Pandora's Closet

by Martin Harry Greenberg

  Don’s mom was prattling away about her friend the dressmaker, showing Stephanie some photos of other gowns the woman had done, when Stephanie suddenly remembered great-grandmother’s wedding dress.

  “Those pictures reminded me of something I’d nearly forgotten. I have an heirloom dress that I think would fit me. I’d like to wear it, if there’s any chance. It would be like… well, having a little of my side of the family in the wedding.”

  Don’s mom looked momentarily crushed, but she was a good woman and livened immediately.

  “I think that’s wonderful. ‘Something old,’ the rhyme says. Maybe I can contribute the ‘something new.’ ”

  Stephanie beamed at her. “That would be wonderful! Why don’t you come over the day after tomorrow and see the dress? That would give me a chance to make sure it hasn’t perished in storage or anything like that.”

  Don’s mom smiled, her happiness fully restored.

  “Don’t show Don,” she teased, waggling her finger. “It’s unlucky if the groom sees the bride’s dress before the wedding day.”

  June came, and with it, the day of the wedding. Somehow, Stephanie had not found the right moment to tell Don about Stephen. She’d tried once, even getting so far as mentioning Stephen. Don had seemed ready to listen. Then a dog had darted out of a side street. Don had swerved to keep them from hitting it, and the moment had been lost.

  All the hurdles Stephanie had expected hadn’t happened. Blood tests were no longer done. Physical exams were no longer required. The bored clerk hardly glanced at their birth certificates, shoved across forms for them to sign, and barely glanced at any signature but the one Don scrawled on the check. That she checked against his driver’s license.

  Stephanie’s bridesmaids were to be Pam and Elaine, her best friends from work. Stephanie had initially cultivated Elaine for purely practical reasons, figuring that the personnel officer would be the first to hear any hints that someone suspected Stephanie was not quite what she seemed. Somewhere the pretense of friendship had become real. Pam worked as a programmer in the same division Stephanie did. She was uninquisitive about anything but numbers and codes, but with those she was brilliant, even funny.

  The three women had arranged to meet at Stephanie’s house to get dressed in their finery and do each other’s hair. Then they would take the limousine over to the church together. If Stephanie met them at the door already in her gown, neither of her friends thought this odd. Her physical modesty was well-known, and many a bride could hardly wait to put on the lovely dress that she would, after all, wear only once.

  Besides, the dress itself provided ample distraction.

  “It’s amazing!” said Pam, a woman whose praise was usually reserved for the intricacies of some computer program.

  “You showed it to us in the box,” Elaine added, “but this is a dress that needs to be seen on to be appreciated. Spin a bit, Stephanie. Look how those beads catch the light. If it wasn’t impossible you could believe they were diamonds. I love the netting over the neckline, modest without being in the least prudish.”

  Stephanie loved the netting, too, as it concealed her falsies from close inspection. The only things was, she didn’t remember seeing the netting in any of the old photos. She supposed it had been too delicate to show.

  “Even without your hair done or your make-up finished,” Pam said, “you look like a princess.”

  “All hail Princess Stephanie!” Elaine said, making a deep curtsey, despite her jeans.

  Stephanie flushed, remembering the boy of eight who had found his true self in a Cinderella costume.

  “She’s blushing!” Pam said. “Now, you’re already half-way ready to go. Let’s get to our hair and then we’ll finish our make-up. Are you going to be all right in that gown? Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in a bathrobe?”

  Stephanie spun, letting the diamond beads catch fire in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

  “I don’t ever want to take it off,” she said. “I wish I could be Princess Stephanie forever and ever.”

  Pam laughed. “Enjoy it while you can, though I’m sure Don is going to be an absolute Prince Charming, even after the wedding. You can tell he’s not just madly in love, he’s sincerely in love. Now, let’s start with Elaine’s hair. It’s thicker than mine, and as I recall…”

  The conversation drifted off into the intricacies of hairdressing. As Stephanie’s hands worked on taming Elaine’s thick chestnut locks, her mind insisted on returning to that morning. She’d sat there on the edge of the bed, naked, looking back and forth between the magnificent wedding dress on its stand and the undeniably male sex organs dangling limp at her crotch.

  “I’m a man, Don! A man! The woman you love doesn’t exist.”

  She practiced the words, but she couldn’t imagine saying them over the phone, and Don was taking his mother’s superstitions very seriously. He’d even left the rehearsal dinner early, so he wouldn’t take a chance of seeing Stephanie after midnight.

  “I guess he knows that Cinderella changes back into her real self after midnight,” Stephen said to the dress, “and he doesn’t want to take any chances. How can I do this to him? But how can I stand him up at the altar? Better to go through with it, then let him find out the truth. Then we can figure out the best way to save face for him afterwards. It would be easy for him to have the marriage declared invalid. Then I could disappear. He could tell everyone whatever he wanted. Or I could pretend to die…”

  Stephen started crying, hard tears that wrenched from the heart.

  “But I love him so much! That’s real, even if Stephanie isn’t. I love him, and I’m going to lose him because even if a scullery maid can be changed into a princess, there’s no way I can ever be.”

  “Ouch!” Elaine’s exclamation brought Stephanie from her memories. “Not so hard! I don’t mind wearing it up, but I do protest having it pulled out at the roots.”

  “Sorry,” Stephanie said. “I think I’ve got the pins in now, and doesn’t your hair look wonderful?”

  It did, and Elaine was immediately mollified, turning her head side to side to inspect the effect. Pam’s hair was easier to do, but Stephanie made herself concentrate on the task, not letting her mind wander. She took charge of the cosmetics, and each of her friends were overwhelmed at the transformation.

  “You won’t be the only princess at this ball!” Pam said, turning her head side to side to admire the results of Stephanie’s skillful shadowing. “Mike won’t know me.”

  “Mike will be awed,” Elaine said, “but he’s going to be embarrassed unless you get your dress on. We’d better get moving. The limo’s going to be here before we know it.”

  And it was. Stephanie had hardly settled the heirloom tiara that went with the dress into her fair hair when the driver came to the door. He seemed pleasantly impressed with the entourage, escorting them to the long car with visible pride.

  “Usually,” Pam said when they were settled, “I consider stretch limousines an indulgence, but at a time like this, they make sense. We would never have fit your dress into a more usual car, Stephanie. Even ours would be a trial.”

  Stephanie could only nod. Her heart was in her throat, and she was suddenly overwhelmed with what she was glad to know everyone would take for bridal jitters. Then they were at the church. She could hear the organ notes floating out toward them as the church’s big double doors swept open.

  She stood straight. Great-grandmother’s wedding dress glittered in the sunlight. Her veil fell into place as if arranged by invisible angels. Pam and Elaine looked radiant, but Stephanie glowed.

  The bouquets were waiting at the back. Don’s mom fussed about, making sure each woman got the right one.

  “Stephanie, you look wonderful!” she whispered happily, pecking the bride on one cheek.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Stephanie said. “Now go ahead. The usher is waiting for you.”

  The parents of the groom were escorted to their seats, then th
e music shifted.

  “That’s your cue,” Stephanie said, holding her bouquet just as she had practiced. “Take the lead, ladies. I’m right behind you.”

  No one was giving the bride away, although Don’s dad had offered. Stephanie wouldn’t accept that kindness, would not let that good man be part of her deception. Unseen Stephen would give Stephanie away, just as he would accept the responsibility at the end.

  The service went by in a blur. Stephanie knew she said all the right things because no one looked at her strangely. The priest said “Husband and wife,” and Don kissed her without a trace of shyness, never mind all the avid gazes fixed on them both.

  Then they swept down the aisle to the thrilling notes of the organ recessional, and off to the reception. Stephanie had insisted that she could not bear a tyrannical photographer, so they settled for a few posed shots taken by a good friend, then joined the party.

  Their first dance was to a song neither of them had selected, but which was so painfully appropriate that Stephanie smiled up at Don and pulled him onto the floor.

  To the lovely notes of Cinderella’s waltz with the prince from Disney’s version of the fairy tale, Stephanie sang softly, “So this is love…” Don looked down at her, his eyes shining as brightly as had those of any prince in any fairy tale.

  They left the reception early, and the limousine spirited them off to a room at a high-end hotel. Don had made the arrangements for this and for the honeymoon, and Stephanie only hoped he could get his deposits back when he explained that the wedding was off.

  They were both a little nervous when they arrived at their room, so they took a moment to examine the elaborate setting. Don had reserved a suite, rather than a room. Champagne and truffles had been set out on a low coffee table before a cozy love seat.

  Nervous of the bedroom and its enormous waiting promise, they gravitated toward the love seat.

  I bet we’re not nervous for the same reason, Stephanie thought. She glanced at the clock and saw it was a few moments before midnight. How appropriate. Time for Cinderella to transform back into a scullery… boy.

  She got up from the love seat, stepped out of her high-heeled shoes, and peeled off her stockings with her toes. Then she moved across the room a few paces. Don half-rose as if to follow her, but Stephanie motioned him back, putting the coffee table between them.

  “Don, whatever else happens,” she said, “I want you to know that I love you with all my heart and all my soul. If I have done anything selfish, anything thoughtless, well, that’s because there never seemed to be a right time.”

  She could see that he thought he meant her refusal to indulge in premarital sex. Before he could reassure her, Stephanie raised one hand for silence.

  “The time has come,” she said, and from somewhere she imagined she could hear a clock striking the first stroke of midnight.

  The dress was remarkably cooperative in matters of fastenings. The little pearl buttons along the back had been easy to reach, and simple to fasten. They were even easier to unfasten.

  Don had settled back in the love seat, his glass of champagne in his hand, his expression saying that he thought her surprise was far better than his. After all, who would have guessed his shy girl would undress before him?

  Stephanie-for just this moment more, still Stephanie-smiled softly at him.

  “I love you, Don,” she said, undid the final button, and started peeling down the close-fitting bodice.

  The soft fabric folded down easily, and Stephanie waited for Don’s gasp of surprise when he saw that her curving bosom was an artfully stuffed bra and falsies.

  He said nothing, and so she peeled the dress down to her waist. Still nothing, although Stephen’s trim waist could never be mistaken for that of a woman.

  Don’s drunk! Stephen thought in desperation. He’s nearsighted and I never knew. He’s a virgin, maybe, and has no idea what a naked woman looks like.

  Stephen dismissed that last. He knew perfectly well that Don was a normal, healthy heterosexual male. He’d have seen naked women, in pictures, if not in person, and quite likely in person as well.

  Stephen continued his agonizing striptease, opening the skirt and stepping free of those wonderful, all-encompassing, all-concealing hoops and tiers. He kept his gaze locked on Don, but the young man’s face held only wonder and delight.

  Stephen set the dress to one side and stood revealed but for his undergarments.

  Come on! These panties don’t exactly hide what I’ve got. Say something!

  Without realizing it, he had spoken the last two words aloud.

  Don shook himself from his entranced wonder and grinned, a merry, feckless expression.

  “You are absolutely gorgeous, my darling. Are you going to stop there? I mean, some men might prefer sexy lingerie, but I’d like to see my real, live girl in all her glory.”

  Stephen blinked. He liked good undergarments, but the reality of keeping bound what needed to be bound and building up what needed to be seen had some restrictions. He had figured the game would be over by this point, so he hadn’t gone out and bought anything particularly elegant in the way of lingerie.

  But maybe Don was more innocent than was possible. Maybe he wouldn’t understand until he saw the dangly bits.

  Resolutely, Stephen reached to unhook his bra. The fabric felt silky to his touch, smoother than he remembered, and when it sprang loose the weight was all wrong. It should have hung, heavy with padding, but it swung as light as if it was made of nothing more serious than a bit of satin and lace.

  “Oh, my god…” Don groaned.

  Stephen braced himself, but the rebuke he expected did not follow. Don groaned again.

  “Stephanie, get on with it, or this is going to be the most embarrassingly short wedding night in history.”

  Stephen dropped the bra without looking at it, but he did look as he slid his hand into his panties to strip them off.

  They were not, most definitely, not, the French-cut briefs he had put on that morning. They did not have an inappropriate bulge in the front. These were the panties of his dreams, bikini-cut and trimmed with just enough lace to be sexy. They did not hide the awkward bulge of a penis for the simple fact that the bulge was not there.

  Stephen/Stephanie stared, and felt a flood of delight. She inspected her chest and found she had two round and perky breasts, just like the ones she had always imagined. She had a waist, too, and very nice legs.

  Don was laughing affectionately.

  “Stephanie, it’s as if you never realized that you were a girl! Come over here, right now. I’m going to carry you over the threshold in proper fashion while I still have the self-restraint to do so.”

  And so he did, gathering her close, and whispering wonderful things as he carried her to their nuptial bed.

  Glancing over Don’s shoulder, Stephanie saw the dress lying in a glittering heap on the floor and sent it a silent glowing whisper of thanks.

  Then she gave Don her full attention and made him her man as he made her his woman.

  LADY IN RED by A. M. Strout

  When I packed in August for freshman year at NYU, my friends in Ohio warned me to get my degree and get out as quick as possible before New York City hardened my soul. “Lara,” they said, “You’re much too sweet, much too naïve, to make it in the Big Poisoned Apple.”

  To them I simply sang the old Sinatra line my Nana had used to convince me to move out east in the first place. “If I can make it there,” I’d sing, smiling sweetly and giving a few Rockette-style high-kicks, “I can make it anywhere.”

  I had laughed at their warnings at the time, but two months into my first semester I was standing in a thrift store on West 8th Street engaging in a tug of war with an old crone over a red hoodie that I adored. I was beginning to see what they meant. Nothing comes cheap in the city, and with the chill of October setting in, I was on the hunt for a little warmth with my limited student budget. I had spotted the most perfect little red hoodi
e half hidden by the press of clothes hanging on either side of it. It practically called out to me, and when I saw the three dollar price tag, I was over the rainbow for it. I took it down, carefully folded it over my arm, and was on my way to the counter when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and felt a tugging on my arm.

  A gaudy looking woman in her early fifties had latched onto my red hoodie. The Cinderella blonde dye job on her wild hair was fading, and large clumps of gray were seeping through, giving her a manic appearance that perfectly matched her actions. She tugged again, harder this time.

  “Excuse me,” I said, clamping my arm against my body to maintain my hold. I almost laughed at the absurdity of her, but my amusement was quickly shut out by my animalistic desire to keep the hoodie. I viciously tore it away from her. “Mine!” she said, lunging for it, but missing it completely. Instead, her nails raked dryly against my skin, causing something primal and protective to snap inside of me.

  “No,” I said politely but firmly, “it’s not.”

  I held it at arm’s length away from her. The crone moved even closer, and the earthy old-person stink of her choked me. Her eyes twitched back and forth, following the hood that now dangled from my outstretched arm. She practically foamed at the mouth.

  I realized everything seemed a little scary and off kilter. This type of surreal behavior didn’t happen in the middle of a store. I felt my heart racing like a scared little girl, and I wondered if my friends had been right about me coming to city after all.

  “I want that for my daughter,” she screamed, spittle flying.

  I was startled as she raised her voice, but just then the balding man behind the counter spoke up.

  “Hey,” he shouted, breaking the strange spell that wove between us. “Mrs. Punzelli, knock it off. You play nice or I’m gonna have to call the cops on you. You got that?”