The Lakers were 20 points behind by halftime and it looked like the series would soon be tied at one game apiece. Joey and I decided to go clear over to the other side of the arena to go to the ladies’ room and avoid the other Laker wives and girlfriends. Eliot had played poorly in the first half, missing all but one of his shots and committing three fouls, so they were loud in their depredations of his character or “clutchness” in sports lingo. When we arrived at the north end ladies’ room, there was, of course, a long line. I turned to Joey.

“So, you still haven’t told me how you ended up in The Children’s Hospital here. It was just six months ago that you were a resident at Tufts in Boston…”

“Frankly, I’d been looking to transfer my residency for a while. I’ve been stuck in the nest way past the fledgling stage. I was itching to spread my wings. Forgive the clumsy metaphors. You’re the one with the graduate degree in English. I’m a science nerd.” She laughed and the line inched forward. We quickly caught up.

“Anyway, The Children’s Hospital was expanding, and they were building a department for children with transgender issues.” I heard someone cluck rather noticeably and caught a glimpse of a head turning away quickly. I frowned at the woman. “Staffing pediatricians, endocrinologists, psychologists, the whole shebang. You could say I wanted in on the ground floor. They approved my application the first week of January and I started at the end of the month”.”

“How did Elizabeth react?”

“She said I blindsided her. She didn’t speak to me for days. Whatever. The woman is a mess, but I’ve got my own life to live. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh. I’m 27 years old, for god’s sake.”

“As a parent myself, even though I’m not Eliot’s biological parent, your child will always be seven years old to you. Needing protection, guidance, love. You never stop being a parent.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’ll never be a parent. For good or bad.”

“That’s how you feel right now. Wait a few years. Your maternal instinct will kick in.” The line inched further. The door was in sight, even as the rate of exit was still glacial.

“There’s one big problem with working there though.”

“Homesick?”

“No, I don’t miss Boston winters, for sure. I found out the reason I got accepted so quickly was my dad urged the administration to take me on. He’s been consulting with the hospital for the better part of the last year. Of course, they wanted to hire his daughter.” She laughed rancorously. “Everyone on staff thinks I’m there because of nepotism. It stinks. My dad’s playing some kind of mind game on me and my career.”

“I don’t think he’d do anything to intentionally hurt you like that. Haven’t you asked him why he did this, out of the blue, after all these years of basically ignoring your existence?”

“I don’t speak to him. If we cross paths in the halls, I lower my head and walk quickly past him. I hate the man. He obviously hates me.”

“I wasn’t even aware he’d moved down to Los Angeles. I thought he was deeply ensconced in Seattle. Had a huge practice out there, I heard.”

“He took early retirement two years ago. The Children’s Hospital offered him a cushy consulting position, helping them with their expansion. So, he moved down here. I’m told he bought a veritable palace in Santa Monica. They think he’s big shit around here. Los Angeles Magazine did a spread about him last month.” She reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. “Here, look, there’s a big photo of him, grinning like a maniac.”

Suddenly, a platoon of women exited the ladies’ room. I grabbed Joey and we rushed inside behind a group of women big enough to play offensive lineman in football. At least they moved as if they could.

---

We were in a somber mood as Eliot, Joey, and I walked to our cars in the team’s parking garage. The Lakers had lost Game 2 by a mere 3 points after a furious failed comeback in the final quarter. Eliot had been a sparkplug in the comeback, scoring 20 points in the second half, but couldn’t quite beat the buzzer with a potential game-winning three-point shot at the end. Still, he intended to hit the town with his “two best gals” as called us. But Joey reminded him that she had an early shift all week and wanted to get to bed before 11PM. As for myself, I begged off by saying I said some “homework” to do before I hit the hay. After all, I was in LA to work not to explore the nightlife. Eliot snorted a laugh but bade us both good night, planting kisses on our cheeks and whistling as he walked away.

“Thank you for not bringing up what we discussed last night,” Joey said as she opened the passenger side door to her car for me. She had picked me up and driven me to the arena. I would have been lost on my own, navigating these labyrinthine LA streets. Joey strapped in and gunned the engine. Soon we were shooting down Chick Hearn Court, hopping onto the Harbor Freeway, headed to Alastair’s guest house in Silver Lake.

“You were right. He’ll tell me in his own time. I don’t want it to come off as if I’m scolding him for not telling me. A child needs privacy in certain things even from his parents. Although you would think Eliot would be secure enough in our relationship to be open about this with me…of all people. Joey? Don’t you think so?”

“Oh, sorry, talking about parent-child communication just makes me angrier at my father. I’m tempted to resign my residency and find another placement. I could try a hospital in New York. I heard Columbia Presbyterian is expanding its pediatric transgender department. I could live with you, Joanne, until I got my own place. LA’s more expensive than New York, isn’t it?”

“I think you should sit down with your father and hash this out first. Don’t assume bad intentions on his part. Maybe he wants to finally get to know his beautiful, brilliant daughter.”

“He preferred his handsome, whip smart son. He’s asked me to lunch and dinner countless times, but I always decline. I tell him I’m busy or tired or just not interested. He doesn’t seem fazed though. Keeps asking. By the way, he knows you’re here in LA.”

“You told him?”

“Well, I told mom and I guess she let it slip. You know, they still talk occasionally. I don’t get it, but I hope Dad doesn’t show up on your doorstep unexpectedly.”

“Oh, that’s all I need.”

“Sorry, Joanne. I guess I’m bad luck after all. When I saw Eliot for the first time in 10 years at the hospital—”

“What was he doing there?”

“The Lakers always send over a group of their players once a month to perk up the kids’ spirits. You should see their eyes light up when they see someone like Lebron or Westbrook walk into their ward. Anyway, my first month here, Eliot was one of the players. It took us a couple of minutes but we both remembered that week in New York City when I came to see you.”

“And you cooked up this cover story. The two of you?”

“Eliot’s such a sweetie. How could I turn him down? Here we are.” The car was parked outside Alastair’s guest house. It was only a 15-minute drive from the arena to Silver Lake.

“Would you mind coming over soon to continue your life story? I’d very much like to hear more. And would you mind if I took notes?”

“Took notes? Why?”

“Call it research. My own transition didn’t happen until I was past 30. Yours came so much earlier. Compare and contrast, you know.”

“Sure, I don’t mind. Just change everyone’s names if you use any of it. I’d like it if you called my character Sigourney Templeton.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I wasn’t always a science nerd. When I was in 6th grade, I started writing a novel about a girl named Sigourney Templeton who finds out her parents aren’t her biological parents but that she was somehow given to them by space aliens from a dying planet to raise as a human child. She had special powers like a mutant, sort of.”

“Do you still have it? Even if it’s unfinished, I’d be very interested in reading it.”

“No, I ripped it up. I was afraid they’d find it and read it. Then they’d think I was insane or something.”

I reached over and stroked her cheek. “Poor Joey. Were you afraid the aliens would come back to take you away?”

“No, I was afraid they wouldn’t.”

Before he left for the wilds of Canada, Alastair had told me that my prospective writing partner, Philippa Chang Flaherty, would contact me to set up a first meeting soon. I hadn’t checked my phone all evening. I reached all the way down into my bag to fish it out and, of course, Philippa had sent me a text. She wanted to meet for lunch at a place called Tartine Bakery. There were five of these bakeries in LA. The one she gave me the directions to was also in Silver Lake, just a 7-minute drive from where I was standing. She said she swore by their famous Country Loaf, but their Sourdough wasn’t far behind. I texted her back to confirm. Alastair also left me a text. I won’t go into what he wrote. Or what I replied. You can imagine, I’m sure.

I had a big day ahead, so I reached into the refrigerator and pulled out the half pitcher of spritz left from the night before. As I downed a glass of the glorified wine cooler, I smirked, remembering Joey’s question about how much, back in the day, Elizabeth and I indulged in alcoholic beverages. Bit of a brat, that girl.

---

The noonday sun was so bright, even my Audrey Hepburn sunglasses couldn’t cut down the glare. And it was boiling hot with the top up. That’s the drawback with a soft top convertible. It gives you that carefree, wind in your hair feeling on the road but once it’s parked in an urban setting with the top up, any miscreant with a penknife or boxcutter can rip the roof to shreds and run off with all your valuables. Also, my hair looked like crap. I really needed that kerchief.

Despite almost jumping my car over the concrete wheel stop as I filled a parking space in front of the bakery, I gracefully emerged from my car, smiling sheepishly at a passerby as I walked quickly to the entrance. Inside, I took off my sunglasses and was able to pick out Philippa from the sea of lunchtime patrons, seated at a table in a cozy corner. She half stood up and waved to me. She was immediately recognizable from the pictures I had found of her online, like this one of her and her husband, Paul Flaherty, at this year’s Oscars.

A pretty transwoman from a biracial family. Her father is Chinese, born and raised in Minnesota. Her mother is Scots Irish from Pacoima in the San Fernando Valley just north of the city. She transitioned in her early twenties after working with Paul on his first animated feature, Princess Butterfly, which she wrote. They had re-connected a couple of years after being college roommates. Quite a cute story. There was some talk of Philippa playing the title role in the live action version which was Oscar-nominated for best picture a year ago. But she professed no desire to act so the role went to Xiao Quan, the ingenue from Beijing who is currently dating that young congressman from San Francisco. Ironically, because of Quan’s lack of fluency in English, Philippa ended up looping her lines in the domestic version of the film anyway. So, she acted the lead after all.

“Hi, Joanne. I’m Philippa. Wow, you’re early. Punctual people are hard to come across in Hollywood. Sit down, please.”

“Well, they say New Yorkers operate at a different pace than you indigent West Coast types. I almost didn’t quite make it. I just avoided totaling my car trying to park outside. The glare is awe-inspiring at mid-day in these parts.”

“Born and raised here so I’m used to it. You sound like my Dad. He’s from the Midwest. There, the only glare they get is from the glacier-like snow that sits on the ground from October through March. So, Alastair tells me we have a lot in common…”

“Alastair is Captain Obvious.”

“I like Alastair. He seems like a decent chap. Believe me, they’re few and far between in this town. Are you two…uh…together?”

“Sort of. It’s early days. Who knows? Right? I think it’s 50/50 business and romance. A deadly combination.” I laughed just as a waitress approached to take out orders.

“Need menus, ladies?”

“Philippa, you know what’s good here. Order for me. Don’t worry, I have no food allergies…that I’m aware of.”

To the waitress: “You’re my witness. If she gets violently sick, it’s not on me.” The waitress frowned and then leaned down to whisper in my ear.

“I’d watch out for this one, ma’am.”

“Let’s have two smoked salmon and poached egg sandwiches on your world-famous country bread. And two iced teas, lemon wedges on the side.” Our waitress scooted off.

Her iPhone burped a text alert and she scanned it quickly, replying immediately, her thumbs dancing on the screen’s virtual keyboard.

“Sorry, let’s make this a quick lunch. We can go back to my house and talk in a more relaxed setting. We’re in Los Feliz. Just five minutes from here.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Oh, it’s Paul, my husband. He’s watching our daughter Clarissa while also trying to work on storyboards for his next project. He was just wondering when I’d be back. Clarissa’s a handful for a 1-year-old—”

“I thought Paul was closer to your age—”

“I see you’re a bit of a comedian, Ms. Prentiss. I hate comedians. No, I’m just kidding. But Paul isn’t. He finds it difficult to do two things at the same time. Like walking and chewing gum.”

“Now who’s the comedian? But you’re burying the lead. You have a baby?”

“Paul and I adopted a newborn through a private agency. It’s really expensive but it’s the only way to go. We got to screen potential birth mothers so we’d get some idea of how the baby might turn out. Clarissa’s the cutest baby. We made the right choice. Of course, we’d say that in any case. But it’s true. You’ll see. Here’s our orders.”

I had the overwhelming urge to snap a shot of this and post it on Instagram. But fortunately, I don’t have an Instagram account.

“We want to wait until Clarissa is at least 3 before we adopt a little brother for her. Doctors say children 3 and older are mature enough to welcome a sibling and not feel threatened by the new addition to the family. I’ve always wanted to be a mommy.”

“I just spoke to someone who transitioned earlier than you who claims not to have any maternal longings—”

“Alastair told me you have a stepson who plays on the Lakers.”

“Yes. Eliot Bradshaw. Do you follow the NBA?”

“Me? No. Paul likes sports. I could care less—”

“Couldn’t care less. It’s couldn’t care less. If you could care less—”

“Oh, dear me, we really are going to make a great team. Joanne, you’re a real prize, don’t you know? Let’s finish up. I really want Paul and Clarissa to meet you.”

We would’ve been out of that place lickety-split, but Philippa had to pick up some loaves of bread, baguettes, croissants, scones, and lemon tarts. This took another fifteen minutes. I should have just stayed in my seat and taken my time instead of trying to destroy my sandwich in less than four bites. Finally, I followed Philippa’s lead as we drove to her house in Los Feliz.

Los Feliz is one of the several trendy neighborhoods in LA that is popular with celebrities, especially film and TV actors. In fact, Paul and Philippa purchased their house from a veteran British actor whose American TV series had been unexpectedly cancelled after only its second season. He demobbed immediately to Blighty where, I’m told, he does commercials for Selfridges. When we pulled up to their driveway, Paul was standing outside, with Clarissa perched on his shoulders, anxiously awaiting his wife’s return.

Philippa introduced us and Paul exchanged bundles with his wife, placing Clarissa in her mother’s arms and grabbing the bag of baked goods. Clarissa made cute noises at me as we walked into their Craftsman style house.

We reconvened our writers’ conference in the large space that the couple used as a shared office. They had desks at opposite ends of the room with a playard sitting smack dab in the middle, wherein Clarissa was gently ensconced and soon busied herself with her plush dolls and some Baby Einstein toys that play kiddie music.

“We try not to put her in the playard for too long. But it comes in handy to keep her out of harm’s way, especially now that she’s starting to walk. And she can say a few words now too. Right, sweetie?” Clarissa looked up at her mother and then half laughed and half shouted one of those few words.

“Dada! Dada!” Paul came over and kissed the top her head.

“I’m afraid she loves Daddy more than Mommy. Maybe she senses I’m not her birth mother. Like animals and pheromones. I don’t smell correct to her—”

“Nonsense, Philippa. It’s obvious she loves you just as much. Like you said, she’s got a very small vocabulary right now. She entertains herself by making sounds, that’s all. You probably did the same thing when you were her age.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“She is, honey,” Paul agreed. “You’re too sensitive. You’re her mother, plain and simple.”

“Now, Joanne, Alastair gave me a copy of the treatment for your proposed screenplay. I was very impressed. It has the makings of a very dramatic story, lots of conflict, emotion, piquant observations about the lives we lead, especially, of course, transwomen, and could be a real dynamic vehicle for an award-winning actor—”

“And director! Don’t forget director.”

“No interruptions from the peanut gallery, please.”

“Clarissa, are you going to just sit by and allow your dada to be treated so shabbily?”

“Ma…ma. Mama!”

“Alright, I’ll stay in my corner and leave you ladies alone. It’s three against one.”

“So, I’m excited to collaborate with you on this. Would you mind if we used my house as ground zero for our meetings? I’ve got Clarissa—”

“Oh, no worries. I’d rather meet here anyway. It’s only 10 minutes from Alastair’s house. I could walk it in like 45 minutes if I needed the exercise.”

“Nobody walks in LA,” a male voice boomed from the recesses of the room.

“Yeah, you either drive or skateboard it.”

“Well, I think I’ll drive then. Actually, I’m enjoying driving Al’s Audi around. Gets this old lady some attention from younger men.”

“Dada!”

“I’ll be glad when she can string words together into a sentence. Like ‘Mother dear, I’m a bit peckish. Shan’t we serve dinner already?’ Instead of just crying at high decibel levels.”

“So, what’s the timetable we’re working with?”

“They gave Alastair 90 days to hand in a camera-ready draft screenplay. That’s plenty of time to write a 120-minute shooting script—”

“Wait, I thought this was going to be a mini-series, like 6 parts or more.”

“Well, it has to be greenlighted as a mini-series first. If they feel this is worth, say, 360 or more minutes of airtime, we’ll have time to write the rest. It’ll go into pre-production which could take months. You know: casting, location scouting, studio time, props and costuming, legal clearances, musical scoring, etc., etc. The actual shoot takes a few weeks, but the development and pre-production takes more than half a year at least.”

“I didn’t realize so much goes into it. I could be stuck here in LA for a year!”

“Well, don’t be too overjoyed about the prospect,” she laughed.

“Maa-Maaa!”

“Clarissa agrees with me. Don’t you, sweetie? She’s so cute, Philippa. I’m so envious. I didn’t have Eliot until he was seven years old. I missed out on holding a baby in my arms, rocking her to sleep. I’m so jealous.”

“Motherhood isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, Joanne. There’s diapers for one thing…”

“Bananana!”

“Does she want a banana?”

“No, she just likes saying the word. Oh, I forgot to save part of that salmon sandwich for her. I tear it into tiny pieces, and she loves that fish taste. Whodathunkit?”

“Let’s start Monday morning. I’ll come over around 10.”

I was in high spirits after the meeting with Philippa. She seemed so positive in her attitude toward life and who could blame her? She was a successful screenwriter with a number of award nominations already under her hat, a handsome husband who shared her work life, and a sweet as honey little one-year-old who called her maa-maa. She was the very model of the modern transwoman. Her optimism and enthusiasm were infectious. I put the top down on my Audi and let the hot breeze off Sunset Boulevard rush through my hair on the 10-minute drive home. My exuberance was tempered when the Sirius channel I had turned on unexpectedly played that sad yet beautiful song by Gordon Lightfoot, “The Last Time I Saw Her.”

The final bars of the song preoccupied me as I drove up the driveway between Alastair’s house and the guest house. It was only when I stepped out of the car that I saw him standing there in front of Alastair’s front door, giving me a curious once over, unsure of my identity. He was wearing a navy-blue blazer over a shirt and tie and beige slacks, his sparse hair slicked back and parted to the right. Swap out the blazer for a white coat and he looked as if he’d just stepped out of that Los Angeles Magazine spread. I approached him and took my sunglasses off.

“Doctor Petry, I presume?”

“Ms. Prentiss? Joanne Prentiss? I…didn’t expect…I mean I…”

“Flattery will definitely get you nowhere, doctor. To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of meeting you for the first time?”

“I came to speak to you about my…daughter, Jocelyn. Elizabeth told me that Joey had made contact with you and that she was dating your…uh…stepson—”

“If you’ve come to see me to display your bigoted views on all manner of things, I’m really not interested, nor do I have the time to waste. If you’ll please get off my friend’s property—”

“Please, I’m not here to express displeasure with her dating your son. I came to ask for your help…”

“Me, help you? How can I possibly help you? You’re the one who’s a pillar of society, the very successful, much honored, well-respected medical titan of the pediatric field. I’m the outcast, the kind of person you shun and try to hide in shadow, a marginalized sub-human abomination. Like your own daughter. Do I have that right?”

“Just hear me out. I’m a changed person. It’s like someone or something cracked open the door to my personal prison of prejudices and let light shine in, finally illuminating the dark place I was blindly stumbling around in. I need to let Joey know I admit my horrible mistake. I love my daughter. Please help me reach out to her.”

“That’s a pretty speech you’ve just dropped on me, and the curtain doesn’t even go up until around 8 PM in those plays they put on downtown. Bravo, Doctor. Bravo. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Elizabeth said you’d be pretty skeptical of my intentions. But I told her I’d risk embarrassing myself if it meant achieving some kind of reconciliation with my only child. Joey trusts you. Maybe more than her own mother. My health isn’t great, Ms. Prentiss. Time may be running out to make up with her and her mother.”

I stood there looking at the man. He seemed to have shrunk just in the few minutes we had been talking in the driveway. I couldn’t honestly find it in myself to take pity on him but, thinking of Joey and her issues with both her parents, maybe the three of them could, as it were, bury the hatchet. Hopefully, not in each other. And it damn well better not be in me.

“Alright. I’ll give you ten minutes. Umm, that’s my friend’s house. I’m staying in his guest house over here. Follow me. We can sit down and talk.”

---

We circled each other in the ring like wary prizefighters, keeping our gloves up to block a sudden jab or sneaky overhand right. He sipped the orange juice I had poured for him in silence, searching for the words to begin. I was hoping he’d just spit out what he wanted to say and leave me in peace.

“From the first day I met Elizabeth, her memories of you haunted my life with her. She mentioned you it seemed every chance she could. She was still deeply in love with you. Well, with Joseph Prentiss, rather. It was like living with a ghost in the house. Except, your specter changed grotesquely when we learned you’d had your surgery. She wanted to reach out to you. I dissuaded her. Leave the past where it belongs. I loved her so very much. She’s still so beautiful. You understand—”

“Do you have a point to make?”

“Yes, you see, I’ve come to realize how my insane jealousy destroyed my relationship with Elizabeth. But we both had our medical careers to keep us occupied. At least, it kept me focused, kept me sane. She lost herself in the work we were doing with children. We started a pediatric clinic in Cleveland. I helped the city institute the first pediatric emergency services protocol. Elizabeth was right by my side. Always brilliant, always eloquent. As you can see, she was a better communicator than me.”

“She communicated me out of her life pretty well.”

“Then Joey came along. From the beginning, I could see the subtle nuances. The way she treated Joey like a girl. Even silly things like the pink clothes she dressed him in. The way she steered him toward feminine interests rather than sports. Joey was like a hothouse flower growing up. What little free time I had in those early days, I spent trying to play catch or shoot hoops with Joey, but he wasn’t showing any enthusiasm for it or me, for that matter. After a while, I began to think Elizabeth was doing this on purpose, alienating Joey from his father, making him into a miniature clone of…of you. The one she really loved.”

“Nonsense. You really went off the deep end. Dysphoria is a real thing, doctor. As a medical professional, you ought to know that.”

“A jealous man, devastated by the thought his wife is really in love with another man – a man who, by the way, is no longer a man but a woman –well, that destroys a man, eats away at his self-image, questions his very existence. When Elizabeth told me she was taking Joey to counseling for possible transgender concerns, I lost it. It was a scam. It had to be a conspiracy to win you back, to regain her great lost love. I was angry that she would use Joey as a pawn in that plot.”

“You do realize I knew nothing about any of this? The first time I’ve spoken to Elizabeth in 30 years was last December. All during the events you’re telling me about, I was blissfully unaware of what you kooky kids were up to. I was married for most of that time. I had moved on. I guess you don’t think Elizabeth ever did. I’m sorry for you.”

“I walked out on them, Joanne. Ghosted them, you could say. I resigned from Tufts and moved as far away as I could. I started another pediatric clinic in Seattle. Did very well. But I was a total mess. I drank Seattle dry it seems like. Destroyed my kidneys. I’m an inch away from dialysis. Sold my practice and retired to a warm climate, like they advise in all the AARP literature.” He laughed through a burst of staccato coughs. “Someone on the Children’s Hospital board was impressed by my press clippings I suppose and asked me to consult on their expansion. I don’t need the money. Just something to occupy my remaining days, I guess.”

“So, how can I possibly help you? I’m neither a doctor nor a marriage counselor.”

“Honestly, I didn’t know that she had applied to transfer her residency here. I was as shocked to see her on her first day making her rounds as she must have been to see me. I’d seen her a handful of times in 10 years. She’s turned out to be a brilliant, beautiful woman just like her mother. Joanne, she trusts you and considers you a real friend. She won’t meet with me. Hardly says a word to me if we happen upon each other in the halls. I have to tell her how sadly mistaken I was, so stupidly obstinate, so deluded…I need her to know I love her, and I always have, always will. I’m just an old man who’s finally lifted the gauze from my eyes.”

“I don’t know what you think I can do—”

“Can you arrange it so that I can spend some time with her. I could sit down with her and explain things. I need her forgiveness. Failing that, I’d feel better if she knew it wasn’t that I didn’t love my only child, it was just my crazy jealousy ruining everything…”

“I’m meeting with her to do some research for the screenplay I’m writing. I shouldn’t really do this, but I guess…if you’re being really honest with me…you both deserve to repair whatever relationship you could still have as father and daughter. 10 years too late but it’s a start. Maybe you could just coincidentally be here when Joey comes over some night next week? I just hope neither of you packs a firearm and I’ll see if I can hide all the knives in the house.”
He grabbed my hand with both of his, shaking it vigorously, his voice choked with emotion.

“Thank you, Joanne. Thank you! You’re an angel for doing this.”

“Angel? No, but maybe a friendly ghost?”