You blink. “No,” you say. “No wonder my tummy is rumbling. Well, I’m not dressed to go out…” You giggle.“How about room service?”“Ok...y.”“And when you check out, pay for that in cash. You don’t want two dinners showing up on your MasterCard bill.”“Ooo, that’s a good point. Okay. Now, where’s the menu? There was one by the phone…” —An hour later, after a lovely dinner – it was only seven o’clock – I make myself scarce in the bathroom while you call whatshisname. Don’t want him worrying or even. She had moved here from Arkansas and had met "Mr. Bonacci"one night when he came into the convenience store she where she worked.After the third glass of wine I finally asked her if the fact that sheworked at the club meant she was a girl like me. She laughed and said shewas.Our stories were similar in that we were from rural areas and had neverreally "fit in" as male. She had moved to Dallas after high school andwas really just struggling to survive. She had started on hormones whenshe went to. More

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