Transvestia

"In what things do you have to coach him?" Arnold was puzzled. "Our own choreographer, Eileen Sherples, will work out the night club routine with him."

"Oh, but there's much more than that to being a woman," Gref's face showed surprise. He concentrated, looking like a boxer about to start a fight. "Voice is very important. It doesn't have to be overly high-pitched, but it does have to be consistent. And there are a lot of little things about moving, sitting, everyday things that'll only show up on the set when he doesn't know what to do instinctively." He frowned even more. "Unless he's coached, this show'll be the longest to film in the history of television, because, from what you've told me, he'll be in front of the cameras almost the whole time."

Amold nodded. “All right,” he looked at his watch," You stay with Rudi now, Curt, I'll pick you up for dinner later." He headed for the door and then stopped. "Do what you can, Rudi," he looked a little gloomy, "and we'll see it it's too much to expect Curt to fill out all the part." He started to leave. "But I think I'd rather cut it out altogether then re-write the script."

"You gotta voice?" Rudi asked mockingly when they were alone.

"Sure," Fennell said angrily.

Rudi waited and then lauged. “A man of few words, eh? Well, let's see what we can do about that." He indicated a barber's chair at the end of the littered room. "I'll shave you now, and cut off your sideburns." He overrode Fennell's starting protest. "You must've known they'd have to go when you accepted this part."

Speechless with anger and frustration, Fennell stumped to the chair and sat down. Within minutes, he had been shaved closer than he ever remembered, his bushy sideburns were gone, strips of white skin left down the sides of his face. He relaxed. The hot towels had felt good. The sudden pressure of Gref's thumb on his forehead caused his eyes to jerk open. The open razor was only inches from his eyes. He heard and felt the scrape of the blade across his eyebrows. "Hey," he yelled.

Gref stepped away and grunted. "Much too bushy," he said, "now I've shaped them pretty well as you'll need them." Fennel tried to