Chances Are Omnibus (Gender Swap Fiction) Read online

  “No. What kind of girl do you think I am?”

  “There’s no need to get upset. I’m not judging you. I just want to get the full story. That’s why you’re here, remember?”

  “Sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry either.” He puts down his pen and folds his hands. “I think a lot of your confusion stems from your feelings for your friend. You love Grace but you don’t think your love is as important as Maddy’s. Does that sound right?”

  There’s no way I can explain to the doctor exactly how complicated things are. Maddy’s love is more important because she’s my daughter and as her father I want the best for her. “Grace and Maddy helped me when I didn’t have anything. It wouldn’t be right for me to break them up. Is that wrong?”

  “I’m not here to discuss right or wrong.”

  “That’s a nice copout.”

  “If you really want to know, I think you’re a good person, but you’re making yourself miserable.”

  “So you think I should turn Grace down?”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “I don’t know what I want.”

  “You mentioned another job offer.”

  “Oh, that. It’s kind of silly.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, we—Maddy, Grace, and me—went out to this karaoke bar the other night. Maddy pulled me on stage and made me sing. And I guess I was really good. That’s what the owner of the place said. He wants to pay me three hundred bucks to sing again.”

  “And you turned him down?”

  “Hell no. I could use three hundred bucks.”

  Dr. Macintosh smiles at that. “But you don’t think you’re a singer?”

  “I never really thought about it before that night. I’m probably not that good.”

  “Well, let’s find out. Go ahead, sing something.”

  “Now?”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t have any lyrics or any music—”

  “Just sing anything. ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ if you want. That one’s popular with most of my patients.”

  I take a moment to gather myself and then I sing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” I keep my eyes closed so I can’t see Dr. Macintosh’s reaction until I finish. I don’t open them until I hear him applaud softly.

  “You have a lovely voice,” he says.

  “You really think so?”

  “It’s gorgeous. Almost angelic.” He raises an eyebrow, no doubt when he sees how red my face turns. “That embarrasses you?”

  “I guess no one’s called me angelic before, except maybe Tess.”

  He nods. I figure our session must be almost over because the doctor gets up. He goes over to the desk. Maybe he’ll fetch a prescription pad to give me some medication. Instead he comes back with a hand mirror. He holds it out to me. “Go on, look in the mirror.”

  “I know what I look like.”

  “Just indulge me, please.”

  I take the mirror from him. I stare into the glass at my face. My eyes are still a little red and puffy from my earlier tears. I didn’t shower this morning, so my hair looks wild, the wavy strands like Medusa’s snakes. “What do you see?” Dr. Macintosh asks.

  “A girl,” I say.

  “A pretty girl?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I look tired. And dirty.”

  “You can always get more sleep and take a shower. Look deeper. What do you see?”

  I stare into the mirror some more. I’m drawn to my eyes. They’re still blue like before. I don’t know anymore if they’re Steve’s eyes or Stacey’s eyes. With my longer lashes and eyeliner, they look more like a girl’s eyes.

  I put the mirror down. I start to cry again. “I don’t know.”

  He wraps an arm around my shoulders. “That’s all right, Stacey. That’s what you’re going to find out here. OK?”

  “OK.”

  He rubs my back the way Tess does when I get upset. “I have a little homework for you if you’re up to it.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to look in the mirror for ten minutes a day, every day until our next session. When you do it, I want you to think about what you see. Then we’ll talk about it next time.”

  “All right,” I say and punctuate it with a sniffle.

  “I’ll get you some tissues.”

  “Thanks.”

  He gives me a few minutes to cry myself out and then clean up a little. Throughout it all he sits with his arm around my shoulders; he must sense I need the company. I should ask Grace if it’s unprofessional for your shrink to hug you. At the moment, I don’t care.

  Chapter 6

  I stare into my compact for the entire train ride to the garment district. I try to do as Dr. Macintosh suggested. I hold out the little circle mirror to show as much of my face as possible. I’ve seen myself hundreds of times before and yet it’s like the first time I saw myself in the mirror after I woke up as a woman. Has my nose always been this tiny? Did I always have that mole on my left cheek? God, I should really pluck my eyebrows; they’ve just about grown together.

  My features start to change in the mirror. They blur for a moment before they reform into the ones I saw in the mirror for fifty years. Of course they changed a little with time, the wrinkles around my eyes, the creases on my forehead, the gray hairs along my jaw, and the bloated redness of my nose. I could tell Dr. Macintosh all about this face; it’s the face of an old, broken man, a man worn down by too many years and too many miles. It’s the face of a man divorced from his wife and estranged from his daughter.

  I snap the compact shut as the train nears my stop. I still don’t know what to tell Dr. Macintosh about my new face. I’ll have to try again later, see if anything comes to me. I doubt it. Stacey’s face is still too new to me. It’s a face without much history.

  When I enter Grace’s shop—soon to be my shop if I want it—I find her and Maddy in the back room, going through some clothes people have traded in. “Ready for the show tonight?” Maddy asks.

  I haven’t given any thought to my actual performance so far. I probably should; it’s nine hours away. My knees turn rubbery at this thought. Grace grabs one arm and Maddy the other before I can collapse. “I think I need to sit down,” I mumble.

  They walk me over to a stool, which I gratefully sink onto. I look down at my feet, at the worn sneakers not nearly sexy enough to wear on stage. I’ll probably have to wear heels; I imagine myself on stage in the heels; I trip over a microphone cord or something and then topple into the front row. “This is a really bad idea,” I say. “I’m not a performer.”

  “Come on, it’ll be fun,” Maddy says. “It’ll be just like the other day. You go up there and do your best.”

  “But it’s different this time. I’m not some drunk girl doing karaoke. People will expect me to be professional, you know?”

  “Most people will be too buzzed to notice. They probably won’t even hear you.”

  “Maybe.”

  Grace takes her turn to try to comfort me. “Think what a great opportunity this is. You have a chance to do something not a lot of other people get to do.”

  “Really?”

  “Maddy and I couldn’t do it. You’ve heard us sing.”

  I think of what Dr. Macintosh said when I sang for him. “You really think I’m good?”

  “You’re amazing. If you tried out for American Idol you’d get to Hollywood for sure,” Maddy says. “After that it’s just a popularity contest.”

  “But if you don’t want to do it, that’s all right,” Grace says. “We’ll still support you.”

  I think of my first session with Dr. Macintosh. He said I needed to get out of my shell more. I did when I got up on that stage and look what happened: I found a hidden talent and got a chance to make three hundred bucks. I can’t back down now, can I?

  “Thanks, guys. I’ll do it.”

  “That’s great!” I’m always torn whe
n Maddy hugs me. Part of me is glad for the warmth and comfort of a friend. The rest of me remembers all those times when little Maddy would wrap her arms around my neck as I carried her to her room. The latter can’t happen anymore. “Have you thought about what to sing?”

  “What? Oh, I don’t know. I thought I’d wait until I got there like before.”

  “No no no,” Maddy says. “You can’t just wing it. You got to practice.”

  “I do?”

  “It’s a good idea,” Grace says. “It’ll help you feel more comfortable when you get up there.”

  Grace has a good point. If I have a solid game plan beforehand, I won’t panic as much once I get there. “What do you think I should sing?”

  “Not more oldies,” Maddy says. She puts a finger down her throat for emphasis.

  “I don’t know much else,” I say. “We weren’t big into music in my house.”

  “Let’s go find something,” Maddy says. She takes my arm and yanks me off the stool.

  ***

  The first time I was nineteen, my music collection consisted of records piled up in my apartment. Creedence Clearwater Revival was always my favorite, but I also had Led Zeppelin, Springsteen, the Stones, and of course the Beatles. Those are all “oldies” now, the kind of music that makes Maddy gag.

  Her music collection is contained on her laptop and cell phone. I haven’t heard of any of it and most of it I don’t want to. I certainly can’t imagine myself on a stage to sing about some boy who broke my heart or how hot I am or shit like that. The grumpy old man in me grumbles that music was a lot better in my day.

  We listen to clips for an hour before Maddy shakes her head. “Jesus, Stace, you may have a great voice but you got a tin ear.”

  Grace is there to pat me on the knee. “Don’t worry about it. You sing whatever you want. It’s your show.”

  “Even oldies?”

  “Sure. Hey, I got an idea.” Grace brings up more music. Hers is the complete opposite of Maddy’s, the kind of music popular before I was born.

  “That’s not even oldies. That’s prehistoric,” Maddy says.

  “Ignore her,” Grace says. “I think you’d be great at this. Real old school music.”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “It’s a lot to learn in a couple hours.”

  “Well, what do you know?” Maddy asks.

  Oldies, I think. I remember when I used to sing Creedence in the car, how little Maddy would whine about it to make me turn it off. She would have me put in one of her Disney tapes, usually Beauty and the Beast—

  “Disney,” I say.

  “What?”

  “Disney songs. Like Beauty and the Beast. Aladdin. Lion King,” I say. I list the movies Maddy watched endlessly as a child.

  “I don’t know,” Grace says. “These are grown-ups, not kids.”

  Maddy elbows her partner in the ribs. “Don’t listen to her. I think it’s a brilliant idea. I used to have all of those on tape. Mom probably threw them out though.” Her face brightens with a smile. “But hey, that’s what iTunes is for, right?”

  ***

  I get home at six o’clock, which is about ninety minutes earlier than usual. Tess is already in the kitchen, hard at work on a pot roast. “That smells good,” I say.

  She jumps a little at this. “Oh my. You gave me quite a start.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You’re home early.”

  “We closed early.” I look down at my feet and shift my weight; I always feel awkward in Tess’s presence. There’s something regal about her that makes me feel like a child. “Actually, I’m going out tonight. There’s this karaoke bar—”

  “A bar?”

  “It’s not like that. I’m just hanging around with Madison and Grace—”

  “Oh, I see,” Tess says. She’s known Madison ever since Maddy was born, but that doesn’t mean Tess approves of her lifestyle. “A place like that isn’t fit for a girl your age.”

  “But I’m not going to drink. I’m going to sing.”

  “You can sing right here in your room.”

  “They’re paying me to sing. Three hundred dollars.”

  Tess stares at me in disbelief. She’s never heard me sing before, not even in church. “How long are you going to be there?”

  “I’m supposed to go on at nine. It’ll probably be an hour or two.”

  “You know I don’t like you going out on your own at night.”

  “Maddy and Grace will be there.” That’s not a point in my favor. I hasten to add, “Maybe you and Uncle Jake could come too? I’d really like you there for support. Please, Aunt Tess?”

  Tess thinks for a moment and then nods. “If it’s that important to you, sweetheart, we’ll be in the front row.”

  “Thanks.” I shift nervously again. “I thought maybe you could help me get ready. I don’t want to make a mess of it.”

  “Certainly. You just go upstairs and I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

  “OK.” I kiss Tess on the cheek and then bound up the stairs to get ready for my big night. In a couple of hours I’ll be a professional singer.

  Chapter 7

  Maddy and Grace are in the club. Maddy grabs my hand and squeals. “Look at you! That’s such a great dress.”

  “That dress is really nice,” Grace says. She wraps me in a hug and pats my back.

  “You really think it looks all right?” I ask. The dress is one of the expensive ones I bought last year, a strapless red number I’m surprised Tess let me wear out of the house.

  “Gaga has nothing on you,” Maddy says and I decide to take that as a compliment. Maddy and Grace share pleasantries with Jake and Tess. Maddy motions to the front of the room, by the stage. “We already got a table. You can sit with us.”

  “That’s very thoughtful,” Tess says.

  There’s someone else with a front-row seat. It takes me a moment to recognize Dr. Macintosh. He sits on the opposite side of the room from my little fan club. When the doctor waves to me, I excuse myself from the others.

  “Shouldn’t you be backstage?” he asks.

  “I guess,” I say. I look down at my shoes, heels that cost almost as much as the dress. “I’m not really into the whole showbiz thing.”

  “That must be your aunt and uncle,” he says.

  “Yes.”

  “And your friends? Madison and Grace?”

  “Yes.” I can feel my cheeks turn warm as I remember what I said about Grace during our sessions. “Grace is the taller one.”

  “I see. She is attractive, isn’t she?”

  My head snaps up. I glare at Dr. Macintosh. “Did you come here to spy on me?”

  “Of course not. I came to support you.”

  “Well you have a funny way of doing it.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says. He smiles at me. “It’s hard to leave it in the office. That’s why I try not to get involved with patients.”

  ‘“Involved?’ Is that what we are?”

  “Not in that sense. I only mean I don’t usually visit with patients outside of the office.”

  “Then why are you?”

  “Your little audition this morning piqued my curiosity.”

  “I see. Plus you get to see my friends and family, right? Get a little background on me?”

  “Stacey—”

  “I hope you enjoy the show. We’ll talk about it in our next session.”

  I turn on my heels, something that would have killed me a year ago. I summon what dignity I have to march back over to my friends and family. Jake, being a cop, is already watching Dr. Macintosh. “Who’s that?” he asks.

  “A teacher from school. He came for moral support.”

  “Maybe we should ask him to sit with us,” Tess says.

  “No!” I say. I don’t want Maddy and Grace to realize I’m seeing a shrink. “I’m going to get ready.”

  “You want any help?” Maddy asks.

  “I’d rather be alone,” I say. “So I can get my head toget
her.”

  Before I can leave, Grace takes my hand. I hope Dr. Macintosh doesn’t see this. “Just remember to breathe. If you get nervous, close your eyes and imagine you’re somewhere safe, all by yourself.”

  “OK. Thanks.”

  Maddy crushes me in a hug. “Break a leg, kid.”

  I just hope I don’t take that literally.

  The emcee raises an eyebrow when I give him my song selections. “This isn’t a nursery school, you know,” he grumbles.

  “I don’t know many other songs.”

  I stalk over to a stool. I remember Grace’s advice and take a few deep breaths to force air into my lungs. The last time I was on stage to perform was in second grade. I played one of the wise men in the Christmas pageant at church. I only had one line: “We seek the chosen one.” When it came my turn to speak, my mind went to mush. All I could get out was, “Hi.” After that I was relegated to the chorus or backstage.

  This is a lot bigger than a church pageant. It’s a long way from the Hollywood Bowl too, but it’s still a professional gig. If I do this right, I could land other gigs, ones that pay even better. In time I might even be able to cut an album, go out on tour with some big act. My stomach churns as I think of myself on stage at a sports arena, so tiny against a sea of humanity.

  I shouldn’t be here. I should be at home, on the couch to watch Grey’s Anatomy with Tess while Jake works in his study. Or else I could be out at a movie with Maddy and Grace. I would sit off to one side and try to focus on the movie while Maddy and Grace focus on each other.

  I’m still on the stool when I hear the emcee announce me. He calls me a “talented songbird.” Jesus. I’m not a songbird. I’m not some little nightingale or mockingbird who jumps around on a little trapeze in a cage for someone’s amusement. Am I?

  I hear the audience applaud. It’s now or never. I turn to look towards the emergency exit. Then I think of Maddy, Grace, Jake, and Tess. I won’t let them down.

  ***

  The karaoke bar is standing-room only. There must be two hundred people in here. Word must have gotten around about my last performance. I take a deep breath and wish I’d rehearsed some patter for when I came up to the microphone.

  Like my last public performance, I squeak, “Hi.” The microphone at least works. I clear my throat into it. “I’m, um, I’m going to sing a couple of songs. I hope you enjoy them.”