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He's collected a CIS girl to teach his TV girl the ropes.


"Are you trying to pick me up on the rebound?"

He always withered under questions like that. "Well, no . . . I just hate to see a girl who's unhappy . . . Not that I'm sure whether you're a girl . . ." He shut up and waited in silence for the movie to begin.

The movie was awful, but he liked the romantic subplot. As the doomed lovers kissed, the blue-eyed girl snuggled up to him, and he decided that he might as well enjoy the feeling.

As he stood to leave, she told him, "There's a nice Italian place on the corner of 11th and Grant. If you want to have dinner next Wednesday at eight, I'll treat."

-- -- -- --

He almost didn't recognize her in a suit--with her short hair and flat chest, she really did look like a man. "It's useful," she said. "Just watch."

She stood a little taller, and her stride grew longer. She coughed into the sleeve of her suit as she approached the register. "Table for two, please."

"The manager has a thing against women," she told him, after they'd been seated. "He still hasn't figured out that girl me is the same as guy me, though. I think he thinks I'm some sort of businessman, bringing girls here for dates and guys here to make contracts, and he always speeds up my orders."

"You're good at this. I definitely would have thought you were a guy."

"I like to think I've perfected this whole 'split identity' thing. At work, I'm all tough and manly. When I go out clubbing--" She coughed again. "I'm so sweet and helpless! Won't a big strong man look after me?" She was silent for a moment. "You're taking this pretty well."

"This is how I act when I have no idea how to respond to something." Which was often. His last girlfriend had called him the dead man walking.

"I'm not really used to this either. Hardly anyone ever figures out that I'm two people. There was this one guy who thought I had magical powers . . ."

He could have asked what she did with her friends and family, but he suspected she lacked the former and wasn't speaking to the latter. He tried a different question. "You have to admit it at some point, don't you? I mean, you said you wanted to get that last girl into bed."

He got the impression that in avoiding one wound, he'd accidentally opened another, but if so, she was good at hiding it. "That was your cue, you idiot! You're supposed to ask whether I have magical powers!"

"Oh. Do you?"

Her smirk was almost as rehearsed as her words. "No, but if you want, I can be your fairy." She broke off as footsteps sounded behind him. "I recommend the spaghetti if you're not feeling adventurous, but there's better stuff if you're willing to try it . . ."

At her urging, he chose something unpronounceable that began with an R, and from there he nearly derailed the topic to a discussion of whether Italian menus were easier or harder to pronounce than French ones. He wasn't sure whether she was amused with him or frustrated. "Aren't you even curious what gender I am?" she asked.

"Yes, but I don't think you're willing to tell me just yet."

"Damn straight I'm not! That's between me, my doctor, and the DMV." This led into a long account of her ultimately futile attempts to get a driver's license that didn't state her sex. From there, he guided the topic to safer subjects, and at the end of the night, he was rewarded with a kiss.

-- -- -- --

It was on their fifth date that she finally invited him to her apartment. She answered the door in a dress. "Oh, look, it's a big strong man, come to sweep me off my feet!"

"Please stop that. You're weirding me out."

"And it's about to get a lot weirder, buddy." She shut the door behind him. "Three guesses what I've invited you here to do."


"Buzz! Guess again."

"Vacuum the carpet."

"I'm hurt, really!" She wasn't. "It's not that messy!" It was.

"Um, gaze into your eyes?"

"Sex, you idiot! Sex!"

"You're not much of a romantic, you know that?"

"You wouldn't be one either if you got dumped as often as I do.

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