The Other Women: A Story About Three Transsexuals

CHAPTER 1 

It was a warm April morning, a Saturday, and Lenore was in her Ford Taurus driving to Charlottesville, Virginia, her new home. Her new life.

Behind her in a U-Haul, she had rented, were two strong, muscular dudes, Bubbie and Tyrone. In the car next to Lenore was Maureen, a friend of Lenore’s and Bubbie’s, girlfriend.

Lenore was paying the guys $100 apiece to lug the heavy stuff off the truck.

Earlier, they had lugged it onto it. After she was moved into her new digs, she was going to treat everybody to dinner and fill up Maureen’s car with gas.

Their assistance was a steal. No moving service would have relocated her almost two hundred miles for a couple hundred dollars, the price of a meal and a tank of unleaded.

Since Maureen was a friend, and she and Lenore had done the shopping/lunch thing, and Lenore had watched Maureen’s kids, Bubbie was used to her, but Tyrone appeared a tad uncomfortable dealing with her.

And although Tyrone was uneasy with her, she could tell by his expression that he was impressed with her appearance.

And who wouldn’t be? Lenore was a good-looking girl. Facially, she was unspookable—black transsexual slang for not being able to tell that a male-to-female transsexual was a biological male.

She was 6’0, slender, with clear, silky skin the color of apple juice, intelligent eyes that danced with merriment and thick shoulder length auburn hair.

Lenore always wore tastefully applied makeup and delightful smelling perfume, fashionable attire purchased from stores and catalogs specializing in clothes for tall ladies.

Some people thought Lenore’s beauty and feminine appearance was the work of a plastic surgeon.

But her looks were natural.

Electrolysis and hormones helped to effectuate her softness.

No, no, no way, I’m living without you, Jennifer Holliday sang from the radio. I just want to be free.

What a voice, Lenore thought. And she could so relate to the part about wanting to be free, which was why she was moving to Charlottesville.

Through the straw, she took a sip of the Big Gulp she had purchased from 7-11 before starting her journey.

The sun was radiant. Maybe that was a sign that life in Charlottesville would be filled with happiness and cheer.

That certainly was not the case back home in Hampton. Because she was a transsexual, she often found herself in more dramatic scenes than the characters on Young and The Restless.

Her family had a major-league problem with her decision to change her sex.

It’s wrong, shrieked her mother. Immoral. How two-faced of her, considering what Lenore knew about her past.

If God wanted you to be a woman, he woulda made you one, said her judgmental Aunt Carolyn.

I don’t want you coming around my kids. I want them to grow up right, said her annoying sister, Elvira.

When Lenore started living full-time as a woman, people whom she had considered friends refused to go out in public with her. When she was Travis, and wore trousers and shirts, she was quite the social butterfly, flitting around with her gay pals, going to restaurants, to concerts. Visiting wineries, sampling this Chardonnay. That Merlot. She frequently visited Barnes and Nobles, where she and her friends sipped gourmet coffee and gabbed about books.

Life was good.

But when her hair became longer and she started wearing makeup and female garb full-time, her friends vanished.

The phone stopped ringing. Knocks on the door became infrequent. People avoided her and gave her the cold shoulder when she contacted them. They treated her like she had a infectious disease.

She had had gay and straight friends.

Maureen, with her sweet self was the only one that hung in there. Lenore had expected more support from the gay boys.

WRONG. They didn’t want to be bothered. Didn’t even want to dance with her when they bumped into her in gay bars. I don’t dance with drag queens, lisped the effeminate Phillip. He said drag queen like it was an expletive, and she had known the jerk for three years.

Also, because of her decision to switch genders, her boyfriend, Michael took a hike.

Asshole.

But he wasn’t always an asshole. In the beginning, he was as sweet as a bowl of sugar cubes.

Her thoughts regressed to Michael. For three days, she was out of town in Texas attending a Gay Pride Parade.

Lenore hated being away from home. And she missed Michael.

And when the taxi dropped her off at the apartment that she shared with him, she was elated. On the plane coming home, she mused about how marvelous it would be to see him.

When she entered their dwelling, holding her suitcase, the room was dark and felt empty, although the sofa, the TV and artwork were still there. Michael, she called. And received no reply. For some reason, she didn’t expect one.

She entered their bedroom, hoping to find him, snoozing, with a book, a newspaper or magazine on his chest. But he wasn’t there. Her eyes shifted to the opened door of the walk-in closet, and Michael’s shirts, sweaters, pants and shoes were gone.

A lump formed in her throat. She could feel herself began to disintegrate. Keep it together, she muttered to herself.

Crazily, she dashed to the living room, and checked for his favorite CDs and books and they weren’t there. She had known they wouldn’t be.

Needlessly, she rushed to the bathroom, and Michael’s cologne, toothbrush and shaving equipment were gone.

Oh, God. He’s left me, she thought as tears sprang to her eyes.

And she hadn’t seen it coming. She thought they had a great relationship.

In fact, he frequently paid for her hormones and electrolysis. He had gone to the mall with her and helped her select clothes and purses.

So, yes, he had been supportive.

But oftentimes, gay guys dumped their boyfriends when they started dressing as women.

If I want a woman, I’ll get one, some gay men argued. I don’t want a guy that dresses up as a woman. I don’t want a transsexual.

Evidently, that was how Michael felt. And why didn’t he tell her to her face that he wanted out? She deserved an explanation, damn it.

She rushed to the wall phone in the kitchen and with trembling fingers, clicked seven numbers, rolling her eyes as she did so. She truly didn’t look forward to this conversation. But it was unavoidable. Perhaps, the person she was dialing could shed some light on the mystery of Michael’s whereabouts.

Hello, the woman greeted pleasantly.

Mrs. Tate, Lenore said.

Yes, Mrs. Tate said in a tone as sweet as maple syrup.

Uh, this is Lenore Cavanaugh.

You mean, Travis, Mrs. Tate spat.

I mean, Lenore. She had had her name legally changed.

What do you want? Mrs. Tate asked belligerently. Mrs. Tate was Michael’s mother, and she never approved of Michael being gay. And she damn sure didn’t approve of his relationship with Travis/Lenore.

She refused to step foot in their apartment. And she told Michael that Lenore was not welcome in her house. Once Michael had taken Lenore (when she was dressed as a guy) to the house and his mother said, Y’all just gone somewhere with this gay mess. Her expression appeared as though she was viewing flies swarming around feces. I don’t want the shit in my house.

And one Friday night—morning, actually—it was after one a.m., Lenore and Michael were in bed, watching a movie and the phone rang. Lenore answered it.

You and my son betta check your damn self before you wreck your damn self Mrs. Tate slurred. Obviously, she had been in the Puerto Rican rum, her favorite intoxicant.

And where had she heard that little witticism, The Jerry Springer Show, Lenore thought sarcastically.

Coming out of her mini flashback, Lenore said, I’m looking for Michael.

Why you calling me ‘bout it? Mrs. Tate asked, still being a bitch. "You can’t keep track of your boyfriend?" She said boyfriend like it was a filthy word. Lenore pictured her wearing an ugly expression.

I thought maybe Michael had dropped by to see you, Lenore said. He visited his mom a few times a week.

Well, you thought wrong. I ain’t seen Mikey. What’s going on here? Lenore frowned. What are you asking?

Well, you calling around looking for Mikey. Did y’all have a lover’s quarrel? Did he leave you? Is that why you don’t know where he is?

Oh, I bet hearing that Michael dumped me would brighten your day, Lenore thought. Well, she wasn’t going to give the bitch the gratification.

Well, you know one thang, Mrs. Tate said nastily.

"I know many thangs," Lenore stated. You wanna tell me something new? She was fed up with this shrew’s revolting attitude. And she wanted to cuss her out. For the length of her relationship with Michael, Lenore itched to let Mrs. Tate have it. But because she was Michael’s mama, Lenore gave the slut respect she didn’t deserve.

I hope Mikey did leave you, Mrs. Tate spat. I hope he wised up and got out of that sick relationship with you.

Goodbye, Mrs. Tate, Lenore said and ended the call. She telephoned Michael’s friends and his favorite cousin, but nobody knew anything.

Or so they said. Michael could have put them up to lying.

Calling Michael’s employer was pointless, as she knew his work schedule, and he was off that particular day.

It was late. And she wouldn’t be able to get to the bottom of things until morning, so, she ate a little food without tasting it, showered, went to bed, tossed and turned, glancing at the clock every few minutes.

And the first thing she did the next morning was phone Circuit City, where Michael worked as an assistant manager. She had him paged. Michael, what the hell is going on? she demanded the minute she heard his voice.

Travis? he asked questioningly.

Like he needed to ask. He knew her damn voice.

Lenore, she corrected sharply.

Yeah, I never got use to it, he said.

Now answer my damn question, she snapped. What’s going on? Why did you leave me?

Travis, this isn’t the place to be talking about something like this, he said. I want answers, she yelled.

Somebody could pick up an extension and hear us, he whispered sharply. I don’t give a shit.

Well, I do. I don’t want everybody in the store knowing my business.

Michael’s coworkers didn’t know that he was gay. And it really wasn’t any of their business.

Look, you’re going to tell me something, Lenore snapped in a lower tone. I go out of town. Come home and find out that you’ve packed up and disappeared. I didn’t sleep a wink last night. Now, I want to know why you left me?

He took a deep breath. Okay, okay, he said, still talking softly. I can’t deal with what you’re doing?

She frowned. My sex change? Is that what you mean?

Yeah. I can’t handle it. It was one thing when you dressed up on the weekends and we went to gay bars. But now, you’re doing it twenty four seven and taking those pills.

Michael, ‘those pills’ are called hormones. And to become female, I have to take them, she said.

I know. But our neighbors in the complex where we lived, they knew, Lenore.

One minute he called her Travis, and the next it was Lenore. The boy was so confused. And she knew that she was the talk of the apartment complex. She had seen the stares and the whispers.

I could tell by how they looked at us, Michael said.

I don’t care, she said truthfully.

I do.

We could move to another apartment, she suggested.

Yeah, but they’d pick up on it at the new place, he said. And with you going through this, there’s no way I can stay undercover. His family knew that he

was gay, but his coworkers didn’t. My family already had a problem with us, and now, you want to change yourself.

Michael, this is so unfair, she whined like an injured child.

Well, hey, I’m sorry. His tone was cavalier. Also, I’ve decided to change my life.

Oh, God, was he going to say that he found religion?

I no longer want to be a part of the gay scene, he revealed. I’m going straight.

Lenore rolled her eyes. Michael, you can’t go straight anymore than you can go gay.

I think I can. I mean, if a person decides they want to lose weight, they steer clear of fattening foods, right? Or if someone decides to quit smoking, they fight the urge to grab a cigarette. And after a while, they break the habit.

You sound stupid, Lenore shot. Your sexuality is not a bad habit. You will always be gay. You can’t change it.

Well, I don’t agree with you. It’s all about willpower.

God, people annoyed her thinking they can switch their sexuality on and off like a car ignition. Michael, all you’ll be doing is repressing it, she said peevishly. And how happy will you be?

I met someone, he said, clearly not interested in her opinions.

A woman? she said, like she needed to ask. He no longer wanted to be on the gay scene, so he probably found some unsuspecting woman to call his girlfriend.

Yeah, he said.

Do I know her? No.

You sure? she asked skeptically. In the past, a few of her so-called friends, heterosexual women tried to bust up she and Michael. He was handsome, gainfully employed and good to Lenore. And Lenore guessed that the women figured that although he was gay, he had to have some straight in him to be involved with a transsexual. And since they knew he was a worthwhile man, they tried to steal him from her.

You don’t know her, Michael said.

She believed him. She could always tell when he was lying. He would stutter and pause. But she wondered about this woman. Her appearance. What did she have that would make Michael dump Lenore for her? Well, she was a real woman. Duh! That was the attraction. By being involved with her, he didn’t have to deal with people staring and whispering.

Lenore wondered if Michael’s new romantic squeeze knew about his past? She’d bet a thirty-day supply of estrogen tablets that she didn’t have a clue. She was sure that Michael hadn’t breathed a word to her. Men who went both ways usually kept that info to themselves.

Look, I’m going to hang up, he said. Take care of yourself. I wish you luck.

The phone clicked in her ear. How could he do this, live with her for four years and then dump her like she was an old issue of Newsweek? All because she was going through a sex change, which shouldn’t have come as a bombshell to him.

The whole time they were a duo, she did drag every Friday and Saturday night, dolling up and hitting the gay bars. And Michael always accompanied her. But

obviously, he could deal with a weekend drag queen and not a transsexual. * * *

After it ended with Michael, for nights and nights, Lenore couldn’t sleep.

Or eat properly. She dropped pounds. Her clothes became baggy and unflattering.

She experienced unexplained itching. Regularly, she smoothed on itch-relief gel. To be on the safe side, she saw a doctor, who told her that she was in perfect health. So, as she suspected, the itching was stress related. She had read that significant changes in one’s life could cause itching. At times, she thought she was going insane.

She had bouts of fury, and during those episodes, she banged the walls with her fists. And hurled the dish rack on the floor, turning plates and glasses into shards.

How could Michael hurt her this way?

But he always had issues with his sexuality, masculinity, whatever.

And Lenore supposed he admired her because she was feminine and soft. And without thinking about it, they role-played. She cleaned the apartment, cooked meals and shopped for groceries.

And when the faucet dripped or the heating element in the oven needed replacing, or when their cars broke down, Michael took care of it.

They had assumed rather traditional gender roles.

But despite Michael’s manliness, she always feared that he’d dump her for a man-man—a non drag queen.

Lenore had been around the block, and she knew how things went in the transsexual world. Most guys, who were involved with drag queens or pre-op transsexuals, at some point, usually dumped them for a masculine man.

But Michael deserted her for a woman.

That man-stealing bitch, Lenore snapped in her head.

Lenore felt vindictive. She wanted to hurt Michael.

Punch him. Slap him. Scratch him. Give him a black eye.

Stop it, she thought. You’re sounding nutty. And besides, revenge wasn’t her style. She believed in putting unpleasantness behind her and moving forward.

So, on that note, she went on with her life, enjoying her apartment, her favorite TV shows, movies, and novels.

For several months, she had not laid eyes on Michael Tate, but one day, she saw him in the supermarket, cradling a baby, swathed in a blue blanket. She caught a glimpse of the caramel-colored infant with soft, jet-black hair.

In front of the dairy case was a stalled shopping cart and a woman grabbing a package of cheddar cheese.

Lenore felt awkward, but she couldn’t just walk off without mumbling a word to Michael. That would have been impolite. And she was a gracious southern lady.

So, she put on a smile and said, Hi, Michael.

Uh, hey, he said, looking extremely uneasy. He surreptitiously took in her new appearance. Her hair had grown to shoulder length and was styled beautifully. The hormones and electrolysis had made her skin silky smooth. And her makeup was skillfully applied.

And naturally, she was clad in female garb. By then, she had become steeped in the female role, so she was more seasoned and poised. And she knew she looked great. And Michael’s expression indicated that he thought so too.

She figured he was edgy because he feared that his woman might have ideas about Lenore and wonder what was his connection to the man dressed as a woman. Although Lenore looked like a woman, some people still wondered about her. You can’t fool ‘em all. Not that she was trying to fool anybody.

How you doing? Michael asked Lenore.

Fine, she replied. Nodding to the squirming lump in the blue blanket, she said, Who’s that?

Before Michael could answer, the woman piped up. Michael, who’s this? Her tone was pleasant.

Uh, Michael said, looking stupid. Thinking on his feet was never one of his attributes, Lenore thought.

Michael and I used to work together, Lenore lied. She extended her hand to the woman.

Oh, the woman sang, shaking Lenore’s hand. And not seeming to be questioning Lenore’s gender. Lenore could tell when people thought something. They’d sneakily check out her hands or feet, which were not giveaways.

Well, I’m Michael’s wife, Bertrice, the woman revealed.

Michael’s wife? So, he was now a husband and a father. She wondered if he was having sex with Bertrice while he was living with her. And what the hell kind of a name was Bertrice?

Lenore faked a warm smile. „Hi," she greeted Bertrice.

Bertrice stepped over to Michael, „And this is our son, Michael Jr.," she revealed, grinning abundantly at the child, obviously a proud mama.

„He‘s adorable," Lenore said truthfully.

„We think so," Bertrice caroled.

„Well, Bertrice, it was nice meeting you, Lenore said graciously. „And Michael, it was good seeing you too. You two take care.

Smiling, Bertrice said, „You do the same."

Lenore seriously doubted if Michael had told Bertrice that he once shacked up with a transsexual. And as much as she resented him for breaking her heart, she wouldn‘t reveal his past.

It would have been petty and nasty.

Let him live out the life he wanted. That‘s what she was doing, after all.

But seeing the man she loved, with his wife and child was hard to swallow.

She had wanted to cry, right there on the spot, but fought the desire to do so.

After paying for her items, she entered her car, and sat behind the steering wheel. And sobbed like she was at a dear friend‘s funeral.

And in a way she was. The life she had had with Michael was dead.

Driving home, she had thought about how she had had it all planned out. She would have a sex change operation, and she and Michael would get married and have a fabulous life. He‘d be her loving, supportive husband.

What he had with Bertrice, he could have had with her, even a sweet baby.

They could have adopted. Or gotten a woman to carry a baby for them.

But Michael didn‘t want to deal with her because she was a transsexual.

So, after seeing Michael and his new family, and being rejected by her so-called friends, Lenore decided to relocate to Charlottesville, and make a new life in new surroundings.

CHAPTER 2 

Finally, she pulled into her new apartment complex, gingerly going over a few speed bumps. Maureen and the