This is based on a script for an unaired episode I got ahold of.

Ask Harriet: Dis-Guise In Love With You

In Jack's apartment, Jack and Ron were setting up their latest
acquisition, bought with Sylvia Coco's paycheck: a brand new satellite
dish.

Jack said, "A hundred and sixty-seven channels brought to you by one
simple dish. Every football, basketball, baseball, kayaking---"

"Great," said Ron. "Does it get dirty movies?"

"You think I got this thing for the kayaking? The Spice Channel, the
Tripe-X Spice Channel---"

At this point Jack's daughter Blair walked in on them from the other
room, snacking on popcorn.

"Football, basketball, baseball, kayaking---" concluded Jack.

Blair asked, "Are we going to get the Cartoon Network?"

"You think I got this thing for the kayaking?" said Jack.

"No," said Blair, "I think you got it for the dirty movies."

"Ron, if this thing gets those kind of movies, I say we take it right
back."

"It comes with a child-proof block," said Blair. "I'll program it for
you."

Ron said, "While you're at it, there's an aspirin bottle I've been
struggling with for a day and a half."

Jack and Ron continued trying to set up the satellite dish, until the
phone in the apartment rang. Jack picked it up.

"Jack Cody. Yeah, Val, I'll send Blair right down. Blair, your mother's
here. You can't come up, because the, uh, elevator's broken. And the
stairs are broken, too. We're missing every other stair. Valerie?
Valerie?"

Blair went into the other room to get her coat, and Jack looked around
frantically.

"I'm screwed. I've been paying Valerie alimony based on Jack Cody's
lack of income. Meanwhile, I've got more stuff than ever."

Ron said, "No problem. Just hide everything Sylvia paid for."

"That would be everything except the six-pack in the fridge."

Jack and Ron rushed around, hiding everything they could. Blair came
back in the room and stared at them. She asked, "What are you guys
doing?"

"We're playing a game," said Jack. "You want to play? Grab my wallet
and shove it under the couch."

There was a knock at the door. Jack looked around, satisfied, but just
as he was about to open the door, Ron cried out, "Jack, the dish!"

Ron tossed Jack the satellite dish, and not knowing what else to do, he
poured a bag of chips into it. At last, he opened the door to his ex-
wife Valerie, who was an attractive blond thirty-something ex-New York
Jets cheerleader from New Jersey.

"Hello Valerie," said Jack, with the satellite dish in his hand.
"Chips?"

"No thanks," she said. "Beautiful bowl."

"Thank you."

"Does it get HBO?"

"Hey, Mommy," said Blair.

"Blair, sweetie, let's go. The Paramus Mall closes at seven."

Jack said, "I thought you said you were taking her for a 'cultural
outing.'"

"That's right. Today at the mall they happen to have Adam West and the
original Batmobile. A cultural icon."

"Till seven, huh?" said Jack, considering it. "What do you say,
Ronnie?"

"Hated 'Batman.' The guy wore a disguise, and nobody knew who he was.
Right. Please! Hello, Valerie."

"Nice to see you, Ronnie," she said, and gave him a little kiss on the
cheek. "Your hair looks great."

"Thanks. Which one?"

"Blair," she said to her daughter, "go call the elevator. Your father
and I need to talk."

Jack said, "Blair, honey, you don't want to leave Daddy alone with
Mommy, do you?"

"Bye, Daddy."

"Traitor," said Jack.

Blair ran out the door, and Ron was not far behind. "Got a big spelling
bee today," he explained.

Valerie said, "Bye, Ronnie."

"Coward," said Jack.

"Coward. C-O-W-A-R-D. Coward," he said, and was out the door.

Valerie said, "Jack, I came up to tell you in person---my boyfriend
Roger's moving in with me."

"Why'd you have to tell me in person?"

"'Cause if I tell you over the phone, I don't get to see how your eyes
get all squinty when you're upset."

"I'm not upset," he said, with his eyes squinting so much it was a
wonder he could see at all.

"Now that I see it, it's more just the right eye."

"So, what doesn't this Roger do for a living?"

"He happens to be a very gifted painter."

"So, he IS unemployed."

"So are you."

"Yeah, but I'm real good at what I don't do."

"Jack, just do me a favor and don't slam Roger in front of Blair."

"Okay. But since Blair's not here---that no-talent, pathetic, finger-
painter probably thinks Michelangelo's a Chicago Bull."

"For your information, Roger's part of the Soho intelligentsia."

"'Intelligentsia?' Ooh, I see your cosmetology education's paying off."

Heading for the door, she concluded by saying, "Yes, Jack. I'm finally
doing something with my life---cutting hair. You wanted me to stay a
cheerleader forever."

"That's because I liked hanging out with the cheerleader-entsia."

The next time Jack's ex-wife came to pick up her daughter, Jack was all
ready. He had a fire going in the fireplace, and he'd set up a nice
little wine and cheese platter. When Valerie showed, he asked her to
come up.

"Alright Jack," she said, "why didn't you just send Blair down to the
lobby?"

"She fell asleep early. And you know, Val, you and I don't get the
chance to talk enough."

"We don't talk at all."

"See? That's not enough. Tell me more about your boyfriend Roger. Does
he paint with acrylics? Watercolors? By numbers?"

"What's with the interest all of a sudden in Roger's paintings? You
hate art."

"Do I have to remind you that, before you met me, you thought Van Gogh
was a moving company?"

"I'm leaving," she said as she headed for the door.

"No, Valerie. I'm sorry. Sit down. C'mon, I got that smoked cheese log
you like."

"Okay, just for a minute."

She sat and started to nibble a tiny bit.

Jack said, "Look, Valerie, I owe you an apology. I was just jealous of
you and Roger. After all, you've been with him since we split up."

"Since before that," she said.

He nearly lost his temper on hearing this bit of news, but controlled
himself with a visible effort, and said, "Really? I'm so happy for
you." Doing his best to really sell it, he continued. "If only I could
find someone to settle down with like you have. So, when's the big day
for you kids?"

"We're not engaged, Jack."

"You're not? But there are so many advantages to marriage. For example-
--uh---and of course---there's---uh---" Finally he gave up, and
concluded with, "Don't you want any of that with Roger?"

"I can't marry him, Jack."

"Sure, you can. I'll drive you guys to Vegas."

"God, you piss me off."

"Why? I'm working with you, here."

"No, you're not. You're making me crazy."

"What's your problem?"

"I still have feelings for you, okay?" she said with some anger.

"No, you don't. You hate me and I can't stand you. I don't want to
spoil that."

"Believe me, I still think you're a jerk."

"Right back at you," he said.

"Loser."

"Gold digger."

"Narcissistic, pseudo-intellectual has-been."

"Good one, Val."

"I'm not done. Misogynistic, condescending pig."

"Wench."

"Hack."

"Bimbo."

"Greaseball."

"Low-rent mall rat."

"I hate you so much!"

"Not as much as I hate you," he said.

"But I'd hate you even more, naked."

"Way ahead of you."

He unbuttoned his shirt as they began to passionately embrace.

The next morning, after their night of passionate lovemaking was over,
Jack, wearing nothing but a bathrobe and pajama bottoms, sat before the
coffee table in the living room, pouring two cups of coffee. Valerie
came in wearing Jack's shirt, all smiles.

"Last night was great," she said.

"Of course it was. For us, fighting is foreplay."

"Thanks for picking that second fight."

"Thanks for ticking me off."

"Stud."

"Vixen."

"Stallion. You think maybe we'll have another fight, um---soon?"

"I could be provoked."

Jack made a move toward her, but she wasn't having it.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," she said. "What are we doing? We are divorced."

"Happily."

"Except last night---"

"I know. How did you---"

"Yoga," she said.

"Money well spent."

"Jack, I want to trust you. How do I know you're not going to go off
and fight with somebody else?"

"Because no one makes me as angry as you do. Look, Valerie, I promise
you, I've changed. Jack Cody's not going to fight with anyone else. I
don't even have any prospects."

The phone rang, interrupting their argument, and Jack answered it.

"Jack Cody. Oh, hi, Felicity. Really? Just a towel, huh?" He covered
the phone with his hand, and asked his ex-wife, "So what have we
decided?"

"It's up to you, Jack."

Jack concluded the call by saying, "Sorry, Felicity, it's not a good
time right now." Catching Valerie's look, he added, "Or ever. Bye."

Jack continued to silently hold the phone close to his face for what
seemed like a very long time.

"Hang up the phone, Jack," she said.

Jack reluctantly hung up the phone.

She said, "I don't know. I want to believe you've changed, but---"

"I have. I swear. Leaving you was the biggest mistake I ever made."

"I left you."

"Biggest mistake you ever made."

They kissed, just as Blair entered, dressed for school.

"Hi, Daddy. Mommy, what are you doing here?"

They stopped kissing, and Valerie said, "Blair, I just came by to---"
at about the same time as Jack said, "She just came by to---"

"Oh, you two had a sleepover. Are you guys getting back together?"

The two looked at each other. Valerie said, "Honey, we're thinking,
maybe---"

"Blair, sweetie, would you be okay with it?" asked Jack.

"Duh. I only talk about it every day. Can I still have two allowances?"

Jack said, "You told me your Mommy didn't---"

"Oops. Gotta go. I'm late for school," said Blair as she grabbed her
book bag and headed for the door.

"Wait up. I'll walk you down." To his ex-wife, he said, "If you want,
there's a robe in my closet."

She headed into the bedroom as Jack accompanied his daughter out into
the hall. He helped her put on her backpack.

Blair asked her father, "So, if Mommy does move in, where will Roger
live?"

"Roger can paint himself a house and live there."

Full of anger, Valerie came back into the living room carrying what she
had found in Jack's closet. It was Sylvia's blue silk dress on a
hanger, still in the dry cleaning bag. There was a bill taped to the
bag.

When Jack reentered, she hid the dress behind her and glared at Jack.

"So I was just thinking, Val. Even though I've only been in a committed
relationship for fifteen minutes, I'm wondering if it's okay to see
other people."

There was no reaction from Valerie.

"I'm kidding," he said.

Still nothing.

"You're not laughing."

She held up the dress.

"You found the dress."

"How long have you been sleeping with---" she paused to read the bill,
"Sylvia Coco? You're sleeping with that advice lady?"

"Ancient history. We broke up months ago."

"Then how do you explain the fact that she picked up her dry-cleaning--
-" she checked the bill again, "yesterday?"

"It had a really stubborn stain?"

"You lied to me. Again."

"Val, wait."

"No. This was the last time."

"If you don't believe me---"

"I don't believe you."

"Ask Sylvia yourself. I'll arrange for you to meet her this afternoon."

"It's over, Jack. I'm out of here. And don't start begging me to---"

Then a look came into her eyes which Jack was familiar with. Sylvia
Coco was a local celebrity, and Valerie was starstruck. That's when he
knew he had her.

"I could meet Sylvia Coco?" she asked, hardly believing it.

Jack nodded. And suddenly he began to get really scared, because he
wasn't quite sure his ex-wife would fall for the disguise. What if he
couldn't get away with it? What if his ex-wife saw through the lipstick
and mascara and recognized her ex-husband right away? A lot more than
their relationship was at stake. She might decide to expose him, out of
spite, and then the whole lucrative Sylvia Coco empire would crumble to
the ground.

Could he get away with it?

Later that afternoon at the Dispatch newsroom, Melissa, Trey, and Ron
were huddled together trying to think of a way to convince Sylvia to do
a commercial for Pippin Computers. Sylvia didn't want to do the
commercial for an enviable reason: he already had enough money. He
didn't need more money, he needed more days off from being Sylvia Coco.
More days when his feet weren't aching from wearing high heels, when he
didn't have to worry about his slip showing, or dropping a bra strap,
or getting a run in his nylons. More days when he could be an actual
man, even though as a man he was an unemployed loser, and no one gave a
damn about him until he slipped into one of his sexy dresses.

Trey said, "To get Sylvia on board with the Pippin commercial, I say we
present her with a levelheaded, fact-based argument."

Sylvia entered the newsroom, calling out, "Hi-ho, darlings."

To give himself a better chance of fooling his ex-wife, Sylvia decided
to glam himself up with deep red lipstick and smoky brown mascara and
eye-liner. He wore a very sexy dress, a shiny silk sheath in a beige
and brown leopard-skin print, with long sleeves, a scoop neck, and a
short skirt. His dress was part spandex, very clingy and tight. At his
throat he wore every crossdresser's friend, a matching scarf. Under his
dress he wore all black lingerie, including his black satin slip. He
wore dark pantyhose and black patent leather pumps with a two-inch
heel. He'd decided long ago that no amount of beauty was worth wearing
three-inch heels.

Trey dropped to his knees and hugged Sylvia. He pleaded, "Please,
Sylvia, you've got to do the ad. Please, please, please!"

Ron asked, "Is this the 'levelheaded' or 'fact-based' part of your
argument?"

Sylvia took Ron by the shoulder, and said, "Could I talk to you,
twinkles?"

"Coming, buttons."

"Trey," said Sylvia, "you're drooling on my ankles."

Sylvia managed to disengage himself from Trey, and took Ron over to the
watercooler where they could talk without being overheard.

Sylvia, speaking in Jack's voice, said, "Ron, pretend you don't know
that under all this I'm Jack Cody, what do you think? You buy me as a
woman? Ron, quit staring at my chest."

"Yep, you're a woman. That's what they always say to me."

"Come on, be objective."

"Jack, it's flawless. You can fool anyone."

"I need to fool Valerie."

"Are you nuts? You're a large man in a dress!"

"I'm dead."

Valerie entered, and as soon as he saw her Sylvia lost what was left of
his nerve and decided to cut his losses and flee, immediately.

Sylvia said to Ron, still in Jack's voice, "Oh, man, there she is!
Distract her. I'll try to sneak out."

"Tell you what, if I distract her, you have to reconsider this
commercial thing."

"Absolutely not. Now, be a pal and help me out."

Sylvia crouched and hid behind a cubicle as Ron came forward to
intercept Valerie. Crouching was not comfortable in his panty girdle.

Valerie said, "Hi, Ronnie. Guess who I'm here to see?"

"He's in the bathroom."

"Sylvia Coco."

"Like I said. Valerie, when you and Jack were married, how would you
get him to do something he really didn't want to do?"

"Withhold sex."

"Already doing that. Not working."

Sylvia tried to make an unobtrusive exit, but unfortunately Trey showed
up to say hi to Valerie. There was no way Sylvia could sneak past
without being spotted by Trey, and Trey could be counted on to say
something. So Sylvia had to bide his time. He was going to be
embarrassed to death if his ex-wife caught him in nylons and lipstick,
and he didn't think there was any way he could fool her.

Trey said, "Hi, Valerie. It's been a long time."

"Congratulations on your big promotion, Trey."

"Really? You're happy for me, even though I took the column away from
your ex-husband?"

"No, I'm happy BECAUSE you took it away from my ex-husband."

Sylvia was about to motion Ron to get rid of Trey, when Trey left on
his own. He was about to finally sneak out when Melissa walked through,
and that idiot Ron had to stop her.

Ron said, "Melissa, this is Valerie Cody."

"Of course," said Melissa. "Jack's ex-wife."

They shook hands, and Valerie said, "You've been with him, too."

"Excuse me?"

"It's okay. I can always tell a girl who Jack has dated."

"But can you tell me WHY I dated him?"

"Can you tell me why I married him?"

They shared a laugh, and Sylvia finally tried to make a break for it.

Melissa said, "Oh, Sylvia, where are you tiptoeing off to?"

"Not tiptoeing," said Sylvia. "Just breaking in a new pair of pumps."

Melissa grabbed Sylvia by the arm. He struggled, but she got him off-
balance in his high heels, and managed to drag him to Valerie.

Melissa said, "I want you to meet Jack Cody's ex-wife, Valerie.
Valerie, Sylvia Coco."

Sylvia backed away and hid his face, as Ron watched with amusement.

Valerie said, "Oh my God. You're even more beautiful in person. I can
see why Jack dated you. And that complexion. Let me see."

"Not too close. I have a mild case of---the Ebola virus."

"That's okay. I probably had it as a kid." Valerie finally got close
enough to see Sylvia face to face. Sylvia's dress shields were
slipping, he was so scared. He tugged at his skirt and straightened his
dress nervously. But there was not a flicker of recognition. "And look
at your hair," Valerie went on, "So much volume."

Sylvia said, "Yes, sometimes it's so loud I can't hear myself shampoo."

Melissa said, "So, Valerie, I understand you're in the---'hair
business'?"

"We prefer 'personal grooming industry.' In fact, I just finished a
conditioning class. It lasted three minutes." As they all stared at
her, she said, "A little salon humor."

Sylvia said, "Good one. I've got to go."

Melissa said, "You know what'd be fun? Since we've all been with Jack
Cody, we should make a date and just dish on him."

"Why wait?" said Sylvia. "I'll go first. Worst thing about Jack Cody---
a selfish lover. Always fell asleep after the seventh time. Who's
next?"

Melissa had to leave, and so couldn't share in the dishing among the
"girls." But Valerie wasn't about to let Sylvia leave. They had some
things to get settled between them. So they decided to go down to the
local coffee shop, the "Roasted Bean," to talk about Jack Cody. The two
got coffee and sat down together to talk. Sylvia sat so close to his
ex-wife that he could feel his nylons rubbing against hers.

Valerie said, "But I'm telling you, Sylvia, Jack slept with me last
night."

"That explains why you're glowing," said Sylvia, adjusting his bra
strap. "But he wasn't cheating. Jack and I broke up months ago."

"Really?"

"Oh yes, Jack could never give his heart to me, because he left his
heart with you. His words, not mine."

"But I found your dress in his apartment."

"I asked him to pick it up for me. It had a very stubborn stain."

"He really was telling me the truth."

"Of course he was. Now, admit it, girlfriend to girlfriend, don't you
miss that cute way Jack loves to watch football games all weekend?"

"No. That always annoyed me."

"That's because you don't do it right. Watch the game with him, but
don't say a word. Then, put on a private halftime show. And if you want
to wear tassels and a G-string, so much the better."

"Is that what it took to get him to go seven times?"

"That, and his team covering the point spread."

Valerie rose to leave, and said, "Well, I'd better go. I have a
relationship to patch up."

"With your boyfriend---or Jack?"

"With Jack. Sister, let me tell you something. In the bedroom, it's one
time with Roger, over and out. Of course, I would never admit that to
Jack."

They laughed, as girls do. Marty the homeless guy approached, and said,
"You ladies been talking about Jack Cody? Not a more generous,
trustworthy, big-hearted man on this street."

Sylvia said, "Well, aren't you nice to say that."

"Thanks, but you can't cash 'nice.'"

Sylvia stood and opened his purse and gave Marty a buck. Marty wandered
off.

"Thank you, Sylvia," said Valerie, and they hugged. When Valerie
thought the hug had gone on long enough, she let go, but Sylvia just
pulled her closer to continue the hug. Finally, when Valerie decided
she really had to get going, she let go again, but Sylvia just pulled
her closer yet again. A record-breaking triple hug. At last he let her
go, and she walked off in the direction of Jack Cody's apartment.

All of a sudden there was a commotion at the entrance to the Dispatch
building. Sylvia heard Trey yelling, "Fire! Fire!" A lot of people were
streaming out of the building, among them Trey, Ron, and Melissa. Trey
was screaming, "Stop, drop, and roll! Stop, drop, and roll!"

Ron said, "The fire's out, Trey."

"A fire?" said Sylvia. "How'd it happen?"

Melissa said, "Some crazy woman left her curling iron on in the
janitor's closet."

Ron grabbed Sylvia by the elbow and pulled him aside so they could
talk. They went over to where Marty was sitting.

Ron said, "Way to go, Jack."

Sylvia said, in Jack's voice, "Oh, sure, you just assume it's me.
Damn!" he said, looking down at the dress he was wearing. "How am I
going to get in there? I need to change."

Marty pointed out that, "Superman always changed in a phone booth."

"Yeah," said Sylvia, "but he didn't go in as Supergirl."

Sylvia didn't think there'd be any problem with going back to his own
apartment to change. But he didn't anticipate that Valerie would let
herself in with her key and set the mood for romance with candles and
rose petals. When Sylvia let himself in and flipped on the light
switch, there was Valerie in a sexy little nightie, posing seductively
on the couch.

Valerie said, "Sylvia! What are you doing here?"

"Whoops. Wrong apartment. I live DOWNtown. I thought the lobby looked
unfamiliar."

Sylvia started to leave, when Valerie mentioned, "You said you two were
broken up."

"Oh, that's right, we are. My bad. Toodles. By the way, nice nightie.
Very sexy."

"You're lying. You still have his key."

"So what?"

"Breaking up with Jack Cody is like checking out of a motel. You can
keep all the little shampoos, but you have to leave the key."

"But, that's just it. I came by to leave the key."

"I may be dumb, but I'm not that dumb."

Very irritated, Sylvia asked, "So how dumb are you?"

"What's that supposed to mean? You sound like Jack."

"Well, it's annoying. Look, Valerie, the guy wants you. And in my
opinion, you'd be lucky to have him. Face it, you're not getting any
younger, toots."

"You should talk. Nice make-up job. And the hair? Looks like a cheap
wig."

"Cheap! Pretty bold for a woman who flunked 'Rinse' and had to repeat."

"You're just jealous I've got an advanced degree."

"I've got news for you: an advanced degree at beauty school means they
let you use the sharp scissors. Moron."

"Tramp."

"Bottle-blonde."

Pointing at her scalp, she said, "Excuse me, vegetable dye, dimwit!"

"Turnpike trash."

"Amazonian freak."

"Good one." Feeling some of the old sexual energy, Sylvia tugged at his
scarf and said, "Is it getting hot in here?"

"Just tell Jack him and me are through."

"Wait, Valerie. Maybe you and Jack could still work things out."

"Not a chance. Not after this. I never want to see him again."

Despite wearing nothing but a nightie, Valerie headed for the door.

Sylvia called out, "Valerie," and Valerie stopped and turned. "Don't
freak out, but---" And suddenly speaking to her in Jack's voice,
without even thinking what he might be getting into, Sylvia said, "It's
me, Jack."

Valerie looked like the front cover for a novel called "The Astonished
Woman."

"What did you say?" she asked.

And just as suddenly, Sylvia went back to talking like Sylvia, and
said, "What I meant was---" And then he gave up and said, in Jack's
voice, "Oh, the hell with it." He grabbed a cigar and said, in Jack's
voice, "It's me, your ex-husband. You got a light?"

And Valerie actually screamed, like she was in a horror movie. Not a
little eek like when you discover a hangnail, but a full-throated
scream, like she'd just discovered a dead body and the killer was still
in the room.

In Jack's voice, Sylvia said, "Valerie, you're freaking out. I told you
not to freak. You're freaking."

"Me freaking? You're freaking. Freaking nuts. I knew you were obsessed
with women, but---my God."

"I only started doing this because when I got fired from The Dispatch,
I was desperate for work."

"Did you ever consider bartending?"

"I wasn't THAT desperate. Plus, they have to wear an apron. How
embarrassing is that?"

"So instead, you jumped right to putting on women's clothing?"

"It was Ron's idea."

"This is getting sicker by the minute. With you there's usually another
woman. This time you ARE the other woman. Oh my God, I just slept with
the other woman."

"Fun, isn't it?"

"And to think I was going to give you another chance."

"That's why I came here. So you'd give me a second chance."

"You are a sick man, Sylvia---Jack. What the hell do I call you?"

"Easy to remember: When I'm wearing a bra strap, Sylvia; a jock strap,
Jack. That's how I remember. Look, Val, I love you. I swear, you're the
only woman for me."

He made a move to hug his ex-wife.

Valerie said, "Well, you're not the only woman for me. Listen to me!"

"So, just like that, we're giving up?"

"This is hardly 'just like that.'"

"Valeria, we've already told Blair we're going to give it a try."

"Well, I think it's better for her if we end it now."

"Hey, if anyone knows what's best for our daughter, it's me."

"You? Who died and made you the expert?"

"The last 'Ask Harriet.'"

That evening, after Sylvia unzipped his dress and slipped out of it,
then took off his make-up, false eyelashes, nail polish, jewelry, wig,
high heels, lingerie and pantyhose, he called Ron and they arranged to
meet at the "Roasted Bean" in front of the Dispatch building.

Jack changed into a turtleneck sweater and some comfortable corduroy
slacks and brown loafers, and headed back to the Dispatch building.

As the two men headed to the coffee shop, Marty, who had been
eavesdropping, came up to them.

Marty said, "Told your ex the big secret, huh? Huge mistake. I don't
even tell my ex my mailing address."

Jack said, "You don't have a mailing address."

Marty responded, "Just making a point, Jack. No need to get nasty."

Marty left, and Jack and Ron seated themselves outside the coffee shop.

Jack said, "Oh, man, I'm dead. Val's going to open her big yap and tell
all of New York that Jack Cody wears a dress."

"Well, who opened his big yap and told her in the first place?" Jack
gave him the skunk-eye, and Ron meekly said, "Sorry."

"I've got to make her forget I ever said anything."

"We could con her. We've done it before. Like that Christmas she wanted
you to spend with her parents in Jersey City."

Jack laughed, and said, "And I convinced her that I couldn't go because
we'd been called up for the National Guard."

"Yeah. We had to put down that unfriendly coup in Vegas."

"Hey, it was an emergency. The infidels were storming Caesar's Palace."

The next morning, at the Dispatch newsroom, Ron was talking on the
phone as Melissa passed by on the way to her office.

Speaking into the phone, Ron said, "I can't hear you if you're both
yelling at me at the same time."

"Hostile conference call?" asked Melissa.

Ron covered the mouthpiece and said, "Yep. Two people who hate me. My
shrink and my mother." Taking his hand off the mouthpiece, Ron
continued, "I didn't lie about the Pippin Computer commercial. They
just cancelled the campaign. No, Mom, not because I was in it. Dr.
Schneider, it wouldn't kill you to take my side."

He sighed and covered the phone. He looked at Melissa helplessly.

Melissa said, "Don't let him abuse that 'doctor-mother privilege'
thing."

Ron listened, then said to Melissa, "Oh my God, he just asked her out!"

He hung up in disgust.

"On the bright side," said Melissa, "maybe he'll give you a break on
your hourly."

The elevator door opened, and Old Man Russell stormed into the
newsroom, closely followed by his granddaughter Joplin. Old Man Russell
held up a small cup of nasty looking green juice, and said, "I can't
drink this wheat grass juice. It tastes like it's made of lawn
clippings."

Joplin said, "It is lawn clippings, Grandfather."

"Well, it's too heavy on the fertilizer."

Melissa said, "Welcome back, Mr. Russell. How was your week at the
spa?"

Joplin answered for him, "His blood pressure's never been lower. And
they put Grandfather on a very strict diet---no fats, no oils, no salt,
no sugar."

"And no reason to eat it," said Old Man Russell.

Joplin said, "But you can drink all the grass you want."

"Terrific. When I die, have the Yankee grounds-crew do the autopsy."

He left in disgust, meandering over to the watercooler.

Joplin said, "Miss Peters, as your assistant, it's my duty to watch
your diet as well."

"Good," said Melissa, "I like my wheat grass with two creams and a
sugar. Then squeeze out the wheat grass juice and put in some black
coffee."

"But that'd be coffee," said Joplin.

"Yes. With two creams and a sugar. Thank you."

Trey, just passing through the newsroom, happened to cross in front of
Old Man Russell, who motioned him over and said, "Jumble kid. Can I
talk to you?"

Trey pointed out, "I'm not the Jumble kid. I write my own column."

"Writing the Jumble's a good beginning. I started out the same way
myself."

"You did?"

"'Course not. I'm just trying to pretend we have something in common so
you'll do me a favor. Go get me a hamburger."

"Rumor has it Joplin's got you on a strict diet. I'm betting that
doesn't include things that 'moo.'"

"Which reminds me. Bring me a milk shake."

"But Mr. Russell---"

"Sshhhh. Quiet. Back in WWII, we used to say 'loose lips sink chips.'"

"You mean 'ships.'"

"I mean, 'chips.' Barbecue style, and I want them now."

The elevator door opened, and Sylvia entered the newsroom.

Pursuant to his plan to fool his ex-wife into believing he really was a
woman, Sylvia thought he'd better be as girly as possible. So he wore
his girliest dress, a lovely feminine pink chiffon frock, elegantly
draped about the bosom, with billowy long sleeves, a matching satin
sash, and a full circle skirt which swirled enticingly about his nylon-
covered thighs and brushed against his fingertips as he walked. Some
dresses just never let you forget that you're wearing a dress, and this
was one of them. There was a bit of a draft in the newsroom, which
Sylvia could feel about his legs and even high up under his slip, so
his skirt was constantly in motion, even when he stood still. His dress
came with a matching satin scarf, which he wore at his throat. In fact,
that was his main reason for buying the dress, the fact that it came
with the scarf.

"Hi-ho, sports fans," said Sylvia, grabbing Ron. "Come on, Ronnie. We
have an appointment."

Melissa came up to Sylvia, and said, "Wait, Sylvia! I want to tell you
how much I admire your integrity. Really. You turned down Pippin even
though you stood to make a lot of money."

Sylvia said, "My journalistic integrity is not for sale. I'm morally
opposed with every fiber of this voluptuous body." He put his hands on
his hips and did a pose, just to torture Old Man Russell with what he
would never have. He was still resentful of Old Man Russell for
preventing him from getting his old job back and consequently forcing
him to remain a woman, and he tortured him by flirting with him at
every opportunity. As revenge goes, it wasn't much, but it was
something, and he intended to savor it.

Old Man Russell said, "And guess who's on a high fiber diet?"

"Maxie. Back from the spa and you look so thin. Maybe I should call you
'mini,'" said Sylvia, flirting a little.

"Sylvia Coco," he said, "you make my blood boil."

Joplin said, "Oh, no you don't. That's exactly what we're trying to
avoid. Miss Coco, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"She's not going anywhere." To Sylvia, Old Man Russell said, "I'd die
for one night with you."

"I can guarantee one night with me would kill you."

With that, Sylvia grabbed Ron and they headed downstairs.

They went out to the "Roasted Bean," and Sylvia bought himself a cold
drink. One thing that always reminded him he was wearing a dress, as if
he needed any reminding, was when he opened a refrigerator door and all
that cold air spilled onto his nylon-clad legs.

They both sat at a table outside, Sylvia smoothing his pink chiffon
skirt beneath his buttocks. Ron almost helped him with his chair, but
he was afraid that might piss Sylvia off. Ron was constantly worried
about pissing Sylvia off. Sometimes hanging out with Sylvia had all the
disadvantages of dating a beautiful woman with none of the advantages.

Sylvia crossed his legs and adjusted his nylons. Ron noticed it, and
paid way too much attention. Luckily, Sylvia didn't catch Ron leering
at his legs, or he would've said something. It disturbed Ron whenever
he caught himself doing things like this. He had to keep reminding
himself that Sylvia was not an actual woman whenever he caught himself
staring too long at Sylvia's legs, or Sylvia's rear end, or Sylvia's
slip as it peeked out enticingly beneath the hem of his skirt, or
Sylvia's figure whenever he wore one of his sexy tight dresses. And yet
he still wanted an opportunity to keep looking at all these things and
more, because Sylvia was, quite frankly, luscious.

Ron said, "This is not going to work. Val's not that dumb."

Sylvia said, in Jack's voice, "The Palace coup?"

"Okay. Maybe she is." Ron spotted Val's approach, and said, "Uh-oh,
game time."

Sylvia straightened his shoulders, adjusted his skirt, and prepared
himself to be girly and feminine and ladylike like he'd never been
girly and feminine and ladylike before. He looked down at the lovely
pink chiffon dress he was wearing. It was amazing to think that just a
few weeks ago he'd been fighting like hell to get out of wearing
dresses, and now here he was not only still wearing a pretty dress but
fighting like hell to keep wearing them. He remembered how excited he'd
been when he thought he'd be able to quit being Sylvia Coco, doing a
little dance in his sweater and skirt, and singing, "I was woman, here
me roar, in sizes too big to ignore." But no matter how hard he tried
he was never able to make a living as a man, and being Sylvia Coco was
just too lucrative to give up. Now that he'd finally accepted that he
was stuck as a woman and that he'd have to go on being Sylvia Coco for
a long, long time, he faced the possibility that it all might be taken
away from him. Could they really con Valerie? Was she really that
stupid? She'd better be. His entire future as a woman depended upon it.
If he couldn't get Valerie to believe that Sylvia Coco was really a
woman, then it was good-bye pretty dresses, good-bye lovely gowns,
good-bye pantyhose, good-bye bras and girdles and panties, good-bye
slips, good-bye high heels, good-bye lipstick. He'd have to go back to
being a man, an unemployed loser with no prospects, no future, and no
breasts.

Sylvia said, "Hello, Valerie. Have a seat."

Ron said, "Valerie."

"Hi, Ron. Hi, Jack. Why'd you call me here?"

Sylvia looked around, and said, "Jack? What do you mean, Jack? Ron, do
you see Jack?"

Valerie said, "Jack, I know it's you. You told me you're you."

Sylvia said, "Valerie, are you feeling okay? Because I've heard the
chemicals they use in perms can cause hallucinations. Right, Ron?"

Ron said, "Yes, many cosmetologists hallucinate that Sylvia Coco is
their ex-husband."

Sylvia elbowed Ron.

"Jack, cut the crap. I know it's you. This is like when you guys tried
to fool me with the war in Vegas thing."

Ron said, "You knew it was a con?"

She said, "I had a clue when you came back from battle with a
'Caesar's' bathrobe and a roll of quarters."

Sylvia said, "Maybe Jack had to wash his bathrobe."

"Maybe. But I got even. Jack, remember when somebody swiped your Willie
Mays-autographed bat? That 'somebody' traded it in for a very nice
diamond."

She showed them her diamond pendant, and Sylvia seethed with barely
controlled anger.

Sylvia said, "I'll bet Jack wishes he had that bat right now."

Ron said to Sylvia, "Let's give it up. She's not as dumb as we
thought."

Sylvia said, "We?"

Valerie very angrily said, "Dumb?"

"Bye," said Ron, and exited as quickly as he could.

Sylvia faced Valerie, and said, giving it one last desperate try,
"Valerie, look at this face. Could I be anything but a woman?"

"Well, 'Sylvia,' you do know how to accentuate your cheekbones."

"Thank you, snookums."

"But any woman knows, you don't use a pencil on eyebrows that bushy."

Suddenly, Jack's voice came out of Sylvia, saying, "Bushy? Who are you
calling---" Getting Sylvia's voice back, he coughed a few times, and
said, "Oh, that was a monster of a frog."

"Let it go, Jack. You know, close up, I don't know how you pull this
off. You are so obviously a guy."

Sylvia said, in Jack's voice, "Obviously? It wasn't so obvious when you
told me you'd die for boobs like mine."

"That was before I knew they came with the bra."

Ron headed back to the Dispatch newsroom, arriving just in time to get
roped into a little impromptu meditation session Joplin was holding.
She got Ron, Trey, and some other office workers standing around her in
a semicircle. Melissa poked her head out of her office to see what was
going on.

Joplin said, "Miss Peters. Join us. I'm teaching a technique I got from
the spa. You relax, and count to ten. If a negative thought enters your
mind, you have to start over from one again. Okay. One---"

Struggling with it, Ron said, "One, two---negative. One, two---oh,
that's bad. One---one---one---not working. Never will."

He left the semicircle and went to his desk.

Melissa said, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine,
ten. Okay, done. Very relaxed. Bye." She slipped back into her office.

Trey said, "One---two---three---oops. I just thought 'this is stupid.'
Is that negative?"

Joplin said, "Five---six---seven" and wandered away just as Valerie
entered the newsroom and came up to Ron.

Valerie said, "Ronnie, I need to talk to you."

"Val, when I said 'dumb,' I meant that in a good way---"

"Yeah, yeah. Tell me, did Jack lie to me again, or was this dressing as
a woman thing your idea?"

"Up-up-up-up," said Ron, grabbing her by the elbow and moving her to a
quiet corner of the newsroom. Speaking quietly, he said, "It was my
idea, but a horrible one. Not as bad as living at my mother's house
till I was twenty-seven, but---"

"Ronnie, it's okay---for once he told me the truth. So what happened?"

"Well, it started out as a joke, but Sylvia got so popular so fast---"

"No kidding. Sylvia Coco's column is the only reason I went back to
short skirts and no bra. Oh my God, it's all making sense."

"It's not just the column. She's getting offered book deals,
appearances---just yesterday, she turned down a computer commercial.
Sylvia Coco makes more money than Jack Cody ever did and I can't
believe I just said that and I'm hoping if I keep going you'll forget
what we were talking about and boy look at the time bye-bye."

Ron left Valerie and crossed the newsroom, passing close to Joplin.

He heard Joplin murmuring, "Seventy-seven---seventy-eight---"

Valerie wasted no time, but took herself right to Jack's apartment.
Jack was just out of the shower, and answered her knock at the door
with a towel wrapped around his midsection.

Jack greeted her with, "Val. I didn't expect to see you again."

"Well, Jack, I was thinking, maybe I was a little hard on you. I figure
if you're going to be dressing as a woman, you could use my expertise."

Jack wasn't buying it. Cynically, he said, "Really? Like what?"

"For instance, you should show off more of those gorgeous legs."

"You think? Because I read in Vogue that long skirts are all the rage."

"Oh, no, honey, you've got to let those calves out of the barn."

"Wow," said Jack. Her words were quite a relief to him. He never
could've predicted she would be so encouraging about a thing like this,
and with a sincerity that he was honestly beginning to feel, he said,
"It's such a relief to talk to a woman about these things."

"Now, go get your wig and I'll show you how to style it, so it softens
your jawline."

Enthusiastically, he said, "That's great!" and went to get it, leaving
her alone.

She began to snoop. She picked up his wallet and looked through it.
Then she started going through the drawers until she found a checkbook,
which she looked through with great interest.

From the next room, Jack said, "You know, I was thinking, Sylvia could
use a little change."

"Looks like she has plenty of change. And some very large bills."

Alarmed, Jack reentered without the wig, and saw her looking through
his checkbook.

He said, "Hey, what are you---oh, now I get it. Calves out of the barn,
huh?"

"More like, cat's out of the bag. You've been paying my alimony based
on Jack's unemployment check, not Sylvia's gold mine."

Floundering, he picked up one of his cosmetics and said, "Well, it's
expensive being a woman. You know how much this eyebrow pencil cost
me?"

"Seven ninety-five."

"Fifteen fifty."

"You obviously don't know where to shop. And, it wouldn't kill you to
clip a coupon. I have. I want what's coming to me, Jack."

"Okay, look, I lied to you. I didn't tell you I was dressing up like a
woman and making a fortune. Other than that, I've been totally honest.
We can start with a clean slate." Trying to seduce her, he said, "Gold
digger---"

"Pathetic excuse for a---" Catching herself, she said, "Nice try. But I
don't think so. You're doing that computer commercial and you're giving
me half."

"Forget it. No one tells Jack Cody what to do. Jack Cody is his own
man. And this man decides when he puts on a dress."

"Fine. But I wonder what a custody judge would say about your little
'secret.'"

"You'd stick Blair in the middle of all this?"

"Do the ad, and you won't have to find out."

"This is our daughter, Val. You can't do this. I'm her father."

"And if you want to stay her father, you'll keep making money by
dressing like her mother."

Valerie left, slamming the door.

So it was that, a few mornings later, with his daughter Blair still in
her bedroom, Jack Cody stood by the breakfast table talking to Melissa
on the phone, and saying, in Sylvia's voice, "No, Melissa. I want to do
the commercial---I didn't say I was morally opposed. I said I was more
or less indisposed---but now I'm free. See you at the shoot."

He hung up and said, "Shoot! This is a nightmare."

Blair came in and said, "What's the matter, Daddy?"

He grabbed a box of cereal and said, "I, uh, can't find the toy in this
stupid cereal."

"Daddy, how come Mommy stopped sleeping here?"

"Um---uh---well, because---you see---"

"That's the same reason you gave me last time."

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Blair, honey, your mother and I can't seem to make
this work. I'm really sorry. Are you okay about that?"

"I don't know. One part of me wishes you guys were together, but then
when you fight, I'm glad you're not."

"Can't commit, huh? You got that from me."

"Thanks a lot."

"Look, there's only one girl I don't want to lose."

"Catherine, from Friday night?"

He hugged his daughter, and said, "No. You."

"If it makes you feel better, I liked Catherine," she said.

"No, you didn't. Her feminist ideas threatened your masculinity."

"Oh, right. MY masculinity."

Later that morning at the Dispatch newsroom, Old Man Russell was
playing dollar poker with Ron. They both scrutinized their dollar bills
closely, and glared at one another.

Ron said, "I've got three nines."

"I've got four zeros. You lose."

He took the bill from Ron. Trey surreptitiously sidled up to Old Man
Russell with a hamburger hidden in his jacket.

Trey said, "I got you another burger."

"Another what, Jumble kid?" said Old Man Russell.

"Another ergbru," he said, handing over the hamburger.

"That's better. If we talk in Jumble, Joplin won't know what we're
saying."

"No sir, not 'Joplin.'"

They both paused to think it over, and Old Man Russell finally came up
with, "Nojlip."

Joplin rushed over.

"Did you called me?" she asked her Grandfather, who was doing his best
to hide the burger. To Trey, she said, "I love the Jumbles, don't you?"

Old Man Russell informed her, "He's the kid who writes 'em," as he
slipped the burger to Trey.

"You do? Congratulations, Mr. Anderson. I thought you were just a
columnist."

"Am I the only one who knows what's going on around here?" asked Old
Man Russell.

Melissa came out of her office and asked Ron, "Where's Sylvia? The TV
people will be here any minute."

Ron said, "Trust me, she'll be here or she'll lose custody of her---uh-
--puppy."

"Lose custody of her puppy?" repeated Melissa.

Ron said, "Yeah, that's the latest slang for, 'make somebody mad.' I'm
a real hep cat."

"Cool," said Joplin.

Trey checked his watch and said, "Let me know when she gets here. I'm
going to go get into character."

"You don't have any lines, Trey," said Melissa.

Trey said, "There are no small parts, Miss Peters."

Ron said, "Yes, there are. And you've got one."

Ron went off to look for Sylvia. Before Trey could leave, Old Man
Russell stopped him.

"Kid, give me that burger," he said.

Trey dug into his coat pocket and took out a hamburger that was in bad
shape, all crushed and smashed together and greasy and disgusting
looking.

Trey said, "Wait, sir, the fries are in my raincoat."

Trey went to get his coat. As Old Man Russell was about to take a bite
out of his hamburger, Joplin showed up.

She said, "Grandfather, is that a tofu burger?"

"Yes, that's exactly what it is. A tofu burger," he said. "Now leave me
alone."

Trey showed up with a handful of fries.

"Here's your chili fries, sir."

"You mean my bean curd fries?' said Old Man Russell.

"Wait a minute," said Joplin. "There's no such thing as 'bean curd
fries.'" She grabbed the hamburger from him and said, "You've been
cheating on your diet."

"Give me that."

"No," she said. "And if you keep this up, no disrespect intended,
Grandfather, I may lose custody of my puppy!"

She tossed the hamburger out the window.

Down below, Marty the homeless guy was holding out his hat to a passing
woman.

"Afternoon, ma'am," he said, and a hamburger fell right into his hat.
He examined it, then glanced heavenward, nonplussed. He took a bite.

"I don't mean to pick a fight with you, Lord, but next time, I'll take
it with cheese."

Ron had to check at least half a dozen places, but finally found Jack
at a local bar talking to the bartender. There was a half-empty whisky
bottle in front of him. The other half was in Jack.

Jack said, "I'm telling you, Tom, ten a.m. is too early to be
swallowing your pride. Luckily, it's not too early to be swallowing
your bourbon."

As he downed a shot, Ron rushed in and said, "Jack! You're not backing
out of the commercial, are you?"

"Of course not," he said, drunkenly. "If I don't do it, Valerie's going
to take away Blur."

"You mean 'Blair.'"

"Not after what I've been drinking. Gimme another shot."

"No more. We've got to go."

"Where are we going?"

"The commercial."

"The commercial's next Tuesday."

"No. It's today Tuesday."

"I can't do it, 'It's today Tuesday.'"

"You have to do it or you'll lose 'Blur.'"

"Who?"

"Your daughter."

"Ronnie, you're worring your slurds. Blur's name is Hair."

Ron tugged Jack off the barstool and dragged him in the direction of
the Dispatch building. Jack kept one arm around Ron's shoulder and
tried to walk, but with every step he almost fell over, and almost
knocked Ron over with him. As Ron dragged him along Jack tried to right
himself, only to lose his balance a moment later. It's not ideal for
the smaller man to be carrying the larger. As they entered the
building, they were nearly spotted by Valerie and Blair, who were
sharing hot chocolate together at a table outside the "Roasted Bean."
Blair would have seen them but for the fact that she had a newspaper in
front of her.

Valerie said, "Blair, honey. I have something to tell you. It's not
great. And you probably won't be happy about it---"

Blair looked up from her paper.

"Daddy told me. You two aren't getting back together."

"You and your Dad talk about that stuff?"

"We talk about everything."

Valerie couldn't help thinking that it was extremely unlikely that they
talked about everything. But she kept that little thought to herself.

Looking in the paper, Blair said, "I can't believe Steinbrenner's not
going to spend the money on a new third baseman."

"Your Dad complained about the same thing."

"Where do you think he got it from?"

"What would he do without you?"

"He'd be lost. I'm his best friend."

Looking at her daughter fondly, Valerie said, "I know you are."

Getting a drunken Sylvia into his pantyhose, lingerie, make-up and wig
wasn't easy, but they managed to do it. It turned out that the
production team for the commercial had their own ideas about the dress
Sylvia should wear. They picked out a very tight maroon and black silk
dress with a black silk jacket. The dress had a high collar, which was
good. Unfortunately, it had a very tight pencil skirt, and Sylvia
couldn't even take a full stride in it. And over Sylvia's drunken
protests, they insisted on Sylvia wearing three-inch high heels.

Three inch heels. The bane of his existence. And he was so drunk he
could barely stagger without falling over when barefoot.

While they finished with the last minute preparations for Sylvia,
touching up his lips and a few other little things, Ron had his own
self-improvement in mind.

In the Dispatch newsroom, the crew was setting up the lighting for the
Pippin shoot. Amy, the director, instructed the crew.

"Okay, the first shot is over there," said Amy.

Ron entered the newsroom wearing a toupee. A toupee that could've
protected him from falling bricks. Like Marv Albert's, only not quite
that subtle.

"Hi, guys," said Ron.

Everyone in the office had to stop and look. Melissa and Trey tried
their hardest not to stare. Good luck.

Melissa said, "Hi Ron, I, uh---"

Trey said, "Yeah, me too."

"Too much?" he asked.

"No. No. Subtle. Natural," said Melissa.

Trey said, "Yeah, me too."

"Come on," said Ron. "It's ridiculous, right? Who's actually going to
buy this?"

"For some reason, you did," said Trey.

"I'm taking it off."

Heading back toward the elevator, he encountered Joplin, who said,
"Hey, Mr. Rendall. Wow, you look handsome. What's different? New suit?"

"New shoes."

"I should have known. I'm not very observant. By the way, Mr. Rendall,
you could use a haircut."

The elevator doors opened and Sylvia entered, struggling to maintain
his composure. Despite all the work the production team had put into
making him look beautiful, just on the long, long walk to the newsroom
he'd somehow managed to disarrange his clothing so that his dress was
askew and his jacket misbuttoned. He stepped forward and nearly tripped
on his three-inch heels, but tried as hard as he could to appear sober.

Sylvia said, "I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMildew."

"Pssst," said Ron. "Your jacket."

Sylvia looked him over and said, "I didn't know this was a costume
party, Davy Crockett."

Sylvia tried to rebutton his jacket, but had some trouble and kept
misbuttoning it.

Melissa said, "Sylvia, this is Amy, the director."

Amy put out a hand and said, "Sylvia Coco. I'm a big fan."

"Why, thank you," said Sylvia, trying not to slur his words. "My,
you're a hottie. What do you say we blow this joint and head back to my
place?"

"You've got to get used to Sylvia's sense of humor," said Melissa.

"Melissa, butt out. I'm hitting on Amy."

Any did her best to ignore this, and announced to everyone, "So we open
the shot with everyone working. Then Sylvia says her line."

"I have a line?"

"All you have to say is: 'Lifestyle Writers Whose Lifestyles Spell
Go,'" said Amy.

"Wow."

"You can read it off the cue card."

"Wanna bet?" said Sylvia, tottering drunkenly in his three-inch heels.

The cue card guy waved the cue card for him to see. Amy pointed out
Sylvia's mark and Sylvia headed over to it, but forgetting about his
tight skirt he tried to take a full stride, tripped drunkenly on his
high heels, stumbled forward and plowed right into the cue card guy,
taking him down. Trey caught Sylvia.

"Sylvia, are you alright?" asked Melissa.

"Trey tripped me. He's just jealous because I have a line."

The cue card guy got up, and Trey helped Sylvia, who was still
unsteady. Sylvia looked at Trey with irritation, and brushed Trey's
hands away from his body. Trey said to Amy, "Uh, Amy, is it? If you
need someone who knows about the biz, I'll be right over here. In the
background, or 'B. G.'"

"F. O." said Sylvia to Trey. When everyone stared at him, more than a
little bit shocked, Sylvia stared back drunkenly, and intoned,
"Fabulous Outfit."

The crew started rolling film. Amy said, "We're ready. Rolling, and---
action."

Sylvia said, "Action? Shouldn't we do the commercial first?"

"Cut," said Amy. "Sylvia, read the cue card."

"'Lifestyle Writers Whose Life---"

"No. After I say 'action.'"

"Okay."

"Okay, and action."

"What?"

"Cut."

"That was easy," said Sylvia. "Who's up for margaritas?"

Melissa said, "Syl, read the cue card."

"Melissa, are you the director?" To Amy, Sylvia said, "She's trying to
steal your job."

"I'm not. That's silly. No," said Melissa. "How did you get started?"

Amy said, "One more time. Still rolling, and action."

"Lifestyle writers who---hey buddy, would you stop moving those cards?"
said Sylvia to the cue card guy, though Sylvia was the one swaying like
a stalk of corn in the wind. "Lifestyle writers whose lifestyle writers
whose lifestyle spells writer. This doesn't make much sense."

"Still rolling. Try reading the cards---and action."

Sylvia stared at Amy, lost for a moment.

Trey said, "Sylvia, action. It means, 'talk.'"

"Not me," said Sylvia. "When I say 'action' to a woman, it means shut
up."

"Sylvia!" said Ron.

Melissa asked, "Sylvia, why are you doing this?"

"Could we have quiet please?" asked Amy.

Sylvia said, "Bossy, bossy, bossy."

"Okay, still rolling, this is the one and, Sylvia---"

"Lifestyle writers whose lifestyle spells---is anybody else hungry? I'm
starving."

"Cut!" said Amy. To the crew, she said, "Break the set. We're done."

"Oh, hooray," said Sylvia, tugging down his skirt and straightening his
jacket. "I think that was pretty good. I'd love to stay but I have to
shoot a commercial."

A little while later, sitting at a table outside the "Roasted Bean,"
Sylvia was drinking a badly needed cup of coffee. He was still in the
maroon and black outfit, which they were letting him keep. He had a
hangover that would kill a whale. His head was throbbing, his feet were
aching from his damn pumps, his shoulders were itching from his damn
bra straps, and he could barely breathe in his tight dress. He just
wanted to go back to his apartment and peel off his dress and relax.

Valerie came right up to him and said, "I was just up at the office. I
heard you blew the commercial. You just did it to piss me off, right?"

Sylvia said, in Jack's voice, "Look, Valerie, I've got a splitting
headache and my pantyhose are cutting off the blood to my groin. So, do
what you've got to do: expose me, take all my money, just let me keep
seeing Blair."

He had to finish talking quickly because he saw Joplin approaching.
Joplin said, "Miss Coco, you made a statement today. And by pretending
you were drunk, you stuck to your convictions."

"Joplin, you're so sweet," said Sylvia. "What the hell are you talking
about?"

Joplin explained to Valerie, "Miss Coco staged a demonstration this
morning. Not unlike when my father snuck into the zoo and released the
hawks. It was bad for the cats in the neighborhood, but it was still
the right thing to do. Thanks again, Miss Coco."

She left. Valerie stared at Sylvia in wonder.

"You've really got all those people fooled, don't you?"

"Oh yeah," said Sylvia, going back to speaking in Jack's voice. "Ron's
in on it, and one time I looked so gorgeous, he hit on me."

"Please, enough secrets for one day. Relax, Jack, I'm not going to
expose your secret."

"You're not?"

"Blair needs a father, and I'm not willing to dress up like a guy."

"The best thing for Blair would be for us to get back together."

"Except, Jack, she doesn't like it when we fight."

"And that's the only time we DO like each other."

"Besides, what's the point of moving in if we're not even the same shoe
size?"

"No more pumps for me, Val. I'm done being Sylvia Coco."

"I wouldn't count on it, Jack. You're going to be Sylvia Coco. A lot.
And you're going to be paying me half of her income."

"You are a gold digger."

"Well, you're a freak."

"User."

"Silicone Suzy."

"Jersey Jezebel."

"Arrogant, self-aggrandizing fool."

"That's it!" said Sylvia, and they started kissing passionately. They
parted and stared at each other.

Valerie said, "I got lipstick on you."

"You too," said Sylvia. They wiped the lipstick off each other's faces.

"Bye," said Valerie.

"What do you mean? We haven't 'made up' yet. I'm still holding a
grudge, here."

They kissed one more time. Marty the homeless guy looked on from the
newsstand.

Marty murmured, "Like the man says, 'Don't ask. Don't tell.'"

The next morning, Jack got up and checked his fax for some letters to
answer for his column. All there was in the fax machine was a note from
Melissa stating that Old Man Russell had decided that people were
missing Sylvia too much at the office, so it was determined that Sylvia
would be coming in to the Dispatch building to answer letters for a
while.

He wadded up the note and threw it away in disgust. He knew only too
well who it was that was missing leering at Sylvia. He couldn't believe
he couldn't get one lousy day off as Sylvia. But angry as he was, he
had to remember that putting on a sexy dress and flirting with Old Man
Russell was the dubious honor he'd spent the last few days fighting
for. What did he think he was, anyway? A man?

So he got dressed. There was a bit of a nip in the air, so he chose his
pink cashmere sweaterdress, with pearls. When he felt himself getting
angry again as he put on his pantyhose, he reminded himself that he'd
given up, that he wasn't a man any more, not really. He was a woman
now, and it was time to accept it and embrace his femininity. The
wonder wasn't that he was putting on pantyhose, the wonder was that a
beautiful sexy woman like him, with gorgeous legs, ever bothered to
wear pants.

He looked in his closet at all the sportcoats, just taking up space
where more dresses should be.

When he got to his office, there was Old Man Russell, who had just
happened to choose Sylvia's office to hide out from Joplin, eating a
burger and fries. As soon as Sylvia saw him he regretted wearing a
dress so sensuous to the touch.

So Sylvia put him to work helping out by reading a few letters out
loud, which Sylvia answered by dictating into a tape recorder. Anything
to keep the old man's hands busy.

Old Man Russell read aloud, as Sylvia looked over his shoulder, "Dear
Harriet: the way my boyfriend drives gets under my skin. Whenever I ask
him to brake instead of downshift, we always end up in a huge fight.
Help. Signed, Backseat Driver in Bensonhurst."

Sylvia answered, "Dear Backseat: During such an emotionally charged
discussion, avoid fighting by using 'I' statements instead of assigning
blame. When that fails, tell the moron his downshifting's going to burn
out the transfer case seals. Signed, Harriet."

More "Ask Harriet" fanfiction




Sylvia Coco stepped off the elevator at the Dispatch office building and, with an irritated look, tugged down his dark blue silk dress, which had been riding up again.

"Hi, Sylvia!"

He turned to see his boss Melissa Peters coming towards him down the hall, always happy to see him, even though she didn't know that Sylvia was a "him."

"That is a gorgeous dress, Sylvia! I love it!"

"Why thank you, Melissa!" he said in Sylvia's voice, looking down at his dress as women always do. He was getting better at being a woman every day, and it worried him.

"Sylvia, are you doing anything tonight?"

"As a matter of fact..."

"Well, cancel it. You're coming over to my place this evening for a girl's night. I've been waiting for it for a week on Netflix, and it's finally here! 'Teardrops of the Heart'!"

"'Teardrops of the Heart'?"

"A sensitive coming of age story depicting the romantic and artistic pursuits of an ambitious young woman growing up in Victorian England. The lace gowns alone are to die for!"

Sylvia couldn't imagine a worse time than spending two hours watching a chick flick with a woman he wouldn't even get to bang. He said, "Actually, Melissa, I've got plans. With Ron."

This was true. He did plan on doing something with Ron, only as Jack Cody, not as Sylvia Coco. Ron was the restaurant reviewer for the Dispatch. He said he was tired of going to five star restaurants alone to write his review, so he invited Jack to come. Actually he invited Sylvia, but Jack insisted on being allowed to come as a man, not as a woman. After wearing a dress all day, he wanted a chance to relax and eat dinner as himself.

"Oh, Ron again, eh? Sylvia, are you two becoming an item?"

"No! Melissa, Ron and I are just good friends. That's all."

"And how many great romances have started out that way? OK, Sylvia, you go out with Ron. I won't stand in the way of true love."

"Oh, Melissa!" he said, and batted her playfully and femininely on the arm.

He headed off down the hall on the way to his appointment with the features editor. He could only take half-steps because of the tight silk dress he was wearing, which he could feel sliding over his slip as he walked. He was already adept at wearing high heels and had no problems walking without tripping, but he never got over how different it felt to wear pantyhose, especially when there was a bit of a breeze running through the corridor. The next person he saw was that sleazy, pervy billionaire, Mr. Russell. Mr. Russell eyed him up and down in a way that made him want to cover up his body with both hands. He undressed Sylvia with his eyes, and took his time about it.

"Hello, Sylvia," he said, and the seductive intent in those two words was positively malicious. "I take it I'll see you at the fund raiser at my penthouse suite, Saturday night?"

Sylvia recovered his confidence and tugged at his dress again, defiantly. "You will see me," he said, "Sunday night, when the benefit is taking place."

"Sunday night?"

"Yes, Sunday night. I happened to be talking to Melissa, and she told me you'd rescheduled to Sunday night. And surprise surprise, you told everybody but me!"

"Oh, that's right! It is on Sunday night. It completely slipped my mind."

"Let me guess. Servants with the night off, the wife sent off on some excuse, me in a red sequin evening gown, you in a tuxedo with a pocket full of rufies. Did I get it right?"

"Sylvia!"

"Now look here Mr. Russell, I've flirted with you a bit in the past because I thought it might help my good friend Jack Cody get his job back, but I can see I'm wasting my time. I don't mess around with married men. You can't buy my affection, and you have absolutely nothing I want. Do I make myself clear?"

Mr Russell drew closer to Sylvia, and said, very quietly, "You know, kid? You've got spunk."

Sylvia smiled. "Why thank you, Mister..."

"I hate spunk!" he said, and stormed away.

Sylvia shrugged, feeling the brastraps of the useless bra he was wearing dig into his shoulders as he did so.

He had already finished his advice column and faxed it in that morning, so he only had a few meetings and a few endorsements and photo shoots to take care of before he could get back to his apartment, slip out of his dress and everything else he was wearing, and get back to being Jack Cody, just in time to have dinner with Ron at a five-star restaurant.

When Sylvia got back to the door of his apartment, he reached into his purse for the keys and couldn't find them anywhere. In a panic, he rummaged around in his purse for the keys, then realized he'd left them in the pocket of his pants.

"Damn it!" he said in his male voice. "I hate carrying a purse! Oh well, Cosmo should be at home."

As he knocked on the door of his next door neighbor, he realized that Cosmo had never met Sylvia. He hoped that wouldn't be a problem. When Cosmo answered the door he gave Sylvia a look that was not quite as sleazy as Old Man Russell's, but it was still disturbing. Sylvia explained that he was a friend of Jack's, and he knew that Cosmo and Jack were key buddies. He asked for the key to Jack's place.

"Well, I don't know. Jack didn't say anything about that. If you're his friend, why didn't he give you the key?"

"Oh, for pity's sake!" squealed Sylvia. "How could I even know you have Jack's key if I don't know Jack?"

"Maybe you're an ex-girlfriend who wants to trash the place. How do I know? Anyway, Jack should be home soon. Why don't you come in here and wait with me?"

"No!" said Sylvia, and backed away.

Sylvia took a cab across town and arrived at Ron's door in forty-five minutes. Traffic was a nightmare. He knocked on Ron's door, and Ron opened.

"Hello, Sylvia!" said Ron.

"Very funny," said Sylvia, which reminded him of a disturbing dream he'd once had, in which he'd found himself magically transformed into a real woman.

"Look, when you're dressed like that I'm going to call you Sylvia. It's less confusing. You wouldn't like it if I called you Jack at work when you were wearing a dress, would you? Someone might hear. Anyway, I thought you said you were going to be Jack tonight."

"I thought so too, but when I got back to my place I found I'd locked my keys inside. So it looks like I'm trapped as Sylvia for awhile."

"Oh. Don't you have a key buddy?"

"Yeah. Cosmo. But he's never met Sylvia before, and he wouldn't give me my keys."

"Wow. You really have unprecedented problems. Hey, I know! Don't you have a cell phone? Call up Cosmo and tell him to give Sylvia the keys."

Sylvia didn't quite slap himself on the forehead, but he looked as though he felt like it.

"Of course. Why didn't I think of that? It's so difficult having a duel identity, sometimes. You have to keep talking about yourself in the third person. It's so confusing!" He took his cell phone out of his purse and called up Cosmo. "Hello Cosmo, this is Jack. Yeah, fine. Listen, if a girl named Sylvia shows up and asks for my key, give it to her, OK? Very funny. I mean, give her the key. Oh, she was just there? Damn, I should've called sooner. Well listen, take care of that for me, will you, and take my advice. Stay away from her. She's crazy. And I don't mean good crazy. She's bad crazy. Psycho crazy. Got it? Very well, suit yourself, but keep your groin protected at all times."

He hung up and put the phone back in his purse.

"OK," said Ron. "Let's go to dinner."

"As soon as I get back to my place and change."

"Sylvia, we have six o'clock reservations, and if I have to wait for you to change it'll be almost two hours before we get there. They won't hold the table for us. If you want a free dinner, we have to go now."

Sylvia looked down at his dress.

"Great. Just great. So I have to go to dinner in a dress?"

"Well, it's hardly the first time. All those dinners with Old Man Russell."

"I promised myself I was never going to have dinner in a dress, ever again. Damn it! I've been looking forward all day to pealing off this tight dress, and now I have to wear it another two hours."

"If you didn't like it, why did you put it on this morning?"

"Because yesterday I wore a dress with a loose full skirt and it kept getting caught in doors and blowing up in the wind. So today I made up my mind I was going to wear a tight dress, and I didn't realize until I got out the door that it was too tight. You men don't realize all the problems involved."

"We men?"

"You know what I mean. You...people who don't wear pantyhose. Ron, I will be so glad when this is all over and I can be a full-time man and wear pants, again."

"Go ahead and wear pants! Who's stopping you? Take a look around, Sylvia. Women wear pants!"

"Listen, Ron, if I have to dress like a woman I'm damn well going to stop traffic. Sylvia doesn't get endorsement deals for being a mousy unattractive little redhead."

"Are we going or not?"

"Fine. If I have to be a woman I might as well get a free meal out of it. Every other woman does."

"I'll just grab my coat."

As he left the room, Sylvia's attention was arrested by a framed photograph.

"What are you doing with this?" he asked when Ron returned.


"That's you. In your first dress."

"I know it is. What are you doing with it?"

"Well, they took so many photos at your press conference, I thought I might as well have one for a souvenir. By the way, this was your first dress, wasn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I was just wondering if you ever dressed up as a girl when you were a young boy."

"Why the hell would I do that? Look, I'm only wearing this dress because I get paid for it, and because I'm worth more as a woman than as a man."

"Well, you look so beautiful as a woman, I just have a hard time believing this is your first time."

"This was all your idea, remember? And I still don't see why you'd want this photograph."

"Well, look at yourself! You're gorgeous!"

Sylvia looked at him suspiciously and said, "Ron, you're not doing anything nasty when you look at this photo, are you? You're not, you know, pleasuring yourself?"

"No! Boy, someone thinks a lot of herself!"

"I was just wondering, that's all."

"Let's get going, Sylvia. We can't wait around any longer."

They headed out and downstairs to catch a cab. Ron was a perfect gentleman, always holding doors for Sylvia. The cabdriver stared at both of them, hearing Jack Cody's voice coming out of Sylvia.

Ron said, "Listen, once we get in the restaurant, try to talk like Sylvia as much as possible, OK? I might have to come back to this restaurant one day. I don't want them looking at me askance."

"Fine. Whatever."

As they left the cab, the wind had picked up, and Sylvia reached down to hold his skirt in place as a reflex action, but his skirt was so tight it didn't need it. The skies looked like there was a storm brewing.

The Bistro Ron had to review was situated in a ritzy hotel. The meal was fabulous, and the night passed without incident, except when the music started playing and Ron stood up and held out his hand to Sylvia. Sylvia glared at Ron, and told him there would be no dancing.

When they paid and tried to leave, they realized that New York was in the midst of a major windstorm. Cabs were not running, and everyone was advised to stay where they were until the crisis was over.

"Lucky thing we're at a hotel," said Ron. "Let's get a room."

"No," said Sylvia, "let's wait it out. It'll be over in an hour."

An hour later and no break in the storm, they realized it was time to get accommodations. But they had waited so long, not much was available.

"We want to get a room," said Ron to the desk clerk.

"Two rooms!" said Sylvia.

"I'm afraid we have only one available."

"With twin beds?"

"No. A double bed. Is that a problem?"

"This is a first date, for Heaven's sakes!" said Sylvia.

Ron pulled Sylvia aside and said, "What's the matter with you?"

"I'd just rather not sleep in a double bed with you, right now! Come on, you can't deny you've always had a little thing for Sylvia."

"Leave my little thing out of it, thank you. What exactly do you think is going to happen?"

"I don't know and I don't want to find out."

"Look, we're stuck here and we don't have any choice, so let's just grab this room before someone else snaps it up."

"OK, fine, but I don't like it."

They registered, and Ron asked the clerk to send up some pajamas for them to sleep in.

"Oh, and shouldn't you have a razor and some shaving cream, Ron honey?" asked Sylvia.

"You heard her," said Ron.

Forty-five minutes later they were up in the room, and Ron had just changed into the black silk pajamas they had sent up. Sylvia had insisted on changing in the bathroom.

"Are you changed yet, Sylvia?"

"Yes."

"Then come on out."

"No!"

"Come out of the bathroom and stop being ridiculous!" said Ron.

Sylvia came out in a black lace nightie that barely covered him. He was still in wig and full make-up, still wearing his dark colored pantyhose, and hadn't taken off his high heels yet, and beneath the nightie he still wore all his lingerie. He looked down at himself, then looked at Ron.

"This is someone's idea of pajamas?" said Sylvia.

"Wow!" said Ron.

"Shut up, Ron! This is all your fault!"

"My fault?"

"You talked me into this! You keep talking me into things! You created Sylvia, you named her, you talked me into wearing dresses and pantyhose and high heels all day just to be her. I wanted to quit as soon as I heard about the press conference, but oh no, I had to listen to you! I'm sick of this! This always happens! Whenever I listen to you I wind up in a hotel room in a black lace negligee going to bed with a man!"

"Calm down, Sylvia."

"Don't you tell me to calm down! And my name isn't Sylvia, it's Jack! Capital J, a, c, k, Jack! And furthermore I'm not a woman, I'm a man, so stop staring at my cleavage!"

"I know you're not a woman."

"Oh, do you? Do you know that? I'm not so sure you do, Ron! I've seen the way you look at me when I wear that tight blue satin dress you like so much! No one keeps a framed photograph of someone it their living room unless they've got a thing for her! It's bad enough I got guys staring at me all day, but you know I'm a man and you check me out worse than any of 'em!"

"Calm down."

"You know what I think you are, Ron? I think you're a pervert! And that's me saying that!"

"Pervert? Pervert? Who kissed who?"

"What are you talking about?"

"That time we were sitting out front and that woman caught you getting all excited, and you said, 'He just asked me to marry him!' And you kissed me, right there!"

"On the forehead!"

"And you left a big lipstick print that you didn't even bother to tell me about! People were laughing at me all day!"

"Oh, big deal! What's that got to do with anything! That's nothing compared to what I go through. I'd like to see you walk around in a dress all day like I do! And this was all your idea! You know what I think? You know what I think? I think you couldn't find a girlfriend of your own, so you decided to create one! What do you think of that?"

"Oh, now that is really a low blow!"

"And I think you set up this whole thing, just to get me into this hotel room!"

"You're right, Sylvia! You're right! This was all my doing! When you locked your keys in your apartment, that was all my fault! The worst windstorm in New York City in thirty-five years? That was me! I did that!"

"For the last time, my name is Sylvia! I mean, my name is Jack! Now you've got me doing it!"

"And if you don't want men to stare at you, don't wear those tight dresses you keep wearing! That is just like a..."

"Oh, don't you even think of saying that, Ron! That's the same crap men have been pulling on women for decades. Just because I choose to wear a nice attractive form-fitting dress, that is not an invitation to stare at my legs and my breasts and my butt! Don't you even think of saying that!"

Sylvia angrily folded his arms and turned facing away from Ron. Ron came up behind him and said, "Look, Sylvia, I mean Jack, it's true I do like it that I get to hang out with a beautiful woman. What man wouldn't like that? When I came into the restaurant with you on my arm, I got respect and envy from all of the men in the place like I never had it before. I'm sorry. I didn't think about how it made you feel. I don't want you to feel used."

He put one hand on Sylvia's shoulder, and Sylvia petulantly yanked the shoulder away.

"Look, we're stuck here. What do you want me to do? If you want me to sleep on the floor next to the bed, I'll do it. Just say so."

"No. I don't want that. But I'm not sleeping in this flimsy thing."

He turned and headed for the bathroom.

"What are going to wear?"

"My clothes."

"You can't sleep in your dress! It'll get all wrinkled!"

"Don't tell me what to do! You're not the boss of me! We're not married, you know!"

Sylvia got into the bathroom and closed the door. He took a moment to look at himself in the mirror, then took the shaving cream and the disposable razor and shaved his face so he'd look good in the morning. Then he slipped out of the black lace nightie and put back on his black satin slip, then his dark blue silk dress. He took the string out of his purse that he had for emergencies, and used it to zip up the back zipper of his dress.

Looking down at his legs, he wondered if he should take off his pantyhose and give them a good wash and hang them up on the shower curtain rod to dry, but decided it could wait until later.

He flicked off the light and came out of the bathroom, making his way to the bed. He shut off the light on the nightstand, and finally slipped out of his high heels and got into bed. His feet were aching, and he would've loved to ask Ron for a footrub, but he was afraid Ron would take it the wrong way.

Ron would've loved to offer Sylvia a footrub, but he was afraid Sylvia might take it the wrong way.

"Don't try anything, Ron," said Sylvia.

"Will you knock it off!" said Ron.

It was really uncomfortable trying to get to sleep wearing a girdle and a longline bra, but eventually Sylvia fell asleep, and in his dream he was stepping slowly down the aisle of a church, to the familiar sounds of the wedding march. He looked down at himself, at his gleaming white wedding gown covered in lace and sparkle. The gown had a wide full skirt, and he could feel that he was wearing petticoats and high heels with at least a three-inch heel. But all that was not anywhere near as shocking and panic inducing as turning to the side and seeing that his father was leading him down the aisle.

"Dad!" he said. He spoke in Sylvia's voice, though he tried not to.

"Now, take it easy there, kitten," said his father. His father had never called him kitten in his life.

"Dad! Don't you recognize me? It's me, Jack!"

"Who's Jack?"

"I'm your son!"

His father chuckled and said, "You are nervous, aren't you? Just relax, kitten."

He was always sure that if his father ever saw him in a dress, he'd knock him down. So it made no sense that he'd keep trying to convince his father that he was Jack Cody, yet he kept trying. He couldn't stop talking in Sylvia's voice.

"Dad, this is all a mistake!" he said. "This was just for a job!"

He kept trying to reach up and take off his wig, but his veil thwarted his efforts. By this time they were at the front of the church, and he saw the man he was to marry.

"Ron, you've got to tell them this is a mistake! Tell them I'm not a woman!"

Ron just threw back his head and laughed, a diabolical laugh.

This was enough to wake up Sylvia. He looked at the clock. It was nearly seven a.m. and just starting to get light outside. The storm was over. Ron was still asleep. Sylvia pulled back the covers and got out of bed, his skirt riding up to his waist as he did so. He experienced the usual few seconds of confusion one feels on waking up and trying to put the reality of your life back together.

"What am I doing wearing a dress?" he thought. "Oh, that's right. I'm a woman. I keep forgetting that. Wait a minute, no I'm not. I'm not a woman; I'm a man. So why am I wearing a dress? Oh, it's for my job, right. I remember. Now, why would a sportswriter need to wear a dress? Oh, I write that stupid 'Ask Harriet' column, that's right. What a terrible job."

He looked at himself in the mirror. Ron had been right. His silk dress was wrinkled and looked terrible. He hated to think that Sylvia Coco would be seen in this wrinkled dress. How humiliating.

He went in the bathroom and took another shave, just to be sure, and freshened his lipstick. He came out of the bathroom and looked at Ron, still asleep, and felt bad about their argument. He took a piece of notepaper off the nightstand, folded it in half, and wrote "I'm sorry" on it. He tented it and left it on the front table where Ron would see it. Then, hesitating just a little, he picked up the piece of paper and left a lipstick print on it. He put down the note, and left.

That day Sylvia Coco had the day off, so Jack Cody proudly walked through the halls of the Dispatch in a natty brown suit, feeling free and unencumbered by lingerie, not having to worry about keeping his balance in heels, or his slip showing, or getting a run in his nylons, and getting the sort of appreciative stares from women that he'd gotten from men the day before.

Joplin came running up to him. She was a not too bright blonde bimbo who only had a job at the Dispatch because she was Old Man Russell's granddaughter. Jack often thought her naivety would get her into trouble one day. He could totally see her married to some serial killer, and completely clueless about her husband's illicit activities.

"Jack!" she cried out. "Did you hear the news? Sylvia and Ron totally did it last night!"

"Really? Did Ron say that?"

"Oh, Ron is being all noble and stupid, you know, but you can totally tell they did it."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, they went to dinner together, and there was the big storm, you know, and they were stuck at the hotel together, and Ron paid with a corporate credit card, you know, and they only got one room. I mean, like, why would they only get one room if they weren't totally planning on doing it?"

"I guess so."

Jack left her and went into the newsroom, where he saw Ron standing on a chair commanding the attention of everyone.

"Alright, everyone! Hear this!" said Ron. "Sylvia and I did not have sex last night!"

There was a murmured chorus of disbelief.

"Nothing happened! Now granted we were stuck at the same hotel, and we took the same room, and slept in the same bed, but still...nothing happened!"

"That's not what Sylvia says," said Jack.

Ron looked at him, shocked.

"Come on, Ron, she told me all about it. It was just a one-night stand. She wants you to tell everyone that you two did it, and it will probably never happen again."

"Is that really what she wants?" asked Ron, timidly.

"Damn right."

"Alright, fine. Everything you've heard is true."

All the men in the office suddenly burst into applause.

"That's enough! Now get back to work and stop gossiping," said Ron. "What are you, twelve?"

He got down off the chair, and Ron and Jack went to their usual place for a conference, the janitor's closet.

"What was that all about? I was defending your honor! You want everyone to think Sylvia's a slutty broad who sleeps with a man on the first date? What about her reputation?"

"That is her reputation," said Jack. "Sylvia is a strong, confident, beautiful woman who has lots of sex whenever she feels like it without any shame. That's exactly the kind of behavior I'm trying to encourage in the women of New York, and Sylvia is a perfect role model for them. Just a second. It's Sylvia's phone."

He took out the cell phone and answered in Sylvia's voice.

"Sylvia Coco. Oh hi, Melissa! Yes, it's true. Yes, I heard. Ron was so sweet, lying for me, but it's true. How was he? Oh Melissa, you just have no idea! Ron is a tripod! Oh, he was fantastic!"

Ron covered up the phone and asked, "What are you doing?!"

"Trying to get you a date with a real woman for a change," said Jack, then went back to talking in Sylvia's voice on the phone. "What it it? What? Oh, Melissa! Come on, Melissa! Don't I even get one day off? I know what my contract says, but can't you reschedule it? Melissa! Please? Please, Melissa?" He sighed and said, "OK, tell them I'll be there in an hour."

He rang off and said, "Damn it! I don't even get to be a man for one lousy day! There's got to be a way out of this mess, 'cause I can't stand going round in a dress. How do I get back to Jack?"

"What does she want Sylvia for?"

"Big meeting with some sponsors. She's not sure, but she thinks it might be for a television show."

"Hey, Sylvia's going to be a TV star! That's great!"

"Yeah. Great. Meanwhile I've got to go all the way back home and get changed. No way I'll ever make it in an hour."

"No problem. I stashed some Sylvia clothes in here, in case of emergencies. Everything you need, make-up, heels, spare wig, even a mirror."

Ron got out a box he had hidden in the back. As he took out the clothes, Jack said, "Oh no, Ron, not the leather miniskirt again!"

"Would you rather go back to your place?"

"Give me it."

Ron went out to stand guard in front of the door, just in case. Eventually he heard Jack's voice saying he was ready. He came in, and Sylvia was standing there. Ron looked at Sylvia, his mouth agape.

"So, how do I look?" asked Sylvia.

"You look...very nice," said Ron, and sat down.

"Tell the truth, Ron."

>
"You're the sexiest, most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life," said Ron.

"I know. I can't help it."

"Pure sex appeal oozing off of every luscious curve."

"Please try and control yourself, Ron."

"You wanted the truth."

"But not quite so much of it. Still, it's nice to hear you say. Well, I'm off to find out about the 'Ask Harriet' TV show. Let's hope it doesn't have too many episodes. By the way, Ron, you might want to try to calm down a little before you go back to work." Sylvia glanced in the direction of Ron's crotch.

That evening, Ron was back in his apartment watching the pre-game show as he sat on his couch trying to compose a restaurant review. There was a knock at the door. He muted the TV and got up to answer it. It was Sylvia.

"Hello there, Ron!" said Sylvia, speaking in Sylvia's voice. "Guess what? I just bought a new dress and I couldn't wait to show it to you!" Sylvia did a little pirouette in his new purple dress. It was a disappointing dress, in that it wasn't quite as tight-fitting as Sylvia usually wore, but it was short, and there were those incredible legs.

"It's lovely," said Ron, looking for the person with Sylvia but not seeing anyone. Ron couldn't figure out why Sylvia wasn't talking like Jack. "What happened to what you were wearing this morning?"

"Oh, I couldn't see the sponsors in that hoochie mama outfit. I saw this pretty dress in the window and I had to try it on. I just love how it feels to wear a new dress. Aw, you men will never get to know what it's like, will you? You poor boys."

"What can I do for you, Sylvia?"

"I just thought I'd like to come over and watch some TV with my good friend Ron."

"Have a seat."

Sylvia sat down, tucking his skirt under him as he sat, and crossed his legs. Ron sat next to him. Sylvia picked up a football which was nearby and gazed at it wistfully, like a relic from another world he could no longer be a part of.


"So what's on? Some sort of a football match or something?" Sylvia asked, still talking in Sylvia's voice.

"Jack, no one's here. You don't have to keep talking like Sylvia. Talk like yourself."

"Oh, what's the point, Ron?" said Sylvia, finally starting to talk like Jack. "No one wants Jack. No one needs Jack for anything."

"What's this about?"

Sylvia sighed and said, "A new reality show. 'The Sylvia Coco Show.' Cameras following me around night and day, Ron. Night and day! Without a day off!"

"Oh, boy. For how long?"

"Six months. With an option to renew, if it's popular."

"You said no, of course."

"Don't you think I wanted to say no? If I say no, they'll take the column away from me and give it to someone else."

"Jack, don't do this. You're going to go insane being a woman for that long. It's already made most women insane. No job is worth going crazy over."

"What else am I going to do, Ron? Jack Cody is unemployable. Believe me, I've tried. And New York can't get enough of Sylvia Coco. You wouldn't believe the money they're paying. New York City wants me to wear a skirt, Ron, that's all there is to it. Anyway, I already signed the contract."

"Sylvia is a fictional person. You said it yourself, it's like signing a contract with the Easter bunny. And when are you going to get to shave, Jack? Tell me that."

"They're not going to follow me into the bathroom. Though I'll have to get some tampons, in case they go in there when I'm not around. And I'll have to get rid of my after-shave lotion."

"What about your daughter?"

"I've taken care of her. I told her mother I'm on assignment for six months in Afghanistan."

"What's a sportswriter going to do in Afghanistan?"

"Duck, mostly. I'll miss Blair, but I'm doing this for her, so she'll get to attend a decent college someday."

"This is going to be a disaster. What happens if they get a look up your skirt and see Mr. Happy?"

"I'm always very careful to sit like a lady. Now, listen Ron, you talked me into being Sylvia, so you have to help me with this. We only have a few days before they begin shooting, and I want to store all my male clothes at your place, and get everything male out of my apartment. I'll need your help."

"If that's what you want."

"There's another thing. I think it might cause talk if Sylvia doesn't have a boyfriend."

"Oh, no! No you don't!"

"You didn't seem to mind dating me last night."

"I'm not doing it, Jack."

"Call me Sylvia, and yes you are. You got me into this mess, and you're helping me."

"I'm not kissing you."

"You won't have to kiss me. I'll just keep my back to the camera and we'll do something that looks like kissing but isn't."

"This is so gay."

"Well, you should've thought about that before you made me wear a dress."

"I didn't make you."

"You talked me into it, and now I'm talking you into this. You're doing it. It's the least you can do. And by the way, you're not getting any of the money."

Ron sighed, and said, "Alright, fine, if you insist. Are you still going to write that book, 'My Life as a Woman'?"

"Sure, but I still have to become ridiculously rich, first."

"How will you ever become rich if you spend all your money on pretty dresses?"

"That reminds me, I've got to do some shopping for the show. I've got to get some negligees. I should check out Victoria's Secret. I think that nightie I was wearing at the hotel was Victoria's Secret. I don't know what Victoria's big Secret is, but I bet it's not as big as mine. Also, I saw a pink satin dress at Saks the other day that was really lovely. I thought I could never afford it, but now I could buy out the whole dress department if I wanted to. I should go try it on. I don't have any pink dresses. Do you think I'd look good in pink? Of course I'd have to get new pumps with that dress."

"Why don't you just wear that blue satin dress you look so good in?"

"Ron, I know you love seeing me in that dress, but I wore that for the press conference. Everyone's seen me in it! You know, I told you if I went to that press conference I'd be stuck in drag forever, and look at me now."

"It's only for six months, Jack."

"Sylvia. No, Ron. There were mornings when I got out of bed and picked out which dress to wear, when I was able to kid myself that this was all temporary, but this reality show had taken away the last of my hope. New York City wants me to be a woman, and who am I to argue with New York? Six months from now they'll pick up the option, or there'll be some other reason I have to be Sylvia. I know it'll happen. I have to face it, Ron. I'm trapped in lipstick and a dress. Maybe for the rest of my life. Because I'm simply making too much money as a woman to go back to being a man. Successful girls don't quit, Ron."

"Jack, we can start all this tomorrow, can't we? We don't have to do anything tonight?"

"I suppose."

"Do you want to watch the game?"

"I guess. Unless that movie 'Teardrops of the Heart' is on. Now that I'm a woman I guess I have to get used to that slop."

"I've got an idea. How about we go back to your place and you change back to Jack? And we go out to a sports bar and watch the game together?"

"Really? You'd be seen with me when I'm not wearing a dress? You'd actually be seen with Jack Cody?"

"I like Jack Cody."

"I don't know. What's the point, Ron?"

"The point is to get drunk and smoke a cigar and use a urinal and spend a whole night with no one staring at your legs or trying to peek up your skirt."

"But I'll still be back wearing pantyhose and high heels tomorrow."

"We're not going to think about tomorrow. Now, we're going to go back to your place and change, and we're going to forget all about being a woman for the rest of the night. OK?"

"We're going to forget about it? I'm the one wearing a dress here, and I wouldn't be wearing it if not for you and your great ideas."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it. Listen, the truth is that I talked you into being Sylvia originally because I was jealous of you getting all the babes."

"And now I am one."

"And I talked you into remaining Sylvia because you're a beautiful woman, and I enjoy getting to hang out with a beautiful woman."

"You said that, before."

"Do you forgive me for the fact that you're wearing pantyhose?"


Sylvia smiled and said, "Well, I'll forgive you for the pantyhose, but I'm not forgiving you for this black lace bra I've got on. But I will forgive you for the pretty new dress I'm wearing. But I'm not forgiving you for my black satin slip. Or my girdle. However, I will forgive you for my high heels. But not my lipstick. Or my dress shields. And I'm not forgiving you for my pink satin panties under any circumstances."

"I'm glad to see you're keeping your sense of humor about being a woman."

"It's either that or kill myself, Ron. I'm just trying to look at the bright side. I know I'll have a lot more girlfriends than ever before. It's just that instead of having sex with them, we'll be shopping for dresses together. That's just as good, right? And one of my new lady friends invited me to be a bridesmaid next month. Jealous much?"

"Take it easy, Sylvia."

Sylvia tossed aside the football he was holding, and said, "And I guess I won't need this any more. Can you imagine me trying to play touch football in Central Park in a pink sweaterdress and matching pumps?"

"I can imagine you wearing a pretty sparkling dress and playing office basketball, when the office is deserted and you think no one's watching."

"You saw that, huh? Well, that's my point. I almost broke a heel. What's the point of getting dressed up like a man and going to a sports bar? I'm a woman. I need to stop trying to be a man and accept the fact that I'm a woman. It's like I said at the press conference. 'Show the world you're a woman. All woman. I do. Every day of my life!' And now it really is every day of my life."

"We're going back to your place, and you're taking off that dress and putting on a suit, and we're going to a bar to watch the game. And that's final."

"You're always trying to get me out of my dress. OK, fine. Whatever you want. You're the man. I'm just a woman. I'll do whatever you want. You tell me to put on a dress, and I put on a dress. You tell me to take it off, and I take it off. As always."

"Look, you can't keep blaming this entirely on me, Sylvia. You once said that you liked being Sylvia Coco."

"That was when I thought I'd get to quit."

"So tell me the truth. Are you wearing that dress now because you like being Sylvia Coco?"

"Ron, my father told me that a man does what he has to do to survive. And if being a woman is what I have to do to survive, then I'm a woman."

"That's not answering the question."

"That's the only answer you're going to get. Now, let's go. If this is to be my last night as a man, let's make it a night to remember."

THE END?