Working on getting these to Publishable Standard.

Taking down for now.

Thanks to all my readers. News should be coming soon, although we know how life goes.

Working on getting these to Publishable Standard.

Taking down for now.

Thanks to all my readers. News should be coming soon, although we know how life goes.

Working on getting these to Publishable Standard.

Taking down for now.

Thanks to all my readers. News should be coming soon, although we know how life goes.

Working on getting these to Publishable Standard.

Taking down for now.

Thanks to all my readers. News should be coming soon, although we know how life goes.

Working on getting these to Publishable Standard.

Taking down for now.

Thanks to all my readers. News should be coming soon, although we know how life goes.

Working on getting these to Publishable Standard.

Taking down for now.

Thanks to all my readers. News should be coming soon, although we know how life goes.

Working on getting these to Publishable Standard.

Taking down for now.

Thanks to all my readers. News should be coming soon, although we know how life goes.

Working on getting these to Publishable Standard.

Taking down for now.

Thanks to all my readers. News should be coming soon, although we know how life goes.

Working on getting these to Publishable Standard.

Taking down for now.

Thanks to all my readers. News should be coming soon, although we know how life goes.

Working on getting these to Publishable Standard.

Taking down for now.

Thanks to all my readers. News should be coming soon, although we know how life goes.

Working on getting these to Publishable Standard.

Taking down for now.

Thanks to all my readers. News should be coming soon, although we know how life goes.

Working on getting these to Publishable Standard.

Taking down for now.

Thanks to all my readers. News should be coming soon, although we know how life goes.

Working on getting these to Publishable Standard.

Taking down for now.

Thanks to all my readers. News should be coming soon, although we know how life goes.

Tony had a wild night at Lads’ Night and by the end he didn’t want it to finish. So much so that Tony, when invited, slept at Jess’s place as Toni. Now it’s a new day, and the only clothes Tony has is a fancy date night dress and killer heels. How the hell is Tony going to get home? Maybe, just for now, it has to be Toni going home...

That’s up to Tony, though. But does this newfound fun really have to end? Can Toni continue, at least in the privacy of Tony’s home; at least once he gets there? Whatever happens Tony seems to have found two new friends in Jess and Sally, the problem is they don’t know Tony. Sure, Jess and Sally know he technically exists, but Toni is their friend. And what happens when they want to see her again? These are questions for another day, though, right?

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I'm currently publishing Allison Zero on itch.io. Money from this will go towards giving Toni With An i the proper chance for a full readership on both itch and Amazon Kindle. This will include manuscript, story and plot edits, and follow up stories, telling Toni's tale, and continuing on from what's appeared on BCTS.

You can buy Allison Zero here.

The more sales of Allison Zero the faster I can get down to the work with Toni and her amazing new pals. https://stephanie-wolle.itch.io/allison-zero

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Toni’s weekend is over—she somehow found herself a boyfriend, Tim—but now it’s back to work. She has to finish her report on the business’s healthcare plan, hopefully getting back a proofread draft from Mallory without too many issues spotted, then submitting it first thing Tuesday. She knows a lot rides on this, perhaps even her job. Will it work out for Toni? Will it be received as well as she feels it’s good? Or will her boss, Greg, get up to his usual rubbish of throwing chaos at her? She has a plan for Greg, though.

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Please note the first of what will hopefully be many short stories, and possibly novellas, in the Toni With An i/Light Avenue world was released last week; Not Strong Enough to Run. Featuring Steph and Trevor, and a new character, nurse Paul, it’s set roughly ten years before Toni With An i and fills in some (many?) background details. Or at least gives clues as to what’s going on in the yes/no/maybe? LGBTQ+ bar that is Light Avenue.

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I don’t know how many times I’ve groaned this morning. I’m exhausted. Absolutely shattered but I can’t sleep, for some reason. I did sleep, and slept well, but now I’m just awake.

Nothing bad is going through my mind, nothing is bothering me. It’s just one of those things. I am simply awake. I don’t think I’ll even get dressed but I spent the stupidly early hours, at least before official work starting time, going through the exercise clothes Steve bought me. At some point I’m going to have to get a floor length mirror, less of a concern when you’re wearing boring man clothes but I am completely certain I want to be looking my cutest now.

Sitting in front of my laptop I check my emails, nothing important has come in. And there’s been no calls from Greg. I switch on the TV with my personal laptop hooked up to it and play some of the football games from the weekend in the background, just listening to the commentary, occasionally glancing at it, and hearing the roaring of the crowd, along with the odd apology that inappropriate language may have been picked up by the stadium microphones.

Eventually, bang on 11am, Mallory’s edits from my report on our healthcare plan come through. Explaining in her email she seems pretty happy with it, she has a few suggestions, some grammar and clarity edits, along with a few typos the spellcheck wouldn’t be able to pick. Her immediate suggestions are good, and I appreciate them. Then I’m going through the entire document mostly approving her changes.

I think the document is done. It’s ready. I’ll give it a few hours without looking at it and have one last check. I’ve done the best I can. I’m certain of that. I just hope it’s enough. I know this is a test. I know it’s possible my job rests on it. I know someone at the office knows about the real me, and they’re seeing if I’m worth the hassle with continuing to work there.

With nothing else to do I’m pulling the boned chicken thighs out of the oven, enough for the week, like G suggested. I let them cool, then tear some up for the noodles, quickly frying up veggies. The noodles are good with all the additions, much better and much more of a meal than what I’d have before. G has a career as a chef, or at least as a cook, if he wants it.

Then, having eaten, I’m ready to get the drop on Greg, for once. And I know I will. I’m certain of it. I punch his number into my phone and hold it to my ear, feeling both giddy and nervous.

“Tony?” he says, picking up.

“You were going to call me sometime in the next hour or so, and ask me to email you the whole report. To ensure I wasn’t pulling an all-nighter. I can email it to you now.”

He laughs. “I was going to ask you that, but it wasn’t to ensure you didn’t pull an all-nighter. It was to ensure you weren’t worried about it all night, handing it in tomorrow. I already asked Mallory what the draft she saw was like. She said it was good. I believe her.”

“Did you read it?” I ask, getting annoyed that he still, somehow, has one up on me.

“No. I’ll read it when you email it to me. After I send it onto Mr. Mayer. If we agree it’ll get broad distribution tomorrow. There’ll be no further edits from us. This is your work. You stand or fall based on it. Are you happy with that?”

I think about it, a little confused, or maybe doubtful. “Yeah, that’s fine. What do I do now?” I ask.

“It’s 3pm, take the afternoon off. Everyone slacks when they’re working from home. Enjoy the last of it. Do you have anything you want to do? No-one’s going to call you.”

“I’m going to paint my nails, Greg!” I say, trying to annoy him again, realising I will have to take the polish off before work tomorrow.

“What colour?” Greg asks.

“A kind of neutral, pale pink. Like the nail-bed colour.”

“Sounds professional enough to me, as long as they’re not talons. I’ll see you 9am tomorrow. You and the gals can chat about your nails on your break,” he says, laughing, which is fucking annoying. I think I won’t take the polish off. Fuck him!

“Yeah, us gals chatting and talking about boys!”

“That’s the spirit, Tony! 9am tomorrow, my office.”

Which is what I do. The rest of the Monday I spent just chilling out, and eating the last of the cold leftover rice I made with G. Just before 9am, the next day, I’m walking into the office, well rested, wearing my man chinos and a shirt with a warm coat over it. I swipe past security and take the elevator to my floor, heading straight for Greg’s office, my hands balled into fists trying to hide my nail polish.

I knock, and Greg yells for me to come in. As I get to before his desk he stands and extends a hand, as though to shake it. I do shake it, obviously seeing my painted nails and him seeing them too. He smirks. “Congratulations, Tony. You have finally reached the level of work we knew you were capable of. Well done. Now you have to begin to get better than that.”

“My job isn’t at risk?” I ask.

“It never was,” Greg says, looking confused. “We were seeing what changes we might need to make. We do have confidence in you. Maybe our approach wasn’t working. We do make mistakes in hiring people, often, in fact. We didn’t feel we made one with you. We just had to figure out what worked best for you. Now, Mr. Mayer wants to see you. Off you trot!”

“My nails...” I say.

“What do you know of Ben?” Greg says.

“What do I tell other people? Someone will ask.”

“Tell them what you want. Or the truth? That you did it to annoy me. Which you failed at. They’re professional. That’s all that matters. Now go see Ben, then back to me. Take out your laptop and leave it here, along with your bag.”

Then I’m being sent into Mr. Mayer’s office by his secretary after she greets me. Apparently I’m his first meeting of the day. “Tony, good morning! Coffee?” he asks.

“Not necessary,” I say, laughing, and thinking I don’t want to put him through the misery of pretending to drink another coffee with someone, the main role of his job, it seems. And he seems to appreciate it as he smiles, quite genuinely, when I say it.

“Sit down... How was working from home?”

I think for a moment. “It was good. I appreciated the freedom, especially. And that Greg seemed happy to give it to me. It allowed me to sort some things out.”

“That’s good,” Mr. Mayer says. “Did you get to be more yourself?”

I nod, knowing what he means. Knowing he knows I’m trans. “Yes, I did. I think it helped.”

“Your work is very good. It’ll be appreciated by a lot of people, and annoy a few people with what it points out.”

“Therese?” I ask.

“No. She’s delighted with it. I sent it to her last night. It’s going out to the rest of HR in this office this morning. They’ll have a meeting about it later in the week. It will bring about changes, probably even nationally. Some of them quite major.” He begins to fumble in a desk drawer. “Which is why you’re getting this.” He hands me an unsealed envelope with my name on it. “Open it!”

I look inside the envelope and there’s a check for $2,500. “What? Why..?”

“Greg argued that because we pay you, ‘poverty wages,’ in his terms, you should get this straight away, not in your end of year bonus or in your next paycheck.”

“This is a bonus?” I ask, amazed.

“Specifically for you catching there are areas where it’s possible to have our health insurance plan but not be entitled to any specific coverage from necessary professionals. Legal are having a field day with it. It could save the business millions in a settlement, non-public, of course. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone, or a few people, lose their job. It’s serious, although less serious than if someone actually needed care and didn’t get it, but we’re checking to make sure that didn’t happen.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “This is a lot of money,” I say. “I just did my job.”

“Do you not want it?” he asks, then laughs as he sees the look on my face. “I’m getting an extremely expensive vacation out of this. I don’t know what Greg is getting but it’ll be more than you. But we’re your bosses, so we’re getting a bigger slice of the pie. Welcome to corporate life.”

“And I get a bonus?” I ask. “Another one?”

“Probably,” Mr. Mayer says. “It’ll be noted this is good work, that’s for finding the gap, work like the report will be calculated at end of year. Keep it up and the bonus could be substantial. Anyway, you felt working from home benefited you... Would you be interested in doing it more often?”

“Yes! Of course!” I say, and this is more exciting than the money for some reason.

“OK, I’ll phone some people. We’ll see. You’re going back to Greg?” I nod. “Fine, off you go. This really is good work, Tony. I’m glad the freedom you gained allowed you to do it. And that Greg insisted we give you this chance, now.”

Walking into Greg’s office, I don’t know why, I blurt out. “Do you know I’m trans, Greg?”

Greg laughs. “I didn’t until now. I did see you in a store with a friend, boyfriend? There’s lots of reasons you could have been dressed like that. You seemed happy, it was your day off. What does it matter to me? Are you happy?”

I suddenly feel very serious. “Yes. Since that weekend. And no, he’s not my boyfriend. I guess he was just buying me a coming out gift.”

Greg actually looks surprised now. “This is this recent?” he asks.

“Yes. Kind of sudden, really...”

Greg nods and seems to think for a few moments. “Whatever you choose to do, I cannot guarantee the full support of everyone in the office. I cannot control people like that. I can guarantee my full support, and Ben’s full support. I don’t feel I’m overstepping to say you will get the full support of this office as an entity. The people, on the other hand... But we’ll deal with that if it arises. And I hope it doesn’t. I don’t particularly like having to get angry with people, it spoils my image of being fun and friendly,” he says. And I’m laughing; he knows full well that’s not his image and it’s certainly not the one he cultivates. “It seems like everything happened in a whirlwind then, just enough things falling into line. Do you want to work from home again?”

“Yes,” I say.

“OK, you’re approved for two days work from home. They cannot be both a Monday and Friday, nor can they be two days next to each other leading up to or after a weekend, unless maybe there’s a public holiday. That’s not the precise meaning but you get what I’m saying, no long party weekends unless they’re approved. Two days mid-week are fine, assuming you have no pressing need to be in the office. You don’t need approval for them but checking with me would be appreciated, especially at the beginning of the process. From 10am to 3pm you need to be available, outside of that time is flexible. A break for a coffee, or lunch break, or to use the lady’s room is fine, of course. Just get back to people as soon as you can. Is all this OK with you?”

“That’s great. I mean, thank you! This really means a lot.”

“This is what happens when you do good work. Now up to HR. Therese will arrange some things with you. And back to me again, after. At least you’ll be getting your steps in.”

And it is more steps, as I’m now trudging to the HR department, where Therese is seemingly ready. She grabs some paper and a pen and brings me to one of the small, private rooms, where we both sit.

“This moved faster than I expected,” Therese says.

“How do you mean?” I ask, crossing my legs beneath the table.

“I know Mr. Mayer, Ben, approved it and said to expect it. The ultimate decision is up to Greg, whatever you said or did he made the decision very quickly. Much faster than usual.”

I cough and again find myself saying some words without thinking. “I told him I’m trans,” I say.

“Good for you!” Therese says. She looks delighted. “However you want to transition, in whatever way you want, we’ll work with you with it. From the healthcare plan or in the job. Whenever you want. If you want.”

“Did you know?” I ask.

She looks thoughtful for a second. “I figured something was going on when Ben took you to our informal LGBTQ+ group, and said to put you on the mailing list. I guessed at it when I read your report, with some of the stuff you spotted on trans plans. The need for electrolysis was a good spot, I hadn’t thought about laser not always being effective. The report is excellent, by the way. Really helpful. Is there anything you need straight away about your gender identity?”

“A drink,” I say, and Therese laughs.

“It’s a good thing I have a sense of humour. Some HR people would be fretting over a comment like that. This is a good office, though, and we have a decent system for work from home. Do you live with other people? Do you have a spare room you can use? Or just some extra space?”

“Hmm.... Give me a second...” I say, taking out my phone and opening my gallery app. “I live alone, but there’s no spare room, it’s just a living room with a small dining table, a couch.” I keep flicking quickly through photos until I find what I want. “This is the space I have.” I show her the photos I took of the apartment when I first moved in, as proof of the condition of the space.

She takes my phone and indicates to ask if she can flick between the photos. I nod. Eventually she says. “This will work, if we can use the entire wall. I assume that’s a normal sized door there.”

“It is, and you can use as much space as you want if I get to work from home.”

Therese nods. “OK. We’ll set you up with a home office setup; chair, desk, laptop dock, a permanent monitor, some other bits and pieces. Little table with a printer, maybe? Wifi we can manage, you’ll use a VPN on your laptop the IT department is updating but you’re free to use our system for personal reasons if your home wifi goes down, just try not to use your work laptop unless you’re stuck. Other offices check it to make sure people are working, this office it’s usually the opposite; to make sure people aren’t working too much. IT will also sort you out with a work phone, but if you leave we get it back and the number is ours. People won’t use your personal number unless it’s an important matter, such as we’re worried you fell ill or something. Or Greg wants to annoy you, we can’t control him. All this OK?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I say, a little shocked at how sudden this is. I hadn’t realised so much had ridden on my report. I thought it was about keeping my job and it seems almost as if I’m getting a promotion. “I hadn’t expected this week to be as crazy as my last week.”

“Sorry, Tony,” Therese says. “And if you can think of something you feel you need for working at home say it to me today, there is a budget for specific needs an employee has that not everyone might. If you think of it straight away we can sort it out straight away.”

“A floor length mirror?” I say, taking a chance. Everything else seems to be working out.

Therese sucks air through her teeth and looks skyward, or at least ceiling-ward. Almost straining. “Those windows in your apartment are small, and quite high. I know natural light is very important to health, physical and mental. I can see how with a tall, free-standing mirror you could move you would boost the natural light around your workspace. Do you concur?”

“I do,” I say, with a smile.

“Do you feel better having people know?” she asks.

I know exactly what she’s referring to. “I do, yes. And working from home let me be me. And the whole thing is giving me some purpose, something to latch onto. I’m happier. I thought the report I was working on was about keeping my job, not about giving me opportunities.”

Therese puts her fingers to her lips, and furrows her brow for a few seconds. I can tell she’s battling something in her mind. “There were concerns you weren’t motivated, that you weren’t even challenged, really. People were waiting for you to get angry and stand up for yourself. Greg, with Ben’s help, went a different direction. The challenge, yes, and an opportunity, but he’d begun to feel concerned that you didn’t have the freedom to express yourself. To gain that confidence. He got it right. He usually does, eventually.”

I gasp at what I’m hearing. I can’t help it. If Greg had tried what he tried even two weeks ago things could be very different. Then I really think about it, this couldn’t have happened two weeks ago. Greg tried what he did because he saw Big-G buying me a purse. I pick up my phone while saying, “I can’t believe how lucky I am. How things are coming together for me. It feels like I was lost for so long and now things are really working.”

“That’s a common story for LGBTQ people. Come back to the group when it’s held again. I can arrange one for next week if you want. I’ll come up with a reason. People will come for the pastries and gossip, no matter what.”

“Let me think about it...” I show Therese a picture of the purse Big-G bought for me, with the stitching of the frog by a brook in an enchanted forest. “Greg saw a friend buy me this. A coming out present,” I say.

“That suits you,” Therese says. “But if Greg is stalking you I can get him fired. It’d be hilarious.”

I laugh. “Not stalking me, but I do need to see him, again.”

So I’m knocking on Greg’s door, letting myself in when he barks. “Fancy over-engineered German high-tech whizbang wizard chair?” he says.

“That costs far too much,” I say. “I might sell it on the office furniture black market to make up for my poverty wages.”

“Now you’re learning the business! But not today, you’re going to lunch. Take Mallory. Nice move on thanking her explicitly in the report. And early. She’s already written me a bitchy email saying other people should be so respectful.”

I laugh. “Well, they should. No-one ever thanked me when I did edits. Anyway, what’s this with lunch?”

Greg gives a passable impression of a Gallic shrug. “Partly reward, also if you keep doing good work you’ll eventually graduate to wining and dining clients. They sometimes like to see the peons we have working on their accounts. Order what you want, even the extremely expensive steaks. You don’t strike me as a steak woman—don’t worry, that’s out of understanding for you, it does not go further than me and you, and the people I get drunk with, which believe me is no-one in this office—just please no alcohol on the bill. Once the booze starts in that restaurant they’re very good at keeping you topped up. It’s a close walk to there and our car service will take both you and Mallory home. I’ll email you their number, and the name of the restaurant. Give yours and Mallory’s name. They know how this works. You get to tell Mallory.”

I have absolutely no idea what’s happening with all this, other than it is a test, as everything seems to be. “Thank you, I guess. That does bring something up. We have a kitchen, a staff kitchen, don’t we?”

“We do,” Greg says.

“Can I use it to cook?” I ask.

“Cook what?” Gregg asks, looking suspicious.

I try to give him a confident stare that tells him I have no plans to cook human brains or anything like that. “Just fry some veggies, to add to noodles. I have some pre-cooked chicken thighs in my bag I should really put in the fridge there.”

“Yeah, that’s no problem. It actually sounds intelligent given what we pay you. Just no microwaving fish, please.”

“What do I work on until lunch?” I ask.

“Minesweeper, solitaire, your choice,” Greg says, waving his hands.

“My laptop doesn’t have them. I’ve checked,” I say. “They were removed by IT. And I can’t get them through the store on the laptop.”

Greg laughs. “Your laptop has the full work from home upgrades now. There are other upgrades available if you achieve them. For instance I can play chess and backgammon, and the like, online. Browser games, old flash games, that kind of thing.”

“What if I make it to the C-suite?” I ask.

“You’ve heard of corporate raiders?” Greg asks.

“Yes?”

“C-suite are World of Warcraft raiders. Still playing it decades later. That’s all they do. They have one of the highest ranked raiding guilds on their server, someone’s child or grandchild, or niece, or something introduced them,” he says, nodding assuredly. “At least it’s not flight sims...”

“I’m not too sure you’re entirely lying,” I say.

“Wait until you see the corporate room on the top floor,” he says, laughing. “Are you happy to be seen with your nails? It’s really no issue, not with me, but if you’re worried I have some nail polish remover in my cupboard of wonders.”

“Cupboard of wonders?” I ask.

“You know how in elementary school there was a teacher who had a cupboard filled with items for literally any problem or emergency?”

“You see us as elementary school kids?” I say, still not insulted by Greg’s madness.

“There’s some of you I doubt are fully potty trained. Now, if you’re happy with your nails visit the kitchen, explain things to Mallory, then get down to some gaming before lunch. Gaming is extremely important!”

Which is exactly what I do. Explaining the lunch thing to Mallory she looks surprised before saying, “It’s about time we got some recognition!”

And soon I’m sitting at my laptop playing solitaire. I do check in on my emails as they come in, or as soon as I think to look. There’s nothing major, apart from a scan of the cheque I received from Mr. Mayer’s secretary. She says it should be good enough to use if my online banking has the facility to accept it that way, which it does.

After another few rounds of solitaire, and some moments I feel I could scream at stupid Minesweeper, I check my email again. There’s an email from Greg to my entire department, the elementary school, as he seems to think of it, which I guess is what it is. We’re all new-ish hires who’ve yet to be moved somewhere permanent. It’s my report, with Greg telling everyone to read it when they get a chance, as it’s the standard of work he expects from people. And a threat that if such a standard is not met, soon, “there will be consequences!!!” Actually with three exclamation marks, which makes me laugh. He’s so full of bluster!

After thirty minutes I notice there’s more people passing my desk. I eventually ask one of the women who seems to be loitering what’s going on.

“People wanted to get a look at Wonderboy. Great job at mentioning Mallory, by the way! That’s something the higher ups never do. Glad to see you’re one of us,” she says, as she smiles. “And what’s the story with your nails? They’re really pretty. Some of the women are being thundercunts about it. Fuck them!”

“Yep, they are pretty. I like them. When Greg asked me what I had planned after I emailed him that report, yesterday, saying I could take the afternoon off, it annoyed me. So I said I was painting my nails. Now...” I hold my fingers up and waggle them.

“Keep getting them done. Maybe it’ll get Greg even more pissy. He’s such an asshole.”

I laugh and go back to playing Minesweeper, determined to finally beat the fucker. I soon start hearing laughter and mention of nails and it pissing off Greg. Before long it’s time for my lunch, and I’m walking into a comfortable, classy restaurant like you’d see in a New York mob film, maybe a little more glass frontage, and a little more spacious. They have no problem with our booking and see us to a table, sitting Mallory against the wall and me on opposite the chair.

There’s bread on the table, quickly, along with some water in a jug, and some oils and vinegars, and butter.

“Right,” Mallory says. “What’s your name?”

“Tony,” I say. She knows my name. She’s emailed me.

“Bullshit! Your real name! Those nails weren’t done yesterday, and certainly not to piss Greg off, and your eyebrows are shaped. You’re trans. What’s your name? Spill it.”

“Toni,” I say, somehow shocked at the reveal. Then realise she’s ready for another round if I don’t explain the difference in what I’m saying. “Toni with an i.”

“Toni, fine. I bet you’re cute.”

“I am pretty cute,” I say, smiling.

“There’s gonna be another bitch hotter than me in the office, soon, then,” she says, annoyed.

“I don’t know about—”

Mallory makes a low growling noise. “OK, fine. Not a bitch. You are hotter than me though. I can already see that. I shouldn’t be mean, you’re the only person who’s ever thanked me in a final report. And fuck me, what a report!”

“Really?” I ask. Why has it caused such a buzz?

“The bits on women’s healthcare? Real insight! They’re things that needed to be said,” she says. “And now they’re written, in a document, that people will see!”

I smile thinking of Jess and Sally, then I remember where their conversations went to in the chat. “Yeah, my friends helped me with that, just in a group chat. They were disgusting when they got going!”

Mallory laughed. “You have real friends then,” she says, as some menus are placed in front of us.

“Do you need some drinks now?” the woman asks.

“Fizzy water, a bottle of it? Please?” I say. “Mallory?”

“That’s good by me,” Mallory says.

The woman nods and is walking away as we begin to look at the menu. The steak menu is longer than the rest of it, which has enough but isn’t over-laden with options.

“Are we doing starters?” Mallory asks.

“If you want. Do you know what you’re getting already?”

Mallory has a huge smile on her face. “I’ve heard my Dad talk about this place with reverence. He says they do an aged steak. I don’t know about starters. This restaurant is actually why my Dad told me to apply to the office here, this place is close-by.”

The woman is back with a large bottle of sparkling water, chilling in a bucket. “Are you ready to order?” she asks.

“We’re unsure on starters,” I say.

“I’m happy to make some recommendations if you have a main course picked, however it’s up to you.”

Mallory nods at me and I nod back. “I’m having the aged steak. The one you’re famous for,” she says.

The woman smiles. “Do I need to ask how you want it cooked?”

“You do not. The chef will decide best. The same for sides.”

The woman smiles, even wider, then looks at me. “The seafood pasta,” I say, pointing at it on the menu. “The one with the spinach.”

The woman looks to be in thought for a few seconds. “With the seafood pasta I’d suggest the ox-tongue starter. There’s no other choice for you,” she says, turning to Mallory. “You have to have the oysters. It’s the classic experience.”

“Perfect!” Mallory says.

“It sounds great,” I say. “Thank you so much for the help.”

“Do you need to be back to work soon? Or have plans?” the woman asks.

“No, we can take as long as we need. There’s no rush on anything.”

“So you’re happy for me to time this? The pace of your dining.”

“Of course,” Mallory says.

The woman takes the menus after loosening the metal cap on the bottle of sparkling water. I notice she’s left the drinks menu, which is much thicker than the food menu.

“Greg said they have a way of making you run up the drinks tab here,” I say.

“Maybe next time,” Mallory says, actually looking annoyed. I don’t particularly need a drink, though, despite what I said to Therese earlier on. This feels normal. Like when I’m the real me. It’s easy.

We munch on a bit more bread for a few minutes, telling each other which oil to try. Then Mallory looks at me, all serious-like. “Do you have a picture of you?” she asks, and the seriousness falls from her face.

I should have expected this from the start, but I do reach for my purse before remembering I don’t have a purse today. I reach into my pocket instead, and take out my phone, finding the picture of me and Tim. “I’ll show you this, but then we talk about you. I’m sick of talking about me. Everywhere I go things are about me,” I say, handing my phone to Mallory.

“He is so hot!” Mallory virtually moans.

“What about me?” I ask, annoyed.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right, you’re cute. Cute enough. But him? Damn! Who he is?”

“My boyfriend,” I say, feeling giddy.

“Oh, fuck you! You are a bitch. I retract everything nice I said to you.”

“Fine! Now we talk about you,” I say, holding my hand out for my phone. Instead of handing it to me she’s flicking through more of the gallery. I grab it out of her hand and quickly shut it off.

I wasn’t fast enough. Her eyes are wide. “You naughty girl!” she says. “I saw that! So what’s he like?”

“Fun!” I say, sternly. “Now you, what do you do for fun?”

“Well my next bit of fun will involve thinking about your boyfriend! But when I’m not doing that I mostly listen to baseball.”

‘Listen to baseball?’ I think. “How do you mean?”

“Baseball is better on the radio than on TV. Best in the stadium, of course, but radio is pure. I listen to recordings, new games, old games, classic games. Everything. And I do stats stuff. My Dad got me into it.”

“I like football,” I say.

“They’re meatheads.”

“Soccer-football, I mean.”

“Divers,” she says. “And cheaters.”

“From what I know of baseball you shouldn’t really be calling any other sport cheaters,” I say, laughing.

“A more honest form of cheating in baseball,” Mallory says, then we’re both laughing, as the starters are laid down.

We start into it, and the food is simply amazing. I have one of Mallory’s oysters, and she has a slice of my ox tongue. Apart from that we don’t really say a word about anything, we’re just focused on eating, and making impressed-faces at each other.

After we finish we’re just looking at each other, as the woman is picking up our plates. “How was that?” she asks.

“Amazing!” Mallory says. “Everything I’ve heard about this place is correct.”

The woman nods and smiles.

I take a drink of my water. “I—”

“I wonder if oysters really do make you horny?” Mallory says.

“Why?” I ask, concerned.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone. I really need to get out more. I don’t really like going out at night, though. Which makes things difficult. Only on special occasions.”

I think for a second. “I usually watch a soccer game with a friend, sometimes friends. It’s early Saturday morning, like 7.30am early—”

“Ew...”

“But there’s another game around 10am, and another at 12.30. If you want you’re more than welcome to come.”

Mallory makes a Hrrrmm noise. “Convince me...” she says.

“There’ll be a lot of men there,” I say, but she looks doubtful. “The food is really good.”

“OK, give me your number, remind me later in the week.”

So we exchange numbers, like friends. My first real work friend. And she actually knows about Toni. Then we talk about sports, mainly. What drew us into them. Some of the work she seems to have done on baseball, with the stats, sounds incredibly intricate, but she says she’s really rehashing old ground, mostly.

Then we’re talking about family. She rents an apartment with her sister, who sounds really annoying. I actually bring up my parents, and how I don’t know how to tell them about me. Mallory says it didn’t even occur to her that she’d see me dressed as a woman on the Saturday, that she already sees a woman in front of her.

I’m surprised when the woman who served us earlier is standing next to us, with another server behind her holding more dishes. She places Mallory’s food down, saying, “The steak, with sides of green beans and mashed potatoes.” Then she places my seafood pasta down and asks if I’d like some freshly ground black pepper, or lemon, but I say I’ll manage it myself.

Somehow the food is even better than the starters. Mallory’s steak tastes like nothing I’ve ever eaten in my life. The spinach doesn’t even taste like actual spinach, it’s like a seasoning to the fish and the creaminess of the pasta.

We’re again just looking at each other when we finish. I take a piece of the bread, which has been refilled at some point, and mop up as much of the pasta sauce as I can with it, offering to Mallory before doing one for me.

“Ladies,” a man, in a suit, and holding a drink says, as he sits down on the wall side of the table next to us, next to Mallory. Another man sits down on the seat opposite, on the side next to me. They don’t seem to be being seated by anyone.

“Ladies?” Mallory asks, sounding incredulous.

“I’m sorry for my co-worker,” the guy says, next to me. “I know it’s ‘women’ these days, it just doesn’t roll off the tongue as well. Neither of us are fans.”

Mallory laughs. “You look at us and think ‘ladies?’”

“Fine, yeah, a woman and a dyke,” the first guy, the more drunk guy says. “Secretaries getting a treat? No alcohol allowed, of course.”

Mallory nods. “I’ve been told to have a conversation with Toni, here. Get her wearing something more appropriate to her gender.”

I snort. “I don’t see you wearing a skirt, Mallory,” I say. “Anyway, you know what the men are like. They get handsy if you dress as hot as we can be, you’ve seen me in a dress.”

“You wear a skirt and I’ll wear a skirt. Maybe one of the bosses will take a shine. Leave their wives for a younger model. We’d never have to work a day again if we get them bothered enough they forget the pre-nup.”

The female server is back again. “I don’t think I need to ask how the meal went,” she says, taking some of the plates. Another server is placing two champagne glasses down in front of us. “On the house. I know your account says it won’t cover alcohol but we wanted to apologise for the troubles we really should have seen. It won’t be on your bill,” the woman continues, as the other server steps back.

“Standards have really slipped here,” less drunk guy says.

“Sometimes things slip through without our noticing, but we try to do our best in such circumstances. We do apologise,” the woman says.

“Champagne, I hope?” drunk guy says.

“Sparkling house white. Our own label,” the woman says. “I thought our guests would prefer it.”

Less drunk guy beckons the woman speaking to us, while holding a drinks a menu. She hands off the plates she’s carrying to another server who’s appeared and she is soon behind less drunk guy, very professionally holding her hands clasped behind her back, leaning in to look at something he’s pointing out. “A great choice, Sir,” She says. “How many glasses?”

“Two. And a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue for us, two fresh glasses.”

The woman nods and stands upright. Then looks towards me and Mallory. “If you’d like to freshen up while the table is cleared let me show you the way,” she says.

We both know this is more of an instruction than an inquiry, so we stand, watching yet another server fuss with our table.

She begins to walk with me and Mallory to her side. “I’m Irene. If those two bother you just give me the nod. Or anyone. We’ll recognise it. We’ll have someone watching your table at all times, so don’t worry. Mainly it’ll be me.”

“Why—”

“You two seem capable. And I like you, Toni, and you, Mallory. You really enjoyed that steak. The bread on the pasta sauce, Toni? The kitchen will be delighted. The lady’s is there. Take your time. Like I said, someone is constantly watching your table. I don’t think those two are dangers. Just fools.”

“I can—” I begin to say, but I’m cut off.

“Use the women’s bathroom as it’s where you’re more comfortable, with your friend,” Irene says, rubbing my shoulder.

Then we walk into the bathroom, where Mallory just stares at me. “What’s going on?” she asks. “I was just playing with them, but it seems everyone is.”

I give a tired laugh. “Everyone’s playing with us. Everyone! Greg picked this place for a reason. I bet you they’re reporting back to him. It seems everyone is trading on secrets and information. Do you know he told me everything anyone does for him, in his department, is partly a test?”

Mallory shakes her head as she says, “What do we do?”

I shrug. “Take part? Play the game? Try to pass the test? I’m not too sure you can really fail. I think they just gather more information, until your case is terminal.”

Mallory pinches at her lips. “We continue to fuck with those guys?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” I say. At which point Mallory salutes me. Then we use the bathroom for actual bathroom reasons, and we’re walking back to our table.

A man is placing down another ice-bucket, this time with its own stand, in between the table the drunk guys are sitting at and our table. Irene is also placing down their whisky, and two glasses for them, with another bucket of ice except no champagne bottle in it, just some tongs.

As we sit I see two cards in front of me, business cards. There’s the same in front of Mallory.

“Given our roles we don’t have business cards,” I say to the fools.

“Dress a bit sexier and we can get you jobs, the pay will be much better than wherever you are,” less drunk guy says.

“We can do the interviews now, if you want,” drunk guy says, then he starts making slurping noises.

Mallory makes a disgusted-looking face at me and says, “I think we’d need something a little stronger to even imagine doing that.”

Drunk guy picks up their bottle of Johnnie Walker and pours some, a very small amount, into our empty water glasses. “Do you drink whisky?”

“I’ve had a little,” I say. “Nothing like this.”

Somehow Irene is standing next to the drunk fools. “You wanted something?” she says.

“Is Simon working?” less drunk guy asks.

“He is,” Irene says. “Do you have a request?”

“Could he imagine up an introduction to whiskies for our soon to be secretaries?”

Irene nods. “Any instructions for him?”

“He knows best, he’s the expert. He showed me an entire world I hadn’t seen before. He’s never wrong. Just keep them coming for the ladies as long as we’re here. We can’t have them responsible for the bill.”

Drunk guy makes slurping sounds again.

“How do you take your whiskies, ladies?” Irene asks. “Coke, ginger, ice, no ice, drop of water? Any way you want Simon will work with.”

“Coke Zero is tempting, but just straight is fine for me,” I say.

“What Toni says,” Mallory says, as I’m taking a drink of the restaurant’s sparkling white wine, not realising it’s gone.

Yet another fucking server is standing to my side, taking the champagne out of the ice-bucket and pouring me a glass. “How was the white?” he asks.

“Amazing!” I say. “Like everything here.”

He laughs as he pours Mallory a glass.

Drunk guy has somehow finished his whisky, already, and is pouring himself another measure, and topping up his friend’s glass. Less drunk guy is dropping ice-cubes haphazardly into the whiskies. A lot of ice. “Your minds will be blown by that champagne, then,” drunker guy says.

I take a drink of the champagne. My mind isn’t blown. I put the glass down. It’s nice, really nice. That’s all it is though. The house wine had something special.

Irene is quickly back with some fresh water glasses for us, and two tumblers with a small amount of whiskey. “Simon would like your opinions on the whiskey, so he can tailor what’s to come.”

Me and Mallory both take a taste of our whiskeys. It’s nice but not the best I’ve had. Not like the one Trevor gave me, not even like the one Jackson gave me. But there’s still something to it. “I’m not very good at describing tastes,” I say. “It’s interesting. It’s not complex, there’s a kind of evenness to it. I’ve had some really complicated whiskies I couldn’t even begin to understand but this is just normal. It stays normal for ages though. Like I can taste it being normal, still.”

“That’s a good description,” Mallory says. “There’s no real tastes to it beyond whiskey. Irish whiskey, I’d say. Not cheap but not fancy. Better than everyday stuff.”

Somehow drunk guy is pouring yet more of the Johnnie Walker Blue for himself. “If Simon didn’t start them on a Scotch he really is slipping, just like this place.”

“How about your champagne?” Irene asks.

“I preferred the house stuff,” Mallory says. I give my agreement.

“Simon should have enough from that. Whiskies will be produced while your gentlemen friends are here to cover the bill.”

Which is how the afternoon goes. The fools getting drunker and drunker, and ordering beers as well, while small glasses of whiskey are found for us, once we give our reports for Simon. I’m really eager to meet him. There’s also various small plates of food, and nibbly bits, that both me and Mallory really try getting the fools to eat some of, but they refuse.

At one point Irene stands next to us for another whiskey tasting, not waiting for the report. There’s two small jugs of water as well, with the instruction from Simon to take a few sips of the whiskey, then try it with a tiny drop of water, then a little more. Irene says it’s fascinating that I preferred it without the water, but I don’t feel like it’s a judgment on me.

After it’s been dark outside for hours, while the two bros are fully slurring their words, and nearly falling off their seats, they order another bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. Irene tries to protest but they’re having none of it.

They’re so drunk they actually give us a proper glass, for the first time. I feel like I’m about to slur my words too.

Me and Mallory are taking our first real drinks of the Johnnie Walker when Irene places a bill in front of the fools. “Your account has been settled, gentlemen. I’d suggest you hold onto the bill, and don’t forget your card. Your car is waiting for you.”

“What car?” the originally less drunk fool, but now totally drunk fool asks.

“When you arrived you insisted we reserve a car for you for precisely 8pm, should you still be here, and said you had to be gone unless something came up. I don’t know what that something is, but I don’t believe it’s happened.”

“We said that?”

Irene nods. “And I have to insist, I’m following your own instructions you made while in a much more early-morning frame of mind; while not enraptured by good company. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for you missing out on a reservation elsewhere.”

“We just got the bottle. Is there somewhere we could store it?”

Irene shakes her head. “That’s what I was trying to warn you about, but you made yourself clear. And we don’t have an alcohol license to let you take an opened bottle off the premises. I’m sure the ladies will try to finish as much as they can, they can stay here all night drinking it.”

I’m about to speak up to protest when I feel Irene’s hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, sure, fine. Another fun day, as usual. We’ll be back,” drunk fool one says, looking tired.

“I’m sure you will,” Irene says, as two male servers are helping the fools collect their belongings, including slipping the bill and credit card into the guy who started out more sober’s pocket.

Then they’re gone, and me and Mallory laugh. “Wow!” Mallory says.

“Are you two OK to walk?” Irene asks.

“I hope so,” Mallory says. “We drank a lot.”

“Small glasses, and you paced yourselves. And you tried to get those two idiots to eat while you were eating. Leave your stuff and follow me. Someone will bring it along in minute.”

Mallory grabs her purse and stands, holding herself still for a moment, as I also stand and do the same. “Yeah, fine, I think,” I say, just about fine. “What’s going on?”

“You really don’t know?” Irene says. Me and Mallory look at each other. “It’s what those drunks have been aiming for for years. This both of your first times in here?”

“For me, yes,” I say.

“Yeah, same,” Mallory says.

We’re led down a corridor and through some double doors, then down another corridor. We go through a sturdy door, where Irene stops. The room we’re in is like an old gentleman’s club, not the strip club kind. There’s no cigar smoke, though. There’s leather everywhere, and wood. There’s a bar at the top of the end of the long room. At almost every table, with people around it, or often just one person, there’s bottles of spirits, and sometimes buckets with ice. Some people are drinking beers, some glasses of wine, but again it’s mostly spirits. There’s plates of food too, mostly snacks, and charcuterie plates, meats, cheeses, various pickles. Breads as well. One person has pie and ice-cream.

The whole room looks more formal than the restaurant but actually feels more relaxed. People aren’t as dressed up. There’s people of all ages, at least ages older than us. A few heads have turned as I’m looking, there’s smiles on their faces, but apart from that there’s no reaction.

“You like it?” Irene says.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Yes!” Mallory says.

Irene nods and someone behind a bar rings a bell, just the one ring. All the heads now turn and applause breaks out, polite applause, and smiles.

“Welcome,” Irene says.

“What?” both me and Mallory say.

“What would you like to drink? Anything? Just describe what you want.”

“Some of the wine we had first?” Mallory says.

“Toni?” Irene asks.

“A light beer. Not low calorie, light in alcohol. And if you don’t have that a shandy? Half beer—”

“We have what you want,” Irene says. “Sit over there.” She points at a table with some leather seats around it, up against a wall with a reserved sign on it.

Me and Mallory sit and just look at each other. We’re offering people ‘Thank yous’ as they carry our stuff in from the restaurant, them saying ‘Congratulations’. And ‘It was something!’

Eventually Irene is back down with a tray; two glasses of beer and a glass of the sparkling white wine.

She places one beer in front of me, the wine in front of Mallory and another beer in front of a third chair. She takes her waiter’s apron off and sits herself down, picking up the glass of beer and taking a sip, or more a gulp.

“Oh! That’s so nice!” she says “Long day, but worthwhile.” Then she looks at me and Mallory, and begins to speak. “We’re a club. We’re inviting you to be members. We’re not really like other clubs. You don’t need money to join. You can’t buy your way in. We don’t care who you are. Although we do have some impossibly wealthy and successful members that is not why they’re members. Did you two have fun today?”

Mallory and me both laugh, staring at each other. “Actually, yeah,” Mallory says, smiling.

“We know,” Irene says. “We enjoyed watching you having fun. That’s how you get to be a member. You don’t have any pretensions or ideas about what it took, not that we can see. In your cases you didn’t even know this spot existed, which can be helpful, but also a hindrance. It’s slightly more difficult, for some people, if they don’t know about us. We’ll challenge you more to see how much you enjoyed yourself. The staff were pretty quick on you. That you came from Greg means we were already aware it could be in your future, and he decided to send you here. He’s a member.”

I sigh. “A test. Are you going to report back to him?” I ask.

Irene laughs and takes another long drink of her beer. “You’re on a corporate account, a corporate account setup by members. That’s how we make a lot of our money, typically reporting on staff, new hires, potential hires, junior staff, especially, etc. We won’t report on clients or possible business partners unless we feel something is seriously wrong. I would have reported on you had you not been offered membership tonight. I’ll be doing a report on the two idiots you had fun with tomorrow morning. They’re frequent fliers. If you choose to take up membership I will never report on you. No-one will. It’s simply not done. You’re in. Greg can see the bill, if he asks for it, it’s a business account paying for it, but he has to put a request in to see anything but the final figure. If we can find the bill. You can, of course, just show him your copy.”

“How is our bill?” I ask, worried.

“A little bit higher than normal for Greg’s first timers. Not many go for that steak their first trip here. It’s balanced out by your pasta, though. The starters were within reason, just about, and you didn’t get desserts. You ate a lot of bread, however.”

“The bread was amazing,” Mallory says.

“It’s not in house. I’ll get you the name of the bakery.”

“What about the drunk fools’ bill,” I ask, wondering how deep in it they’re going to be with their bosses.

Irene smiles and wipes at her eye. “Their bosses won’t care. Greg will explain if you show them the business cards they gave you. I can’t report on them to you. It’s not as high as you think. The whiskies you drank were all from members in here, from their personal collections.”

“So who’s this Simon guy?” Mallory asks. “The one picking the drinks?”

“The staff... The members... Mostly the staff. People like to think there’s some genius behind what we do here but it’s mostly just experience in the industry. If we said that people would get annoyed and disagree with what we say. When we tell them it’s Simon choosing things they respect his knowledge.

That’s actually one of the rules of here. You can get any of our own label drinks from the bar in here, wine, beer... Anything else you have to buy a bottle of. You can store opened bottles if they’re the style of drink that can be stored. You can obviously store unopened bottles of wines. However, the point, if someone is being tested for membership, like you with the whiskeys, any staff member can take from a bottle you have opened in your locker that’s more than half full. For you two it’ll be two-thirds full as that’s your stopping point. You’ll be joint members.”

“Joint members?” Mallory asks.

“We know you as a couple. It’s usually husband and wife, or spouses. Sometimes boyfriend and girlfriend, or the variations on that. Very occasionally a parent and adult child, or adult grandchild. We have a few friends. Usually they’re retired friends. Sometimes younger. It just means one of you could clear out the locker without the other realising. It can be a bit of a test. It happens with breakups.”

I’m beginning to feel tired. I’m not thinking when I say, “This is such bullshit. How do you keep all this going?”

Irene begins to cackle. “What did you think of our food? In comparison to other places? And I saw you looking through the drinks menu. What did you think of that?”

I think for a few seconds, deciding to be blunt. “It’s actually not that fancy,” I say. “Not based on how those guys were acting. A lot of things are affordable. I could come here for a treat with my boyfriend. The bill would be expensive but I wouldn't squirm, even with a bottle of wine.”

“Yeah!” Irene says. “And you’re welcome to bring one non-member in here at a time, if we don’t object after we see them eating a meal. Just tell us you want to take them in before you order, so we can watch, and judge if they’re worthy. But that’s what we do, we’re exclusive in the sense we don’t let anyone join. We’re not exclusive because of price or anything like that. Certainly not compared to other places. This city has the highest amount of member’s clubs in the country. We have a lot of members from the hospitality industry. The challenge is in finding drinks, foods, and the like other people don't know how to find as usually people just go on cost. We like affordable quality. Of course we offer the high-end too, but it’s not what we’re about. Any more questions?”

Mallory’s drained most of her glass of white wine. “Why us?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Why? Why us? Why so quickly?”

“You trusted me from the start, trusted my opinion on the starters. You loved the food. It is really good food, not cutting edge, good! The chefs were interested when they heard of you sharing bites from your plates. They were lobbying when they heard about you wiping up the sauce with the bread and sharing it. You were patient, you took your time, you had fun, you enjoyed the whiskies and were happy to talk about them. You weren’t cruel to people, even people treating you badly. You bit your lips, and accepted what you thought was drunken hospitality, with some schadenfreude. You could work in the hospitality industry if you wanted, you’d be great at it. You were marked for membership, at some point, because of all that. Why tonight, so suddenly, is because you tried to get the drunkards to eat when you were snacking away. That was a really normal thing to do that not many people would do. Not after how they treated you.

I do have one question for you, though, Mallory, how did you know about the steak? Who told you?”

“My Dad has been raving about this place my entire life. He stopped coming when my Mom got sick... He said he couldn’t be in here without her. He made me take the job I did because it was near here.”

“OK... I think that’s everything explained. Do you want to be members? You have until we close to decide.”

I squeeze my eyes closed, then open them again. “What’s the downside?” I ask.

Irene stops for a while, really thinking deeply. “I suppose you know the one downside. You’ll know you’re always being judged, to some degree, when you’re in here. Especially the people you’re with. You two will be fine with us as long as you don’t do anything horrific, same as anyone. You’ll be members. And if you don’t join, in the future, when you’re here for the corporate stuff, we’ll be reporting back on you. I just need your surnames if you want to join. There’s no fees or costs, or expectations. It’s not literally a member’s club, or even legally, it is a business, just one that was established with a certain purpose in mind. It’s stuck to it. If you join and never come to even the restaurant again you can show up in fifty years if we’re still open and it’ll be OK. We’ve been open more than fifty years, already.”

Me and Mallory exchange a look, shrug, then tell Irene our surnames. She goes to the bar to sort our ‘membership.’ We sit in silence for a while, then Mallory asks the question I’ve been thinking about too. “Do you think my Dad, and maybe my Mom, were members here? When she... Why he talked about here?”

“Maybe...” I say. “I’m sorry.” I want to explain how I didn’t know any of this, or didn’t intend any of this, but Mallory knows this. It’s just something weird that happened.

Any words, at all, don’t seem appropriate in the moment, with a few minutes passing while we both think about what this means. Something incredibly funny happened, and fun, and now it’s horrific for someone who’s my new friend. At least in her memories.

Eventually Irene is back. “You’re members, but it looks like you’ve figured out what I was checking. Yes, your parents were members, Mallory. I’m sorry. Your Dad still is, of course, he's just not been here since your mother passed,” she says.

“I did say my Dad wanted me to take the job because it was close to here, he must have been hoping I found my way, into the restaurant at least.”

Irene smiles. “We don’t encourage phones in here but people would understand this call. I don’t think you want to make it in public. There’s a private phone through the doorway by the bar, on the way to the smoking lounge. The number has been the same since he was last in here. If he’s kept his phone up to date, and I think he will have, he’ll be happy to get the call. He left a bottle for you, should you ever join. I have someone rooting it out at the moment. We’ll have it for you by the time the call ends. Even if you just want to tell him you love him.”

Mallory stands and slowly makes her way to where Irene described. Me and Irene sit for a few minutes, and more drinks are dropped to us.

Irene explains that for the first night all the house label stuff is free, but that table service only happens in extreme circumstances, and she can’t ever remember a circumstance like this.

We continue to sit, quietly drinking, waiting for Mallory when some bottles are dropped down to us. “For your locker,” Irene says. One has a light layer of dust. It’s obviously the bottle Mallory’s Dad left for her. “The two bottles of wine are just gifts, nothing special. The whiskey is that one you preferred undiluted. It’s a small brand. Irish. Cask strength, which would typically mixed with water. It’s from a staff member’s collection. He hasn’t found anyone who likes it as much as you. Convinced everyone his should be the selection from staff. The sparkling wine is from me, as I served you.”

I talk, deliberately, and feeling quite sober again. “Is it expensive?”

“Not really. And staff here pay cost price, anyway. A perk. We’ll all split the cost with him, a few bucks each. He has quite a few bottles of it. The other amusing thing which I forgot is you actually have access to your corporate locker. It’s quite large. And completely untracked. You and Mallory are members, and we know you’re part of the business from Greg’s instructions. You have the run of it. And you could, theoretically, not tell anyone about your membership until they come in and think to check your names on the list. You can do that, as a member. Here’s your card.”

She hands me a membership card. On it is the name of the restaurant, an ID number, and the words Toni Mallory — Joint Members. “She’s Mallory Toni. Your real names are in the database if anyone needs to check. Don’t worry about your actual ID or whatever you go through in the future. Staff will keep everything update. An i or y here or there won’t make any difference. And if all that fails I’m sure you can just say you’ve met Simon.”

I smile and take another drink. “A multi-faceted man, Simon. Lots of dimensions,” I say, but jokes like that don’t really feel important with what Mallory is going through.

Finally Mallory comes back, and it’s obvious she’s been crying, but she’s also smiling. “How was it?” I ask.

“Amazing. We both cried. It’s the best I’ve felt in ages. Is that the bottle?” Mallory asks Irene. Irene nods. “Could you pour us each a measure?”

“Of course,” Irene says, picking up the bottle.

“No, please. No, Mallory. That’s yours, that’s from your Dad.”

Mallory sniffs again. “He recognised the number. And my voice, immediately. He began to cry and I did too. He explained him and Mom were members, and it was a special treat to come here, when they went out for a night. When she... Well... He said he couldn’t come back here unless it was with someone he loved. But he didn’t want to force it on either of us, me or my sister. I explained what happened today, as best I could, and your report, and you thanking me in it. We cried, again. He knows I’m a joint member. Him and Mom were joint members, didn’t even know the club existed when they got brought in. He says what happened is special. He couldn’t dream of it happening in a better way, and he has dreamt about it, a few times. He wants us to drink it. As much or as little as we want, but just one drink, at least. You know... In memory? And celebration?”

I find myself rubbing at my eyes too, as Mallory sits down, and Irene places the glasses in front of us. “Toasts aren’t allowed in here. Just sharing drinks,” she says.

So we all drink. In memory.

It’s a simple day for Toni, right? She’s back at work, she’s had her surprise lunch with Mallory, that Greg told her to indulge in. She somehow got to join a private members' club, for people who like food and drink, and simply enjoy the pleasure of it, not the status and money. And now she just has to knuckle down, back at her regular job. That’s all she has to do, right? Life is going to be normal—as normal as it can be for Toni—until Friday when she gets to see her friends, and her boyfriend, again. Right? A normal day back at work for Toni? Right!?!

---

I walk into the office building and the headache pills seem to have stopped working. I don’t know why exactly, they should be strong enough. I don’t feel too awful, just the effects of last night, and an intense week and a half, or so, catching up on me. It could also be the lighting. It was overcast outside and there was no glare, but the lights in here? They’re intense.

I make my way up to my floor on the elevator, with my head bowed and eyes closed, looking up each time the doors open. Not my floor.

Then it does get to my floor. I’m looking up. Greg is standing there.

“My office!” he says.

“Greg?” I say.

“Go to my office!”

I shake my head. I have no idea what’s wrong with him. Sure Irene, last night, said she wouldn’t report on either me or Mallory to Greg, we’re now members in that restaurant’s private club, so it’s not done. What else is there? The bill wasn’t huge. I saw a copy. I even have a copy!

I walk into Greg’s office and sit myself down. He has two chairs set out.

After a few minutes Mallory walks in. She looks brighter than I feel. She’s even giggling.

“Oh no! We’re in trouble!” she says, in an exaggerated tone.

I laugh too.

Greg storms in, launching the door closed behind him.

“What did you do?” he asks.

“Are we late?” Mallory asks.

“At the restaurant?” Greg continues.

Mallory looks aggrieved. “What you told us?” she says. “Or what Toni told me you told us. And I know she didn’t lie.”

“I know something happened!”

Mallory has less resting bitch face now and more of an active bitch face. “Were you watching us?”

Greg looks like he’s biting his tongue. He’s staring at us.

I reach in my coat pocket and take out the receipt from yesterday. “I assume you need this, and it’ll probably be easier than requesting it from the restaurant. Their record keeping might not always be the best,” I say, sliding the receipt across Greg’s desk.

Greg picks it up and examines it. Checking it two or three times. “I assume you got the oysters and steak, Mallory?” She nods. “A lot of bread. One or two snack plates.”

“Thank you, Greg. We had a great time,” Mallory says. “I assume everything is in order.” She’s looking ready to stand.

Greg glares at Mallory. “Did you pay for the drinks yourself? On a separate bill?”

“We didn’t buy a single drink!” Mallory says.

Greg shakes his head. “You’re not good enough with words, Mallory, to have that attitude. Tell me what happened and there’ll be no issues.”

“There should be no issue,” I say. “We did what you said. We didn’t order a single drink in the restaurant. We did get some complimentary drinks, among others. But they were given to us. And Mallory wants the same work from home setup as me.”

Greg slaps the desk. “That’s how you negotiate, Mallory! There’s no contention, yet. No need for fists, and Tony offered up something to pique my interest. I’m the boss! For now! We’ll consider your work from home, if you’re clear on what happened in the restaurant!”

“Some men thought Tony should dress more femininely, and they’re right. And they wanted us to experience what Simon could come up with, so arranged for us to taste whiskeys—on their dime—while they got drunk and said we could work for them as secretaries if we passed their blowjob based interview style.”

I’m back in my wallet again, getting the membership card to the restaurant. “This should answer your questions, Greg. I’m guessing you got told you wouldn’t be getting a report. And didn’t expect this...”

Greg takes the card from me, looks at it quickly, then hands it back. “You too, Mallory?”

“Mallory Toni,” Mallory says.

Greg nods, and I can’t read his face. “OK. No negotiation, now. You had your fun. Tell me from the top...”

So we do, me urging Mallory, at first, then both of us picking up memories the other has forgotten. We leave out the details about Mallory’s father, only saying he’s a member who hasn’t been there in years but he hadn’t told Mallory anything about the place.

Eventually Greg is satisfied, and a quiet has fallen. He sits back in his chair. “You said these men gave you their business cards, do you have them?”

I nod and hand over the business cards, looking at my wallet again and thinking I really need to get something prettier than my old and worn, imported leather football one. Although I do quite like it.

Greg laughs, looking at the cards, before handing them back. “Those guys want membership, badly,” he says.

“Yeah, that seemed obvious once we were clued in,” Mallory says.

Greg shakes his head. “That’s not it. The firm they’re with... A very old finance firm. It handles extreme wealth. Money few of us could even dream of, certainly not you. Going back generations. To move up the business, and to handle the wealthier clients, their staff are set challenges. Given finance people it’s usually about behaviour. If they were set a challenge to join that place, as a member, then someone obviously doesn’t like them. Or thinks they need a big lesson..”

“They were assholes,” Mallory says.

“They do need a lesson,” I say.

“Are you OK to work today, Mallory?” Greg asks.

“It’s a Wednesday. Of course,” she says.

Greg makes a lifting motion with his hands and points towards the door, with one, while indicating for me to stay sitting with the other.

As Mallory leaves he looks at me. “What did you learn about Mallory?”

“She’s nice. Fiery,” I say. I don’t know what Greg is looking for and don’t want to volunteer anything not necessary.

“What style of work?” he asks.

“Finance, technical detail, statistics, data. All that, definitely. She said she’s not a qualified accountant, and she didn’t go the full analytics route, but took an interest in both. She blogs explaining baseball stats. She says she has some readers. I think that’s right...

“She has a good knowledge of a lot areas but not deep enough in any one area to commit to something. I think ‘translating’ as it were, technical details, would work.”

“Do you know her blog?” Greg asks.

“I do not... And if I did I wouldn’t tell you. I don’t know it, though, so there’s no point trying to cajole it out of me.”

Greg writes something on a notepad. “Is your home tidy enough that we could set up your work from home today?”

I think for a few seconds, running around my living room, mentally, and my kitchen. “Yeah, sure. It could take me a day or two to get it setup, but to have movers? Or deliveries? That’s no problem.” I wonder when I’ll get to see Tim, as I’m saying that. I can imagine him helping me with building the desk and chair. I think I’d just watch him, though. And maybe hope he notices me watching him. We could both get sweaty...

Greg nods and keys in a four-digit internal number into the phone. Holding it to his ear, after a few rings, he says, “Yeah... Tony... Yeah. No problem with it... This afternoon..? I’ll tell them. And to let you know one of the fashionistas might be complaining about makeup... I don’t know, Therese! I’m not a woman. It’s under her... Yeah, ‘their!’ I don’t believe Toni minds me referring to her as a woman. At least among people... Yes! I know! ‘As she’s ready..!’ I’m hanging up now... No, I’m really hanging up... Call Ben then!”

Greg does actually hang up. “HR is the worst invention in modern business. People say they’re corporate cops. They’re not. They invent rules as needed to justify their own martial law. The problem is we don’t pay you enough to tolerate the bullshit and they barely pay me enough to get results. It’s an unhappy balance. Give people money and time off, and a little respect—something that works their grey matter, or skills—then everyone’s happy. You don’t need one of those useless fucking MBAs to realise that! Work in a fast food restaurant for two weeks and you’ll discover that! If you’re in fast food you have none of that. Poor fuckers!”

I’m touching my finger beneath my eye, where my cheekbone disappears towards my nose, and realising Greg did see I was wearing makeup. Just a little, beneath my eyes, as I was not looking too great as I dragged myself out at the alarm. “It’s just a little BB cream,” I say.

“BB cream? What’s that? I know about concealer, it’s heavier than foundation...”

“It’s a lot lighter, really light coverage, if you have good skin. Which I guess I do because for years I just washed it and didn’t wear anything... But if anyone—”

Greg has obviously picked up on where I’m going with this as he interrupts, “If any of the dressed up weapons give you issues you can try either, ‘I’ll stop wearing it if you do,’ or, ‘I’m sure HR would be happy to deal with your concern.’ Do not fucking send them to me!”

I can hear the tiredness in his voice as he swears. “You need a holiday, Greg.”

“I’ve got a big day coming up. Important milestone.”

“Retirement?”

“Ha! You’d be floundering if I retired. No.” He reaches into his desk and pulls out two packages. “This is what you’re doing until we find you a project. I will find you a project. Hopefully by the end of the week, or the start of next week. For now though I want you taking notes on some of the interviews we’ve done. You don’t need to know what particular industry or business question it’s for. This is adding value, picking up little details others might not notice.

“This afternoon you’ll be organising your work from home setup. Another bit of martial law! Ha! Supposedly you’ll sue me if you get a sore wrist from the wrong kind of mouse. Would you do that to me, Toni?”

I laugh. “Maybe not you, personally, Greg,” I say. “Maybe...”

“Take the headphones and case. They’re expensive. And now you’re a member in the mob boss’s restaurant go wild on the business’s private stock. That disappears as soon as it’s bought. And Toni..? Eat lunch. And drink water. For your skin, at least. You won’t always be young and pretty.”

I stand with Greg looking at me, walk towards the door and feel the need to turn around, Greg calling me ‘pretty’ like a loudspeaker in my mind. “Thank you, Greg,” I say.

“You’re doing really well, Toni. I’m happy for you, as both my employee and a person,” Greg says.

I don’t know why but I walk out of Greg’s office feeling a thousand feet tall.

As I sit down at my desk I realise I’m still hungover.

My laptop is booting up as a woman approaches me. “How much were your nails?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, incredibly tired, eyes almost blurring, certainly given the conversation with Greg. I feel drained, and somehow elated. “Less than fifty bucks,” I continue. “But I got my eyebrows done too.” I have to add the eyebrows part because she’s thinking I spent fifty bucks on nails.

She zips her mouth shut. “Your secret is safe with me. You look amazing! And you’ll look better when you’re ready... To... You know..? Be yourself!? I’m telling you, girl. Don’t give a fuck what anyone says. The real women have your back! That’s exactly what you are! You’re gorgeous! You need to know that.” She’s put emphasis on the ‘need’ in her words, as she she walks away, almost strutting, beaming lasers into anyone who looks at her as she passes them.

As my laptop finally wakes I look through the staff directory, seeing if I can place her. Eventually I come to a name; Megan. That’s her. Hired straight from university, from what I recall. Something unusual for this place. Typically people do a year or two with a smaller business then try to move up; getting stuck in Greg’s madness, with his ‘tests’ to escape his insanity.

I unpack the headphones and plug them in, going through my emails—nothing important. Apart from one, linking me to a directory with the videos I should watch; I load them up and start watching, a notepad next to my laptop, me taking extensive notes.

Before I know it it seems I’ve skipped the morning break, and my stomach is rumbling. I go to kitchen, and it’s mostly empty. There’s a couple of stoves, proper industrial stoves, an array of cutlery including sharp knives. microwaves, plenty of generic oils, salts, and sauces in one of the massive fridges, along with people’s food in tupperware. In the second fridge are my chicken thighs and veggies.

I get down to preparing things, cleaning as I go. I realise I probably don’t actually need as much of this food as I brought. Yesterday I was sent out for lunch, and I don’t know what will happen later in the week.

The kitchen also has an industrial boiler, and a bean to cup coffee machine, with dire warnings of what will happen to any employee who uses the milk frothing attachments without cleaning them printed on the front of the machine. I imagine whoever typed up that message was channelling Greg as they wrote it. And in one fridge is both sparkling and non-sparkling water, ‘When you take one replace it!’ With my meal ready I sit down with a bottle of the sparkling water.

As I take my first bite I realise I am actually quite hungry, but in a strange way. It’s not necessarily a nutritional hunger, I ate really well, yesterday, although my noodles, with chicken thighs and veggies, is hitting the spot, it’s a hunger for, I don’t know, success? Growth?

As I’m halfway through my noodles a few people have come in. They’re preparing their own food, mostly using the microwaves. Therese also comes in, and waves as she spots me. She comes over. “Finish your food while I have a coffee, then we’ll get to your place and get you all situated.” She’s smiling as she walks to the bean to cup machine and bashes in her drink, a straight, double strength, black coffee.

Sitting down, opposite me, she says, “I don’t know why people go the cafés in the building, or farther. These are free, here... Well... I do know. People want to get away from work. They’re expensive though! I could never justify a $5.50 coffee no matter how much money I had. It’s wasteful!”

“I’m becoming acutely aware of finances, with my life, well... Taking off?” I say, and I know I can’t live at the same pace I have done for the past ten days, or so, no matter how much fun it might be. Either for my bank account’s sake or for my own health.

“How are you doing, Tony?” Therese asks. She takes a sip of her coffee.

“I want things to move fast, as well as, you know, taking my time. I don’t know how to explain it. There are some things I want right now, immediately, and some things I just want to appreciate.”

Therese grips onto her coffee with both hands, and leans in towards me. “If you want to go talk in private we can? Or if you just want to hint at things, or even say nothing, that’s fine. Or just eat.”

I nod, finishing off my noodles, considering things, while Therese sips at her coffee.

“I think I need to speak to a therapist, and I want to start on hormones. Soon. Like, yesterday.”

Therese laughs. “And miss your lunch? I heard you had fun.”

“Maybe not yesterday, then. But that’s the thing. I don’t know how if I have time to fit everything in and still keep myself healthy.”

“OK, let me think. And if you’re ready to go I’ll grab my things and you grab your things, then we’ll meet in the lobby and get a car to your place. Are you sure you’re ready to have everyone come into your apartment and get you all setup? There’s no rush if you need to prepare. It can wait! Which is my problem, not yours.”

I tell Therese I’m sure.

I gather all my things and go down to the lobby. Eventually Therese joins me, apologising for the delay as something came up in her office, then we’re getting a car to my place, both of us in the back seat, casually chatting, at least after a few minutes. We hit on her wedding, somehow. I didn’t realise I had an interest in weddings.

Therese and her girlfriend are getting married. They just want something small, at least as far as traditional ceremonies go. Sure, lots of people, but in a bar they know, that’s willing to set aside one of the rooms for them, and have dedicated bar staff. They’re building their own playlist for the music, and getting a friend to DJ for people’s requests. The ceremony will be in the morning, with just a few, close people, then it’s a restaurant they both like for a meal before the trip to the bar and the dancing. It sounds like a real celebration for two people who are entirely comfortable with each other. I can’t even begin to imagine my own wedding. I never contemplated it before, but now I’m thinking do I want the big, white dress wedding? Is that even who I really am? Am I a woman who can actually marry a man?

Before I know it I’m keying the code into my door and we’re taking an elevator to my floor, where I let us both into my apartment.

I set my things down and Therese sets her things down, both on the coffee table in front of my couch.

“Do you want a coffee? I only have instant or a drip machine.”

“Are you a big coffee drinker?” Therese asks.

“Some, a little... It’s not a massive deal for me,” I say.

“A water would be fine, then,” Therese says, as she’s unpacking her laptop and dialling it into her phone’s wifi.

I’m back in with a water for each of us, and sit myself down on the armchair.

Therese begins explaining my new phone to me. It’s a dual sim phone, with two partitions of storage. I can keep my personal phone on it, and my work phone, and still keep the two separate on a single device. It’s mostly already setup, but she does transfer my personal details onto it, and all my photos and apps. It doesn’t take too long. Then she calls me from her work phone, with the work directory built into the office side of my new phone, explaining how things will appear depending on the origin of them. I think I get it, and she has a print off of my number for me to put in my wallet, and my purse.

I do show her my frog purse, which she oohs and aahs over. The words, ‘very cute,’ coming out of her mouth.

She’s explaining some of the setups the business can do with hormone treatment, and with therapists, and I’m explaining that I have some friends looking for a suitable therapist for me, friends who know my story, when her phone rings. It’s the people delivering my work from home setup.

We both go to the front door, telling them the code. There’s three of them. All big burly dudes, or sort of burly, powerful, even if one is wiry. You can tell he’s able to carry things all day long. One of them stays in the truck to avoid parking fines, and the other two begin carrying boxes up to my apartment.

Eventually it’s all delivered and I say, “I didn’t realise there’d be this amount of stuff. I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get it put together.”

Therese laughs and says, “You’re not setting it up! That’s what these guys are for, aren’t you?”

The men laugh. “Health and safety keeps our business going. Can’t have you pretty office dwellers breaking a nail.”

I quickly look at my nails, realising they are painted and these guys know nothing about me. Therese slaps my hands down from where I hold them up in front of me, staring, and laughs at me.

“How does Toni’s apartment rate on apartments you’ve delivered to?” she asks.

“If we could get a water from a fridge it’d be a full 10/10.”

I quickly leap to my feet. “Oh shit!” I say. “I’m sorry! Do you want a Coke Zero, or something? I think I have a Sprite or two, as well, with sugar.”

“12/10 apartment, Therese!” the wiry guy says. “Water is fine, really. Thanks, Toni.” He knows my name. “Even tap water.”

I get them two chilled waters after arranging a few more things in my fridge. They don’t even pause to drink them, just sipping as they go, while thinking, and making, and screwing—with small drills—occasionally looking at printed diagrams. And hefting bags of screws. The two look like they have a secret language between each other. Just moving around each other, knowing what the other needs, with the occasional instructional grunt. It’s quite beautiful really. Even sexy, somehow. I even notice Therese watching. And she’s gay!

The first thing they put together is the floor length mirror. It’s a simple, pine surrounded mirror. A long, rectangular pane—with the pine encasement— on a horizontal swivel, set atop a pine box with two deep drawers in it.

“We’ll move this one, fellas,” Therese says. “I assume the light you need to bounce is in your bedroom workspace?”

The two men look like they want to object, but I nod at Therese, and they back down after I open the door to my bedroom and they catch a glimpse of, well, a mess, at the end of the room.

Me and Therese lift the mirror, carrying it, then setting it down inside my bedroom door so I can stand at any distance to see myself from the bottom of my bed.

Of course the first thing I notice when I walk into my bedroom are the clothes scattered everywhere; on one half of my double bed, and across the couch in my bedroom that was left by a previous tenant. There’s dresses, tops, jeans, skirts. Shoes, panties, pantihose, bras... All my work-out clothes that Steve bought me.... There’s my sexy date night dress hanging up in the dry cleaning packaging hanging outside my wardrobe. There’s even makeup and pink razors on the night-stand next to my bed.

Thankfully Therese doesn’t say anything and we’re quickly back into the living room, sitting down again.

“Are you thinking of joining the gym I mentioned at the meeting?”

“How do you mean?” I ask.

“I saw all your work-out clothes. A lot of new purchases. I can send the email from here if you want.”

I’m a little taken aback, I hadn’t even thought about it. This feels normal, somehow. I’m Toni, now, not Tony. Right now there doesn’t seem a difference. “I haven’t had time to think about it, to be honest, those were just... It’s a long story. I’m not sure I even have the time to go to a gym”

“You need to use your holiday time, Toni. You have a decent amount built up. Enough that it’s actually a problem, or could become a problem soon. We do expect people to use it. You’ve used very little since you started working for us. It’s getting to the point we’re going to be instructing you to use the time, with no choice in the matter. Especially if you carry it over into yet another year.”

I stroke at my nose, thinking. “I guess I really never had a reason to take time off, or a desire to go anywhere, or do anything?” I realise I’ve never felt pressure in work. Nor have I felt pressure in my life. It was all a blur. Or maybe more a fog? Downcast? Drizzle? The shits?

Therese seems to consider this. “Has that changed in the past few weeks?” she asks.

“Yeah, I guess it has. But it feels like my career is beginning to take off in new ways. I’m not sure I want to risk it by not being available.”

Therese clicks her tongue a few times. “Do you mind if I step into the kitchen to make a few calls?”

I shake my head and Therese says to give her those few minutes.

She spends a lot longer than a few minutes, longer than thirty minutes, even, occasionally stepping out to point at her phone with a grimace; she’s waiting on more calls.

After about forty-five minutes, maybe a little longer, she’s back into me, sitting down. “You owe Greg a favour, if you go ahead with this. He yelled at my boss. Apparently he was a right A-hole to her, but not enough she’s taking it out on you. You’re approved for ad-hoc time, if you formalise that you’re seeking medical treatment for something with me. It’ll never be recorded what that treatment is, until it becomes necessary for something in work, i.e. should you wish to transition in work—which will not be an issue, by the way,” Therese says, seeing the look on my face. “Even then it’s not a medical issue. Not in this state, although you do have some extra equality laws protecting you.

“All this means is there’s a record that you’re facing a serious medical issue. And need time, as allocated to your holiday time, to deal with it. Ultimately it’ll be up to Greg to approve it, and track it. That’s why he yelled at my boss. Apparently, to quote him, or the report from my boss on him, the words were, ‘Give the fucking kid whatever the fuck they fucking need!’ Or something like that. He was angry. Sorry about the kid part, those are his words.”

I simply nod, it sounds like Greg. I do feel like a kid, with people arguing. Not that my parents argued. My sister did, but they shushed her, with patience. But this feels like what being an actual child is like. People calling me an idiot.

“He also gave a, something along the lines of, ‘She could be really important to us in a few years time, do you want them, and our hard work, to have fucked off before we reap the fucking benefits!’ And then there were some slightly personal insults directed at my boss... Questions of her ability to function... She doesn’t typically deal with Greg, that’s what I’m for. I felt it necessary to call him in though as she was being stubborn.” Therese laughs at that, seeing the look of horror on my face; her choosing to inflict what sounds like actually angry Greg on someone.

I shake my head, or more rattle my brain about, hoping it slots back into place. “What are the consequences for me?” I ask. “For Greg? For you!?! You didn’t need to do this!!”

“For me? Nothing. This is my job. Toni, really... This is my job. I’m good at it. Don’t doubt that!” Therese smiles. “For Greg? People already call him an asshole. The downsides for you are there’ll be some record you had a medical issue. I’m sure people will be able to put 2+2 together when and if they track the timeline of your transition, should you transition, but there’s no official record of that. We don’t have access to your medical reports. Obviously I know but it’s not written anywhere. Other people will know but there’ll be nothing actionable. Will people remember in the long run? Not if Greg is right...”

Therese sees me looking a little shocked, at least that’s what I feel she’s looking at.

She leans forward on the couch she’s sat herself down on, leaning towards me, almost keeping the words quiet from the two men in here with us.

“Toni... As far as I know no-one at the LGBTQ group is trans, but they have dealt with issues mostly like this; the consequence and prejudice. It’s up to you. Personally I think it’s worthwhile, and I say that as someone who likes you. It was worth it for me, coming out about my sexuality. You have people in your corner. That’s what you want, and need. Now it’s up to you, if you want. As long as you, and I, and Greg, even Ben, are here that’s how it’ll be. You’ve impressed people. Just a little. I don’t know that for sure but you’ve got some people talking about you. Everyone talks about everyone but the people talking about you? That’s not me being HR. That’s me seeing a young woman—if you don’t mind me abandoning my HR role—who could do with a few breaks.”

I sit back in my chair, unable to de-tangle the thoughts running through my mind. “How do I do this?” I ask.

“You just tell me you have a medical issue you need to deal with, and need to use holiday time to deal with it.”

“I do,” I say, words coming out of my mouth with certainty. I do have an issue. It does have to be dealt with. Greg has been superb, my friends have been superb, Therese has been amazing. I’d like to see Tim, to have him hold me. I need time, and if I can get a little more of it it’s the best thing for me.

I uncross my legs and crouch forward, shaking my head slowly. “I can’t believe how lucky I am,” I say.

“It’s good you recognise that,” Therese says. “Now go get dressed, the lads are finishing up. We’ll go for a drink. One or two beers, or something. Please, no more! I have to save my big nights out, and I can imagine you’re exhausted, and I don’t want to be loading you into a car.

“Somewhere you feel comfortable. I’ll be clocked off, but I’ll still use the car service. I can drop you home if you’re ready to go home. If you need tomorrow morning off I’ll put it down as needing to put the finishing touches on your setup here. Is this all OK with you?”

I take a deep breath and stand. “It is, thank you.”

Then I’m walking into my bedroom, shakily, gently closing the door that looks out to my work from home setup that’s nearly completed.

I get dressed, a simple pale, ocean green, calf length, straight and heavy skirt, trainers, grey, opaque pantihose and a light, baby blue hoodie. I’m back outside in my living room after I’ve done my hair with dry styling products, in my new mirror. It’s not a showcase piece but it works. It’s simple. It didn’t cost a lot. I figure it won’t get noticed on review.

The guys working on my setup don’t even turn their heads when I walk out, dressed femininely, and go to the bathroom, with my heart pounding. I do my makeup, really taking time to look at my eyes before I apply my mascara. Then I’m back again, and ready.

“OK, we just need you to try your laptop in the dock, login to the wifi, and make sure your email is working,” Therese says.

I pick up my laptop and arrange it in the dock; the laptop set off to my left, on the stand, with a large monitor in front of me with a webcam on top, some speakers to either side, a printer/scanner on a little side table.

The laptop, as it powers up, detects the dock, and keyboard, mouse and speakers. There’s a lot of extravagant beeping from it after I log into the operating system, the laptop’s fan whining, as well as the fan of the dock.

Therese, standing by my shoulder, and as the laptop finally begins to calm down, says, “The password to the work wifi, the one we’ve provided, is on the router. It’s 5G, I believe. I’m sure you’re familiar with all this stuff...”

I check the password, a few times, still shaking, every so slightly. I login to the wifi, which is seamless, and then into my email, which I drag to the main monitor. There’s a few new emails I begin to click onto but Therese tells me to ignore them. “Any changes you need with the setup?” she asks. “Physically? Heights, comfort, anything like that?”

“Nope,” I say, after swivelling my chair to the left and right.

“OK, close down and stand back, I need to get a photo for our records.”

I feel a panic thinking Therese is going to take a photo of me at the desk, dressed as I am, but she waits until I’m standing back. She pushes the chair in underneath the desk and snaps a few photos with a flash.

“Everything’s great, fellas. Thanks,” she says. “You can take the last of the boxes.”

“Hang on!” I say, and quickly dart into the kitchen. I come back carrying a six pack, chilled, and hand it over to the wiry guy. “Thanks for all this.”

“Is this OK, Therese?” the wiry guy asks, but he’s already clutching the six pack, so I’m not sure what he’s asking.

Therese nods. He reaches into his pocket.

“Toni, this is my sister’s business. She’s just starting out. Started on soft furnishings and the like, sewing, that kind of thing. There’s plenty of people in the city who can do that so she wants to get into interior decorating. There’s a code on the back of the card, 25% off, minimum spend is $250. I don’t know what that is after the discount.”

I look at the back of the card and it says, ‘TREY25.’

“Trey is you?” I say.

He nods.

“Thanks, sure, yeah. Of course! This place is kind of stark.” I look around. It’s busier with the work from home setup, but compared to Tim and Mouse’s apartment, even Jess’s—Sally’s is an old family home—it’s a young person’s apartment that no-one has ever settled into. It needs something. Something I’m not sure of.

For some reason I imagine living with Tim, then quickly push that thought from my mind, telling myself that’s stupid. Mouse is a better home-maker, anyway. Do I want to live with Tim? Could I imagine my life with Tim? I can imagine sex with Tim...

The wiry guy, Trey, smiles. “Thanks for the beers, and check out my sister’s website. She’s good.”

They both nod, the bigger guy taking two beers from the six pack into his hand while carrying the last of the cardboard boxes in his other hand, and they’re gone. Except there’s a stack of plastic packaging left sitting on the ground. Plastic packaging, with something soft in them.

“You’ve spotted that?” Therese asks.

“What are they?” I ask. They look like cushions.

Therese moves to then begins to rip into them. There’s hoodies, work hoodies, and t-shirts being thrown over the back of my couch. “I figured these might be more fitting to your circumstances, just to wear around the house,” she says.

She hands me one of the hoodies and I hold it up, then hold it up to my chest. It’s one of the work hoodies I’d gotten before, when I got them in the wrong size; from various business milestones, and projects. Except these aren’t in the wrong size. They’re the right size, and they’re the female cut.

“If you ever have to take a video call and are inappropriately dressed just throw on one of those. Maybe you’re in your flowery PJs or something?” Therese laughs. “A quick way to professionalism. I can’t work from home, not often, unfortunately, I need to be available to people. I’d kill to work in my PJs! Don’t you think HR would be more approachable if we were wearing something fluffy and soft?” She smiles at me, and I laugh. I laugh even harder thinking of Greg’s comments about HR as martial law, and what he seems to have said to Therese’s boss.

“Are you ready to go? Do you know where you want to go? You look ready for a drink? A pizza? Whatever you want... I don’t get to work from home but this is a privilege I’ve finagled my way into when settling Greg’s people into work from home setups. When he’s an asshole on your side he’s very good.”

“How off work are you?” I ask.

“Pretty much 100% but I can’t abandon all knowledge I have of that place, at least not that easily, I do have to do one thing, though,” Therese says, and goes to her laptop bag, taking a package out.

The parcel is rectangular, and hard, quite thin. Too big and thin to be a book, and too stiff.

It’s wrapped in what appears to be recycled, or at least pre-used birthday wrapping paper. She hands it to me and slings her laptop bag over her shoulder.

I open it. It’s a framed Harvard Business Review. I think it’s from the months I started working in the office.

In gold pen, at the bottom of the framed HBR are the words, “To Tony. From Greg.” And scribbled on the white matting are the words, “Sorry about the Tony part, but that’s all part of growth.” Along with two heart symbols, what appears to be a stamp of a Sonic, and a shark, along with the name, ‘Greg.’

“He’s such an asshole,” I say, laughing at the idiot. “A fucking Harvard Business Review!”

“That he is,” Therese says.

I settle the frame, with the pop-out stand, to the left of and just behind the printer/scanner, and ask Therese to take a photo. She says she’ll send it onto Greg in the car, which has been called, then asks me where we’re going.

We wait a few minutes outside my apartment for the car to arrive. When it does we hop in and Therese tells me to say the bar to the driver. He seems to know it, apparently it’s an occasional drive, for him, at least. Then we’re stepping inside Light Avenue, me feeling nerves that I’m now, in some way, crossing my work life with my... I suppose it’s my real life? I don’t know what’s real though. Which part of me is real? It’s all blurring together.

As we get into the front area of the bar Therese shakes herself out, mumbling something. I walk to the bar, to see if there’s any seats available, but there’s none. After about a minute Steph appears and seems to point towards the long bar, mouthing that she’ll open it.

I take Therese’s elbow in my hand and direct her where to go, sitting us up at the counter. She’s busy looking about, seemingly very interested in something.

Steph is soon standing in front of us at the long bar. “Toni! My beautiful! My favourite woman! What can I get you?” I feel a wave of relief through me at the normality of this—this is all fucked up though, right?—of Steph being kind to me, and her effusiveness, in calling me a woman. It’s sort of where it all began; me being who I am. And now people seeing the real me. Is this the real me?

Is that all it was? I had to be me? It’s ridiculous. Totally stupid, just being me. Is life this stupid?

I cross my legs, a little clumsily, as Therese sets her laptop bag down and takes her coat off. I do the same and rest the strap of my purse on the hook on the bar.

“Can we get two businesswoman drinks, please,” Therese says to Steph. “Corporate account, if you catch my drift? Clear, low calorie, packs a punch. Would knock men off their feet!”

“Oh! Toni! I didn’t know you were moving this fast!” Steph says, laughing. “How corporate?” she asks Therese.

“Big junior position night out,” Therese says. “Something of a graduation drink. But still something unofficial.”

“I catch you,” Steph says, moving to grab some shakers, and then some bottles, after loading the ice-buckets with ice.

Therese turns to me. “She’s senior, isn’t she?” she says in a quiet tone. “I vaguely remember her from my drinking days. She’s been here a while.”

“Steph’s the manager,” I say.

Therese elbows me with a quick popping out of her elbow. “I knew you were a mover and shaker,” she says. Then she calls out to Steph, “With a little kick!”

“A little kick?” Steph asks, pouring drinks.

Therese nods. “A little teensy, tiny kicky,” she says, with a gnarled looking mouth on her.

“You got it! If you take responsibility?”

Both Therese and Steph laugh, and soon two drinks are being settled in front of me and Therese.

The glasses are somehow clear, but the liquid looks thick. When I take a drink of it I feel air being blown out my ears, neither cool, nor warm. It’s a room temperature air, almost equal with my surroundings, and who I am. I even feel it out my nose. I feel my eyes bulge.

“This is fucking...”

“Dry!” Steph and Therese say, both laughing.

And at some point I forget what’s happening. There was a second business-woman drink. And there was a message from Trevor, who I gave my phone number to, via Steph. I wasn’t even that drunk, just clueless. Excited! It was the name of a therapist? A therapist who Therese didn’t recognise but said she’d look into. Steph explained what she knew about informed consent as I had my third, possibly fourth drink.

I told Steph, or maybe Therese... Maybe I told both, two times, what I would fucking do to those guys who put together the office. I think I involved detail. Was there a shot involved? I think I involved tongue with those guys? Either my tongue or theirs. Possibly both? Both of their tongues? And me? Oh I fucking would!

There was laughing, and another drink. Possibly a bottle? It had no label.

I either danced, or fell off my seat, I’m not sure. There was more laughter. I wasn’t the only one laughing. I think Steph sat down too. Did Steph dance?

I think Therese danced? Steph mumbled something. I definitely stumbled.

A woman from security argued something with two guys? Or three guys? It was Anna-something, from the first night I was in here. I wished I was as built as her. I told her that, and she took me for a smoke, and a glass of water.

Really I showed Steph, and Therese, my moves. Killer fucking dance moves. I was amazing! I managed two shots while dancing!

There was a fifth drink, or a third? Did we do double shots? I don’t remember. The bottle was taken away. Steph explaining to a bartender how to make it, asking for comments from us. I think I contemplated what numbers meant, aloud. Or how irrelevant they were. There was a sixth drink where the bartender was all on their own. I don’t remember it, not really. There were other drinks, I feel? I’m not sure.

I think Tim carried me home. Did Therese call him? Or was it Steph talking to him? I called him, trying out my new phone. And apparently, according to Steph’s words, “Someone’s wasted and needs a man taxi.” Why she didn’t get a taxi I don’t know, either way Steph is insisting she drives Therese home. Or someone drives her home. And Steph certainly can’t drive. They’re talking about definitely going home...

Tim is being all sexy but refusing to fuck me. I don’t know why but Columbo is interrogating him. Is Columbo interrogating me? He has a question for me? I don’t care though because I’m trying my best to get slobbery with Tim, who’s a stupid asshole and busy laughing. But I can still feel his tongue in my mouth, or is it my tongue in his mouth? Maybe I’m biting his ear? Did he scream?

I mock his girly scream as I try to unzip his pants, which he rejects. That’s fine. Pants are too complicated! Skirts for life, I scream, as he carries me, I think.

I feel light as air and someone’s undressing me. They’re taking my pantihose off, and my underwear. Men can’t unfasten bras but somehow he does. I’m a woman, I say. And he tells me to go sleep. And he refuses to play with my boobs. Eventually I get him to rest one hand there, on my tit, and I think he likes my naked butt squeezing into him. I reach back and give him a handjob, or at least I think I do. I hope I do.

I still feel him pressing into me, and I force myself to stay awake, struggling with his giant... Arguing I just want him to...