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
Showing posts with label Secret Admirer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Secret Admirer. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Ashlyn--Moving Day
Matt asked me to move in with him over a month ago. I took my time answering him—I wanted to make a smart decision, rather than just getting caught up in my emotions. I’ve been fond of Matt for a while now, but ever since that night by the Charles River, when he told me he loved me, our relationship reached a whole another level. We became one of those sappy couples that everyone who is not in a happy relationship finds annoying.
“So have you made a decision? About moving in with me?” Matt and I were walking to the T into Boston. We were heading to the Common 19 Theater to see a movie. I had left him in suspense for days about my decision. I could tell by the sound of his voice he was getting a little nervous.
So standing in front of “Arams #2”, a slice and sub shop on Cambridge Street, I turned and tucked two fingers into the neck of his shirt, and gently tugged, pulling his face toward mine—our lips finding each others.
As we break off the kiss, he gives me a confused look. “Was that a yes? You are moving in with me?”
It was probably cruel on my part, but I started laughing—I understood all too well what Matt was going through, and the look on his face was priceless. When his look changed from confused to concerned, I decided to put him out of his misery. “YES. Yes, I will move in with you.”
It took most of a month before I could say I was totally moved into Matt’s place. In the movies, you have musical montages and it would be so nice if real life worked like that: The music would start playing. (I’m thinking Voulez Vous by ABBA. I’ve always loved ABBA, but they were always a secret pleasure when I was Jake.) There would be shots of me gathering boxes for moving, shots of me filling those boxes, shots of me and Matt carrying my things into his place, and a long dramatic kiss as we finish in which he says “welcome home beautiful”.
Only real life doesn’t work as well as the movies. First of all, Matt already had a roommate and we really didn’t want to share our place with another person. Second, I was still in a lease at my current place and I had to find someone to take it over. Third—and this really annoys me—I had to clean Matt’s place before I moved in. I’m a bit of a neat freak, and Matt is a bit of a slob. The biggest reason I ever considered not moving in with him was because of the way his apartment was always a mess. I fear becoming the live-in maid, where Matt expects me to keep the house all neat and clean—because I’m the woman. Packing took a lot longer than I thought as well. It took a few days; I thought I would be done in an afternoon. Then to my annoyance, I was faced with one of the things that I lost when I lost my life as Jake: lack of upper body strength. To my embarrassment, I could not carry most of the boxes I packed.
Fortunately Matt was all too happy to carry my things for me.
Eventually, everything worked out. Matt’s roommate moved out under good terms, I found someone to replace me on my lease, and eventually I got everything moved over to Matt’s—Our—place. I didn’t have time to do the deep cleaning I wanted to do, but I decided I could do that after all my stuff was there.
I felt really guilty about sticking matt with the lion’s share of the actually moving of boxes, so I decided to try to do something special for him in return—I decided that it would be nice to have our first meal under one roof together to be a home cooked meal. I donned an apron and cooked us dinner. It wasn’t anything fancy; I don’t have much experience at cooking. Matt seemed to get a kick out of it. He snuck up behind me as I was putting the chicken into the oven, wrapped his arms around me. I turned to face him, and he kissed me.
“Hey, I am trying to cook here.” I say to him.
“Hey, I can’t help myself. You look so sexy in that apron.”
He pulls me close, begins kissing me on the neck, and grabs my ass.
“I’m busy here! Go away!” I playfully push him away.
He was persistent. He suddenly had a hand under my clothes, massaging a breast and kissing me. It felt so good, I stopped pushing him away.
“The chicken will be ready in 45 minutes…” I tell him.
He slips the apron off me, and then my top and bra. “That’s plenty of time.”
Matt had to get up extra early the next morning and get to the firehouse. He managed to sneak out of bed and not wake me, and I nearly slept to 11am. I was awaken to the sound of someone knocking on the door. I slipped on a robe and answered the door.
“Ashlyn Shelly?” It was a UPS guy dressed all in brown. He gives me a big smile—I think he liked the look of the busty girl in a little robe with a serious case of bed head. The delivery guy was holding a package.
I was a little surprised to be receiving anything. I haven’t gotten around to updating my address with the post office.
I sign for the package and take it from the man. My brain wasn’t fully into gear yet. I should have recognized the package by its wrapping. Over the past year and change I had received several packages just like this one. For some reason it didn’t click until I opened the package and saw the note in a familiar handwriting. “Something your boyfriend would enjoy seeing. –Your secret admirer”.
Under the note was some lingerie. It was racy, and sexy as hell. The lingerie was new, and still had the tags on it—and it was extremely expensive if whoever had sent it actually spent what was on the price tags. The note was right; Matt would enjoy seeing me in it. I was nude under the robe, so I dropped it and tried the lingerie on.
I probably should have been more creeped out than I was—but then again my secret admirer has sent me lots of things and I guess I have gotten used to it. The lingerie fit me perfectly—someone knew my size. I don’t spend as much time in front of the mirror as I used to, but I still enjoy my reflection. I’m still a vain girl. I strike a few poses for a few imaginary cameras, before I return to the package the lingerie had come in. My intent was to pick up the box and paper to put it in the trash—but I notice something new. Taped to the inside of the box, under some decorative paper, was a DVD case.
The DVD inside the case was unlabeled, and I turn on the TV and put the DVD into the player.
A chill ran through me as the DVD played and the screen came to life. On the screen was me—the new me, Ashlyn—I was dressed in exactly the same lingerie I was wearing now. “I’m so glad you could help me with this problem.” I was saying to someone off screen. “I am so appreciative. Why don’t you come here and let me show you how appreciative I am?” It was so weird to watch yourself doing things, knowing it wasn’t really you inside.
Another figure walked into the screen, his face away from the camera. He wasted no time—very quickly he had me—Ashlyn—undressed, and some serious fucking was going on the screen. It made me sick to my stomach. I felt dirty, and quickly got out of the lingerie.
I realized the note from my secret admirer—“Something your boyfriend would enjoy seeing.” was not referring to the lingerie. The note was referring to the DVD, and it was a threat. My “relationship” with my secret admirer has changed.
Ashlyn
“So have you made a decision? About moving in with me?” Matt and I were walking to the T into Boston. We were heading to the Common 19 Theater to see a movie. I had left him in suspense for days about my decision. I could tell by the sound of his voice he was getting a little nervous.
So standing in front of “Arams #2”, a slice and sub shop on Cambridge Street, I turned and tucked two fingers into the neck of his shirt, and gently tugged, pulling his face toward mine—our lips finding each others.
As we break off the kiss, he gives me a confused look. “Was that a yes? You are moving in with me?”
It was probably cruel on my part, but I started laughing—I understood all too well what Matt was going through, and the look on his face was priceless. When his look changed from confused to concerned, I decided to put him out of his misery. “YES. Yes, I will move in with you.”
It took most of a month before I could say I was totally moved into Matt’s place. In the movies, you have musical montages and it would be so nice if real life worked like that: The music would start playing. (I’m thinking Voulez Vous by ABBA. I’ve always loved ABBA, but they were always a secret pleasure when I was Jake.) There would be shots of me gathering boxes for moving, shots of me filling those boxes, shots of me and Matt carrying my things into his place, and a long dramatic kiss as we finish in which he says “welcome home beautiful”.
Only real life doesn’t work as well as the movies. First of all, Matt already had a roommate and we really didn’t want to share our place with another person. Second, I was still in a lease at my current place and I had to find someone to take it over. Third—and this really annoys me—I had to clean Matt’s place before I moved in. I’m a bit of a neat freak, and Matt is a bit of a slob. The biggest reason I ever considered not moving in with him was because of the way his apartment was always a mess. I fear becoming the live-in maid, where Matt expects me to keep the house all neat and clean—because I’m the woman. Packing took a lot longer than I thought as well. It took a few days; I thought I would be done in an afternoon. Then to my annoyance, I was faced with one of the things that I lost when I lost my life as Jake: lack of upper body strength. To my embarrassment, I could not carry most of the boxes I packed.
Fortunately Matt was all too happy to carry my things for me.
Eventually, everything worked out. Matt’s roommate moved out under good terms, I found someone to replace me on my lease, and eventually I got everything moved over to Matt’s—Our—place. I didn’t have time to do the deep cleaning I wanted to do, but I decided I could do that after all my stuff was there.
I felt really guilty about sticking matt with the lion’s share of the actually moving of boxes, so I decided to try to do something special for him in return—I decided that it would be nice to have our first meal under one roof together to be a home cooked meal. I donned an apron and cooked us dinner. It wasn’t anything fancy; I don’t have much experience at cooking. Matt seemed to get a kick out of it. He snuck up behind me as I was putting the chicken into the oven, wrapped his arms around me. I turned to face him, and he kissed me.
“Hey, I am trying to cook here.” I say to him.
“Hey, I can’t help myself. You look so sexy in that apron.”
He pulls me close, begins kissing me on the neck, and grabs my ass.
“I’m busy here! Go away!” I playfully push him away.
He was persistent. He suddenly had a hand under my clothes, massaging a breast and kissing me. It felt so good, I stopped pushing him away.
“The chicken will be ready in 45 minutes…” I tell him.
He slips the apron off me, and then my top and bra. “That’s plenty of time.”
Matt had to get up extra early the next morning and get to the firehouse. He managed to sneak out of bed and not wake me, and I nearly slept to 11am. I was awaken to the sound of someone knocking on the door. I slipped on a robe and answered the door.
“Ashlyn Shelly?” It was a UPS guy dressed all in brown. He gives me a big smile—I think he liked the look of the busty girl in a little robe with a serious case of bed head. The delivery guy was holding a package.
I was a little surprised to be receiving anything. I haven’t gotten around to updating my address with the post office.
I sign for the package and take it from the man. My brain wasn’t fully into gear yet. I should have recognized the package by its wrapping. Over the past year and change I had received several packages just like this one. For some reason it didn’t click until I opened the package and saw the note in a familiar handwriting. “Something your boyfriend would enjoy seeing. –Your secret admirer”.
Under the note was some lingerie. It was racy, and sexy as hell. The lingerie was new, and still had the tags on it—and it was extremely expensive if whoever had sent it actually spent what was on the price tags. The note was right; Matt would enjoy seeing me in it. I was nude under the robe, so I dropped it and tried the lingerie on.
I probably should have been more creeped out than I was—but then again my secret admirer has sent me lots of things and I guess I have gotten used to it. The lingerie fit me perfectly—someone knew my size. I don’t spend as much time in front of the mirror as I used to, but I still enjoy my reflection. I’m still a vain girl. I strike a few poses for a few imaginary cameras, before I return to the package the lingerie had come in. My intent was to pick up the box and paper to put it in the trash—but I notice something new. Taped to the inside of the box, under some decorative paper, was a DVD case.
The DVD inside the case was unlabeled, and I turn on the TV and put the DVD into the player.
A chill ran through me as the DVD played and the screen came to life. On the screen was me—the new me, Ashlyn—I was dressed in exactly the same lingerie I was wearing now. “I’m so glad you could help me with this problem.” I was saying to someone off screen. “I am so appreciative. Why don’t you come here and let me show you how appreciative I am?” It was so weird to watch yourself doing things, knowing it wasn’t really you inside.
Another figure walked into the screen, his face away from the camera. He wasted no time—very quickly he had me—Ashlyn—undressed, and some serious fucking was going on the screen. It made me sick to my stomach. I felt dirty, and quickly got out of the lingerie.
I realized the note from my secret admirer—“Something your boyfriend would enjoy seeing.” was not referring to the lingerie. The note was referring to the DVD, and it was a threat. My “relationship” with my secret admirer has changed.
Ashlyn
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Ashlyn--Sex, Sox & Sacked
The Sacked part:
Wednesday, a week ago, I walk into the restaurant I work at and I could instantly tell something was wrong. The people who work there are generally a friendly group; but when I walked in no one said anything to me or even looked in my direction. Before I could corner someone and asked what was going on, Maddie walked into the main dining room and asked me into the office.
I knew what was coming. Maddie and I had been butting heads for a few weeks now, so I knew it was only a matter of time before I got the boot.
“Have a seat.” She motions to a chair opposite her desk.
I’ve never been fired before--mostly because I worked for myself most of my life. As a teen and in my college years I worked for other companies, and I never had any issues. Later in life, as I did freelance graphics, I was always heavily recruited by companies. I was turning potential employers away.
Yet mysteriously, after spending a little more than half a year as Ashlyn, I find I can’t keep a stupid waitressing job. I keep telling myself that—it’s a stupid waitressing job, it’s a stupid waitressing job—but I’m embarrassed anyway, and I actually fought back tears.
I sit down, my face hot with shame, and forced myself to remain calm and unaffected.
“So Ashlyn,” Maddie looked smug. I couldn’t help but imagine she was enjoying this—she was finally putting me in my place. “I’ve had to call you into my office a few times this month, and I think I have gone way beyond were I needed to go to resolve your issues. I’m afraid I am still not satisfied with your work performance. The restaurant has also received some complaints about you, so we have decided to let you go.”
“Complaints?” I was surprised, this was the first I had heard of any complaints. “Who has complaints against me?”
“We received some letters in the mail.” She states coldly.
“Can I see them?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
We talked for a little while, but to be honest, I can’t really remember what was said because I kind of tuned her out. I just sat there feeling like a complete idiot and failure.
Eventually she stood up and asked me to leave, the meeting was over.
And just like that I joined the ranks of the unemployed. She made me leave through the kitchen and out the back door—I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to everyone. Once I got a hundred yards away from the place I burst into tears. If I was still Jake, I wouldn’t had shed a tear over something like losing a job—but as Ashlyn, my emotions sometimes gets the better of me. It’s not that I’m more emotional as Ashlyn; it’s just harder to hide my feelings.
The Sox part 1:
My Secret Admirer has struck again. It’s like he knew I needed a little cheering up. The day after I was “let go” I received a letter. Inside was a simple message:
One of the best things about Boston are the Redsox.
Wrapped in the letter was one ticket to the Saturday Redsox / Yankees game(I’m a week behind in this blog—it was last Saturday’s game). I’m not much of a baseball fan, but I have lived in New England long enough to realize I had something pretty cool in a ticket to the game. People here are nuts for the Sox and absolutely hate the Yankees. I don’t know if I can convey the scope that the Redsox/Yankees series has for the fans—the city basically goes crazy for several days.
My roommates were jealous. “So are you going to the game by yourself? You don’t strike me as a ‘go by myself’ kind of girl.” Logan stated. I think he was subtly trying to get me to give him the ticket.
I give him smirk and shrugged. “I didn’t know, maybe I will. This is a really good seat. Maybe I’ll meet someone at the game.” Standing in front of him, I run the ticket under my nose and take a big whiff like I smell something delicious. “Besides, it’s a Yankees game!” I teased.
Logan stomped off grumbling something about redheads.
I’ve struggled with keeping the gifts from my admirer. Last month, before Jessica went back to New Haven, she gave me a little advice from her previous life as a police detective:
“Your secret admirer isn’t an admirer—he’s a stalker. He is probably watching you. Don’t keep the gifts he sends. When you keep the gifts it means you are playing along with whatever sick little game he’s playing—and it empowers him.”
At the time—I totally agreed with her. “You’re so right. I’ll get rid of everything.” I told her.
Only I didn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to throw away the iPod with the 80’s music he sent me. Instead I started using it. I started taking it everywhere, it became my constant companion. I listen to it when I work out, when I am on the T, and I sometimes even fall asleep listening to it.
I stuck the ticket in my purse—It would seem like such a waste not to go.
The Sex part:
Jean-Michel arrived in Boston last Friday. He showed up on our doorstep in the afternoon dressed to the nines and sporting a five o’clock shadow. He had that hip and dangerous look about him—or maybe he looked dangerous to me because I know what he does for a living. I’ll admit it—I’ve been looking forward to his visit ever since he called and said he was coming. Our time together in Canada had been extremely—pleasurable--and I was interested in picking up where we left off. I opened the door, stepped out to kiss him hello—at least that’s what I intended to do—Jean-Michel took it a little farther. He pulled me close and gave me a good ten second kiss. I guess he had been looking forward to seeing me too.
We broke from the kiss and there was some awkward silence as we grin at each other. “Come inside.” I say to him. “I’ll introduce you to my roommates.”
He steps into the house and takes a slow look around. “It feels so weird to be back here.”
Billie and J.J. come into the room; I’m guessing they were curious who was at the door. Jean-Michel didn’t miss a beat; he made his way over to them and turned on the charm and his French-Canadian accent. He took Billie’s hand as if he was going to shake it, but instead just held it.
“You must be Billie.” He pretends he doesn’t know her. “You’re as pretty as Ashlyn described.” He turned to J.J. and gave her the same treatment. I thought he was laying it on pretty thick, but my roommates seem to enjoy it. Logan walked in, and the reaction between him and Jean-Michel wasn’t so pleasant. I would say that the two of them had an instant dislike for each other, but Jean-Michel already knew Logan. Jean-Michel wrapped one arm around my waist and stuck out his other hand to Logan. Logan stiffly shook his hand.
“I’m Logan.”
“Jean-Michel.”
It wasn’t that there were hostile words were exchanged—it was just the look on Logan’s face expressed how he was feeling. The conversation got awkward after that, so I took Jean-Michel by the hand and led him away.
“I want to show you my bedroom.” I said for the benefit of my roommates—after all, Jean-Michel knew what my bedroom looked like, it was his not long ago.
“What’s with Logan?” Jean-Michel asked.
“I’m not sure.” I tell him. “I been dating one of the guys at the firehouse on and off for the past couple of months. Maybe he’s watching out for a buddy.”
“Is it serious?” Jean-Michel asks.
“What? The thing with the firefighter? Definitely not. He’s just a kid.”
“Have you looked in the mirror lately? You’re not that old.” He walks up behind me and gently turns the two of us to face the large mirror that hung on the wall.
“Do you remember the last time we stood together in front of a mirror?” He whispered in my ear.
I did. It lead to the first time I had sex as a woman—it was a pleasant memory. He started kissing my neck and I turned to face him, finding his lips with my own.
Whenever I kiss Matt—the fireman I date from time to time—there is always the thought in the back in my mind that I’m really a man, I shouldn’t be kissing him. But with Jean-Michel it’s different. With him it’s easy to let myself go and forget the past.
I eventually push him away. “I need to change into something to wear to dinner.”
“Don’t let me stop you—I’m starving.”
I hesitated, but went ahead and changed in front of him. I told myself I didn’t have anything he hadn’t seen before—or if the evening went well, he was going to see it all again later.
“How do you feel about packing an overnight bag?” He asked me. “I’m staying at the Hotel Marlowe here in Cambridge. It’s within walking distance, but it’s a beautiful room…”
“I’d love to.” I told him.
He surprised me with his choice of restaurant. I expected to go to something extravagant and expensive; instead we went to a place called “Redbones” in Somerville. It was a barbeque joint.
“I thought you might be missing Texas food. This might be the closest thing in Massachusetts.” He says to me.
I was thrilled and kind of went nuts. I ordered a sweet iced tea, Texas style ribs, macaroni and cheese, and fried okra. It was a ton of food—I ordered like I was still Jake and barely put a dent in it. I felt guilty eating such ‘heavy’ foods in front of Jean-Michel, I didn’t want him to think I mistreated his old body on a regular basis.
“I normally don’t eat like this. I don’t want you to think I’m letting your body go to hell.” I tell him.
He laughed. “Don’t worry about it. You look good! I can tell you keep in shape—if anything you might be in better shape than when I was Ashlyn. I was thin, but I don’t remember my abs looking as good as they do now. You work out?”
“Yeah, nearly every day.”
“Amazing. When I was you I might have worked out once a week.”
I passed on the sweet potato pie for dessert. I wanted it, but there was just no room—and because of the heavy meal I was already computing the extra time on the treadmill I was going to have to spend, and the pie was just going too far.
We went dancing after dinner. I was glad to work to work off the calories. We also started drinking heavily—or at least Jean-Michel did. I had a few, but I was amazed by the amount of alcohol Jean-Michel could consume.
“One of the perks of being a guy.” He says to me. “I’m no longer a lightweight.”
I however, was the lightweight now. I got a little uninhibited and Jean-Michel and I started making out on the dance floor.
“Maybe we should go to the hotel.” He says to me.
We catch a cab to the Marlowe and we continue to make out in the cab and in the elevator up to the room. I was crawling all over him and he basically carried me from the elevator to the room. As soon as we stepped into the room clothes started flying off--at least I hope I waited to remove clothes until I got to the room--I have vague memories of not being fully dressed in the elevator. Once I’m naked he picked me up and tossed me on the bed—I laughed my ass off.
There wasn’t much more foreplay. We were both hungry for each other and we got to the main event quickly. We were in a missionary position when he entered me.
I’m all gasps and small words at this point. “Oh….. oh god. Oh my god.” You get the idea.
We hadn’t been at it long, but I was so turned on I was already close to cumming.
“I’m close. Faster. Harder! Fuck me harder!” I gasp.
He complied. Soon I was crying out in pleasure as we both orgasm.
We lay there together for a while before either one of spoke.
“That was intense.” I said.
“Yeah.” He nods his head in agreement.
“So is this the weirdest sex you’ve ever had?” I motion to myself. “I mean, this used to be you.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, it's up there, although that first time with "Marie" comes close.”
I sat up in bed, surprised. “You what? She what? After all she put Art through, she goes and does that—“ I was mad.
“Hey, don't judge her too harshly. There's a scary guy who expects her to put out whenever he comes calling; it's not so bad for her to occasionally want to be with someone who knows who she really is and likes her for that. Besides…”.
“Besides what?” I demanded.
“Well, even though I know what a girl likes, it was good for my first few times to be with someone who knew me for me, too. We helped each other. Of course, then Andre noticed we were spending a little more time with each other than he'd like, so we had to cut it down. What? Are you jealous?”
“No! I’m upset for Art.” I knew I had to tell Art. I wondered how he was going to handle the news.
We have a little tension for a moment, which was cut by my cell phone ringing. It was at the bottom of my purse so I took out several things to get to the phone. Great, it was Art who was calling—I guess his ears were burning. I couldn’t talk to him at that moment—this was a conversation worthy of a trip to Starbucks. I turn the phone off as Jean-Michel reached for the small pile of items I removed from my purse.
“Hey, what’s this?” He said picking up the Redsox/Yankees game ticket.
“Oh, it’s to the game tomorrow night. I have a secret admirer who sends me things from time to time. Unfortuantly he only sent one ticket.”
Jean-Michel jumped up out of bed and pulled something out of his suitcase. It was also a ticket. He looked at both of them for a moment and then handed me both of them.
The seats were next to each other.
“I have a secret admirer too.” He states.
For the second time in the last ten minutes I was surprised. I told Jean-Michel about some of the gifts I received—the flowers, perfume, scooter and the iPod. Especially the iPod because it came installed with music from my old CD collection from my life as Jake. Jean-Michel also had received gifts in the mail.
“I received the car and some cash. In my early days of being Jean-Michel, I don’t think I would have survived without the help from our ‘secret admirer’.
“Damn. I feel slighted. You got a car.” I was kidding. “Why do you think this person is doing this?”
Jean-Michel climbed back in bed and wrapped an arm around me, pulling me to him. I leaned into him, resting my head on his chest.
“I think he’s helping us somehow.” Jean-Michel states. “I think he’s helping us establish our new lives.”
Hmmmm. That sounds nice, but it doesn’t explain why.
Wednesday, a week ago, I walk into the restaurant I work at and I could instantly tell something was wrong. The people who work there are generally a friendly group; but when I walked in no one said anything to me or even looked in my direction. Before I could corner someone and asked what was going on, Maddie walked into the main dining room and asked me into the office.
I knew what was coming. Maddie and I had been butting heads for a few weeks now, so I knew it was only a matter of time before I got the boot.
“Have a seat.” She motions to a chair opposite her desk.
I’ve never been fired before--mostly because I worked for myself most of my life. As a teen and in my college years I worked for other companies, and I never had any issues. Later in life, as I did freelance graphics, I was always heavily recruited by companies. I was turning potential employers away.
Yet mysteriously, after spending a little more than half a year as Ashlyn, I find I can’t keep a stupid waitressing job. I keep telling myself that—it’s a stupid waitressing job, it’s a stupid waitressing job—but I’m embarrassed anyway, and I actually fought back tears.
I sit down, my face hot with shame, and forced myself to remain calm and unaffected.
“So Ashlyn,” Maddie looked smug. I couldn’t help but imagine she was enjoying this—she was finally putting me in my place. “I’ve had to call you into my office a few times this month, and I think I have gone way beyond were I needed to go to resolve your issues. I’m afraid I am still not satisfied with your work performance. The restaurant has also received some complaints about you, so we have decided to let you go.”
“Complaints?” I was surprised, this was the first I had heard of any complaints. “Who has complaints against me?”
“We received some letters in the mail.” She states coldly.
“Can I see them?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
We talked for a little while, but to be honest, I can’t really remember what was said because I kind of tuned her out. I just sat there feeling like a complete idiot and failure.
Eventually she stood up and asked me to leave, the meeting was over.
And just like that I joined the ranks of the unemployed. She made me leave through the kitchen and out the back door—I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to everyone. Once I got a hundred yards away from the place I burst into tears. If I was still Jake, I wouldn’t had shed a tear over something like losing a job—but as Ashlyn, my emotions sometimes gets the better of me. It’s not that I’m more emotional as Ashlyn; it’s just harder to hide my feelings.
The Sox part 1:
My Secret Admirer has struck again. It’s like he knew I needed a little cheering up. The day after I was “let go” I received a letter. Inside was a simple message:
One of the best things about Boston are the Redsox.
Wrapped in the letter was one ticket to the Saturday Redsox / Yankees game(I’m a week behind in this blog—it was last Saturday’s game). I’m not much of a baseball fan, but I have lived in New England long enough to realize I had something pretty cool in a ticket to the game. People here are nuts for the Sox and absolutely hate the Yankees. I don’t know if I can convey the scope that the Redsox/Yankees series has for the fans—the city basically goes crazy for several days.
My roommates were jealous. “So are you going to the game by yourself? You don’t strike me as a ‘go by myself’ kind of girl.” Logan stated. I think he was subtly trying to get me to give him the ticket.
I give him smirk and shrugged. “I didn’t know, maybe I will. This is a really good seat. Maybe I’ll meet someone at the game.” Standing in front of him, I run the ticket under my nose and take a big whiff like I smell something delicious. “Besides, it’s a Yankees game!” I teased.
Logan stomped off grumbling something about redheads.
I’ve struggled with keeping the gifts from my admirer. Last month, before Jessica went back to New Haven, she gave me a little advice from her previous life as a police detective:
“Your secret admirer isn’t an admirer—he’s a stalker. He is probably watching you. Don’t keep the gifts he sends. When you keep the gifts it means you are playing along with whatever sick little game he’s playing—and it empowers him.”
At the time—I totally agreed with her. “You’re so right. I’ll get rid of everything.” I told her.
Only I didn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to throw away the iPod with the 80’s music he sent me. Instead I started using it. I started taking it everywhere, it became my constant companion. I listen to it when I work out, when I am on the T, and I sometimes even fall asleep listening to it.
I stuck the ticket in my purse—It would seem like such a waste not to go.
The Sex part:
Jean-Michel arrived in Boston last Friday. He showed up on our doorstep in the afternoon dressed to the nines and sporting a five o’clock shadow. He had that hip and dangerous look about him—or maybe he looked dangerous to me because I know what he does for a living. I’ll admit it—I’ve been looking forward to his visit ever since he called and said he was coming. Our time together in Canada had been extremely—pleasurable--and I was interested in picking up where we left off. I opened the door, stepped out to kiss him hello—at least that’s what I intended to do—Jean-Michel took it a little farther. He pulled me close and gave me a good ten second kiss. I guess he had been looking forward to seeing me too.
We broke from the kiss and there was some awkward silence as we grin at each other. “Come inside.” I say to him. “I’ll introduce you to my roommates.”
He steps into the house and takes a slow look around. “It feels so weird to be back here.”
Billie and J.J. come into the room; I’m guessing they were curious who was at the door. Jean-Michel didn’t miss a beat; he made his way over to them and turned on the charm and his French-Canadian accent. He took Billie’s hand as if he was going to shake it, but instead just held it.
“You must be Billie.” He pretends he doesn’t know her. “You’re as pretty as Ashlyn described.” He turned to J.J. and gave her the same treatment. I thought he was laying it on pretty thick, but my roommates seem to enjoy it. Logan walked in, and the reaction between him and Jean-Michel wasn’t so pleasant. I would say that the two of them had an instant dislike for each other, but Jean-Michel already knew Logan. Jean-Michel wrapped one arm around my waist and stuck out his other hand to Logan. Logan stiffly shook his hand.
“I’m Logan.”
“Jean-Michel.”
It wasn’t that there were hostile words were exchanged—it was just the look on Logan’s face expressed how he was feeling. The conversation got awkward after that, so I took Jean-Michel by the hand and led him away.
“I want to show you my bedroom.” I said for the benefit of my roommates—after all, Jean-Michel knew what my bedroom looked like, it was his not long ago.
“What’s with Logan?” Jean-Michel asked.
“I’m not sure.” I tell him. “I been dating one of the guys at the firehouse on and off for the past couple of months. Maybe he’s watching out for a buddy.”
“Is it serious?” Jean-Michel asks.
“What? The thing with the firefighter? Definitely not. He’s just a kid.”
“Have you looked in the mirror lately? You’re not that old.” He walks up behind me and gently turns the two of us to face the large mirror that hung on the wall.
“Do you remember the last time we stood together in front of a mirror?” He whispered in my ear.
I did. It lead to the first time I had sex as a woman—it was a pleasant memory. He started kissing my neck and I turned to face him, finding his lips with my own.
Whenever I kiss Matt—the fireman I date from time to time—there is always the thought in the back in my mind that I’m really a man, I shouldn’t be kissing him. But with Jean-Michel it’s different. With him it’s easy to let myself go and forget the past.
I eventually push him away. “I need to change into something to wear to dinner.”
“Don’t let me stop you—I’m starving.”
I hesitated, but went ahead and changed in front of him. I told myself I didn’t have anything he hadn’t seen before—or if the evening went well, he was going to see it all again later.
“How do you feel about packing an overnight bag?” He asked me. “I’m staying at the Hotel Marlowe here in Cambridge. It’s within walking distance, but it’s a beautiful room…”
“I’d love to.” I told him.
He surprised me with his choice of restaurant. I expected to go to something extravagant and expensive; instead we went to a place called “Redbones” in Somerville. It was a barbeque joint.
“I thought you might be missing Texas food. This might be the closest thing in Massachusetts.” He says to me.
I was thrilled and kind of went nuts. I ordered a sweet iced tea, Texas style ribs, macaroni and cheese, and fried okra. It was a ton of food—I ordered like I was still Jake and barely put a dent in it. I felt guilty eating such ‘heavy’ foods in front of Jean-Michel, I didn’t want him to think I mistreated his old body on a regular basis.
“I normally don’t eat like this. I don’t want you to think I’m letting your body go to hell.” I tell him.
He laughed. “Don’t worry about it. You look good! I can tell you keep in shape—if anything you might be in better shape than when I was Ashlyn. I was thin, but I don’t remember my abs looking as good as they do now. You work out?”
“Yeah, nearly every day.”
“Amazing. When I was you I might have worked out once a week.”
I passed on the sweet potato pie for dessert. I wanted it, but there was just no room—and because of the heavy meal I was already computing the extra time on the treadmill I was going to have to spend, and the pie was just going too far.
We went dancing after dinner. I was glad to work to work off the calories. We also started drinking heavily—or at least Jean-Michel did. I had a few, but I was amazed by the amount of alcohol Jean-Michel could consume.
“One of the perks of being a guy.” He says to me. “I’m no longer a lightweight.”
I however, was the lightweight now. I got a little uninhibited and Jean-Michel and I started making out on the dance floor.
“Maybe we should go to the hotel.” He says to me.
We catch a cab to the Marlowe and we continue to make out in the cab and in the elevator up to the room. I was crawling all over him and he basically carried me from the elevator to the room. As soon as we stepped into the room clothes started flying off--at least I hope I waited to remove clothes until I got to the room--I have vague memories of not being fully dressed in the elevator. Once I’m naked he picked me up and tossed me on the bed—I laughed my ass off.
There wasn’t much more foreplay. We were both hungry for each other and we got to the main event quickly. We were in a missionary position when he entered me.
I’m all gasps and small words at this point. “Oh….. oh god. Oh my god.” You get the idea.
We hadn’t been at it long, but I was so turned on I was already close to cumming.
“I’m close. Faster. Harder! Fuck me harder!” I gasp.
He complied. Soon I was crying out in pleasure as we both orgasm.
We lay there together for a while before either one of spoke.
“That was intense.” I said.
“Yeah.” He nods his head in agreement.
“So is this the weirdest sex you’ve ever had?” I motion to myself. “I mean, this used to be you.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, it's up there, although that first time with "Marie" comes close.”
I sat up in bed, surprised. “You what? She what? After all she put Art through, she goes and does that—“ I was mad.
“Hey, don't judge her too harshly. There's a scary guy who expects her to put out whenever he comes calling; it's not so bad for her to occasionally want to be with someone who knows who she really is and likes her for that. Besides…”.
“Besides what?” I demanded.
“Well, even though I know what a girl likes, it was good for my first few times to be with someone who knew me for me, too. We helped each other. Of course, then Andre noticed we were spending a little more time with each other than he'd like, so we had to cut it down. What? Are you jealous?”
“No! I’m upset for Art.” I knew I had to tell Art. I wondered how he was going to handle the news.
We have a little tension for a moment, which was cut by my cell phone ringing. It was at the bottom of my purse so I took out several things to get to the phone. Great, it was Art who was calling—I guess his ears were burning. I couldn’t talk to him at that moment—this was a conversation worthy of a trip to Starbucks. I turn the phone off as Jean-Michel reached for the small pile of items I removed from my purse.
“Hey, what’s this?” He said picking up the Redsox/Yankees game ticket.
“Oh, it’s to the game tomorrow night. I have a secret admirer who sends me things from time to time. Unfortuantly he only sent one ticket.”
Jean-Michel jumped up out of bed and pulled something out of his suitcase. It was also a ticket. He looked at both of them for a moment and then handed me both of them.
The seats were next to each other.
“I have a secret admirer too.” He states.
For the second time in the last ten minutes I was surprised. I told Jean-Michel about some of the gifts I received—the flowers, perfume, scooter and the iPod. Especially the iPod because it came installed with music from my old CD collection from my life as Jake. Jean-Michel also had received gifts in the mail.
“I received the car and some cash. In my early days of being Jean-Michel, I don’t think I would have survived without the help from our ‘secret admirer’.
“Damn. I feel slighted. You got a car.” I was kidding. “Why do you think this person is doing this?”
Jean-Michel climbed back in bed and wrapped an arm around me, pulling me to him. I leaned into him, resting my head on his chest.
“I think he’s helping us somehow.” Jean-Michel states. “I think he’s helping us establish our new lives.”
Hmmmm. That sounds nice, but it doesn’t explain why.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
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
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)