FRANKIE

I clicked the top back onto the lipstick and replaced it carefully in the dressing table drawer along with the other make up I’d used. Studying myself in the mirror, I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I felt relaxed - for the first time in a long while. Perhaps for the first time since my sister, two years older than me, had left home to go to college in the US ten weeks ago. I missed her enormously. We were close - much closer than most siblings, but we had our parents to thank for that.

Our mother was petite, blonde and blue-eyed. From a working class background in the north of England, she was the first of her family to go to university and after graduating, whilst travelling in the Yucatan area of Mexico, she’d met my father. He was tall, dark, handsome and rich - the owner of several thousand acres of cattle ranching land around Oaxaca. They say that opposites attract and I guess that must have been the case initially at least, but even when I was a young boy they’d regularly fight like cat and dog. On those occasions my sister would take me by the hand and lead me up to her room, where we’d escape the conflict downstairs by creating an alternative, secret, reality. In that world, it seemed the most natural thing for me to be her sister, and we’d raid her dressing up box and become princesses, trapped in an ivory tower, awaiting rescue from a handsome prince.

I took the curling tongs from another drawer in the dressing table, and loosened my hair from the elastic band that kept its true length disguised. Alone now, but still secure in the make believe world of my sister’s room, I slowly took each strand and curled it tightly, before clipping the curls into an elaborate ‘up-do’ that she had taught me just a few weeks before she’d left.

As we’d grown and entered our teen years the opportunities to play dress up had reduced. My father did everything he could to make me into a rancher, but I hated riding, hated shooting even more, and hated the idea of eating cows so much that, aged 12 and to his great disgust, I declared myself a vegetarian. I’d come back from those sessions feeling ashamed and inadequate, wash off the grime and the stench of the ranch, and creep into my sister’s room. Like a worker returning home to find a meal laid out for them on the table, my sister would have an outfit ready for me to wear, and I’d slip into it hungrily. I was old enough then to be conflicted, to realise that my behaviour wasn’t normal for a boy, but the sense of belonging I felt from the simple pleasures of dressing and behaving like a girl was too strong. I studied fashion magazines, learnt how to do my make up and style my hair, and listened enviously as she told me about her dates with a boy from school.

And now she’d left for college, leaving me alone with my parents as their fighting escalated. Two years to go until I too could escape. She could see how upset I was when she’d left, and as she’d hugged me farewell she’d whispered in my ear “Anything I’ve left. If you feel like you want to use it. If things get too much…”.

Happy with the way I’d arranged my hair, I stood up from the dressing table and untied the satin robe I’d been wearing. I was already dressed in the prettiest lingerie she’d left - a dusky pink satin bra and panty set, which complimented the smooth caramel tones of my tanned skin, and a matching suspender belt, to which I’d attached sheer stockings. Hanging on the wardrobe door was the Holy Grail - my sister’s quinceañera dress.

Layers and layers of soft, rose coloured tulle swished deliciously over my legs, flowing down from my waist, made tiny by the satin lined, crimson velvet bodice. It was the most feminine thing I’d ever worn, and I was captivated. So much so, that I failed to notice the rap at the door and my father enter.
“Francisco, Is that you? My God! What the fuck!…You fucking little sissy!”
As I turned, too late, I saw his arm swing out. His fist connected full in my face, and I remembered nothing else.

Eighteen months later…

“Pass! Pass! Here!”
I picked the ball up from the base of the scrum and looked around to see who was calling for it. Too late. The opposition flanker peeled off and hit me like an Exocet missile. I crashed into the mud, the ball spilling from my grasp and bouncing over our try line. Another opponent fell onto it gleefully to take their team into the lead. I traipsed dejectedly back to join my team mates assembled under the posts awaiting the conversion.
“For fuck’s sake, Frankie! How many times do we need to tell you to decide what you’re going to do with the ball before you pick it up?”
“You fucking useless little spic!”
“He only plays so he can watch us in the shower, the little queer!”

My mother and I had arrived in England days after I was discharged from hospital; my father’s assault on me the final straw as far as their marriage was concerned. Without his money we were broke, but she’d managed to sell some jewellery, and we’d been fortunate to secure a small council house in a town near where she had grown up. She’d started training to become a teacher, and I’d enrolled at the local secondary school. She’d tried to speak with me on several occasions about what had happened the day my father had hit me, but I had refused to talk about it. A new country gave me an opportunity for a new start. Away from my sister I was determined to be the man my body dictated. I’d cropped my hair short and even taken up rugby in an effort to become what was expected of me. For the first few months it had been manageable, but recently it had become increasingly difficult to keep up the charade and my mental health had declined significantly. Were it not for my friends, I wasn’t sure I would still be here.

Anna had taken me under her wing on my first day at the new school. She was Puerto Rican, and thrilled with the idea of no longer being the only Latin American in the school. My English consisted solely of being able to say my name and ask where the toilet was, so having someone that could translate for me during those first few weeks as I picked up the new language was a blessing, and we became firm friends. Shivani and Sharon completed the group. Shivani was second generation UK Indian. She was top of the class in almost all her subjects, but as well as being academically bright she was intuitive and empathic. I liked her a lot, but always felt that she could read how I really was, so I’d double down on trying to be macho sometimes and that would make me feel awkward; like I wasn’t being honest with her. Sharon was the opposite. Loud and proud, she had us all in fits regularly. She was blonde and well endowed. The boys loved her, and she loved them.

And then there was James. I’d signed up for cookery classes not long after arriving in England. We’d been spoiled by having servants in Mexico and neither my mother nor I could even boil an egg. James was my partner in the practical sessions. He was hoping to become a chef, and was probably a better cook than our teacher already, so how he had the patience to put up with a complete novice like myself I don’t know. But he was kind, full of good humour, and had a smile that could light up a room. We shared a passion for American soul music and would often head off to Manchester at the weekend to spend the day trawling secondhand record shops for new discoveries.

I think it was about the third cookery class when I knew I’d fallen for him. I’d poured my béchamel sauce into a blender to try to get the lumps out, but not put the lid on properly, and I’d managed to cover myself in it. He’d wiped a blob from my nose with his finger and licked it .Those big blue eyes of his flashing with humour, he’d said that it might be lumpy but at least it tasted good. I wanted so desperately to tell him how I felt, but Sharon had already told me how they’d dated briefly the previous year, so I knew he wasn’t gay. So my love went unrequited and became something else that I had to hide every day. And recently it had felt like he’d become a little colder toward me. Outside the cookery class I hadn’t been seeing him as much as I had previously and I worried he had a new girlfriend.

Whilst I was increasingly miserable, Anna, Shivani and Sharon were increasingly excited about the forthcoming school prom. They’d invited me to go dress shopping with them in Manchester and I’d acted cool and reluctant but secretly I was delighted. Even though I wasn’t attending myself I was enjoying the preparations vicariously. After touring all the various high street shops we headed off to Afflecks Palace, an old warehouse in the city’s Northern Quarter, which was now home to lots of cool independent retailers, from second hand record shops and tattoo artists to vintage fashion and up and coming designers. No sooner had we entered than we bumped into James perusing vinyl in one of the music stores. Sharon spotted him first.
“James!” She shouted at the top of her voice, and most of the people in the building must have turned to watch as she skipped towards him and flung her arms around him. “What brings you here?”
“Oh, you know…” he shrugged. “A bit of record hunting. Hey Shiv, Anna. How are you guys? Frankie!” He gave me a most out of character matey slap across my back, “How’s things?”
Before I could answer Sharon continued. “We’re shopping for prom dresses. Me and Shiv are sorted, but Anna here is super fussy.” She grinned. “Fancy a coffee? We’ve one more shop to go then we’ll have a break.”

The final shop belonged to a really cool new designer. They had some gorgeous clothes that had all the girls oohing and aahing, but not too much suitable for a prom. But there was a discount rack by the door. There was a dress there that caught my eye in an unusual khaki satin fabric. I lifted it off the hanger.
“Hey Anna! What about this one? It’s kind of different, but it would look really good with your colouring.” For a moment I thought I’d gone too far in expressing my interest, but no one noticed. Anna took the dress and held it up to herself. It was full length, with a cowl neck and a deep cut-out to the rear, criss-crossed by satin ribbon, which tied in a bow in the small of the back.
“Ooh, that’s nice!” She shimmied over to a mirror and turned from side to side, considering her reflection. “But maybe not for me. Thanks, though!” Still holding the dress up to her shoulders she stepped across and gave me a hug.

It must have been static in the fabric, but when she stepped back the dress had clung to me. I swear it was as though I was wearing it. The cool liquid satin cascaded over my contours like water flowing over rock and for a moment I felt transformed, my harsh masculine angles eroded to soft smooth curves. I couldn’t help looking at my reflection in the mirror. Shivani was looking back at me, strangely. Anna giggled and peeled the dress away from me. “Suits you Frankie! Maybe you should wear it to the prom!”. I blushed and looked away, but inadvertently caught the eye of James, and I blushed again. The whole episode must have taken only three or four seconds, but it had felt much longer. Sharon, bless her, came to my rescue. She’d missed what had happened, engrossed in the contents of another rack. She looked up. “Come on then. Coffees everybody. Let’s go!”

It was the Tuesday after the prom. I was at home, alone, doing some homework when the bell rang. It was Shivani. I looked over her shoulder, expecting to see the other girls but she was on her own.
“Hey Frankie.”
“Hi Shiv. Come in. Coffee?”
“Sounds good.”
We made our way through to the kitchen and she sat at the table whilst I poured some hot water into a couple of mugs and pulled a milk bottle from the fridge.
“So you had a good time at prom, then.” I was making small talk. She’d already told me all about it at school the previous day.
She nodded, absently.
I sat opposite her and pushed a mug across the Formica tabletop and she took a sip.
“Frankie? Can I ask you a personal question?”
I was a little taken aback. “Well, yeah, I suppose so…”
She made eye contact and I squirmed awkwardly. “The girls and me. Well, we’ve kind of always assumed you were gay…”
“Shiv!”
“Hang on, don’t get upset. I mean, you try to act all tough but when your guard is down. The way you express yourself; the way you talk and move sometimes.” She paused. “And the way you look at James…”
“Oh fuck. Shiv, I’m…”
“Hang on Frankie, let me finish.” She reached a hand across the table and laid it on mine, which were clenched tightly together. “The thing is, I don’t think that’s it. Last weekend, when we went to Manchester and Anna tried on that dress and it stuck to you. And you looked at yourself in the mirror and your expression - I can’t describe it. It’s like you were happy and sad at the same time.”
I squirmed again.
“Frankie?” She paused. “Are you trans?”
She held my gaze. It was like I couldn’t look away even though I wanted to. I tried to take a breath, but it came in short gasps as my whole body began to tremble. I nodded silently and bowed my head and she reached over with her other hand to take both of mine in hers.
“Oh, Frankie!”
I sobbed quietly for a few minutes whilst she held my hands and then, over the rest of the coffee I told her my story, from dressing up with my sister as a way of avoiding our parent’s arguments, to my father hitting me, and coming to England. When I’d finished Shiv moved across to my side of the table and gave me a huge squeeze.
“We love you Frankie. Me, Anna and Sharon. You know that don’t you? We’re here for you.”
I sniffed and wiped my eyes and nodded.
“You’ve seemed so sad recently. We’ve been worried about you. Now it all makes sense. My God, you poor thing, having to carry that around with you all the time…” She leaned over and kissed me softly on the cheek, and we sat quietly for a while.
“You’ve got to be truthful to yourself, you know. You can’t live a lie.”
“I know, but it’s hard…”
“I know. I’m sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like.”
“I know I need to do something. I just don’t know how to start…”
“We can help you Frankie. We’re here for you.”

The following week at school I had my head down in my locker retrieving a text book when Shivani sidled up alongside. I looked up. She was holding out an envelope.
“For me?”
She nodded.
I took it. It was blank on the outside. Tearing it open, inside was a card. Printed on it in an ornate calligraphy was an invitation which read “Francisco Francesca is cordially invited to a Girl’s Night In. Sharon’s place. Saturday. 6pm.”
I looked at Shiv. “Really?”
She smiled back, and nodded. “Come as you are. I mean, not in school uniform, obviously. But we’ll sort the Francesca thing out when you’re there.”

I walked round the block twice before knocking on Sharon’s door. Even then, I was still a good ten minutes too early. My stomach was somersaulting. I wasn’t sure what to expect, and Shivani had been deliberately obtuse when I’d quizzed her for more details. Anna answered and let me in. Sharon and Shivani were in the living room waiting for me. They sat me on the sofa and stood in front of me in a line, like a reception committee.
Sharon spoke first. “So we, err. After Shiv told us, you know. We wanted to help.”
Anna chipped in “We felt really guilty. I mean, we’ve been going on and on about the prom for weeks on end, and dragging you around dress shops with us and everything…”
Shiv continued “…and you must have been, I mean, it must have been so hard for you to see us having fun like that, and not being able to take part. So we decided we’d offer you the next best thing. We can’t take you to a prom, but we thought you might enjoy, you know, getting dressed up and everything. Being pampered.”
Sharon continued. “My sister’s studying beauty at the college and I’m probably going to do that too, so we could, you know, give you a bit of a makeover. What do you think?”
I stood up and gave them a big group hug. “I think I’d like that very much.”

I was dispatched to the bathroom where a tub brimful of hot soapy bubbles awaited me. A short satin robe hung on the door for me to slip into when I’d finished and I ran the back of my fingers down the soft cool fabric and then over the coarse cotton of the t shirt I’d arrived in. For a second I was intensely aware that I could either step into the bath, or walk back downstairs and out of the house, and that decision would frame the rest of my life. Pulling off my clothes I slid into the water.

The girls were waiting for me when I emerged a few minutes later, all smooth and soft and flushed from the heat. They sat me down at the dressing table in Sharon’s room and, giggling, presented me with a couple of plain white cardboard boxes.
“What are these?”
“Open them and have a look.”
I took the lid off the first box and lifted out a gelatinous flesh coloured blob. Breast forms!
“No way! Where did you get these?”
Sharon answered. “My sister’s college. They’re only on loan, so don’t get excited. But we err…You’ll see why we needed them later.”
I shot her a quizzical look, which she ignored.
“There’s some spray glue here. We need to stick them on.”
I surrendered myself to my friends whilst they opened the front of my robe and, still giggling, carefully set the forms in place. They felt a bit cold and weird at first, and I thought they’d fall straight off, but as Sharon started on my make up they slowly started to warm up to my body temperature and the weight of them on my chest felt strangely reassuring.

Anna set to work with a set of acrylic nails and a bottle of gloss red polish whilst Sharon did my face. The last time anyone but myself had done my make up had been my sister when I was maybe nine or ten, and I luxuriated in the smells and sensations of the powders and paints as they were brushed over my skin. I’d have been in a trance if it wasn’t for Sharon keeping up a running commentary on everything she was doing.
Eventually, she paused. “How are you doing Frankie?”
“I’m good. It feels great.”
“No second thoughts?”
“No. Not about this, anyway”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe later. Telling everyone at school. Especially James.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Well. I mean, now we know. About you. It kind of makes sense.”
“He’ll hate me.”
“He won’t. I think he’ll be ok about it.”
“What do you mean? Oh God, you haven’t told him, have you?”
She shot a glance across at Anna, but because I was facing away from her I didn’t notice.
“I mean, he’s a cool guy. He’ll be fine about it.”
“Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. I’m pretty sure he’s got a girlfriend now.”
She glanced at Anna again. I noticed this time.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. But you shouldn’t worry.”
My make up finished, Sharon reached into her wardrobe and took out a box containing a long, wavy, chocolate brown wig. She set it carefully in place and then teased it with a brush for a while. Only then did she let me look at myself in the mirror.
She grinned. “What do you think?”

My eyes had always been my best feature. Big and brown and doe-like, with long, thick lashes, Sharon had outlined them with a soft pencil and used browns and creams across the socket and brow to emphasise depth. Above them, years of surreptitious plucking back in Mexico had given my brows what everyone had taken to be a natural arch which Mother Nature, in the eighteen months I’d been in England, had mercifully done little to recolonise. Below them, my lips were a shock of primary red, full and soft in a creamy matt lipstick. The colours worked perfectly with my natural skin tones. No longer caramel and tanned from the Mexican sunshine, but still olive and exotic and latin.

I was still giving Sharon a huge thank you hug when Anna appeared, beaming from ear to ear, with my dress. I say my dress - I knew right away. It was the khaki one from the shop in Manchester.
“Oh my God! How did you?..I mean, when did you?..Oh my God, it’s gorgeous! You lot are…Oh my God, you’re going to make me cry!”
Anna passed it to me and I held it up. It was just as beautiful as I’d remembered.
“Shiv phoned them a couple of days ago.” Anna explained. “We weren’t sure they’d still have it, and it was touch and go it would get here for today, but it came in the post this morning. It’s a present. From the three of us. It feels like a kind of birthday. Francesca’s birthday.”
I stepped eagerly into it, and pulled the soft fabric up my legs and over my hips. Reaching down, I took the straps and slid them into place at my shoulders, arranging the cowl over my breasts and smoothing the front down over my belly whilst Anna patiently laced up the ribbon in the back of the dress, tying it in a bow in the small of my back.
“Here.” Shiv placed a pair of strapped, patent, gold sandals with a three inch heel on the floor in front of me and I stepped into them.
Sharon fussed one last time with my hair, arranging it asymmetrically so it fell in soft waves down over my right breast. “There. Done.” She stepped back, and the three of them stood in a line opposite me, as they had when I’d arrived a couple of hours earlier, beaming.
“You look beautiful.”
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you just doesn’t do it justice. You’re amazing, all of you. I can’t believe you would do all this for me.”
“Here.” Shiv had a bottle of Prosecco and passed me a glass whilst raising her own. “To Francesca.”

We were interrupted by a knock at the front door.
“Ah! I think that might be the takeaway I ordered.” Sharon ran over to answer.
I heard muffled voices and then the door to the living room opened and James was stood there. I locked eyes with him for an instant and then, hitching up my skirt, ran past him as fast as I could, almost knocking him over. Up the stairs and into the bathroom, where I locked the door and slumped against it, tears rolling down my face. Footsteps followed me up the stairs. A knock on the door. James’ voice.
“Frankie?”
“Go Away!”
“Frankie, I just want to…”
“Go away, James. Why would you possibly want to have anything to do with someone like me?”
“Look Frankie, I’m not going away, ok? Now will you just shut up and listen to me for a minute?’
I’d never heard him raise his voice like that before. I leant against the door, silently.
“Thank you. Now.” He cleared his throat. “The thing is. I mean I…” he sighed loudly. “I need to say sorry. I mean, I’ve been avoiding you for the last few weeks. I’m sorry if that’s hurt you. The thing is, I realised that I…well…that I was attracted to you. And that kind of freaked me out. I mean, I didn’t think I was gay. I’ve always liked girls. And I didn’t know what to do, so I tried to ignore it. And you as well.”
I sniffed, and wiped my eyes, and then realised I was wearing make up, and I’d probably smudged it all over my face. He continued.
“And then when I saw you in Manchester two weeks ago. And Anna was trying on that dress, the one you’re wearing now. And it clung to you when she gave you a hug. And Shiv noticed it too, and I spoke to her afterwards and she went to see you that evening. When you told her, you know, about yourself. And we talked again afterwards. And I told her how I felt. And she told me what they had planned for you today. And, well, here I am, I suppose…”

I stood up, checked my make up in the mirror and somehow, miraculously, it was all still where it was supposed to be. I smoothed out my dress, took a deep breath and opened the door. James was wearing a black dinner suit with a white shirt and a black bow tie. His normally unruly thick wavy hair had been carefully combed into a neat parting and the collection of hairs on his chin he’d been cultivating so assiduously had been shaved smooth.
He smiled, his big blue eyes sparkling. “Fucking Hell, Frankie. You’re beautiful. I mean, when Shiv told me about you I thought you’d make a pretty good looking girl, but wow, you’re gorgeous!”
I beamed.
“I brought you this.” He held out a red flower. “It’s a gardenia. Billie Holiday always wore a white one when she was on stage.” He tucked it gently into place in my hair. “There. It suits you.” He smiled as I peeked back into the bathroom mirror. “So, I wondered whether you’d like to be my prom date tonight?”
I giggled and nodded nervously.
“I mean, obviously, it’s not the prom anymore. But I’ve kind of made up a plan B. If that’s ok?”
He took my hand and led me back downstairs.

We stood the five of us together in the tiny front hall whilst I hugged each of the girls in thanks and they wished us well on our date, and we had to pose for lots of photographs before they let us leave. Stepping out onto the front path we paused.
“So I, er, I was going to hire a limo. But they’re really expensive, and it was either a limo or a dinner suit. And I though I’d look a bit odd turning up in a flashy car but wearing a t-shirt and jeans. So you remember my friend Steve? The one that’s been doing up that old vintage mini? Well, he finished it.”
We turned onto the pavement and the car was in front of us. It was bright post office red with gleaming chrome bumper bars. Someone had tied a red ribbon from the drivers door window down to the radiator grille and back to the passenger side, like you see for a wedding. It was the cutest thing. As we walked towards it, Steve climbed out. He was wearing a suit too, and a slightly odd peaked cap. “Don’t laugh.” James whispered. “His grandad was a train driver. It’s the closest thing we could get to a chauffeur’s hat.” I giggled, and pulled him close, one arm through his, the other holding up my dress to stop it from trailing over the tarmac. I’d never previously been dressed anywhere other than the sanctuary of my sister’s bedroom and as we walked my senses were in overdrive. The clip of my heels on the pavement, the movement of the air around my freshly shaved legs, the caress of the satin over my body with each step. We got to the mini, and Steve opened the door, and lifted up the seat so we could climb into the back.

I turned to James, excitedly. “So where are you taking me?”
“Ah, well. I need to explain that as well. I really really wanted to take you out for a fancy meal, but it was going to be even more expensive than the limo. So I thought ‘What would Frankie enjoy?’ And I thought it might be nice to make you some proper Mexican food. I know you said neither you or your mum cook, and there aren’t any good Mexican restaurants around here, so I thought you’d maybe not had any for a while?…”
“Mmmm. That sounds lovely!”
“I’ve been practising all week. We’ve got ceviche, and some tamales, and tacos…”

Steve dropped us off and James ran round the back of the car to take my hand to help me out. He kept hold of it tightly as we walked down the side of his house to the back door. He fumbled for a moment for the keys in his pocket and then threw open the door.
The kitchen twinkled invitingly. Candles had been lit on a small table in the middle of the room, set for dinner for two, and also around the kitchen worktop, and on top of the wall units around the room. A delicious aroma of Mexican food spilled out of the door.
I turned to face him. “Oh, James, it looks beautiful! And smells amazing too!” He smiled shyly, those gorgeous blue eyes of his sparkling in the candlelight. “It’s all perfect! The food, the candles, the cute little car, you in your suit…You’ve made me so happy. You, and the girls. I don’t know what to say…”
He placed his hands on my hips and pulled me gently in towards him. I placed mine on his shoulders as he bent, kissing me softly at first and then, my hands entwining around his neck, more passionately.

THE END