Chapter 8: The Noose Tightens

Did I happen to mention everything was moving so fast? People weren't really surprised Lance Layton took his commission and ran for the door as fast as he could. There wasn't an employee in the firm who didn't wish they could produce the same results for themselves. The rumors ran rampant: he had purchased his own seat and started his own firm; he was trading through the Internet from his new home in Aruba; his marital problems had so devastated him, he had quit the business entirely and now ran a charter boat in Key West (my personal favorite); he had secretly been Michael Jackson all along, hiding out from the glare of publicity while attempting to re-build his fortune.

Nor were they really surprised Rob and Jim had 'gone outside' to acquire their new Executive Vice-President. Lisa Layne had come highly recommended. She and Lance had been classmates and friendly competitors in the Finance curriculum at their university, so the gossip went. They had both gone into futures trading and, according to the departed Mr. Layton, she had done quite well herself. When he decided to leave the firm, he had floated her name as his best possible replacement. The two senior executives had planned to make him their choice for V.P., but valued his judgment and had tendered her an offer, which she had accepted. Angie had been proud to come up with, then disseminate, that plum piece of disinformation. One very real aspect of this move was: Major Trades was being re-vamped into the "Strategic Trading Group", and its direction would be the new Vice-President's - my - primary focus.

Another rumor spread immediately, and unbidden; the new Veep was "a real looker". That rumor probably began in the Transportation Department. I hadn't known we even had a 'Transportation Department'. Most likely, it was just three or four guys from Maintenance who had been Shanghai-ed into going down to the garage, loading Lisa Layne's recently-arrived personal effects onto carts, then bringing them up the service elevator to the top floor and delivering them to her new office. She and her Personal Assistant had been there to supervise the unloading. The guys already knew Angie. They had been suitably (no pun intended) impressed with Ms. Layton herself. Add the glowing welcoming memo circulated from the Offices of the Chairman and President, and everyone accepted the new 'suit' without a second thought — but not without a second look.

That was Wednesday morning. To preserve the fiction of the 'outside hire' and thus protect my identity, Angie and I had boxed up all my stuff from my office Tuesday night, then taken it down to the garage on those same carts. Employee Relations had fast- tracked the new hire's paperwork after receiving the memo from Rob. I don't know how the issue of the Social Security Number had been handled. Angie told me it was best if I didn't know for now; 'plausible deniability'. Maybe she bought one on the Internet.

She and I had gone shopping Tuesday afternoon for my new wardrobe. One of my 'executive perks' was a generous clothing allowance, which came in very handy. The outfits we purchased were tasteful. Okay, they were largely tasteful; after all, I was a Vice-President now. With Angie helping me pick out my apparel, you know there were going to be some delightfully feminine touches — like... no pantsuits or pantyhose. Somehow, a portion of my clothing allowance found its way into 'leisurewear'. I even got to expense my new corsetry — and a few other little 'ups and extras'. Sigh. The things we must do to get ahead in Business...

At home, Angie boxed up all of Lance's clothes, shoes, and underwear to make room for Lisa's. She was all set to take it down to Goodwill. I told her an Executive Assistant did not concern herself with grunt work; I would have someone pick it up and deliver it. I did - to a storage locker on North Clark Street, just in case the 'Lisa' thing didn't work out...

The whole girly-girl thing completely bewildered me. I had dismissed my childhood wonder long ago as exactly that. Now, that wonderment had sprouted and taken root like a long-dormant seed. It was turning out to be one of those things you didn't know you were going to like, then suddenly discovered you really, really do and can't get enough of. It's kind of like having a compulsion for Hot Fudge Sundaes — without the calories. Angie loved it. She now had a girlfriend at work with whom she had so much in common. That her girlfriend was also her supervisor, whom now wrote her performance reviews, was Serendipity itself. That her girlfriend was also... well, you get the idea.

Dianna couldn't have been happier for me. Now that 'Lisa' was going to be around 24/7, she lobbied me heavily to get 'done'. I was tempted, but worried about the degree of permanence it would attach to this strange new lifestyle. Was I ready for that? I offered up the thirteen weeks remaining before the show as a dodge. Would that be enough time? She argued yes, if we hurried. My lover had been surprisingly understanding about the 'promotion party'. She was not ashamed to admit using sex to get what she wanted and saw no difference in what I did; it wasn't like I was out cruising for a new boyfriend. I didn't see the wisdom in pointing out the 'new boyfriend' may have been out cruising for me. I loved her and that was that.

She was overwhelmed I had thought so much of her, I had immediately hopped in a cab and come to share it all with her, rather than letting it wait or not telling her at all. No one before me, she avowed, had ever displayed such consideration for her thoughts and feelings. She had begun crying again, and I had to find a creative way to dry her tears and turn her sobs into shrieks of bliss.

As much as I was learning about her, I still felt Dianna was an enigma. It wasn't so much what she said as what she didn't say. I had had the impression before; she was holding something back. I had visited Ringers and talked to Chantal and the other girls. I learned Dianna, like most of the girls, held back from everyone, including her friends, to protect herself from being hurt. Pain — both physical and emotional — was a constant in their world. I didn't know what she might still be withholding from me, but hoped it wouldn't damage us both.

My attorney called Thursday morning. When I had initiated my proceedings against Susan, I had specified that my communications to and from him would be via my cell phone, not through the company switchboard. Although 'Lisa' now had her own cell, I had retained my original one for exactly this reason. As much as I respected Angie, I didn't want to expose my 'dirty laundry' to her or anyone else in the company. Now, I was glad I had had the foresight.

The investigator had dug up a goldmine of information which explained a lot. Jeff Spencer had a major gambling problem. The 'multi-millionaire star' was in serious debt to the bookies. Susan had been carrying him financially. Now she too had been stretched to the limit, maintaining the façade of their star-quality lifestyle. No wonder she wanted me back! So, which ploy would she use? Live with me, while secretly sucking me dry to prop up her lover, or tell me it had "all been an awful mistake, and can you ever forgive me?" - and dump the QB like yesterday's trash? Then again, if she did dump Jeff, how long would she stay this time before her roving eye caught sight of fresh meat? No thanks.

There had been another disturbing development. The phone taps indicated a suspicious pattern of activity between Jeff and another party, presumed to be female. At first the investigator suspected it was simply one of his other lovers — one Susan did not know about. The taps recorded conversation that indicated Jeff was running some kind of sting operation — and I was the target! The apparent intent was to ruin my personal reputation in a very public way, allowing Susan to side-step my allegations of "Open and Notorious Adultery" and clean me out.

It was unknown at that time whether or not Susan was involved in the set-up, as her voice never appeared in any of the conversations. The communications were directed to and from a pre-paid disposable cell phone which the investigator could not trace. He was currently trying to obtain the cellular records to isolate which cell towers had handled the calls, to get a better idea of where the third party was geographically located. In the meantime, the attorney cautioned me to be especially vigilant in my professional and personal relationships and not involve myself in any activity which could be turned against me legally and, more importantly, publicly.

Now he tells me!

This was a conspiracy theorist's wet dream. Jeff's contact was "presumed to be female." There were a lot of new 'females' in my life of late. Most of them seemed to be hell-bent on pushing me down a path that was guaranteed to explode in my face if it was ever made public. That path had just been institutionalized; 'Lance' was gone and 'Lisa' was a company executive. Angie had pushed hard, blackmailed me down that road. Then again, Dianna wasn't exactly trying to talk me out of it, anymore than were the girls at Ringers. In fact, I met the gorgeous T-girl because she had 'dated' Jeff. For that matter, this would be just the kind of revenge Susan would eat up to get back at me for leaving her, even if it was her own fault.

The conspirators were not necessarily limited to Jeff and one female, either. That could be just the tip of the iceberg. The firm — that is, Rob and Jim — leased a skybox at Soldier Field for entertaining current and prospective clients, politicians, and other notables. Naturally, they were cozy with the team's management and, on social occasions, player personnel. It wasn't conceivable they had never met Jeff Spencer, the team's star. Could they all be in this together?

My employers had taken great pains to be supportive of me through my crisis with Susan — but dare I take that at face value? Money talks; did my money — the money I made for them in the course of my work - talk louder than the team's? I said the team's because they had a substantial stake in their quarterback's wellbeing. They might not publicly bail him out of his potentially scandalous problem; that would be a public relations disaster for both the team and the league. But if they could deflect any breaking scandal onto a convenient scapegoat, while helping their 'investment' out financially, wouldn't they jump at the chance? Who do I trust? Perhaps, as the cliché goes, I should trust no one.

Key West was looking better all the time.

¡Qué Diga! What do you mean, a 'fashion show'? Have you been holding out on me, Mija?"

"I didn't think it was that big a deal, Angie," I responded, embarrassed. That's why I've been wearing corsets every day. Paul said I would need figure training..."

"Get outta town!" Angie barked. "Paul C., the corset-maker, wants you to model for him? I would kill just to meet him, let alone walk the runway for him. Our paths never seem to cross."

"I can introduce you," I offered. "To tell you the truth, I think you would be perfect as one of his models — much better than me."

"What do you mean, 'much better than you'?" my assistant challenged. "You are gorgeous!"

"Yeah," I countered, "but you have the body for it; I don't. Face it; I'm just not endowed like you. A lot of Paul's creations feature either demi cups or no cups at all. I would need a heavyweight Hollywood special effects artist to craft a convincing pair of boobs and a tush for me to wear that stuff."

"How about a heavyweight Chicago plastic surgeon instead?" the Latina chirped.

Not her, too!

"Actually," I admitted, "I've discussed that with friends. With only thirteen weeks to go, I don't think I could be ready in time."

"Thirteen weeks?" Angie questioned.

Then, her eyes lit up.

"Ohmigod!" she gasped. "You're doing the fashion show at the Mr. Gay Leather Pageant? Oh, Honey; people come from all over the United States, Canada, and Europe for that. It is one of the biggest gay/fetish events of the year! Thirteen weeks is plenty of time if we get on it right now. I'll get on the phone and clear it with Rob. He will eat this up!"

"Do you really think so?" I gushed with false enthusiasm. "I can't wait."

I gulped — with luck, imperceptibly — and hoped for the umpteenth time I knew what I was doing.

I had embarked upon a dangerous game of cat-and-mouse. I wasn't one to sit back and let events run their course, regardless of the outcome. That is not what commodity traders do. I was determined to discover the nature of the 'hammer', and who was dropping it on me.

I had my attorney and his investigator on my side. I had not divulged anything about 'Lisa' to them; at least, not yet. My attorney would have had a stroke, with such a revelation coming on the heels of the warning he had just given me. I could not go to The Media. Publicity was the one thing I was trying to avoid at all costs. If the story did break at this point, the conspirators would simply crawl back under their rock and gloat, having accomplished what they set out to do.

I could not go to the police, either. I had learned enough through Dianna and the girls at Ringers to know cops abuse transgenders worse than Society at large. In their eyes, 'Lisa Layne, Executive Vice-President' would appear to be a T-girl scam of epic proportions. At the same time, Jeff Spencer was an idol to every macho jerk in Chicago — particularly the ones wearing badges. Chicago's Finest would more likely take Susan and Jeff's side than mine, unless I could provide iron-clad proof of criminal conduct on their part.

I would have to draw the conspirators out in the open to obtain that proof. To accomplish that, I would need to dangle some bait. Hey, maybe I was in the fishing business after all.

Rob didn't know that heavyweight plastic surgeon personally, but Jim did. His ex-wife swore by the doctor's work — and she had reason(s) to know. Rob gave his enthusiastic Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval and Jim made the call. Chicago is all about Clout; Rob and Jim had it. Yeah, that's right; Five PM, that afternoon, offices on Superior Street, for the consultation.

Before I kept that appointment, I needed to get with Paul, A.S.A.P.

I was glad I didn't have to give up the Mercedes when I gave up 'Lance'. The ploy had been so simple: When Lance decided to leave the firm and get a fresh start, he had sold it to his 'friend', Lisa. She had been grateful to forego the hassle of transporting a car from the city where she had been living. She hadn't been hesitant to tell people around the company the elegant E500 Sport was a nice 'upgrade' from her Lexus. Angie was eating up the luxury sedan as we made our way to Rogers Park. I could tell she was really getting into the perks of the 'Executive' lifestyle.

Paul was as gracious as ever. If he cast a lustful glance at me and the even more voluptuous Angie, he kept it a discreet one.

"Lisa!" he boomed. "You look absolutely lovely! You really are going to be perfect for the show. And who is your charming companion?"

"Paul," I began, "this is my friend, Angie. I was wondering if you could use her..."

"... in a heartbeat," he finished. "She's in. I would be lucky to have her. We can get started taking her measurements immediately."

"Paul," I went on, "there's something else. Angie... well, it looks like I'm gonna get some work done in time for the show; a boob job at least, maybe more."

The growing smile on his face was precious to behold.

"That's fantastic!" he gushed. That's going to put a whole new spin on what I'll have you model. The possibilities..."

Then, his face fell.

"Aw, crap!" he barked. "I've already started your garments, based on your existing measurements. I'm at a point where I can still modify the dimensions, but I won't have any idea what your new measurements will be until it's too late! Can you give me some idea?"

"Uh, mmmm..." I hedged.

I hadn't thought of that. I was too new at this; I couldn't quote him numbers. I glanced around the room, hands raised in exasperation.

"Will mine do?" Angie inquired sweetly. Butter would have melted in her mouth.

Paul's eyes bugged out.

"You can do that in time?" he asked reverently.

Angie grabbed my arm and snuggled up to me.

"I guarantee we can!" she gushed, before I had a chance to say anything.

"Two of you with the same body?" he queried incredulously. "That body? Dear God; this is a fetish designer's dream come true. With the two of you, plus D-"