Transvestia

in the back, I glanced at myself in the large looking glass. My hair was all over the place! Now, what was I to do? I knew nothing of hair styling!

But, strangely enough, as I sat at the dressing table and began stroking it with the comb, my hands seemed to know exactly what to do without direction from me. It was almost as if I were an observer. The same thing occurred with make-up; a dab here, a dab there, the delicious flow of the lipstick and it was done. And not a moment too soon. Rapid knocks at the door announced the arrival of the hotel man- ager.

"Just a moment," I called as I stepped into the slippers near the foot of the bed. I stood stark still for a brief moment attempting to correlate my tangled thoughts. Then, almost as if I had no con- trol over it, my hand was on the door knob. It turn- ed and before me stood a somewhat harried hotel man- ager nervously twitching the ends of his mustache.

"Please forgive the delay, madam," he began rapidly. "This has been a most trying morning for all of us and I am very sorry that I could not get here sooner."

By the time he had finished I discovered the source of his distraction. Several loud voices were coming from the far end of the corridor. While I could not understand the dialog, the situation was rather obvious; someone was pounding on a door and shouting. Evidently he was in one of the rooms and was not the least bit interested in staying. Others were attempting to quiet him. There was a scurring of footsteps and the noise subsided.

The manager looked in the direction of the fracas, shook his head and, turning back to me said solemnly, "He is having great difficulty. Such a nice young

fellow

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a writer from the west somewhere."

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