Chapter 1. Down the Rabbit Hole.

From the moment I fell down that rabbit hole,
I've been told what I must do and who I must be.
I've been shrunk, stretched, scratched and stuffed into a teapot.
I've been accused of being Alice and of not being Alice, but this is my dream.
I'll decide where it goes from here.
Alice in Wonderland (2010)

"I don't think I will."

"You don't think you will what?"

"Get dressed."

"I thought all of this was about you becoming Grace?"

"It is and I am. Get undressed and I'll show you."

"What?"

"Take off your clothes."

"Are we experimenting with transgendered sex? Is there such a thing? I mean how do you decide who does what? Is there a book or diagram or something?"

"No, this isn't about sex."

"You want me to get undressed, but this isn't about sex?"

"No. Humor me."

She gave me a skeptical look. "All of my clothes?"

"You can leave on your panties, um, underpants."

"Whatever." Helen stepped out of her shoes, unfastened her skirt and let it drop, unbuttoned her blouse, and reached behind her to unhook her bra, which she let slide off of her arms. "Now what?"

"Patience." I took of my shoes, socks, shirt and pants. I made a pile and handed them to her. "Put them on, please."

"You want me to be the man?"

"I want you to put on my clothes."

"And are you going to wear mine? Sorry, but we're not even close to the same size."

"No, please, just do what I ask."

"Whatever," she repeated, stepping into my pants, cinching the belt to hold them up, and putting on my shirt. "Socks and shoes too?"

"Yes."

"Okay, now what?"

"Like you said, now you're the man."

"What? No, I'm not. You're being silly. I'm still a woman. Oh, you want me to pretend to be the man so we can have sex?"

"No, I told you. This isn't about sex. The point is that what you wear doesn't change who you are. You're still Helen. I'm still Grace. Wearing women's clothes won't make me any more of a woman than I already am. I like feeling feminine, the same way you do, but pretty has already done what pretty needs to do. When I do get dressed, the clothes will help others to relate to me as a woman." I pretended to look around. "I don't see any others."

"Neither do I." To my surprise, she moved forward, threw her arms around me and gave me a passionate kiss.

"Helen, I told you, this isn't about sex."

"It's like telling someone not to think of pink elephants. Once you put the idea in their head, they can't get it out. I'm the man, so it's up to me and I say its time to smooch. So pucker up, sweetie." I put my arms around her and kissed her back. She sighed. "Do you now how long it's been since we really kissed?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. It's just, well, it's just that I felt guilty, because I wasn't who you thought I was. It's not that I don't, that I didn't, love you. I do, with all my heart, but that made the deception even more difficult."

"Okay. All of that is in the past. Right now, I'm the one wearing the pants. So, how about you cooking dinner? Like I told you, there's no end of fun to being a woman. She swatted me on the butt as I turned to go. Oh, and gender issues aside, since pretty is in her underpants, she might want to put on one of the aprons in the third drawer next to the stove."

"Yes, ma'am." I headed for the kitchen and then turned to her, "but we're not stopping the cleaning service, are we?"

I made my specialty, spaghetti with marinara sauce, actually a jar of Prego doctored up with oregano, garlic, onion, tabasco sauce and a bay leaf, a salad with Italian dressing and garlic bread. I set the table, opened a bottle of red wine and called Helen. She came in carrying my nightgown and handed it to me. I took off the apron and put it on. She was in her pajamas. We enjoyed the meal, took a second glass of wine into the family room and watched TV. When the eleven o'clock news ended, we went upstairs. Since I wasn't wearing any makeup, I just did a quick scrub and got into bed.

"Grace?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"I know you're here. I can smell the peanuts on your breath."

"What?"

"It's an elephant in the bedroom joke. Forget it. I have a question for you."

"About sex?"

"No, its not about sex, unless you want it to be about sex. Do you?"

"No, I'm tired. It's been a long day. What's your question?"

"What are you going to do tomorrow?"

"About sex?"

"You know, if you don't stop, I'm going to have sex with you, just to shut you up. No, about you?"

"What about me?"

"Yes, exactly. What about you? Tonight you and I stayed home. Tomorrow, what do you plan to do about Grace meets world? Are you going back to work? Don't you think you need to prepare your office first? Are we going out? You've never been out as a woman. Are you ready? The clothes may help, but there's a lot more to it. They way we walk. The way we talk. Our mannerisms. Your nails. You need a mani. Look at them." I turned my hand over and curled my fingers. "There, you see."

"Yes, I need my nails done."

"No, you gave yourself away."

"Looking to see if I need a manicure?"

"No, the way you looked. Men do what you did. Here. Women examine their nails like this." She held her hand up with her fingers spread. "We've spent our whole lives learning to sit in skirts and dresses without putting on a show, crossing our legs or our ankles, putting our pocketbook in our laps and keeping our legs together. It's second nature. We preen in front of any reflection, refresh our lipstick constantly, fuss with our hair, how about going to the bathroom? Are you familiar with ladies room etiquette?"

"I hadn't really thought, I mean, it just seemed like, I don't know," I conceded. "You're right about work. I can't just show up. Maybe if we just go somewhere quiet. A movie. Probably nobody goes to the movies on Thursday. I could get used to being out as a woman. You could help me. You will, won't you. Teach me about using the bathroom and things. Please."

"Of course I will, but I can't teach it to you in a day. There has to be a way to work into this. Maybe I wasn't so far off when I suggested that we go away. It would be a lot easier dealing with strangers. How about that?"

"It's okay with me, but where? Do we just get in the car and drive somewhere? Here, there, does it make a difference? People aren't going to be any more tolerant. It's taken me too long come out. I won't hide in the closet or the house."

"You can't be the first transgendered person to go through this. What if we call Dr. Rosen? This is her area of expertise."

"Yes. Please. Let's call her tomorrow. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." She poked me. "I've changed my mind."

"About talking to Dr. Rosen?"

"No, about sex." She started to nuzzle my neck.

"Helen!"

"What? I'm still wearing the pants," she giggled, something I don't remember ever hearing from her, "although not for long. So get with the program while you've still got a program to get with. With which to get? I never could get that straight. Which brings us to . . ." She slid her hand under my nightgown. "Definitely more than decorative. Do we get to keep it in a jar on the mantelpiece as a souvenir, you know, afterwards?"

"They use it."

"What about these? Shouldn't we give them a proper send off?"

"Helen! Please, I'm not sure this is the way . . ."

"It worked before. Or did you have something else in mind?"
"I didn't have anything in mind."

She hiked up my nightgown and pulled down my panties. "What about now?"

"I, mmmm, ah, mmmm . . ahh."

When I woke up, I heard Helen in the shower. I got up, found my panties under the sheet, put them in the wash basket and got a clean pair out of the dresser. I looked at the bras, but there wasn't a need, so I picked out a matching cammie instead. A fitted grey skirt, knee length, and pink blouse with a round collar completed my outfit. I took out a pair of flats and realized I didn't have on stockings. I decided on tights which I worked up and under my skirt. I slipped into my shoes and went downstairs.

I started the coffee brewing and was setting the table when Helen came in. She looked at me approvingly. "Very pretty." I poured the coffee. She smiled at me. "Do you think Dr. Rosen is in her office?" she continued our conversation from last night.

"I don't know. My appointments are always in the afternoon. We can leave her a message." I called her office. It connected on the third ring.

"Hello? Dr. Rosen? Oh, hello. I didn't think you'd be in this early. I was going to leave a message. Oh. Uh huh. I'm fine thanks. She's fine too. No, no problem. A question. Yes, that. How did you know?" I laughed. "Uh huh. Uh huh. No, I understand. "I looked at Helen and shrugged. "You don't make life decision for your patients," I repeated. "Yes, she's here. Okay. Well, we were thinking that there might be some place where we could go to, you know, get accustomed . . . Uh huh. Really? I never heard of it. Provincetown. Where's that? Massachusetts. Uh huh. A large lesbian and gay community. TG friendly too. Sounds good. In October? Fantasy?" I motioned for Helen to get something to write on. She took a pad and pen out of a drawer and held them out to me. I shook my head and pointed to her. "Oh, not fantasy, fantasia, with an i-a, okay, fair, no e. There's a website. Dot org. "I looked at Helen. She nodded. "Okay, got it. When we see you on Wednesday. Yes, She will. Definitely." I looked at Helen to see if there was anything else. She shook her head. "Thank you." Helen pointed to herself. "Oh, Helen says thank you too." I hung up. "She says you're welcome."

Helen held out the pad with the notes. "What's all this?"

"Dr. Rosen said that there's a place," I looked at the pad, "Provincetown, it's a small town in Massachusetts, on Cape Cod, and that they have an annual fair in October for trans men and women."

"A fair? You mean like a carnival, with games and rides?"

"No, it didn't sound like that. More serious, like the kind of fair where you go to meet people for a purpose, you know, like a job fair, that kind. They have a website. We can check it out."

"It's in October?"
"Yes."

"That's more than a month from now. Do you want to wait that long?" She gave me a questioning look. "Can you wait that long?"

"Do I want to? No. Can I? From what you said last night, I don't have much of a choice, if I want to do this right, and I do."

"Well, I'm not the best resource for making that decision. What did Dr. Rosen think about it?"

"She made it clear that it was up to us."

"Us?"

"She said that you and I should talk it over." I looked at her. "So, what do you think?"

"Just because there's a fair in October doesn't mean that we can't go now. Why don't we check out the website and decide." She thought for a moment. "Or both. We can go now and, if we like it, we can go back for the fair. Come on."

We went into the study. I turned on the computer. After it booted up, I entered the address. A pinkish purple screen came up with a 'Fantasia Fair 'logo and a description of it as 'a week-long celebration of gender diversity and the longest-running annual conference in the transgender world.' The logo turned into a slide show of different activities and events. Clicking on the logo opened up the home page. I was impressed. I looked over at Helen studying the screen. So was she. We clicked through the various links. There were workshops, discussions, speakers, special sessions for couples and an explanation of local bathroom etiquette too. We explored the site for over an hour. When we finished, we had a new designation for Helen. She was an s-o, short for significant other.

"What do you think?"

"About the fair or about going?"

"Both."

"The fair sounds like a good place to start, if you want to wait until October. There are plenty of things for you to do here until then. Provincetown seems like a good place to start, if you don't."

"Like what?"

"Like what what?"

"Like what can I do here?"

"Well, for one thing, you don't have enough clothes for a week, especially for what looks like dressy dinners, there's a banquet, or even underwear for that matter, or shoes. That won't take a month, but it still takes time to find the right outfits." She looked me over. "You need some work on your face," she put her hand on my chin and turned it from side to side, "maybe electrolysis to get rid of some of the hair. We need to thin your eyebrows too. "She ran her hand over my cheek, "and makeup. Mine's too light. Maybe another wig, if you want to change your hair style." She stepped back. "And something about that," looking at my chest. "I'm assuming not surgery, so maybe breast forms? I'd say at least two to three weeks anyway before you're ready."

"So I should wait."

"Oh no. Don't put your monkey on my back. What I said was that there are things to do, if," she emphasized if, "you," she emphasized you, "want to wait. I'm with Dr. Rosen on this one. Whether you do is up to you."

"I think it would be easier to start my transition there. I've postponed it this long. Another month isn't going to make a difference." I suddenly realized that I was being selfish. "I never asked you if this was something you wanted to do. I can go by myself. I'd understand."

"You don't think much of our marriage vows. For richer or poorer, better or worse, high heels or flats, with or without testicles. I'm your significant other. Of course I'm going with you. Go get a credit card, so we can register. I get a discount too. We s-o's are a bargain."

We logged back in, filled out the registration form, decided on the workshops and events we wanted and selected our daily lunch venues, a choice between the nautically named Bayside Betsy's and Crown and Anchor. We got our confirmation, which left transportation to Provincetown and where to stay when we got there. We decided to fly into Boston. I had plenty of frequent flyer miles for both of us. We'd rent a car and drive to Cape Cod.

"There's a list of hotels and guest houses. I can handle the reservations. Why don't you change the sheets on our bed and do the laundry? You should throw in your nightgown and my pajamas too. Somehow they got messy." She gave me a silly grin.

"I don't know how to use the washing machine."

"Oh for goodness sake, really? You can run a computer program to do a tax return for a mega-corporation, but you can't operate a washer?"

"Is the washer computerized?"

"No."

"Then no."

She got up and started messing with my wig. "What are you doing?"

"Checking for how much, blonde there is. You're a ditz."

"Laundry was not in my job description until recently."

She gave me a patronizing look. "Here, I'll draw you a diagram." She picked up a pen, turned over an envelope and drew a large and small circle. "You see, there is one dial," pointing to the large circle, "and one button," pointing to the little circle. "It will be struggle, but I am sure you can master it. Set the dial to sheets and push the button. It says 'start.' You are now an expert on doing laundry. When it's finished, it will stop and beep. Come back and I will give you a tutorial on the dryer. Oh, sorry. Open the lid, put in the sheets, nightgown and pajamas, add one half capful of the liquid detergent, it's next to the washer in the big red bottle, and close the lid. Now shoo."

Twenty minutes later, I returned to the study. Helen was on the phone. I could hear music, so she was on hold. She turned to me. "This Fantasia Fair is one big deal in Provincetown. Most of the places on the list had no vacancy. I spoke to the chamber of commerce and the woman directed me to a friend of hers who runs the Sage Inn. They had a cancellation. She's running our credit card for the deposit. I checked it out on line. The rooms look really nice and its right in town, so we can walk to everything. Now all we need are the plane and rental car reservations. I can do those while you put the sheets in the dryer. Open the door, put them in, there are dryer sheets in a box, throw one in, close the door and push the button. It says 'start.' Do you want me to draw you another diagram?" I shook my head. "Shoo."

The timer on the washer showed another twenty-three minutes. While I was waiting, I walked by the study. Helen was still on the phone. I stuck my head in and she waved me away. I went in the kitchen for another cup of coffee. Finally she came in. I poured her a cup. She sat down and looked at her notes.

"Okay, we have reservations on Jet Blue for a nonstop to Boston. Check in for the fair is between one and five on Sunday. We're on a red eye which gets us in about eight thirty. I looked up the travel directions and it's a good drive, a little over two hours. Once you get outside of Boston, it's all highway. We're going to have checked bags, so by the time we get them, pick up the car, I got us a mid-size from Enterprise, get out of the city and get on the highway, we should be there around one or two o'clock. I couldn't tell if there is any place to stop for lunch on the way. Otherwise, we can get something after we register."

"You left out something."

"I don't think so."

"Me."

"You?"

"Yes, it's my trip. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but shouldn't I be involved?"

"There's lots for us to do still."

"Us, not me."

"Okay, you. I have to go to the grocery store, pick up the cleaning and stop at CVS. Why don't you," she emphasized you, "go clothes shopping and buy some makeup."

"You're kidding right? We just decided I would wait until the fair."

"Didn't you just say you wanted to be more involved?"

"Yes, but involved in getting ready, not involved with myself."

"Aren't you the one getting ready?"

"Yes."

"Then go shopping on your own. You have to start sometime. What's the worst that can happen? You'd be embarrassed. So what? You can't make an omelette without spilling the beans. I just made up that metaphor. Is it a metaphor? Saying? Whatever, but it's true if you're transgendered. You are going to run into lots of people who are inconsiderate, rude, obnoxious, insulting, hurtful, demeaning, pick an uncomplimentary adjective, when they find out. There's nothing you can do to avoid it, so screw them. We'll, metaphorically anyway."

"I hadn't thought about it that way. You're right. I'll go." I hesitated. "Um, where am I going?"

"It depends on what you want to buy." I looked at her blankly. "Why don't you start by browsing at Kohls. We've been there and it's an easy store to shop. You're at the fair for a week. We arrive on Sunday and leave on Sunday. You know the schedule. Casual clothes during the day. I'm probably going to wear jeans, a sweater and boots or flats. It looks like we'll be doing a lot of walking. Something a little dressier for night, if we go out to a nice restaurant or for drinks. I'll bring a couple of skirts and tops, dresses and heels for the dinners. Sweaters and a jacket, if it's cold. If you do want pants, you can probably take them into the men's fitting room, like when I took you shopping. They're similar enough that nobody is going to notice. Tops too.

Helen took my arm. She moved in close and whispered in my ear, "I'll tell you a sisterly secret." She turned her head, pretending to be on the lookout for eavesdroppers. Unlikely in our kitchen. "We don't wear skirts and dresses because we like them. We wear them because we think we look good in them. Annie, you know Annie right, Larry's wife," I nodded, "she wears pants. I can't remember seeing her in a skirt or dress. Even for formal events, she wears dressy silk pants. Betsy, down the street, she's the opposite. She dresses to make a statement. Probably I'm a slut." She made a cat sound."Most of what she wears is so tight fitting, low cut or short that I can't imagine how she manages to avoid a wardrobe malfunction. Every woman has her signature look, good, bad or indifferent.

"I figure it will be about two hours for me to finish my errands. I have to stop home with the groceries. Then I was going to make a two o'clock appointment at Fancy Nails for a mani-pedi. If Amy can take me, I should be home by two or three." She held up her hand. "What do you think?" Should I go with the same boring French tips or something exotic." She wiggled her fingers. "Bright red? Plum?" I shrugged. "Big help. In the meantime, if you finish at Kohls, you can go to the mall. Walk through the department stores, try telling one of the saleswomen that you're transgendered and see how helpful she is. Like you said when you used to shop by pretending to be buying for your mother, a sale is a sale. And there's Sephora. The women I know buy their cosmetics at the boutiques, so I doubt you will run into anyone. You can ask for a concealer foundation. I'm willing to bet they will be more than happy to do a consultation.

We got in our cars and went our separate ways. I was nervous. This would be the first time that I was shopping for myself without some pretense or Helen as camouflage. I parked and went in. Helen had said I'd need casual clothes and that she was wearing jeans, so I went to the denim section. There was an overwhelming selection of skirts, dresses, shirts, jackets and pants. One display had what the label said were skinny leg jeans with a soft, flower pattern. The mannikin showed them paired with a long cowl necked top. I liked the look, but wondered if I wanted pants, after wearing them all of my life. These were different. They were a stretchy material. Helen had talked about managing a skirt or dress, so maybe a pair of pants wouldn't be a bad way to practice without embarrassment. I picked up a pair, but couldn't figure out the size. Where was she when I needed her? They didn't go by waist measurement. The pair I was holding was an eight. Helen had held the clothes up to me to check the size. I figured what the heck. I put the pants against my waist, except that the crotch was above mine. I lowered them so that they were at my hips. They looked like they would fit. I took them and a ten. I looked around and found the top that was displayed. Unlike the pants, it came in small, medium, large and extra large. I was definitely not a small or medium. I took the large and extra large and went into the men's dressing room.

Over the course of the next hour, I slowly learned the intricacies of women's sizes. I ended up with a pair of the flowered jeans, the top, a long denim skirt with a zipper which let you adjust the front opening, a long sleeved turtleneck to go with it and a jean jacket that I could wear with both. I thought that was enough for the first day and took my purchases to the check out counter. The woman gave me a smile. I smiled back. She took my credit card, offered me some type of discount coupons for future purchases and put the clothes in a bag. I thanked her and left.

Encouraged by my experience at Kohls, I decided to try the mall. I skipped the department store. I had already shopped for clothes and I wasn't ready to have a conversation with a saleswoman about my being transgendered. I checked the directory. Sephora was at the other end of the mall. I was overwhelmed by the size of the store. They must sell every cosmetic made. As I stood in the doorway, a young woman in a black smock came over. "Hi, I'm Emily. May I help you?"

Okay, Grace, I thought, here you go. "Yes, please. I need a concealer foundation," repeating what Helen had described. She turned and I followed her. "It's for me," I admitted to her back. If it made any impression, she didn't show it.

She stopped in front of a counter and picked up a jar. "This will give you good coverage. I could never understand it, but beards have a green tint and a foundation with an orangy tint hides it." You'd think she sold makeup to men every day. Maybe she did. "The best way to put it on is with a sponge." She picked up a small round white applicator and dipped it into the jar. "May I?"
I looked around. As far as I could tell, everyone was minding their own business. She waited patiently. "Sure."

"Dab, don't smear," she recommended. "It gives you better coverage." She applied it to my right cheek. Once you get the look you want, blend it lightly with your fingers. She reached over and stroked my cheek. "See." She picked up a mirror and handed it to me.

I cautiously looked at my reflection. It did look good. I assumed she was waiting for confirmation. "It looks good. Thank you."

"You're welcome. You know, the foundation will go on and stay on better, if you use a moisturizer first." She got up and came back with a bottle. She held it out. This is really good for hydration. I use it. You could also use a finishing powder to give a nice matte look. We have one that comes in a compact with a mirror. It's on sale too. She looked at me expectantly. She had spent so much time with me, I felt obligated, not that I didn't want a nice matte look. And it was on sale. I agreed. Blush and an applicator brush were also a necessity. She definitely was a good sales person.

"Did you just get your ears pierced?"

I reflexively put my hands up to my ears and felt the studs. I had forgotten to take them out. Apparently you don't need a blonde wig to be a ditz. No wonder I got a smile from the cashier at Kohls. Then again, maybe it was an easy way to let people know I'm transgendered. That would also explain why it didn't come as any surprise to Emily that the foundation was for me. Grace is out buying herself clothes and cosmetics. Good for her. "Yes, I just had it done this week."

"Be careful taking your makeup off," she continued, as if chatting with a peer. "This foundation is stubborn and makes a mess of your washcloth and towel. I recommend using these makeup removing towelletes." She popped one out of a case and handed it to me. I rubbed it over my cheek. It was covered with makeup. I threw it in the trash basket and she handed me another. It took four before it was off. "We sell them, but, honestly, you need to use a lot and can get the same thing at the drug store. Our eye makeup remover is really good though and what about your other makeup," she segued in, "would you like me to show you?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Come with me." She brought me to a station at the back of the store. "Sit here." She pointed to a stool. Emily left and came back with an assortment of lipstick and pencils. "Okay, first you need to outline your lips. It gives them definition and keeps the lipstick in place." She picked up one of the pencils. I leaned forward. She shook her head and took my hand, making a line. She took two other pencils and did the same. "I think this one," she pointed to the second line. "You want it to blend in with your natural color." She held up a mirror for me to compare it with my lips. I nodded. She set it aside. "You'll want a sharpener too." She picked up a tube of lipstick. "There's other kinds of lipsticks, paints, dyes, they don't smudge or wear off, but for a beginner, this is easier to fix, if you mess up applying it. Nothing too dramatic, I think. Light reds or pinks." She took my hand a drew a line. I picked a rose color.

"Eye liner and eye shadow are really difficult to do. Even experienced women have trouble getting it right, regardless of the instructional videos on UTube," I shrugged, indicating I had no idea. She nodded. "I would just use mascara, your lashes are very good for a . . ." she caught herself. "Well, you know. You could try false eyelashes, but they take practice. Otherwise it looks like you have a caterpillar on your eyelid." She gave a little laugh. "You can get a cheap set at the drugstore and play with them. Once you get the hang of it, ours are really nice and they're reusable. And an eyebrow pencil." She brought back an assortment. "I'd stay with your natural color. Sable, I think." She matched it to my eyebrow. "Yes," she approved. "That's it. Shall I ring you up?" I left with two bags, a gift Sephora lipstick case with a mirror for my pocketbook, which I made a mental note to remember to buy, and over $200 worth of makeup.

Helen's car was in the garage. I went into the kitchen and put my bags on the table. "Helen, I'm home. I'm in the kitchen." She came in and stopped when she saw the bags. "Look," I said excitedly, taking the clothes out of the bags. I showed her the different outfits I picked out.

"Yee, ha," she whooped.

"What?"

"Yee, ha. You went for the cowgirl look."

"I can take them back," I said defensively, "but you said you were wearing jeans and they were casual."

"I am, they are, and I'm just teasing you. I'm sorry. It was mean. I forget you're a new woman. Actually, I like what you bought. In fact, I'm jealous. You're going to look better than me. Than I?" she shrugged. "I haven't bought any clothes for a long time. Maybe I should have you shop for both of us."

"And makeup." I emptied the bag. "You were right. The salesgirl couldn't have been nicer. Of course the earrings I forgot to take out were a giveaway."

She burst out laughing. "I wonder what Dr. Freud would say about that?"

"He'd say that sometimes a cigar is just a good smoke."

"Do you think so, if the cigar was about to be surgically removed?"

"Maybe not," I conceded. "It doesn't matter. People can think what they want. The important thing is that I did it."

"You did and I'm proud of you. As a reward, I set up twice weekly appointments for you with Alice, my electrologist, and you have an appointment with Doris for a wig fitting on Sunday. That just leaves the breast forms. I found a foundation store which has them in stock. They're open on Saturday ten to one. You can go or I can go with you."

"Now that I know I can do it on my own, I don't need to. Together is better. Besides, you need my help shopping." That got a laugh.

We spent the rest of the week completing my wardrobe. Helen decided that if I was going to buy an evening gown for the final banquet, so was she. It was wonderful shopping together, going from store to store, looking at party dresses, sharing our thoughts about how we looked, what worked and didn't. Well, how she looked. I still wasn't comfortable trying on clothes, especially dresses, in the store. I modeled mine at home. The strange thing was that I felt closer to her than I ever did when we were husband and wife. Not that we weren't still married. It was just a different kind of open, honest emotional relationship that I could never have with her as a man.

I started electrolysis. Alice told me that I was lucky to get an appointment, because she was fully booked up now that health insurance covered, in her words, 'men going through the change.' The woman at the foundation shop was equally pleased, although no more appropriate, by the number of breast forms she was selling to men. She didn't take health insurance, because she wasn't an approved prosthesis supplier, but she understood that the cost was reimbursable. I made a note to ask Dr. Rosen for a prescription. A dollar saved on breasts is a dollar spent on bras to hold them.

It was hard bringing back George. Putting on white cotton briefs, I didn't want to get caught with my pants down, literally, in the men's room, felt strange. I found my briefcase in the hall closet and was on my way to the garage. Helen stopped me for a final inspection, especially my ears. I had been wearing my earrings all week and took them out last night. I had used a tiny bit of the concealer to cover the holes. She nodded her approval. I drove to the office, parked in my space and took the elevator up to my office. My assistant Claire was waiting for me. After the usual pleasantries, she went over the work that had come in and my schedule for the rest of the week.

As she started out, she turned, walked back and looked intently at me. "There's something different about you."

Instinctively, I put my hands up to see if I still had my earrings, but remembered Helen had checked, so I caught myself and turned it into sort of a shrug. I had to think quickly. "Helen took me to a spa. They had these, um, services which were included, so I got a facial. She, Helen, said that men were paying more attention to their skin nowadays. They gave me a whole bunch of skin care product samples to use too." I gave her a sheepish grin.

"Oh." She seemed satisfied with my explanation and left.

Over the next two weeks I finished up my remaining work, explaining to Claire that Helen and I had booked a two week's vacation for the end of October, which was true. She didn't mention my appearance again, so either she believed my story about a facial and skin care or she was too discreet to question it.

2. The Mad T Party.

You could stay.
What an idea. A crazy, mad, wonderful idea.
But I can't. There are questions I have to answer, things I have to do.
Be back again before you know it.
Alice in Wonderland (2010)

We completed shopping for my our wardrobes, packed our suitcases, Helen bought me a makeup case with multiple compartments as a gift, and got our carry-ons ready. I decided to take my laptop. The guest house had complimentary wifi. Helen said that the first thing that women checked when they met each other was their pocketbook, so I splurged on a Coach tote to carry it. I had to travel as George to get through airport security with my license for an ID and I made sure that there was a heavy duty luggage tag on my checked bag, so I wouldn't have to identify it by the contents, if it got lost.

The night we were to leave, I was really nervous. "Isn't this what you've wanted your whole life?" Helen asked reassuringly.

"Yes, but you know the saying, 'Be careful what you wish for, because you might get it.' What if this isn't what I thought it would be?"

"You mean that it turns out you're not transgendered? Then we have a lot of returns to make, you have a really smooth face, Dr. Rosen is short one patient, I get my husband back and were both lucky you waited for the surgery."

"No, I know that I'm transgendered. The last month has been the happiest I've ever been, but what if Provincetown, the fair, isn't a good experience. What if I don't fit in or get along with the others?"

"Relax. You sound like Marissa when we put her on the bus for the first summer of sleep away camp. Remember? We had to watch her sad face as it pulled away. A week later, we got her first letter that she was having a great time, she made new friends and at the end of the summer the counselors had to drag her out of her bunk, because she didn't want to come home." Helen went upstairs and came back with a big floppy stuffed dog. "Here, it worked for Marissa." She handed it to me. "Give Snuffles a hug and get the bags, the taxi should be here soon."

We got to the airport, checked our bags, went through security and waited. I kept snuffles in my tote, just in case. The plane was delayed an hour, which threw us off our schedule, but still would get us to Provincetown before registration closed. While we waited, I wondered whether I should change before we got there. Helen questioned where there was. If I meant Boston, she doubted there was room in the airplane lavatory and, leaving aside the cabin attendant's confusion at the change in gender of the passenger in seat 12C, I didn't have anything packed in my carry on. That left the men's room at Logan, after we got our bags. As both a practical matter and with Helen's reminder that clothes don't make the woman, I decided that discretion was the better part of valor when it came to putting on women's clothes in a public men's room.

Everything went smoothly on our arrival. We took the shuttle and picked up our car. There was very little traffic on Sunday morning and the route out of the airport and to the highway was easy to follow. The trip wasn't scenic until we got to the bridge over the Cape Cod canal. After that it was highway until we got to the town of Truro and, just before we reached Provincetown, the road opened up into a spectacular seascape with sand dunes and a lighthouse in the distance, across an expanse of ocean.

We turned off the highway onto a narrow street lined with small houses with weathered shingles and after a few miles and a confusing back alley, we arrived at the inn. The woman at the reception desk told us about the various amenities. They downstairs was a lounge with light food. There was an area on the second floor where they served a complimentary continental breakfast. If we wanted to have dinner, she recommended reservations, considering how crowded it would be with the fair. We thanked her, took our keys and took the elevator to our room. It was very tastefully decorated, but small, there was just room for a bed, dresser with a mirror and night stand, maybe compact would be a better description, because it had everything we needed and we weren't going to be spending much time in it. We unpacked. Helen was a good sport. My clothes filled up the dresser and most of the closet space.

Helen was comfortable wearing her jeans, sweater and sneakers. "I'm not the one transitioning," she reminded me. I couldn't decide. She suggested that I put on my underwear and start on my makeup. She would take a walk, see what everyone else was wearing and come back to help me. About a half hour later she walked in. "I went to the Boat Slip and talked to the women at registration."

"Oh, I thought we'd do that together."

"I didn't register. I just told them that this was our first time and we weren't sure about what to wear. Barbara and Mickey, although her name tag had an unusual spelling, M-i-q-q-i. They were lovely."

"And?"

"They said you could wear anything you want."

"If I knew what I wanted to wear, I wouldn't need to ask. What were they wearing?"

"Dresses."

"So, should I wear a dress?"

"The impression I got was that it was more a matter of preference then propriety."

"What does that mean?"

"What the Ricky Nelson song says."

"Helen, I'm not in the mood for your musical trivia."

"The refrain from 'Garden Party, 'You can't please everyone, so you got to please yourself.' You should wear whatever you like, because you like it, and not worry about what anyone else thinks."

"Is that what they said?"

"The didn't sing the song, no."

"Helen, I need to put something on."

"You look cute in your underwear."

"You're not going to help me, are you?"

"No, but I will make a suggestion. Hold on." She called reception, wrote something down, took the laptop out of my tote and checked her note, which must have been the wifi password. "According to the fair schedule, tonight is a welcoming reception." She read from the Fair website: "'After a long day of travel, relax with your old friends and meet your new ones.' Here we go. 'Come dressed formally, come dressed casually, come dressed as a guy or come dressed as a gal, just come by and enjoy yourself.' Sounds like they're channeling Ricky Nelson."

I decided on a long sleeved cable knit sweater dress with a mock turtle neck, charcoal grey tights and pumps. Helen looked at my choice of footwear. "The sidewalks are brick. I would be careful about heels." She held out her foot to show her sneaker. I changed into grey suede booties with a low heel. Helen nodded her approval. I put on my wig. Helen took a brush and fussed with it until she was satisfied. Lip liner and lipstick completed my makeup.

"Okay, I'm ready."

Helen shook her head. "No, you're not." She went over to the bag and took out a case. "No woman goes out without her jewelry." I had forgotten that I took out my earrings when we traveled. She fastened a pair of small gold hoops in my ears.

"Thank you."

"You're not done." A gold neck and wrist chain and a gold ring with a small sapphire completed my ensemble. "I don't wear these any more. I was going to give them to Marissa, but she can wait." She laughed.

"What's so funny?"
"I was just thinking, usually it's the mother who hands down her jewelry to her daughter. I guess we'll start a whole new tradition."

"Okay, let's go."

"You have a lot to learn about being a woman."

"Now what?"

"Do you have money, credit cards, lipstick, a comb, a mirror, or Kleenex? Women don't wipe their nose on their sleeve. You forgot your pocketbook. You know the saying."

"Another song?"

"No, the American Express ad, 'don't leave home without it.' No woman would. Here." She went over to the shelf in the closet and took down a black fabric bag with a shoulder strap. "Kate Spade. It was Marissa's when she was in college." She laughed. This time I got the irony of my daughter passing down her pocketbook to me. I deposited the essentials in the bag. I gave Helen a questioning look. She smiled and nodded her approval. "Let's go."

We left the room. Helen knew the way. We walked down to Commercial Street, the main street through Provincetown. She was right about the sidewalks. They were narrow and uneven brick. I had limited experience in heels and it would have been difficult. A cast was not a fashion accessory I needed. We passed a number of openly gay and lesbian couples. We were walking arm and arm. Nobody paid us any attention. As we got into the center of town, we saw other fair attendees. They stood out, like me, because we were the only ones dressed up. We smiled and nodded as we passed them. After about fifteen minutes on the street, we arrived at the Boat Slip, actually a hotel which it turned out had neither boats nor slips, but it was on the water with a deck overlooking a small beach. The sun was going down and we stopped to admire the harbor view.

We went into the lounge where there were two women seated behind a table. Helen introduced me. We chatted. Where were we from? Was this our first time out? How did we decide to come to Fantasia Fair. Barbara was the Director. She handed us our registration packets and asked us to be discreet in photographing others or inadvertently including them in our own, unless we had their permission. There were badges which said 'no photographs,' but not everyone wore them and it was courteous to ask. Miqqi encouraged us to be involved in the sessions for couples and to come to tonight's reception. We said we would. We asked about restaurants. All were good. It depended on what you wanted to eat and where you could get a reservation. They recommended 'The Lobster Pot,' for at least one traditional Cape Cod lobster dinner.

As we were completing our registration, two other couples came in. Barbara and Miqqi got up, there were greetings and hugs, obviously regulars. Barbara introduced them. Susan and Amy and Denise and Cindy. We got to talking. Susan was recently post-op and Denise was completing her HRT. They were both mentoring first timers. That would be us. Would we like to have dinner with them? We accepted. Their favorite restaurant was in the West End. They already had a reservation and thought they could add two more without a problem. We'd meet them there at five thirty. We said our goodbyes. They stayed to chat with Barbara and Miqqi. It was four thirty. Helen wanted to go back to the room and change for dinner.

I sat in the lounge. I saw a few other fair goers come in and go upstairs. For someone who was so nonchalant about what she wore, Helen was taking an awful long time. I called her. She was almost ready and coming down. When the elevator door opened, I was surprised to see her in a very pretty dress with boots and a short jacket. When she saw my surprised look, she shrugged, which I took to be an admission that she was wrong about this being just about me. We asked the woman at the front desk for directions, turn left walk five blocks, it's on the right, and we left.

The restaurant was very nice with water views. Our new friends were already seated and waved us over. This was my first time going out dressed and I felt conspicuous. Susan and Denise were already on their way to womanhood and were used to being in public. Helen started chatting with the other s-o's. I surreptitiously looked around. Susan caught me. "Relax Grace. This is Provincetown." She motioned to the chair. "Sit and have a drink."

Denise laughed in agreement. "Seriously. The week after the fair is Halloween, anything goes, it's Mad Max meets Walt Disney, and after that it's spooky bear weekend, big hairy guys in leather. We're the calm before the storm."

Susan and Denise were right. The waitress came over and asked how we ladies were doing tonight. "Fine, thank you," Susan took the initiative to reply for us. She ordered a bottle of red wine for the table, which avoided my deciding whether to go for something girly, and we put in our dinner orders. To my surprise, both Susan and Denise were very open about their families. Susan had a boy and a girl, like we did, and Denise had three foster children whom they had adopted. Susan's parents were still alive, as was Denise's mother. It was difficult, but they were dealing with it. The subject turned to the fair and we talked about the different workshops and presentations. They were particularly enthusiastic about the talent and fashion shows. We absolutely couldn't miss them and didn't I want to perform or model. Given my lack of any musical ability, a deficiency which neither Susan nor Denise saw as an impediment, no to the first, and, due to my insecurity about my appearance, no to the second.

After dinner, Susan reminded me that there was a welcome reception at seven and we'd have to hurry to get there. We paid the check and headed downtown. When we arrived, there were already about a dozen people in the room and it was filling up. Barbara and Miqqi were there and our new friends introduced us around. Everyone was warm and welcoming. When the reception was over, we were invited to a guest house for an after-hours get together. One of the women played the guitar and we had the best time I can remember.

Back in our room, Helen couldn't stop talking about how nice it was to know that she wasn't alone. It was a struggle, Cindy and Amy had told her. They were open about their relationship being strained, but were working with therapists to deal with it. Having been self-absorbed with my own transition, I had not considered that Helen was going through a transition of her own.

We took turns washing up and got into bed. I hugged Helen. "Thank you for being here with me. I couldn't have done this without you."

"Where else would I be?"

"Reno?"

"I don't gamble."
"You're here."

"I only bet on sure things." She bent over and kissed me on the cheek. "Now shut up and go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow."

"We?"

"You said you were happy I was here with you. No more kisses. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." I rolled over. I felt a kiss on my cheek.

"I lied."

The alarm went off at seven o'clock. The activities began at nine. Helen took half the time I did to get herself ready, but then she wore a lot less makeup and didn't have to shave before putting it on. I decided to wear my denim skirt, demurely zipped to just above my knee, nude pantyhose, I liked the way the nylon felt on my legs and how it glided under my skirt, tall brown boots with a stacked heel, mindful of the brick sidewalks, and a pink long sleeved turtle neck.

Helen came out of the bathroom and gave me the once over. "Very pretty." She looked at the clock. " I'm going to go downstairs and see what they have for breakfast." She took a key and left. About ten minutes later the phone rang. "They have coffee, yogurt, granola, and muffins, blueberry, corn and, I'm not sure, looks like either carrot or morning glory. Do you want me to bring you something?"

"Coffee and a mystery muffin, please."

We repeated the routine for the rest of the week, except for my clothes and the variety of muffin. The workshops were amazing, I had never thought that, in addition to my appearance, I needed to work on sounding more feminine, the speakers and presentations were impressive, sensitivity and awareness over advocacy, and the activities were tremendous fun. The fashion show was hilarious. The women strutted their stuff. Susan was daring in a form fitting bathing suit and heels, but then she had the form to fit it. I imagined that next year it would be me. The locals were invited and all of the proceeds went to support a summer camp for transgendered children. The enthusiasm for stuffing dollar bills in the model's décolletage kept pace with the consumption of alcohol. To my surprise, Helen was a generous donor and had the hangover to prove it.

During our free time, we shopped. There were a variety of boutiques and stores, including two with yummy salt water taffy and fudge. Helen had different tastes. On one of our strolls along the main street, she grabbed my arm and pulled me into a store called 'Toys of Eros,' which I found to be aptly named. I never imagined that a penis could come, not a pun for some models, in such a variety of sizes, shapes, colors, textures or materials. I reluctantly followed her as she browsed. Her fascination with one device caught the attention of a young women in leather with a collection of hardware decorating her eyebrow, lips and nose, and tattoos covering the generously exposed portions of her body. I heard her mention a 'rabbit,' although I was far enough away so that I could not overhear her explanation of the zoological context. The woman proceeded to demonstrate its operation, producing a variety of shaft gyrations that were well beyond my own ability to duplicate. Moving along, I picked up an interesting piece of glass with a tapered knob and handle, quickly putting it back when I read the description of the functional purpose of its shape. That left either a variety of leather garments or a display of flavored lubricants to occupy my time. Looking over, I was relieved, more or less, to see that Helen was following the woman to the sales counter. The woman put a box in a bag and Helen motioned to me that she was ready to leave.

Once safely outside, I suggested we return to the hotel with her purchase, given the eponymous name on the bag. "Seriously, Helen, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that girls just want to have fun and since we don't get to keep yours, at least one of us ought to have one. She stopped, turned to me and exclaimed, "Oh my God, I never thought that you would . . .," she started laughing.

"Helen, stop, you're making a scene. That I would what?"

"That you would," finally getting herself under control, "that you would have penis envy."

The fair ended on Saturday with the awards banquet, at least for us. Helen decided to wear a cocktail dress. "This is your night and I want you to shine." We found a fabulous floor length sheath with a black lace bodice and tulle skirt over a beige slip. Helen went online and ordered a high wasted panty girdle to nip in my waist and with silicone padding on the hips and butt to fill out my figure. Black opaque pantyhose and black fabric high heeled pumps completed the ensemble. I wore the fashion wig we brought and Helen did my eye liner and a smoky eye shadow. She loaned me her diamond studs with a circle of diamond jackets and diamond pendant on a gold chain. I looked in the mirror and saw that I had become the woman of my dreams.

Chapter 3. Leaving Wonderland.

If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense.
Nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn't.
And contrary-wise; what it is it wouldn't be, and what it wouldn't be, it would.
You see?
Walt Disney's Alice in Wonderland

There was a farewell brunch on Sunday, but I had to fly as George and we had an early afternoon fight, so there wouldn't be time for me to change or a place, because we needed to be out of the room by eleven. We had said our goodbyes at the banquet, hugs and kisses, an exchange of email addresses, promises to keep in touch and assurances that we'd see each other next year. We checked out, thanked the people at the inn, got in the car, and headed for Boston. Helen was still Helen. Grace was packed away. We drove without speaking, holding onto the memories of the wonderful people we met, friends we'd made and experiences we had, until we crossed over the bridge separating Cape Cod from the rest of Massachusetts.

Helen broke the silence."Now that you're adventures in Wonderland is over, what are you going to do?" Before, Helen had compared herself to the timid Alice in the Johnny Depp movie, facing her fears and transforming herself into the right Alice, a woman ready to face the risks and challenges of exploring a new world. After my adventures at Fantasia Fair, I was the Alice from the Disney movie, going from a mad world full of colorful characters and new experiences to the drab reality that was responsible for her daydream. For a moment, I had an impulse to turn around and go back, except that Wonderland was gone and wouldn't return for another year.

"I don't know."

"What if we have a party?"

"Who would we invite?"

"Everyone."

"Literally, a coming out party."

"Yes, exactly."

"I suppose so. Do we send out invitations? What would they say?" Helen started to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking of a card. It would have a picture of a man on the front and would say, 'It takes balls to be a woman." and you'd open it up, there would be a picture of the same person as a woman and it would say, 'Or not.'" She gave me a playful nudge. "I could go to work for Hallmark with a whole new line of transgender cards."

"How about something a little more subtle. A picture of you and me on the front, so that everyone would see that we were together, and on the inside it would say, 'Grace and Helen invite you to their home from six to nine p.m. on whatever date.' I don't think we should ask people to rsvp. They shouldn't have to make a commitment."

"Do you think that they'll know who Grace is? There's a resemblance, but you being transgendered is not an obvious explanation. Wouldn't they be likely to think that I've become a lesbian and Grace is my girlfriend?"

"We could be more direct: 'Please come and celebrate George's transition to Grace?' How about that?"

"I'm not sure that 'celebrate' is the right word and I'm not sure that people will know what 'transition' means. What about, 'George has become Grace. Please come and meet her.' Simple and unmistakable."

"We've had this conversation. I haven't become grace. I am Grace."

"We have, but they haven't. As far as they're concerned, you're George, a man who has chosen to wear women's clothes, pretend to be a woman and calls himself Grace. Not Grace, a woman who, by a mistake of nature, was born male and is taking hormones and going to have surgery to correct her anatomy. It seems to me that now is the time to introduce yourself in the least contentious way, not educate people as to the nuances of you being transgendered."

"Yes, you're right."

"We could probably get the invitations done at one of those quick print places in a week. I'm wondering how much notice we should give people? Probably not too much time to think and gossip. It should take a few days for them to get the invitation in the mail. How about two weeks from today? It's not a party. We don't need refreshments. People are probably going to be uncomfortable, so just meet, greet and go."

"Okay."

"What are you going to do until then?"

"Well, I can go to work tomorrow. I'll tell Claire that I am taking the following week off for family business. True enough. We can go shopping. I have causal and dressy outfits, but nothing for the professional woman to wear. Maybe call Alice to see if she can fit in a few more electrolysis appointments and I need my eyebrows and nails done. I want to look my best for the party and my return to work."

"Sounds like a plan, except that I am going to be upset if you're prettier than me."

"It will take a lot more than superfluous hair removal, waxing and a manicure," I reassured her.

Once we got home, we unpacked and moved my men's clothes to the guest room, the first stop on their migration to Good Will. I got out my camera and we did some auto-timed shots of us as a couple. The ones standing up looked too much like 'American Gothic.' The ones seated on the couch with our hands in our lap looked like one of those 19th century poses. Then Helen remembered we had a lot of photos from Ptown. Going through them, we found one we liked with her seated on a high stool, me standing with my arm around her shoulder and the harbor in the background.

On Monday, I went through the same routine I did every weekday morning since I started working, a shave, white cotton briefs and undershirt, black socks, white dress shirt, dark suit and tie. The drudgery was relieved by knowing that next week I began living my life as a woman. I went downstairs and had a cup of coffee. I didn't feel like eating. Helen understood. We left together. She had checked online and Walgreens could do photo cards with same day pickup at the Greendale Avenue store. They were only a dollar each for up to 60. Always Ms. Efficiency, she had made a list and thought twelve for friends and neighbors, six for my office, two for my primary care doctor and our dentist, who she doubted would come, but at least would be prepared for my next visit, I never would have thought to include them, six to send to out of state friends and relatives, two for Susan and Denise and a few extra, in case we added to the list. Forty total and we could keep what were left for our scrapbook.

"Grace has a scrapbook?"

"We have all of the photos and materials from the fair. Don't you want to preserve them for posterity?"

"I do, but I doubt posterity does."

When I got home after work, she showed me a stack of very nice cards. They had our picture in a frame on the left and the wording we had decided to use on the right, silver print surrounded by a thin silver line and scrolled brackets, very tasteful, on a black background, with the date and time. She said that the woman was fine with the photo, but confused by the text. Rather than explain about me being transgendered, she told her that it was for a costume party where the men would come as women and vice-versa. The funny thing, funny amusing, was that she had no problem with the cards when she thought it was make-believe.

On Wednesday we had our appointment with Dr. Rosen. We thanked her for recommending Fantasia Fair and showed her some of our pictures. She was pleased that we had such a good experience and complimented us on our creative idea of using a house party to introduce Grace. She'd have to remember that for the future. We discussed my beginning HRT. She agreed that I was ready and wrote a prescription.

"Be careful when you start it," she warned me. "Your body isn't used to the hormones and it takes a few cycles to get the levels regulated. Everyone reacts differently and you may experience symptoms similar to having a period, bloating, mood swings, muscle aches and cramps. Tender breasts too. They're transitory, but you should consider waiting to start until after the party, if you want to be at your best."

"Like I told you, being a woman is nonstop fun." Helen gloated. Turning to Dr. Rosen, she asked, as though ordering a la carte from a menu of female complaints, "Can she have nausea and vomiting too?"

Putting away her professional demeanor, Dr. Rosen quipped, "Not unless you can figure out how to get her pregnant. If you do, let me know. I want to write a paper."

"We could try." Helen raised her eyebrows suggestively. I guessed that she was thinking about her acquisition in Provincetown. I shook my head at her request for my participation in the unsuccessful advancement of medical science.

Saturday we sent out the cards. Helen had gone to the post office and asked the clerk whether she had any transgender stamps. Apparently the United States Postal Service had not worked its way down to the T of LGB. After a lot of consultation and consternation, the best they could come up with was a Harvey Milk stamp with a little rainbow stripe in the corner. Looking through the catalog what was available, Helen was excited to find one with a butterfly. She thought that it was perfect to have Absalom delivering our invitation.

The next week I was home. We went shopping for my office attire. I picked out two dresses, two straight skits, charcoal gray and mauve, knee length, a black blazer, and two skirt suits, dark blue and brown, assorted blouses and shells, two more bras, an assortment of panties, a woman can never have enough underwear, pantyhose and opaques, and comfortable mid-heel pumps in black and dark brown. Dr. Rosen felt that I had made enough progress that I could cut back my sessions to every other week, which meant my next appointment would be conveniently after the party and I had started HRT.

The invitations must have arrived on Monday morning, because our phone started ringing at about ten o'clock and continued through the day. We anticipated the confirmatory calls and changed the message on the answering machine. "Hello. You've reached the home of Helen," her voice, "and Grace," my voice. In unison, "We are looking forward to seeing you on Sunday evening, seven to nine."

On Friday I went through my wardrobe and decided I didn't have anything to wear for the party. I wanted understated elegance and what I had either was too casual, too dressy or too conservative. I complained to Helen. "A closet full of clothes and nothing to wear. Welcome to the club. You need an LBD," was her solution.

"What's that?"

"You still have a lot to learn. LBD is girlspeak for little black dress. It's the go to dress in a woman's wardrobe, good for any occasion. The good news is that the department stores always have a good selection. You're okay with personal attention now?"

"Yes, if it will get me an LBD ASAP," I offered wittily.

"Well then, we should get going PDQ," she countered, always having the last word or letters.

It was interesting that, even with the disclosure that I was transgendered, the response to a man shopping for a dress was generational. We went to three stores. At the one with an older saleswoman, her disapproval was obvious. We left. At the other two, the younger saleswomen were helpful. One of them even let me try on dresses after checking that the dressing rooms were empty and asking me if I minded staying in the room and waiting to come out in my own clothes, if there was another customer. I agreed and Helen offered to be the lookout. We ended up buying a dress from her. I wasn't sure, because it was sleeveless, but Helen convinced me, with the concurrence of the saleswoman, who pointed out a variety of LBD's with short skirts, plunging necklines open backs, or what she called 'peek-a-boo' features, that bare arms was a very modest concession to style.

Saturday night I couldn't sleep, wondering if tomorrow was going to be a success or failure. My heart hoped for the former, my head expected the latter and the rest of me was occupied with preventing dinner from escaping in one form or another. I finally got up at six o'clock. Helen rolled over and went back to sleep. There wasn't anything to do, so I went downstairs, puttered around the kitchen, made coffee and waited for the Sunday paper to be delivered.

Helen came down at seven thirty. She saw my state and tried to calm me. "I have an idea. Let's go to church."

"Church? We haven't been to church in years."

"I know. Maybe it's time."

Maybe it was. I needed all the help I could get. That got me to thinking. Would I get help? What was God's position on being transgendered? He created men and women. Would He be upset that we were messing around with his handiwork? Would he care? He had to have better things to do than worry about gender reassignment. That got me to thinking, what if Jesus was transgendered. How would God feel about his son being a woman? He had the power to change him to her, but would He? If Jesus was a man and men had free will, why should He interfere? My conclusion was that it would have been a lot simpler if God had left Adam's ribs alone.

"Grace, what's going on? You're in another world."

"I was wondering if God loved me the way I am?"

"Why wouldn't She?" Helen asked provocatively.

"I never thought of it like that. Does our church have a woman priest?" We stayed home.

After breakfast, I went upstairs and laid out my clothes. The dress had a fitted top and slightly flared skirt. I decided to wear the high waist panty girdle with the padded hips and butt. A girl needs all of the enhancement she can get. I took out a black bra and nude control top pantyhose. The more compression the better for bulge control, even tucked under. Considering the struggle for access, I reminded myself to pee before getting dressed and not to drink. For shoes, a pair of black leather pumps with an ankle strap and mid heel. Helen gave me a string of pearls, matching pearl earrings and a black enamel bangle bracelet. I stood back and admired my ensemble. If appearance counted for anything, I was all set.

I wanted to wait to shower and shave until it was time to get dressed. If ever there was a need for the power of 'Secret' deodorant, it was tonight and I didn't want to waste it by premature application. I got the newspaper and started on the crossword puzzle in the magazine. That killed an hour. I went back upstairs and looked at my clothes again. They were the same as when I looked at them an hour ago. Helen suggested I take a nap, which wasn't a bad idea actually, since I didn't sleep last night. I turned on the TV to a Sunday news of the week panel analysis, guaranteed to produce somnolence, and lay down on the couch. I woke up three hours later.

I couldn't wait any longer. I turned on the shower, got my razor and shaving gel and carefully did my legs and underarms. When I was satisfied, I went over my arms, since the dress was sleeveless. I knew that shaving wasn't the best method of hair removal, but we didn't have Nair, there wasn't enough of Helen's Jolen and, lacking foresight, our bathroom was not equipped with a laser. I got out, put on a terry robe and finished shaving, going over my face twice. I waited twenty minutes to dry off and started applying my makeup. By now, I was proficient with the basics and had been practicing with eye makeup. Nothing exotic, just mascara, eyeliner and a neutral champagne powder for my lids. I put on my underwear, slipped on my dress and stepped into my shoes. I was able to reach behind me and get the zipper half way up, but I wasn't flexible enough to reach the final foot or dexterous enough to fasten the hook and eye. I needed Helen to help with my wig anyway. With my jewelry on and her final inspection completed, I was ready.

I cautiously went downstairs, holding onto the railing. Better safe than to postpone the party with a trip to the ER. I went into the living room and waited. I heard the front door open and voices. I wondered who would be so inconsiderate as to show up early. Giving in to my insecurity, I imagined it was someone who wanted a private opportunity to have at me. "Grace," Helen called, "there's people here to see you." I took a deep breath and went to the front hall. Our children were standing there. The look on their faces at seeing me and on my face at seeing them would have made a priceless Kodak moment.

"I told them that you've been there for them since they were born. Rain, snow, heat, cold, games, recitals, visitation, graduation, moving in, moving out," she recited the litany, "now it was time for them to be here for you," Helen explained. She looked at me with a big smile and gestured toward them, "and here they are."

Marissa hurried over and stopped an arm's length away."Daddy?"

"I'll always be your daddy."

"It's okay. Daddy, mommy, it doesn't matter. Actually, a girl can't have too many mothers." Realizing she might have offended Helen, she looked over to her and added,"because the one I have is so wonderful." Turning back to me, "I love you." She hugged me and kissed me. "Oh, I've got lipstick on you." She reached up to rub it off. "I'm sorry. I've smudged your makeup." A funny look came over her face. "That's something I never thought I'd say to you." We all started laughing. Marissa looked for Frank and realized that her brother was still standing on the other side of the room. "Excuse me. Frank's a jerk. Is, was, always will be, despite my best efforts." She walked over to him and took his arm, escorting him over to me. "Say something, jerk," she affectionately ordered him.

"Hi, um. . . He put out his hand. I took it gently and released it.

"That's it? Hi and a handshake?"

"How?"

"How? Really, Frankie? How? For crying out loud, we're not having a powwow. Tell her she looks nice. A compliment. Something that has more than one syllable. A hug. She doesn't have cooties. I did my best to teach him the social amenities" she feigned an apology, "but an artist is only as good as her materials and there's not much she can do with silly putty."

"Ease up on Frank, please, Marissa. I doubt you would have covered this situation and it's a fair question. The answer is that you're born transgendered. You know it by the time you become aware of the difference between boys and girls." I could see a concerned look on Frank's face. "It's not hereditary," I reassured him, "at least not in the sense that it predictably runs in families, so, if growing up you didn't have a desire to dress up in Marissa's clothes, you don't have to worry."

"So that's where my panties and bras went," Marissa teased him.

"Marissa, that's not true and you know it," Frank protested."Actually, she's the one. She borrowed my shorts and undershirts," he accused his sister. "I couldn't keep her out of my room."

"That's different. I'm a girl. And they were beach cover-ups."

"In the winter?"

"Boxers and big t-shirts are comfortable to sleep in," she defended herself.

"Enough you two. Stop your bickering," Helen scolded them. "Some things never change," she said with a sigh, then looked over to me, "and some things do." She smiled. "You two, this is Grace's night. Speaking of which, our guests should be arriving soon. Marissa and Frank, I think you should be at the door with me, so that they'll see we're a family, so behave yourselves."

Helen and the children went off. While I was waiting, I tried to anticipate what people would say and how to respond. I guessed it would depend on how much or, more likely, how little they knew about being transgendered and how well or, more likely, how poorly they dealt with it. The best I could come up with was Popeye's alliteration, "I yam, whats I yam, whats I yam." As apt as it might be, reciting the philosophy of a cartoon character probably was not a good response. I'd just have to improvise.

After about twenty minutes of trepidation, the doorbell rang. I heard voices, but couldn't make out who they belonged to. Bill and Donna came in. It made sense that our next door neighbors would be the first to arrive. They stopped and stared. Donna came over. Bill hung back.

"George?"

"Grace."
"I don't understand. All these years you were a man? What happened?" Donna questioned me.

In fact, Popeye's syllogism might actually be helpful. "I don't understand either. It's just the way I am and always have been."

"You fooled me."

"I fooled everyone. It was difficult, but necessary." Redirecting the conversation, I thanked them for coming. "You and Bill have always been such good friends. I hope this won't change that." She looked over to bill who was hanging back. "Bill?"

Donna realized she was by herself. "Bill, come here! Say something."

Actually, knowing Bill, it was probably better that he didn't speak. Given the usual topic of his backyard conversation, he'd probably say something like, "nice tits."

"Bill says that of course we're still you're friends," Donna spoke for him.

"Good, because I need to borrow his hedge trimmers. The bushes are going wild and I haven't had time to trim them with everything that's been going on."

"You're still going to do the yard?" Bill asked.

"Fortunately, gardening is gender neutral. If you're lucky, I'll wear my short shorts and halter top," I teased him, a mistake I realized too late. Bill looked like a deer in the headlights at the suggestion of his being turned on by a sexy tranny neighbor.

"Well, good luck. C'mon Bill." About halfway across the room, I heard him mutter, "fuck'n pansy." Donna glanced nervously over her shoulder. I smiled at her. She took him by the arm and hurried out. I made a mental note to buy a hedge trimmer.

By the time that our conversation ended, a few more people had come into the room. Most were obviously uncomfortable, but polite. A few were supportive. Thankfully, none were critical, at least to my face. I didn't see anyone from my office. That worried me. Towards the end of the evening, Andre and Eric, two of my partners, walked in. By now, my feet were tired and I was sitting down with my legs demurely crossed. The came over and I stood up, smoothing and straightening my skirt.

"George, what is going on?" Eric asked excitedly. Not the good excitedly. The 'what the hell were you thinking' excitedly. "When did all this," he moved his arm up and down in front of me, "happen? Are you serious?"

After two hours of answering questions, I had gained confidence in replying. "I'm transgendered to answer your first question. I've always been this way, to answer you second question. And yes, to answer your third question. It's nice to see you both, too." I added politely.

"What's going to happen to the firm?" Andre got to the point of their attendance.

"Nothing. I've moved most of my clients to you and the other partners. As far as those clients know, I'm getting ready to retire. I have a few clients with whom I've had a professional relationship long enough that I would like to continue with them, if they want me. Hopefully, it's my ability and not my gender that's important to them. If not, I will assure them that there are other well qualified partners who can handle their account. It is my firm. My name is the first on the door and I intend to keep it there. You can rest assured that I won't do anything to hurt our practice. Or your income, if that's your concern," which it obviously was. I could have two heads and paint myself green, as long as their paychecks and profit sharing weren't effected. I could see their look of relief."

"Okay, well, um, I guess, that's all we needed to know. Um, when will you be back," Andre's implication being that never was too soon."

"On Monday."

"Will you be . . ?"

"In a dress. Yes," I interrupted Eric. "Actually a skirt and jacket. Gray, with a pink blouse. Thank you for asking." They turned and left.

Looking up, I noticed Claire discretely waiting. I motioned for her to come over. "How are you?"

"I'm good. How are you?" she asked with genuine concern. She always was protective of me. Nobody and nothing got to me without her approval.

"I'm doing well, thank you."

"A facial at the spa and men's skin care products. Hah! My Aunt Fanny's cat. I knew something was going on." She looked around. "I've got a secret too. There's something I've always wanted to do, but couldn't before," she whispered. She was short, just a little over five feet. I bent down to hear her. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek. "Am I fired?"

"Not unless you want to be. Do you?"

"No."

"Good, then you're not. I'm going to need you more than ever."

"I'll tell you another secret." I bent down. She kissed me on the cheek again.

"Now?"

"No."

"Good. I'm really going to like working for a lady boss."

"I'll see you on Monday."

After the last guest left, I spent another hour with the children. They both needed to get back and had flights out Monday morning, so they booked a room for tonight at the airport hotel. I offered to drive them back, but that would have meant me having to change to match my license. They would share a cab. We talked about what we should do about Frank's wife and children. She knew why he had come. When and how to tell their children was a difficult decision. We agreed that for now it would be too confusing. Helen and I would talk to Dr. Rosen and see what she suggested. The cab honked. We hugged goodbye, even Frank.

"What a wonderful night," I said with a satisfied sigh. I kicked off my shoes and massaged my feet. Helen did the same. "I know, the joys of womanhood. It was worth it."

Monday morning I got ready for work. I fussed with my clothes, makeup and hair. "Really, Grace, you're going to the office, not on a date. You look fine. Let's go." Helen was going to drive me until the DMV processed my gender designation change form and issued me a new license.

I arrived at the building, took the elevator to the tenth floor, and stopped in front of the office door. I took out my free Sephora lipstick case and used the mirror to put on more lipstick. I walked in. The receptionist looked up and greeted me, replacing the Mr. with Ms. So far so good. I walked through the office to a chorus of good mornings.

Claire was at her desk. She got up and opened my office door for me, a courtesy she had never before shown. I thanked her and walked in. On my desk was a huge glass vase filled with more roses than I could count.

"They're beautiful. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Everybody in the office chipped in." I wasn't sure if it was an expression of unanimous approval or fear of Claire's wrath for abstaining, probably more the latter than the former, but it didn't matter.

"Can we move them, so I can get to work?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

That afternoon, Helen picked me up. "How'd it go?" she asked anxiously.

"Alice is home and she's very happy. The only thing we need for a perfect ending to our adventures in Wonderland is a Cheshire cat."