RANSVESTIA

didn't want to be taken advantage of and be walked all over. I had chosen to seek retribution, that was for certain, but I still had no con- crete plan for obtaining that "payment in kind.”

One thing was patently clear; before I could even begin to plan with any detail I would need to know a great deal about that unknown Creep who threw his lot with Betty and the purloined campaign. As I turned over in bed I could think of no better source for that information than Betty Clapper herself.

The next morning I phoned the office to tell them I was tottering on the brink of death with a mild case of the flu. Once that was done Greg and Bobbie began the first step of what would become their master plan. While I knew nothing of the haunts and habits of the mystery man Betty had latched onto, I did know a good deal about the Modus Operandi of Miss Clapper herself. I knew that dear Betty lunched everyday on one of the benches which dot the concrete plaza in front of the agency building. I decided that it would be at lunch that my well- planned accidental" meeting with Betty-poo would occur.

Once more I stood before my feminine closet, but this time I wasn't choosing an ensemble so much as I was selecting a disguise. A half- hour later I faced the mirror to see just how effective my choice had been. I was dressed in a long-sleeved, brown knit dress that was so short that it gave the appearance of a moderately long sweater rather than a dress. I wore sheer panty hose and street shoes with three inches of heel. My hair was ashen blonde and cascaded over my shoulders. Total effect: A really cute secretary "type"; just what I wanted.

I went into the kitchen where I put a spoon and a half-pint con- tainer of cottage cheese into a brown paper bag. I then returned to the bedroom, picked up my shoulder bag and was ready to "bump into" Betty Clapper at lunch.

I felt almost unnaturally good as I walked along Madison Avenue toward the agency building. There was a mixture of pride and freedom in my heart as I made note of the men eyeing me as I walked along the street. I felt them checking me out - legs, bust and backside — and liking what they saw. I smiled. Sheer ego to respond to this sexist in- spection, but I love it. There was a time when I noticed someone look- ing at me and worried if they could know there was really a man