I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing as I sat down across from Carole and Gerry. The summer of my dreams was about to end in ignominious humiliation. Through wet eyes I looked down at the dress I was so proud of making by myself in Home Economics class. Mrs. Rheingold told me my sister would be ecstatic that I’d made such a lovely dress for her. She’d probably laugh at me now or, worse, sneer at my “perversity.” And Dad will kill me when he finds out. Would Mom tell him? It wasn’t something I’d bet against.

“Don’t cry, Shuggie,” entreated Carole as she handed me some Kleenex. I remembered to dab, not wipe. But a few sniffles escaped as I tried to collect myself.

“I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to answer me very honestly.”

“Uhh…o-o-kay.”

“Are you doing this just to make Bobby fall in love with you or do you really feel like you’re a girl not a boy?” I was taken aback by Carole’s question. In truth, it was both. But I knew the answer she’d probably prefer. So, I offered “I am a girl! I’ve always known I was a girl. From as early as I can remember. My sister even said so. It’s just I don’t look like a girl…you know…my body…”

“Shuggie, your mother told me that when you were born the doctors weren’t sure whether you were a boy or a girl. They recommended that you be raised as a boy because they kind of threw their hands up.”

“Mom told me that Dad wanted me to be a boy in the worst way. But…but Mom always said she thought I was a girl with…with something extra. That’s not a medical opinion though. Doctor Krantz says I’m just a late bloomer. I could develop any day now…”

“Seventeen is more than a little late for “development.” You need to see some specialists. Child welfare should charge your father with child abuse, really.”

“Dad loves me…in his own way.”

“Be that as it may, Shuggie, your mother urged me to let you keep working for us. And I’m inclined to do just that. She knows this is your last best chance to live out your dream of being a girl, if only for a few weeks or months before you have to go back to school and be a boy again. She loves her younger daughter very much.”

“You mean I’m not fired?”

“No, Gerry and I both think you’re a wonderful and—”

“Unique,” Gerry interjected.

“Uh huh, unique personal assistant. And we’re happy to have you.”

I hugged them both and apologized for making their clothes wet with my tears.

“I have to fix my face. I’m sure I look like a raccoon.”

“Well, a very pretty raccoon in this case,” Gerry said, smiling.

“Sometimes people can be nice. Even in this country.”

My grandmother smiled at me, lying in her hospital bed. They had moved her to a semi-private room. There were two other patients curtained off so that a modicum of privacy was afforded. They gave sobo the bed closest to the window and I sat in the cramped space between it and her bed. I thought she’d been asleep while I picked up the story where we’d left off, the night we ordered pizza. Before she suffered a minor stroke. As I had promised, I came by bus directly after school.

“Go on, shojo. I’m listening.”

Later that day, Gerry and Carole worked on lyrics for the song Jerry Wexler wanted for Aretha Franklin, centered on the phrase “a natural woman.” As Gerry tossed out fragments of lines, I jotted them down. Carole would also throw out ideas but mostly hunched over the piano, humming as she developed a vamp with the song’s opening bars. Around 2 PM, a man and a woman who looked to be in their mid-twenties like Gerry and Carole burst into the room. The man was brandishing a clutch of sheet music and the woman hooted and hollered, waving her arms excitedly.

“Gerry! Carole! We need your help!” Carole pivoted on her chair and Gerry took his pipe out of his mouth, startled out of his lyrical ruminations.

“What’s going on?” Carole asked, holding her hands up like a traffic cop.

The couple turned out to be Cynthia Weil and Barry Mann, another husband/wife songwriting team like Gerry and Carole, who were famous for having written that huge hit for The Righteous Brothers 2 years ago, “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling.” Barry placed the sheets on the music rack and the three of them huddled around Carole. I silently joined them, keeping myself a foot or two behind.

“Who’s this? I know we’ve been in LA for a while but Louise couldn’t have turned into a teenager overnight,” Barry said, laughing.

“No, Barry, Louise is still only 7. This is our new assistant, Shuggie.” I smiled as Carole ‘formally’ introduced me to Barry and Cynthia. I noticed that Barry winked at Gerry, who quickly turned away and relit his pipe. Cynthia redirected everyone’s attention to the sheet music.

“So, we’re already getting artists who want to cover “(You’re My) Soul and Inspiration” only weeks after it hit the top of the charts. Thing is, we’d like to see it done by a female singer. A medley of “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling” and “Soul and Inspiration.” Maybe someone like Dusty Springfield or Petula Clark.”

“I thought of reaching out to Peggy Lee,” Barry interjected.

“We changed the lyrics to suit a girl’s point of view and transposed the key from B a half step to C. But neither I nor Cyn can sing in that register,” Barry stated, a smirk on his lips.

“Okay, Barry, we get it. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. Carole, will you give it a try? We just want to hear what it could sound like in a higher key.”

“I don’t think that would work for me, Cyn. You’d need a real alto voice for this. Maybe even a pure contralto.” I raised my hand timidly. All four looked at me, puzzled.

“I could give it a try. I’m in the range of F3 to F5.”

“That’s pretty low for a girl. I didn’t know you could read music, Shuggie,” Carole exclaimed in mock surprise.

“You never asked. I was in the band at school. I really just got involved because Bobby was so into music, even when we were in elementary school. I play alto clarinet. Rather badly actually,” I added, blushing a crimson tide across my cheeks. When they didn’t comment, I explained, “I could never get my embouchure right. It’s my lips. Maybe something’s wrong with them.”

“Betcha that’s not what Bobby would say,” Gerry said under his breath as Carole drew me closer to the piano so I could read off the sheet music. I exhaled, tried to find somewhere to place my hands and waited for Carole to complete the intro. Then I sang.

There was something close to stunned silence when Carole played the final chord. The three of them exchanged looks. Barry spoke first.

“Wow! I think you’ve got another Little Eva here, Carole.” Turning to me, he asked with incredulity, “You’re not a professional?” I shook my head no. Cynthia grabbed my shoulders. “Oh, god, girl! You’ve got talent! Gerry, why aren’t you producing this little doll?”

Carole stood up from the piano and rescued me from Barry and Cynthia’s clutches. “She’s still in school. And her parents don’t want her in the business at her age.” Gerry blurted out, “And she’s got sort of a medical condition.”

Concerned, Barry and Cynthia both asked “What condition?” Giving them my most bashful expression, I told them, “It’s kind of really personal. I’d rather not talk about it.”

After a few awkward minutes, Barry and Cynthia left. I didn’t realize it when Barry and Cynthia were still in the room but I was shaking, shivering so hard I could barely sit still. Carole asked in a quiet tone, “Do you want to be a singer? You’ve got a nice voice. We can talk to people, you know.”

“No. I don’t want to be a singer. I just want to be a girl. Just a girl.”

Just before they left for the day, Gerry told me they were going to LA at the end of the month and probably stay out there until the end of the year. I nodded and thanked them for giving me the opportunity to spend at least these few weeks in New York with Bobby. After he left on tour with Hank and Honey, I’d have to return home and go back to being a boy. But I’d have these precious memories. Carole hugged me, whispering “Poor Shuggie. You’re so so brave. I don’t think I could cope in your shoes.”

When I saw Bobby at rehearsal that evening, I told him my good news. My mother had revealed my deep, dark secret to Carole but urged her to keep me on as their assistant. Bobby raised his eyebrows at that. Then, unexpectedly, he hugged me. In front of all the other band members who were packing up to leave for the day. “Hey, get a room you two!” Chubby the pianist hollered as he walked out. Hank winked at me and patted Bobby on the back as he led Honey to the exit, arm in arm. The three Hank’s Honeys stood in a line in front of us and serenaded us with Marcie Blaine’s sappy “Bobby’s Girl” from Christmas 1962. Bobby and I jumped apart, embarrassed by the unwanted attention we were attracting.

Bobby said we should celebrate. A feast! Considering our lack of cash, we ended up taking the subway downtown to Chinatown where you could have family style portions for cents on the dollar. Chinatown is a maze of narrow, winding side streets. Every block featured at least three or four restaurants, bake shops, dim sum houses, and curio shops. Bobby seemed to know where we were headed. He held my hand, leading me ultimately to an impressive looking establishment named The Rice Bowl.

The maître d, dressed in a well-pressed dinner jacket and a clip-on bowtie, eyed Bobby with circumspection. “We prefer gentlemen to wear a jacket and tie in the evening,” he declaimed with a noticeable accent. Bobby was wearing a white button-down shirt, tucked in neatly, and navy dress slacks. The maître d looked me over and, as if reconsidering, waved us in to our table. Surprisingly, for a mid-week evening, the place was packed. He handed us two menus. “Enjoy,” he said and walked imperiously away.

When our waiter appeared, we ordered two $1.25 complete dinners. Bobby had the Shrimp with Lobster Sauce main course. I had the Subgum Chicken Chow Mein. As we ate our sumptuous but frugally priced meal, the irony of me, a half-Asian boy dressed as a girl, having dinner in a Chinatown restaurant with her All-American boyfriend, triggered that earworm of a song from one of my mom’s favorite movie musicals, “Flower Drum Song.” “I Enjoy Being a Girl” played in my head as I watched Bobby devour everything placed in front of him.

“This is really good. You know, I’ve only eaten Chinese food maybe two or three times my whole life.”

“Gee, I was afraid you might be bored by eating here, you probably have this all the time.”

“Bobby! My mother’s Japanese not Chinese. My grandmother hates anything Chinese. And Dad is a meat and potatoes guy all the way. He hardly eats any of the vegetables we grow in our garden.”

“What are you gonna do after I leave to go on tour?”

“I don’t have a choice really. Go home and sit by the phone, waiting for you to call.”

“Shuggie, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. We’ve done everything together, you and me, but there comes a time when…when people grow up. Like, there’s no way that we can be anything more than what we’ve been. Buddies. Best buddies. I mean, you’re a—”

“Do I look like a boy to you! Really, Bobby?”

Everyone turned to look at us. For a good ten seconds, there was total silence except for a busboy trying to quietly clear a table. Bobby lowered his voice.

“Shuggie, calm down. Let’s talk about this.”

“No, Bobby. Take me home. I’m really tired. It’s been a long, long day.” I got up and hurried to the ladies’ room, leaving Bobby at the table, signaling the waiter for the check.

When I told my sister what had happened, she yawned and then drawled, “Whatever. This is just crazy is all I can say. Just as long as you give me your third of the rent before you leave.” Lauren was still ensconced in “Valley of the Dolls”, so she didn’t even comment until I picked up the phone to call Mom.

“And don’t forget your share of the phone bill.”

Mom told me Dad was okay with me working for Carole and Gerry, especially when she mentioned I was getting paid $1.50 an hour. She practically whispered the rest of our conversation since Dad was sitting a few feet away watching a rerun of The Fugitive on TV. I could sense she was holding back the tears as she “ordered” me to have the time of my life. Both she and I knew my carriage would turn back into a pumpkin at the end of the month. I hung up the phone and stared into space. Connie surprised me when she tossed me a pair of fire engine red Wrangler jeans.

“Huh?” I said intelligently.

“All you have are dresses and skirts. Thought you should have something casual you can wear. That black and white striped top you have should go well with this. Red’s not really my color.”

Lauren cackled and put her book down. “Yeah, it makes her ass look humongous.”

“Thanks. I love you, sis.”

“Aww. I kinda love you too, squirt.”

The next two days went by uneventfully. Carole and Gerry worked diligently on a trio of new songs: the “natural woman” song for Aretha Franklin and two songs for The Monkees, “Take a Giant Step” and “Pleasant Valley Sunday.” They were going to bring the latter two songs to The Monkees’ first recording sessions in July. In fact, Carole had booked time in RCA Studio A at 44th Street and 6th Avenue the following week to record demos for all three songs. I was excited to actually get to witness a recording session in a legendary studio (Elvis recorded his RCA albums there in the late ‘50s).

On the other front, Bobby tried to discuss our ‘situation’ but I would change the subject. I’d ask him about the itinerary of the tour and what the travel arrangements were. Would they be staying in hotels? Sleeping on the tour buses? What would they do on days when they didn’t have a concert? We held hands a lot. Once or twice, he leaned in, and I thought he was going to kiss me. But something or someone would interrupt. All things considered, I was happy just to spend evenings with him. We were a young couple marveling at all the sights of Manhattan on a warm summer night. At least that’s how I saw it.

I was later than usual to Bobby’s rehearsal with the band on Thursday evening. Bobby wanted to go see “Stagecoach” at The Rivoli Theater just a block south of 1650 Broadway. He liked Westerns but I suspected he really wanted to see one of the leads, Ann-Margret. I had to suffer through that stupid Elvis film, “Viva Las Vegas,” a couple of summers ago because Bobby thought Ann-Margret was ‘very talented.’ I decided to change into a casual outfit before leaving the Brill Building. I had brought with me the red Wrangler jeans Connie had given me and my own black and white striped top. I even ‘borrowed’ Connie’s tennis shoes. After all, when was she going to play tennis anyway?

I walked into the rehearsal room just as Honey Hutch and the three Honeys were leaving. I guess rehearsal was over for the day. In the far corner, Hank and Billy Schechter were deep in an animated conversation. The band members were noodling around on their instruments. Bobby didn’t even see me when I waved to him. Then Chubby counted down and the band, string section included, played an instrumental rendition of The Four Tops’ “I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch).” Oooh, I love that song! Turning my back to the band because I felt a little embarrassed about singing in front of real professionals (not like Carole and the gang, who were closer to colleagues), I couldn’t help myself from dancing and wiggling to the beat as I sang. All the good feelings of the last three days took over my voice and my hips. Yeah, I kind of lost it. In a good way.

The music ended and I became acutely aware of all the eyes in the room focused on me. I turned to see Hank and Billy standing two feet away from me, vigorously applauding. Hank grabbed my arm.

“So is Shuggie short for Sugar Pie, honey bunch?” He laughed. “Billy, I think we’ve got ourselves another Hank’s Honey. Sign her up.”

“Uh, Hank, we don’t need another girl. And don’t you think she’d look a little, how you say, out of place on stage with the other girls?”

“Billy, I want her in the group. Just make it happen.” Billy glanced up at the ceiling, whistled, and then took a long look at me. I saw Bobby in the background, shaking his head no. He even drew his index finger across his throat. All the other band members were nodding yes. It was really funny. Finally, Billy spoke.

“Hank wants you to join the Honeys. Is it something you’d like to do?” For some reason, he seemed to want me to turn it down.

“Well, I already have a job. I’m assisting Carole and Gerry. They’re paying me $1.50 an hour! It’s really tempting, though. I don’t know…” Bobby was coughing rather loudly now. I could see his point. What if they found me out? I’d be in really deep do-do. On the other hand, I’d get to spend the whole summer with Bobby. And live as a girl! Hank leaned in and nudged Billy backwards.

“Billy can pay you $100 a week,” Hank said, emphasizing the impressive amount.

Wow! That’s more than Dad made a week at the paper plant and he’s a floor manager.

“You got a deal!”

Bobby dropped his saxophone. The clang as it hit the floor punctuated Hank’s ear-to-ear smile and Billy’s sputtering incoherence.as I shook their hands.