The Rise of Rachel Price T-Girl Pt. 05

The next morning, Denver woke up with a splitting headache and rolled over in the luxurious, king-sized bed. He was enveloped in soft, crisp sheets that felt almost virginal after the events of the previous night. The lavish hotel room, filled with expensive furniture and decorations, was bathed in a soft, golden light as the morning sun peeked through the large windows.

Late into the night and well into the early morning, Denver had lay awake next to Charlie, too excited to sleep, too scared to move, and too happy to want anything to change. He couldn't sleep, feeling like he might never sleep again as the events of the evening kept rolling over in his mind like a chaotic collage of images and experiences. The memory of Charlie's soft skin and the sound of her laughter mixed with the heady scent of perfume and the taste of champagne still lingered in his senses.

As the morning light began to thaw the city, Denver eventually fell asleep, his mind and body exhausted. Now, as he looked around, he tried to remember where he was. The luxurious furniture and expensive, crisp sheets quickly reminded him that he was in The Thornbury Hotel, one of the most exclusive and pricey hotels in the city. Sitting up, he noticed he was still largely dressed in a bra and hip pads, a reminder of the wild night before. Looking back down at the bed, he saw that the pillows were covered in smears of makeup, both his and Charlie's. Some of the sheets on the other side of the bed were thrown back, and he found there were damp patches on the sheets, a testament to their passion and abandon. Denver's chest hurt from sleeping with the bra on, the tight constriction feeling foreign and uncomfortable.

"Hello?" Denver said, his voice rough and hoarse from the night's festivities.

Charlie came into the bedroom, wearing her business slacks, which were black this time, not dark blue. She seemed quite happy as she tightened the cufflinks on her light blue shirt with its stiff collar, the material looking crisp and professional against her smooth, olive skin.

"Morning, slut," she sang out, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I've ordered some room service. The coffee's on if you want some."

"Morning, slut?" Denver said, holding his hand to his head, the pounding in his temples a constant reminder of the previous night's excess. "Too loud. Way too loud."

Everything was too loud and bright for Denver's sensitive head. He sat up in bed, feeling like the crisp sheets were somehow virginal in comparison to the wild events of the previous night. The bed felt soft and inviting, a contrast to the chaos that had occurred within its confines. Charlie came over to the bed, wading through a sea of pillows and throws, and then handed Denver two hundred and fifty dollars.

"What's this for?" Denver asked, confusion clouding his still-drunken mind.

"For being such a good sport last night," Charlie replied with a wink. "Consider it a bonus for all the fun we had."

The morning after their wild night together, Charlie stood by the coffee pot in the luxurious hotel room, a contented smile on her face. She had ordered a grapefruit for Denver and brought him some coffee, determined to help him recover from the previous night's festivities. As she cleaned his face with makeup remover and cotton balls, tossing the results in the bin, she seemed almost happy, her normally stoic demeanor softened by the events of the previous evening.

"I've put an extra fifty in so you can get a taxi home," Charlie said, handing Denver a stack of money. "So yeah, you're a good sport. Sorry, I couldn't resist that. It seems so wonderfully the wrong way round," she added, her lips curving into a sly smile.

Denver accepted the money gratefully. "Taxi money. I'm not arguing," he said, still feeling a bit disoriented from the previous night's excess.

"I have to go to work, which thankfully means just going upstairs, but I have to go," Charlie explained as she brought the coffee to the side of the table. "If you want to hang around until mid-day, that's fine, but leave the dress on the rack. I'm going to see how the competition stacks up. You have to learn to avoid the sunk cost fallacy. No point in doing it if there isn't a chance to win," she added, a determined look in her eye.

As Charlie finished cleaning Denver's face, he couldn't help but wonder if he would see her again. "Am I going to see you again?" he asked, his voice laced with hope.

"Sure, well, next Friday," Charlie replied, her tone noncommittal. "We'll see how the competition stacks up," she added with a wink, leaving Denver to wonder what the future held for the two of them. "I'll give you a call in a couple of days. If I forget to phone, then it's not going to work out, don't take it personally, and thanks for the effort. You did great. You're definitely my favorite so far," Charlie said as she finished cleaning Denver's face.

"Oh, but what about last night? I thought...," Denver began.

Charlie smiled. "Is that you talking or Rachel? Last night was last night. Take it as it is. A gift from me. Look, I'm not the most emotionally dependable person. I like to give things time to settle and see how I feel. OK?"

Denver paused. "OK," he knew he couldn't say anything else. What control did he have over her?

"What about the sheets?" Denver said as Charlie worked the pale foundation from his neck.

"This is a hotel. Believe me, I've seen far, far worse. Oh, and don't forget to weigh yourself on the bathroom scales before leaving and send me a photo," Charlie replied.

Soon the makeup was off, and Charlie helped unpin the wig as Denver got dressed in his normal clothes.

"Wow," Charlie said, looking at Denver. "It's really weird. You're like completely different." She pulled out her phone to look at the selfie she had taken the night before, then put it away and gave Denver a peck on the cheek. "I have to go," she said, walking out of the room.

****

After a luxurious breakfast at the exclusive hotel, Denver made his way back home on the crowded subway. As he walked through the city, he couldn't help but feel a sense of contrast between the gentrified areas and the projects where he lived in the Tenderloin. The lavish hotel suite and the cramped, drab apartment seemed worlds apart, and Denver felt a sense of depression wash over him as he approached his home.

When he arrived, he found that his mom was out working, but his grandpa was home. After the luxury of the suite, the drabness felt stronger, the apartment smaller, bordering on the edge of imploding. The old man was sitting in front of the TV, his face marked by the oxygen tubes leading up to his nose. The cylinder was set on low to make the air last longer, and as Denver walked in, he was greeted by the ecstatic wagging of the family dog, Butcher.

"Hi, how was the party?" Grandpa asked, looking up from the TV.

The old man sat in his favourite armchair, his thin frame dwarfed by the worn cushions. His face was lined with wrinkles, a roadmap of a life well lived, yet his eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. Tubes led from his nose to an oxygen machine sitting by his side, the constant hum of its motor a reassuring presence in the quiet room. Despite his age and the illness that kept him tethered to the machine, the old man exuded a sense of strength and resilience. He had faced many challenges in his long life and emerged stronger for it. As he sat there, lost in thought, one couldn't help but feel a sense of respect and admiration for this wise and weathered soul.

"It was okay, Grandpa," Denver replied, feeling a sense of guilt wash over him as he thought about the events of the previous night.

"Just OK?" Grandpa asked, his voice laced with disappointment.

"Yeah, just okay," Denver said, walking closer. He nearly tripped on something Butcher had dragged out, his mind still preoccupied with the events of the previous evening.

"You were out all night. Did you find a girl? Did you?" Grandpa asked, making a crude motion and laughing. His laugh was anything but wholesome, and Denver felt a sense of embarrassment wash over him.

"Grandpa," Denver said, trying to deflect the question.

"It's OK, you can tell me," Grandpa said, wheezing and turning the oxygen flow up to catch his breath.

"It's complicated," Denver said, moving closer to the TV set and trying to change the subject.

Grandpa coughed once, twice, three times and continued, "It's never simple. You like her?"

"Well.." Denver said, realizing just how he felt now.

"I mean, what's the problem? You're a boy. She's a girl. She is a girl, isn't she? I know we are not supposed to talk these days, but those fagots are just a walking cancer. They've taken over everything. TV, even the goddam internet." Grand-pa continued.

"She's a girl. Grand-pa," Denver said to shut him up and sitting down on the arm of the sofa.

"It's good; those bum fuckers are everywhere. They even have girl ones, they say." Grand-pa said.

"Grandpa..." Denver said about to try to explain.

"Don't you Grandpa me. You sound like your mother when you do that. She's a good woman, better than her goddam sisters. But she's not right all the time." Grandpa coughed again, then wheezed like a baby reaching for its first breath. Grandpa turned up the oxygen again. "It's in the Bible, Denver. It's in the bible. You can trust the word of God. Even the girl faggots."

"Grandpa. Look... People don't talk like that anymore," Denver said.

Grandpa shrugged. "Well, there is what is legal and what is right, you know? But you're worrying about the wrong thing. I know you're feeling down, but don't give up. I knew this girl at school. Bright as a button, as they used to say. Bright as a button. She was always the first to put her hand up, and she had such small hands. Goofy teeth but her smile. I tell you, it would warm the snow from the Rocky Mountains. So I asked her out. You know what she said?"

"No," Denver said.

"Yeah, that's right. She said no," Grandpa continued, now in full flow. "I took that hard, but I went back for more. She said no again, and I left that bus like a wounded bull. Then I went back. She said no to me fourteen times. Fourteen. I think the last one was because she didn't like leaving it at thirteen. You know what came of that?"

"No, what?" Denver prompted.

"You. She was your grandmother, god bless her. She gave me your mother and your aunts, and so she gave me..."

Grandpa started coughing again.

Denver got up to get Grandpa a drink of water.

"You know what separates us and them?" Grandpa asked. "You see, we don't have money."

"You're kidding?" Denver said. "That explains so much."

"Shut up, I'm being serious for once," Grandpa said. "We don't have money, but we have something better. We have family. It makes us what we are. No matter what happens. No matter what mistakes we make. We have each other. Always and forever. You know." All those Metro sexual and those people who think they are oh so smart, yeah, we have something they can never have. Family."

"Right" Denver said.

"This is your first girl, and I know what it feels like. It feels like thorns are being dragged through your insides when you think you might lose her. That's okay. It means you've started the journey. It means you're being a real man. It makes me very proud to know. After I'm gone, there is going to be someone out there with part of my face on them. Part of me carrying on..."

Grandpa began coughing again. Denver went to the kitchen to get more water. As he went, Butcher followed him expectantly.

By the time Denver got back, Grandpa had fallen asleep. Through habit, Denver turned the oxygen down and pulled a blanket up.

There was only one thing that could flush the dregs of the day from him. Denver went to his room. He had left the games console on, so he didn't lose time waiting for it to come on. He booted Ghost Recon, took the controller, and lay back, wanting the day to be washed away from him.

It was Sunday when Charlie texted again.

"You're on. See you Friday. Early. Can you make say 2:00?" Charlie's text said, filled with emoji.