Pete's Vagina -56- In the Pocket

My memories felt like double vision. Every scene blurred if I tried to think of myself as a boy called Pete, and clearer if I willingly replaced each mental image with one of me as a girl.

I leaned a bit sideways, looking up at the underside of the set of elkhorns on the wall, just for something real to stare at instead of mentally watching myself trying to walk in Mom’s heels when I was ten. Had I really done that? As a boy? The image of me doing it as a girl was so vivid.

“It’s not going to fall,” Lee said, sounding amused.

I blinked twice and pulled my gaze back down to my dinner partner. I must have looked like a goof staring at the antlers like that. I smiled. He smiled. Why did I feel a bit giddy?

“It’s an eleven-pointer,” he commented. The noise of the diners around us came and went arbitrarily: clinking and clattering of plates, cups, bowls, and silverware, murmured conversation half-heard, laughter, and two people at a nearby table speaking in Spanish.

“Is that good?” I asked, trying to ignore overheard comments that might have been about me. Es la jugadora de futbol, numero diezisiete. Que linda es ella.

“I guess so,” he offered. “I’m no hunter, but I think it means the––stag?—was six years old or more.”

“Huh?” I blinked, another memory trying to resurface. My Dad hunted. In this part of Arizona, every man who ran a business practically had to. Had I ever gone with him? I couldn’t be sure…. A blurry image of me wearing a too-large orange and plaid hunter’s cap came to mind, with Daddy and his buddies laughing at me.

“You’re so beautiful,” Lee was saying.

I blinked several times, then laughed at him, and he turned red.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to say that… out loud. I mean….”

I shook my head. The salad and appetizer plates were disappearing as Lawrence arrived with the main course, along with some help clearing things away. The busboy looked about fourteen, all google-eyes and pimples. He looked everywhere but managed to lock gazes with Lee before realizing he was being glared at.

“Frick,” I said quietly. “Let him live.” Which got a laugh from Lawrence.

The steak that Old No. 17 put in front of me smelled rich and buttery and looked half as big as my head. A glance at Lee’s plate showed that ranch hands really were expected to eat much more than cowgirls. “I’ll never eat all this,” I commented, especially with the accompanying baked potato, split and filled with sour cream, chives, bacon, and gorgonzola cheese.

We didn’t talk much as we ate; the meal deserved our attention, and I managed to devour more than I expected to. After I pushed my plate away and Lee had done the same, Lawrence reappeared, asking politely, “A scoop of ice cream or a slice of cake to top things off?”

“I don’t think I could,” I assured him.

“It’s complimentary,” Lawrence explained. Meaning free.

I shook my head. “No thanks.”

After Lee also refused, Lawrence left a leatherette folder on the corner of the table and retreated.

Was the folder the check? How much did a meal like this cost? Especially with the price of the faux frontier swank added in? Certainly more than I’d ever paid on a date with a girl.  But… now, I’m the girl. I couldn’t offer to pay half--that wouldn’t be right, I knew. But I wasn’t at all sure how I was supposed to feel about someone dropping a big dollop of cash to feed me.

Gratitude? Admiration? Relief that I didn’t have to worry my pretty little head about things like restaurant bills? I suppressed another giggle and an unladylike burp. The truth was, I felt a bit… smug. Like… I know I’m worth it, and I’m pleased that Lee thinks so, too.

“Let’s just sit here a moment before we have to give the chairs back,” said Lee, his expression betraying the fact that he had eaten too much, too.

“Suits me,” I agreed, relaxing into the comfort of the extra-padded seat. I looked around the room again, basking in the deliberately rough-edged luxury of it all. The heads of game animals dominated the decor, but paintings and framed photos shared the walls, going up to a plank ceiling from which hung six wrought iron chandeliers. A number of knickknacks filled small spaces, mostly teddy bears and model wheelchairs.

I smiled at Frick across the table, which still smelled of meat and spuds. “Thank you for a marvelous dinner, Lee. I wasn’t expecting anything so elaborate.”

“I’ve been planning this since August,” he admitted. “Even before Mom decided to finance my film project.”

I frowned, glancing at the leatherette folder still lying on the corner of the table. “Is your mom picking up the tab here?” Maybe I didn’t have a right to feel smug.

“Oh, no,” he assured me. “I have my own money for dates.” He grinned, showing a bit of sly pride. “I film commercials for the local TV station.”

“I didn’t know that!”

“It pays pretty well, too. I’ve done four so far, and the money mostly went into my college fund, but don’t worry that this meal is going to leave me flat.”

“I wasn’t worried,” I said, watching as he pulled cash out of his wallet and tucked it into the bill folder. Worried wasn’t the right word, but I was glad to feel my confidence reassured.

About that moment, a blonde girl about ten--the age of my younger sister, Molly-- appeared near the table, accompanied by a woman who surely must have been her mother.

“Number 17, Pete!” the girl quavered. “Can I have your autograph?” She held out a pen and a football program book from Friendly High.

The mother inclined her head and rolled her eyes but with a smile.

“I—Sure,” I said. “I guess?” I glanced at Lee to see him holding up a 35mm SLR camera. Where had he been hiding that?

“If I can get a couple of pictures,” he murmured. “For the school paper?”

Mother and daughter agreed, and I wrote down their information on the back of a card the mother offered before signing the program. Mom was Cecily, and the little girl was Kendra.

“I play football with my brothers,” Kendra told me while I worked on my first autograph.

“Good for you,” I said. “I didn’t have any brothers, just sisters.”

“How did you learn the game?” she asked before examining what I had written. “To Kendra, always remember, you’re a lioness too.”

“Jake, the quarterback, was my friend since grade school,” I explained.

“Wow!” she exclaimed. “Are you two going to get married?”

Mom stepped in with an embarrassed laugh. “Honey,” she said. “Pete isn’t dating the quarterback. She’s dating this nice young man with the camera.”

“Oh,” Kendra sounded disappointed, then suddenly pushed closer to give me a hug. “It’s like a movie!” she said in my ear. “The team photographer has a crush on you, but you marry the quarterback in the end.”

We all laughed, but Lee didn’t really look as if he thought it was funny.