RANSVESTIA

my hand, suddenly grown cold and lifeless, on his elbow and we started across the floor, only to be greeted by a sudden burst of music from the orchestra which was supposed to be going out for their intermission. For a few seconds I didn't comprehend what was going on, but then the noise suddenly began sorting itself out in my head as the oldest of chest- nuts, "A Pretty Girl is Like a Bad Trip" or whatever it is... And just then, some idiot playing with a blue spotlight turned it on and utterly blinded me. It was some entrance all right, and it was beyond the realm of mere coincidence. I could feel myself blushing all the way down to my false cleavage, as I whispered to Wendell, “You slimy SOB, I'll get even with you for this if it's the last thing I do, I swear.”

Are you blaming me?" he asked innocently, without turning his head.

"Yes!" I hissed. "What would you do if I suddenly took my wig off, right here and now."

"Applaud very loudly.” And as an afterthought, “While running as fast as my twinkling little feet could carry me."

When we reached the other side of the dance floor, the idiot turned out the spotlight and as my vision slowly returned I could see the ex- pressions on the faces of the people standing there. The women looked like they could cheerfully scratch my eyes out, while the men seemed curious? appreciative? I don't know, never having been the recipient of looks like that before. “I feel like a lamb chop,” I said.

"Wonderfully put!" bubbled Wendell. The metamorphosis that had taken place with my weird neighbor was even more surprising than my own. Gone was all trace of the effeminate hairdresser and in his place stood a slim, distinguished looking man with slightly greying temples. I hadn't really looked at him before, but now, as he carefully place a thin cigar in his teeth and lit it casually, I clapped my hands delightedly. "Nobody in the world would ever recognize you,” I said. “Tell me, is that how you really look? Or is this another example of the art of make- up- and those greying temples - are they for real?”

He blew a thin stream of smoke out of his mouth before saying in a deep tone, "Only my hairdresser knows."

We waited for the orchestra to return, and I gradually began to relax a little. Suddenly, like a battleship flanked by two heavy cruisers, I spot- ted my step-mother and the twins. "There she blows!"