"Lucky"

by Brandy Dewinter

(c 2000, All rights reserved)

Chapter 3

     I really did think about it, getting some expert help that is.  
Half the time I figured the expert I needed was for what my head looked
like in the inside, though, not an expert in cosmetics.  My mood swung 
from curious to thinking I was being stupid with unpredictable abruptness.
When I was getting dressed, I slipped on a pair of Trish's panties, then
immediately put on my jeans and a ragged old sweatshirt that Trish had 
hated as though that somehow canceled out the panties.  

     Later, though, I realized I had been rubbing my own fanny through 
the jeans, wallowing in the sensations of my satiny underwear.  I used 
to do that to Trish, enjoying the feel of a silky slip sliding over smooth
underthings.  My mood was swinging back to curious and I was seriously
considering changing my jeans for a slip and skirt, when the phone rang.

     "Hello?"

     "Hi, Tim, this is Katy.  Did you call her yet?"

     "Who?"

     "Lonna Roberts.  You said you were going to call her for help on 
getting into the Trish role."

     "Oh, her," I said.  "I, um, never actually said I'd call her, just
that I'd think about it."

     "Yeah, right," Katy said, her tone equal parts disbelief and 
determination.  She hung up without another word.  Not for the first time
I was glad that Bud was married to her and not me.  When she got one of
her notions in her red head, she could get pretty abrupt.

     And fairly predictable, in this case.  I almost left the house.  I 
did start gathering up my keys and things, making sure I had some cash in 
case I felt like shopping or something.  Stalling, actually.  At some 
level I realized that I wanted something.  I was less sure than ever that 
this was it, but the only times I'd felt happy since Trish had died had 
been when I was pretending she was still there.  Most especially when I 
was playing her part in a little make-believe interchange.  That was wrong 
on a lot of levels, but right in the most important one of all.  It was 
true.  

     When the phone rang again, I almost let it ring.  I was afraid to 
answer it, but all of the sudden I had this vision of Katy dragging me
by the ear down to the salon and publicly discussing this.  After last
night, I was about half sure she'd do just that, so before the answering
machine kicked in I found myself picking up the handset.

     "Hello?"

     "Hello, Tim?  This is Lonna."

     "Hello."  Great conversationalist I am.  

     "Katy Weiserman called me, and said you might need some help?" Lonna
offered.

     "Uh, yeah.  Maybe."  I stalled.  "What did she tell you?"

     "Only that you needed some help, and might be uncomfortable about 
asking for it."

     "She said that?"  Thanks a lot, Kate.

     There was another long pause, then Lonna's soft voice said, "Um, Tim,
if it helps any, I think I should tell you that I know about you and Trish
playing dress-up games."

     "You know about that?"

     "Yes," Lonna confirmed.  "Trish told me.  A woman needs to trust her
hairdresser, and the situation sort of forces you to spend fairly long 
periods together with nothing to do but talk."

     "Right.  Trust," I said with a sneer.

     Lonna was silent for a long moment.  Then I could hear a sigh over
the phone and she said, "I suppose I deserved that.  But I never told 
anyone what Trish and I talked about until now, and then only because it
affects you and can't hurt her.  I suppose you'll just have to believe me
on that."  

     At some level I knew that I could, even as I was making my nasty 
response.  I mean, if she felt like gloating about it or something, then
there had been plenty of opportunity.  

     "So, what all did she tell you?" I asked, still not ready to 
apologize.  

     "Oh, lots of things, I guess," Lonna said, then she snickered.  "Is 
it true that you tied her up one time and tickled her until she peed on 
the bed?"

     "I can't *believe* she told you that!" I said, shocked.  

     "Oh, chill out.  From what she said, it wasn't that bad."

     "Not that bad?" I repeated, not believing it.

     "No."  Now Lonna giggled.  "In fact, she said that she wouldn't mind
doing it again."

     "She wanted to do it again?  I don't believe it.  She never said 
anything to me."

     "Of course not.  She knew it freaked you out.  She told me you spent
the next week apologizing.  But she said she also felt sort of 
'de-stressed' afterward, as though losing control was a sort of super-
catharsis or something."

     "Look," I said, "this is, well, this was a mistake.  I'm sorry, but 
this is . . . ," I said, running down when I tried to figure out how to  
characterize this strange conversation.

     "Oh, Tim, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to put you off.  I was just 
trying to tell you that you don't have to be embarrassed about anything."

     "Right.  Sure," I snorted into the phone.  Long past any chance of
that not happening.

     "No, really, Tim.  I mean it.  Look, like I said, Trish told me 
about your dress-up games.  I think that's cool.  I mean, she told me
that you only did it because she asked and all.  There's nothing wrong
with playing around if it makes your partner happy."  

     "Well, it's not right to broadcast our private times on the evening
news, either," I said.

     "Hey, it was Trish that told me, and only me as far as I know.  
That's hardly broadcasting it to the world."

     Now that was a hard point to counter.  I could hardly put Trish 
down, could I?  I was trying to absorb the whole idea that what I had 
thought of as so private was, well, maybe not public but not private,
either.  I couldn't *believe* women talked about such intimate things.

     Lonna was waiting again.  Finally, she nudged a little.  "Is this 
about dressing?  I mean, since you told me you wanted to cut your hair 
like Trish did, and well, because of what Trish said, and Katy Weiserman, 
I mean, I was just wondering.  Like I said, that's all cool with me."

     "It's okay with you?" I said, not even sure it was okay with me.  I 
had always wondered about Trish wanting to pretend to make love with a 
woman, but she, that is, Trish was a married woman so she'd have to 
pretend on anything like that.  She couldn't do it for real.  But why did 
*Lonna* think it was okay?

     "Sure.  I had an ex-boyfriend who liked to dress.  We used to go
out on girls' night out things."

     "You went *out* with him?" I gasped.

     "Sure, it was a blast.  He was pretty good, and we used to go to
the stripper shows and have a great time!"  

     "I don't believe it," I said.  Again.  Great conversationalist 
indeed. 

     "Really," she insisted.  "So, is that what this is about?"  

     "Look," I said, "I think this was a mistake.  I mean, this is too 
weird, and . . ."  

     "Um, Tim," Lonna said, interrupting gently, "This may be hard for 
you to believe, after finding out that I've intruded into your privacy, 
but I really do want the best for you.  And I really don't mind helping.
Um, how about if I just come over at lunchtime?  Or we could meet 
somewhere.  Let's just talk about it."

     "Lunchtime?" I said, still stupidly repeating things.

     "Sure, I don't have any appointments between, oh, let's say 11:30 
and 2:00.  How about if we meet for lunch?"

     "I, um, don't think . . . "

     She interrupted me again, "Please?  I'm serious about wanting to 
help.  I mean, I liked her, too, and, well, it was so sweet the way you
were thinking about being just a little like her.  I think that's just,
well, sweet."

     God, now I was sweet.  Repetitiously so, in fact.  I was about to 
tell her no, when she spoke very quickly, "Oh, hey, I have to go.  I'll
meet you at Smitty's at 11:30."

     Then she hung up before I had a chance to say anything.  I didn't
even know of a place called Smitty's.  I probably should have used that
for an excuse not to go.  I mean, I hadn't really agreed and had been 
on the edge of flat refusing anyway.  But somehow I found myself looking
the place up, and then walking through the doors of a little bar and grill
thing at the appointed time.  

     Lonna was already there and waved cheerfully to me to join her.  I
don't suppose my own expression was nearly so upbeat.  But I walked slowly
over to her table and said, "Uh, hello."  

     Lonna's eyes twinkled and she said, "Uh, hello."  Her tone and cadence
were exactly as I had spoken.  Like I said, I was a great conversationalist.

     It certainly didn't help my sense of being wrong, of doing something 
stupid.  But it was hard to get angry with someone as obviously light-
hearted as Lonna.  It was clear she meant no harm and that meant if I
took offense, the wrong attitude was mine, not hers.  So I just sort of 
pointed at one of the chairs, or waved my hand at it, or something.

     "Please, sit down," she invited.  That didn't take any words so I
pulled out a chair and plopped gracelessly into it.  

     Once I was, uh, there, I mean, officially arrived or whatever by
sitting down, Lonna dropped her voice into a much more private tone and
said, "Thanks for coming.  I wasn't sure you would."

     "I wasn't sure, either," I admitted.

     Her voice got even softer, not so much to be quiet as to take any
edge from it at all, and she said, "Tim, please, believe me.  I think 
it's a very loving and wonderful thing to want to hold a bit of Trish 
to your heart.  Not many men ever make that sort of commitment to a
woman." 

     "It's just," I tried to explain, "that, well, when I, um, act out
something like Trish did it, well, that makes the memories so real, and
so, um, fresh.  It sort of pushes the other memories into the background."

     "Would it help to have someone else act like Trish for you?" she 
asked.

     I looked sharply at her.  I hadn't even considered that, and surely
hadn't considered Lonna for the role though it was obvious in her eyes
that she was making that offer.  It shocked me to think that another
woman could take Trish's place.  And it offended me, really.  I felt my
irritation force a frown to my face even as my posture stiffened.  

     "I'm sorry, Tim," Lonna said quickly.  "I'm not really trying to 
say that I could replace Trish, not in any way that mattered.  I'm just
trying to help you find a way to deal with your sorrow.  I honestly 
don't think there's anything wrong with play-acting her role yourself, 
if it helps you work through your grief, but since it seems to bother
you, well, that's about the only alternative I have to offer."

     That explanation deflated my irritation as quickly as it had come.
After all, if it was only play-acting, then why not have someone else
do it?  Was there some reason *I* had to do it myself?  I wondered if
that was a lot more important question than I was letting myself accept,
but found myself speaking as though that could avoid the need for an
answer.

     "Um, thanks.  I appreciate the offer.  I really do," I said.  "I 
don't know.  This is all, well, strange, isn't it?"

     Trish looked me directly in the eyes, and surprised me by saying,
"Yes, it is."  

     Then she disarmed her answer with an explanation I hadn't considered.
"But it's also strange to lose your wife in an accident that you yourself
escaped.  I imagine there are all sorts of guilt feelings from that, no
matter how baseless.  And I honestly don't know of any couple who loved
each other as much as you and Trish did.  I knew that long before the 
accident.  The way she talked about you made it clear that she thought you
were the original knight in shining armor, her hero in more ways than she
could ever count.  And the way you felt about her, well, if it had been
anyone but Trish, I'd have been so envious I'd probably have had to drop
you as customers."  

     I just nodded, but the thought of that special closeness flooded my
eyes with tears again, and I couldn't speak.  Lonna waited patiently for
a few moments, then gently said, "Tell me what you've done, and what the
problem is."  

     *The problem is that Trish is gone!* I wailed silently.

     As though she had read my mind, Lonna said, "Sorry, I mean besides 
that Trish is gone.  I know that's what's at the bottom of everything, but
what have you done to try and deal with it, and what help do you need?"

     I still didn't speak for a while, staring off in to nothing and
trying to blink back my tears.  This time, Lonna just waited.  After a 
while I looked at her, at her patient acceptance.  I still felt stupid
and wondered if what I was doing was sick in some way that would make it
worse than doing nothing.  But right then, I couldn't think of anything
else to do, and I had been doing nothing for a month.  That hadn't helped.

     "It started on the day you called about our appointments," I began.  
Lonna jerked a little as though she was somehow to blame, but I pushed on
so that she would understand.  At least, I hoped she would understand.  
She listened patiently as I went back over all the things I'd imagined 
in the last couple of days; the games I'd played with my own mind.

     "The memories seemed so real, so alive," I concluded.  "For the first 
time, I felt, well, good about something."

     "Wow," Lonna said quietly, not really interrupting as much as filling
the void when I stopped talking for a second.  "I never thought of that, 
but I can see how it would work.  Especially since it's clear you really,
really loved her.  One of the signs of that is that you really paid 
attention to her, never took her for granted."

     "No, I never did that," I agreed.  We were interrupted by a waiter 
and took care of the necessary things to get our lunch on the way.  It 
sort of broke the mood.  Lonna filled in again, with easy chatter on 
favorite dishes and other restaurants.  All it took from me were a few
nods and I could hold up my end of the "conversation" while she babbled
on and I realized I really appreciated the chance to, uh, catch my breath
or something.  

     "Hey," she said.  "Lighten up.  It didn't hurt anyone.  You may not 
know this, but lots of guys have fooled around with dressing at one time
or another, just like you did.  For some guys, it's enough fun that they
try to do it very well.  What's wrong with trying to do something well, 
if you do it?"

     "Huh? Oh, nothing," I said, on the defensive again.  Just like with
Katy.  Did girls get taught how to do that by their mothers, or was it 
something in the genes?

     "Frankly," Lonna continued.  "I was flattered.  Believe me, my old 
boyfriend understood more about women than most women, and he used the 
knowledge to make me feel pretty special sometimes."

     "Sometimes?" I repeated.  "What happened?"

     "Oh, nothing bad.  He just got a job in another city.  We still call
each other every now and then.  He, or actually, she even visited me once
for a, um, interesting weekend."

     She winked so broadly at her statement that even I had to smile.  But
something she said bothered me.  Was this sort of thing addictive? 

     "You said, 'she' came to visit you," I said.  "Does he, um, she, I
mean, well, do it all the time now?"  

     "Oh, no," Lonna laughed.  "He has visited me a few times, too.  He, 
hell, this is awkward, his name is Bill, okay?  Anyway, Bill showed me 
this book that had some sort of research in it.  The book said that most
men who dress do so only occasionally, and by the way, they are very
much heterosexual.  It seems they like the clothes and get excited by 
them, but a big part of it is they love women so much that they want to 
look like one.  I think the ones who dress full time may be different.  
Or at least some of them." 

     "Say," she interrupted herself, "Bill had a girl's name, too.  Or, 
as he called it, a 'femme' name.  His was Heather.  I know, kind of 
cliché, but she liked it.  Did you have a femme name?"

     I'm sure the blush that lit my cheeks showed clear across the 
restaurant.  In any event, there didn't seem to be much point in denying
it, so I just nodded and said, "Tammy."

     "Oh, I like that," Lonna said brightly, then continued.   "Well,
anyway.  One of the things that Heather said was that you basically had 
two choices, if you dressed.  One choice was to do just a few things and 
never, ever look in a mirror.  The other was to go for it, do as good a 
job as you could.  That meant perfume and things that wouldn't show, 
except they did show, in the way you thought about yourself."

     "I guess that must be what I've done.  I mean, I never tried to, 
well, look at myself when I was wearing her things." I said.  I didn't
tell her that right that moment I had on a pair of Trish's panties.  I 
mean, things that didn't show didn't count, did they?  Almost in reflex
I squirmed a bit on the seat, feeling the smooth slickness between my 
jeans and skin.  

     "Do you think that would do what you need, as far as helping you to 
make your memories of Trish vivid?"

     She must have been able to see the recognition on my face that it 
wouldn't.  Maybe nothing would, but I knew I had to do more than I had
done the other day.  If she hadn't called, I might even had put on a 
skirt or something.  I couldn't just stay at some sort of superficial 
level.  It seemed to me that without some sort of validation, I'd never be 
sure I hadn't forgotten something important.  About Trish, and how she 
moved, or the things that she would do.  I had a lot of tape of Trish, 
most of which didn't include any of our private games, of course.  Somehow 
I knew I needed to understand every little gesture she would make, really 
understand by knowing how to make them, and when, and, well, just be able 
to do what she would do.  

     Lonna waited until I came back from my little mental fugue, and when 
I looked at her she said, "Okay, try this idea on for size.  If you, uh, 
if *we* give it our best shot, and it still doesn't work, then you can
always avoid the mirrors later.  But if it does work, if you're able to 
get comfortable and passable and whatever else you want, well, then at
least you'll have that option.  How about that?"

     I guess it was more of that strange mental judo that women use, but
it seemed so silly to refuse to develop an option that I forgot how 
strange the whole idea was.  In any event, I found myself nodding at her
suggestion.  

     "Okay," she said, then glanced at her watch.  "I have to get back to 
work.  Um, when do you want to start?"

     "Huh?  Oh, I don't know.  I guess I'll let you know." 

     "Not good enough, buster," she said, smiling to show she wasn't 
really insisting.  "If you can't pick a schedule, then I guess I'll 
just have to pick one for you.  Today is Tuesday.  Unless you call and
definitely cancel, I'll be at your place after I get off work on Thursday.
I should be able to get there by about 7:00.  We'll get you fixed up, then 
we'll eat something.  You want me to bring takeout?"

     "Uh, no, I'll, um, get something."

     "Good," she said, standing up.  She interrupted her own bustle for
a moment to look at me, a gentle expression softening her features.  
"Truly, Tim, I think this will be a good thing."

     "Thanks," I said quietly, wishing I had her confidence.