DECEMBER 16, 2024: 

 

“Oh shit, Jenni, are you officially coming out?” Frederica asked as I adjusted my hair, making sure it looked just right.

 

Turning away from the mirror, I found myself making the biggest smile as I faced Freddie in her tux, “Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess so? I mean…yeah, I—uh, I’m bi,” it was still so surreal saying it out loud, especially to someone other than Rachel. 

 

“See, I knew you were living with Rachel, but I should’ve guessed you were bi, considering how you let those cougars feel you up,” Freddie’s laugh was jovial, but I didn’t quite care for how she could be so dark in her humor. 

 

“Come on, Rica, leave the poor girl be,” Elle said as they came up behind their partner, wrapped their arms around them, and propped their chin atop Freddie’s right shoulder. “Congrats, Jen—sorry, Jenni now, right?”

 

“Yeah, thanks—and thank you for the congratulations, Elle,” I couldn’t help but return their smiles. They were always flirting so much, Rachel and I were so glad when they finally got together. Learning that Elle also used they/them pronouns outside of work had definitely been eye-opening, too. 

 

Socializing had been difficult for Rachel and I when we were on the streets, but now that we had co-workers I found it to definitely be an adjustment that I wanted to make. As kids and teens neither one of us really did much socializing outside of each other—Rach making out with all the girls she would show her cosplay collection to notwithstanding.

 

Damn, she really could be smooth when she wanted to, couldn’t she?

 

“But, come on Jenni-girl, I thought that we were the Suit Sisters? What gives?” Freddie laughed, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.

 

Smiling softly, before breaking out into a bolder, wider grin, I admitted, “Sorry Freds, not my scene. I was only doing it because Paul told me to, and I needed the cash. Besides, I’m sure you’ll be getting plenty more clients now that I’m in dresses!”

 

“You look a lot more relaxed,” Elle half-whispered, “You’re smiling so much more, too, Jenni. I bet Rach has noticed.”

 

Pfft, going right for the relationship gossip, were they?

 

I…really shouldn’t say it. I mean…there was no way to actually prove it, legally speaking. Fine. Fuck. 

 

“Haha, she’s definitely noticed,” be non-committal about it. They’ll probably pick up the signals eventually, anyway. 

 

“Oh, hiya girls,” Rachel said, walking over to our little congregation, “And Elle! Omigawd, I love your dress, it’s so, like, Velma Kelly Chicago!”

 

“I don’t think they understand internet lingo, sweetie,” I interjected.

 

“Oh, no, no, you’re fine, Jenni. I’m something of an internet user, myself,” Elle corrected, morphing their gorgeous face into something approximating one of Willem Dafoe’s facial expressions.

 

“HI GREEN GOBLIN!!!” Rach shouted, like she’d just won about a game show. When Elle’s face returned to normal she added, “BYE GREEN GOBLIN!!!”

 

“That’s a good girl,” Elle whispered, tapping my wife on her nose with her index finger. Rach began panting like a dog—not for comedic effect, but sincerely, of course.

 

“They called me a good girl, Jenni!” Rach bragged as she turned to me, the world’s proudest expression on her face.

 

“Well, you are a good girl, dear,” I smiled, pulling my wife into the frame of the full length mirror. Taking in the sight of us side-by-side, I couldn’t help but say, “Damn, we look good!”  

 

“GOOD GIRL LOOKS GOOD!” Rach giggled, her intonation all over the place. It was charming, as it always was when she did that. She’d been bullied for it for so long that now that I was older and wiser, I’d sworn to never let her feel ashamed of it again.

 

“So, tell us, Rachel, have you and your roommate ever done…roommate stuff together?” Freddie asked, scandalously. Elle gave their girlfriend a frown, but Freddie did an exaggerated “I’m just asking” motion.

 

Rach just stared blankly, not processing the question at first. I gave her a moment, because reminding her: “‘And they were roommates’, Rach.”

 

Then, suddenly, “Oh! Uh…” Rach shot me a look, looking for guidance. Raising my eyebrow in a “you wanna do this?” kind of way, Rach broke into a smile and nodded her head-up-and-down like she was seven years old.

 

With a deep breath, I turned back to Elle and Freddie and put on a nervous smile, “Well, uh, you two already know that we’ve been friends since we were kids. I guess if you two are going to be explicitly a couple in the dressing room we might as well be, too.” I took Rach’s hand in mine, locked our fingers, and gave a small squeeze to let Rach know to say something.

 

“U-HAUL!” she shouted, bursting into another fit of giggles. Freddie, Elle and I joined Rach in her rejoicement.

 

“I’m happy for you two, really,” Elle said as their laughter died down. “You two…just have this energy to you, you know?”

 

“You can say that again,” Freddie added, “The way I’ve seen you look at each other, even on the floor—hot damn!”

 

“Oh, jeez, thanks, you two are amazing, too!”

 

Unfortunately, an unpleasant and undignified voice chimed in, “You ladies are absolutely amazing, too, I do say!” It was Paul, of course, dressed up in one of his usual cheap-looking suits that distinctly passed more for a user car salesman’s cartoonishly slimeball aesthetic in a movie or something. 

 

It was hard not to be bothered when he would use such gendered language to group in Elle with us. Technically, Elle hadn’t told Paul—he was hardly the type to respect pronouns, anyway—but it still just felt like an extra layer of insult, even if Elle preferred to present in a feminine way. I’d figured them to be cishet until it became clear that they and Freddie were getting closer, and then to learn that they were non-binary was even more eye-opening. 

 

The more I looked back on it, the more I realized that I had learned from Elle that if they didn’t owe anyone androgyny, I didn’t owe anyone anything, either. I owed myself a presentation that fit me best.

 

That just so happened to be something approximately feminine. Well, when I felt like it. Rach was quite fond of calling me a gremlin anytime I wasn’t dressed to the nines like she was any time we went out.

 

“Cool it, hot shot,” Freddie interjected, obviously annoyed with Paul’s usual bullshit. Freddie checked her phone and made a clicking noise with her tongue, “Shit, game time already, y’all.”

 

The others and I made our way towards the dressing room entrance when suddenly Paul grabbed me by my wrist. “Jenni,” he stressed, “A word?”

 

I looked back to Rach, who looked concerned, but gave her a nod to go on ahead. Rach reluctantly nodded back in confirmation and left the room with the others. 

 

“Mind letting go?” I asked, my voice stern. Paul eventually acquiesced, but I could tell that he was still in a foul mood. 

 

Paul had been avoiding me ever since Miss York had told him that I was to be allowed to dress and act how I pleased. I could tell that the man was upset by the look of his eyes through his tinted sunglasses—who the hell wore sunglasses indoors, anyway? “You must think that you’re real smooth, Jen,” Paul opened, bile in his voice.

 

“What do you want, Paul?” I asked, no longer hiding my annoyance with the man.

 

 “We had a real good thing going on here, y’know?”

 

“I—what? You mean you got to fetishize how I looked in a suit because I looked a little androgynous? Jesus, I got that work done on my face for a reason, you know.”

 

“Hey, hey,” the ugly soul replied, shifting into a seemingly defensive body language, “That just made it hotter, y’know?”

 

Disgust ran up-and-down my spine, so I turned back to the entrance to try and go to the floor and remove myself from this asshole’s presence. Frankly, I didn’t want to know what else the creep fetishized me for. 

 

“We’re not done talkin’, you little bitch!” Paul shouted, grabbing my right wrist. 

 

Reflectively, I used my free hand to slap at Paul, but despite his gangly appearance he had no issues taking my slap, and then tugging harder on the wrist he still held. The force of the despicable bastard’s grip and pull on my wrist tightened so much I couldn’t help but scream, “F-fuck!”

 

Before I could shake my right wrist free and shout “Let go of me, asshole!” a third voice echoed throughout the room: “Yes you are, Paul!”

 

It was Miss York, wearing the scariest face that I’d ever seen her wear.

 

With Paul distracted I managed to tear out of his grasp and make my way over and behind Miss York. I had to rub my wrist, which was quickly turning purple.

 

“Are you okay, dear?” Miss York asked, her voice taking on a more tender tone.

 

“Y-yes, Ma’am,” I replied, perhaps too unconvincingly. 

 

Inspecting my right wrist, Miss York shook her head, “You’re going to the hospital, that’s the end of it.”

 

“B-but Miss, I—”

 

As if remembering something, Miss York stopped herself as she stopped tapping on her phone. After a beat, Miss York began tapping away again, then finally made a phone call: “Jerry? Be a dear and bring the car around back and have Remmy meet me inside. Ms. Yoshihara and Ms. Baker will be out soon. I'd like for you to take them to Penthouse B, Doctor April should be there within the hour to meet them. Thank you, Jerry.”

 

“M-Miss York, please, this is just a misund—”

 

Turning sharply to face Paul again, Miss York took on her most fierce face again, “The only ‘misunderstanding’ here Paul is that I left one of my girls in your charge and you failed to understand what that meant!”

 

I had no idea what in the world was going on now, but as Rachel rushed back into the dressing room—now accompanied by a very large, very irate-looking man, do doubt covered in muscles beneath that lovely, very well-fitting suit.

 

“Girls,” Miss York began, a strained cheeriness to her voice, “Please be dears and meet Jerome out back. You can’t miss the car.”

 

Not wanting to see any of that wealthy woman's fury directed our way, I grabbed my wife by the hand and led her out of the dressing room and down the hall to the back entrance. The echoes of Paul’s screams followed us throughout the long corridor. 

 

***

 

DECEMBER 16, 2024: 

 

“Welcome in, ladies,” a proportionately jovial and large man gleamed, holding open the door to the backseat of a lovingly waxed limousine. As Rach and I got into the backseat of Miss York’s limousine I was instantly stricken by the fresh vanilla scent, despite the chaos of the night splitting my attention ten thousand ways. “Remember to buckle up!” It was as if someone had taken a 6’4’’ man and stuffed him with as much good-spirit and jolly disposition as was humanly possible. It’s no surprise that even from the quick glance we got of the giant that he looked like he was about four feet of muscle wide, too.

 

Judging by his voice he had a lovely tenor singing voice, too.

 

Shutting the door carefully, the behemoth of a man somehow made his smile even wider and brighter, “I’m Jerome! Or Jerry! My mama’s really the only one to call me ‘Jerome’, though! Call me whatever you like, really.” He had a hell of a hearty laugh that, frankly, just made the entire situation seem all that more surreal.

 

Once inside the vehicle—the limousine even rocked as he got inside—Jerry rolled down the privacy window and looked back as best as his large form would allow him, “There’s water, ice and a special little something back there, in case you need something to take the edge off! There should also be a clean towel or two back there, in case you need to make a makeshift ice pack! Don’t mind the mess, Miss York won’t, I’m sure! Ooh, that’s right—you girls like ABBA?”

 

Stunned, we nodded in union.

 

A few seconds of The Winner Takes It All began playing over the Bluetooth— 

 

“—I’ve played all my cards—”

 

—before Jerry skipped to the next track: Mamma Mia. 

 

The entire affair just seemed to grow even more surreal by the second.

 

Jerry took off, carefully maneuvering us through the back allies until we were on the main road. I couldn’t possibly imagine how big of a pain it was driving in Seattle. It seemed like a nightmare with how the streets were designed.   

 

“I should’ve fuckin’ killed him myself,” Rach whispered. It had been a long time since I’d seen her with that scowl on her face. Hell, I’d never even seen it on this face: it looked even scarier now. And hotter.

 

“The last thing we need is ‘Rachel Baker’ being wanted for murder, sweetie,” I said, using my left arm—my good arm—to bring her closer to my body. “I’m just grateful to have you with me, Rachy-Rach.” To be fair, we don’t know what happened to Paul, and the less we knew, the better.

 

Making herself comfortable, Rach wrapped her left arm around me and continued to lay on me for the rest of the car ride. I decided not to say anything about the awkwardness of the angle our bodies laid in.

 

“—how can I resist you?”

 

***

 

DECEMBER 16, 2024: 

 

With my wrist twinging in pain as much as it was, I was eager to distract myself as much as possible. Taking in the sights of the skyscrapers and the busy night streets of Seattle was an excellent way to do so as Jerry opened the front door to the building he was escorting us into. The elevator ride to the penthouse was perhaps the smoothest running elevator I’d ever been on. It was almost unsettling how difficult it was to tell that we were moving upward. 

 

Finally, our trio arrived on a floor with a short hallway with flowers on side tables on each side of a door. Appropriately, the door was equipped with a peephole, and what looked like a scanner for scanning key cards. 

 

I could not help but wonder if the card scanner lock was a bad sign or not. 

 

Holding the penthouse door open, Jerry let me and Rach enter first. The living room alone was larger than either mine or Rachel’s old houses were. When we still lived with our parents.

 

When we were still children.

 

“The place is all yours, ladies,” Jerry grinned excitedly, “Doctor April should be here in twenty—I’ll give you ladies some privacy, but here’s my number. I’ll be goofing off in the lobby downstairs, so just let me know if you need anything! Ooh, that’s right, the cabinets and refrigerator should be fully-stocked!” 

 

Jerry handed us a business card that read ‘Jerome Smiley, personal security & driver’ as well as his phone number. I could only imagine the horrifying things Patrick Bateman would imagine doing to Jerry should he ever see his immaculate card. 

 

Honestly, I was horrified to even consider how Jerry looked when he had to put on his ‘personal security’ face. That just seemed like inviting the devil into your home.

 

Well, not that any theoretical god had shown me any love by giving me a penis.

 

Better the devil you know, than the devil you don’t, I suppose.

 

“Thanks, Jerbear!” Rachel giggled as she waved to the departing Jerry. Jerry made comically bear-esque movements and growling noises as he closed the door to the penthouse.

 

Yeah, it’d make sense that those two would get along. 

 

“How’s your wristy-wrist-wrist, Jenni?” Rach asked as we sat down on the couch to cuddle. 

 

“Hurts.” 

 

“Hurty-hurt-hurt?” 

 

“Hurts.” 

 

“Hurty-hurt-hurt?” 

 

“Hurty-hurt-hurt.”

 

I shut my eyes, hoping that even if it was just for twenty minutes, I’d be able to forget about the stress of it all and just relax in an apartment with proper heating for once.

 

***

 

DECEMBER 16, 2024: 

 

“Ooh, you should, like, pick the pink one, Jenni! The pink one!!” Rach giggled, marveling over the various wrapping on display.

 

“Pink’s your color, dear. I’m a red kind of girl, I think. Maybe. I dunno. It’s hard to pick.” 

 

“Pink is good! Pink is, like, always good! It’s a saying! Pink goes best with everything!” 

 

“No, you’re thinking of black, sweetie,” I corrected, inspecting the pink wrap with my hands.

 

“Derp!” Rach accepted.

 

“Well, not like it looks…terrible on me, or anything,” I mused. The part of me wanting to focus on anything but the pain wondered if Rach would get turned on by me in some sort of matching pink outfit. 

 

“Ooh, ooh, can I get a pink one for me, then?”

 

“You—honey, your wrist isn’t even sprained!”

 

“B-bu-but it’s such a cute shade of pink! Can I?”

 

“Rachel, Doctor April needs these for—”

 

“Hey, I don’t kink-shame,” Doctor April interjected, looking completely disinterested as she pulled out a spare roll of pink cast gauze and tossed it to Rachel, “Go to town, kiddo.”

 

“Omigawd, thank you Doctor June!” Rachel shouted, breaking out into a loud laugh that filled the penthouse living room.

 

“Rachel, you’ll wake the neighbors!” I whisper-shouted.

 

“Oh, nobody else is on this floor, hon,” Doctor April corrected.

 

Turning to the doctor I replied, “I’d prefer you not refer to my—to Rachel like she’s a child.”

 

“What, like you don’t do it?” the sexy doctor countered, taking a hit of her vape pen. Apparently, she was not one for worrying about decorum.

 

“That’s—I know Rachel, and I know that she’s perfectly capable of acting like an adult. Just…don’t talk to her like that again, please.” It had begun to dawn on me that I was not dealing with an ordinary doctor, if she was on the beck-and-call of Miss York and whatever the fuck Remmy and Jerry did as her ‘personal security’. A little bit of caution toward the carefree, sexily dressed, curvaceous doctor was probably warranted, in hindsight. 

 

“Whatever you say, girly. Like I said, though,” the brunette began, taking the leftover roll of pink gauze in my hand and beginning to apply it to my cast, “Remember to keep the cast on at all times and take the painkillers I gave you. I’ll be back to check up on you in a couple of weeks, capisce?” The doctor’s large breasts breasted breastedly as she leaned back after applying the gauze.  

 

“Right,” I replied, looking to say as little as necessary at this point. 

 

“I gotta say, you two came out looking amazing,” the doctor smirked, her boobs bouncing boobily as she reached into her white lab coat’s pen pocket to retrieve her vape pen again, “Some of my best work, if I don’t say so myself,” Doctor April smiled, as if she were looking at a manuscript that she had written to her high-standards in under two weeks.

 

“Uh…” I wasn’t sure how to reply.

 

“Thank you for fixing my nosey-nose-nose, Doctor June!” Rachel giggled, her bare left arm now tightly wrapped in pink gauze. 

 

“Pleasure’s all mine, Pinky!” the doctor mugged, picking her pen out of her impressive cleavage to take another puff. Turning back to me the doctor added, “So, Vicky’s said that you’re thinking about a boob job? I can give you a killer pair of tits, if ya want.”

 

A glance at the big naturals the unprofessional doctor was sporting made me wonder if she was using herself as a barometer in her definition of ‘killer pair of tits’. Reluctantly, I replied, “Like…big-big? Round-round?”

 

Leaning forward to the edge of the sofa chair, Doctor April gave a wicked grin and replied, “Girly, there’s a reason why I’m one of the personal doctors of the York Family. You should’ve seen the pair I gave Vicky’s kid for the Big One-Six. Or was it the Big One-Eight? Well, whatever. Some of my finest work, if I do say so myself.”

 

The way the doctor was potentially speaking about a sixteen year old’s breasts didn’t sit well with me, but I was slowly beginning to realize that families with money attracted the least moral of people. Leaning back against the couch I looked up at the ceiling and sighed. It was just one thing after another with us. 

 

“I mean, hey, I got nothin’ better going on tomorrow,” she paused to yawn, which caused her massive melons to maneuver up and down in her tight, low-cut top, “If you want the surgery then, I mean. We might even have you healed up enough to show you off for Christmas, lulz!” She literally spoke the word ‘lulz’. It was surreal.

 

“Ooh, ooh, you should do it! Like, MERRY CHRISTMAS! You get big, fat titties, Jenni!” Rach interjected cheerfully, contrasting with how hard her right hand was trying—and failing—to peel the too-tight pink gauze off.

 

It was a lot to consider, especially considering how the night had been panning out. Still, the idea of just…getting it all over with was enticing. And, it wasn’t like the doctor was going to have to look down there and find out that I had a penis or anything. Thankfully. Rubbing my face, I decided to make a rash decision. “Fine, yeah, we can do it tomorrow. I already have my size picked out.”

 

Doctor April almost snickered, “Oh, I’m sure that you do, girly.”

 

I wasn’t sure how to take that, but with midnight fast approaching I decided just not to feed the witty comeback beast, lest it mutate into a Graboid or however that Furby film went. 

 

“Well then, if that’ll be all, I have a date with a Hitachi tonight!” I couldn’t believe that she said something like that to her patients so casually, “Goodnight, ladies. I’ll make the arrangements with Jerry and Vicky. I should have an available OR around 10AM tomorrow, so rest up!”

 

As Doctor April opened the door to the outer hallway she did so Victoria York was mid-motion to knock. “Jennifer dear, are you alright?” The older woman invited herself in, her voice heavy with concern. 

 

“Welp, this saves me some trouble. Vicky, I’ve got Jenni scheduled for a 10AM at the usual OR. Just make sure that Jerry has her there by, like, 8AM?”

 

Victoria York’s expression brightened at the news, “Oh, wonderful news, June. I’ll be sure to have her there on time!”

 

Doctor April left, shutting the door behind her, which prompted Miss York to take the doctor’s previous seat on the sofa chair and lean in towards me. “Tell me dear, how are you?”

 

“On the mend,” I offered with a wave of my pink-encased wrist. 

 

Placing her hand on my left knee, Miss York leaned in further, “I just want you to know, dear, that there has been a de—parting with Paul. Departure. You won’t be having to worry about him anymore, I assure you.”

 

“A ‘departure’?” I asked, cautiously watching my tone.

 

“Oh, yes, yes,” Miss York assured, sitting upright, “Paul has been paid his severance and let go from the employ of the York family. I wished him well—I do hope that he can get help with that nasty temperature problem he has.”   

 

I hoped that she meant ‘temperament’. 

 

“But, rest assured, dear. I can’t have my star employees suffering like that at all, so I would like to offer both of you this penthouse, so long as you are in my employ.”

 

“I’m sorry Miss York, you wh—”

 

“YAY, PENTHOUSE!!!” Rachel shouted, still trying to disentangle herself from the mess of pink gauze. 

 

“P-please, Miss York, we couldn’t possibly—”

 

“Sure you could, Jennifer. It’s come to my attention that you two have been living in dreadful conditions at that rickety old apartment building. My best girls deserve the best, and I intend to leave them in the best hands. Which is precisely why I’ll be leaving Club Y in the hands of Freddie. I really should have chosen a woman to oversee the club in the first place, but I’m afraid that Paul was an old associate of my husband’s, so I felt obligated to allow him the managerial position, at my husband’s behest. Do forgive me, ladies. I shall not make the same mistake of trusting the wrong man in the future.”

 

I was at a bit of a loss for words after Miss York’s display, but I managed to form something resembling a sentence after a drink of water from a bottle in the middle of the coffee table before us. “Miss—Victoria, I don’t know what to say.”

 

The 43 year old woman handed me two key cards, “Say ‘yes’, darling.” She couldn’t help but laugh in that haughty way that she did when she thought something was a particularly obvious sort of funny.

 

Rachel nimbly grabbed one of the cards out of Miss York’s hands and promptly began sliding it up and down her cleavage, making unlocking noises with her mouth, leaving me to have to take the other. “I…thank you, Victoria.”

 

“Not at all, Jennifer. Once the new year rolls around I have big plans for you, my dear.”

 

“I’m sorry Victoria, what do you mean?” Caution underscored my voice, but at that moment I didn’t care if it showed. 

 

“Oh, my dear Jennifer. I have a far more important job for you, with a far better pay that I would like to offer you.”

 

“Victoria, I don’t know how much you know about me and Rach, but Paul’s been paying us under the table for a reason.”

 

“Oh yes, worry not my dear! I’m well aware of the abuse you two escaped from your homes, and I want you to know that I have nothing but the deepest sympathy for a fellow survivor of abuse…” Victoria’s voice trailed off for a moment, which left me to wonder exactly what she meant by all of that, “...but please, I’m sure you understand that my husband is quite, how should we say, influential. He’ll be able to set you two up with new identities without an issue. That way you’ll be able to actually have ID cards, and—thankfully—bank accounts. A debit card is much easier to carry around than $150,000, don’t you agree?”

 

This all seemed a little too good to be true. Had I really charmed Victoria to the point that she would create solid, ‘real’ identities for Rachel and I? That seemed like a lot of illegal activity for two women that you wanted to keep in your employ. If the York Family was ever able to link Rachel and I back to our deadnames then how we currently looked would be exposed to the media and authorities, and worse: we would be potentially arrested before we even knew that we had been made. I was not keen on the entire world knowing that ‘Deadname Jeong’ had transitioned and was now living as a woman. I just wanted to be Jennifer in peace and quiet, without any of that senseless bullshit from our youth coming back to haunt us for our adulthood. Rachel especially didn’t deserve that.

 

Clearing my throat, I turned to Rachel—furiously trying to get the gauze to stop sticking to her—and asked: “Rachel, have you been paying attention?”

 

“CHIRP!”

 

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I turned to Victoria, “Are you sure this is safe? For us, I mean. We…don’t want to be found. If our families ever found us, we’d likely be murdered.”

 

“Homophobia is a dreadful sin, my dear,” Victoria said, getting up to pour herself a drink behind the kitchen counter.

 

I suppose that technically it was ‘biphobia’ in this case, but the less information we gave out willy-nilly about ourselves the better. Well, that and telling her that we were trans, too.

 

The open floor plan really did make the penthouse seem more luxurious. The sight of a woman who was practically a modern take on the old starlets of Hollywood old casually preparing drinks left me a little disoriented. 

 

“I just want the two of you to know that I appreciate your contributions to Club Y,” Victoria fiddled with the cabinet doors, peeking around for something. “Ah, there!” Standing up on her tip-toes, Victoria reached up and brought down three wine glasses.

 

“When my husband opened the club, I was—of course—delighted to be given primary oversight. Of course, with the needs of my role as my husband’s wife, I’m far too busy to ever actually oversee the club personally, so I left Paul in charge—per my husband’s strong recommendation—and while that man certainly had a good taste for finding charming young women to grow Club Y’s popularity he clearly lacked the leadership necessary to bond a team together.” Victoria continued her multitasking by giving the glasses a rinse and wipe, which I could only assume was due to them having some dust on them that I couldn’t see from the couch.

 

“That reminds me, Victoria. If I might ask,” my voice trailed for a moment. I wanted to make sure even just asking a question wouldn’t set her off, “How does your husband know Paul?”

 

Browsing through something beneath the counter, Victoria looked up at me with a smile, “Oh, yes, of course. They were old army buddies back in the 1990s and early 2000s. I couldn’t tell you anything more, I typically blanked out when the subject of Paul came up. He was a dreadful bore, if you’ll forgive the bluntness—ah! There we go!” Victoria pulled up a bottle of wine from beneath the counter, took the three wine glasses in another hand, and walked over to the sofa chair again. 

 

“Where was I now? Ah, yes, the two of you? Well, your arrival—and your popularity—has helped the club grow in precisely the ways that I had imagined!” Victoria picked the bottle of wine back up from the coffee table and began screwing the corkscrew into the top. With a firm touch, the fiery spirit tore the cork out and placed the screw onto the coffee table.

 

Even from my place on the couch I could smell the sweetness of the wine. Rachel began to buzz in her place, excited to try something so fruity-smelling.

 

Pfft, queers drinking fruity fluids. 

 

Pouring the wine into each glass, Victoria motioned with her eyebrows that she was expecting us to drink with her. Raising a glass, she asked: “So, what do you say? To a better future?”

 

Rachel and I looked at one another, then back to the red head. Picking up a glass each, we raised them to touch glass with Victoria. 

 

Well, sort of. In her haste to raise her glass, Rachel’s glass became stuck on the pink gauze still entangling her, was pulled from her hand, and fell on the low cut of her very large, very soft, breasts.

 

“Oh no, not my dressy-dress-dress!”

 

Gawd, I loved her.