most of whom are keen to get back to their old arrangements asap (the enigmatic Donna being the exception.) Here we have people whose last trip to the inn was years ago, some of whom don't ever intend on going back.

As I was fumbling through my purse for the proper currency to pay for my latte (have I ever mentioned how much I hate American money? It's all green!) I heard a voice behind me. "Anne-Marie?" A shock ran through my system, the way it does whenever I am unexpectedly called by that name, although being called "Todd" has had the same effect lately. I turned to see a gorgeous Latina woman in a beige turtleneck, scarf, jeans that rose just above her hips, and a light coat. I looked into her eyes and asked, tentatively, "...Ginessa?"

She smiled and nodded. "That's me." After ordering her drink, she pointed to some seats in the corner. She turned and smiled,

"Sorry, Darren likes sitting where no one can see her."

"No problem. I guess I expected as much from the blog. Have you been following it lately?"

"Not really," she replied a little nonchalantly, "only what Darren tells me. To be honest it’s really Darren’s thing. She thinks it’s a good way to cope with being a girl; where as that ceased to be an 'issue' for me a while ago."

"Really, so you don’t know much about me?"

"I know you’re married too, right? How do you like it?" she smiled.

I didn't really know how to answer, so I just tried to be honest. "It's... tough. I've been really good friends with Anne-Marie, and kind of doing her a favor by keeping things good with her husband. The trouble is that usually I compromise in his favor because I don't want to rock the boat. I don't think this is anything like a real marriage, not that that's a subject I know anything about." I looked at her expectantly.

She said nothing for a while, before asking, "Should I call you Todd? This is always awkward and I don't want anyone to feel more uncomfortable than they already are."

"Todd is good, please."

"Todd, it sounds like you’re doing a very noble thing. I often feel the same way about my marriage. Women have to put up with a lot of crap from men. Just remember there’s such a thing as girl power," she smiled at me at wryly. I smiled too, which kind of broke the awkward tension. It made it easier to open up.

From there the conversation really took off. She asked me if I found it hard to just pick up in the middle of a relationship. I told her it was like wearing someone else's old shoes - they don't fit right, but they're not rigid, either. The Adkissons had reached a comfortable zone, although before I came into it, there had been some marital difficulties, suspicions, arguments that in some ways haven't been resolved. I underlined it was probably very different for her, thinking about her newlywed situation.

"The fucked up thing is, like, wanting to get your way, but also wanting what's best for the family. I don't come first in my own life most of the time, and that's... frustrating."

She asked me what I knew about her, I said not much apart from what was written. She was originally a guy called Mark, and as Ginessa, certain green card issues forced her to marry a guy. That raised her eye brows.

She objected by saying "forced" was a strong word. She told me it was a choice she made, and not a very easy one. I said I understood perfectly - that she wanted to stay in her home country, rather than get deported to a place she knew nothing about. She pointed out that there were other options if she wanted them, but realized there was something appealing about the stability her husband Gavin was offering - that after the tumult of her life after the transformation, she needed something to hold on to, and she was tired of feeling like she was doing something wrong.

I told her again I understood - that it's not easy inheriting someone else's crap. I'd never so much as babysat before suddenly finding myself playing house. Ginessa agreed but then said something to illustrate the difference in our situation.

"But you can stand all that, because you tell yourself, 'Its okay, I'm going back.' But I'm not going back, I've been this way for a few years now and I like it! Jaime..." she coughed and did some finger-quotes "Darren... sometimes just doesn't get it. If she wants to keep trying to go back, that's fine for her, but sometimes I feel like she resents me because I never tried. She's been a woman for nearly 2 years and I think she still believes it's less than being male. You don't agree do you?"

I didn't know what to say. She was getting very emotional - not teary-eyed, just kinda caught up in her little speech. And I really don't know what I think, and I'm not in the same place to judge. So I said to her, trying to be sensitive, "I don't really... but I do think of being Anne-Marie as less than Todd, not because being a mom is for losers or anything but because I'm not me and I can't be me like this. I don't look down on you because you never went back, it kinda looks like you're rocking this. I hope you don't think bad of me because I am."

She nodded; "No you’re right, sorry. I think that’s a respectable point of view. I didn't want to sound too self-righteous or anything. It’s just that Darren can be so frustrating."

There was then a lull in the conversation and she asked a very difficult question. "If you had gone to the Inn and woken up more like Jaime, or like me... a woman, but without any baggage or responsibilities... what do you think you'd do? I mean, do you think you could've gotten used to it, if you couldn't go back?"

I didn't know what to tell her. It was a scary thought: made me realize that physically I have gotten as comfortable being a woman as I could ever imagine. Perhaps the only reason I'm not staying is because I want to give Anne-Marie her life back, not so much because I want to get back to my own. And if that was not possible... and if nobody was counting on me... would I be okay to stay? What if I could just coast and never worry about Todd's problems again?

After thinking on all this a while, all I told her was, "Thankfully, I don't really have to think about that. There's someone out there that belongs in this life a lot more than I do."

I thought a moment and added, "Plus sometimes I just get the urge to be a guy... watch hockey, do some boxing, feel a woman's breasts that aren't my own. Like say, Blondie by the counter. I bet she's good for a go." I snickered, eyeing a gorgeous chick getting her coffee. Ginessa turned and got a somewhat embarrassed look on her face.

"Todd - that's Jaime."

My face flushed red, and we both burst out into laughter. Jaime came up to us. "Hey Ginessa, and you must be Todd. What's so funny?" We both quieted the urge to keep laughing. Ginessa just smiled at Jaime and said, "I'll tell you later."

Jaime sat down and shook my hand, very politely. I gave her a once-over trying to re-orient my perception of her, but I couldn't. I know that from the blog Darren was a tough military type guy, but here's this very smartly-dressed young lady, with her hair done back and the top couple buttons on her blouse undone, teetering in a pair of knee high two inch heel boots that didn’t scream "combat." She just looked like... a woman. Maybe she was thinking the same of me, but I have an image to keep up. If I could walk around all day in band t-shirts and cargo shorts I probably would. But no, Jaime is a head-turner, and mine wasn't the only head affected in the place, I can tell you that.

Darren sipped her coffee and asked me what I thought of New York. I told her that I loved it every time I came, and it was way better than the suburbs. I missed that rhythmic, pulsing vibe you get from a busy city. It's not Montreal, which is pretty much my favorite city, or Toronto, which will always be home, but it's a great place to be. We briefly made chit-chat about Darren's life, before Darren asked what we'd been talking about before she came in, and I looked kind of embarrassed saying vaguely that it was mostly about married life.

She rolled her eyes and said we probably had a lot in common. Ginessa looked embarrassed. And then something kinda bad happened. My obnoxiousness instinct kicked in. It doesn't come up a lot when I'm being Anne-Marie but I can't resist the urge to make other people feel uncomfortable just to test them and amuse myself. I know it's rude and not very nice, but it's so easy to do in a situation like this. So I started riffing.

"Well sure we do," I started in, "But we disagree on a lot of key points. Ginessa here likes the reverse cowgirl position, whereas I've always been a fan of straight-up missionary. She's a very take-charge kind of gal, and I'm just lazy."

"Todd!" she interjected, now both a little embarrassed but somewhat pleasantly surprised (I get the impression Ginessa would like to talk about sex but doesn’t around Jaime). She gave me a playful slap on the arm. Darren was practically squirming at what Ginessa and I thought was a harmless joke.

"No need to get uptight, Ginny.... we're three mature people here. We've all had sex in one body or another." Darren averted her eyes. "And I'm sure that when you guys were guys, you had no problem with locker room talk."

"It's not funny," Darren said.

"Give it time," I sipped my coffee. "Comedy is tragedy plus time. I make these jokes because I'm not serious about it. Ginessa maybe is, but I'm not really into it. So I kid, okay? Look, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

Darren gave me a death-glare and muttered, "You didn't 'hurt my feelings.' You just sounded really..."

"Really what?"

"Really girly! You’re not at all what I expected." she says, disapprovingly.

"Oh, sorry Rambo," I groaned, "But what color are your panties? You only think I sound girly because of what I look like. Look at me, man." I had trouble calling her that because even if intellectually I know she's Darren, she just looks like chick. "“Maybe I look like Anne-Marie Adkisson, but my name is Todd Casey. No matter what I look like I'm still a 24-year-old guy who can't help but stare when he's sitting next to hot chick such as yourself."

I cringed inside the way you realize you’ve said something you shouldn’t. I love to go on and on and seldom know when to stop. Worse, I had admitted something she'd probably already noticed - her looks really had my attention.

Before the flustered Darren/Jaime could start in, I instantly tried to apologize for being a dick. I explained that laughing about it was one of the ways I get through my days. There's so much stress that goes along with being wife-mother-woman that if I didn't let my Todd-side out every so often I'd go insane. I’m not sure if Darren bought it. She did bring up her thing with routine, how it's helped her get through some tough times. It seemed we were starting to find some common ground. Still, I regret what I said and how I said it.

It wasn’t long before we all finished our coffees. Still sensing a bit of tension I decided to leave and catch a cab back to the hotel.

The remainder of the trip was uneventful. We went to see the Lion King that night, and on Sunday after brunch I took Hayley to a spa. My God I never knew a massage could be so good. I may have seemed a little out-of-sorts that night as we drove home.

I began to think about the two women I'd just met. I've gotten used to thinking of myself as being a woman "for now," but I still wonder what would happen if "for now" became "forever." Knock on wood. I wondered where I fit between the two of them. Ginessa has grown a healthy attachment to her body and life. She seems to love her man, and doesn't have any hang-ups about anything about herself. I wasn't even that confident when I was in my original body. She makes a great girl and yet there's something scary about that if I try to see myself in her shoes. Still, if I had to keep going like this, I'd want her in my corner.

Darren, I related to. No, we didn't get along all that well, but that probably has more to do with our actual personalities. Even as a woman, she seemed a little like the jocky alpha-male type I always hated in high school (and who always hated me back because I had an easy time getting chicks without showering with guys. Guess the joke's on me these days, huh?) But I completely understand her - she made an attempt to get back to her original life, and it didn't work out, and now her future is uncertain. That's not a comfortable situation to be in.

I guess I'm somewhere in between. Like I told Ginessa, it isn't being a woman that bothers me anymore, it's being Anne-Marie Adkisson. And every time I have that thought, I wonder if the real Anne-Marie would also rather be anyone else. And the idea that I might have to pass this body along to a third owner, frankly, bothers the hell out of me.

And the idea that something might go wrong, and I'd have to get my third set of shoes for walking... and the idea that those might be the last...... I don't want to go there either.

-Todd/AM

Louisa: Road Trip - Everything's Connected

I'd like to say the title of this post refers to some greater truth that Jessica and I have discovered here in the American West, where you can drive for hours without seeing much in the way of human settlement, but I'm afraid it refers to something more - well, not prosaic, but decidedly human. Jessica and I have been going back and forth over whether or not to post about it the past couple of days, figuring it might be wiser just to mail Arthur, Ashlyn, Darren, Jeff, Jaci, and the others privately, but we figure this is better; we know there are other people like us who read this blog and this is worth knowing. The rest of the world should probably know, too, but of course they won't believe it. We barely do.

Dex Langan was part of Arthur and Ashlyn's group. We met the "new" Dex toward the start of our trip, in Washington, and we've been trying to get in contact with the original for a while. We didn't think it would be that difficult; after all, Jessica had found a lead on him/her even before I'd ever gone to that inn.

It took some doing, though. He'd become Kayla Johnson, so we started in her hometown. We found her parents easily enough, but they didn't have much to say. They hadn't heard from their daughter in over a year; it was as if once she'd finished college she decided she didn't have any more use for her family. Jessica asked if she had any friends in town who might still be in contact with her. "Not according to Kayla."

Detective work it was, then. That meant another public library; I joked with Jessica that I was spending more time in these places than I did when I was in my old life, working as a school librarian. She laughed and said it would be a tragedy if these places ever disappeared completely, to be replaced by the internet and e-books and the like. The internet is not very good at being local, for instance, and even the biggest monitor and best user interface can merely approximate how well spreading a bunch of information out in front of oneself can be.

(This, as my old English teacher friends would point out to her students, is what they call foreshadowing.)

We got lucky in that Kayla is a nice photograph and was involved in a bunch of activities in high school. There were plenty of pictures of her in her school's yearbooks, not just "official" club portraits, but candids and collages. Jessica was methodical about seeing who she stood near for both National Honor Society and field hockey, and then flipping through the book to see who she was standing near in the candids.

This was five-year-old information about Kayla, as opposed to Dex, but it gave us some people to talk to. A number had moved away after college, and a couple really weren't that close to her, but we hit the jackpot with her high school boyfriend.

Johnny Farmer had looked nice in his yearbook pictures and had matured into a handsome adult. His family actually did have a farm, and a couple women our apparent age looking for him made him feel good. We decided to go with the reporter story again - only this time, Jessica had printed out some business cards for me. Simple things reading "Marie Desjardins, Freelance Journalist" along with my cell number and email address; Jess said people respect the no-frills approach and being a freelancer means no-one asks why I have a generic Yahoo! address rather than globeandmail.ca or something. He was a little disappointed that our "story" was about Kayla rather than him, but admitted that there was a story there.

According to him, she had come back home to get her things en route to her new job after being in Maine a couple weeks longer than expected, but everyone noticed how erratically she was acting. She stayed in a hotel rather than her parents' house, she didn't drop in to see old friends. He had run into her by chance, in a bar, and been confused by the way she acted - she had almost never been one to drink enough to get hammered, and while they'd talked amicably enough, she had completely freaked when he made some innocent comment that referenced their prior relationship. She made a big enough scene for them both to spend a night in lock-up, and when her parents were brought in...

Dex had told the truth. All of it. And, of course, it just bounced right off people. Johnny said that she made some comment about it not just being Maine, that this was bigger than anyone thought, and a lot of stuff that didn't make any sense.

There'd been brief talk about having her involuntarily committed, but upon hearing that, she'd started acting, if not normal, then less hostile. After a few days, she left town for her posting with the Forest Service. She didn't write, call, have her mail forwarded, or do anything else. She didn't even come home for the holidays, and don't think that wasn't a sore spot with her family. It was no wonder the Johnsons gave us the deep freeze when we came to talk about Kayla.

Johnny gave us the location of her post, and asked us to mention him to her if she decides to talk to us. We do, and head out again.

December is not the greatest time to try and visit a National Park in a cold-climate state, especially if you're driving an old car like Jessica's without four wheel drive. (Actually, December is not the best time to do anything up north. I can't wait until we reach Pasadena!). We tried to get hold of Dex/Kayla by phone, but neither of us could navigate the voice-mail system. So, when we arrived at the rangers' station, we were just hoping "Kayla Johnson" hadn't been fired or transferred.

We got lucky; she was still there. We did the usual little dance: "Do I know you?" "No, but we have some mutual friends - Arthur Milligan, Jake Matthews, Jeff Miller." She was more wary than most of the people we've talked to, but was willing talk with us. Better than going into town and getting hit on by the cowboys.

She (unlike Ashlyn, I never met Dex as a man, so I have a hard time calling her "him") got really nervous when we started asking if she'd had any contact with people who knew who she really was. When Jessica showed her some of the pictures from her phone, the ones she took in Texas, Dex/Kayla took a real long look. She was weighing what we were showing her, and the fact that we just put it in front of her. "Perhaps I should show you the back room."

We followed her to the back of the little cottage, where there was a bulleting board hanging up, with pictures and photocopies of documents and different-colored pushpins and handwritten notes and strings connecting the pushpins. "Damn," I said, "you've got a wall-of-crazy straight out of the movies." And, of course, instantly felt bad about it.

But she laughed. "Don't I just?" She pointed at a couple of documents which matched names from Stephen Jeffries/Jake Matthews's address book. "But maybe it's not so crazy after all."

The three of us stood in front of the wall, just staring, and then Jessica wrote "J & S Motion Graphics" on a blank card and stuck it into the board. Dex/Kayla nodded, and then started stringing lines between it and the places he already knew about. It wasn't connected directly to the question mark at the center of the board, but there was no doubt that whoever the Feds' mystery man was, he was an investor in J & S. Dex/Kayla started adding more, finally putting Ashlyn's name up, as well as Jean-Michel's and then André Trudeau's.

We stand back and stare at the more complicated pattern, not saying anything for a bit. Jessica was the one who broke the silence.

"You weren't in Maine to investigate microbrews marketing to minors, were you?"

"No." She sat down in a chair and stretched her long legs out. "After 9/11, a lot of federal agencies were ordered to share records more closely - you know, Department of Homeland Security. Internal investigations of people in different branches of the government turned up some common leads; once we knew what to look for, we found a few more. The thing that tied them together was vacations at the Trading Post Inn in Old Orchard Beach, Maine."

So, I asked, is that what the Inn's about? Replacing people in the government?

She shook her head. "I don't think so. There's no pattern, and half the people leave their jobs afterward. I think it's more opportunistic - that someone finds people who have changed and gets their claws into them. And even after... There's stuff that looks like corruption, but no bad acts. Just people not very good at their jobs for no apparent reason. The Special Agent In Charge of the investigation thinks that's evidence of sleepers, but now..."

"It's just people in unfamiliar situations unable to tell anybody else why."

Dex/Kayla nodded at Jessica. "Yeah, at one level - but there's an infrastructure here, doing something. But it's been going on for so long - I managed to find stuff in internal investigations from forty years ago before the new me changed my password. And some of the people who left government service wound up doing stuff that just seemed random - and it wasn't just going back to their original lives; they weren't always good at it at first."

Jessica processed that. "So, what do you think is going on, knowing what we know?"

"I think someone is screwing with us. Not all of us, just whoever he takes an interest in, or maybe the ones who can help him with the ones he's interested in. He's been doing this a long time, so maybe he's been to the inn himself once or twice. Maybe he's not a he, or wasn't to begin with. Maybe he's been alive so long his brain's gotten full and he's gone nuts."

This was starting to seem too big for me, so I tried to concentrate one what I could understand and relate to personally. I pointed to one card. "Ashlyn. Why Ashlyn?"

Dex/Kayla laughed. "You've never been a guy, have you? If you had, you wouldn't ask that question."

I blushed, and Jessica laughed. "Yeah, if I were my old self... Maybe it's just a bit of fun."

"And it fits the profile. Like... There's a guy we were suspicious of in the New York INS office. Maybe he threw the monkey wrench into 'Ginessa''s and 'Nicoleta''s visas, just to see what would happen. There's documents that the guys in DC don't understand - can't understand - but make perfect sense to me. He gets off on that - sticking people into difficult situations and seeing not just what they do, but what they become."

We talked all through the night, leaving the next morning. We're not sure posting this is the right thing to do, but anybody who is in our situation reading this needs to know that Ashlyn's secret admirer appears to be into bigger things as well. Besides, now that he's apparently got someone inside the investigation of his network, he might be twice as dangerous. We don't know who he is, but we've got a name for him.

We're calling him Pygmalion.

-Louisa

Louisa/"Marie" - Road Trip: Day One in New York (and getting there)

Meeting Her

There were a number of reasons why Jessica and I knew we had to stop in New York on our cross-country jaunt, but it wound up being first simply based upon proximity.

We had to get out of Boston first, of course. By now, you've probably read Ashlyn's description of my meeting Jessica, which covers everything important. I must admit, I wasn't entirely sure what to make of her. I've worked in a high school library for years, so even though I never had any children of my own, teenagers aren't a great mystery to me. Jessica looks like a certain group of them on the surface - the high-achievers who handle a course load of subjects that most of their parents would cringe at while somehow playing a sport each season and participating in another extracurricular activity or two... And having time to talk about the latest movies and music and having lives worth gossiping about.

I've met a lot of those kids (as you might expect, they tend to hang around the library more), but Jessica is different. She's got neither the apparent belief that she can conquer the world or the insecurity that many of those teens have. She looks like them, with the too-tight jeans and clever t-shirt, but there's a disconcerting maturity and wisdom to her. When she acts like a typical teenager - like shouting "Road Trip!" when Ashlyn suggested that she could help me search for the real Marie, it's like she's imitating her apparent peers, although maybe she's just got an acute awareness of what kind of freedom from expectations she has.

I had only expected to get some pointers or a cell phone number that I could use to ask her for help, so the idea of us traveling across the country to where she's been accepted to college in Pasadena was sort of overwhelming. It was to her mother, too - she insisted on meeting me, which seemed eminently reasonable.

The two of them have a strange relationship. "Jessica" (she hasn't told any of us the name she was born with, yet) has actually lived longer than her adopted mother, and they more like best friends than parent and child sometimes. They got out a map and plotted a route that should get us to California in time for her to start classes, even figuring in a couple of weeks for unscheduled stops. When Jessica went to move some things into her car from her mother's, though, the older woman touched my hand to signal she wanted to speak with me alone for a moment.

You have to understand, she said, I don't really believe you are who you say you are. Not you, not this Ashlyn girl... I don't feel it like I do with Jess. But she does, and I hope the two of you can find what you're looking for. After eight years, there's no way I can get my original Jessie back, but if you can find out she's okay, and safe... And make sure that the girl I've got stays safe too...

I may not have had children, but I've had friends who went into crisis about their teenagers, or had trouble letting go. I've never seen it be easy.

The Drive

Jessica drove the first leg of the trip, while I handled the map. That wasn't really necessary, as it's a trip she's made a few times before, as evidenced by her knowing exactly where to find a new classic rock station on the radio dial when the one she'd been listening to faded out. After a while we ran out of things to chat about, and I started listening to a book on tape somewhere around Hartford.

Initially, we drove around the city, figuring it would be easier to find an inexpensive motel out on Long Island than in the city. One of the people from Arthur and Ashlyn's group came from the area, too, and we thought we might have some luck interviewing his "successor". We didn't, yesterday, but we did at least find a place to stay that was near a Long Island Railroad station. After a few hours in the car, it was nice to stretch out on the beds for a couple minutes.

Jessica has all of our stops planned in a notebook, with four pairs of names written on the page for "New York": Darren Bridger/Jamie Connor - recent, but potentially well-connected, might be worth a courtesy visit at least; Mark Lange/Ginessa Lopez - Blue collar guy, Peruvian immigrant actress; Vinessa Lopez/Nicoleta Fidatov - Ginessa's cousin, also from Peru; and ????/Vinny DeSantis. Mostly from "Ashlyn" and Arthur's group, or connected somehow.

Vinessa/Nicoleta

I have never been to such a large place; before staying at the inn, I was not much of a traveler. Baton Rouge is home, and New Orleans, Boston, and Montreal are big cities themselves, but New York is somehow bigger than all of them put together. I just stared out the window of the train, gawking, as we entered the city, and then even more as we actually stepped outside the station and the buildings seemed to go on forever. I confess I'd been guilty of taking the word "skyscrapers" for granted, not understanding how literally true it was.

Jessica just sort of stood aside grinning. "It is amazing, isn't it? Pity it's full of Yankee fans."

I laughed. "As far as I'm concerned, it's just full of yankees." Then I thought of something. "So, you've gone a little native, being in New England for eight years?"

"As a lifelong Orioles fan, I can hate the Yankees just as well as anybody from Boston. Although, yeah, I have sort of started pulling for the Sox. It's easier when your hometown team is so inept. I still hate the Patriots, though. Of course, I still like the Colts, too." He let me gawk a little more, until I got sick of being shoved past, and then suggested we start looking for our fellow transformees.

The easiest name to track down had been Jaime Connor; from reading the blog we knew Darren was in Tribeca, so all we needed was the phone book. Calling his/her home phone number didn't do us much good during the day. We thought about calling the newspaper, but thought better of it. We'd sent an email to the address Ashlyn had before leaving (the one registered with Blogger), but gotten no reply.

Next up was "Nicoleta Fidatov". She, at least, was listed in the phone book, although when we called the number we were told it had been disconnected. We still had an address, though, and it wasn't much trouble to take the subway there.

Nicoleta's place was sort of on the border between a good and a bad nieghborhood, a third-story walk-up. Jessica could see a light underneath the door, so started banging. "Vinessa, we'd like to talk with you."

The door opened a crack. "How... you know that name?"

"We've been to the inn too," I said.

"Come in. Habla espanol?"

We shook our heads. I said I was afraid not.

"Ah, well." She undid the latch and indicated a couple of chairs. She's pretty in that blonde, eastern European way - a very strong jaw, but kind of skinny, though I'm sure many men would find her body perfect. "You want to sit down?"

We sat. "Your English is very good," I said. "Ashlyn gave the impression you barely spoke."

She shrugged. "I had to. I can't go home. The... new me and new Mark... were married, are again... It's very confusing."

"So... you have contact with them?"

She shook her head. "No, they live in Peru now. Her... my.. visa expired, and he followed her." She started to cry. "Now they want to deport me, but I can't go to Ukraine!"

I moved to sit next to her. "Hey, don't worry... I'm sure there's something you can do."

"I do everything! The man says... The man at INS says Nicoleta did everything, and I do everything, but someone above him... Says someone has it out for us."

Jessica took her glasses off to clean them for a second. "Us?"

Mark/Ginessa

Vinessa had laughed, and asked to use my phone. She dialed a number from memory and asked about clubbing.

I'm still not used to this body; I was quite frankly shocked to find that I was almost the same size as Nicoleta. Sure, her clothes were a little tight on my new bottom and not quite so tight up top, but these things are kind of one size fits all. I felt slightly scandalized looking at myself in the mirror, but also a little impressed; it has been a while since I've tried to dress sexily, but I remember what it was like to be a young woman trying to impress the field.

Putting on club clothes just made Jessica look even younger, and we weren't terribly surprised when the bouncer shook his head at her (Nicoleta knew him, and Vinessa had inherited the relationship). "We can only let so much slide, Nic. You know how it is."

Jessica had sort of been expecting this. "I hate being under twenty-one!" she grumbled, and said she was off to see a movie. Vinessa and I went inside.

Vinessa wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as I was; she may not speak the language that well and may have grown up on another continent, but she was young and single and knows the game. We hung around and danced a little for about an hour before we heard someone call "Nic!"

Ashlyn had described Mark as being "blue collar", but that would hardly be the word I'd use to describe the person who moved across the crowded room like she was wading in shallow water. She was petite, wearing a painted-on dress with a plunging neckline and four-inch heels. She grabbed Vinessa by the hands and air-kissed her cheek. "How are you? It's been weeks?"

"Better, maybe. This is--" She gave me an enquiring look.

"Louisa."

"Nice to meet you, Louisa. How do you know Nic?"

"We've stayed at the same inn, although nearly a year apart. It's nice to meet you, Mark."

She looked surprised, but quickly gave me a hug. "Oh, god, it's so good to meet you! Who were you before?"

"Well, the way I figure it, I'm still Louisa Torrence, even if my passport does say 'Marie Desjardins' now."

"I know what you mean... It's just like that with me!" From the way she touched her chest, with a palm resting on her breast in such a way as to flash a rather large diamond ring, I was beginning to doubt it.

She noticed me staring at the ring, and blushed. "I know, isn't it crazy? But I'm sure Nic--"

"Vinessa."

"Of course. Vinessa. I'm sorry." She turned toward me to say that she doesn't have many opportunities to use real names, so referring to Vinessa as Nicoleta is sort of habit. "Anyway, I'm sure Vinessa has told you about the INS trying to deport us. Fortunately, I had just auditioned for a play, and while the producer didn't think I was right for THAT part... Probably because I didn't have any of Ginny's training... Well, I couldn't let them send me 'back' to Peru. No offense, Vinessa."

I don't understand Spanish, but I suspect Vinessa said something about Peru being glad to let her stay here.

At about ten-thirty, my phone rang; Jessica's movie was done. I told 'Mark' and Vinessa this, and Vinessa was only too glad to get out, although Mark looked a little disappointed.

To be fair, though, she didn't sulk. We met Jessica at one of the million or so pizza places that line the streets in New York, and the former guys got on like a house on fire. Within about ten minutes they were arguing about sports, and Mark seemed to practically glow when (s)he bit into a folded-over slice.

"Mmm... That is so. Fucking. Good. Don't tell my husband, though - he is not keen on the idea of me gaining weight."

More proof that Jessica used to be a guy - she apparently did not inventory Mark's jewelry without prompting, or only registered the big old ring as a sparkly thing. Or she subconsciously couldn't believe it. "Husband? You've only been a woman, what, less than a year?"

"Just about... But circumstances... Well, you know. There was some sort of SNAFU at INS and I was looking at deportation. You do what you've got to do. It's not always so bad."

We talked a bit more, but Jessica just seemed sort of stunned. I asked if they had any contact with the original Ginessa and Nicoleta, and they said no. Vinessa looked particularly pained by that, and I felt for her - she came to look for her cousin almost a year ago, still hasn't found her, but has to put up with another person taking her face and name, while the real Ginessa could be anyone, anywhere.

We took our leave of them, after a quick stop back at Vinessa's for me to change clothes. Then it was back to the train and the hotel.

Ashlyn--Jessica

Suddenly I see…

While I was out last Saturday, I received a new gift from my secret admirer. I was too tired to take much of an interest when I got home, but the following morning I carefully opened the package. I briefly considered waiting for when Jessica would be present, but I thought it would be fine as long as I didn’t destroy the packaging. Inside was an iPod. Finally my admirer sent me something I was really excited about.

It was charged and ready to go. I turn it on and scroll through the song list—it’s loaded. What is even more surprising is the fact it was loaded with music I liked. Outward appearances aside, I’m a child of the eighties and like the music. U2, the Cure, Cyndi Lauper, the Police…good stuff. There are older songs I like, and I like some new stuff as well, but the eighties hold a special place in my heart.

Oddly, even though my new toy was jammed with a lot of eighties music, the first song on the list was “Suddenly I see”. It’s a new song by KT Tunstall. I listened to the song and it lyrics make me wonder if my secret admirer had a hidden meaning to his first choice:

(Just a few of the lyrics)
Her face is a map of the world
Is a map of the world
You can see she's a beautiful girl
She's a beautiful girl
And everything around her is a silver pool of light
The people who surround her feel the benefit of it
It makes you calm
She holds you captivated in her palm

Suddenly I see (Suddenly I see)
This is what I wanna be
Suddenly I see (Suddenly I see)
Why the hell it means so much to me

I gotta say, it’s a good song.
I think I’ve listen to it more than anything else on my iPod.

I love a parade… (I’m on a song kick)

Saturday’s radio promotion was mostly indoor, so wearing the Catholic schoolgirlish costume was okay. Working the St. Patrick’s Day parade required a little more clothing. Fortunately the radio station takes care of its girls—parade attire was warm (and tight) green sweaters, form fitting black pants and silly green top hats. They also let us wear running shoes! Several of the girls actually squealed in delight when they told us we weren’t wearing heels. Our job was to walk along the parade route and pass out t-shirts to the crowds. Again, it’s not exactly brain surgery I do in my promotional work.

Several of the girls wanted to hang out again after the parade. I had other plans. I was meeting up with Art and we were heading over to south station—Jessica was arriving by train. So I had to say no.

“That’s too bad.” Kara says to me. She’s your typical blue-eyed beautiful blonde. “Hey, later this week a few of us are doing a little shopping…you want to come?”

I was slightly surprised. I felt like I had passed some kind of rite of passage. These gorgeous women were accepting me as one of their own.

“Um, yeah. That sounds like fun. Count me in.” We make plans and I give her my number. It was like I was back in high school and I’d been accepted by the cool kids.

I was assuming it was a clothes shopping trip, and I was a little nervous about it—other than my Halloween costume I haven’t bought any clothing for my new body. I’ve been living off of the plentiful closet I inherited. I haven’t had to worry about sizes because everything fit. I don’t really understand women’s sizes—but it can’t be any more difficult than anything else I’ve had to figure out since joining the pink team.

Meeting Jessica

Art and I took the T to south station, but we stepped out and visited the Starbuck’s at the Financial Center. Starbucks has almost become a tradition for me and Art—it seems like every time we hang out together we have to stop by Starbucks first. Coffees in hand (actually that would be a non-fat chai for me) we return to the train station. There is a small food court at south station, and Art and I sat at a table waiting for Jessica’s train to arrive.

“Everything okay? You’ve been awfully quiet.” I ask him.

“It’s Ray. We had a mild fight before I left…He wasn’t really thrilled that I was going out to hang with you.”

“What? Me? What’s wrong with me?”

“Ashlyn has a bad reputation. Ray thinks you are a bad influence.” Art tells me.

“Oh.” I thought Ray was a friend of mine. Then again, I’ve read Ashlyn’s diaries—she probably was a bad influence.

“I think he also imagines that I am not here at all, that I use you as an excuse to go visit Stewart.”

“Ouch. That sucks.” I say.

“Yeah. He’s also been hinting big time that I should quit my job at the theater; of course I can’t do that, but I am finding it hard to explain that to him.”

“So are you still seeing Stewart as well?”

“That’s a yes and no answer…I haven’t slept with him in a few weeks. I haven’t told him it’s actually over or anything either.”

“And that’s actually working?” I ask.

“For the moment.”

“It’s not exactly fair to Stewart; and he may be patient now, but sooner or later he’s going to get tired of waiting for you.”

“It’s a complicated situation. I don’t want mess things up with Ray more than I already have and it doesn't feel right to out-and-out END it when Liz may wind up trying to pick things right back up come the end of May.” Art says.

“I understand. I just don’t think you can put Stewart on hold until May.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

He takes a big sip of his drink. “I envy you sometimes. It must be nice not to be pretending to be someone else anymore.”

“I don’t know if ‘not pretending’ applies. I’m doing things the old Jake would never do.” I say back to him.

“Yes, but that’s your choice. You choose how to live your life now.”

“Yeah well, I envy that you are going back to your old life. Less than a couple of more months of pretending and you’ll be back on the blue team. I bet you are excited.”

Art was taking his time to answer—I think he was trying to protect my feelings.

“Hey, it’s okay.” I tell him. “It’s not your fault things didn’t work out for me. I’m excited for you.”

“Really?”

“Well, maybe I’m a little bitter.” I give him a smile to let him know I’m okay.

“Well yeah, as the day gets closer and closer, I’m getting antsy. I am so sick of all this ‘being a girl’ stuff.”

“Hey. I think she’s here.” I point to a teenage girl coming through the automatic glass doors. I wave, and she waves back. As she walks toward us, I say to Art “You know, when you go back, I going to miss these conversations.”

“Hey, we’ll continue to talk. We’ll stay in touch—I promise.” He says to me. His pretty Korean features seemed earnest.

It’s funny. I’ve spoken to Jessica by phone, and I intellectually know without a doubt she too is a victim of the Inn—yet when she was standing in front of me, saying ‘you look just like I imagined you from the blog, you have to be Ashlyn’ my first thought was: This is a joke. There is no way this cute teenage girl could have been a 40 year old cop.

I realized it was the ‘curse’ at work, messing with my head.

I smile and shake her hand. “Yeah, I’m Ashlyn. And you have probably figured out that this is—“ I motioned to Art.

“Arthur Milligan.” She finishes, she shakes Art’s hand as well. “It’s so weird to meet you guys in person. It’s kind of a relief as well, you’re proof I didn’t imagine all this, and I’m just coo-coo for coco puffs.”

Jessica was 5’5, about 120 lbs, had shoulder brown hair, and had the bluest eyes behind a pair of glasses. She wore jeans, and a t-shirt that had ‘Cleverly disguised as an adult’ written on it. She had a whole cute nerd girl thing going for her.

We take a cab back to my place, which turned out to be empty—all my roommates were out enjoying a Sunday afternoon.

We settle in, and I show Jessica the packaging from the latest gift from my secret admirer.
“What was in it?” She asks.

I handed her the iPod.

“Sweet. Nice to have a secret admirer.” She says.
Just like I did, she looked through the song list. “It’s mostly eighties music.” She says. “Are you a fan of the eighties?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t you think that a bit convenient?”

“She right.” Art jumps in. “Your secret admirer knows your taste in music.”

“The reeeaaallly interesting question is if whoever put the songs on here was guessing your music tastes because they knew your previous age—or whether they knew exactly what songs to put on here. Ash, when you were Jake, did you own a lot of CDs? Would they match the songs on the playlist?”

“Ohmigod. Yeah.” I start scrolling through the playlist. “This is mostly my old CD collection.”

“That’s really weird. Does that make Stephen the secret admirer? He has access to your old CDs” Art states.

“Something tells me no. Whenever I deal with Stephen he’s very clear he wants nothing to do with me. He threatened to get a restraining order—it doesn’t seem like the actions of a man sending secret gifts.” I answer.

We debate it for a while until Jessica changes the subject.

"I think I may have leads on a couple of the people who were at the inn the same time you were, but stopped contributing to the blog."

She laid a few sheets of paper on the table. "Here's what I've got on Mark Lange, now known as Ginessa Lopez. No listings for her in the NYC phone books, but I found a mention of her in a Village Voice theater review back in December. This year, she shows up in the social pages a few times, often with the same group of people."

She spread some printouts on a table.

Art pointed at a gorgeous blonde who was next to "Ginessa" in one of the pictures. "Am I wrong, or is that who that Peruvian girl turned into?"

"You talked to her more than I did." I said.

Jessica looked at the printout, and it was becoming very easy to believe that she had been a detective in a previous life. "Hmm... Caption says ‘Nicoleta Fidatov’ . Maybe a roommate? Then the phone might be in her name. Could be a lead."

She pushed Mark's pile aside and then another one. "Okay, I found several Kayla Johnsons online. Any of these look familiar?"

I pointed to one. "Okay... Kayla Johnson, 22, grew up in a small town in Wyoming. All I've got on her is this little notice in a community weekly saying that she graduated from University of Wyoming with a degree in Wildlife Management and will be starting with the National Parks Service this... that is, last... fall."

"Well, I guess he's still a Fed..." Says Art.

At that moment Jessica’s cell phone rang and she answered it. “Hi mom! Yes, I got here okay. Yeah, they seem like good people…” She walked away to talk in private.

“She's going to be a real help.” Art says to me.

I couldn’t agree more.

--Ashlyn