White Knighting

Hi, wonderful people! Long-time listener, first-time caller. Thank you for taking a chance on my very first submission to Lit.

This is a slow burn, but rest assured sexy things do happen.

TW: there is a scene near the beginning where the protagonist overhears a pretty gross transphobic conversation.

*****

Monday, June 5, 2017

Hester stared at the largest of the three monitors at her workstation, but the code in her notepad refused to come into focus. She blinked her eyes, trying to get the blurry characters to clarify and sharpen.

Her watch read 10 a.m. She'd been sitting there staring at the same screen for three hours already and the only thing she'd managed to do was find a single missing closing bracket that she'd forgotten on Friday.

A dull throb in each temple. Dry eyes and sleepy lids. An all-over feeling like her brain missed the L even though her body got on.

This is what you get for drinking for two days straight and sleeping on Sandy's horrific little loveseat, she thought. She smiled though, thinking back to how much fun she had on her first Pride Month weekend in Chicago. For six months, she had been organizing her life, getting used to her new job and her commute, and adjusting to the city's idiosyncrasies and pace. When her best friend offered to show her around Boystown, she jumped at the chance. It was a wonderful party. Sandy seemed to know everyone, either through his work at the youth resource center, or through a complicated web of hook-ups and romantic entanglements. As a result of the latter, she'd turned down any of his matchmaking attempts, but she did let folks buy her drink after drink to welcome her to Chicago.

And now you're paying for it, she thought. Time for a break.

Hester took out her earbuds and put them in her pocket. She locked her screen, rolled away from her desk, opened the top drawer, and took out the third-to-last sachet of her favorite Darjeeling. Maybe mum can send more for my birthday.

Hester grabbed her favorite mug and made her way to the kitchen on the eighth floor.

***

The company was spread across floors six, eight, and nine of the building. One of the things every new employee asked, without fail, is what happened to the seventh floor. Hester hoped it would be some grand story or something funny at least.

"Sorry," said the HR rep who gave Hester her first tour. "It's just that the building's previous owner let people sign lifetime-of-business leases and the non-profit, the barber, and the dermatologist didn't want to give them up.."

"So the cutting edge software company with clients around the world was sundered due to corporate real estate minutiae?"

"The rumor is that our C-suite keeps offering million-dollar buyouts to get the space, but gets turned down again and again."

"I love that," Hester said, laughing. "I'm a company girl and all, but the anarchist in me is dying to start seeing that barber."

The building could be confusing to navigate, but Hester made a point to walk each floor when she started. She learned the layout of the sixth floor first since it was hers. It was an open space, where programming and engineering teams organized however they wanted. It was damn near impossible to find anyone. More often than not, it was easier to ask someone to meet you in one of the communal spaces where employees had all the perks modern tech firms offered to stay competitive (including a table tennis "gym," a zen meditation room, and a small bar with local beer on tap).

Her favorite spot was the little kitchen on eight, nestled between the walls of a conference room and a gaming lounge. It was stylish, but cozy, with beautiful butcher block counters and comfy armchairs. Most importantly, it had the only teapot she could find in the building. Sure, there were about a million pod coffee makers around, but boiling the tea in a pot was special for Hester. It reminded her so much of home, no matter where she was in the world.

The minute Hester poured hot water into her mug and the steam hit the tea, it was like she was awake for the first time that day. She poured herself into one of the cozy chairs, kicked off her Chucks, and folded her legs under her. After a few moments and sips, Hester took out her phone for her daily ritual of checking flight prices on her travel apps. She scrolled for about five minutes, her interest piqued by some roundtrips to Iceland when she heard two voices from the lounge around the corner, loud enough to be heard by anyone passing by.

"Hey, you seen that tranny they hired around here at all?" asked the first voice. It oozed with contempt. Hester could imagine the speaker spitting as he said it.

"What tranny?" asked the second voice.

"Chick with a dick, somewhere in engineering. Programmer, I think. Guy on my team came on board same time, said it was a total trap."

Hester knew she was the only out trans woman at work. She'd linked up with the LGBTQ+ employee group shortly after she started, and they welcomed her with open arms. Out of shock and an abundance of caution, she pulled up her hoodie and turned her chair away from the opening of the kitchen. Nobody would be able to see her features if they came around the corner.

"I'm down there with the programmers a lot," said the second voice, "but I haven't seen a tranny anywhere. You got me curious though. I'll keep an eye out for signs."

Hester looked down at her mug, enameled with the blue, pink, and white pattern of the trans flag. Her mother had made it for her when she left home. She put it down on the seat of the chair, where it was out of view as well.

"Why? Looking for a new boyfriend to take to the fag parade at the end of the month?" The first voice snorted at his own joke.

"No," the second said. "You, uh, just got to know if there are people like that around. Keep track of the weirdos.

Hester wasn't terribly impressed by the transphobia. She'd heard a lot worse, coming from people who meant a lot more to her than these jags. Even so, she stayed still. She wasn't about to walk by and call attention to herself. She assumed every trans woman had learned the lesson that even though words can't hurt you, guys like these were willing to use sticks and stones too.

The first guy was still talking, but about something else. Something to do with drunk clients asking to go to strip clubs. She'd missed the beginning of the story. The second guy laughed along, nervously, and mentioned they should be getting to a meeting. Hester let her shoulders relax.

Then the second guy said it. He actually said the thing.

"Hey, do you think HR will let me update my file to say that I identify as an attack helicopter, or do I have to wait for open enrollment?"

Her apprehension shifted to contempt. Transphobes only had one joke, and this guy didn't even try to put a clever spin on it. She was tempted to go see who these guys were, so she'd know who to avoid and viciously mock later with Sandy. Before she could move, however, the door to the nearby conference room slammed open. The noise was so sudden, so unexpected in the quiet sleek interior of the office, that she jumped. A huge figure swept out of the door, past the kitchen without noticing her, and around the corner to the lounge.

"Okay, you're done." Those three words shook Hester to the core. Not out of fear, no, but something else. Something hard to place. It was a huge baritone, powerful and even. She imagined it might be warm in the right circumstance, but now it sounded with several shades of not-fucking-around. It continued. "I just sat there listening to you pieces of trash denigrate and abuse the reputation of a fellow employee, whom neither of you knows, just to make you feel a bit bigger about yourself. And then, oh god, then, you make the ridiculous helicopter joke that my twelve-year-old nephew doesn't even think is funny. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Hester's heart was pounding, for two distinct reasons. First, this new guy was impressing her. Bystander effect be damned, it was an actual honest-to-Eve ally. Could it be? A real live American man jumping in the fight? The second thing, though, was the voice. She realized it wasn't a Chicago accent. It sounded different, maybe Southern. It was also spitting fury at the numbskulls, but it still rolled up her whole body like a high tide in a narrow bay.

"Do you know who I am?" it said.

"Yeah, you're Jamie," said the first guy.

"Correct. What's my title?"

"Director of Public Relations."

"Correct again. You're good at this." Hester couldn't see any of this happening, but Jamie's voice sounded closer now. Lower. Like he'd gotten right up to these guys. "So it's my job to take care of anyone who might damage the company's reputation. That woman you're talking about? Her coworkers love her. She's amazing at her job. The pair of you? Just two more creeps from the sales team. Do you know interns call you the Rohypnol Regiment?"

"Okay, okay, we're sorry," said the second guy. Hester could tell from the terrified crack in his voice that he probably was. Pretty common actually, as she found. People say all sorts of horrible things when they think they can get away with it.

"Yeah, we see it around, we'll apologize right away," the first guy said.

WHUMP.

Hester jumped in her seat again at the sudden thud. It was the kind of thud a body makes when it's pressed hard against a wall. She tensed up, the muscle memory kicking in of the one time she had been on the wrong end of that kind of treatment.

"I heard everything you two said when I was in that meeting room. You were loud enough to carry down the hall and through a closed door." He raised his voice and said, "Do you know who I am on a video call with right now?"

Silence from the two salesmen.

"Marty van Dent, CEO" came a small, tinny voice from the meeting room.

"Oh shit," said the second guy.

"Jamie, have HR walk these two out," the small voice continued. "Tell Stan his department needs to make two new hires, and that I get to weigh in on candidates. I'll call you back later this week."

"Right away, Marty."

***

Hester slumped back into her chair. She gently placed the mug on her desk. She looked down at the drawer for a second, considering putting it away. But, no, those guys were out on their bums and she was still here. She'd never once been ashamed to be trans, and it had cost her a lot. But it wasn't going to cost her today.

She was great at her job. She loved the company, so far, and she did great work when she wasn't hungover. The mug would stay on her desk. They wanted her to work there? They'd get all of her.

Hester's fingers danced across her keyboard as she pulled up the About Us page on the website. He wasn't an executive so she had to scroll a bit, but there he was: Jamie Byrd, Director of Marketing and Public Relations.

It was a flattering headshot. Kind eyes and a bright, but slightly lopsided smile from behind a short well-kept beard. He didn't look much older than her.

But you're turning 29 this year, she thought, briefly wondering where time went. So he's still a grown-up and all.

***

hester_madden (11:31 a.m.): This might be the most awkward coincidence, but I was in the kitchen on eight about an hour and fifteen minutes ago.

hester_madden (11:32 a.m.): It's nice to know there are decent people around.

hester_madden (11:45 a.m.): Okay. Thank you, is all I wanted to say.

jamie_byrd (12:14 p.m): If you did overhear all of that, I want to say how truly sorry I am that you had to deal with that in your place of work. I'm so sorry for the delay in responding to this. I just got back to my desk. I'm sure you can imagine the paperwork they just put in front of me. Turns out when you fire someone the pen is mightier than the sword.

jamie_byrd (12:16 p.m): I apologize, that was a terrible joke. Are you okay, Ms. Madden? Do you need to speak with HR? I'm sure I could arrange for Marty to take some time with you as well. We want you to know how supportive this company is of you, and really all members of the team.

hester_madden (12:20 p.m.): Aw, during Pride and everything! I appreciate that. I will be okay. I was going to take my lunch at half noon. Would you be willing to join me? I was planning on Luke's.

jamie_byrd (12:21 p.m): If you can make it 12:45, I'm available. I can meet you there. I love Luke's!

***

It had been a hot weekend, but the weather turned overnight. Hester noticed that the shadow of the buildings in the Loop could easily cool things down, especially when the wind blew. She hugged her old Against Me! hoodie around her, glad she kept it at work for just this occasion.

This city is fucking weird, she thought, with a grin. She loved it.

Luke's was only a of couple blocks from work. She could never tell if it was a kitschy tourist place or a local legend, but it reminded her of some of the chips shops she and her friends from home went to when they were younger. The little sandwich shop had maybe 20 tables. It was aspirational to nab one during the daily lunch rush of office workers. Today, however, there was a two-top waiting for her. She put her messenger bag down and wrapped her hoodie around a chair.

Hester went to the counter to place her order.

"Hi sweetie," said the woman behind the register. "Chicken parm sandwich and a fountain drink?"

"Yes," Hester said. "I don't know how to feel that you know my order when you have this kind of foot traffic."

"The cooks call you 'pretty English chicken parm girl.'"

"Aww," she said, touching her hand to her heart in earnest surprise. "You don't know how much I needed that today." The cashier punched in the order. Hester gave the cashier 40 bucks. "Can I ask a favor? I'm meeting someone who did something very nice for me. I'd rather he not pay for his meal today. So just take it out of this, and give the rest to the tip jar."

The cashier smiled and winked, embracing the conspiracy.

Hester collected her order and returned to the table. She felt a compulsion to check the compact in her bag to see how she looked. Her dirty blonde hair was up in a messy bun, a little windswept, but with a cute strand coming down the side. All good there. She had the foresight to put on some light makeup that morning to even out her complexion. She was hopelessly pale most times, but hangovers made her look like a Victorian ghost. So that was fine. Hester adjusted her pink sundress, which contrasted nicely with her hoodie and scuffed Converse. She was satisfied she looked authentically Hester.

By the time her once-over was finished, it was 12:55 and he was late. She was about to check her messages when he walked in or tried to. She saw Jamie grab the door and hold it open for a woman exiting the shop. He didn't see the large group of tourists behind him and ended up holding it for all fifteen of them as they crowded in and tried to figure out what an Italian beef actually was.

Hester knew Jamie was cute from his corporate headshot. She'd guessed - correctly - he was big from the way he handled the sales guy in the lounge. She couldn't have known he was cheerfully considerate, perhaps to a fault, but she filed it away as a positive development.

"Hi, Ms. Madden," he said as he reached the table. He reached out his hand for hers. "Jamie Byrd."

"You can call me Hester." She squeezed his hand lightly. He did the same to hers and lingered. She thought her fingers fit nicely with his, and wondered if he noticed it as well.

"Okay, Hester, it is." He looked thoughtful. "I don't know that I've met another Hester. I'm just Jamie, by the way. No Mr. Byrd, and I won't be offended if you need to get any avian jokes out of your system. I've probably heard them all. Hope you don't mind, but I'm going to grab something to eat. Back in a sec."

Hester watched as he approached the counter. Mmm, I like this show, she thought. He was tall, way north of six feet for sure. The neat beard from his headshot was still there, but he'd grown his brown hair out into a wavy crossover. Even though he was a director, he took advantage of the company's loose dress code. He pulled it off way above average for the guys she was usually around. His dark jeans were tightly rolled at the bottom, showing the tops of his leather desert boots. His gingham shirt was fitted and he rolled the sleeves as well. Stop that, right now young lady. Do not objectify the cis boy.

She watched Jamie's confusion when the cashier stopped him from reaching for his wallet. He was insisting that he pay, and apologizing when the cashier told him he didn't have to. The cashier motioned back at Hester. She was laughing when Jamie shot her a mock reproachful look. He chuckled and shrugged, and turned to lean against a railing while he waited for his food.

You're going to get fired next if you don't stop watching him like a hawk, she thought. Hawk. Hm.

Hester unlocked her phone and opened Twitter. She found his profile in a second - so professional to just use his real name - and quickly shot off a post.

.@jamiebyrdva If I think of any jokes, I'll tweet.

She put the phone away as a ding sounded across the restaurant. Jamie pulled his own phone from his back pocket. He laughed out loud and gave Hester a thumbs up. The goofy grin on his face felt like a window on a new Jamie. She'd heard righteous fury, experienced his consideration, and now she saw he was a giant, goofy dork.

When he returned with his food, he had to slide his chair back so he could fit his long legs under Luke's low tables. Before he said a word, he took a few bites of his sandwich and a sip of water.

"Thanks for letting me get the preliminaries done there," he said.

"No problem."

"I'm sorry again about this morning. Mortified by the whole thing."

"You didn't do anything wrong though. You were amazing."

"Did you hear everything?"

"I think so."

"So you know I put my hands on Shane. That's not amazing. That's not the right way to do it."

Hester opened her mouth to speak, but words didn't come. She closed it. She blinked for a moment. She knew Shane by reputation and had seen him around the office. She didn't recognize his voice, but she guessed he was probably a foot shorter and fifty pounds lighter than Jamie. A Napoleon complex might explain the hateful things he spewed in the lounge.

Jamie looks like he could've ripped the guy apart, she realized. But he doesn't want anybody to get hurt.

"I can appreciate that," she said. "But as they were talking about me it does feel odd to let those guys off the hook."

"Trust me, they're not off the hook at all. They just lost jobs that pay 100K plus commission. On top of that, they're getting poor references from a CEO that just topped Chicago's 40 Under 40. Two weeks from now they'll wish they took a beating instead."

Hester hadn't considered that. She didn't know exactly what Jamie did heading up public relations, but she could easily imagine how good he was at convincing people what they should think. When he spoke to her, it was as if he was the only person in the world, and he knew exactly what she wanted to hear. That's the rare kind of person that probably could do more with words than fists.

The pair chatted amiably as they ate, about the strange weather, the company, and the city. When she told him that she'd been to more than forty countries, his eyes went wide, as most people's did. He listened with fascination as told him about the discounted flight she'd taken to Panama the year before. She'd spent ten hours exploring Panama City before hopping on the return trip.