The House of
Fabulous
© 2004 by Nom de
Plume
For those who missed “Skirting the Law”, the players are:
Charles Bigelow, hard-charging CEO of Tyrex Industries,
who has a heart attack when…
Terry Poindexter comes to work in a dress, much to the
delight of…
Gail Chestnut, his stunningly attractive executive
secretary, and…
Doyle Rogers, a senior executive with a secret, who is
destined for a date with…
Madam Fabulous.
* * *
“You have a dinner date already? It’s only your first day
as a woman! I’m beginning to believe my own advertisements,” Madam Fabulous
said into the speakerphone while she sifted through some paperwork on her Queen
Anne desk.
“It’s with one of our senior executives,” Terry Poindexter
explained. “We’ll be discussing business, but he’s taking me to the Carnelian
Room.”
“How elegant! That white and blue dress I picked out for
you last night would be perfect.”
“Are you sure it’s fancy enough?”
“Of course. It looks lovely on you. You can dress it up
with the matching pashmina Sissy got you.”
“Do you mean the blue shawl?”
“Um hmm. You have nothing to worry about, my dear. It’s winter,
so go with the blue shoes and purse. Have a wonderful time, and please call
me tomorrow and tell me all about it.”
Terry hung up the phone and swiveled his plush leather chair
around to glance at the diary on his credenza. He had no engagements that
evening, as usual. With a girlish hand, he wrote “Dinner with Doyle” at the
bottom of the page, and then he turned to his computer and began sifting
through the day’s email messages. He tried to take his mind off the fact that
he was dressed as a woman, but every time he saw his polished fingers flying
over the keyboard, his predicament was brought home. With a sigh of
resignation, he kicked off his heels, tucked his stockinged feet under his
skirt, and turned his attention to the legal problems of Tyrex Industries.
He spent most of the afternoon researching the ins and outs
of hostile takeovers, and did some online digging into Great White, LLC, the
company which had launched a tender offer that morning. What he saw wasn’t
good: fueled by buckets of cash from a New York investment bank, Great White
was on a buying binge for undervalued companies, and they looked unstoppable.
It was hard for Terry not to think about his personal situation as he scrolled
through the SEC filings on his screen. Once Great White acquired a
controlling interest in Tyrex Industries, they would be perfectly within their
rights to replace all of the company’s officers, and of course he would be the
first to go when they discovered that he wore women’s clothing to work. Unless
he could find a way to stop this takeover, his career and his reputation were on
the road to ruin.
He thought about returning to work the next day in his male
persona, and abandoning his scheme to get Tyrex Industries to pay him off. But
after a quick glance at the canons of legal ethics, he abandoned that idea as
even more risky. As a company lawyer, he had fiduciary obligations to his
employer, and if it were revealed that he tried to goad them into giving him a
severance package under false pretenses, his license to practice law would be
in jeopardy.
Utterly absorbed by his legal and personal misfortunes,
Terry lost complete track of time, and he sat up with a start when Gail
Chestnut, his gorgeous executive assistant, came into the office. “It’s almost
five o’clock,” she said. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I
leave?”
He debated about asking her for another blow job, but
thought the better of it. “Not that I can think of,” he said.
“Did you see the announcement about Mr. Bigelow?”
“No, I was too caught up with Lexis/Nexis.”
“He’s in intensive care at Saint Francis, but it looks like
he’s going to pull through. Doyle Rogers has been named interim CEO.”
“That’s nice.”
“Well, have fun with Doyle tonight,” she said with a wink.
“I can’t wait to hear all about it tomorrow. Or even better, call me when you
get home, if you feel like a little girl talk.” She spun on her heel and left
before he could think of a response.
* * *
Terry left the office a few minutes later. He ignored the
gapes and stares of employees who had heard about his transformation but had to
see him to believe it. It wasn’t until he stepped out onto Montgomery Street
that it occurred to him that he was wearing a disguise. The people at Tyrex
Industries might have regarded him as an oddity, but the strangers on the
street regarded him as a woman. To his relief, there were no strange looks or
double-takes, only an occasional leer from a man sizing him up as a potential
score. He rode the Muni back to his neighborhood without incident, and it was
almost six o’clock when he let himself into his apartment.
Two hours to get ready for his first date! Well, not really
his first date – he’d had his share of one night stands and disastrous blind
dates as a man, but never a serious relationship. Maybe his luck as a woman
would be better, he thought ruefully as he peeled off his lingerie and
stockings and drew a hot bath. After the stresses of the day, and the
spectacular sex with Gail under his desk, the raging erections which had
plagued him since his transformation the previous day were strangely absent, he
noticed as he sank with relief into the hot suds. Even though it meant he
would have to dry and style his hair, he dunked his head and held his breath
for as long as he could, as if that might suspend time and forestall his date
with another man.
Eventually, he dried himself off, wrapped a towel around his
wet head like a turban, and dusted his body with fragrant powder from the House
of Fabulous. Once again, he pampered himself with moisturizing crème before
applying his makeup, which went on quicker and easier this time. A learned
trait, he mused while running a blow dryer over his hair. Would styling his
new shag hairdo come to him as easily? It did, although it took longer than he
anticipated getting it just so. It was well past seven when he gaffed himself
and returned to his closet to get dressed for the evening.
Let’s see, what lingerie and stockings went with his dress
and shoes? Terry selected a white bra and panties and the full white slip that
Sissy told him to wear under his new dress. He opened a package of sheer nude
pantyhose, savoring their caress as he smoothed them on. His exhausted penis
came momentarily to life despite its restraints, and Terry tried to ignore it, carefully
lowering his dress over his head and pulling it up to his shoulders. As he
reached back to zip it up, the lacy hem of his slip peeked out from under his
dress, and another spark of arousal was stifled by the unforgiving gaff. Terry’s
cheeks were blushing through his makeup as he stepped into his navy blue pumps
and surveyed himself in the mirror. Holy shit, he said to himself. I’m a
knockout.
A dazed Terry took his pashmina out of his dresser and
experimented with how to wrap it around his back and shoulders. Somehow it
added grace and femininity to his already stunning reflection, and by the time
he finished himself off with some jewelry and cologne, Terry was actually
shaking. Not with fear and dread over the prospect of going out on a date with
a man, but with shock and awe over the enormity of his transformation.
It was almost eight o’clock by the time he picked up his
blue purse and headed for the door.
* * *
Doyle Rogers sat anxiously at a table for two overlooking
the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge. What was I thinking, he asked himself
for the hundredth time, suggesting that Terry Poindexter meet me for dinner?
Here of all places, at a restaurant widely acknowledged as the most romantic in
San Francisco. The little table was covered with crystal and flowers, and
Doyle fidgeted nervously with his thick linen napkin, wondering if it was too
late for him to call Terry and make up some excuse.
Who was he trying to kid? The moment Doyle saw Terry
Poindexter dressed as a woman in Charles Bigelow’s office, he felt a rush of
envy and excitement. For years, he had kept his secret hidden during his
relentless climb up the corporate ladder. Now that he was on the brink of
success, his long-repressed urges threatened to boil over.
Doyle Rogers had yearned to be a girl from the moment he
became aware that there were two sexes. His earliest childhood memory was when
he was three years old and his older sisters dressed him up as a princess for
Halloween. During his adolescence, he dreamed of sneaking into their bedroom
and trying on their clothes, but the risk of exposure was too great a deterrent.
He threw his energies instead into amateur theater, winning roles in student
productions and community playhouses that enabled him at least to wear makeup
and don the occasional female costume. Strikingly handsome, he had become
sought-after as a leading man in regional theatrical circles, but when it came
time for college his uptight parents steered him away from Broadway or Hollywood
and into a career in business and finance. There he had labored, mechanically
climbing rung after rung while his secret lay deep beneath the surface.
Until this morning, when he saw Terry Poindexter dressed as
a woman. If a dweeb like Terry had the courage to come out of the closet, why
couldn’t he? For Doyle, the prospect of transforming himself into a woman was
not sexually arousing. Unlike Terry, he was a true transsexual, although he
had married and divorced twice in vain attempts to achieve respectability. Now
that the brass ring at Tyrex Industries was within his grasp, Doyle Rogers
instinctively started reaching for his ultimate objective, even if achieving it
would mean his downfall.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a striking
woman in a blue and white dress coming towards his table. Doyle could only
stare as the maitre’d pulled back the opposing chair and Terry sat down
gracefully, taking off his shawl and spreading it across the back of his chair before
he turned to face Doyle. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “It takes so much longer
getting ready these days.”
“You look…marvelous,” Doyle stammered.
“Thanks,” Terry said with the casual assurance of a woman
who is used to being told that she is beautiful. “I still have a hard time
believing it’s really me when I look in the mirror.”
A waiter interrupted them with menus and a wine list. After
Doyle ordered a very expensive bottle of chardonnay, he began to pepper Terry
with questions. “How long have you known that you wanted to become a woman?”
Terry weighed his words carefully. “It’s hard to say.” The
less said about himself, the better. Doyle was his boss now, and if he even
suspected that Terry’s masquerade was a scam, he would be out on his ear.
“Have you been dressing up like this for a long time?”
Better be careful here. Once caught in a lie, everything
could unravel. “Not really.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
How to turn the conversation to business? Terry saw his
opportunity when the waiter returned with their wine. After Doyle went through
the tasting ritual, Terry raised his glass and offered a toast. “To the new
CEO of Tyrex Industries. Congratulations, Doyle.”
When they sipped their glasses, the wine ricocheted off Terry’s
empty stomach and went straight to his head. Feeling slightly woozy, he
grabbed a breadstick and began to nibble on it, trying to act ladylike while
maintaining control of the conversation. “We’re in a tough spot, Doyle. I did
some research on Great White today.”
Reluctantly, Doyle shifted gears. After all, he was
supposed to be having dinner with his general counsel, at company expense, not
indulging in secret fantasies. “Tell me what you learned.”
“For starters, we can’t just blow them off. The letter from
Great White is what is known as a ‘bear hug’. Because our stock is so low,
thanks to the bumbling of Charles Bigelow, Great White’s offer is reasonably
attractive to our shareholders, and the board will have to give it serious
consideration.”
“The board has agreed to meet with representatives of Great
White in two days to formally consider the offer.”
“Do you know who’s coming?”
“Yes. Their Chairman, Darwin DeVour, and the head of a New
York investment bank.”
“Probably Lance Raptor of Carnivore Capital.”
“That’s right.” The waiter returned to take their orders.
Although he hadn’t had a square meal in almost two days, Terry resisted the
temptation to order the biggest steak on the menu, reluctantly selecting a
pasta dish. Doyle ordered sea bass, then asked him, “How did you know about
Carnivore?”
“I pulled up the history of Great White’s recent
acquisitions on Lexis this afternoon. DeVour has been cutting a swath through
corporate America funded by Carnivore. They’re probably in San Francisco
tonight plotting our demise.”
“Right again. When the board asked me to confirm the
meeting, I called DeVour’s secretary in New York, and she gave me the number of
his suite at the Mark Hopkins. When I called, Raptor answered the phone.”
“They’re the world’s last authentic playboys.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“According to an article I read on Lexis, DeVour and Raptor
have a history of carousing together the night before they go in for the kill.
No woman in San Francisco will be safe tomorrow night.” As he said it, the
germ of an idea began to grow in Terry’s mind. It was crazy, but no more so
than his current situation. Maybe the wine was starting to go to his head.
“Too bad we can’t get close to them,” Doyle said. “If we
could find out what their strategy was, we might be able to outmaneuver them in
front of the board.”
You just read my mind, Terry said to himself. He surveyed
Doyle’s handsome face as he took another sip of wine. With his sculptured
features, high cheekbones and fair skin, he might make a better-looking woman
than Terry. Give Madam Fabulous a few hours with him, and….
The waiter presented their salads. Terry took a few dainty
bites before he floated the thought across the table. “There might be a way,
Doyle, but it would be highly unorthodox.”
“We have nothing to lose at this point. Unless we do
something dramatic, we’re going to be hitting the bricks by the end of the
week. I don’t think that will be much fun in high heels. Come on, counselor,”
Doyle smiled. “If you have an idea in that pretty little head of yours, let’s
hear it.”
“You spent some time in the theatre, didn’t you?” Terry
asked, already knowing the answer from Doyle’s company bio.
“My first love,” Doyle said. “Underneath this button-down
façade beats the heart of a frustrated thespian.”
“Have you ever played a woman’s part?”
The question was so unexpected that Doyle laughed out loud,
drawing stares from the nearby tables. “What makes you ask that?” he countered
with forced nonchalance.
“Because my idea would entail an undercover operation on our
part. Tell me, Doyle, have you ever heard of the House of Fabulous?”
Doyle could barely conceal his excitement. How many times
had he seen those advertisements and dreamed! From park benches and passing
busses, the House of Fabulous beckoned to “boys who should have been girls.” Now
he was being presented with the perfect cover! When he responded by saying, “I
don’t think so,” the lie was so transparent that Terry began to wonder about Doyle’s
acting ability.
Their entrees arrived, and Terry weighed his next words
while he twirled capellini pomodoro onto his fork. He was certain now that
Gail Chestnut was right about Doyle Rogers. The man was obviously yearning to
explore his feminine side, but afraid or ashamed to do so. Terry also felt
sure that Madam Fabulous would have no trouble transforming Doyle into an
attractive woman. All he needed to do was get him in the door. “The House of
Fabulous made me the woman I am today,” he said, staring at Doyle above his
wine glass.
“Is it some kind of beauty salon?” Doyle asked with feigned
ignorance. He had visited the House of Fabulous web site countless times, and
a dog-eared copy of “Boys Who Should Have Been Girls” by Madam Fabulous was
kept in a drawer in his nightstand.
Terry played along. “Sort of. Maybe it takes one to know
one, but I can tell that you would make a spectacular woman.” He drained his
glass and drummed his manicured fingers on the tablecloth. “Wouldn’t you like
to try it, just once?”
“What makes you think I’d want to?”
“Because it’s such a rush! Look at me, Doyle. It feels so
good to dress up like this.” Terry crossed his legs with a rustle of nylon,
poking one of his high heels out from under the tablecloth. “Do you know what
I like about it the most?”
“What?” Doyle whispered.
“Paying back Mother Nature for the trick she played on me.
When I was a little kid, people used to tease me by saying, ‘You should have
been born a girl.’ Maybe they were right. Now, when I get dressed up like
this, nobody can tell that I’m really a guy.”
After years of frustration and denial, the repressed
feelings finally poured out of Doyle’s tortured soul. “Do you really think I
could pass for a woman?” he asked in a quaking voice.
“Take it from me. You’ll be a Fabulous Girl.”
* * *
They agreed to meet in Doyle’s office the next morning to
plot their strategy. After he got back to his apartment, Terry found Madam
Fabulous’s lavender card in his black purse and glanced at his slim
wristwatch. It was after ten, but he took a chance and called the number on
the card. He waited while it was routed to another extension. “House of
Fabulous,” the familiar voice answered.
“Madam, it’s Terry. I’m sorry to call you so late.”
“Nonsense, dear! I’m dying to hear about your dinner date.
Tell me everything!”
“Oh, it was wonderful. Madam Fabulous, I have another
emergency for you.”
“What is it?”
“Can you perform another miracle tomorrow morning? Not for
me, for somebody else.”
“Bless your heart. Let me consult my palm pilot.” A
pause. “Tomorrow morning is booked solid, but the afternoon is wide open.
Tell me about the project.”
“He’s a natural. About my height and weight, a lot
better-looking, and a trained actor to boot.”
“Oh my. You are becoming my favorite customer, Terry. Tell
your friend to come at one o’clock, when the Mistresses get back from lunch.
What’s his name?”
“Doyle. I’ll be with him. I need you to give me some of
those curves that can stop traffic.”
“We’ll be waiting for you.”
Terry hung up and started to get ready for bed. After
hanging up his dress and peeling off his lingerie and stockings, he removed his
makeup with cold cream and freed himself from the hated gaff. Dressed in his
blue satin nightgown and panties, he crawled under the covers and was about to
switch off the light on his nightstand when the telephone rang. It was Gail
Chestnut.
“How was your big date?” she giggled.
“I do believe you’re jealous,” Terry bantered back in a
girlish voice.
“You bet I am! Did you give him a goodnight kiss?”
“No! It was strictly business, Gail.”
“Hmmm…sounds like Mr. Rogers’ secretary was right about
him. No straight guy could have resisted a girl as hot as you.” Her voice was
incredibly sultry, and Terry felt himself stirring. He looked under the covers
to see a tent forming in his nightgown as his penis strained against his satin
panties.
“Do you really think I’m hot?” he asked.
“I’m getting hot right now just thinking about you.”
“That makes two of us.”
“What did you wear tonight?”
“Just a dress.”
“What’s it like?”
Terry felt himself starting to lose control. He tugged the
waistband of his panties down and freed himself as he cradled the phone on his
shoulder. “It’s white with little blue polka dots. It has sort of a gathered
waist and a princess collar.”
“Sounds cute. Do you have it on now?”
“No.”
“What are you wearing?”
“A nightgown and panties.”
“Yum! Pull your panties down.”
“I already did.”
“Naughty girl! Are you touching yourself?”
“Not yet,” Terry moaned as his penis twitched in
anticipation.
“Listen carefully. I want you to take the hem of your nightie
and wrap it around yourself. Is it nice and silky?”
“Yes. Oh God.”
“Make pretend it’s me sliding up and down…up and down…up and
down…oh God…oh God!”
At the sound of Gail coming, Terry gave way to a shattering
orgasm, prolonged by her panting sighs on the other end of the line. When the
waves of ecstasy finally subsided, he fell back in exhaustion, the phone still
cradled on his shoulder.
“Well, that was a first,” Gail sighed.
“Your first phone sex?”
“Our first simultaneous orgasms. Imagine what we can do
when we’re in the same bed.”
Terry fell asleep to delicious dreams.
* * *
The next morning, Terry was up at five again to begin his
preparations for another day as a woman. Shaving his legs, styling his hair
and putting on his makeup was almost becoming a routine. Even though he hadn’t
jogged in two days, the increased metabolism brought on by the anxiety of
masquerading as a woman, combined with his new diet, had taken five pounds off
his already slim physique. His waist looked almost tiny between his false
breasts and pantied ass, and when he tugged on a pair of control top pantyhose,
it shrank even more.
Terry dressed himself in his one remaining outfit, the blue
suit. Accessorized with a colorful red and white scarf, sheer navy stockings,
and the blue heels and purse, he looked every inch the female lawyer. Whereas
Terrence Poindexter had been a hopeless wimp, Terry Poindexter had looks,
style, and a special confidence that came from knowing he had a secret identity.
He rode the Muni to the financial district and stopped at a
corner bakery for a cup of coffee and a muffin before walking the rest of the
way to Tyrex Industries. The receptionist was on duty when he got off the
elevator, and she greeting him with an amused smile. “Good morning, Ms.
Poindexter. You’re looking lovely today.”
“Why thank you, Jean. I like your dress,” Terry said as he
walked through the door. He felt her eyes boring into his back as he strolled
down the corridor to Gail’s desk. “Morning, Gail,” he said. “Sleep well last
night?”
She followed him into his office and closed the door behind
them. They locked in a tight embrace, sharing a passionate kiss that neither
wanted to end. When they finally broke off the clinch, their makeup and hair
were a mess. Gail went to work on Terry, and he did the best he could with
her, trying to ignore the protest from his panties while he wiped his lipstick
off her beautiful face. “Down boy,” he said to himself.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Gail said. “Your
place or mine tonight?”
He looked longingly at her beautiful body. “Afraid I’m
going out tonight.”
“Another date with Doyle?” she asked playfully.
“Well yes, but not in the way you think.” He could see the
hurt in her eyes, and he stopped her before she could leave. “Doyle and I are
going to take a walk on the wild side.” She listened as he explained.
* * *
At noon, Terry and Doyle left the office separately, a few
minutes apart. Terry was waiting for him on the corner of Montgomery and Sacramento
streets when Doyle pulled up to the curb in his Porsche. Doyle reached over to
open the passenger door, and Terry sat down as gracefully as he could in his
tight skirt.
Earlier that morning, Terry had come to Doyle’s office to
find him in a state of near panic. “Forget what I told you last night,” he’d
said. “I can’t go through with this.”
“Yes you can, and you will. The arrangements have already
been made. You have an appointment with Madam Fabulous at one o’clock, and she does not tolerate tardiness.” Secretly thrilled by Terry’s domineering tone,
Doyle had meekly agreed. The rest of the morning was spent meeting with the
company’s investment bankers and preparing for the emergency meeting of the
board of directors, which was scheduled for nine o’clock the following day.
Doyle’s assistant was surprised when he told her to clear his schedule for the
afternoon, but with all the craziness going on in the office, she took it in
her stride.
Now, as he wove his Porsche through the lunch hour traffic,
Doyle was obviously a nervous wreck. “What are they going to do to me first?”
he asked.
“Well, let’s see,” Terry said. “Did you shave last night?”
“Yes.” Before they left the restaurant, Terry had
instructed Doyle to remove all of his body hair before he went to bed, a
command which he had been only too happy to obey.
“Then you will probably go right into makeup. After you are
properly gaffed, of course.”
“Does that hurt?”
“Just one of the many joys of being a woman.”
Doyle’s mind was racing as they climbed up California Street
towards Nob Hill. “How long do you think it will take?”
“Three or four hours, depending on how long it takes to fit
you with a wig and fingernails. That should give us plenty of time to pick out
our outfits for tonight.”
“We must be out of our minds.”
“No turning back now, Doyle. If I could do it, you can do
it.” They rode in silence the rest of the way. After Doyle found a parking
space on Castro Street, Terry led them to the gingerbread Victorian townhouse
with the lavender front door. He strode confidently up the steps, Doyle
following a few steps behind him, and pressed the buzzer. The door opened
immediately.
“Welcome back to the House of Fabulous. Look at you,
Terry! Aren’t you stunning? And this must be Doyle,” Madam Fabulous gushed as
she showed them into the foyer. She was dressed in a simple gray shift with
her trademark strand of pearls, classic coif and immaculate makeup. “Terry was
right,” she said to Doyle. “You are going to be a delight to work with.” She
sat down on a lavender settee and patted the cushions on either side of her.
“Sit down, girls.” Terry sat down to one side of her, while Doyle hesitated.
“Do as you’re told,” Madam Fabulous repeated with irritation, and Doyle immediately
complied.
Sissy, the Mistress of Fashion, entered the foyer. Terry
got up and gave her a hug. After they exchanged air kisses, they stood next to
each other while Madam Fabulous turned her attention to Doyle. “Because you
were referred by Terry, I will dispense with the usual preliminaries. Repeat
after me: ‘I dedicate myself to the discovery of my inner woman, and I pledge
my allegiance to Madam Fabulous and her Mistresses in my quest to become a
Fabulous Girl.’” Doyle hung his head and repeated the pledge in a halting
voice. “Take him away to be gaffed,” Madam Fabulous said to Sissy, who took
Doyle by the hand and led him into an adjoining room.
When they were alone, Madam Fabulous held Terry’s hands and
smiled with genuine pleasure. “I can’t tell you how proud I am of you. You
look adorable. How does it feel?”
“It feels…nice,” Terry said. “It’s a lot of work, but it’s
all worth it when I see the look in people’s eyes. I never thought of myself
as attractive before.”
“This is just the beginning, Terry. You are truly a Fabulous
Girl.”
“Madam, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, dear.”
“Who were you before you became Madam Fabulous?”
“It’s rather a long story,” Madam Fabulous replied. “Have
you had lunch?”
“No.”
“Neither have I. Your friend is in good hands. Let’s have
a ladies’ lunch and share some of our secrets.”
* * *
Darwin DeVour got up from the dining room table and strolled
over to the windows in the elegantly furnished parlor. The view of San
Francisco Bay from the Presidential Suite at the Mark Hopkins was
spectacular, and DeVour took a few moments to savor the moment. His last
takeover target had been a ball bearing manufacturer based in Youngstown, and
although the acquisition had been extremely lucrative, he had left a little on
the table to expedite his escape from Ohio. There would be no such incentive
tomorrow.
Lance Raptor, still pouring over the computer printouts and
financial statements strewn over the dining room table, took a telephone call.
It was from a house phone in the lobby. “Sure, bring it up,” he said before he
joined DeVour by the windows. “That was a secretary from Tyrex. She’s got a
letter from the board concerning tomorrow’s meeting.”
“That’s what I like about this town,” DeVour said. “When we
were in Youngstown, they sent goons to our hotel to break our legs. Here, we
get a letter from a secretary. Of course, in San Francisco, she probably used
to be a man.” There was a knock on the door, and Raptor opened it to admit
Gail Chestnut. On Terry’s instructions, she had stopped by her apartment to
change into a tight sweater, short leather skirt, fishnet stockings and
calf-high boots.
Raptor was practically drooling as she opened her shoulder
bag and pulled out an envelope. “This is a letter with instructions about when
and where the board meeting will be tomorrow,” she said. “I’m supposed to give
it to Mr. DeVour. Is that you?”
“No, that’s me, angel,” DeVour said. “What’s your name?”
“Gail. Gail Chestnut. Nice to meet you,” she said as she
pressed the envelope into his hands. “Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you guys
tomorrow.”
“Why not tonight?” DeVour said. “I’m going to own your
company in a few days, and I like to get to know my new employees.” The line
was so outrageous that Gail had to stop herself from laughing out loud. Even Raptor
seemed to be embarrassed by DeVour’s crude approach.
“Tell you what,” Gail said as she walked towards the door.
“Come to the Top of the Mark at six o’clock.” Before either of them could
respond, she was out the door and down the hall. She waited until she was on
the elevator before she took out her cell phone and punched in Terry’s cell
phone number.
He answered in his girl’s voice. “Hello?”
“Message delivered.”
“Great! I owe you big time.”
“You may take that back after you see them.”
“What do they look like?”
“DeVour is about a hundred pounds overweight, with a bad
comb-over. The other guy is skinny, with beady eyes and a cheap rug. Take
your pick.”
“Take the rest of the day off. You’ve earned it,” Terry
said. He switched off his phone and put it back in his purse. “Sorry,” he
said to Madam Fabulous, who was seated across the table at a trendy restaurant
featuring a fusion of Mexican and Asian cuisine.
“Not at all,” she said as she studied the menu. “I
recommend the Thai chicken enchiladas with lotus sauce.”
“Why not? At least our farts will be fragrant,” Terry said,
and they laughed like two schoolgirls. After they ordered, he asked her the
question he had posed earlier. “Who were you before you became Madam
Fabulous?”
Madam Fabulous sat back in her chair with a faraway look in
her eyes. “Have you ever heard of Finnochio’s?” she asked.
“You mean the Disney puppet cartoon?”
“No,” she smiled sadly. “For over sixty years, Finnochio’s
was the hottest thing in North Beach, with the possible exception of Carol Doda’s
44D breasts at the Condor Club.”
“Carol Doda?”
“You’ve never heard of her either?” Madam Fabulous shook her
head. “It’s so sad. In its heyday, Finnochio’s was the toughest ticket in San
Francisco. People used toline up around the block for over an hour to see the next
show. Straight people, tourists, businessmen and their wives, even Hollywood
celebrities.”
“What kind of show was it?”
“The world’s premier cabaret for female impersonators. Six days a week, there
were four shows a night with a live orchestra, while tuxedoed waiters served
drinks to the packed tables. Finnochio’s was a complete variety show, with lavish
production numbers, a chorus line, singers, dancers, strippers, comediennes, jugglers,
even a puppeteer. All of them played by men.”
Terry was perplexed. He was pretty sure that Madam Fabulous was really a
woman, but why was she so wrapped up in the history of a drag show? And what
did it have to do with the House of Fabulous?
As if reading his mind, Madam Fabulous said, “No, I wasn’t an act in the
show. The nerve of you to even think that! For over twenty years, my father
was the emcee at Finnochio’s. Every afternoon, he used to leave for work
dressed as a man – that was one of the house rules – and return home the same
way, although I was always in bed by then.”
“Wasn’t that kind of…weird?”
“Compared to what?” Madam Fabulous chuckled. “Half of my friends came from
broken homes, and there were plenty of strange things happening in San
Francisco in those days. Haight Ashbury, the Summer of Love, People’s Park over
in Berkeley…so my father put on a dress at work.
“And he was beautiful! I knew what he did, but until my sixteenth birthday
I never saw him perform. I’ll never forget that experience! In his sequined
gown and platinum blonde wig, he was absolutely devastating. ‘The First Lady of
San Francisco,’ Herb Caen used to call him. He even got some cameo parts in movies
and hit TV shows.”
“Your mother must have been very understanding.”
“If anything, she was jealous that he looked better in a dress than she did.
But she knew how lucky she was to have a gorgeous husband who didn’t play
around, loved his family, and was a good provider. Mr. and Mrs. Finnochio paid
top dollar, including medical benefits and Christmas bonuses, and we had a very
comfortable life.”
“What happened to Finnochio’s?”
“It went downhill after my father retired, and closed up for good eventually.”
“And your father?”
“He died of Alzheimer’s a few years later. My mother had already passed
away, and they left me with a tidy inheritance. Bay Area real estate wasn’t so
expensive when my father was performing, and he invested every spare cent in Marin
County.”
“So you decided to invest it in the House of Fabulous?”
“Some of it. I got the idea at my father’s funeral. Hundreds of people
came up to me and told me how much they enjoyed seeing him perform, and dozens
of old Finnochio employees were there too. You met three of them the other day.”
Terry had a blank expression on his face until he realized what she meant.
“The Mistresses?”
“Of course. The Mistress of Fashion was an ingénue in the chorus line, and
the Mistress of Poise used to juggle coconuts while riding a unicycle in hot
pants. The Mistress of Style was a makeup wizard, one of the few female
employees at Finnochio’s.”
Their entrees arrived, and for the next two hours Madam Fabulous regaled Terry
with tales of Finnochio’s and the House of Fabulous. Eventually she looked at
her watch and said, “We’d better get back and see how your friend is doing.” They
emerged from the restaurant into a glorious afternoon, sunny and crisp, and
they took their time strolling back to the House of Fabulous. It was almost four o’clock by the time they returned.
When they entered the foyer, they came face to face with the most
spectacular confection of face and form that Terry had ever laid eyes on. Ash
blonde hair topped a visage of exquisite beauty, complemented by a body that could
raise the dead. Large firm breasts and a pair of legs that didn’t stop were wrapped
in a skin-tight dress that showed considerably more than it concealed. Even
Madam Fabulous was speechless. Feeling a bit frumpy in his conservative suit,
Terry could only stand and stare at the person who used to be Doyle Rogers.
“How do I look?” the acting CEO of Tyrex Industries asked in a voice as soft
and sweet as spun sugar.
Madam Fabulous was the first to speak. “Beyond fabulous!” she exclaimed. “Have
you selected a name?”
“Well, I kind of like Ginger,” he said with a shy smile.
“Ginger Rogers! How perfectly precious!”
Terry finally blurted out, “I want a body like that.”
“Of course you do, dear!” Madam Fabulous said. “How thoughtless of me.
We’ll also want to do a few things to your hair and makeup, and find you
something special to wear for tonight. You girls are going to take San
Francisco by storm.”
* * *
Ginger could barely contain himself
as they drove back up Nob Hill. “I’m strictly a female female,” he was singing
as his dress rode up his thighs each time he shifted his Porsche through the
gears. “I enjoy being a girl!”
Terry was relieved that he had
been right about Ginger, and the finished product was beyond his wildest
expectations. By comparison, he felt like a plain Jane, even after the House
of Fabulous bent him into shape and poured him into a tight dress. Of
immediate concern was how to get Ginger back down to earth for the business at
hand.
The ringing of Ginger’s car phone
broke the spell. “Answer it like a man,” Terry said sharply.
“Hello,” Ginger said in Doyle’s
old voice.
At first the rasping on the
speakerphone was hard to understand, but both of them quickly recognized the
caller as Charles Bigelow. “Doyle, what’s happening with the tender offer?”
“The board has agreed to meet with
Great White tomorrow morning.”
“That’s bullshit! How can they do
that?” Bigelow sounded like he was about to have another seizure.
“On advice of our counsel, the
board has to go through the motions to maintain appearances.”
“I want to see you immediately.”
“But sir, aren’t you still in Saint
Francis?”
“I’m out of intensive care, and
the doctors said I can have visitors. You’re in your car, how soon can you get
here?”
Ginger pushed the mute button.
“We’re fucked,” he said.
“You don’t have time to change,
pay a visit to Bigelow in the hospital, and get gussied up again for what we
have to do tonight, “ Terry said. “You’re just going to have to go as you are.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Either that or blow him off. Go
ahead. Show some balls.”
Ginger pushed the mute button and
said, “I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be discussing business
in your condition.”
“God damn it, I want you here
now!” Bigelow wheezed. “Move it!”
The line went dead. “What do I do
now?” Ginger asked morosely.
“You go as you are. Want some company?”
* * *
Charles Bigelow was propped up on two pillows, trying to read
Barron’s without getting it tangled up in the wires which attached him to an
electrocardiogram. He looked up when he heard a commotion in the hall outside
his room, just in time to see Ginger and Terry come in with a nurse right
behind them. “I told you, close friends and family only,” she was saying,
obviously certain that neither of them could possibly fit into that category.
“Who the hell are you?” Bigelow asked.
“Don’t you recognize us?” Ginger said in Doyle’s old voice.
Bigelow squinted over his newspaper, then let it fall to his lap as the shocked
nurse looked on.
“Rogers?”
“Doesn’t he look lovely?” Terry said.
“Poindexter? I thought I fired your ass!”
“Doyle’s first official act as acting CEO was to take me
back. Now I’m heading up our legal strategy in the takeover battle!”
Bigelow clutched at his chest and the electrocardiogram
began to beep alarmingly. The nurse rushed to his side just as Bigelow went into
cardiac arrest.
“Oh dear, it looks like he’s having a relapse,” Terry said.
The nurse pressed the intercom button beside Bigelow’s bed
and shouted “Code Red! Stat!” She was administering CPR when a doctor and an
intern barged into the room. The doctor took one look at Ginger and Terry and
told them to leave immediately.
The nurse was going to work with the defibrillatoras they made their way out the door. “Who
let those floozies in here?” they heard the doctor ask her.
“Well, it looks like we’re dressed right for tonight,” Terry
said. “Wouldn’t it be nice if Darwin DeVour has a heart condition?”
* * *
In fact, Darwin DeVour’s heart was reasonably healthy, and
he expected to give it a good workout that evening. He was seated with Lance Raptor
at a table near the bar at the Top of the Mark, strategically positioned to
give him a view of the door. It was a few minutes past six, and Raptor glanced
nervously at his watch. “She’s not coming,” he said. “This place is dead.
Let’s head over to North Beach.”
“Relax,” DeVour was saying when two women walked into the room.
“Hot damn! What a piece of ass.”
Raptor looked up and stared as Ginger and Terry walked over
to the bar. “Yowza. The brunette’s not bad either. Look at those legs,” he
said as Terry slid onto a barstool and tugged at his short dress. They watched
as the girls ordered kir royales.
“She’s yours. I want the blonde,” DeVour said. He got up
from the table and made a beeline for Ginger. “Hello angel,” he said. “Did
you hurt yourself?”
Ginger looked up from his drink. “Hurt myself?”
“You know, when you fell out of heaven.”
The years of acting experience paid off. “If I’m an angel,
you must be the devil,” Ginger said.
“So they say in the newspapers.”
“You must be somebody important!”
Meanwhile, Terry was parrying lame pickup lines from Lance Raptor
and trying not to stare at his bad toupee. “I love that accent of yours,” he
was saying. “Where are you staying in San Francisco?”
“We’re in the Presidential Suite at this hotel,” Raptor
replied.
“The Presidential Suite! Ginger, they’re staying in the
Presidential Suite! I’d love to see that!” Terry gushed.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” DeVour asked. “Come on,
girls.” Raptor paid for their drinks, and they followed the men into the lobby
and onto a waiting elevator. A few seconds letter, it stopped at the floor
below and DeVour led the way to pair of double doors at the end of the short
hallway.
“It really says ‘The Presidential Suite,’ Ginger said as he
admired the brass plaque on the door. Once they were inside, the girls raced
around the parlor, oohing and aahing over the size of the room, the luxurious
furniture, and the spectacular view. “Now I feel like an angel,” Ginger said.
“This must be what it’s like in heaven.”
Terry kicked off his heels and plopped down onto a cream
leather sofa, crossing his legs provocatively. “What do they drink in heaven?”
he asked.
“Anything you want, little lady,” DeVour replied. “Anything
you want.” Raptor went to the stocked bar and poured himself a Jack Daniels.
“Bring me a Dewar’s and some champagne for the girls,” DeVour told him. “Unless
you’d prefer something else,” he said to Ginger, who was perched on the arm of
the sofa next to Terry.
“Champagne sounds great,” Ginger said. Raptor found a
bottle in the refrigerator under the bar, and while he was opening it, Terry
wandered into the dining room, where he spied a stack of binders on the dining
room table. They were obviously intended for the Tyrex board meeting the next
day. A pile of manila folders and a notebook computer occupied another corner
of the table.
Terry returned to the parlor and sat down in a wing chair,
allowing DeVour to sit next to Ginger on the sofa. He draped a fat arm around
Ginger’s back and pulled him down next to him while Raptor was filling his
glass with champagne. Ginger cried out as he spilled champagne on his dress,
and DeVour and Raptor made a show of mopping off Ginger’s lap and legs with
napkins. While everyone was preoccupied with Ginger’s wet dress, Terry pulled
a miniature digital camera out of his purse and shot a quick picture of Ginger
and DeVour laughing while they embraced each other.
He had the camera back in his purse before Raptor came over
to his chair. “I thought you might be lonely over here,” Raptor said.
Terry got up and walked over to the coffee table in front of
the couch. “Could I change my mind and have something stronger?” he asked.