RANSVESTIA

and her makeup was well done. He wanted to look at it longer. There was something familiar about her, but she recovered the license quickly and tucked it away in her long, black purse.

"You do remember me, Dr. Aaronson?" she asked anxiously.

He nodded. "You were a man then," he said as gently as he could. "Are you still one today?"

Her hand made an odd, nervous gesture as if she were going to reach for a cigarette from her purse. But she didn't. "I ought to say no," she said in a very low tone. "But I Am. Still a man, that is." Her blue eyes came up, glanced at him and then looked away quickly.

He found that hard to believe just looking at 'her.' "You're wearing a wig," he said. She was startled, her hand reaching up to touch her hair. "No one else would notice, I think, except someone like me. Someone in the business. Why don't you take if off?"

She hesitated, and then gave a wan, little smile. "It is very hot," she said at last. She stood and moved gracefully over to the only mirror in the room, and took off the brown wig. Her blonde wait had been piled up on top and her head and secured by tight bands. Now, she released the hair and it cascaded down over her shoulders. And Sam Aaronson had the shock of his life as he finally pinned down the identity of the shapely blonde in his library.

"You're Angie Saunders!" He spoke hoarsely, his whole body tightening and constricting.

"Yes," her voice was smooth and confident. She eased out her hair from its bands. A quick shake and all of her hair was loose, but in need of arrangement. She reached for a comb and a brush from her purse. It was then that Sam Aarson studied the beautiful face about which he'd often dreamed. He was struck by her sorrowful expression, how truly sad she appeared.

"I didn't know what I was doing to the men of America, did I?" he jibed, and was rewarded by a look that showed so much pain and sorrow in the blue eyes that he was forced to look away.

"I didn't want you to do it," she said softly, a catch in her voice.

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