But for all Stephanie’s smug contentment with the new arrangement, Stephen expected things to fall apart any moment. He already had false ID, correct in every detail but that his first name was Stephanie, rather than Stephen. He used these blithely and waited for IRS paperwork or a reference check to trip him up.
Apparently, though, no one checked his references. He had one tense moment when Elaine in Personnel told him that some tax form had come addressed to “Stephen.” Then she laughed.
“I let it go. We know better than most how confused computers can get. What’s important is that your social security number matched, so there’ll be no problems with the IRS.”
Most of Stephen’s work friends had vanished when their mutual employer had gone under. Stephanie’s social contacts were, by necessity, permitted only a certain amount of intimacy. She told them she was moving to take a new job, received congratulations, and knew she was forgotten almost before she was out the door.
Her new life began. Stephen was so completely forgotten that Stephanie occasionally was startled when hygienic necessity reminded her that she was not a young woman. She researched the various surgeries for transgendering, but she shied away from the procedures, squeamish about the physical truncation and large amounts of hormone therapy involved in such an extreme step.
Stephanie came to feel about Stephen’s parts in the same way other people did about freckles or moles or other physical anomalies. They were something she had to deal with, but not really her. What mattered was that she was now a woman socially, and, at least superficially, physically. She was past the age when sex was the first thing on her mind, and she had gone so long without it that she missed intimacy more.
Everything was grand. Everything was wonderful. That is, until she met Donald Baxter and fell in love.
Don loved Stephanie, too, that was the tough part. He was as much interested in a pretty girl as any man. A swift glance at his trousers when they’d been cuddling in front of the television gave that away, but he respected her restraint.
“I think it’s sweet you want to wait,” he said repeatedly.
Stephanie thought that, if anything, the tantalizing novelty of her “nothing below the neck” rule kept bringing Don back, rather than driving him away.
They dated for eighteen months before the moment Stephanie had been anticipating, and yet dreading, came. Donald proposed.
He did it right, too, privately, over a romantic dinner in one of their favorite restaurants, the expensive one they saved for special occasions. The ring was marvelous, too. He’d remembered that she thought the more usual diamonds cold. Somewhere he had found an old-fashioned pink diamond. Stephanie reached toward its cobwebby beauty almost on reflex, and heard Don saying, “You’ll have me then? How about a June wedding?”
What could she say? She wanted Don almost more than she could bear, but if she told him about Stephen, she’d lose Don. Still, didn’t love deserve truth? She drew in a deep breath.
“Don, I want you to know how happy and honored I am, but there’s something I need to tell you, something about who I was before I came here.”
He reached across the table and cradled her hand in his.
“Darling, I don’t care who you were before. You’re the one I love now. Nothing will change that, I promise. I’ve often wondered if your restraint in… well, certain matters, meant that you’d had some painful experiences in the past. I don’t want you to dredge them up, not now, not ever.”
Stephanie tried again, “But, Don, you don’t really know me.”
“I know enough. You’re kind and sweet, but you’re also intelligent and witty. You’re my best friend and my darling. Nothing would make me happier than to have you as my lover and my wife.”
He slid the pink diamond in its platinum setting on her finger. It fit perfectly, and looked splendid.
“Don, I…”
Stephanie was going to tell him, but then a beaming waiter, obviously cued to wait for the ring to go on her finger, came hurrying up with a bottle of very expensive champagne and a silver tray holding her favorite dark chocolate truffles. She couldn’t embarrass Don when he’d done so much to make everything perfect, not in front of all these people.
She’d tell him later. She’d must tell him, sooner rather than later. Otherwise the embarrassment would be all the more acute.
But somehow the right time never came. First his parents threw them a big engagement party. Then wedding plans seemed to take on a life of their own. It wasn’t as if they didn’t have time to themselves, but somehow telling Don that Stephanie was “really” a “Stephen” while they were driving to listen to a band that might play at the reception or to taste samples of wedding cake or to interview a caterer didn’t seem exactly proper.
And when she was alone, Stephanie had to admit she was enjoying all the fuss and excitement. Don was one of three brothers, and his mother was thrilled to lavish on Stephanie all the enthusiasm she would have given to a daughter. Since Stephanie’s own parents were both dead, and Stephanie had no family of her own, Don’s mother didn’t even need to worry about taking some other mother’s place. She could feel good about her generosity, and Stephanie couldn’t bring herself to put out the light excitement had lit in that fine lady’s eyes.
The wedding dress was a problem. After all, fittings and measurings were semipublic events. Stephanie couldn’t have deceived a dressmaker for a moment. She hesitated.
“I could probably do quite fine with something off the rack,” she said. “I’m a pretty standard size.”
Don’s mom smiled. “If expense is what you’re thinking about, Stephanie, don’t let it worry you for a moment. I know you and Don have insisted on paying for most of the wedding expenses yourself, but you’re as close to a daughter as I’m likely to get. I’d love to buy you your dress. Don’s dad agrees, too. I’ve even talked to a dressmaker I know, and she’s free the day after tomorrow.”
Stephanie’s heart thudded in panic. She had to tell Don. He’d never forgive her-if he ever would anyhow-if he learned the truth from his shocked mother and a scandalized dressmaker. But Don was out of town on business and wouldn’t be back for a week.
She couldn’t tell him something like this over the phone-even if he’d listen. He was so committed to his position as the courtly gentleman who cared nothing for his beloved’s past that he’d skillfully blocked her every attempt to broach the subject. She suspected that even if she said, “I’m a man, dammit!” He wouldn’t understand.
Forget about dropping her pants. Ever since their engagement, Don had been careful, even overly so, about respecting her “above the neck” rule, so much so that they rarely spent more than a few minutes where they weren’t chaperoned by at least a waiter or a semipublic situation. Stephanie knew why Don was doing this. He was showing her that getting engaged hadn’t been an excuse for pushing her into premarital sex, but as much as she loved him all the more for his courtesy and kindness, there were times she could have punched him.
Don’s mom was prattling away about her friend the dressmaker, showing Stephanie some photos of other gowns the woman had done, when Stephanie suddenly remembered great-grandmother’s wedding dress.
“Those pictures reminded me of something I’d nearly forgotten. I have an heirloom dress that I think would fit me. I’d like to wear it, if there’s any chance. It would be like… well, having a little of my side of the family in the wedding.”
Don’s mom looked momentarily crushed, but she was a good woman and livened immediately.
“I think that’s wonderful. ‘Something old,’ the rhyme says. Maybe I can contribute the ‘something new.’ ”
Stephanie beamed at her. “That would be wonderful! Why don’t you come over the day after tomorrow and see the dress? That would give me a chance to make sure it hasn’t perished in storage or anything like that.”