The Heiress and The Transvestite: Part Three

English: A pair of high heeled shoe with 12cm ...

The Slice of Life series

Fiction

“The Heiress and The Transvestite”

© copyright 2013    Susan S. Barmon

All Rights Reserved

The Heiress and The Transvestite: Part Three

Monday when I arrived I could hear the vacuum running. I called up the stairwell and started up. I was almost at the top of the stairs when the vacuuming stopped and I heard The Transvestite calling out as he walked down the hall. Those weren’t Reeboks I was hearing on the wood floor. He came through the door exaggerating his walk and posture, reminding me of an emaciated runway model. Kids playing dress up also came to mind. I almost started to laugh. He looked like someone’s brother dressed up in his sister’s clothes. It was our first meeting, and when he saw me he said, “Ah Julia, How nice to meet you. I’m Marty Sparks and I’ve heard so much about you from The Heiress. ”

What really surprised me was his face, pock-marked and nicotine lined and makeup-less. His hair was cut mullet style with a short ponytail. The cut-off jean skirt and nondescript knit top capped off the outfit. It was all very disconcerting. He looked like a “wanna be”  drag queen in early training. (Although I don’t believe any self respecting drag-queen-in-training would be caught dead in that outfit).  He gave me a big hug hello as if this was the norm and we’d been friends for years. I was a little uneasy and at a loss, not knowing how to respond. He seemed very unpredictable. I didn’t know if I should make a humorous crack or be really serious, although it was really beyond me to take this man and his clothes seriously.

I opted out of saying anything, just standing there feeling very stupid. At that moment I missed my mother so much and wished we could have a good laugh when I called to tell her what was happening. Knowing that wasn’t going to happen, I pulled myself back to reality. Smelling faint traces of The Heiress’s perfume, mixed with his strong smell of cigarettes, he threw his arms around me as if we were long lost friends, announcing that he would take me to The Heiress. “She’s downstairs.”

Guiding me to the back stairs, he carefully sashayed down the narrow, winding stairs teetering in his four inch black patent leather spiked heels and forties style seamed stockings. When we reached the side of the basement where The Heiress was he dramatically threw the office door open, announcing my arrival as a bunch of leaves fell off the Balinese Tinker Toy jungle just outside the door. The Heiress’s jaw dropped when she realized what he was wearing. He slithered in, grabbed her ass, rubbed up against her like a horny dog, asking if we need anything else. I think he was disappointed when she didn’t say, “Yes, you.” But she did say,”Pick up those damn leaves and reattach them when you go back upstairs. And the girls will be home from school soon.” The girls being Ali and Hannah, his daughters.

I didn’t say anything to her about him and she ignored what had just transpired. We just started to get on with gallery business. Later I saw the future flat and was excited to share the news with Matt. It would be the largest space we would ever have in San Francisco, in a terrific neighborhood. And best of all we would be able to get rid of our storage unit in the East Bay and have all of our belongings in one place. Seemed like the tide was turning.

I brought Matt over to see the flat. No one was around except The Heiress. He liked it and the neighborhood as much as I did and we started to discuss money and move-in schedules with The Heiress, figuring that it would probably be another month before the current tenants were gone and the space made ready for us.

Looking back on the timing, we were ready for the change but blind to the future pitfalls. I think we were just slow learners.

A couple of weeks later at the gallery, The Heiress told me we “were a go” to move in at the end of the month and, “The French boy is also moving in that day. He will be staying in the office side of the basement.” Who, I wondered, was the French boy?

to be continued. . .

 

**********

Photo Credit: “A pair of high heeled shoes with 12 cm heels,” by Wikipedia.  Public Domain Photo.

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1 Comment

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One response to “The Heiress and The Transvestite: Part Three

  1. Pingback: The Heiress and The Transvestite: Part Three | Capitare a Fagiolo

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