I could see the audience filing in on the green expanse beyond the patio of The Hyatt Regency Resort Hotel. Chuck and I were waiting for our brunch orders but the delay was understandable. The hotel café was packed. Add the Jazz Festival attendees to the normal weekend brunch crowd and you get some highly stressed waitpersons.

“With the Jazz Festival going on this weekend, how did you imagine we could finagle a table for brunch?”

Chuck took off his Ray-Bans and chuckled before answering. “My parents were regulars here. They had brunch or dinner at this hotel almost every weekend when my sisters and I were growing up. It sounds conceited but I just have to show them my handsome face and they give me a table with the best view—”

“Your parents. Are they still…”

“No, they were killed in a car crash on the PCH coming back from Santa Barbara after Labor Day about six years ago. Five car pile-up. The police think it was a collapsed suspension on the car in the rear of the pile-up.”

“I’m so sorry, Chuck. I didn’t know. Did you guys live near Newport Beach?”

“Corona del Mar. Just down the coast, about a 10-minute drive from here. I still live in the house. My sisters, of course, have their own homes now.”

“This area is so…so—”

“Expensive? Yeah, lots of nouveau riche AND old money.”

“Which one are you?”

“Old money. My grandfather’s company built like a million tract houses after the second World War all over Southern California. My dad was a gentleman scholar. He was an archivist at The Huntington Library in San Marino. Medieval British manuscripts was his particular field of study. Chaucer and Old English bawdy humor.”

We ate mostly in silence, peering out at the festival crowd now and again. Some jazz band I wasn’t familiar with was warming up. They played something I’d heard before but couldn’t tell you the name of it or who originally recorded it if my life depended on it.

“Breezin’ is the name of the song. You’ve probably heard George Benson’s version of it. But it was written by Bobby Womack and first recorded by Womack and Gábor Szabó—”

“I like jazz. Well, some of it. Like smooth jazz.” I stopped babbling. “You must think I’m a real ditz. Guess the only things I’m knowledgeable about are baseball and marketing…”

“You’re a charming woman, Evie. Honest, smart, and very pretty. Excuse me. That was inappropriate—”

“Oh, no, I’m…flattered. No one’s ever told me I was pretty.”

“I can’t believe that. I take back the “honest” part.”

“No, it’s true.”

“You must have been the cutest little girl. I can picture it, just looking at you now.”

Trying to change the subject, I asked what I thought was a random question.

“You live alone? In a big house like that? I mean, unless your parents lived in one of your grandfather’s tract houses…in Corona del Mar, of all places.”

“I’m not married or cohabiting with anyone, if that’s what you’re wondering—”

“Just curious. I didn’t mean to get personal.”

“I’m not offended. Actually, I’m glad you broke the ice. May I ask you the same question?”

“Currently, I’m living with Debbie—”

“I know that. Mei Ling told me that you were involved with Richie Morrow, the pitcher on The Titans. You two still together?”

“That Mei Ling is a real gossip monger—”

“She showed me the articles in The New York Post online.”

“Just because we’re in a photo together…”

“Okay, let’s not discuss that any further. Maybe one day you’ll see me as someone you can safely confide in and tell me what caused the break-up—”

“We didn’t break up…I mean, we were never together…in that way. Oh, the chocolate banana bread looks so yummy. Let’s order dessert.”

---

Despite his outwardly nonchalant, surfer dude demeanor, Chuck was a pleasure to work with. He had a real grasp of the financial parameters of his sisters’ business and the sportswear marketplace. While I spit out my selling concepts, he adroitly plugged in dollar figures that made it convincingly feasible to project a successful outcome.

The brainstorming session lasted until early evening when I told Chuck I had enough to put together a strong presentation for Clark Ruskin the following week.

“Are you hungry? I could just drive you straight home but there’s a really nice place on the waterfront on the way back called The Rusty Pelican. The best surf and turf in these parts. And that’s saying something—”

“Well, I am starving. As long as they don’t actually serve their namesake…”

As Chuck pulled his other car (a snazzy iridium silver Lexus RX) out of the driveway, I caught a glimpse of Mei Ling’s Honda Civic parked a hundred yards away across the street. She should really wear a babushka when she’s out tailing people. Her cornsilk blonde mane gives her away every time.

I spent all of Sunday on Debbie’s couch aka my bed, writing the presentation on my laptop, my notes from Saturday’s session with Chuck spread out on the floor in front of me. Serendipitously, Otis came by in the morning to take Debbie to go picking at the weekend flea market in Topanga, northwest of Los Angeles in the Santa Monica Mountains. They left in his van. Enough room in the rear to bring back some gnarly vintage end tables or shabby chic dressers. When we find a bigger place, I’m not taking Debbie’s flea market finds with us.

When the new work week started, I discovered that my manager, Dulcie, was a whiz at graphics, taking my words and visual ideas and turning them into a PowerPoint deck that made Chuck whistle when I showed it to him. Now, it was a matter of impressing Clark Ruskin well enough to have him and Chuck’s sisters give us the green light to take it on the sales road.

I ran into Mei Ling on Wednesday morning as she was straightening up the smaller conference room where Chuck and I were scheduled to do our dog and pony show for Clark Ruskin and the Connors sisters in fifteen minutes. She was inserting a thumb drive into the usb slot of the room’s sound system, just about to press play when I cleared my throat.

“Did you have a nice time shadowing me on Saturday?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Evelyn.”

“And what’s the idea of spreading rumors about me and Richie Morrow?”

“It’s a matter of public record or don’t you pay attention to the news media?”

“I don’t know what you have against me, Mei Ling, but can we just agree to keep out of each other’s way?”

“Part of my job as Executive Assistant is to make sure this office runs smoothly. That includes the vetting of any employees who might cause harm to the company…or its officers.”

I was about to sputter some kind of acerbic rejoinder when she pressed play. A second elapsed before the first notes extruded from the room’s speakers.

“What the heck is that?”

“Mr. Ruskin always requests we play this when he has a meeting in this office. It’s inspirational music, from the soundtrack of Inception, the Chris Nolan film.”

“Inspirational? We don’t need no stinkin’ inspiration—”

“It’s not for you. It’s for Mr. Ruskin. His therapist says inspirational music puts his mind in the right frame to think productively. That’s how he was able to give up smoking.”

“Tobacco?”

“No, weed, silly.”

Chuck and I got through the presentation with nary a misstep, notwithstanding having to gnash our teeth as the music periodically rose, swelled, and fell. Mr. Ruskin approved. At least we believe so. He mostly sat back and smiled beatifically at us, paying closer attention to the music than the recitative that Chuck and I had rehearsed for hours the day before.

Hands were shaken, smiles exchanged, even an unexpected hug from Mr. Ruskin. Oddly, he didn’t hug Chuck or even his own wife Misty. The three of them walked briskly to the elevator and disappeared as if in a puff of smoke.

“That went really well, don’t you think? Mr. Ruskin didn’t say much though…”

“He’s the strong, silent type. Mostly silent. Except when he’s talking about football. We’re going to send this over to Freminger. They do all our corporate sales videos. Have Dulcie work with them on it. She’ll like spending some time outside of the office. But the video won’t be ready for a while. In the meantime, I’m going to set up our first sales call. See if you can tailor that pitch toward The Dodgers. I’ll try for a meeting first thing next week. Won’t be the first time you’ve been in a major league stadium, right?”

A frisson ran down my back as I remembered I’d sent my resume to The Dodgers a couple of months ago. I hope they don’t put 2 and 2 together. Oh, heck, who am I kidding? Too late to turn back now. But wait a minute, the marketing department probably has very little interaction with baseball operations. They might not even realize who I am.

“Good job, Evie. Thanks for making me look good in front of my sisters and Clark for hiring you. I should take you out for dinner later this week to celebrate. I mean, your department. All four of you.” He patted me on the back and went back to his office. I smiled at his praise but when I looked up, I saw Mei Ling, arms akimbo, giving me the stink eye.

I was still basking in the afterglow from that morning’s “inspirational” presentation when Kyle, our handsome chef, prepared a special afternoon tea for me and my tiny department. Earl Gray tea and blueberry scones, warm and buttery. A voice call came in on my phone. It was from Juan Moskowitz, the agent trainee from CAA whom Debbie and I had met at the Dog Park two weekends ago.

“Hello, Juan. The answer is no—”

“Wait, I haven’t even asked my question yet—”

“I’m not interested in modeling. Now, in the future, or ever. I’m quite happy in my current career. Today was a great day for me, in fact.”

“This isn’t about modeling, although I still think you should re-consider. CAA handles a lot of supermodels like Bridget Lanier, Molly Trask, Zalika Olanrewaju…”

“No means no, Juan.”

“I’ve heard that before, Evie. I’m pretty persistent.”

“I’m in mid-bite on a delicious blueberry scone, Juan. Get to your point already.”

“Daniel Dantley, the film director, called me about you. Said you told him I was your agent. Now, that’s not really official…but I’m more than overjoyed to represent you. This Dantley dude is casting for that new GlobalNet series and he thinks you’re perfect…ly hot. We’ve got him on the hook, Evie. This could launch your acting career!”

“Oh, that old guy? At the beach? Yeah, I gave him your card so he’d leave us alone—”

“Us? Who’s us?”

“Chuck Connors, my boss. He took me surfing at Newport Beach. It was a lot of fun but exhausting—”

“You work for Chuck Connors? And he took you surfing? Wow, you move fast. You told me you haven’t been in town for more than two weeks. Be careful with Connors. He’s dated dozens of actresses and models, a lot of them repped by CAA too—”

“It’s really none of your business but Chuck and I have a work relationship, nothing more. I really don’t care who he’s dated.”

“Anyway, just thought I’d warn you. Here’s the thing. This Dantley guy is the real deal. But it’s a GlobalNet production and they have final say on casting. You have no credits, no demo reel, not even some pro shots. You’re going to have to do a cold audition in front of the GlobalNet people. So, here’s my plan on how to get that audition—”

“Juan, I’m not interested in acting.”

“Your stars have aligned perfectly, Evie. There’s a charity event to raise funds for The Children’s Hospital on Sunset. A lot of entertainment and sports entities buy tables for it. CAA has three tables. I’ve been asked, I mean ordered, to attend. GlobalNet’s going to have a table as well. And Alastair Knowles, the head of production, is odds-on attending.”

“What’s this have to do with me?”

“Well…you could meet Knowles, make a solid impression, maybe even schedule that audition—”

“And not that I have any desire to meet this Knowles guy, but would I just crash the party without an invite or ticket?”

“No, you’d come…as my date?”

“What? Is this some deranged way of asking me out?”

“Well, yes, I mean no. You’d technically be my date but unofficially you’re also my client. You see? Knowles sees you at the CAA table and is more conducive to considering you for Dantley’s series—”

“I don’t have anything to wear to something like that! Even if I wanted to go…”

“I thought about that, Evie. And I pulled some favors. My dad used to work for GlobalNet in their legal department and, through him, I got the costume mistress at the studio to fix up an evening gown, or whatever you girls call it, for you. She can do the fitting and have it ready by Friday, perfect for the charity gala. I’ll pick you up at your office in an hour. See you then!”

He disconnected. I stared at my phone, unbelieving. Did I just accept a date with Juan and a fitting for an evening gown to boot? I didn’t recall the word “yes” coming from between my lips. Dulcie looked at me, puzzled by my expression and my end of the conversation she’d just overheard.

“You act too, Evie? You didn’t tell us that. Wow, that’s one thing Mei Ling didn’t find out about you. Oops, I wasn’t supposed to mention that…”

“No, I don’t act too. That’s just some crazy guy I met at a Dog Park. He’s an agent trainee at CAA. He thinks he can get me an audition for a show on GlobalNet. Like I said, he’s crazy.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Evie. You’re beautiful.” She lowered her voice. “I think you’re prettier than Debbie. Don’t tell her that, please.”

When a really cute young man comes calling at an office full of mostly young women, there’s bound to be a lot of rubbernecking, wide-eyed gazes, and a sound cloud of variants of “who is that?” So it was when Juan Moskowitz strolled down the hallway as I was gathering my things together to leave the office with him. Debbie stood by my side and waved at Juan when he approached us. She whispered, “I officially hate my sister.”

“Hey, Evie. Debbie. Are you ready to get fitted for your party dress?”

“I don’t know how you talked me into this—”

“Don’t fight it, Evie. You’re going to be a star!”

Juan and I walked to the elevator like running a gauntlet. Dozens of pairs of eyes followed us as Juan kept his hand gently positioned on the small of my back. We passed the ever-vigilant Mei Ling, arms akimbo once again.

“Leaving early, Evelyn?”

“It’s okay, Mei Ling. Chuck said I could. Have a nice evening…shadowing me.”

“As if. I’ve got better things to do.”

“We’ll see.”

It’s a half-hour drive from the Sisters Sportswear offices to the Sunset Bronson Studios where Juan’s co-conspiratorial costume mistress waited to fit me for the evening gown she had chosen from the infinite racks of dresses stored in the costume department. I was nervous, of course. How intrusive would this fitting be? Would I have to strip naked? That would be problematic.

After the perfunctory greetings and introductions, Juan left me alone with Peg Somersby, a somewhat heavy-set woman in her early 60s with a faded hippie glory fashion sense, flower print bandana and all. Taking my hand, she smiled and said, with a distinct British accent, “Don’t be nervous, dear. Is this your first gala?”

“First and hopefully last.”

“Really? Why do you say that?”

“Juan talked me into this. I’m not looking to be an actress. Some crazy old dude wants to cast me in some drama series—”

“Oh, yes, Daniel Dantley. Eccentric bird but talented. You should be flattered. He’s a fine judge of screen talent. Now, if you’ll just go behind that screen and strip down to your bra and panties. You’re not going commando, are you?”

“Peg, I should just lay it all out in the open. You see. I’m not your average, normal woman.”

“None of us are, dear. There’s an actress whose name shall not escape my lips who can only have sex while dressed in a clown suit, honking a horn when she climaxes—”

“No, I don’t mean that kind of…boy, that’s weird. I mean I’m not nearly the woman people think I am—”

“No one can live up to other people’s expectations all the time. Nobody’s perfect.”

“I’m a man!”

“Oh, that’s what you mean. Well, it does come as a bit of a surprise but, sweetie, in 40 years of dressing and undressing hundreds of actresses, you’re not the first trans girl I’ve seen nor probably the last. You wouldn’t believe some of the big names who had a little extra down there but no one ever found out. You’re very beautiful, Evie. Your secret is safe with me.”

“So you won’t tell Juan, will you?”

“I’m thinking he’ll find out sooner rather than later himself. After all, the two of you are dating, no?”

“No, I keep meeting men who want to date me. And all I want to do is have a career doing what I got a degree in, marketing.”

“That could be a problem. You know, you could just say no to these men. I’ve heard it works most of the time.”

“You’re right. I just have to put my foot down. Enough with this rubbish.”

“That’s the spirit, girl. Now, please strip down to your underwear. I’ll also see if I can find a better fitting padded bra for you. You wouldn’t believe how many big-name actresses are--”

Chuck wanted to take the marketing department (all four of us) to a celebratory dinner at the trendy new bistro at the edge of Venice and Santa Monica, Coucou, on Friday night. I was about to explain why Friday was a no-go when Dulcie spilled.

“Oh, Friday’s not a good night, Chuck. At least for Evie. She’s going to that gala for The Children’s Hospital at the Beverly Hilton with her boyfriend Juan Moskowitz. He’s an agent at CAA.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Dulcie.”

“So you’re following up on that director fellow’s proposition? Good for you. Good luck with that. Of course, I’d rather you not get the part and continue working for us but when Hollywood calls—”

“Chuck, I’m just doing this as a favor for Juan. He’s sort of a friend of Debbie’s really. He needs a date for the gala and he wants to network with the people from GlobalNet. I’m just an excuse for him to lay some pipe for future dealings—”

“Evie, you might want to re-think using that phrase.”

“Oh my god. I didn’t mean THAT!” Covering the spreading blush on my cheeks, I exclaimed, “That reminds me. I have to pick up my dress for the gala tonight.”

“I’ll drive you over there. The Sunset Bronson Studios, right?”

“You don’t have to do that, Chuck.”

“No, I do. How else will I get to see you in the dress you’ll be wearing to the gala?”

“I’m not modeling the dress for you, Chuck!”

“I’m driving you. Quid pro quo.” Chuck crossed his arms in front and smirked.

Debbie, laughing, slapped me on the back. “There you go, Evie. Ipso facto.”

“I don’t think that means what you think it does.”

I didn’t expect to be surrounded by paparazzi and the full panoply of media when Juan and I set foot in the Beverly Hilton Hotel. I tried to double time it toward the ballroom (wearing heels that made that very risky) but Juan pulled me back to allow the cameras to capture our likenesses for the teeming millions around the world. Juan had to shout to answer their questions like “Who are you?” and “What have you been seen in?”

While Juan was in his element, smiling and keeping a tight hold on my arm, I almost cowered from the cameras and the shouting media morons. The photo that made the rounds online and in the trade papers showed a frightened young woman escorted by a self-assured, grinning soon-to-be wunderkind of the agency machine.

Just my luck but the captions all pointed out my “come hither” look. Truthfully, I was dazed by all the lights and the shouting. I was close to puking my guts out. Fortunately, I was able to hold it down until we made it to the CAA table to which we were assigned. After chugging half a glass of water, I had to make small talk with the other people at our table, including Margaret, the senior agent Juan was training under. She asked me a lot of questions that I attempted to answer as evasively as possible. Her husband looked so bored, I thought he was going to fall face down in his gazpacho. Meanwhile, Juan was scouting out the room, searching for Alastair Knowles. He wasn’t at the GlobalNet table. I pulled out my phone and called up the live stream of the event to check for late arrivals. The only problem was I had no idea what Alastair Knowles looked like. Suddenly, Juan practically screamed in my left ear and pointed at the screen of my phone.

“That’s him. That’s Alastair. These Hollywood types always like to be fashionably late.”

There he was, walking leisurely up the drive toward the hotel entrance, hand in hand with his wife Joanne Prentiss.

There was an hour of speeches, interspersed with some genial stand-up comedy from Rip Seward, star of the sitcom Baby Mama’s Family on GlobalNet. He had risen to fame in a number of hip-hop comedy films in the ought’s with a brand of humor not safe for family viewing. Now cast as the harried father of the baby mama in the title, he was perceived as a stern but loving parent whose daughter has moved back home as a single mother with a child of her own.

A number of film and TV stars gave brief testimonials about their support for the Children’s Hospital but the most heart-rending and inspirational speeches were given by the doctors who practiced there in the various departments. The most compelling one for me, as you can guess, was the speech given by Dr. Jocelyn Petry, a pediatric endocrinologist. She worked with adolescents who were experiencing severe gender dysphoria. As she recounted some case histories of patients who touched her beyond her professional involvement with them, I was on the verge of tears, my own feelings erupting as she spoke. The audience did not react to her with the solemnity they had evinced with other doctors’ anecdotes. There was a lot more loud eating and conversation going on and I was getting annoyed. Juan noticed my discomfort.

“Something wrong? Yeah, it’s strange they included this. They’ve gotten a lot of push-back from donors on this new department. Not too popular with the crowd here tonight either.”

“It’s not that. Personally, I think it’s really nice that these kids are getting some serious medical attention. I wish…I mean it must be so confusing being dysphoric when you’re that age…or any age. I know someone who must have been going through that in their teens.”

“Really? Can’t say I’ve ever met a trans person. Would be very interesting. Even fascinating. By the way. She’s dating Eliot Bradshaw, the Laker that won the Sixth Man Award last season.” He nodded his head in the direction of the Lakers’ table. Bradshaw was sitting there giving Dr. Petry his full attention while the others busily devoured their dinners. Now I remember seeing them come in on the live stream just before Alastair and his wife.

She left the stage to tepid applause and walked back to the Lakers’ table but stopped when she reached the GlobalNet contingent and hugged both Alastair Knowles and his wife Joanne.

“Oh, yeah, Alastair’s wife Joanne is Eliot Bradshaw’s stepmother. Previous marriage.”

“They’re producing a semi-autobiographical film about Joanne’s life. She’s a transwoman,” interjected Margaret as she sipped her Pinot Noir. “When she was still a man, she lived with Dr. Petry’s mother. After she transitioned, she was married to a woman, Eliot Bradshaw’s biological mother. Now she’s married to Alastair Knowles. Just recently. Honey, didn’t they have the wedding in France?” She nudged her husband, who just shook his head before knocking back the last of his wine.

For those inclined, there’s always dancing at these galas. After the speechifying was over, the dance floor was cleared for all the willing couples to show off their terpsichorean skills. Juan pulled me from my chair as soon as he saw Alastair and Joanne begin to trip the light fantastic. Moving awkwardly to the cocktail jazz being played by a live band, Juan maneuvered us across the floor until we were an arm’s length from the pair.

“Alastair? Alastair Knowles?”

“Yes? I hear voices, Jo. It’s the beginning of the end.”

“Mr. Knowles. I’m Juan Moskowitz. With CAA? Daniel Dantley contacted me about a client of mine. Evie Rivers.” He nodded to me but kept leading me in our desultory box stepping. “He’s very interested in casting her in his new series on GlobalNet—"

“Yes, I do recall Danny mentioning someone he ran across on Newport Beach. Bodysurfing. Was that you?” He looked straight at me. I gulped.

“Well, yes, but it’s all a misunderstanding. I’m not an actress. Never wanted to be. I was just out with a friend learning how to bodysurf.”

“Some friend. Chuck Connors, Alastair…if I may call you that.”

“Ah, Chuck. Yes, God’s gift to Hollywood starlets. I’ve told you about him, Jo, remember?”

“Lots, Alastair. So, are you dating? Boyfriend, girlfriend?”

“No, I work for him. At Sisters Sportswear. I’m Director of Marketing.”

“Evie would love to audition for a part, Alastair.”

“I would? No, I mean, I wouldn’t. Not interested in acting.”

This is where Juan showed me his “dipping” move. As I was bent over backwards, my hair almost touching the dance floor, he whispered quite emphatically, “Yes you do. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Lana Turner was discovered sucking on an ice cream soda in Schwab’s. You just got discovered bodysurfing on Newport Beach. Same difference. Ipso facto.”

“I don’t think that means what you think it does.”

Suddenly, I saw the upside down (in my p.o.v.) face of Alastair Knowles hovering above me.

“Better let her up, Juan. She’s turning beet red. All the blood’s going to her head.”

Juan pulled me straight up, woozy and stumbling. I stepped on Juan’s foot, stabbing his arch with the heel of my shoe. He yelped with pain. Well, Peg had advised me to put my foot down and I certainly did.

“When the two of you finally come to some sort of meeting of the minds on this, you can call my assistant at the office and make an appointment for an audition. We’re going to try to cast this epic within the month. To be honest, I think you have serious potential, Evie. Don’t you think so, Jo?”

“I can’t put my finger on it but, yes, she has something. Something ineffable.”

“And she’s…oww…beautiful. Don’t forget…oww…that! Come on, Evie, I need to sit…oww…down.”

Juan put his arm across my shoulders and I helped him limp back to our table. The pain in his foot didn’t stop him from talking a blue streak of winning bravado.

“That was so easy, Evie. And thanks for playing hard to get. It always pushes their buttons when you act like you’re not even interested in getting cast. Most of the time people crawl on their bellies like a snake to beg for a chance. When you seem like you don’t even give a shit, it kills them. Nicely played, babe.”

“Juan, I really don’t care. And I’m not going to go to this audition. I’m busy enough as it is with my real job. Let’s just let it go. You’ve impressed Margaret tonight and even Mr. Knowles. Isn’t that enough?”

“They’re out of earshot now. You can drop the act—”

We bumped into another couple on the dance floor. Before looking up, both Juan and I apologized profusely.

“Evie? Funny seeing you here.” It was Clark Ruskin! And he was dancing with Mei Ling!

“It’s even funnier seeing you here…dancing with Mei Ling.”

“Misty couldn’t be here. The Surf are playing in Vancouver tonight. Mei Ling was kind enough to give up her Friday night to accompany me to the gala. We’re at the Drillers’ table. Why let a $3,000 seat go to waste?”

“I’ll buy that for a dollar.”

“You won’t tell anyone about this, will you, Evie?” implored Mei Ling, the fake vulnerability oozing from her sad expression.

“Shoes on the other foot now. Quid pro quo. You stop trying to dig up something on me and I’ll keep my lips zipped about this little affaire de coeur. Shake?”

Reluctantly, she shook my hand. But those steely blue eyes never blinked.

“Man, you’re a bear to deal with. I’d hate to get on the wrong side of you,” Juan declared, still wincing from the arch I stabbed with my heel.

Moving him to the other side of me, his dead weight starting to noticeably drag the padded bra Peg loaned me down my right side, I continued to help him to our table.

“You’re pretty strong for a girl. Did you ever play any sports?”