The House of Fabulous

Terry surveyed his new surroundings, pleasantly surprised. The office was as he remembered it from frequent visits, beautifully furnished with a large oak desk, a throne-like chair behind it, a matching credenza and bookcase, and a furniture grouping consisting of a sofa, two chairs and a coffee table. What surprised him were the diplomas on the wall and the knick knacks on the desk, taken from his old office and tastefully arrayed. His laptop computer was hooked into a docking station on the clean desk, and his personal diary lay open on the credenza.

I could get used to this, he said to himself as he sat down in the soft leather chair behind the desk. A glance down at his skirt and stockings brought him back to reality. Did a guy really hit on him a few minutes ago? If he could pass that kind of inspection, he could fool anybody.

He was looking at John Stone's business card when he heard a knock on the door. "Mr. Poindexter? May I come in?" It was Gail Chestnut.

Why not? She was going to find out anyway. "Yes," he said in his old voice. After she opened the door and came inside, he said, in his new voice, "Please close the door."

He watched with interest as Gail Chestnut displayed a kaleidoscope of reactions. Confusion, recognition, and shock all registered on her beautiful face as she stood rooted to the carpet. Finally Terry got up from his desk and walked over to the door, closing it while Gail continued to stare at him, open-mouthed. "Sit down, Gail, and I'll explain," he said, pointing to the sofa. Gail followed him and watched as he sat down in one of the facing chairs, carefully crossing his legs after smoothing his skirt beneath him. She collapsed onto the sofa, finally composing herself enough to speak.

"Mr. Poindexter, is that really you?"

"Yes, and please call me Terry," he replied.

"Why are you dressed like that?"

"It's a long story. Why don't you get us each a cup of coffee and I'll tell you all about it." Gail got up to leave, and when she got to the door, he said, "Gail, please close the door behind you, and promise that you won't tell anybody about me. Not until I have a chance to put out an announcement. Okay?"

"Sure," she said, still dazed. Gail returned a few minutes later with a tray of coffee, cups and utensils, and he waited until she sat back down and poured them each a cup before he spoke again.

"I appreciate everything you did yesterday to make my office so homey," he began.

"Don't mention it, uh, Terry. I'm sorry about the name plate on the door."

"I didn't even notice it."

"It says Mr. Poindexter."

Terry laughed, a girlish giggle that seemed to put Gail at ease. "I doubt if I'm going to be around long enough for them to make up a new one."

"Then why are you doing this? I mean, so you have a secret life. Why put your job at risk?"

"Some day I'll explain it to you, Gail. Right now, I just have to make it through my nine o'clock meeting with Mr. Bigelow. Do you have any idea what it's about?"

"The scuttlebutt isn't good. What did you say to him yesterday?"

"I just gave him some legal advice."

"Well, evidently it didn't agree with him. The rumor is that you're going to be let go today."

Terry wanted to take her into his confidence, but he didn't know if he could trust her. "I was afraid of that. Maybe I can talk him out of it."

"In that getup? You've got to be kidding. He'll fire you on the spot when he sees you like this. Are you sure you can't tell me why you came to work this way?"

"It's a long story."

"We have time. It's only eight o'clock," she said as she poured him another cup of coffee. "How long have you known you were gay?"

"I'm not gay," he said defensively.

"Sh'yea, right."

"I mean it! I don't like guys."

"So what are you, a transsexual? Are you going to have an operation?"

"No!" He realized that her questions were logical and natural, and she seemed startled by his reaction. "I don't want to have sex change surgery," Terry added before draining another cup of coffee. As he did so, he felt a twinge in his bladder.

"Then what do you want?"

"Millions of dollars from Tyrex Industries to go away quietly," he would have liked to tell her. Of course, he could never admit that to anyone. So instead, he said, "I just want to look, and live, like a woman. Consider it a complement, Gail. I've always thought girls got all the breaks."

"Dream on," she said. "You wanna trade places sometime, Mister, you can have my life. Get real."

He was genuinely puzzled by her response. After all, Gail Chestnut was one of the most beautiful women he had ever met, and she seemed to have so much going for her. They found themselves becoming fascinated with each other as they sat there, chatting away like two girls. He found her incredibly attractive, and this time she was the reason for the uncomfortable stirring in his panties, spiced by his confinement to silk and lace. "Aren't you happy?" he asked.

"Give me a break. Half the guys in San Francisco are gay, and the rest think they're God's gift to women. I've been hit on so many times, I can't even look at a guy any more without putting my left up." Terry remembered how he himself had already been propositioned during his one excursion as a woman, but it hadn't bothered him particularly, and he was a guy. Something else was happening here.

"Don't you like guys?" Terry asked.

"Hey, how did this go from being about you to being about me? You're the one who has some explaining to do."

He topped off her coffee and poured himself another cup. When he sat back and crossed his legs again, she said, "How did you get so good at this?"

"Good at what?"

"Talking the talk, and walking the walk. I swear to God, if I didn't know who you were, there's no way I'd believe you were a guy."

How to explain it to her, let alone himself? What had the Mistress of Style called him? "A natural", she said. All Terry started out to do was put on a dress and get himself fired, but the more he was getting into it, the more he was getting into it.

Once again Terry tried to change the subject. "You didn't answer my question."

"What question?"

"Do you like guys?"

For some reason, she felt like opening up to him, maybe because he seemed so unthreatening, sitting next to her in a skirt and high heels. "I don't know, Terry. I mean, I've loved guys in the past, but it's been a long time. Most of them I think are gross."

"Do you like girls?"

"No! I mean, not in that way. Dammit, here we go again, talking about my problems. You're the one who's about to get canned. How you gonna keep yourself in pantyhose then?"

He was about to answer when his telephone rang. He picked up the extension on the coffee table. "Hello," he said, remembering at the last second to use his old voice while Gail looked on in amusement.

"Hello Terrence, it's Helen. Mr. Bigelow asked me to sit in on his nine o'clock meeting with you."

Terrence Poindexter and Helen Wallace went back a long way, and he knew she would be honest with him. "Give it to me straight, Helen."

"Do you mind if I stop by?"

"I'm in the middle of something right now. Can't you tell me anything?"

"It doesn't look good, Terrence, that's all I can say. I'll do my best for you."

"I know you will, Helen. Chin up. It won't be a dull morning."

Gail was laughing as he hung up the phone. "I'll say this for you, Terry. Although you'd never know it, you've got balls. I mean, I always thought you were kind of a wimp, sitting back there in your little office, watching the alpha dogs fight it out. Aren't I pathetic?"

"Huh?"

"Now that you look like a woman, all of I sudden I find you attractive. What does that say about me?"

Terry was speechless. How could she possible see anything in him now? He was trying to think of a response when the calendar program on his computer beeped at him. It was the ten minute warning for his meeting with Mr. Bigelow! Where had the time gone? When he got up from his chair, he realized that three cups of coffee had been a big mistake. He had to go to the bathroom. Bad.

"Gail, I need to ask you one more favor."

"Anything."

"I have to go to the ladies room. Can you check and make sure the coast is clear?"

"Sure, but I don't think you need to worry. Nobody is going to recognize you."

"Really?"

"Terry, when I first walked into this office, I thought you were a complete stranger. Come one, let's go. Nobody is going to know who you are. If anyone asks, I'll tell them you're a new hire."

Terry picked his purse up off the desk and together they walked down the hall to the restroom. Without hesitation, he followed her in, relieved to find that there was nobody inside. He went into a stall and closed the door.

"Don't forget to sit down," Gail whispered.

"Be quiet!" he hissed. She was laughing as she left him alone. He lifted up his skirt, pulled down his panties and hose, and gently eased his gaff away from his aching privates. He was alarmed to find himself semi-erect, and he had to wait impatiently until his body was able to relieve itself. When he was finally done, he tucked himself back between his legs, pulled his panties and pantyhose back up, and tugged his skirt back down to his knees. He was about to leave the stall when he heard someone coming in the door.

Damn it! Should he wait here until she was gone, or take his chances? He glanced at his watch. Three minutes to nine! Before he could stop himself, he opened the door and walked over to the full length mirror. One of the secretaries was just going into another stall.

Terry noticed that his sweater had gotten tangled and his lipstick looked washed out. As if he had been doing it all his life, he lifted up his skirt and smoothed down his sweater before dropping his skirt back into place. After washing his hands, he took his lipstick out of his purse and applied just a touch to his lower lip before puckering up the way the Mistress of Poise taught him. He brushed away a few stray hairs, and he was on his way out before the secretary left her stall.

Gail was waiting for him outside his office. "You better run, it's time for your meeting," she said.

"Wish me luck," he said as he hurried down the hall.

* * *

Charles Bigelow had asked Helen Wallace to join him a few minutes before nine, and she sat quietly in one of the two chairs provided for supplicants before his massive desk. She had mixed feelings as Bigelow read through the resignation letter she prepared for Terrence Poindexter's signature. Terrence was one of her few remaining friends in the legal department, and they had worked well together. She was sorry to see him go, but business was business, and she hadn't become a corporate survivor by being soft.

Bigelow grunted when he finished reading the letter. "Three months severance. Do we have to give him that?"

"Yes sir, it's company policy and Terrence will be well aware of that."

"Do you think he'll sign this?"

"I think so. I wasn't able to talk to him this morning to feel him out, but I suspect he knows this is coming, and I don't think he'll put up much of a fight."

A grim smile came over Bigelow's face. "Since this is set up as a resignation, he isn't entitled to any severance at all, is he?"

Sometimes Helen hated her job. "Sir, technically that's correct, but we really are forcing him out, and he'll be much more likely to go quietly if we give it to him. If he balks, we can always take it off the table. He'll be much more likely to sign if he has some incentive to do so."

"All right, let's get this over with. Where is he, anyway?"

Bigelow's executive assistant stuck her head in the office. There was a strange look on her face. "Mr. Bigelow, uh, Mr. Poindexter is here."

"Well, send him in," he said impatiently. She stepped aside and watched Terry waltz into the office. Both Helen Wallace and Charles Bigelow were frozen in shock as Terry pulled back the empty chair and seated himself, curling one of his legs around the other. His skirt rode several inches up his thigh, and he let it ride while he waited for one of them to speak.

Helen's instinct for self-preservation saved her from blurting out her initial reaction. Overweight and unattractive, all she could say to herself was: "I'm a woman, and he's better-looking than I am. It's so unfair!"

Charles Bigelow had no such inhibitions. "What the hell is this?"

"A Halston. They're on sale at Macy's, although I doubt if they come in your size."

Bigelow's face bulged over the collar of his white shirt. "I knew you were a homo from day one!"

"A common misconception. Not that there's anything wrong with that."

"I want you out of here!"

"Then why did you ask me to come to your office?"

"You're f...."

Helen found her voice before it was too late. "We think the time has come for us to separate," she cut in, trying to get the meeting back on script despite the incredibly bizarre circumstances. She slid the resignation letter across the desk to Terry, who studied it while Bigelow looked on in fury, his face turning bright crimson.

"This is a resignation letter," Terry said at length. He looked up at Mr. Bigelow. "Why would I want to resign? I like it here."

Bigelow finally erupted. "You're fired, fagolito!"

"On what grounds?"

"Give me a fucking break! You show up in my office in a fucking dress and you ask me why you're fired? Get out!" he shouted. Helen looked on helplessly, sensing impending disaster.

"Thank you for clearing that up, Mr. Bigelow. I'm sorry you don't like my outfit, but it conforms to the Tyrex dress code, and under AB 196, I have a legal right to wear it. Why, we discussed that just yesterday."

Helen tried desperately to control the damage while Bigelow went from red to purple. "Terrence, those really wouldn't be the grounds for your separation from the company...."

Terry cut her off. "Come off it, Helen. You heard what I just heard. And if you're called as a witness, you'll have to tell the truth. Any jury in San Francisco would find Tyrex Industries in willful violation of my civil rights."

Charles Bigelow looked like he was about to have a seizure. At that moment, there was a rap on the door and Doyle Rogers, the Executive Vice President and Chief Financial Officer, stuck his head in the office. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. Bigelow, but it's urgent." He glanced at Terry and did a double-take before continuing. "We just received a letter from Great White, LLC. They've launched a tender offer." He stared at Terry as he reached across the desk and handed a letter to Bigelow.

Bigelow read the letter with shaking hands. "My God, it's a hostile takeover!" he gasped. Suddenly his face became contorted, and he clutched at his chest. The morning's twin shocks were too much for Charles Bigelow. Thirty years of red meat, cigars and martinis had finally taken their toll.

Helen looked on in horror as Bigelow's face went from purple to gray, like some kind of grotesque chameleon. "Call 911" she cried. "He's in cardiac arrest!"

* * *

Terry walked back to his office in a trance. While they were waiting for the ambulance to take Bigelow away, Doyle Rogers had taken him aside. "What's going on?" he'd asked.

"I just got fired."

"No you didn't. It looks like I'm in charge now, and I'm going to need you to help fight this takeover." He looked on disbelief as Doyle tore up his resignation letter.

Terry tried to protest, but what could he say? That the whole thing was a scam? Word of his transformation spread throughout the office like wildfire, and he felt like a carnival attraction as he passed the desks of gaping secretaries on the way down the hall.

Gail was waiting for him, and she closed the door behind them after he sank into his leather chair. "What happened?" she asked.

Terry shook his head. "I'm screwed."

"Terry, I'm so sorry. I'll help you pack up your things."

"That's not what I mean, Gail."

"Huh?"

Terry unloaded on her. "The whole thing was a con, Gail. I knew Bigelow was out to get me, so I came up with the idea of dressing like a woman so I could nail the company for discrimination. I didn't figure on Bigelow having a heart attack."

"A heart attack?"

"He's on his way to the hospital. Now I'm stuck like this."

She moved over to his chair and looked down at him. "Let me get this straight. You're really not a cross dresser?"

"I never even tried it before yesterday."

She sat down on his lap. "My God, you have balls. Putting on a skirt to stick it to the man. What a turn on." Before he could say anything, she leaned over and kissed him, gently at first, then with animal passion. Terry responded immediately, and he nearly bent over double over as his penis strained against the gaff.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I'm all tucked in down there," he said, grimacing in agony.

"This I've got to see," she said, sliding off his lap. While he looked on in disbelief, she reached up his skirt and pulled down his hose and panties. Then she found the strings on his gaff, and he moaned as she released him. When her head went up his skirt, he rolled back in his chair in ecstasy as she took him into her mouth. He came almost instantly, losing himself to waves of exquisite pleasure. When it was over, he sat back, utterly spent, while she ran her fingernails over his stockings.

At first he didn't hear the tapping on his door. When he did, he sat up with a start just before Doyle Rogers stuck his head in the office. "Terrence, do you mind if I come in?"

Terry pulled up his chair and tried to act nonchalant while Gail huddled beneath his desk. Fortunately, he remembered the Mistress of Poise admonishing him that 'a lady remains seated when a man enters the room.' "Hello, Doyle," he said in a strangled voice.

Doyle Rogers eyed him with curiosity. A fastidious man in his late thirties, he maintained a respectful distance while he weighed his words. "I must say, Terrence, I was surprised to see you this way. But I want you to know that I respect you for having the courage of your convictions."

"Why thank you, Doyle. And please call me Terry."

A toothy smile filled Doyle's handsome face. "We're going to be working very closely together on this takeover battle, Terry. I think it would be a good idea if we got to know each other better. That's why I was hoping you could join me for dinner tonight."

Terry started to hem and haw until he felt Gail pinch him on his thigh. "That would be lovely," he said with a shy smile.

"Wonderful. I'll meet you at the Carnelian Room at eight o'clock." Doyle turned and left before Terry could say anything else.

Gail got up from under his desk and helped him pull himself together. "Thanks," was all he could say.

"Don't mention it. That was a blast."

"It was amazing. You're amazing."

"Just looking out for my department head," she said as she straightened out his skirt. "It looks like the girls are right about Mr. Rogers."

"What do you mean?"

"His secretary thinks he's a closet queen. Maybe he wants to follow in your footsteps."

"That's all I need."

"I couldn't believe it when you almost blew him off for dinner. Stick with me, Ms. Poindexter, and you'll learn the secrets to executive success. I already gave you lesson number one."

"What's that?"

"How to suck up to the boss." She kissed him on the lips and headed back to her desk.

After she was gone, Terry sat back in his plush chair and crossed his silky legs. I could get used to this, he said to himself. Having a great office, getting close to Gail, even wearing women's clothing every day....

He rummaged through his purse for a lavender business card. After a moment's hesitation, he dialed the number. A familiar voice answered the phone on the second ring. "House of Fabulous."