Chapter 7

“How do I look?” Tiffany asked Dale as she modeled her outfit. She wore a charcoal-gray pinstripe jacket and matching skirt, a white blouse with a ruffled bodice and with her hair held in a faux pearl studded headband. She had on sheer black stockings and black patent-leather pumps. Pearl earrings dangled from her earlobes.

“You look gorgeous,” he replied. “You put on a bit of eye liner.”

“Just a touch. Do you like?”

“I do, and I like the touch of gloss on your lips. What do you have planned for today?”

“Nothing yet but I have some ideas I want to bounce off Jan. We’re going to do some sort of press conference.”

“Keep me informed,” he said, “and good luck. Or, should I say, break a leg?”

“I’ll take as much good luck as I can get.”

They embraced and kissed. Dale caressed her cheek and gazed into her dark brown eyes. “I love you, Tiff.”

“Oh, I know you do. God, how I know. I love you, too.”

Dale headed to his office and busied himself writing a proposal for a new client. Around noon his phone signaled an incoming call. “Hi, Tiff,” he said.

“We have a plan,” she replied. “We’re scheduling a press conference for five this afternoon, but Deirdre will keep them cooling their heels until close to five-thirty.”

“Why so late?”

“We want this to break late enough so it won’t hit the early news,” she replied. “This way it’ll be on the late news.”

“So, when the next news cycle gets underway it’ll be old news,” he remarked.

“That’s right. With any luck by tomorrow it’ll be just a sidebar.”

“Was this Jan’s idea?”

“No, it was mine,” she replied. “Jan endorsed it. I’d like it if you’d be here for it ... if you can spare the time, that is.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“If you could be here by four-thirty that would be great. Park in the same lot as before. I’ll tell them you’re expected.”

Tiffany met Dale by the main lobby reception desk and escorted him to a briefing room on the third floor. “This is where we hold our press conferences,” she said.

“I recognize it from the news.”

“We offer a pooled television feed that goes to all the local stations’ news rooms. Usually we have two cameras, one aimed at the podium and another aimed at the room for when someone asks a question. Tonight we’re using the one podium camera because we will not be taking questions. Jan will deliver some opening remarks and then I have a statement to make. It should be over in about five minutes.”

“What do you think the reaction will be?” Dale asked.

“I keep thinking about what you said last night -- those who matter won’t care and those who care won’t matter. I have a press release written that we’ll distribute after the press conference.”

She led him to a room behind the stage. “Is this your green room?” he asked.

“Of sorts.”

A stocky red-haired woman stepped into the room. “Tiffany, Jan said she’ll be down in a few minutes and wanted me to see if you need anything.”

“No, Deirdre, but thanks. Oh, this is my boyfriend Dale Whitely. Dale, this is Deidre Russell, our office gnome.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Dale replied.

“The pleasure is mine. Tiffany has told me about you and now that I know her story ... she is so very fortunate to have someone in her life who cares for her the way you do.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Tiffany led Dale to a small adjacent room. Inside sat a young man at a desk, on which were four video displays. “This is Brian, our audio-visual guy,” Tiffany said. “He manages the pool feed to the local stations and does the switching between cameras.”

“We’re all set up,” Brian said to Tiffany, “ready to go.”

“You can watch the proceedings from here,” Tiffany said to Dale. “We have some time to kill. We have a little snack bar with sodas or hot drinks.”

“I’m good for now,” Dale replied.

Tiffany slipped out of her jacket. “How do I look?”

“Lovely.”

“But, do I look girlie enough?”

“You look very feminine,” he replied.

“I thought I’d leave off the jacket. I think this blouse shows off my figure better without it.”

“You have a terrific figure.”

“I want to make sure I look the opposite of what some folks’ stereotype of a trans-gender might be.”

“I think you have succeeded. So, who have you invited to this little shindig?”

“The usual -- all the local television stations, including the public TV one ... the radio stations, the local mainstream newspaper plus the alternative press ... about twenty in all. We told them it was regarding a personnel matter.”

“Personnel or personal?” he quipped.

“Both, I guess.”

“Did you invite the Clarion Call?”

“We did...” She picked up a tablet and consulted it. “They did not RSVP, however.”

Jan Maarten stepped into the room. She spotted Dale and approached him. “Dale -- so happy you’re here for moral support.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he replied. “I want very much to get this monkey off Tiff’s back.”

Brian approached them holding a wireless lapel microphone. He handed it to Jan. “If you’ll excuse me I need to get this on,” she said.

Brian handed another microphone set to Tiffany. “Dale -- help me with this. Clip the transmitter to the back of my skirt hem.” He complied and helped her snake the wire under her blouse. “I’ve never worn one of these before.”

“Let’s do a mike check ... Jan...”

“Testing one,” she said.”

“Good. Now Tiffany. Just keep your head up and forget it’s there.”

“Testing ... testing...”

“Good levels on both.”

Jan turned to Tiffany. “Ready?”

“As I ever will be.”

Dale watched as they headed through a door that opened behind the pipe and drape that framed the stage. Brian pressed a button on his switcher and the image from camera one appeared on the feed monitor. Deirdre stepped behind the curtain and he saw Jan stand behind the podium with Tiffany in her usual place, to Jan’s left and a step behind.

“Thank you all for coming,” Jan said, addressing the dozen and a half sitting in folding chairs. “Two days ago one of my staff received a letter from persons unknown who are claiming to have information this staff member would prefer to remain private. This letter was an attempt to extort a large sum of money in exchange for keeping the matter private. After considerable discussion, the decision was made to come forth publicly and thus remove any monetary value this information may have.

“I want to emphasize that the material, obtained illegally by these blackmailers, has nothing to do with this staff member’s qualifications or ability to perform their assigned responsibilities. It is entirely a deeply personal matter.” Jan paused to peruse the attendees.

“Tiffany Coxx,” she continued, “is my Press Secretary. She joined my team four years ago, coming from the State University with a cum laude degree in journalism. Tiffany has become much more than my press representative. Indeed, she has become my closest and most trusted advisor, and my friend. She’s more than my friend -- she is my right hand. If I need anything done right and done now, I ask Tiffany to take care of it. She has not once let me down. I love her ... like a daughter.” Jan stepped to the right. “Now, Tiffany has a statement to make.”

Tiffany stepped to the podium. “First I want to thank Mayor Jan Maarten for taking a chance on a freshly graduated university student. The four years I have spent as Mayor Maarten’s Press Secretary are the most rewarding of my life. Two days ago I received an anonymous letter demanding that I pay ten thousand dollars to prevent a secret from being exposed. This secret has nothing to do with my career, my qualifications, or my education. It has everything to do with the life I live. That secret is ... I am trans-gender.” She paused to scan the attendees for a reaction.

“I was born,” she said, “a boy named Tyrone Coxx. From as far as I remember I knew something was wrong. I knew that, inside I am female, born with a male body. The more I tried to live as a boy the more unhappy I was. The more my parents insisted I live as a boy, the more desperate I became. The summer before entering middle school, I was so distressed at the prospect of enduring puberty as a boy I attempted suicide. It was a half-heated attempt, but I did get the attention of my parents as to how serious this was for me. They took me to a child psychologist who diagnosed me with gender dysphoria and I began the transition from a boy named Tyrone to a girl named Tiffany. When I was sixteen I had my name and gender legally changed, having satisfied all the legal requirements for doing so. These court documents, filed under seal by a judge’s order, were obtained by persons unknown and used to blackmail me.

“The reasons for my desire to keep this matter private are, first, my privacy. This is not something anyone needs to know in order to conduct business with me or to interact with me on a professional basis. I don’t need to know the bedroom details of any of you, nor do I care to. This is strictly a private matter for me, and these blackmailers are forcing me to make it public.

“Secondly, it was for my safety. Trans people suffer a much higher level of discrimination and violence than the general population. Being Black adds to it. I am not comfortable with the general public knowing that I am a trans-woman, but now this is something I have to live with. This is who I am. I hope this news will not change how any of you interact with me on a professional basis.”

Jan stepped to her and put her arm around Tiffany’s shoulder. “That is all,” she said. “There will be no questions. Thank you for coming.”

Tears began to flow down Tiffany’s cheeks. “Thank you.”

“There, there...” Jan embraced her. “You know I love you ... as if you were my own daughter.”

“It’s the release...”

Dale looked at the screen. “Brian -- kill camera one and the audio. No need for any of this to go out.”

“Right...” Brian pressed buttons and the feed monitor displayed the city seal.

Tiffany and Jan emerged from backstage. “You were awesome,” Dale said to her.

“I lost it at the end.”

“The fact you stood there and said what you said with such poise ... That took a lot of courage, Tiff. You have better balls than I have.”

She embraced him. “I love you so much. You always have a way of turning my frown around.”

“So, are we headed home?”

“I’ll be along shortly. I need to post and distribute that press release.”

“Why don’t we meet at The Palace? This sounds like the sort of day that deserves one of their double cheeseburgers and an extra-thick chocolate malt.”

“That sounds like an excellent suggestion,” Jan remarked. “Would you mind if I tagged along? I haven’t been to The Palace in years.”

“Of course you’re welcome,” Dale replied.

“I’ll hitch a ride with Tiffany and call to have my driver pick me up from there.”

Dale drove to The Palace diner on the outskirts of the city. He stepped inside and sat in a booth. A server approached him. “What can I get ya, hon?”