Chapter 1.

And if you go chasing rabbits and you know you're going to fall
Tell 'em a hookah-smoking caterpillar has given you the call
Call Alice when she was just small.

– Grace Slick, White Rabbit

I woke up early, put on my white panties and matching bra, pulled on pantyhose, tucked in my breast forms, jiggled them into place, shaved and did my makeup. My clothes were still in the guest room. Standing in front of the closet, I couldn't decide. "Helen, I wore a skirt suit yesterday. Should I wear a dress today? "

"Does it make a difference? " she called back from the bedroom.

"No, but I want to look good."

"Why would a dress make you look better than a skirt and jacket?"

"I don't know. Before, it didn't matter. A different suit, the same suit with a different shirt or tie. Nobody pays attention to what men wear. Dressing as a woman is different. We're judged on our appearance."

"Really? You've been a woman for two weeks. When did you become an authority?"

"I've been a woman all my life. I've been dressing as a woman for two weeks. And you're the one who said that you can't wear the same dress to functions twice in a row."

"Social events, yes. Work, no. At the time, it didn't seem necessary to qualify."

"So it's okay if I wear a suit again?"

"Yes."

"So I shouldn't wear a dress?"

"Are you asking for my permission or my advice?"

"Advice."

"Go as you are."

"That's not helpful."

Helen came in and looked at me sympathetically. "I'm sorry. I've become so accustomed to Grace that I forget she's new to being a woman." She laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking. It's like dressing Marissa when she was a little girl. Picking out her clothes. She was so fussy about what she wore," she reminisced and smiled. "Just like her fa . . . ," she caught herself, "like you." She started going through the clothes. "You have lots of nice things. They're all pretty. Why don't you wear a dress today. This is nice." She held out a blue printed Anne Klein sheath. "We bought a scarf to go with it." She looked in the dresser. "Here."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." She looked at her watch. "We should get going. Finish getting dressed and I'll start breakfast." She turned and started to leave, then turned back. "Slip into the dress and I'll zip you up."

After breakfast, we took our pocketbooks and got in the car. I still didn't have my new license. We rode in silence for about ten minutes. While we were stopped at a light, Helen turned to me. "We have to talk."

"What about?"

"Us."

Strange how things have a habit of coming full circle. It was what I said to Helen when I came out to her and now it was my turn to ask, "You want a divorce?"

"No, I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you. But where is here? We're not husband and wife anymore. So what are we? I don't want a same sex relationship, but I have one. So technically, I am, at least by your gender now and anatomy later, married to a woman. If that doesn't make me a lesbian and were not each other's wife, then what am I? Your girlfriend? Companion? Roommate? Fashion consultant? Chauffeur?"

"I thought that you're my significant other."

"As the old song goes," I rolled my eyes at another musical metaphor, which didn't discourage Helen, "love will keep us together." The question remains, together as what, besides lovers, such as that it is or will be?"

"Can't we just be ourselves?"

"Yes, but that's the problem, not the answer. If we were our old selves, you'd be George in a dress and I'd still be his," she emphasized his, "wife. But you're not and I'm not. So who are we now? When you come home tonight, are you still the man of the house and do I still do the cooking and cleaning? Not that I mind things being the way they were, but are they? Should they be? Can they be?" She pulled over to the curb and stopped the car. "Speaking of being here for you, we're here." Helen leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "It's okay," she reassured me. "Go ahead. You've got enough to deal with at work. We can continue this conversation tonight."

I opened the car door, put my knees together, swivelled in my seat, stood up, adjusted my dress and went into the building. I was greeted with polite 'good mornings' as I walked to my office. Claire was at her desk. She stood up when she saw me and opened the door, following me in. I noticed a pile of file folders on my desk. I turned to aks her the reason, but she anticipated my question.

"Those are the clients who you wanted to keep. I though you would like to contact them. I can put them back otherwise."

"Is that all I have on my calendar for today?"

"That's all you have on your calendar. Most of the work that was left you cleaned up before you went on," she grinned, "your vacation."

"Thank you."

"Your welcome. Would you like coffee?"

I nodded. She left and closed the door behind her. I picked up the first file. It was Tito and Tony Demarco. Tony was a classmate in high school. He and his older brother had started with one truck. The called themselves T & T Trucking, claiming, 'dynamite service,' with literary license replacing chemistry as to the difference between explosives. They had a fleet now and I had been doing their accounting since I became a CPA. I picked up the phone. Claire knocked and brought in my coffee as I was dialing. She looked to see if I wanted her for anything. I shook my head.

The receptionist asked who was calling. Crap, I hadn't thought about how I would introduce myself. Tito had retired a few years ago. If I told her it was Grace calling for Tony, he would have no idea who I was. "Hello, who's calling please?" she repeated into the silent phone

"It's Mr. Demarco's accountant calling." Equivocal, but true.

She put me on hold. A minute of elevator music and Tony picked up."

There was no option. "Tony, hi, it's George."

"George? It doesn't sound like you."

"My voice sounds different because I'm a woman. Grace is my new name."

Tony started laughing. "You got me, George. You do sound like a woman. Good joke."

"It's not a joke."

"Seriously, George? We showered in gym class. I may not know my ass from my elbow, but I know a cock from a pussy."

"That part of me hasn't changed yet."

"Yet? Oh, for crying out loud George, enough. You're not a woman. So what's this about?"

"I'm transgendered Tony."

"Jesus, you're gay. No, you can't be. I mean, shit, you and I, we used to, ... . Christ, when did this happen?"

"No, I'm not gay. Helen and I are still together. I'm living as a woman."

"You're living as a woman with a woman? That's fucked up, George."

If I couldn't get Tony to understand, it was hopeless trying to introduce Grace to my other clients. I sighed. I might as well just get it over with. "I just wanted you to know, Tony. I'd like to continue working with you, but we have other highly qualified accountants, if you ... ."

"Yeah, okay," he interrupted me, "well, you know, I, ... . Listen, I have to take another call. I'll let you know." He hung up.

Claire must have seen that I was off of my phone. The intercom beeped. "Is everything okay," she asked optimistically.

"Not really, " I confided.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Not unless you have a magic wand and can change people's attitude towards having a transgendered accountant."

"Sorry, I left it in my other purse. More coffee? I think there are still some donuts left in the kitchen."

"It's going to take more than a hot beverage and sweets."

"What about, coffee, a donut and a letter?"

"What letter do you intend to put on my donut?"

She laughed. "Not on you're donut, to your clients. Something like the invitation to your party. Upbeat and positive. Give them a chance to get used to the idea before you talk to them."

"Brilliant. I'm glad I didn't fire you."

"Does that mean I get to kiss you again?"

"Yes."

"I have lots of other good ideas."

"One's enough for now."

"One idea or one kiss?"

"Claire!"

"Just trying to cheer you up."

"I'm as cheered as I can be without coffee and a donut. I also need to use the ladies room."

"I'll take care of the first. You're going to have to take care of the second." I started to walk away. "Aren't your forgetting something?"

"Your kiss?"

"Well, that too. Your pocketbook, if you want to freshen up."

"Thanks. If it isn't obvious, I'm new at this."

"It's obvious. You were heading towards the men's room. The lady's is on the other side of reception. That way," she pointed and started laughing.

"My confusion is amusing?"

"No," she continued to laugh and finally stopped herself. "I was picturing the guys peeing on themselves when you walked in." Actually, it was pretty funny.

I walked to the lady's room and opened the door. There were two women I recognized as secretaries standing at the sinks putting on makeup. Another was just coming out of a stall with her skirt up, adjusting her pantyhose. The two at the sink smiled nervously while they packed up their cosmetics. The other woman was preoccupied and started to say something, then looked up to see me. She looked for her friends, who were gone, made a small exclamation, straightened out her skirt, turned around to get her pocketbook, which was still hanging on the door of the toilet, grabbed it and left. I disengaged my underwear, sat down to pee, washed, put on some lipstick, fixed my hair and returned to my office.

Once I was back at my desk, Claire came in. "Shall we get started on that letter?"

"Thanks, but I need to think about it, first. The invitation to our house was informal: 'Yes, the woman in the picture is me. I'm Grace now. Come meet me.' I agree that a letter is a better form of introduction, but it has to be more professional."

Claire left and I started to work. 'Dear Client,' definitely a good start, 'I wanted to tell you.' No, delete. 'I wanted you to know,' better, 'that I have,' what have I done? The invitation said become a woman, in deference to simplicity. Delete. 'I wanted you to know that after many years of living as a man, I am now Grace, the woman who, whom,' look it up, 'I should have been born.' Accurate, but TMI? Do they care? Delete. 'I have transitioned into a woman,' simple, direct, 'and as Grace,' good introduction, I would like to remain your accountant.' No, don't ask, pretty please, may I? Tell them. Delete. 'I will continue to provide you with the same skill and experience.' No, not you. Delete. 'I will continue to provide your company,' no, delete, account, 'your account with the same skill and experience.' Yes! I sent the letter to Claire to address and print. She popped in the door with a 'perfect' hand sign.

I sat back and congratulated myself. There wasn't much more for me to do. The intercom beeped. "Margaret is here to see you." I told Claire to send her in. Margaret was our office administrator and also she did our HR. She was an older woman, in her fifties, short and pudgy with graying hair, which made her something of a mother figure for the support staff. They felt that they could confide in her, which was good for office morale. She came in and we exchanged greetings. It was the first time she had seen me since I returned. I looked to see any reaction, but either there was none or she was good at hiding her feelings. Given her position, probably the latter. I motioned for her to sit. She wanted to stand.

"You used the lady's room this afternoon," she got right to the point.

"Yes."

"It made some of the secretaries uncomfortable."

"Not going would have made me uncomfortable," I challenged her.

"Please, George." She gave me an apologetic look and sighed. "Grace," she corrected herself. "I'm only doing my job. You're the managing partner and, as the HR director, I am reporting to you that some of the female employees complained. Once a complaint is made, state and federal law require that we respond or we could be sued. Allowing a man to use the lady's room could be creating a hostile work environment. I'm not trying to be contentious, just cautious."

"I'm sorry, Margaret. I know you're just doing your job." I stood up and turned around. "I am a woman. Problem solved."

"By appearance and perhaps legally, yes, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder. To the other women in the office you're still George in a dress."

"What do you mean by perhaps?"

"I spoke to our lawyers about LGBT rights. To qualify as transgendered, you have to have a doctor's certification. Once you do, you have to be allowed to use the gender appropriate bathroom. Since you haven't given me one, you can't. No offense."

"None taken. I can get one tomorrow. Problem solved."

"Legally yes, practically, no. It's like telling a kid that spinach is good for them. Even if it's true, it doesn't make them feel any better about being forced to eat it."

"Okay, Margaret, then what do you suggest?"

"As the HR director talking to the managing partner who makes the decisions about office policy, I suggest that we comply with the law. I talked to my some of the other office administrators. We have an association. They suggested offering the employee, I didn't tell them who it was, use of a handicapped bathroom, which is unisex."

"Do we have one?"

"No. Each of the bathrooms is handicapped accessible, so we don't need one. I checked with building management to see if there might be one on another floor. There isn't. On the single tenant floors, the elevators open into the reception area and the bathrooms are in the tenant space. On the multi-tenant floors, the bathrooms are in the elevator lobby and have key codes for access."

"What about designated times."

"Legally, we can't have disparate treatment by gender. Practically, nature can't wait, which means the women would have to go to another floor. Or you could. The floor below ours is multi-tenant and here's a card with the code. Do you want me to send out a memo about LGBT rights?"

"No. Office morale is more important than political correctness, at least when the person making the decision is the only person affected by it."

"Thank you." She started to leave and then stopped and turned around. "One more question."

"Okay."

"Nylon or cotton?"

"What?" It took me a moment to realize that she was talking 'girl talk.' I could see why she was good at making our office staff comfortable about personal, as well as personnel, matters. Oh," I laughed, "definitely nylon."

She smiled. "Me too."

"And to answer your other question, which you were too polite to ask, silicone for now."

She laughed again and jostled her breasts. "Too much of a good thing and gravity is not my friend any more." Very good at her job, I complimented her to myself.

After she left, Claire came in with a worried look. "Is everything okay?"

"The other secretaries don't like me using the lady's room."

"Easily fixed." She turned to leave.

"No, please don't. We've already worked it out. I don't want to be the cause of contention in the office my first week back. For now, I'll use the public lady's room on the floor below. Margaret, gave me the code. Hopefully, with time, I can gain acceptance. It's not that I can't use ours, as long as it is official with a note from my doctor, but I decided I wouldn't, for now."

"They really don't want you in there? She said that?"

"She said that they were, in her word, 'uncomfortable.'It's probably as much my being the managing partner as it is my being transgendered."

"As far as I know, the other women partners don't pee in a pot."

"Let it go, please."

"Yes. Ma'am." She left and closed the door.

At about three thirty, Claire came in carrying a stack of papers.

"The letters are ready for you to proof and sign." I read the first one and picked up my pen. I thought for minute and put it down. "Is it okay?"

"Yes, it's fine, but I'm having second thoughts. Maybe it's not such a good idea to send them all out at once. That's a lot of calls from good clients with questions which I'm not ready to answer."

"What if you send out just one as a test. Start with Vicki French. She's another of your old clients," Claire suggested, giving our gender more credit for acceptance of diversity.

"If our own female office staff isn't able to accept me, I'm not sure she would be either. Let me think about it." I put my pen down.

For lack of anything better to do, I went over the office accounting. I was pleased to see that the firm was doing well financially, even with me being out for over a month. I asked Helen to pick me up at four to avoid the worst of the evening rush hour traffic. I tidied up my desk, logged out of my computer, got my pocketbook and walked out. "I'm going to stop at the lady's room. Might as well make sure the code works. Got my pocketbook," I confirmed, "and then I'm meeting Helen. Goodnight and thanks."

"Goodnight and you're welcome. If the code doesn't work, come back up. I'll stand guard."

"Maybe you should get one of those pots that the women partners use, just in case," I teased her.

There was no problem. I waited in the lobby for Helen. She pulled up at about ten of four. I went out and got in. "Hi."

"Hi, back at you. Did you have a good day?"

"Not really. Tony, you remember, he's been my client from the beginning, I tried talking to him, explaining about my transitioning. He hung up on me. And then Margaret, the office administrator, she told me the women, the women staff anyway, she didn't specifically say the women partners, were uncomfortable with me using the lady's room. Two rejections in one day."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too. I think Tony will come around. I told him that we had other partners to handle his account. And I'm using the public lady's room on the floor below for now. I need a note from Dr. Rosen to officially use the one in our office anyway, so its okay. How was your day?"

"Nowhere near as stressful as yours."

We rode in silence until we were almost home. "Helen, about this morning . . . ."

"It's okay," she interrupted me, "you've got enough going on at work for now. It can wait."

"You know, I don't mind doing the housework, cooking, cleaning. I'm quite good at laundry now."

"I said it can wait."

"I don't know what else I can do to make you happy."

"You're not going to let it go."

"I can't."

"Honey, Grace, I don't need a maid or a cook or a wife. What I want is . . . ."

"I know what you want, a husband. I'm sorry."

"I didn't say that."

"You were going to."

"No, I wasn't. That ship has sailed. What I want to know is the course of the one were on."

"Based on today, we're headed for the rocks."

"Well, maybe the Captain should consult the navigator before we hit them."

"You're the navigator?"

"No, I'm the first mate." She laughed.

"So, who's the navigator?"

"Dr. Rosen. She pointed us in the right direction for Provincetown and the fair."

"I'll call her tomorrow. Do you want to come?"

"I think this is something you and she need to work out."

Our discussion ended as we pulled into the garage. In the house, Helen started preparing dinner. I offered to help. "Okay, but you should take off that dress. They're expensive to dry clean."

I went upstairs. I picked out a jean skirt, one of my first purchases shopping for myself, and paired it with a pink cotton pullover. I debated taking off my bra, but I liked the way I looked and it made me feel more feminine.

The next morning at breakfast, Helen handed me an envelope. "I forgot to tell you, this came from the DMV." It was the confirmation that my gender had been changed in their database and I could get a new license. That meant Helen didn't need to drive me to work.

My first time driving as a woman was exciting. I loved the feeling of working the pedals in heels, the pantyhose on my legs brushing against my skirt as I went from the gas to the brake, and looking at my nail polished fingers on the steering wheel. As I drove along, I smiled at the other women in their cars. It was great to be sharing the road with my sisters, although, based on the reaction in my office, I doubted that they would feel the same way, if they knew. That got me to wondering what more it would take for me to be accepted in the sorority?

Chapter 2.

When the men on the chessboard get up and tell you where to go
And you've just had some kind of mushroom and your mind is moving low
Go ask Alice, I think she'll know.

– Grace Slick, White Rabbit

When I got to my office, I saw that Claire was upset. Before I could ask her what was wrong, she stood up. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it. I should have told him to go screw himself."

I had never heard Claire talk like that in the ten years that she had been my secretary. "Calm down, please." She took a deep breath. "Now, what is it that you shouldn't have done to whoever it is that should screw himself?"

"He, Bob," meaning one of my partners, "asked me if you had contacted any of the other clients. I though it was, you know, nothing important, just a question about what you were doing and I wanted him to know you were working on your accounts, so I told him about the letters. He, he insisted I give them to him. I wasn't going to, but then I remembered I had them stored on my computer, so it didn't matter anyway. I could reprint them."

Bob had no right to talk to my secretary like that and no right to demand that she give him my work. If there was a problem, he should have brought it to me as the managing partner. "I will have a word with Bob. In fact, more than a word."

"That too."

"What too?"

"He wants to talk to you. He said I should tell you that there's a partners' meeting as soon as you got in. They're waiting for you in the conference room."

Now I was furious. I was the one who scheduled meetings, not him, and we had them in the evening, after work, when the staff was gone, so as not to interrupt the work day and for privacy. Claire had said he wanted to know if I had contacted other clients. The only client I had spoken to was Tony and the only way Bob would know is if Tony told him. From Bob confiscating the letters, obviously it was cause for concern. Well, if that was the only problem, I could hold off informing my other clients. I had decided to do it one client at a time anyway.

Bob and the rest of the partners could damn well wait. I went into my office, took out my compact, touched up my lipstick, applied some powder and ran a brush through my hair. I made a mental note to ask Margaret to get me a mirror for my wall. I called Claire and asked her if I had any calls. There weren't any. I wondered if Bob had the audacity to tell the receptionist not to put them through to me.

The conference room was on the other side of the office. When I arrived, the door was closed and the drapes were drawn across the glass window. Inside, all of the partners were seated. At least they had the courtesy to leave me my seat at the head of the table. I walked in, made a show of smoothing my dress under me and seated myself. I looked around the table, but no one would give me any eye contact. They were obviously nervous, fidgeting with their pens or studying their notepads. I sat demurely with my hands folded on the table displaying my manicured nails, waiting for one of them to explain the purpose of the meeting. After about two minutes of awkward silence, Bob spoke.

"George, we have a problem." He paused, waiting for me to respond. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction, particularly since he addressed me as George. When he finally realized there was not going to be a dialog, he continued. "Tony Demarco, the head of T&T Trucking," like I wouldn't know who he was, "called. Being Italian and in the trucking business, I can't repeat what he said in mixed company, but he was very upset about you claiming to be a woman and what's going on with our firm. To put it bluntly, although not as colorful, he doesn't want to work with a bunch of queers. I tried to explain that we didn't know that you were gay or approve of it, but he wouldn't listen. This is serious. We have to do something."

George would have been on his feet, threatening everyone for their insubordination, but George would not have been in this situation and Grace was a lady. "We have lost accounts before." I calmly observed. "Mergers and acquisitions, changes in management, companies closing or moving out of state. We get new ones." I looked around the table to see their reaction. They were all looking at Bob. "And I'm not gay, I'm transgendered."

"If you say so, but whatever you are could ruin our reputation and you were going to send out letters to your other clients telling them, if I hadn't stopped you." I could see Liz Adams, a very capable woman who was my first hire, give Bob a disapproving look. Either he didn't notice or didn't care. "We can't risk losing more clients."

"I understand, Bob. You need to think of yourself first. Your partner's employment agreement requires thirty days notice, but we can waive that provision. Your resignation is accepted. Please leave." I looked around the table." Anyone else who feels the same way is free to leave with him." From the change in Bob's color, his blood pressure was about five points below a stroke.

"What? No. I'm not resigning."

Bob was one of those insecure people who tried to make himself important at the expense of others. He must have thought I was vulnerable as a woman. Thin and balding with a pencil mustache, which he seemed to think made him sophisticated, but really looked like a mishap with magic marker, the only reason he wasn't a bully was that, by his appearance and demeanor, nobody took him seriously. How the other partners let him be their spokesperson was a mystery. Probably too much guilt to take ownership. "Okay, have it your way," I maintained my composure. "You interfered in the management of the firm. You were disrespectful to me. You overstepped your authority by taking documents from my office." I stood up for dramatic effect. "You're terminated for cause. Please leave."

"I, you, you can't, I won't . . . . He sputtered, looking around the table for support.

Liz Adams spoke up. "Grace, please, let's not be hasty. We're all concerned about the future of the firm. I apologize for the way it was presented." I sat back down. "Thank you." I folded my hands and waited. "We want to make a proposal." She turned and spoke to Carla Nelson, the only non-CPA partner. She was a tax attorney who I had hired her a few years ago to assist our clients with their estate and financial planning. Carla reached down and produced a black binder. She handed it to Liz, who stood up and handed it to me. The cover was titled 'Draft Buy-Sell Agreement'.

"You want me to leave the firm?" I asked incredulously.

"We want you to do what is best for the firm and you."

I opened the cover. There was a summary. It was a very generous offer. Their guilt over being cowards and fear of what would happen, if I turned it down, had combined to make, in the words of the godfather, an offer I couldn't refuse. I took another five minutes, pretending to review the plan in more detail, while they all waited nervously. Finally, I looked up. "The terms are acceptable. I could see a look of relief on their faces. "But," and the look of concern returned, "it is unfunded. You want me to turn the firm over to you and get nothing in return but an empty promise. I need your personal guarantees."

"I can't," Dave Davis demurred. He was one of the last to make partner and recently married, Helen and I had been at his wedding. "If something should happen, my share of the long term commitment would put me into bankruptcy." There was concurrence by the other partners.

"So you want me to take the risk, but you don't want to take any?"

"Grace has a valid point. What if we compromise?" Liz suggested. "We agree to guarantee the first year's payment in proportion to our partnership interest. At the end of that time, we can renew the guarantees for another year or Grace can come back as the managing partner. That gives us and Grace an opportunity to work out the transition." She gave me a smile at the wordplay, which I am sure no one else got. "A show of hands, please." All went up. She turned to me. "Satisfied?"

"A few other details. First, I want to leave the firm in good hands. Liz is to become the managing partner and will remain so until I agree to her replacement." She deserved it and she was the best choice. I enjoyed the surprised look on her face.

"I don't .."

"I do. Do you accept?" She did. "Do you all agree?" They did.

"Second," pushing my advantage, "Claire has been with me for over ten years. Liz, you will need her to help you over the next six months." After that, it is up to her and you. If she leaves for any reason, she gets one year's severance with benefits. Plus the balance of her six months, if it is before then. That's up to her. And, she gets a $100 per week raise."

"That may be too generous, Grace, considering that we're also paying you," Liz assumed her new management role. There were nods by the other partners. "How about six month's salary guaranteed and six months severance with benefits, but no, raise."

"How about six months salary guaranteed, nine months severance with benefits and a $1,000 bonus at the end of this year?" I negotiated.
"That seems fair. All in favor?" I believe they would have agreed to walking barefoot on glass just to get this meeting over. All hands went up."

"Finally, my name stays on the firm." I could see eyes roll.

Again Liz took the lead. Good woman, right choice. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but we're paying you a lot of money to avoid any controversy. So far, it's been just Tony, but we need the ability to change the name, if that's what it takes. Fair is fair. Only with your permission. I trust you to do the right thing. We all do." She looked around the table for consensus. Nobody dared dissent. "Okay."

It was time for me to compromise. Actually, who cared. "Agreed." I stood up. So did everyone else. It wasn't a time for congratulations, nobody rushed around the table to hug me or shake my hand, but everyone seemed relieved, particularly Bob, who appeared to have assumed the change in management was a reprieve. "How soon do you want to me to leave?"

"Legally, your retirement doesn't begin until we sign the documents," Carla said. "You are still the managing partner, until you say otherwise."

"Otherwise." I looked at Liz. "Congratulations." I looked around the room. "Good luck to you all." There was no sense leaving on bad terms. With that encouragement, a few of the partners came up to say goodbye.

Liz waited until everyone left. "You know you have a friend."

Chapter 3.

When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead
And the White Knight is talking backwards
And the Red Queen's off with her head
Remember what the dormouse said.
Feed your head. Feed your head.

– Grace Slick, White Rabbit

I waited for everyone to leave, took the binder and walked back to my office. Claire followed me in and closed the door. "Do you want the good news first or the bad news?"

"The bad news. Then maybe the good news will cheer me up."

"The bad news is that they fired me."

"What? They can't. It's your firm."

"It was. Now its theirs," I replied calmly.

"You're not angry?"

"That's the good news. They made it worth my while." I held up the binder. "The other good news is that Liz will replace me." It struck me as ironic that they exchanged one woman managing partner for another and that the only difference between rejection and acceptance was an X chromosome. "And more good news. You have six months guaranteed employment, if you want to stay. You said you liked working for a woman. If not, then nine months of severance with benefits. Oh, and a $1,000 year end bonus. Then there's more bad news." I smiled to let her know I was teasing. "You will have to stop kissing your boss."

"Good thing that you're not my boss." She put her arms around me, gave me a hug and another kiss. "Now, we need to start getting organized. Boxes! We need boxes." She turned and left.

It was a good time to call Dr. Rosen and see if she could fit me in. "Hello, Ellie. How are you? No, I'm okay, but I really need to see Dr. Rosen. Does she have any time this afternoon? No, its not an emergency. You don't have to interrupt her. Well, on a scale of one to ten, one being no hurry and ten being send an ambulance, its about a six point five, maybe a seven. Okay, about twenty minutes. Yes, I know, the ER. No, I can wait for her to call. Thanks."

I surveyed my office, trying to decide where to start. Claire came back with one of the young men who provided logistical support. A fancy way of saying he did the mail and errands. He was carrying a bundle of the boxes we used to store files. After they were constructed, Claire directed him to take down the pictures and my diplomas. Redecorating she told him. After he started, she produced a magic marker. "I'm putting an H on three of the boxes, which means they have stuff you want to take home," she explained. 'H' for home." I rolled my eyes. "I'm putting an O on three for things you want to leave in the office. 'O' for office. I will sort them out. And an X on three for whatever you want thrown out. 'X' for out, because 'O' is for office," she persisted. "The last box," she drew a question mark, "is for anything that your not sure where it goes."

"Seriously?" Undaunted, she asked me if I wanted her to help. "Is there a 'P' box?" She wanted to know what would go in it. "You. 'P' for 'pain in the ass.'" She walked over and put both feet in one of the boxes. She shook her head.

After everything was off of the walls, wrapped in newspaper which Claire procured from the break room, and stowed in one of the 'H' boxes, she left. I started going through my desk. Twenty-five years worth of pens, pencils, paperclips and assorted junk that had accumulated in my top drawer got tossed. Ironically, there were a lot of items with the T&T trucking logo, relieving me of any nostalgia for a career's worth of souvenirs.

As I was starting on the next drawer, my phone rang. It was Dr. Rosen returning my call. "No, I'm okay. That wasn't the message? Well, no, I was trying to tell Ellie that it wasn't life or death. I know, sometimes it can be, but it wasn't. That was why I told her it was a 6.5 or 7. I was, you know, trying to quantify it. Yes, I understand. Qualitative not quantitative. Sorry, I'm an accountant. No, I still would like to see you today. Okay, four thirty. I'll see you then."

I continued packing. At four I got my coat and pocketbook. I told Claire I was leaving for the day. She wanted to know if I was coming back or should she finish. I told her that I still needed my lawyers to review the agreement before I signed it, so officially I was still working and I would be in tomorrow. In the meantime, I didn't want to leave the office with a parade of boxes following me. I'd come back over the weekend and pick them up. She offered to come in. I told her thanks, but it wasn't necessary. I left and drove to Dr. Rosen's office.

I got stuck in rush hour traffic and was a few minutes late. The door was open, but Ellie was gone. I knocked on Dr. Rosen's office door. "Grace, come in." We exchanged greetings and I took my usual chair. She came around her desk and took the one across from me. "You look good," she complimented me. "No problem with the hormones?"

"My system still hasn't adjusted to them."

"Are you here to commiserate over menopause?"

"No." I'm here because, my wife and children can't relate to me. My partners and my clients disapprove of me. Our friends don't want anything to do with me. Murphy's law is in effect. Everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. "

"What made you think that being transgendered was an exception?"

"You did."

"Me? How so?"

"You encouraged me."

"I supported you."

"Same thing."

"Do you like ice cream?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Answer the question."

"Yes.

"Then its okay for you to eat it. So, if you go home tonight and have ice cream, whose idea would it be, yours or mine?"

"Mine."

"And I supported your choice."

"This is my life, not my preference for dessert."

"And you chose it."

"I didn't have a choice."

"Then what I did or didn't do doesn't matter, does it?"

I sighed. "No. I shouldn't blame you. I'm sorry. It's my problem."

"Apology accepted and its our problem."

"I'm confused."

"If you weren't, you wouldn't be here."

"What should I do?" She gave me a patronizing look. "Yes, I know. You don't make life decisions for your patients."

"There's a saying, adage, whatever, that's overused, because it's applicable to a variety of situations. You know it. I'll start, with some literary license, and you finish it. 'Give a woman a fish.'" She nodded for me to continue.

"And you feed her for a day."

"Go on."

"'Teach a woman to fish and you feed her for a lifetime.' I'm sorry, Roberta, but I don't get it. This isn't about dessert or fish. This is about my life."

"Patience solves problems, not petulance. What you recited usually refers to charity or welfare. Making people dependent, rather than independent. But it also applies to making decisions for them. Grace, doctors need their patients to trust them, but psychiatry, isn't an exact science. The human mind is structurally and functionally a more complicated machine than any device we can create or even conceive. No one understands the way it works or how to repair it. I have more experience, but I'm not omniscient or infallible. If I give bad advice, then I loose that patient's confidence. If I give good advice, I discourage the patient from trusting herself. Either way, it doesn't end well."

"So you can't help me?"

"I didn't say I couldn't help you. I said I can't make life decisions for you."

"Aren't they the same thing?"

"No. I can point you in the right direction. After that, its up to you."

"Okay, where do I go from here?"

"Home."

"That's it? The words of wisdom on my climb to contentment."

"In philosophy, contentment is the ideal to which we aspire, but can never achieve. You asked me where to go. I told you. The question you want answered is how to get there."

"Okay, how do I get there?"

"You identify the problem and deal with it."

"My problem is that everything has gone wrong."

"No, that's not your problem. That's the result of your problem. Your problem is that you're being selfish."

"You mean thinking of myself before anyone else?"

"No, there's a hyphen between 'self' and 'ish'.

"Selfish isn't hyphenated."

"What I mean is that you are looking at things from your point of view. The technical, but less dramatic term, is egocentric. Who are you?"

"Seriously?"

"Humor me."

"I'm Grace.

"Is Grace a man or a woman?"

"A woman."

"Has she always been a woman?"

"Yes."

"Now look at it from your wife's, children's, partners' and friends's perspective. They've only known you as George. You don't see yourself as having changed. You're the woman you were born and always have been. But they haven't changed either. You're still a man to them."

"So what should I do?"

"Change them."

"How?" She gave me an enigmatic smile."You're not going to tell me, are you."

She looked at her watch. "Time's up."

I looked at my watch. "No it isn't. We still have twelve minutes."

"I forgot, you're an accountant. Figuratively, not literally. We're done." She got up, walked to the door and opened it.

"You said you'd help me."

"I have. You're a smart woman. Go fish."

On my drive home, I tried to puzzle out what Roberta meant. How do you change people? She said I was self-centered. So I should be thinking of others. What others? Others like me? Trans-women? Or others who have the same problem of rejection, because they don't conform to social conventions. Does misery love company? Or maybe there's strength in numbers. I've been so preoccupied with myself that I haven't thought about getting involved in the LGBT community. There must be organizations which provide education and support. I have management skills. I have the time. That's it! The little lightbulb went on. I need to help change people's attitude. I congratulated myself on my insight as I pulled into the garage.

"Hi," I greeted Helen. She turned her back to me to put the casserole dish she was holding in the oven. "Hi," I repeated.

She turned to me. "Hi. Diner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Do you want to take off your dress and put on something more comfortable?"

"Yes, thank you." She continued preparing dinner. I went upstairs. I kicked off my heels, took off my dress and hung it in the closet, peeled off my pantyhose and put on my jean skirt and pink wool turtleneck sweater. I straightened my wig and brushed it, checked my makeup in the mirror, put on lipstick and went downstairs. When I got to the kitchen, the table was set. She had opened a bottle of white wine. She took the casserole out of the oven. By the smell and wine selection, it was tuna noodle.

I sat down. Helen served me and then herself. I poured myself a glass of wine and then filled her glass. She looked at me for a minute. I wasn't sure whether we were going to continue the conversation about our relationship from this morning. Instead she asked passively, "How was your day?"

"I got fired."

"What! You're kidding. It's your firm." She took a drink. "After all you've done for them," she continued angrily, "how could they do this to you?" She took another drink. "You know what, George, sorry, Grace, you know what, screw them. Screw them all. If this is the gratitude after all these years, then let them leave. You don't need them."

"It's not that simple. Based on what happened with Tony, I told you about him getting upset that I had transitioned, the partners were afraid that my other clients would react the same way. Some of them, the partners, actually most, were worried enough that they were going to leave, but the negative publicity of them bailing over me being transgendered or being a partner in a firm that closed because they all left would be as damaging to their career as it would be to the firm. Instead, they decided to convince me to retire by making an extravagant offer. Much better than I could have negotiated otherwise."

"You took their offer?"

I held my hands out, palms up, weighing the options. "Get paid for doing nothing," I raised my left hand, "or make a statement and lose the firm," I lowered my right hand. I still need to have the agreement gone over by my lawyers, but otherwise, yes. I will finish out the week. Clean out my office. I got Claire six months of guaranteed employment and a bonus. And Liz is going to be the new managing partner."

"They replaced you with a woman?"

"I replaced me with a woman."

"Now what?"

"I spoke to Dr. Rosen today, like you suggested. She thought that I should try to become more active in the LGBT community. Help change they way people see us."

By 'us' you mean you and others like you. Not 'us' as in you and me."

"Yes."

We ate the rest of the dinner in silence. After dinner, I offered to help clean up, but Helen declined. There wasn't anything to be gained by insisting, so I went into the study and turned on the TV to catch the end of the evening news. I continued to think about my conversation with Dr. Rosen. We started out talking about my problem. Maybe the solution wasn't as obvious as I thought. Helping others didn't help me. Was there more? Was I wrong? How else could I change people? If not their minds, then what? Helen already accepted me. Marissa too, more or less. Frank, well, education wasn't the answer. He had to come to terms with the personal implications of having a transgendered father and explaining it to his children. My partners and my neighbors would never change, no matter what I did.

There had to be something I was missing. Or maybe not. Was Dr. Rosen being cryptic, like the Greek oracles. Giving ambiguous advice that could be interpreted to fit any situation. If it worked out, then they were right. If it didn't, it was because you misunderstood. Win-win. No, she was better than that. The oracles were pretending that they could see the future. Roberta denied having any such talent.

As I was continuing to struggle with the meaning of Dr. Rosen's advice, Helen came in. To my surprise, she sat down beside me and took my hand. She looked lovingly at me. "I'm sorry."

"You? For what?"

"For being selfish. You're under a lot of pressure and I'm not helping."

"You know, well you don't because you weren't there, Dr. Rosen said the same thing about me. She said that I was being selfish, although she said that there was a hyphen between self and ish."

"Selfish isn't hyphenated."

"That's what I said. She explained that it meant egocentric. From my perspective, I'm a woman. I haven't changed. I've just been masquerading as a man. From everyone else's perspective, it's the opposite. I can't expect them to change how they see me. I have to change them. That's what I've been puzzling over.

"It's too bad we couldn't stay in Wonderland."

"Wonderland?

"Provincetown. Everyone could be who they were and nobody had to be who they weren't. That's what Alice says about Wonderland. Things would be the opposite. Like looking in a mirror. You know, through the looking glass."

My eyes went wide. "Of course! You told me the answer when I first came out to you. I should have remembered. You said that you were the right Alice, like the at the end of the movie. She was standing on the bow of the ship on her way to China, no longer afraid, ready to leave her dull boring life and family behind and take on the challenges of a new world."

"Yes, I know the story."

"Don't you see? Dr. Rosen wasn't being figurative. She was being literal about changing the people. Leave behind the ones who only know me as George. My partners did me a favor. We're financially secure. I don't have to work. We don't need this house. We can sell it. Travel. See the world. Grace and Helen can make new friends as women. Now I know who you are too."

"Yes, you said it. I'm the right Alice to go with you on your adventure."

I pulled my arm away from her and took her hands. "Yes, but you're more than that. The soul has no gender. You're my soul mate. Without you, my life wouldn't be complete. There would be no adventure. I want you with me. Forever."

Helen bit her lip and started to whimper. He eyes teared up. Suddenly, she pulled her hands away, threw her arms around me and gave me a passionate kiss. Finally, she released me and sat back with a few sniffles and a satisfied smile.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"On two conditions."

"Anything."

"How do you know, if you haven't heard them.

"They don't matter.

"They do to me. First, I don't want to go until after your surgery. Some of the places we visit probably won't be as understanding about you being transgendered. If we have to undergo a cavity search, I want to be sure that you have the appropriate number of cavities.

"Well, we have to put the house on the market and sell it. That will take some time. I have to get our financial affairs in order before we leave. We have to plan our trip and make the travel arrangements. We have to say goodbye to the kids. I can wait. And two?"

"I want to take my toy."

"Only if you share."

"Done." She grabbed me and kissed me again. "Whoa." She fanned herself with her hand. "I'm going to have to rethink my not being a lesbian." She stood up and pulled me by the hand.

"Where are we going?"

"Upstairs to get a head start on the cavity searching."

With special thanks to Angela Rasch for her inspiration, insight and incouragement. Missy.