Room 702

by Benjamin, Ann

  Sitting across from her on the couch, with her pedicured feet in his lap, Tony asks, “So, any last regrets? Cold feet?”

  “You’re not supposed to ask me that!”

  “I wouldn’t be worth anything as the man of honor if I didn’t at least try and provide a getaway for you.”

  “I love Jonathan.”

  “I know, I love him too. And you’re sure he’s still into ladies?”

  Deborah throws a pillow at her friend and answers, “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “But something is bothering you. Is it the florist? You know there’s still time to change things.”

  “No, I mean, yes, she is a bitch, but it’s not that.”

  “What is it then?”

  “Promise not to tell.”

  Tony tops off the champagne in their glasses and says, “Promise.”

  Deborah takes a deep breath and asks, “So, you know I’m adopted, right?”

  Very few people know she was not the biological child of her parents. The senior Higgins waited until Deborah was much older to tell her the truth of her birth, and she has forever wondered if this decision was a good idea. She loves her adoptive parents – they are loving, stable people. The subject is a painful one and a topic she rarely feels comfortable talking about.

  Tony takes a big drink and admits, “Yes.”

  “Part of me wishes my biological parents could be with me for my wedding day.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes – but please don’t tell anyone.” Hanging her head, she says, “It would kill my parents and Jonathan wouldn’t understand.”

  “So why bring it up?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t usually think of them. From what my parents have told me, there was a young unmarried woman and she put me up for adoption. Case closed. But I can’t help if part of me wonders about her. Did she ever get remarried? Do I have half siblings out there? What circumstances came together that she had to put me up for adoption? Does she think about me? What if Jon and I have kids? Shouldn’t she meet them or at least know about their existence?”

  “Those are natural questions to ask,” Tony assures her.

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Why do you feel that way?”

  Tears suddenly spilling over, she explains, “I already have one set of loving parents, friends I love and the most wonderful man. Why do I want to tempt fate by asking for more?”

  “Okay then, why not wait until after your wedding to try and contact them?”

  “Should I?”

  “Honey, you’re emotional right now – and that’s completely fine – there’s a lot of feelings going around. Rather than invite some unnecessary drama and more emotion into your special day, why don’t you make plans for after?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s not as if your birth mother can be upset you didn’t invite her to your wedding. Furthermore, why hasn’t she come to you in all these years?”

  “It was the terms of the adoption – the choice is mine. I wasn’t able to contact her until I was eighteen.”

  “Why have you resisted so far?”

  “I didn’t want to insult my parents.”

  “I’m sure they would understand. Nothing is ever going to change your past with them.”

  “I know.”

  “You were meant to be their daughter – they know that. Even if they didn’t create you the old fashioned way, they are your parents.”

  “I know, and until I was engaged, I didn’t feel any desire to know about my birth parents. But now, somehow, I’m sure they’re out there. Even if my birth mother put me up for adoption, she deserves to know what I’ve done with my life.”

  “And she can and she will… Just give it some time.”

  “I will. Promise you won’t mention it to everyone else?”

  Tony tucks an arm around his friend, pulls her close and whispers, “I won’t, but I will go with you when you do find her.”

  She leans back on his familiar weight and says, “I love you, Tony. You are the best man of honor a girl could ask for.”

  “I love you, too, Deborah.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  March 15, 4:05 P.M.

  Bob Wilkerson steps into the suite and breathes a deep sigh of relief.

  He will go back to his normally scheduled life tomorrow, but for today he allows himself a pleasure he indulges in once a year. Kindly tipping the bellboy a polite $5, he stands alone with his precious bag.

  For the next sixteen hours, Bob gets to be someone he doesn’t let out very often. He doesn’t think his co-workers, the shareholders, his secretary, the members of his church, the teammates on his company softball team, his children or his wife would understand his desire to wear women’s clothes. For his forty-seven years, Bob cannot fully comprehend his compulsion, but he does know he feels wonderful when he wears the garments. Although he enjoys wearing the clothes, the company vice president does not classify himself as transgendered. After three or more drinks, when Bob usually allows himself to dwell on his part time hobby, he recognizes the biggest rush does not come from being attracted to other men, or believing he is a woman, his joy comes mainly about how the clothes make him feel. He knows some therapist would have a lot of fun picking him apart, but he doesn’t care. Sometimes he wonders how his wife would react if he told her.

  For all the years April has loved him, too much time has gone by to include her in his tradition, to admit what he needs to do. And for the twenty plus years he’s done this, all of the funding comes from a side account she knows nothing about and the clothes, make up and accessories are donated after his evening is finished. He’s felt guilty before, but in the recent past Bob’s recognized that this day for himself is important to his well-being and general mental health. He does not want to hurt her feelings or alert her to any behavior that might cause suspicion. After all, this is not something she could do or provide for him.

  Although Bob prefers to make his transformation a calculated tradition, the timing of the event varies from year to year. He has to balance business travel, work and family commitments. To prepare, throughout the year, Bob collects clothing in a very specific manner. He allows himself a completely new outfit, including shoes, complete matching accessories and makeup. Each year, he chooses a different name to assign to the ensemble. The names vary, and with it, the wardrobe.

  This year’s name is Clarissa.

  Having overheard the name of someone from the Chicago office, Bob decided months ago Clarissa would be the perfect name to style for this year’s persona.

  As he doesn’t always have the luxury of time, Bob works hard to keep himself available – ready at a moment’s notice. To keep himself occupied when the urges get too strong, given how far technology has come since he started, he keeps digital pictures of the outfits on a secure, encrypted zip drive, which is kept in a locked drawer. Between his sessions, he simply reviews previous pictures and revisits the feelings in the clothes. This year, he’s lucked out, and the collective calendars have aligned that he’s been able to have some advance warning of his night away. April believes there’s a convention in town he’s supposedly attending.

  Placing his bag carefully on the bed, Bob carefully begins picking his wardrobe out of the bag. Internet shopping has been a godsend for him – the anonymity has made for a perfect situation. Although, he would have to admit to himself that prior to internet purchases, there was something of a thrill buying women’s clothes for himself in the public eye. Lately, he focused his public purchasing excursions to mainly accessories and make up. Sighing happily, first he removes the shoes – knee high black boots made from highly supple leather. Next, he takes out the brown leather skirt, purchased online at Macy’s. It took him two tries to get the sizing correct, but the hassle has been worth the effort. The simple A-line pattern is timeless, and although when it’s zipped up it’s a bit snug around his waist, he is very pleased with
the effect. Next out is the vaguely bohemian cream-colored top. A blend of silk and rayon, it flows nicely and covers the fact that he is without breasts. He then begins to search out some of the accessories to accent the basic outfit. A lovely cranberry scarf (whether or not it’s to subconsciously hide his Adam’s apple, he doesn’t dwell on), a series of gold and wood bangles, and clip on hoop earrings. To finalize the look, he removes specially selected ladies undergarments. The matching set is simple beige so that it will blend under the blouse.

  Stepping back, Bob looks at his creation, laid out on the bed and sighs happily to himself. The ensemble is exactly as he has pictured in his mind. Humming to himself, he walks into the bathroom to shower. Bundled in his robe (Clarissa is not the type to prance naked around her hotel room), he looks at himself as he passes through the bathroom, noting in approval he was already careful this morning to shave, leaving his face completely smooth. Although he is desperate to, he has refrained from shaving his legs – knowing the action would raise notice at home. It is Bob’s hope that the skirt will fall close to his knee and the boots will cover the rest of his limb, so as not to expose too much leg hair.

  Now, eager in anticipation, he walks out to the bed and, carefully removing the robe, begins donning the garments – relishing the feeling of each piece on his skin. Something about the fabrics used in women’s clothing, especially the ones he’s chosen, leave him feeling energized and help him better get into character. Sadly, in his normal day to day life, clothes are a nuisance – a uniform to face the world. The suits and ties he wears to work are functional and nothing more.

  With the ladies clothes in place, Bob goes to the bathroom to apply make up. While his face is too masculine to ever truly pass as anything but a man, he still enjoys going through the process. Base, concealer, blush, eyeshadow, mascara, and lipstick. The items have all been purchased before his check in today. Ever year, he changes the colors and brands to match his new personality. He’ll have to leave these items behind, but hopes whoever cleans his room will be able to benefit. His application techniques have improved over the years and he blends with confidence, admiring his changing reflection. With his transition to Clarissa, he styles himself in the way he thinks she would, going so far as to add fake eyelashes. Although Clarissa will never leave this room, Bob likes to believe she’s a high powered attorney. She would be in a long-term relationship, no children, because she’s career driven. She probably married someone older, who has kids of his own. Part of her wishes she had jumped on the mommy track, but part of her is relieved to have skipped over the nuisance of it all.

  Reaching into his bag, Bob pulls out the piece de resistance, a wig. As much as this one cost, he does use the same one every year, but it is this hairpiece which truly makes the character come to life (and would be the most difficult to explain, should it ever be found). After giving the wig a careful style with the blow dryer in the bathroom, he pulls it on, using make up to smooth the lines out near his scalp. After he steps into zip up the heeled boots, he walks over to the mirrored closet door and looks at his creation. Clarissa has come to life.

  In excitement, Bob runs over to his bag and pulls out his iPhone and begins taking pictures of this year’s creation reflected in the mirror. So incensed with optimism, Bob wonders if he could risk having a drink at the bar. As he lives on the opposite of the world – the nearby San Fernando Valley, the chances of running into anyone he knows in this sprawling metropolis is rare, but half of the fun of his characters are that they are one of the singular things in his life that belong solely to him. If Clarissa goes down to the bar, she will no longer belong solely to him.

  Instead, Clarissa goes to the mini bar and pulls out a split of white wine. Pouring the golden liquid from the bottle into one of the glasses, he takes his drink outside on the adjoining porch and sips daintily.

  Some years Bob wishes this event were something he could share with someone, and knows there are others out there like himself, but for now, still feels content in his new personality. Emboldened by the wine, Clarissa thinks the compromise would be to order room service and then flirt with the wait staff that brings the food. If she can’t go to the entertainment, she will force it to come to her.

  Clapping her hands together, Clarissa walks inside, sits on the settee and scans through the selections. Deciding on a Caesar salad (with grilled shrimp) and a crème brûlée (she has a bit of a sweet tooth), Clarissa picks up the phone to call room service and is slightly upset when the person on the other line asks, “Good evening, Mr. Wilkerson. What would you like to order?”

  “Hi darling,” Bob is surprised at his response. He has only attempted voices for his personas on limited occasions. However, clearly he’s underestimated Clarissa.

  “Is there something we can bring up to your room?” Stephen asks.

  “Of course you can, honey, but what I’m looking for isn’t on the menu.”

  “Er, ahem. We’d be happy to send someone off property to help meet your needs.”

  “Silly boy, aren’t you just lovely?”

  “Yes?”

  Clarissa trills in laughter, then says, “Well, since what I’m looking for isn’t going to be sold in a restaurant, how about you send up a Caesar salad with grilled shrimp, dressing on the side and an order of crème brûlée.”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  “There’s $20 in it if you bring up the order personally.”

  “Technically…”

  “Technically-schmecically, I know you can make it work. I’ll deal with your manager if he gives you any crap. Now hurry up, I want to see if you’re as cute as your voice.”

  Clarissa hangs up the phone and Bob looks at himself in the mirror. Where did that behavior come from? Unsure how he will react when the food actually arrives, Clarissa enjoys another glass of wine. Not wanting to have his meal interrupted, he rings home to his wife, immediately switching his voice back to what April expects to hear, “Hi honey.”

  “Oh hi there, Bobby, how is San Diego?”

  The cover this year is a well-researched industry convention taking place in the southern part of the state. Some years Bob uses visits to old friends or colleagues, some years he involves a business trip, but he always makes sure to change the timing and story. Bob has even gone so far this year as to purchase souvenirs from the San Diego zoo to cover his tracks.

  “Just wonderful, but you know how these things are – hectic and busy. Anyway, I don’t want to bore you, how are the kids?”

  “Mikey won his soccer game and Madison got a B on her report.”

  “That’s nice. Doing anything special with them tonight?”

  “We might go for ice cream, I’m not sure yet. How’s your room?”

  Bob looks around the crisp, modern space, so different from their relatively cramped bedroom at home and says, “Nothing special. Look, I’m meeting a few of the guys at the hotel bar for drinks. Can I call you before bedtime and say good night to the kids?”

  “Sure thing. Have a good time!”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too, honey.”

  Bob sets down his phone. He’d love to bring April back here, but couldn’t risk the prompt ‘welcome back, sir’ which might follow. Instead, Bob thinks it would be best to buy her a gift certificate to Burke Williams in the near future. Often after his special night, he’s hit with a wave of guilt and usually compensates by buying her something nice and unexpected. She thinks he’s just being romantic and always appreciates the gesture. He ponders for a moment if Clarissa and April could ever be friends. April teaches at the local middle school and Bob doubts the two women would ever cross paths.

  The doorbell to the suite chimes merrily, and, in Clarissa’s husky voice, says politely, “Just a minute.”

  Bob looks through the peephole to catch a glimpse of the young man. Stephen is as adorable as she thought he would be. He’s tall, taller than Clarissa even in her boots and the Genevieve hair is an extra specia
l feature she appreciates. Apparently, Clarissa prefers redheads. Stepping back to look at herself once more in the mirror, she opens the door, fake eyelashes fluttering.

  Stephen gulps nervously and Clarissa motions to the vestibule, saying, “Please come on in.”

  “No trouble,” says the voice she heard on the phone.

  “Thanks for the personal delivery, honey.”

  Stephen wheels the food inside the room and asks, “Where would you like to eat?”

  “It’s such a nice night, I think I’d like to enjoy my meal on the balcony, sugar.”

  “Okay… Ma’am.” Stephen is a bit out of his element. He’s worked for the Winchester for roughly six months, having received the job one month after arriving into the metropolis. As a young man from a small town in Alabama, he’s not prepared for many of the situations he’s been privy to since joining the staff at the hotel.

  “Aren’t you sweet? Actually, it’s ‘Miss.’”

  “Yes, Miss.” While Stephen has worked some hospitality before (three summers at the local Holiday Inn between his high school and college years), nothing prepared him for life in the big city. While he knows the rest of the guys in the kitchen will love this story, first he’s got to get out of the room.

  Stephen tries his best to artfully arrange the food on the small balcony table. While in his head he knows a man is staying in this room, the woman in front of him is very convincing. While not his type (Stephen prefers younger, tanned, heavily mascaraed college girls who smell of vanilla), there is something interestingly attractive about the person in front of him. While he isn’t sure what his personal beliefs on a man dressing as a woman are (after all, this is his first encounter), he feels no need to be angry or hurtful. Furthermore, perhaps Bob Wilkerson will put in a good word for him at the front desk when he checks out tomorrow. Stepping aside with a flourish, Stephen announces says, “All set.” Then adds hastily, “Bon appétit.”