Marcia Talley - Dead Man Dancing

My breath flew out of me in a rush. ‘Yes!’

‘And you worried that I might have bumped Melanie off to make sure she kept quiet about it, is that right?’

‘I’m ashamed to say that the thought had flitted across my mind.’

‘Honey, I’ve been living RLS, real life experience, for three years, my SRS is next month, and I couldn’t care less who knows it!’ She retrieved her handbag from the floor, plopped it on the table, pried it open, and drew out her wallet. ‘Look at this,’ she said, showing me her driver’s license. It was from Illinois, her name was Laurie R. Wainwright, it pictured Laurie as she sat before me now, and there, in the critical box reserved for ‘sex’ was the letter ‘F’.

‘Isn’t that the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?’

‘I guess it is,’ I said with a laugh. I slid the tangible proof of her new identity back across the table, relief flooding through me. ‘I look like a convict on my driver’s license,’ I added, but I knew it wasn’t the picture to which Laurie was referring when she used the word ‘beautiful’. It was the letter ‘F’ for ‘female’.

‘I’ve got a temporary passport in my name, too, but that’s so precious I leave it at home.’

I felt my face grow hot. ‘I’m thoroughly embarrassed.’

‘Don’t be! It may be some sort of secret down here in Maryland, but it’s just because Tom and I don’t talk about it much. Everybody knows back in Chicago!’

Still thinking about the license I asked, ‘Is it hard to get all the paperwork changed?’

‘Honey, it’s a freaking nightmare, and Illinois is easier than most. To get the license changed, I had to see a shrink and babble on about how much I hated myself, yada yada yada, until he got totally bored listening to me boo-hoo and he filled out the report I needed. Then my doctor had to do a report. After SRS, it’ll take an affidavit from the surgeon saying the operation is complete, but it won’t be long before I’ll have a brand new birth certificate, social security card… you name it.’

Laurie picked up her Diet Coke, leaned back in her chair, inserted the straw between her glossy, cherry-red lips and sipped thirstily. She smiled around the straw, as if something amusing had just occurred to her. ‘And if the Social Security Administration thinks I’m a girl, who’s going to argue with them?’

‘Will you be able to dance professionally?’

There. I’d asked the million-dollar question.

Laurie didn’t skip a beat. ‘You bet’cha. The organizers have the right to demand verification of anything I write on my application, but if I put down an ‘F’, and I’ve got the documentation to back it up… no problem.’

‘I’m really glad about that.’

‘One thing I can’t do, though, is run in the Olympics.’ She threw her head back and laughed out loud. ‘Not until they figure out a way to get rid of my Y-chromosome, anyway.’

We sat quietly for a moment. Laurie was first to break the silence. ‘You know what your friend Melanie said when I told her I used to be a guy?’

I shook my head.

‘Deuteronomy 23:1.’

I rolled my eyes. Deuteronomy again. ‘Since Pastor Eva’s not here, you’ll have to help me out a bit, Laurie.’

She stared up, as if reading the words off the ceiling. ‘“He that is wounded in the stones, or hath his privy member cut off, shall not enter into the congregation of the Lord.”’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ Frankly, I was getting sick and tired of Deuteronomy. Surely there was some book in the Apocrypha we could replace it with. The Book of Judith, for example. I made a note to ask Eva about it.

Laurie placed her empty cup on her tray. ‘That Melanie was one crazy, mixed-up little bitch, but she sure as hell could dance.’

I grinned. ‘My husband says the same thing about you, Laurie, but not the crazy, mixed-up part.’

‘He does? Sweet boy. I probably should thank him.’

To my amazement, Laurie raised an arm and began jangling her bracelets. I twisted my head to see Paul ambling in our direction, carrying a tray of half-eaten barbeque. ‘I didn’t want to interrupt the gab fest,’ he said, pulling out a chair and sitting down to join us. ‘But, have you picked out a fresh, spring color for your hair yet, Hannah?’

I popped him one on the side of his head with the flat of my hand. ‘You were spying on me. Admit it.’

‘Never.’

I gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘Thank you.’

‘Well,’ Laurie said, rising from her chair. ‘Are we going to go look for shoes or not?’

‘We are.’ I stood up, too, and looked at Paul. ‘Will you take care of our trays, sweetheart ?’

‘Of course, darling .’

I waggled my fingers at him. ‘Toodle-loo!’

As Laurie and I strolled up the ramp from the food court in the direction of Nordstrom at the opposite end of the mall, Laurie said, ‘Your Paul’s a great guy. You should keep him around.’

‘I intend to,’ I said with a grin. We paused for a moment in front of Borders’s window to check out a display of cookbooks. ‘Do you mind if I ask you what your name was before?’

‘You’ll laugh,’ Laurie said as we moved on.

‘No, I won’t.’

At Hot Topic Laurie stopped to admire a spaghetti-strapped black dress with white polka dots and red buttons. After a moment she said, ‘Oscar.’

I stared at my friend, sputtered, giggled, and finally laughed until tears ran down my cheeks.

‘I told you so,’ Laurie said. ‘Now, stop laughing, girl, and let’s go get those shoes.’

I’d hoped for a quiet day, but it wasn’t to be.

I fed Don Fosher breakfast, supplied him with a house key, then waved him off to the police station where he had an appointment to turn over the printouts I’d helped him make of Melanie’s email. After he finished at the police station he had an even sadder mission: reporting to Kramer’s where he would pick up Melanie’s ashes and carry them home with him to Massachusetts on a flight out of BWI later that evening.

With no evidence to the contrary, the county police were treating Melanie’s death as accidental. At least that’s what was reported on the front page of the Capital . I hoped the information Don provided would help the police reconsider.

Ruth called at ten, in tears. Hutch had officially withdrawn from the Shall We Dance? competition. A stand-in for Melanie was against the rules. ‘Maybe next year,’ the producer growled. Ruth downed two Excedrin and took herself to bed.

Hutch stopped by at eleven on the way to his office. I gave him some coffee and half a pan of home-made cinnamon rolls. He seemed remarkably unruffled about Shall We Dance?, perhaps even relieved. ‘Since I’ve blocked out the time,’ he said mysteriously, licking sugar off his fingers, ‘perhaps I should do something constructive with it.’

Ten minutes after Hutch left, Paul popped home for a tuna fish sandwich, then headed back to the Academy to teach a one thirty class.

I was just thinking about Kay when she rang through on my cell. ‘Hannah? Is this a good time to talk?’

Fearing the conversation might be a bit tricky, I took a minute to stall. ‘Can I call you back in ten minutes? I’ve got somebody with me right now.’

I hung up the phone and called Paul, but I could hear his cell phone chirping away on the entrance hall table. Absent-minded professor had forgotten it again. I left a message on his office phone, then called Eva, who picked up on the first ring.

‘Eva, Kay called. I may need you. Where are you right now?’

‘Standing in the checkout at Safeway.’ I could hear the beep as each item passed over the scanner. ‘As soon as I’m done here, I’ll be right over. Can you store my chicken in your freezer?’