RANSVESTIA

serted, save for a dark mustached man in blue coveralls. "Hey, lady," he said desperately, "give this to the Cooper dame." Into her hands he thrust a clipboard and sheaf of papers. Turning, he almost ran out of the church hall.

Erica stood there, astounded. In the hall, the speeches were still dragging on interminably. She glanced at the papers. They were lading bills, describing cartons of dresses delivered to the hall that morning. Erica hesitated. Well, since she couldn't deliver them to Bar- bara Cooper right away, she could at least give them to one of the models. She headed off down the passageway that ran around the hall to the right dressing room. She might have gone left, for the hall possessed two such dressing rooms, connecting to the general staging area at the back of the stage. She came to the door and knocked without thinking. Should she just go in? No, she must not intrude without an invitation. Briskly, she rapidly tapped again several times.

"Come on in, Barb," said a muffled voice from some distance into the room. Erica thrust the door open and went in.

"I'm not Ms. Cooper, I'm afraid," she began. The most unexpected of sights met her eyes. Peggy Walker, or what seemed to be left of her, was sitting in front of a small mirror. She stared, speechless, at Erica, but it wasn't the vivacious Peggy who had been chatting so af- fably to the members and guests of the North Side Women's Associa- tion. She was clad in only a pair of purple panties. She wore no bra, but then she had no need of one. The hair was gone, most of the makeup going or gone, though enough remained to confirm that this was indeed Peggy Walker. Erica couldn't move. It was funny that Peggy should fix her hair first, and fix it into such a short, masculine style. As Peggy sat motionless, watching Erica warily, cotton ball poised in front of her remaining eyebrow, Erica suddenly was filled with a flash of understanding. There could only be one reason for the masculine hairstyle. Her eye fell on the carefully hung up shirt and tie, and the black trousers. She felt so ashamed and embarassed. "Y-you're a man," she said to the narrow-chested figure sitting in purple panties on the grey chair.

He nodded and looked toward the chair. "Could you close that door?" he said. Automatically, she pushed the door shut. Flustered, she realized that she still had the lading bills.

"I was asked to give these to Ms. Cooper." Could it really be a man,

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