“That’s one of the reasons the last woman I was dating cited when she broke up with me. She said she came a distant third on my list of priorities because I put my family and business responsibilities first. She wanted to be the center of my attention, not an afterthought. I wish I could say she was wrong, but I can’t. She deserved better,” Grace said, a hint of sadness in her voice. “We both did.”
“Do you miss being part of a couple?”
“At times. I miss having that one person you can’t wait to call when you want to share good news or you need help dealing with bad news. Don’t get me wrong. I love my family and I adore my friends, but experiencing things with them isn’t the same as sharing my life with someone. I don’t want to miss out on that. My friend Lynette keeps trying to set me up with women she knows, but her attempts keep missing the mark. The last woman I went out with started the date by making unwanted comments about my weight. The rest of the night went downhill from there. The current woman Lynette has in mind for me sounds good on paper, but I’m not holding out hope that she’s the woman of my dreams.”
“Who is? I mean, what kind of woman are you looking for?”
“Obviously the kind I haven’t been able to find,” Grace said with a rueful laugh.
“I’m sure she’s out there somewhere. What kind of woman are you attracted to?”
“When I was younger, I used to have a huge crush on Janet Jackson. She first caught my eye when she played Penny on Good Times and she held my interest throughout her music career. She lost me during her so-called ‘wardrobe malfunction’ at halftime of the Super Bowl because it seemed intentional rather than accidental, but I’d discovered Halle Berry, Gabrielle Union, and Angela Bassett by then, so it was all good.”
Dakota noted that all the women Grace listed were beautiful, glamorous, and feminine. Three words she would never use to describe herself. Were they the only type of women Grace was attracted to, or could she see herself with someone else? Someone who preferred leather to lace and lip balm to lipstick. In other words, someone like her.
“What about you?” Grace asked. “Who’s your celebrity crush?”
“I have two. When I was younger, I wanted to be as badass as Jenny Shimizu when I grew up, and I wanted to have a torrid affair with Jodie Foster.”
“You’re doing a fine job at the former, but I’m afraid Jodie’s spoken for.”
“I know. Her wife got to her before I could plead my case. I guess I’ll have to shift my focus to someone more attainable. Any suggestions?”
“As I said, you seem to be doing just fine on your own. You don’t need any help from me. This has been fun.” Grace sounded almost surprised. Dakota was definitely surprised when Grace asked, “Do you want to do it again sometime?”
“I’d love to. I have to go to Belize next week, but I’ll give you a call when I get back in town.”
“Sounds like a plan. Do you want to split a small order of oysters before we go?”
“Aren’t oysters supposed to be an aphrodisiac?”
Grace placed her hand on Dakota’s arm. This time of her own volition. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Dakota ran her fingers over her mouth. “My lips are sealed.”
But she hoped they wouldn’t have to remain that way for long.
* * *
Grace hated Mondays for two reasons: their arrival meant that her brief weekend respite was over, and they served as a tangible reminder of how much work needed to be done before she would be able to take another break. Mondays made her envy her sisters, who were able to cash in on the prestige of the family name without having to be burdened by the shackles of the day-to-day responsibility that went into maintaining the cachet that had been built up over the years. This Monday, however, wasn’t like the others. This Monday, she didn’t wake up with the usual sense of déjà vu. This Monday, she woke up refreshed and ready to tackle whatever came her way.
She began the day bright and early. After she downed a cup of coffee and an English muffin topped with a liberal helping of strawberry preserves, she got to the office an hour before opening time so she could properly prepare for the fitting she had scheduled with one of the referrals Dakota had sent her way.
First, she checked her notes to make sure she was familiar with her client’s story. According to the email he had sent to the company website, Austin Lawrence was a student at Vanderbilt University Law School who needed a suit to wear to job interviews. That sounded simple enough, but the story turned out to be much more complicated than it appeared at first glance.
Despite his stellar grades and impressive résumé, Austin was having a hard time getting his foot in the door because the law firms that had agreed to meet with him were reluctant to hire someone who identified as transgender.
Grace considered herself lucky. She had been working for her father off and on since she was a teenager. Whether she was an unpaid intern or a full-time employee, her father had always trusted her to fulfill their clients’ needs, even when their vision—and hers—differed from his. She couldn’t imagine subjecting her dreams and aspirations to someone else’s limitations.
She doubted a bespoke suit would completely resolve Austin’s issues finding a job, but perhaps wearing it could provide him with the confidence boost he needed to convince some law firm’s search committee to give him a contract offer rather than a cursory interview.
Grace felt the heavy weight of expectation settle on her shoulders. Even though Austin wasn’t a famous actor or athlete with millions of followers keeping track of his latest fashion exploits on social media, the meeting they were about to have seemed like the most important of Grace’s career.
Lillie took a pointed look at her watch when she arrived a few minutes before nine. “What are you doing here so early? I’m usually the first one in the office, especially on Mondays.”
“Today’s different.”
“How so?” Lillie asked, hanging up her coat.
“Because today’s a brand-new day.”
“Mmm-hmm. Tracy told me about all those emails you got last week.” Lillie folded her arms across her chest. “Is today a new day for the company or a new day for you?”
“Both.”
“Go ’head, girl. It’s about time we got some new blood up in here. I’m tired of dealing with the same people all the time. That gets old fast.”
“I wish Dad felt the same way.”
“Like most men, he doesn’t like change. He’ll come around. Just give him time.”
Austin’s appointment was set for nine thirty. He arrived ten minutes early.
“Prompt,” Lillie said as Grace buzzed Austin upstairs. “I like this one already.”
In her mind, Grace had pictured Austin as a slightly younger version of Dakota. When they finally met face-to-face, Grace was surprised to discover Dakota and Austin were nothing alike. Dakota was tall and thin. Austin was relatively short—five foot six at the most—and sturdily built. Almost stocky. And while Dakota exuded confidence, Austin seemed almost painfully shy.
“Would you like something to drink?” Grace asked after she showed him to his seat. “Coffee? Soda?”
Austin wiped his palms on his jeans as his eyes darted around the room. “Bottled water if you have it. I don’t do caffeine, and I try to avoid added processed sugar as much as possible.”
“Then how do you expect to stay awake for all those late-night study sessions when you try to pass the bar?” Lillie asked.
Austin let out a nervous laugh. “Willpower, I guess.”
“I don’t have either one, baby,” Lillie said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “The will or the power.”
Austin laughed again, his tension seeming to dissipate. Once again, Grace felt indebted to Lillie for her effortless ability to set customers at ease. “Here you are.” She handed Austin a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and took a seat opposite him. “I normally begin the interview session by asking clients how they heard about the co
mpany. In your case, I already know the answer. How long have you known Dakota?”
Austin ran a hand through his short brown hair. His blue eyes were slightly magnified by the thick lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses. “About five years, give or take. During my freshman year of college, my roommate and I decided to go to Savannah for Saint Patrick’s Day. Growing up, I’d always heard how wild River Street could be on that day, and I wanted to experience it for myself. Dakota happened to be in town at the same time, and even though we were surrounded by thousands of people, I recognized a kindred spirit.”
“Is she always the life of the party, or does it just seem that way?”
“She draws a lot of attention, that’s for sure. She doesn’t ask for it. It just happens. But you’ve seen her, so I’m sure you understand why.”
It didn’t take much more than a fleeting glance to see why Dakota turned heads, but Grace planned to keep hers on straight.
“She bought me a drink—nonalcoholic, of course, since I wasn’t twenty-one yet,” Austin said. “We chatted for a while and exchanged phone numbers so we could keep in touch. We’ve been friends ever since. She calls me the little brother she never had. I don’t know how accurate that is, but I do know I can talk to her about anything at any time. No matter where she is or what she has going on, I can count on her to be there for me. That’s huge for me. I don’t make friends easily because I’m…different, but Dakota is definitely one of them. She remembers every birthday, every anniversary, every special occasion. No matter where she is or what she’s got going on, you can count on receiving a card, a text, or a phone call.” His cheeks colored. “That’s a whole lot more information than you asked me for, isn’t it?”
“Everything you say helps me get to know you.” Thanks to Austin’s story, she felt like she’d gotten to know Dakota a bit better, too. Dakota was much more substantial than her slight frame and jovial attitude made her appear. She had to be if she inspired such loyalty in her friends. What else was she hiding under that striking androgynous exterior? “Since you’ll be wearing the suit to job interviews, I assume you’re in the market for something conservative.”
Austin nodded. “The firms I’ve sat down with have pretty strict dress codes. No surprise, given they’re all in the Deep South. They insist on skirts, dresses, and heels for the women, and suits and ties for the men. I don’t want one of those flashy get-ups you see lawyers wearing when their trials are televised, but I don’t want to look like I’m going to a funeral either. I want a suit that commands respect when I walk into a courtroom.”
“I think I know what you’re looking for.” Grace flipped through fabric swatches until she found a dark blue sample with a subtle gray pinstripe. “How about this one?”
Austin’s eyes widened. “I love it,” he said, fingering the small square piece of cloth, “but it’s wool, isn’t it? It looks really expensive. It feels that way, too. I’m a broke college student, remember?”
“Don’t worry. This sample is from our line of budget-friendly fabrics.”
“Seriously? Then, yeah, that one will be perfect.”
“Would you need a dress shirt as well?”
“No, I can go to any clothing store and find shirts and jeans that fit. When I try to buy anything else, though, I always end up looking like I’m playing dress-up with clothes from my father’s closet. That’s why I came to you. Dakota said you could give me the silhouette I see in my head instead of the one I see in the mirror.”
Grace set her pen down and looked Austin in the eye. “When I’m done, I promise you those images will be one and the same.”
“Thank you.”
Austin’s chin trembled as he fought back tears. Grace had never received that kind of reaction during a fitting. Then again, she’d never had an appointment like this one. Part business meeting, part therapy session.
“Are you okay, baby?” Lillie asked gently.
“I’m fine. Thank you, ma’am.” Austin sipped his water and took a few moments to get his emotions under control. “Before we continue, I’d like to make a suggestion if I may.”
“Of course,” Grace said. “This is a collaborative process. Your input is vital.”
“Actually, my issue isn’t with the process. It’s with your website.”
“The website? What’s wrong with it?” Until now, she had heard nothing but praise for its clean look, professional design, and ease of use.
“When I drafted my email, I noticed you have a dropdown box that lists the four basic salutations we’ve all grown accustomed to, and there’s even a box to check to indicate if a client would prefer to be measured by a male or female tailor, but there’s one thing missing.”
“What might that be?” Grace and the web designer had worked hand in hand for months prior to the site’s launch. She couldn’t think of anything they might have left out.
“If you’re going to be working with trans clients,” Austin said, “it would be a good idea to add a field to your site where those clients can indicate their preferred pronoun. Most cisgender people think the choices are limited to him or her, he or she, and what’s often termed the ungrammatical ‘they.’ Believe me, there are a hell of a lot more options than those five. It would save you some time and, perhaps, spare you from embarrassment if you give your clients a chance to tell you how they see themselves instead of waiting for you to try to guess.”
Grace stared at him, open-mouthed. She couldn’t believe the transformation from the shy wallflower who had walked into the office a few minutes ago into the assertive, confident young man sitting before her now.
“Did I say something to offend you?” Austin asked.
“No, but you have given me a lot to think about. I’m ashamed to say it had never occurred to me that my father and I might not be meeting all of our clients’ needs. When you and I are done with your fitting, I’ll call the webmaster and have her make the necessary changes.”
“Awesome.” Austin beamed as if he’d just won his first case.
Grace could tell he would make a great lawyer one day. When they shook hands at the door, she made sure to tell him so.
“I’ll remember that when I’m trying to pass the bar exam,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “Thanks for meeting with me. I look forward to hearing from you.”
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Lillie said after Austin left. “He certainly taught you a thing or two.”
Before today, Grace had thought she knew everything she needed to know about what it was like to be lesbian, gay, bi, or trans since she was a card-carrying member of the community. Meeting Austin—and Dakota—had exposed her shortcomings. She realized there was a lot more she needed to learn.
“I hope I’m a quick study. If not, I might be about to get in over my head.”
Chapter Seven
Dorothy Parker was a poet and author known more for what she said during her lifetime than what she wrote. Of the many witty quotes attributed to the charter member of the infamous Algonquin Round Table, Dakota’s favorite was: “I hate writing. I love having written.” She felt the same way about traveling. She loved exploring various parts of the world so she could experience different cultures and ways of life, but she hated the act of getting from one place to another.
The long lines in Customs tested her patience each time she traveled internationally, and making her way through the security checkpoints was usually a pain in the ass. Every time she whipped out her boarding pass and photo ID, she seemed to get stuck with a TSA officer who thought the F printed in the gender section of her driver’s license or passport was a typo. She had been subjected to enhanced security screenings so many times she was starting to wonder if her name had been placed on some super-secret government list.
She didn’t mind the pat-downs. Most of the time. If the TSA officer was cute and didn’t get too handsy during the search, she was willing to stand in the security line for hours if she had to. Then there were times like today. Times that m
ade her wonder why she had to continuously jump through hoops in order to be true to who she was.
After she sent her shoes, watch, belt, cell phone, and carry-on bag through the X-ray machine, she held her hands over her head and stepped into the full-body scanner. The machine whirred as its oversized camera circled her body. When the scanners were first introduced, some people had claimed that the machines invaded their privacy because the images they took revealed what people in them looked like under their clothes.
Dakota was on the fence about the issue. She didn’t like the idea of someone she didn’t know being aware of what she looked like naked, but if it kept someone from taking over a flight she had booked passage on, she was willing to live with the intrusion.
The balding male TSA officer on the other side of the scanner held up a hand to prevent her from stepping out of the machine. The laminated tag clipped to his royal blue uniform shirt indicated his name was Officer Frank Warren.
“Wait one moment,” Officer Warren said, peering at the monitor that displayed the results of the scan. He frowned, then waved her forward. “Step to the side, please.”
Dakota knew from experience what was coming next. She was wearing baggy jeans and a loose-fitting sweatshirt so she could be comfortable on the plane. She wished she had ditched the sweatshirt in favor of the tight T-shirt she was wearing underneath so the TSA officers in the security area would have fewer reasons to give her the quizzical looks they were hitting her with now. With a weary sigh, she hitched up her jeans, stepped out of the scanner, and headed to the area reserved for enhanced searches.
Officer Warren pressed a switch on the two-way radio strapped to the epaulet on his shirt and said, “I need a female agent to perform a passenger pat-down.”
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