~o~O~o~

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Voi che sapete”
– Mozart, Le Nozze di Figaro, Voi che sapete (Aria)

Cambridgeport, Massachusetts, Christmas Eve

As soon as I woke up, my body told me that I had slept in; my internal clock is like a nightmare drill sergeant. But I lay still for a minute rather than jumping up. Took a minute to orient myself to time and place, smiling as I remembered the previous few days.

I got myself out of bed, took a shower and dressed casually. I had the house to myself for the morning, since Henry and Fi were both at work. So I spent a few hours preparing for the oral arguments that I would be presenting on Friday by reviewing all of the briefs, digesting key cases and making a short outline.

Fi – for these purposes, Dr. Fiona Campbell Savin, M.D. – worked at Mass General’s infectious disease unit. She had arranged to get off at around 12:30 in the afternoon. When she got back to the house, we had a light lunch, then she whisked me off to her salon for some pre-holiday primping.

I had been to salons before, starting with one owned by the two wonderful guys who were now my landlords. I had also been to a salon in Pittsburgh, where Liz had dropped me off to get me all beautiful for a photoshoot that never quite happened. That’s a different story.

Long and short of it was, I wasn’t concerned. If the girls at Liz’s shop had suspected anything, they had kept quiet about it, and I thought that would likely be the same here. Fi was obviously a regular customer and they weren’t going to do anything to upset her.

And, to be honest and girly as all hell, I really enjoy myself in salons. It is such a thoroughly, completely, wonderfully feminine place. There is no remotely comparable experience for the male of the species.

Men go to barber shops. In the old days – and, I understand, it may still be true in rural areas or in the Black community – the barber shop was kind of like a bar for sober people, providing an excuse to hang out and talk, while incidentally losing some inches up top.

Nowadays, men mostly go to places like Supercuts that don’t have any social function.

But even the best old-time barbershop had nothing like the experience of being surrounded by people who are easing tired feet, removing dead skin, clearing your pores, trimming up your nails and making them pretty, and fussing with your hair. It’s incredibly sensual, very personal, and at the same time, social.

What I discovered this time was that it is an even better experience when you don’t go alone. Fi hadn’t had time for the salon for quite a while; her work was even more demanding than mine. And, she enjoyed herself as much as I did. We had our nails painted the same color – an archipelago of forty identical islands of cranberry red, just for the season, with lipstick and gloss to match.

It looked so cute that we decided to match hairstyles as well. I was surprised to find that my hair was as long as Fi’s at the moment. I had been letting it grow for over four years.

Fiona shook her head. “At least five times a week, I threaten to cut it all off. It’s such a pain to deal with and I don’t have time to fuss. But whenever I come in here, I talk myself out of it. I guess I’m still too much of a girl to let it go. And besides . . . .” She blushed.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Henry likes it?”

She giggled. “That he does.”

“Good,” I said. “Besides, you’ll want to be able to do something elaborate with it for the wedding.”

“I have thought about that,” she confessed. “It’s another reason I haven’t cut it. But I haven’t really decided what to do with it.”

After checking my nails to ensure that they were dry enough, I fished out my phone. I had to go through a browser and a couple of security screens, but eventually I pulled up a photo and showed it to Fi. “How about something like this?” I was blushing a bit myself.

She looked at the photo, did a double take, looked at me sideways, then back at the photo. It was one of Liz’s masterpieces — the one in sepia, showing me in an elaborate dressing room, wearing a corset and voluminous crinoline petticoats. I was seated, gracefully stretching down to roll a lacy stocking up one of my legs, my foot delicately pointed.

Liz had caught my face in three-quarter profile, providing a very good view of an extremely elaborate updo, mixing curls and twists and small braids and requiring, as I recalled, a lot of pins and product.

“What on earth . . . ?” She was searching for words. “When . . .” She stopped again. “You look stunning. And yes, I like the hairstyle. Very appropriate . . . for a wedding. You didn’t get married without telling me, did you?” She was only half joking.

I laughed. “Let me see now . . . . Hmmm. . . . Nope. A friend of mine, who I met through work, is an amateur photographer. We were just playing around.”

“Just playing around? Well, okay. I guess. But if your friend’s an amateur, I’m John the Baptist.” She gave me a pretty funny look, but decided not to push further.

I hadn’t told her much about how I had come to explore my feminine side, and Fi is quite sharp enough to have noticed that my story had some major gaps. But she evidently figured out that I wasn’t going to say more.

Instead, she said, “Would you mind if I had a copy? I just love this photo. You look so amazing. Like a model.”

I blushed again, but airdropped a copy to her phone.

After our salon experience, we stopped at a Whole Foods (which was a zoo, of course, but they really know how to move people along), and then went back to the townhouse.

Henry had left detailed instructions for not only what we needed to purchase fresh, but also what needed to be chopped, what needed to be marinated, and all manner of prep work.

Fi and I set to the tasks together, dressed casually even though our makeup and hairstyles were pretty formal.

Henry got back from work around 7:00. His work “uniform” looked, as I expected, stylish, understated, and expensive as hell. It wasn’t what he was wearing – dress slacks, navy blue blazer, blindingly white dress shirt with French cuffs – as it was the exquisite tailoring.

I knew that he did something related to finance and investments, but I didn’t really know the details and had been a bit reluctant to pry.

He had gotten home, given Fi an appreciative look and a long kiss and shot me a smile and a wink before removing his jacket, donning an apron, and getting to work in the kitchen.

Fi and I set the table, bringing out the tablecloth that was only used for Christmas. We had picked up flowers at Whole Foods – seasonal greens, really – and I tried my hand at an arrangement while Fiona brought out the place settings and the crystal.

I thought wistfully of Ingrid Harrison, the avid gardener and arranger of flowers, whose son Steve had been such a disappointment – to me, certainly, but also, I suspect, to her. Ingrid, I thought, could do a much better job with Christmas greens than I was doing! I hoped that she, too, was having a good Christmas.

Once dinner was all in the oven, Fi and I retired to our respective rooms and changed. This time I went with a skirt and sweater, knowing that we would be going out after dinner and that it would be cold.

The skirt was black wool and, like most of my skirts, full rather than form-fitting so as to give an illusion of a narrower waist and fuller hips. The sweater was a very light cashmere that hung beautifully and felt wonderful as it slid across the nylon of my bra and camisole.

My outfit wasn’t nearly as formal as the red slip dress I had worn the night I’d arrived in Boston, but my salon hair – a simple but elegant updo, leaving a few strands to curl lazily down past one ear and spill onto my shoulder, as if they had inadvertently broken free – helped to compensate.

It was another wonderful dinner, Fi and Henry the perfect hosts. We had coffee at about 10:30, then hopped in their car and went downtown for the Midnight Christmas service at St. Paul’s Episcopal Cathedral.

Fi and I had both been raised in a non-denominational church that was Calvinist, evangelical, and conservative, but neither of us were members of any church presently. Henry said his family had always been part of the Anglican Communion, and he thought we would feel welcome there.

And so, as Christmas Eve turned to Christmas, I stood in that sacred space as an angelic choir sang Silent Night. My wonderful sister stood on my right, together with the good man who would share her life.

I wept at the beauty of it all.

I don’t know enough, I decided, to know where I belong. But Henry’s church seemed right for that moment. I was transported by the music and moved by the stately service, reconnecting to a faith that was as deeply felt as it was undefined.

We were back at the townhouse at around 1:30, but Henry insisted there were two things that absolutely, positively had to be done before we could go to bed.

The first was that we were all required to hang our stockings by the chimney with care. “The care,” he said, “is absolutely mandatory. It says so in the poem. So get to it. Show some ‘care,’ why don’t you!”

We laughed and complied, and I was duly provided with a knit stocking for that purpose.

Then he said, “The last thing that has to happen is that we have to read the Christmas story from Luke, out loud. My grandfather used to do it. My father no doubt did it earlier this evening. I did it last year, our first Christmas together in this townhouse. But I’d like you to do the reading tonight.”

He offered me the chair by the fire and handed me a Bible, bookmarked at the correct page. It was a newer book, but it was still King James.

I looked at Henry and whispered, “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

I opened the Bible with shaking hands, took a deep breath, and cleared my hesitation away. My voice came out strong, but still soft and intimate.

“And it came to pass in those days, that a decree went out from Caesar Augustus . . . .”

~o~O~o~
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Der lichte Tag schon lachet”
– Humperdinck, Hänsel und Gretel, Das Knusperhäuschen (Aria)

Cambridgeport, Massachusetts, Christmas Day

It was, I thought as I lay in bed, already the best, most wonderful, most magical Christmas I had ever experienced. And Christmas Day had only just dawned!

I slid out of bed — always the moment when my fondness for silky and impractical nightwear proved to be most disadvantageous — wrapped myself into my dressing gown, and went to freshen up. Fiona had warned me that Christmas morning was a makeup free zone, and I would just have to live with the face that God gave me for a couple of hours.

Easy for her to say, I thought. She’s naturally pretty and I need a bit of help!

Still, I could see her point. I made sure there was absolutely no sign of stubble and that my skin was clean and as fresh as a few moisturizing agents could make it. My hair had survived the night largely intact, thanks in part to a silk turban Fi had given me for just that purpose. It needed a bit of teasing, but still looked good.

I wore fuzzy slippers at home, but had picked up a pair of pretty satin slippers while we were wandering around on Sunday. They made my feet look more dainty than they are, which I surely appreciated.

I took a critical look, decided that was the best that could be done given Fi’s Draconian cosmetic ban, and went upstairs to join my hosts.

It was 8:00 am, which is extremely late for me. Apparently not for Fiona and Henry though, as there was no evidence that they had been down. Except, of course, that the “care”fully hung stockings were showing lots of interesting bulges that hadn’t been there when we said goodnight.

I started getting coffee ready, and by the time that the beans were ground and the water was through its first pour I heard stirring sounds from the third floor bedroom.

On a whim, I connected my phone to a bluetooth speaker in their living room and started streaming Christmas music. I figured out how to light their gas fireplace, and sat in the chair by the fire with my coffee, enjoying the peaceful morning and the joyous certainty that I was where I was supposed to be, with the people I was supposed to be with.

When Fiona poked her head through the door to the third floor staircase, I got up and gave her a big hug. “Merry Christmas, sis. I love you.”

She held me in the hug for a long time before stepping back and saying, “I’ll love you too, Cami, just as soon as you give me some of that coffee!”

I laughed and got her a cup, then poured one for Henry.

I gave Henry a Christmas hug as well, then we all took our coffees over to the seats by the fireplace and Henry distributed the stockings. They were filled with small and often humorous gifts. In my case, unsurprisingly, they had a distinctively feminine theme – naughty panties, L’eggs, cosmetics, lipstick, scrunchies . . . . I loved every one of them.

The next order of the day was, apparently, a bit of breakfast. We were allowed to get out of our sleepwear before partaking, for which I was grateful. I love the look and feel of my nightgowns, but I’m not used to displaying myself in them, though my long green dressing gown was a huge help.

Casual was the order of the day, however; I was told that we would get dressed later before going over to Henry’s Uncle’s house for the big family gathering.

Fi chose sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt, both looking neat enough to wear on a runway rather than anything that was actually used for activities that generated sweat. Fi was always fastidious. If she did sweat, which I sometimes doubted, she did it in private.

I didn’t own sweatpants – well, Cami didn’t; I probably still had some of Cam’s back at my apartment. But I wouldn’t have worn them if I did. They aren’t flattering on anyone. I expect they wouldn’t even be flattering on Nicole, the Most Beautiful Woman I Had Ever Personally Met (™). Not that Nicole would ever need flattering; she would look good in a root beer barrel.

Not being as gifted by nature as either my sister or my new-found friend, I wore tight-fitting yoga pants that did a nice job displaying my largely artificial figure, coupled with a light blue fleece.

Breakfast was French toast, which would certainly have pleased everyone who was worried about how much weight I had lost over the past few months. Fiona hadn’t said anything about it, but it was very unlikely that Dr. Savin hadn’t noticed, and even less likely that she hadn’t said something to Henry about it if she had.

I couldn’t complain. The French toast was excellent.

We exchanged gifts after breakfast. Henry had been the hardest person for me to shop for, because I really hadn’t known anything about him before I met him the prior weekend.

Something that Fi had written in one of her infrequent missives had left me with the impression that he might enjoy reading historical fiction, so I had purchased a two-volume leather-bound set of Patrick O’Brian’s Aubrey-Maturin novels.

Based on his reaction, I appeared to have hit a home run. “They’re beautiful!” he said, running his fingers over the binding. “I’ve heard about this series, and I loved the movie they made years ago. But I’ve never gotten around to reading them. Thank you!”

I also gave him a better coffee grinder I’d found when Fi and I were at Whole Foods.

That garnered a grin.

I had brought Fi’s present in the garment bag along with the gift box and wrapping paper; I had wrapped it carefully the prior morning. It was a stunning sleeveless dress in emerald green silk with a deep v neck, gathered tight to maximize the impact of her narrow waist, with a calf-length asymmetrical skirt.

“Oh. My. God!” she said, holding it against her trim body. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful dress! Thank you!”

I gave her a big hug. “Sweets for the sweet, Fi. I knew you had to have it as soon as I saw it.” I could never wear that dress – the neckline was too daring for my prosthetics, and it wouldn’t fit me at the waist. But Fi would look fantastic. I also gave her some wedding-related gifts.

It turns out that great minds think alike, because Fi had gotten me a dress as well – a tea-length gown, fully-lined in a champagne colored satin with a rich, Christmas-red tulle overdress and lace appliqués over the bodice. The tulle sleeves were three-quarter length, it was gathered tight at the waist and the skirt flared with a fair bit of drama.

The dress was absolutely magnificent and – as Fi surely intended – the absolutely perfect thing to wear to a fancy Christmas Party. I teared up. It’s a bit like smiling; I seemed to be doing a lot of it. But I couldn’t help myself. “Oh, Fi,” I whispered. “Thank you so much!!!”

I got another big hug.

Then Henry said, “One more item, Cami. We got a FedEx on Friday, and there was a wrapped package inside with a note asking us to give it to you Christmas morning.”

It was a small package, nicely wrapped. The sealed envelope that came along was simply addressed to “Cami,” so I opened that first. It contained a lovely Christmas card with an image of Pittsburgh in the snow.

I opened it and read, “Dearest Cami – I hope that you are having a wonderful Christmas up in Boston with your sister. I wish I could give you a hug and a squeeze in person, but I wanted to make sure you knew I was thinking of you. Love you lots, Liz.”

That was very sweet of her, I thought. I had sent her two packages, one labeled “naughty” and the other “nice,” and had received confirmation that they arrived in plenty of time. Hopefully she waited to open them on Christmas, but she hates waiting!

I unwrapped the package, which contained a clam-shell case. Inside was a gold lady’s wrist watch with a small mother-of-pearl face and a Celtic patterned gold bracelet band.

“Oh my!!!” I said. I carefully slid it onto my left wrist and admired it, my eyes shining.

“What a beautiful gift,” Fiona said. “Liz is your friend the photographer, right?”

“Same one,” I said.

When it was time to get ready for the big party, Fi came downstairs with me to see how my new dress fit. The first try was a fail; I couldn’t get the zipper up. I tried my waist cincher and that helped, but the zipper wouldn’t go up until Fi gave me a hand with the cincher and got it tighter still. My breathing was tight, but I knew from past experience that would get better.

Fi smiled and turned to go upstairs to change, but I put a hand on her arm. “Fi . . . Do you remember, when I was a kid, you used to invite me to tea parties with your stuffed animals, and I would get to wear your old party dresses?”

“I remember,” she responded. “I had wondered whether you did; you were so little. And I wondered . . . “

She stopped, and I finished for her, “. . . whether that had something to do with my being trans?”

She nodded, looking troubled.

“You’re the doctor. You know that’s not likely.” I added, gently, “but if it did, would you regret it?”

She gave me a long, thoughtful look. “No. I wouldn’t. I love who you have become. But do you?”

I smiled. “No regrets. I feel more alive, more centered, more connected, more human, than I ever did as Cam. I only mentioned those tea parties because they were such special times for me. I felt like I belonged, like I was part of your world. This weekend has felt like that, too. And, I’m so happy.”

She squeezed my hand. “Me too, Cami.”

After she went upstairs, I took out my phone and took a photo of my left wrist, delicately bent to display both my Christmas-red nails and my new watch. I sent a text to Liz with the photo and wrote, “Merry Christmas you crazy woman! I miss you! Any chance you have five minutes to FaceTime?”

I got back an immediate, “Yes!! Give me five!”

While I waited, I started putting on my makeup. My foundation, blush and lipgloss were finished when my phone went off. I dashed back into the bedroom, grabbed my phone, and accepted the FaceTime invitation.

And laughed, for there was Liz, wearing nothing but her “naughty” present – a black teddy that accentuated every curve and was so sheer that her nipples were clearly visible through the fabric.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Cami,” she said with a smile. Then she gave me a critical look – one that carried a lot of interesting memories. “You clean up well! Going somewhere fun?”

I giggled and told her we had a big family party to go to. Apparently Liz’s family, like mine, tended to gather on Christmas Eve. But, we had always had our smaller family units on Christmas, and Liz lived alone.

“Tell me you aren’t spending Christmas alone!” I exclaimed.

She smiled. “No, I’m going over to my brother Jim’s house later. It’s just him and the boys; I promised I would liven things up a bit.” She looked mischievous. “Should I go like this, do you think?”

I giggled again. I was doing a lot more of that, too.

“Thank you for this,” she said, giving the fabric of her teddy a gentle caress which made my heart beat a bit faster. I might be finding men attractive these days, but there was just something about Liz.

“I really liked my ‘nice’ gift too,” she added. That had been a very high-end black leather camera bag that I had managed, barely, to get monogrammed before I sent it off to her. “And the website. I mean, I’m starting to think you’re trying to tell me something.”

“Maybe,” I said playfully.

“I might just listen. Work’s been busy, and it’s not like I don’t have a pretty full social life. But I really used to enjoy photography, and you got my creative juices going again.” She smiled wickedly. “Well, not just my creative juices, but those too.”

Evil!

“Anyhow, I thought I would do some more shoots to fill out a portfolio, put them up on the website you designed for me, and go live. I wouldn’t be able to do many gigs, but it’s not really for the money. It’s just for me.”

I was enthusiastic. Liz is terrific at her job and is absolutely going places in the telecom company where she works. But she’s got real artistic talent, and it would be a shame to waste it.

Sounding suddenly tentative, she said, “I was wondering if you might be willing to come back out to Pittsburgh for a weekend and do some more photos that I could use.”

“Me?” I asked, surprised.

She nodded encouragingly. “Look, I know we were doing some role play, but you were a fantastic model, and you’re very photogenic. I would really like to have some wedding photos in the collection; that’s the number one reason people hire photographers. I promise, I’ll get you a different wedding dress to wear.”

“Of course I’ll help you. I’d love to. And . . . I’m really flattered that you would want me.”

“There’s one more thing I’d like to do, but only if you are okay with it,” she said.

I let my face ask the question. Liz and I were still in some tricky emotional territory; I wasn’t sure what was coming.

“Not that,” she said softly, seeing where my mind had gone. “Just a photoshoot this time, I promise.”

I was relieved, but also somewhat disappointed. As I say, my feelings are complicated where Liz is concerned.

“What I was wondering is whether you would be willing to have my friends join us for the shoot – wedding photos include group shots. I can green screen it and add them later, but it’s better if the people are together. Would you be willing to see them again, this time as Cami?”

I didn’t take long thinking about it. Cam was becoming more and more distant to me, and I wanted to be myself everywhere. Work had to wait, but the faster I was “out” to the rest of the world, the better.

I had liked her friends from her office – Fernando and Tish (a couple), Janet and Tim (not). We had hiked, kayaked, and done rock climbing together back when Liz and Cam were dating, but I hadn’t seen them since the night when Liz broke up with Cam. The same night when she began, without intending to, to wake the woman inside me.

“Sure. I’d like to meet them again, as Cami. But, can you talk to them first? Make sure they’re okay with it, and accept it if they aren’t? I don’t want to cause any friction with your friends.”

“You know they aren’t like that.”

I shook my head. “I suspect they aren’t like that, but I don’t know it and you don’t either. People can be weird about the whole transgender thing. Trust me. If any of them are, that’s okay. But if they do have an issue, springing it on them is the worst way to find out.”

She agreed to raise it.

We talked about timing. I suggested that I might be able to come out for the MLK holiday weekend. Then we said our goodbyes, added “Merry Christmas” for good measure, and I blew her a kiss.

I checked my beautiful new watch, saw that I was running behind schedule, and rushed to get ready.

~o~O~o~
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Rideva, l'empio mostro... rideva”
– Puccini, Tosca, Il tuo sangue o il mio amore (Aria)

Boston, Massachusetts, Christmas Evening

Henry’s uncle’s house was an imposing 1890s edifice on Beacon Hill – lots of granite and marble, intricate Persian carpets, and more Christmas decorations than Macy’s flagship store in Manhattan. It was overflowing with Christmas cheer and a bewildering number of people who bore a strong family resemblance to Henry.

Our host and hostess were greeting guests when we arrived and valets whisked away our car. There were a dozen or so people in the foyer, but the Padrone’s air of authority left no doubt as to the identity of our host, even if Henry hadn’t been steering us toward him.

He was an imposing man. Maybe a shade over six feet tall, bald but for a fringe of closely cropped iron gray hair, broad shoulders, and a powerful chest. He had the same rectangular face as Henry, but his nose was substantially more pronounced and his eyes were a pale, icy blue.

He was dressed formally, in a dark suit that was as well-tailored as Henry’s wardrobe. His wife, who stood beside him in a winter white form-fitting dress with belled sleeves, was almost completely overshadowed.

“Merry Christmas, Uncle Chip, Aunt Gooney!” Henry said cheerfully.

“To you, too,” his uncle replied, shaking his hand.

His Aunt’s face lit up. “Henry! Fiona!”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

I noticed that Fiona bussed his Uncle’s and Aunt’s cheeks as well; clearly she was well-known to them both.

Henry turned back to me. “Uncle, this is Fiona’s sister Cami. Thanks for letting us bring her. Cami, let me introduce you to my Uncle Chip, formally Cornelius Hutchinson, and my Aunt Geraldine Hutchinson.”

“Thank you so much for having me,” I said to them both. I wasn’t sure of how I should handle handshakes, hugs, and the like, so I did nothing, but that seemed to work just fine.

“A very Merry Christmas to you, Cami,” Cornelius said. “Any family of Fiona’s is welcome here.”

His Aunt bubbled, “We’re so glad you joined us. You look so much like your sister!”

More people were streaming in, so Henry steered us past our host and hostess and up to another couple. His greeting here was even warmer. “Merry Christmas, Mom,” he said, giving a big hug to a short, auburn-haired woman with kind brown eyes and a warm smile.

“Merry Christmas,” she said fondly, a warm smile lighting her face.

His father, standing beside his mom, was a slightly shorter, slightly thinner version of Cornelius, with a narrower, more ascetic-looking face and a neatly trimmed pepper-and-salt beard.

“Dad!” Henry gave him a hug as well.

Fi got her greetings and I was introduced. His father was “George,” his mother “Anne.” I was desperately trying to keep all the names straight, and knew I was going to fail.

Anne was saying something to Fi and Henry was looking around. “Where’s Robbo?” he asked his father.

“He was around a couple of minutes ago,” George replied. “I saw him talking to Jonathan.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll bump into him,” Henry said.

We spent a few minutes with Henry’s parents, who seemed like lovely people. They wanted to know how I was enjoying Christmas in New England, and I told them honestly that it was the best Christmas that I had ever had, due in no small measure to how fabulous their son was as a host.

It was one hundred percent true, but there’s also no better way to make a mother happy than to let her know that her eldest child is wonderful.

She was, indeed, beaming.

The four of us toured a bit of the downstairs, where the party was cheerfully spilling from room to room. The first floor had twelve-foot ceilings and lots of original cherry trim, polished to a warm, glowing matte finish.

The main living room was enormous, dominated on one end by a fireplace that would not have been out of place in a castle, complete with a roaring Yule log. The Christmas tree on the other end touched the ornate ceiling, and every inch was decorated with white lights and ornaments of all shapes, sizes, and materials.

The room also contained a baby grand piano where several people were gathered, singing Christmas carols. Family, not professionals. They looked, and sounded, like they were having a delightful time.

A sumptuous buffet had been laid out in another room and people were happily partaking of both the food and beverages. We grabbed a couple of nibbles and moved from one group to another, exchanging Christmas greetings, laughing, and talking.

After a while, I heard the sound of louder music coming from another room.

The sound made Henry grin. “Oh good, time to work off some of this food!”

He took both Fi and me by the elbow and led us through a couple more rooms until we reached an honest-to-God ballroom, complete with a parquet floor, gilded pilasters and an ornate ceiling. Pine and fir boughs festooned every wall.

I was astonished and must have looked it, because Henry put his head close to mine and said, loud enough to be heard over the music, “Back when this house was built, anyone with money had a ballroom in their house. Throwing dances was just what people did when they entertained.”

I just nodded, not comfortable trying to talk over the music. This was definitely a window into another world.

I was surprised to discover that Cornelius and Geraldine were going to begin the dancing formally, and it was apparently a group thing. Not knowing the dance, I tried to fade back to a wall.

Fi looked uncertain as well, but Henry said, “Don’t worry, you two. It’s like a square dance; just follow what everyone else does. By the time it’s your turn you’ll get the hang of it.” He led us to the center of the room where the guests were lining up, with women in a line on one side and men in a parallel line on the other.

I stood next to Fi; Henry was across from her. Next to him, and across from me, was one of the numerous young men in attendance who looked a lot like Henry.

The music – provided live, by a group of about ten – smoothly swung into a different rhythm and tempo, and everyone turned to face the person across from them, clapping in time with the up-tempo tune.

There were shouts of “Hey!!! Hey!!!” as Cornelius and Geraldine stepped off in time with the beat, brought both hands together and twirled, then came side by side with their arms crossed, hands still clasped, and danced down to the end of the line where they twirled again, released each other, and took their places at the end of the line.

We all took two steps to our left, and with more shouts of “Hey, Hey,” George and Anne took their turn down the middle.

I relaxed and started to enjoy it. This, I can certainly do!

Fi and Henry were about twelve down in the line and they got very enthusiastic “Hey, Hey’s!!” as they took their turn. Fi had decided to wear the dress I had given her; we looked very Christmassy together with me in red and her in green.

Henry was wearing his combination of gray dress pants with a tailored black blazer, but he had accessorized with a festive holiday vest in a red brocade. They were a stunning couple. Henry had clearly grown up with this kind of event and his dancing showed it, but Fi held her own.

I hope I’ll manage as well!

Then it was my turn. I skipped forward to the beat and raised my hands to my partner, who took them in a firm and competent grip. He leaned back slightly to give me a twirl and I instinctively did the same to avoid losing my balance, then I was beside him with our arms linked, dancing down the floor.

He led with smooth and practiced assurance, looking very graceful. I was content to follow his lead, and tried to make up for any lack of skill with a big smile. We reached the end and he effortlessly twirled me again, gave me a smile as big as my own, and let me go.

Fi gave me a high five as I danced back to join the ladies’ line, swaying my hips and pumping my arms.

There were a few more dances of this sort – big, communal, joyful. Then there was a break in the music and some of the people – mostly the older and younger ones – began to wander off.

“The next bit will be more of the dancing you are probably used to, Cami,” Henry said. “Which is why the crowd is thinning a bit. Are you up for it?”

“Sure!” I felt like I was up for anything. I’m no great dancer, and I certainly don’t have a lot of experience dancing in heels. But what passes for dancing today was mostly just free-form moving in time with a beat, and I could manage that.

I did, and it was fun. I danced with Henry, I danced with Fi. I danced with a number of different flavors of Hutchinson. I danced with my partner from the first dance, who was much sought-after as a partner. He was mostly dancing with cousins, of course, but he was probably the best dancer there.

While keeping firm hold of my right hand, he twirled me toward him until my back was against his chest. “I’m Robert, Henry’s brother,” he said, almost in my ear. “Just wanted to tell you that Fi’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him!” Then he spun me back out again.

Damn, can he dance! “Good to meet you Robert; I’m Cami.” I managed to make myself heard without shouting, but I had to work at doing that while still sounding feminine.

The dancing continued and I lost track of the number of my dance partners. There was another break in the music and Henry gathered Fiona and me. We all looked a bit flushed from the exertion, and happy. “How about a bit of a breather?” he asked.

We were happy to agree, and wandered back towards the buffet. I had a bit of water, then picked up a flute of champagne. “This is fabulous!”

Fi agreed.

Henry nodded. “I took it all for granted, growing up with it. I’ve known these people my whole life, and this was just what Christmas was like. I couldn’t imagine it any other way. I was probably in my teens before I even had a clue how privileged I was. And I don’t just mean money, though there’s that. I mean by all of this. The big family gatherings, the closeness of it.”

Henry’s Aunt had something that she wanted to show Fiona, and the two of them wandered off.

I readily agreed when Henry offered to show me a bit more of the house. He took me upstairs where it was quiet – the party appeared to be on the main floor only. “You’ve got to see the library!”

We had just walked in when Robert poked his head in. “Hey Henry, Fi’s looking for you.”

“Go on, Henry,” I said. “I’d like to take a closer look. If you aren’t back in a couple minutes I’ll join you downstairs.”

He trotted off, and I wandered around the room, marveling at the gilt paneling, the ten-foot shelves, the rolling ladders, the rows and rows and rows of books. There was a small fireplace in a corner with two comfortable-looking armchairs, and a large library table in the middle. It looked like the model for the library in Beauty and the Beast!

Just then I was slammed in my neck and the back of my head. I must have fallen down, because when I blinked my eyes back into focus I was on all fours, looking down at a pair of men’s dress shoes.

A man’s voice above me said, casually, “So you walk in, and Robbie says, ‘I didn’t know Fiona had a sister.’ You probably didn’t think about Google, but I did a little search. And sure enough, I didn’t find a ‘Cami’ Savin. But I sure as hell found a ‘Cameron’ Savin. And the picture on his firm’s website isn’t female, now is it?”

I said nothing. I was still a bit stunned, but this was a raging, three-alarm fire, and I always get calm in emergencies. Calm . . . and cold. My mind was working just fine. And very quickly.

He must have leaned down, because his voice was closer, more threatening. “I don’t know what scheme you’ve hatched, you and that sister of yours. But no one fucks with the Hutchinsons. I’m going to kick you out of here so hard your ass will feel it for weeks, but I’m going to teach you a lesson first.”

I could smell the juniper tang of gin on his hot breath as he bent close. “You want to play at being a girl, faggot? You’re making a good start, on your knees like that. So suck my dick and slurp down everything I give you. Got it?”

“Or what?” I asked in a low voice.

“Or, I walk downstairs and blow the whistle on you in front of God and everybody. Daddy’s got no use for your kind. Now, get busy!”

I heard the unmistakable sound of his zipper, then he grabbed my hair and brought me more upright, still on my knees, my eyes level with his full, pulsing cock. “I said, get busy!”

I kept my eyes downcast. Slowly, reluctantly, I brought my left hand up to curl around the back of his shaft. I licked my lips. Looked up at him.

“That’s it, bitch,” he sneered.

“Oh, HELL no!” I said, suddenly vicious, as I brought my right hand up in a quick vertical motion. My beautifully manicured nails slashed the entire length of his engorged dick, shredding flesh as they went. I crunched the fingers of my left hand around the shaft and twisted it as he staggered back.

“I’ll fucking kill you bitch!” he shrieked, even as he continued to stumble backward. . . . just as the master of the house entered the room behind him.

“Bastard!” Cornelius Hutchinson positively spat.

The man turned towards this new threat in perfect time to take a hammer-like fist right on his nose. He stopped making noise and dropped like a dead cat.

The blood pounded in my head and the black tunnel of my vision narrowed, then narrowed some more. I heard roaring in my ears and everything went black.

~o~O~o~
CHAPTER TWENTY
“e pel possente, Misero anch'esso, tua pietà dimostra”
– Verdi, Otello, Ave Maria piena di grazia (Aria)

Boston, Massachusetts, Christmas Evening, shortly afterward

My internal clock told me that I hadn’t been out all that long. But I was in a bedroom, somewhere.

An incandescent Fiona gripped my hand hard. “I want him in JAIL, Henry. After I rip off his balls!!!”

Henry was saying something, but I didn’t catch it.

I opened my eyes and gave Fi’s hand a squeeze. “Thank God you’re here!”

“Oh, God, Cami!” Fi was shaking.

I took a breath, and my arctic cool came back in a rush. I sat up. “It’s okay, Fi. I’m fine.”

“Fine??!!” she said, incredulous. “That little turd . . . .”

I stopped her. “I know. But I’m all right.” I managed a weak smile. “I think the waist cincher had more to do with my blacking out than anything else.”

Fi was speechless.

I looked up at Henry, speculatively. “Who?”

“My cousin, Jonathan. Uncle Chip’s son.” His eyes looked hard. “Fi’s right, Cami. Nail him.”

“Thank you both, so much.” I paused, my mind still whirling. “Henry, do you know where your Uncle is?”

He looked surprised. “Yes, he’s in his study . . . he asked me to tell him when you recovered. He wants to talk to you.”

“Not without me,” Fi said, practically snarling.

Dear, fierce Fiona. But direct action isn’t the best response to every problem. I looked at Henry. “I’d like to tell him myself, if you don’t mind. Will you take me to him?”

Fiona was looking at me like I had two heads.

“Fi, I can’t begin to say how much I appreciate that you want to protect me. I do. But this calls for my skill set, not yours. This is something I need to take care of. Okay?”

She didn’t look remotely convinced, but Henry nodded slowly and said, “Okay, Cami.”

I looked back at Fiona. “Can you please do something with my hair? He pulled it.”

She was still looking rebellious. “He ought to see you just the way you are!”

I covered her hand with my free one. “He already has. Do I look alright – otherwise?” Amazingly, I did. I had taken quite a whack to the back of my head and neck, but nothing visible.

Fi fussed a bit with my hair. “Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?”

“You’ve never seen me at work,” I responded. The University of Chicago doesn’t hand out law degrees to the helpless.

Apparently I passed inspection, and Henry led me down a hallway. We turned a corner and walked further. As we came to a door at the end of the hall, Henry stopped me. “Cami . . . Rob had nothing to do with it. Jonathan told him that Fi was looking for me. He had no idea. I thought you should know.”

I gave his hand a squeeze and sent him back to Fi, then raised my hand and knocked firmly.

“Come,” said a harsh voice from the other side.

I opened the door, stepped in, and closed it behind me.

Cornelius rose from behind an ornate table desk, looking surprised. “Miss Savin. I would have come down.”

“I thought our discussion might be easier without my dragons guarding me. I want to thank you. And, to say how very sorry I am.”

“Sorry? Why? Because my son is a worthless piece of excrement? I’m sorry about that, too, but it’s no fault of yours. And I’m very sorry that this happened to you.” He sat and waved me to a seat in front of the desk.

He isn’t going to give up the place of advantage, I thought with amusement. Very well.

“If you would like to press charges, I will support you. As far as I’m concerned, he’s no son of mine. Not anymore.”

“I really don’t want to press charges. For my own reasons.”

He gave me a shrewd look. “Because you would need to reveal that you are biologically male?”

I was surprised, but hid it. “I don’t seem to have been very convincing.”

“Don’t be absurd,” he said gruffly. “If I had seen you anywhere, I would have had no idea.”

I raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

“I’m not just Henry’s uncle, I’m the sole trustee of the Hutchinson family trust, of which Henry – and my worthless offspring – are potential beneficiaries. And Henry’s not just my nephew, he’s one of my three direct reports at Hutchinson Investments. Of course, I know who his fiancée is, and all I need to know about her family, too.”

I said nothing, so he proceeded to demonstrate. “Her father owns an insurance agency in St. Louis; he and his wife are upstanding members of their evangelical church, lifelong members of the NRA and involved in local Republican politics. The older of her two brothers is an aspiring actor who works as a waiter in New York and has middling talent.

“Her youngest sibling is a graduate of the University of Chicago Law School, Order of the Coif, member of the Chicago Law Review editorial board. Currently works in Washington DC for Cavandish Edwards, is named Cameron, and – as far as anyone knows, anyhow – is male.

“Fiona Savin has no known female siblings, and – making some allowances for dress and cosmetics – you bear a strong resemblance to Mr. Savin’s image on the Cavendish website. Ergo. . . .”

He paused for a moment, then apologized. “I’m sure it seems creepy. But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t investigate people who intend to marry trust beneficiaries. Or, my senior business associates. I’m surprised Henry didn’t know that.”

I tried to keep my voice even and my tone equable. “I understand the caution, sir, though the extent of your investigation seems excessive.”

He was unperturbed by the implicit rebuke. “That’s probably because you don’t know how badly money warps people, and I, unfortunately, do.”

“I’m sorry, but that thinking does seem paranoid. Your son sounded similar. He assumed Fiona and I were up to some kind of ‘scheme’ and aimed to punish me for it. I guess he thought we were after your money, too.”

Cornelius sat back in his chair. “My son doesn’t think, Miss Savin. If you will excuse the crudity, on a good day he can find his reproductive organ and something to eat. The idea that you would advance a scheme by appearing at my house in female attire is ludicrous on its face.”

“I appeared at your house in female attire, as you put it, because I’m a woman.” I managed to keep my voice level. “A transwoman, but still a woman. I wasn’t attempting to deceive anyone.”

“I apologize if my word choice implied otherwise. I don’t pretend to understand ‘transgender,’ and I will confess that the idea makes me uncomfortable.”

He raised his hand as if to forestall a reply, though I hadn’t intended to interrupt him. “But I don’t need to be comfortable with it. It’s none of my business. All I am required to do is be aware of risks.”

“And you concluded that my being transgendered doesn’t present a risk?” I asked, looking for confirmation.

“By itself? No, I can’t think of any. Indirectly, though . . . . Am I correct in assuming that you have not identified as transgendered at work, since you are not identified that way on your firm’s website?”

I nodded.

“Alright Miss Savin. You tell me what the risk is.”

I looked down. “Blackmail,” I said quietly, thinking of Jonathan’s threat of exposure.

He said nothing. When I finally brought myself to look up, he was simply waiting, still as Judgment Day.

“Miss Savin, if you are not honest with your employer, you create a risk. You give people a lever to make you do things, or forgo doing things. That is a danger for your firm, for your clients, and for those you care about. You see that?”

I could only nod. “I do, sir. But I intend to inform my employer. The timing wasn’t good, that’s all. If anyone did attempt to blackmail me, I can assure you, absolutely, that I would let the firm know.”

“Even if it cost you your position?” he pressed.

“Yes. Though, if I may borrow your framing, I don’t consider that risk to be particularly high.”

“Nevertheless,” he said, “I strongly suggest, for your own sake, that you don’t delay matters too long.”

I nodded my agreement.

“Putting all of that aside, we still need to discuss what you would like us to do about today’s incident. Other than disowning my son and cutting him off from the trust, which I have both the authority and the strong desire to do.

“Is there something that I can do for you? You were an innocent guest in my house, behaving impeccably. It shames me that you were treated with anything other than courtesy and kindness.”

I sat for a moment, weighing what to say. I knew a whole lot more now than I had when I decided to walk in here alone. This is a very powerful man, and he might take what I’m going to say very poorly. But I decided to go ahead. “If I may make a suggestion, sir?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t disown your son. There’s been too much of that going around lately. It causes incredible pain. Trust me. My parents have disowned all of us because they thought Iain was gay and because Fi and I wouldn’t stand for their homophobic bigotry. And all five of us are going to have those scars a long time.”

“A Chicago-trained lawyer should see the flaw in that analogy,” he replied. “Your parents’ reasons for their actions were specious. Being gay is not a violation of the law in any American jurisdiction, thank God and the Supreme Court, and standing up for a brother is nothing if not admirable.

“My son, on the other hand, committed sexual assault in my own home, against one of our guests. As far as I know, that is illegal in every jurisdiction, and rightly so. It is an unmitigated, unpardonable evil.”

His voice had the calm, the dispassion, and the weight of a judge reading out a sentence. There was no anger in his voice.

But neither was there any mercy.

“He remains the flesh of your flesh, the blood of your blood.” My voice was low and soft. “He may be beyond redemption, but do you really need to pass judgment, to say the words? Do you need to do that to him, to yourself, to your wife?”

“Geraldine will understand,” he said heavily. “She is not blind to what our son has become.”

I thought of them dancing together, such a short time before. How beautiful, how at peace with each other they had seemed. How filled with the joy of the season. God, I’m so tired of causing trouble! Let me, for once, be an instrument of peace!

My lips lifted a fraction, showing a half smile. “Well, if I can’t convince you with sentiment, perhaps practicality will work?”

“You’re welcome to try. Tell me what I’m missing.”

“Leverage, Mr. Hutchinson. While he remains your son, and a potential beneficiary of your family trust, you have leverage over him. Without it, you don’t.”

He looked intrigued. “Interesting.”

“If I may return to my analogy, my parents disowned me before they knew I was trans. Disowning me didn’t bend me to their view of the world, it freed me. What might your son become, if you lose any ability to restrain him?”

He parried easily. “Would you have ‘bent to your parent’s view,’ if they hadn’t disowned you?”

I acknowledge the hit. “No,” I said quietly. “I am as God made me. But it seems unlikely that your son’s urge to commit sexual assault is anything like my understanding that I’m a woman where it counts, so application of leverage may work in his case.”

“Besides,” I added pointedly, “you said that money warps people. Jonathan has millions of reasons to behave for you that I didn’t have, with respect to my parents.”

It was his turn to acknowledge a score. “Touché.”

“I assume that you can arrange payments from the trust, or your firm, or wherever, in such a way that he is kept on a very short leash?”

He actually chuckled at that, though the sound was pretty humorless. “I can. A short leash and a choke collar.” He paused, then shook his head. “You’ve given me something to think about. And discuss with Geraldine, of course. But you still haven’t said what we can do for you.”

“I need my own leverage, sir. I don’t want to bring charges. But I want affidavits from you and from Rob attesting to precisely what you personally saw, with every detail that you remember. If Jonathan threatens or causes any trouble for me, or Fiona, or Henry, I will come down on him like the Anggge . . . .”

Inexplicably I stammered, but recovered to complete my thought. “Like the Angel of Death.” What was that all about? “I want him to know it, and to know that I’ve got the ammunition to do it.”

The look I got this time was one of respect. “Miss Savin, I apologize for thinking you might be too soft-hearted when you asked me not to disown my son. I will be delighted to provide you with whatever documentation you need, and I’m sure Robert will do the same. Right now, if you would like, although if you wait until tomorrow I can have the documents notarized.”

“Tomorrow will be fine, Mr. Hutchinson.” If there was one person on the planet who exemplified the saying “His word is his bond,” I was certain it was Cornelius Hutchinson. “I do have to catch a train tomorrow afternoon, though, so the morning would be better if that’s convenient.”

“Perfectly. Perhaps Henry can bring you into the office, and we can take care of business there.”

It appeared that we had finished, which was good – I felt like I’d been running a marathon. I rose to leave and then paused. “Mr. Hutchinson, where is Jonathan now?”

He had risen as well, and walked over from behind the desk. “Last I saw him, he was still out like a light. I have one of our household staff sitting on him, metaphorically speaking.”

“I hate to bring this up, but . . . does he need medical attention?”

He produced a half-smile that would have made Cam Savin proud. “I expect so. I’m confident that I broke his nose, though the damage you inflicted might actually hurt worse. However, I don’t believe there’s anything that won’t wait.”

I thought for a moment. “I’m not sure I can pull it off — last I saw her the Hippocratic Oath was pretty far from her mind — but my sister is a doctor . . . .”

This time he looked astonished. “Miss Savin, I don’t surprise easily, and that’s the second time this evening that you have amazed me. If you can convince your dragon to sheath her claws and take a look at him, that would be a kindness. At the very least, it will ease Geraldine’s worry.”

“Then I’ll be happy to ask her.”

I faced him and said, very formally, “Mr. Hutchinson, I know you said that you feel shame at your son’s behavior. But you and your entire household have treated me with amazing kindness. Your son’s actions are no one’s fault but his own; they do not reflect on you or anyone else.”

He tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Miss Savin. I’m going to have to go back downstairs; this party will keep going for many hours and I have obligations to fulfill. I am going to guess that you and your party are going to want to leave, and I can’t blame you. But you are welcome to stay as long as you like.”

I thanked him and left.

I went back down the corridor and almost ran into Fiona and Henry. “I was going to barge in, but Henry wouldn’t let me!” Fi exclaimed. “What took you so long? I was worried!!!”

I steered them back into the bedroom where I’d left Fi and closed the door. “We had things to discuss, and I’ll tell you the details later. But the bottom line is that I told Mr. Hutchinson that I don’t want to press charges.”

They both began to protest, but I cut them off. “For my own reasons,” I said firmly. “I will be getting an affidavit from your Uncle tomorrow morning,” I said, looking at Henry, “and I’ll need to ask your brother to produce one as well. When I leave here tomorrow, I will have your cousin by the short hairs, and that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

My conviction got through to them, though Fi still looked fit to breathe fire.

I squeezed her arm in reassurance. “Fi, he’s a bad apple. But this is a wonderful family. Let’s not ruin everyone’s Christmas, okay?”

“Cami, what happened to you is way more important than a party!”

“But it isn't more important than family. I don’t want to be remembered as the transwoman who cost Geraldine her son. I don’t want you to be remembered as the tranny girl’s sister. Henry’s Uncle and I will, between the two of us, take care of cousin Jonathan. You and Henry don’t need to be involved, and I don’t think you should be. Please, at least for now, let it go.”

“Ooookay,” Fi said, a bit shakily.

Time to grab the tiger by the tail. . . . “I did volunteer that I would ask you to take a look at Jonathan’s injuries before we leave.”

Her eyes blazed. “Oh, did you? Well, I’ll just do that! And if someone can find me a knife — or even a rusty saw blade — I promise he’ll never do anything like this again!”

“I’m serious. I’ve got no more use for Jonathan than you do. But I’m asking for the sake of everyone else in this house, including you, and Henry, and me. Please?”

She shook her head. “I don’t begin to understand you, Cami!” But she agreed to do it.

Henry went out and discovered where they had stashed Jonathan. When he came back, he led Fiona there and then, at my request, he and I discreetly went downstairs and rejoined the party. Amazingly, only about an hour had passed since Henry had taken me upstairs, and the party was still in full swing.

I looked at Henry. “Smile, brother-in-law. Don’t let them see you sweat! In fact, let’s dance!”

Fiona was astonished to find us in the ballroom when she came downstairs, about forty-five minutes after Henry and me.

I was glad for the break, and we all went back into the area where the food was set out. While we had been gone, the savories had been replaced with all manner of deserts and sweets. And, for a blessing, there was coffee. Good coffee.

We found a quiet corner and sat. A moment later, Cornelius and Geraldine came in and wandered in our direction, sitting down when they reached us.

Geraldine put her hand on my arm as said, very quietly, “I’m so sorry, Cami. So very sorry.”

I covered her hand with mine. “It’s alright now. Really. I’m fine, and judging by Fiona’s expression Jonathan hasn’t sustained any long-term injuries.”

Fiona confirmed it. “I bandaged what had to be bandaged. His nose is broken but there’s nothing more to be done for it right now. His other injuries . . . .“ she paused, trying to think of a diplomatic way of saying it. “They’ll cause him a lot of pain for a while, but he’ll heal completely, in a few weeks.”

Geraldine still looked haunted; what mother wouldn’t? But she thanked Fiona for her assistance. They got up and went back to mingling.

We sat for maybe ten minutes, talking quietly, when Henry’s parents and his brother sat with us. George said, “I’m sorry, Cami. And Fi. You certainly didn’t see us at our best.”

I jumped in before Fiona could say anything. “I disagree, Mr. Hutchinson. You have an amazing family and I think Fiona is extremely lucky.”

They looked incredulous, so I said, pointedly, “I have had a fantastic Christmas. Really. There was one bad moment, with one bad guy. And I handled it, with your brother’s help. I am not going to let it ruin this wonderful day, and you shouldn’t either!”

We left at around 11:00; Geraldine and Cornelius were back in the foyer, thanking their guests for coming. We smiled and took our leave. When we finally got back to the townhouse, it was almost midnight and I was exhausted.

But I was not defeated. The day had presented a terrible and unexpected challenge, and I had been able to deal with it. I would not let Jonathan color my view of the Hutchinson clan, much less of all men.

I gave Henry and Fiona big hugs at the bottom of the stairs, too tired to climb to the main floor. I said, with feeling, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

To be continued . . . .