ONE

“I HAVE COME to confess,” I said.

Detective Mayer sat back in his imitation black leather desk chair and smiled skeptically. He had crystalline green eyes. I had thought him a handsome man, and if it weren’t for his being the policeman pursuing Richard, I might very well have pursued him as a lover.

As it was he had been pursuing me without ever knowing it. Now I was about to tell him, and he looked like he wouldn’t believe a word I said.

“It’s your brother I expect to hear that from,” he replied, smiling impishly. Steven Mayer had one of those faces that looked washed in the waters of the fountain of youth—reddish blond hair and eyebrows, a sprinkling of freckles over the crests of his cheeks, and smooth, creamy skin. He had come from New York and begun his career as a bodyguard for celebrities. Then he decided he liked Los Angeles so much he would stay. At twenty-eight he became a police detective and had begun quite a successful career for himself, most notably tracking down the Rodeo Drive slasher. He was not married; he liked Italian food, Jane Fonda and Charles Bronson, loved The Phantom of the Opera and read Robert Parker detective novels religiously.

Richard and I always made it our business to learn about our adversaries. It was part of the nature of who and what we were and still are, even though I was about to put an end to it.

“I am my brother,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. At six feet three, he stood broad and impressive with a graceful, muscular body I could close my eyes, inhale and see. My imagination was as good as a probing X-ray machine. The desk he sat at, some standard requisition police department furniture, looked a size or two too small for him. He crossed his wrists on the top of it, and I couldn’t help envisioning him bound and naked, waiting to see what I would do next to bring him to a pitch of excitement that bordered on exquisite torture.

“Having a little trouble with your script, huh? You mean to say, you’re your brother’s keeper.”

“No, I said it correctly. Richard and I are one in the same person.”

He kept his smile, but I could see the curiosity growing in his eyes. He sat back again.

“That’s quite a trick.”

“It isn’t a trick; it’s a natural phenomenon.”

“A what?” He started to laugh.

“Think,” I said quickly, punching the word at him. “Think hard. In your vigorous pursuit of my brother and in your investigations of the gruesome murders you have labeled the Love Murders, you have never seen Richard and me together in the same place at the same time. In fact, no one ever has,” I said. His smile, although still imprinted was more like breath on a glass window, fading.

“So?”

“We are not two distinct people,” I said.

“Let me understand this.” He learned forward again, lifting a pencil to use as a pointer. “You are sitting there and telling me you become your brother? What are you, a transvestite?”

“No. I didn’t say I dressed up as a man and impersonated my brother. We metamorphose, physically change from female to male, male to female.”

He stared at me a moment, deciding whether or not to laugh.

“You know,” he said shaking his head, “I understand that you movie stars are a little crazy, that it comes with the territory, but this kind of talk goes a little further, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t expect you to understand or believe me immediately.”

“Oh, no? Well, let’s be thankful for the little things.”

“But when I’m finished, you will understand and you will believe,” I said firmly.

“Is that right? What are you going to do, change into your brother right before my eyes?” he asked, now smirking.

“No. I am not going to let Richard reappear again. I am going to keep him buried within me. That’s actually the killing I want to confess to. The others … form a trail leading to credibility. It means I must end my dual existence, no longer permit Richard to hunt; but I am ready to do that. I am ready to deny myself and in doing so, destroy the essence of myself.”

“What will all your loyal fans do?” he asked, his face deadpan.

“They will find another face to idolize. It was only a matter of time before they would anyway. It’s the nature of the business. The public is fickle, but I assure you, I am not worried about that anymore.” I sat back.

“I will not sign another autograph; I will not make another movie. Clea Cave will disappear as quickly as the smirk on your face, once you understand.”

He shook his head. Then he stood up and went to the window in his office that looked out upon the Hollywood Hills. Richard had intended to do away with Steven Mayer because he was “getting too close,” and here I was about to bring him as close as he could possibly get without becoming a victim.

“So, you want to confess. Confess to what? Or should I say, which one?” he asked turning sharply. He looked angry about it. I realized how much he had wanted to get Richard and how much he admired me. Another idolizer, I thought, not without a certain mental fatigue. But the pained look in his eyes made the woman in me soften. I even sensed my interest growing. It was so hard to depress the desire.

“Let’s begin with last night’s,” I replied, my voice nearly cracking.

“Last night’s?” His face brightened again. “You mean that homicide over in Westwood? The publicist? What’s his name…” He looked down on his desk. “Michael Barrington. Him?”

“Yes.” I was unable to keep my eyes from filling with tears.

“Forget it, honey. This guy was strangled and mangled, and from what forensics tells us, the man who did it had fingers made of steel and hands like pliers. Why just the depth of the trauma in his windpipe … hell, it was crushed. Now I bet you have a helluva handshake, but…”

“I didn’t do it. Richard did it and he’s very strong.”

“Just what I thought,” he said sitting down quickly. “Now you’re making some sense. When did you first learn your brother had killed this man?” He was poised to write some revelation.

“When I re-emerged and found Michael dead.”

“Re-emerged? Re-emerged from where?”

“From Richard,” I said. He stared at me and then lowered his head.

“Listen,” I said. “I will begin at the beginning and when I am finished, you will understand. I promise.”

He looked at his watch.

“Yes, it will take some time, but it will be worth it,” I told him. He sat back to contemplate me.

“All right, I’ll listen, but after you’re finished, I want you to tell me exactly where to find your brother.”

“After I’m finished, you’ll know where to find him,” I replied.

“So let’s hear it,” he said, as he put his hands behind his head and leaned back, willing at least to humor me.

“Actually,” I began, taking the small book out of my purse, “I wrote a diary and got Richard to do the same. I thought we should keep some sort of record, a history, so to speak, even though no one else in our race has done so to my knowledge.” I took out one of my cigarettes as well.

“Race?” He leaned over to light my cigarette. I took a deep puff and blew the smoke straight up. I smoked these perfumed cigarettes imported from Egypt, a present Richard received from one of his victims, claiming he had drawn her life force out of her with a single kiss.

“I’m an Androgyne.”

“Come again?”

“An Androgyne. Let me explain it to you the way it is explained to every one of us. In the beginning God did not create man and then, when man was lonely, create woman. He made us first,” I added, unable to keep an arrogant tone out of my voice. I couldn’t help it. Whenever I have a conversation with one of the inferiors, I automatically become condescending. It was something I blamed on my mother. She brought me up believing we were superior.

“He made you first,” Detective Mayer repeated. His head bobbed, his eyes were wide and the corners of his mouth tucked in tightly, creating a small dimple in his left cheek. I saw myself pressing the tip of my finger tenderly into that dimple, but then Richard invaded my thoughts with one of his own, and I witnessed his sharp finger cutting through the cheek and then ripping the man’s face apart. I couldn’t help but grimace.

“You all right?”

“Yes, yes. Anyway,” I continued, taking refuge in the mythology, “unlike any other creature He had created, He gave us the power to change sex. He truly created us in His image, for God has no sex; he can be either male or female, just as we can.”

“I have enough trouble being just a male. You know—shaving. I was thinking I would look good in a beard. What do you think?” He turned his head to show me his profile. “A goatee?”

“I realize your need to be humorous, Detective Mayer. It’s a form of protection. As long as you treat me as if I were crazy, you don’t have to face what will be terrifying.” He stared at me and then straightened up in his seat again.

“Okay, so you had some introduction to psychology at college. Where did you go to college anyway?”

“Alcott in Massachusetts. My mother wanted me to stay away from Hollywood.”

“She had the right idea. She was a model, right? A very successful model—Janice Cave. I saw some of the print advertisements she did in the fifties.”

“All Androgyne are beautiful. We are the most beautiful creatures on earth, perfection.”

“Suffer from terrible modesty, I see. Look, so you’re an Androgyne, and you can change from female to male and male to female. Exactly how do you do this? A pill? Magic words?”

“After our initial conversion, our power comes in thought and concentration, our ability to seek the male viewpoint or as males to seek the female viewpoint. Then it happens.

“For me, it’s like passing through a dream. I am in the womb again. I am in darkness, surrounded by warm and soft walls. I start to turn, to stretch and experience movement as if for the first time. Suddenly, I am sliding toward a small light. It grows larger, brighter. I draw closer. Then, I experience a repetition of orgasms until I explode into my new self, opening my eyes to discover changed hands, a changed torso. I look into the mirror and see my second self and wonder where I’ve been for a moment, until it all returns to me. My thoughts trail slowly behind the physical metamorphosis like smoke, you see. They arrive late.”

Detective Mayer stared at me, his mouth slightly open.

“Where can I get some of that?” he finally asked. “Sounds right up my alley.”

“I imagine any so-called normal male or female would want to be like us, to experience life the way we experience it. You can’t imagine how much sharper all our senses are and how that reflects during the making of love. Every time we do, it’s like the first time—explosive, truly ecstatic.”

“You say any so-called normal male or female, yet you don’t look any different from anyone I know, except of course, you’re beautiful. I’m not going to deny that, and seeing the kind of following you have and the kind of box office your films command, it would be ridiculous to deny it anyway.”

“You’re right. No one looking at us, not even a physician examining us, can tell who or what we are. There is nothing that physically distinguishes us from your kind. Yet there is something about us that only we can discern. One Androgyne can look at another and know.”

“How come?”

“None of us have been able to explain it. A friend of mine…”

“Also an Androgyne?”

“Yes.”

“Are all your friends Androgyne?”

“No. We’re clannish, but we’re not obvious about it.”

“Of course not,” he replied, still humoring me. “You were saying … a friend?”

“William. He once told me his mother said it was something in the face, some message telegraphed in the blink of an eye. But others have theories ranging from telepathic thought to high-pitched sounds only we can hear.”

“His mother? I take it you … what did you call yourselves … Androgyne … have normal parents then?” He sat back. “What am I doing?” he said turning to an invisible witness and raising his arms in protest. “You know, I’m as crazy as you are. I’m listening to this and asking questions…”

I ignored him. “We have mothers and fathers, but they’re one being. And the concept of monogamy is alien to our very being. And then there is the pursuit of prey.”

“Prey?” He leaned forward. “What do you mean, prey?”

“That’s what I’m here to describe.” I put out my cigarette.

“Please do.”

“The place for me to begin would be the time of my first menstruation, when it finally came over me to metamorphose,” I said. He sat back, his face suddenly caught in a web of seriousness—his eyes no longer smiling, his mouth no longer twisted in derision. His skin was taut and his shoulders stiff. He looked like he was holding his breath and I didn’t blame him. I didn’t blame him one bit.

“We were living in Los Angeles. As you already know, my mother was working as a model, doing magazine advertisements and some television commercials.

“There were a number of Androgyne scattered throughout the area, although we didn’t move here specifically to be amongst them. They are literally everywhere in the world, moving amongst the inferiors, undetected, unnoticed, and not remarkable in any obvious way. Once we move into an area, however, it doesn’t take long for the rest of our kind to locate us or us to locate them.

“We had a home in Brentwood and I attended junior high school there. As a preadolescent, I was gangly, uncoordinated and far from graceful, somewhere between a tomboy and that neutral state inhabited by females who have not yet developed anything sexual about them.”

“Somehow, I’m having the most trouble believing that part,” Detective Mayer said. He couldn’t help flirting.

“Nevertheless, it’s true. Are you going to let me continue?” I asked petulantly.

“Oh, by all means.” He folded his arms across his chest and sat back.

“I was always a good student, friendly, outgoing. Other students invited me to their houses and parties. I had many friends and a few close girlfriends, but all that began to change the day Alison entered my school.”

“Alison? Another…” He waved his hand.

“Yes. From the moment she stepped into the homeroom, I knew she was one of us. She looked about the classroom, sifting through the curious faces, just the way all of us did when we first confronted a new environment, and settled on me. Our gazes locked; she smiled and we knew.

“My other friends, the inferiors…” His eyebrows went up. “Sorry. It’s just habit. The normal girls … grew immediately jealous of the close relationship Alison and I quickly developed. Right from the start that first day, we were side by side almost everywhere. We were inseparable. I ignored any invitation that didn’t include Alison, and I brought her into any conversation or activity that involved me. Those who were close to me before became resentful, and soon Alison and I found ourselves ostracized. But the fact that it didn’t seem to matter to us both annoyed and intrigued my old friends. Soon they relented and drifted back, accepting Alison almost as much as I did.”

“Considerate of them, or should I say stupid?”

“No, they weren’t in any danger. Not yet anyway. Alison was closer to her first menstruation. She had long, light brown hair, rich and thick,” I said, recalling. I couldn’t help smiling at the memory. “It was already at the state an Androgyne’s hair would be, for most of our physical characteristics were extraordinary. It was why so many of us became models, actresses, entertainers. I knew that Alison’s hair took almost no preparation. Like my mother’s, it would always look fresh, neat and healthy,” I said. “She would make up things to answer questions from her admirers, tell them she used an egg shampoo or whatever.”

“That wasn’t fair. Why didn’t she explain how God created you guys first and then…”

“Her complexion had the same qualities, richly healthy, as smooth and as clear as alabaster,” I continued, raising my voice and flashing the fire in my eyes at him. “Remarkably, there were never to be any of the adolescent skin problems for us Androgyne. It gave credence to the belief that we were indeed God’s favorite, God’s perfect creations.”

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Christie Brinkley isn’t one of you, is she?”

“No.”

He pretended he had been holding his breath.

“Okay. I just had to know. Sorry.”

“I have to tell you about Alison. It’s important to your understanding of all this.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Go on. Please.”

“She was two inches taller than I was, with a body that had already begun to develop its feminine curves. But she also had a look in her eyes that suggested a more mature sophistication. She was quieter, more thoughtful, and balanced in a way when it came to boys that made most of us envious. There was a definite sense of control about her, control over herself as well as over others.” I sighed.

“I will never forget the day after Alison’s first conversion.”

“Conversion?”

“When she changed from female to male for the first time.”

“Oh. Of course. I forgot.”

“I had gone with a few friends to the pier in Santa Monica. It was a magnificent spring day, the sky almost cloudless. The ocean was peppered with sailboats and motorboats, some of the sailboats so still against the horizon they looked painted there, like tiny splatters of white against the light blue canvas. My three friends and I were wandering about, playing the carnival games and watching the young men play volleyball on the beach.

“I had called Alison that morning to ask her to come along, but her mother, Beatrice, told me Alison wasn’t feeling well. There was something in her voice that made me suspicious. She wasn’t very specific about what was wrong with Alison. Usually she spoke to me eagerly in a friendly tone, inquiring about my mother and our lives; but this particular morning she was abrupt. Soon after I cradled the phone, my other friends arrived and we went off to Santa Monica.”

“Nice there,” the detective said. “I like sitting out on the patio at the Cafe Casino and…”

“It was a busy day at the pier,” I said pointedly. Now that I had actually begun, my need to tell my story had become almost as overwhelming as sexual desire. I would force him to listen if I had to, I thought.

“Yeah, it’s a busy place.”

“As usual there were tourists from all over the United States and many places in the world. Many were sunbathing. Most were wandering about like we were, taking pictures and generally people-watching. There is a cement bike and roller skating path along the beach that runs south for miles and miles. This day there were veritable traffic jams.

“We walked alongside the bike path, wandering aimlessly, one or the other of us providing a continual monologue about other friends or family, talking about television and movies, dreams and wishes. When one of us took a breath, someone else picked it up immediately. We were like relay runners passing words between us, afraid of any intermittent moments of silence. The stories and fantasies were woven into a fabric that each of us wrapped around herself. Secure in our cocoon of friendship, we giggled, we sang parts of songs, we stopped to stare at a handsome young man in a tight bathing suit, his tanned sleek body glimmering like polished stone.

“Two of my friends, Paula and Denise, had experienced their first menstruation months before. They had well developed bosoms on the way so their bodies had already made the transition from asexuality to femininity. As the young man moved about in the sunlight, his narrow hips turning this way and that, his suit snugly drawn over his buttocks, I saw their faces redden, their eyes narrow. I could almost feel the quickness in their breath. The shell of their sex had opened and their imaginations turned their fantasies into soft fingers exploring the wet, fresh, throbbing essence within.”

Detective Mayer blew through his teeth and loosened his tie.

“My other friend, Gretta, babbled about renting roller skates and kept asking us why were we just standing around when there was so much to do. Hers was a different sort of energy, an energy searching for form and meaning, a loose explosion of desires and wants diffused, spread widely about, groping for some purpose. Finally we relented and headed toward the rental skate concession. It was then that I first saw him.”

I paused to light another cigarette. Detective Mayer was impatient—a good sign.

“Him? Who?”

“I knew immediately that it was Alison; that she had undergone her first conversion.”

“She had become a boy?” he asked, grimacing.

“Yes. Instinctively I was afraid for her, afraid that these other friends would see the resemblances and somehow discover the truth. I was shortly to discover that there was nothing to fear, that the inferiors lacked the sensitivity and the insight. If they saw resemblance between the male and female identities of an Androgyne, they did not find it remarkable. People everywhere had people who resembled them in some way or another, and there were relatives, etc.

“For me, of course, it was different. My heart hesitated and then began beating madly. When he smiled, it was Alison’s smile—warm, loving, vulnerable. His hair, although much shorter, was the same rich texture and color. He had Alison’s hazel eyes and small, but congruous nose. All his facial features were in perfect proportion to one another, just as any Androgyne’s were. Like Alison, his cheekbones rose just under his eyes, deepening them, drawing attention to them. His skin was darker, but just as healthy and clear. I thought he was an inch or so taller.

“Of course his shoulders were wider, firmer, and although he had Alison’s narrow waist, he had thicker hips and far more muscular legs. He was wearing a cutoff pair of khaki shorts and a beige athletic shirt, so that the tone of the muscularity in his chest and arms was easily discernible.

“Standing there in the shadows of the roller skating concession, he wasn’t all that different from so many young, handsome men on the beach at first sight. The girls looked at him and giggled, but none of them saw anything extraordinary about him. As we drew closer, my heart began to pound.

“‘Hi,’ he said. The girls looked at him and at me, curiosity mixed with envy. I could read their thoughts in their eyes: Why had he chosen me to speak to when there were two others in our group who were obviously more desirable? His eyes sparkled with excitement. I sensed his great need to confide in someone his own kind. I could almost feel the frustration.

“‘Hi,’ I said.

“‘You going to roller skate?’ he asked, the hint of disappointment clear in his voice. My friends looked at me. Paula started to order the skates.

“‘None for me,’ I said suddenly. His smile widened. ‘I’ll see you guys later,’ I added. I didn’t look back when he and I started away. I knew just how shocked they were, and I didn’t want to hesitate long enough for them to ask questions. He said nothing to me until we were a good distance from the roller skating concession. He gestured toward the ocean and we crossed over the beach toward the water.

“‘I had to come find you,’ he said. ‘As soon as it happened, I had to come find you.’”

“Meaning, the conversion?” the detective asked quickly.

“Exactly. ‘Alison,’ I said turning to him.

“‘No, Nicholas,’ he replied. ‘It’s funny how the name just came,’ he said. ‘I asked Beatrice about it and she said my identity was always there, latent, waiting. I just knew that was my name.’

“‘You must tell me everything,’ I said excitedly. ‘I want to know every detail.’”

“Who wouldn’t?” Detective Mayer remarked. He leaned toward me, my story having captured him.

“‘I will,’ he told me. ‘I want to; that was why I came looking for you as soon as I could. I’m just bursting with excitement. And it’s so strange, so thrilling.’ He stopped and turned to me.”

For a moment I wondered if I could go on describing the event. I pictured Nicholas standing right before me and the vivid memory seized my breath.

“What happened?” Detective Mayer asked impatiently

“He said, ‘When I look at you now, I see you in an entirely new light. I see things about you I never had noticed and I feel so different about you. I’m even a little embarrassed,’ he added and laughed.

“‘Don’t be,’ I told him. ‘When my time comes, you’ll be the first to know about it too, and I promise I’ll tell you every detail.’

“He nodded, the smile folded into his face, his eyes already gazing out at the sea as if the memories and the words were inscribed on the sheet of blue sea water.

“‘You knew,’ he began, ‘when Alison’s period first began.’ I nodded, already fascinated because of the way he made reference to Alison as a separate being, you see. ‘She was frightened, at first,’ he said. ‘She knew what it meant, what was soon to come. She went to Beatrice and Beatrice told her to be patient.’

“Then he turned to me and laughed.” I assumed Nicholas’s posture, the way he threw back his head and lifted his arms.

“‘Be patient. My God, can you imagine going to sleep every night and wondering if tonight was the night she would have the urge to become male and then become male?’ he asked.”

“Yeah,” Detective Mayer said, “I can see why he or she … whatever, would be a nervous wreck.”

“I told him I thought about it, of course, but knowing it was impending…

“‘Yes, exactly,’ Nicholas replied. He continued. ‘So, deliberately, frightened of what would happen, she forced herself to think only feminine thoughts … concentrated on new ways to do her hair, her makeup, thought about new dresses, thought about boys, did everything possible not to think like a male, everything to avoid male thoughts.’

“‘But could she do that?’ I asked. Two children, no more than five, a boy and a girl, went running past us, laughing at the way they splashed one another as they ran through the water. For a long moment, Nicholas watched them. His eyes were already filled with a fully mature Androgyne’s hunger. The soft, innocent children of inferiors were akin to a delicacy. To stroke them and hold them close was a titillation, like running the dull edge of a knife across the throat of a lamb or a calf.”

“Jesus,” Detective Mayer said.

“‘Oh, no,’ he told me, ‘she couldn’t prevent the inevitable. One night, perhaps the third night into her menstruation, she had her first male thought.’ He blushed after saying this and I knew it was a special moment. But there was more, something else.”

“What?” Detective Mayer demanded.

“‘She thought about you,’ Nicholas told me, ‘about kissing you … on the lips…’

“For some reason I couldn’t quite fathom, the thought of Alison kissing me passionately on the lips did not disgust me. I was rather flattered. ‘Then what happened?’ I asked him.

“‘She started envisioning other girls,’ he said, ‘thinking about their bodies, their lips. One morning, on the fifth day, she hesitated to put on any lipstick and she knew, it was coming. Then, last night…’

“‘Yes?’ I demanded. I was barely breathing. All the sounds of the other people … the laughter of children, the shouts of friends, the music from stereos and convertible car radios faded. It was as if Nicholas and I were the last two people on the face of the earth.

“‘She thought about being a male,’ he replied. ‘First, she thought about his face and how it would differ from her own, his hair shorter, his eyebrows thicker. She lost the graceful turn in her neck and the smoothness in her shoulders,’ he said putting his hands on his own shoulders, ‘and then she felt the tightness in her upper arms and the firmness in her chest and stomach. Her waist was wider and her buttocks larger.

“‘She thought it was only something going on in her imagination, like any other fantasy … becoming this movie star or that, this rock star or that; but then her hands moved over her thighs and suddenly, she felt it … Nicholas had emerged; he was hard, excited, throbbing,’ he said softly.

“For a moment after he told me this, I couldn’t speak, but I remember every detail about that moment. Terns circled above us, hoping for us to toss out some food. Off in the distant sky, a commercial jet began to climb to its flight path.

“‘What did you do?’ I finally asked him. He shook his head and continued walking.

“‘I screamed,’ he told me. ‘Beatrice came to calm me and it was over … my first conversion.’ He stopped and took a deep breath.

“‘How do you feel now?’ I asked him.”

“Probably had a bad hangover, huh?” Detective Mayer said.

“No. He told me he felt good. He felt great … excited. ‘I feel like running along this beach for miles and miles and then … taking off my clothes and running into the sea. Afterward, I’d like to lie on the sand and wait for you,’ he said.

“He made me promise we would always be friends; we would always trust one another and love one another. But I turned away from him. He sensed something was wrong.

“‘What is it?’ he asked. I wondered if I could get him to understand what I had felt.

“I felt so immature. Here he had gone through his conversion and I was still like a little girl.”

“Some little girl,” Detective Mayer said. “Let me understand this. You were feeling sorry for yourself because you hadn’t yet changed into a boy?”

“Yes.” The detective did understand. There was hope. He shook his head and leaned back in his chair.

“I was not yet complete. It would be like all your friends had become men, but you remained a boy. How would you feel?”

Detective Mayer nodded, thoughtfully.

“So what did you do?” he asked.

“I told him to go on off and explore. I knew he was anxious to do so. Then I ran off before he could see my tears.

“I didn’t find my friends. I went home and locked myself in my room, cursing and crying over my slower development. Finally, my mother came to my door and knocked softly. When I opened it, she saw my bloodshot eyes and we talked.

“She embraced me and comforted me and told me again how it had been for her just before she had had her first conversion. She had been lonely, too; she had felt left out and freakish. She kissed away my salty tears and we went out for pizza.

“Later, when we returned, Alison called. It was so strange hearing her voice after seeing her as Nicholas. It seemed like I had dreamt it all. But she talked about Nicholas, in the same way he talked about her, as though he were someone separate, someone we both knew.

“‘Nicholas was so upset you left him on the beach,’ she told me. ‘He wanted to spend the day with you, share everything with you.’

“‘When did you come back?’ I asked her.

“‘A little while ago,’ she replied.

“‘Where? On the beach?’ I asked.

“‘No,’ she said. I heard the hesitation in her voice and realized.”

“Realized what?” Detective Mayer asked.

“He had gone on a hunt. We were only thirteen and just discovering what it meant to be physically and emotionally excited. Naturally, I was very curious.

“‘Tell me,’ I asked her, my voice in a whisper, ‘is it as wonderful as the others say it is?’

“She hesitated and in that silence, I could hear my heart pounding.

“‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is.’

“That night I fell asleep dreaming about Nicholas, his smile, his soft eyes, the graceful way he walked over the sand. Before I awoke, I envisioned someone beside him. At first, I thought it was me, but as the vision cleared, I saw it was someone else, someone entirely different … another male … for the moment faceless. But even in my sleep I understood that face would soon be my own.”

I paused. Detective Mayer stared and then sat forward.

“Would you like a cold drink? I have some Perrier in the fridge.”

“Yes, thank you.”

He went out and returned with a tumbler of the sparkling liquid. I watched the bubbles dance and then sipped some. He went to the window again. I liked the way his shoulders pressed against his jacket and I couldn’t help seeing myself stroking him and running the palms of my hands down his chest to the small of his stomach. Was there ever anything as delicious as a man brought to the height of his sexual excitement?

“Do you want me to go on?” I asked.

“There’s more?”

“A great deal more. I’m coming to myself now.”

“Oh, then by all means,” he said and returned to his seat. He gestured for me to start.

“It happened one day at school, just the way it happened to ordinary girls. I was sitting in English class, working on an essay assignment when I suddenly felt the warm wetness and knew it had started. I excused myself and went directly to the school nurse’s office. I had been prepared for it, but she gave me a pamphlet about menstruation and let me lie down in one of the small rooms until I felt strong enough to go back to class. I pretended that I couldn’t and she called my mother to fetch me.

“I ran out to the car. Janice was with Nelson, her agent, another Androgyne, someone I had learned had strange tendencies, preferring male lovers when he was in his male state. When I had first learned about him, I found the idea distasteful, even disgusting, but that was before my first conversion. Afterward, it was just as my mother had predicted: My viewpoints changed and suddenly nothing sexual, no form of passion was distasteful. I could understand and tolerate anything.

“I got into the back of the blue Mercedes, closing the door quickly behind me. Janice turned to me and reached over the seat to take my hand into hers. For a long moment, we simply stared at one another, her eyes mirrors of my own excitement. I could see how happy she was for me. Nelson laughed nervously.

“He was tall and thin in his male state, with a peach-tinted rectangularly shaped mustache and sweet potato red hair that he kept long in the back and swept up and then flat in front and on top. Janice called him ‘a dandy.’ He was arrogant, but bright, and she said he was a very good agent, guiding her career carefully.

“‘The nurse wanted me to return to class,’ I explained, ‘but I just couldn’t do it. My heart won’t stop racing.’

“‘I know. We’ll take you directly home,’ my mother said.

“I wanted to know if it would be the same for me as it was for Alison, time-wise that is. She told me it was different for everyone.

“‘It happened to me the same day,’ Nelson said without turning back. He liked to smoke cigarettes in this long, thin, seashell cigarette holder—only it extended the length of his cigarette so far that it looked absolutely comical. If he smoked and faced someone, he had to stand well back. But it was an heirloom, handed down from generation to generation of Androgyne, beginning somewhere in the early nineteenth century.

“‘The same day!’ I exclaimed.

“‘My mother first thought that proved how much I wanted to be in the male state,’ he said. He turned around and winked. ‘Later, she reversed her opinion,’ he added. He liked to joke about himself.

“But I was terrified, even after hearing Alison’s story. There were also other stories, stories about Androgyne who died during the first conversion—hearts gave out. There was no definitive explanation for it, except to say the excitement overwhelmed them. Of course, I was worried it would happen to me. I couldn’t imagine living through any more excitement than I felt at that moment.

“Janice told me to relax. She said I was perfectly healthy, strong. Everything was as it should be.

“I pressed my cheek against the car window and looked out at the scenery rushing by, wondering how the world would change for me. It was one thing to hear it from Alison’s point of view, but another to experience it myself. A thousand questions I had never asked streamed through my mind on an assembly line of curiosity. Would colors change? Shapes? Do men see the whole world differently … see things as harsher, tougher, crueler? Would I be, as Janice liked to say, less intelligent when I was in my male form?”

“Now just a minute,” Detective Mayer said. “On behalf of all males, I would like to protest.”

“My mother claimed men were weaker, had less tolerance and perseverance. ‘They can’t endure calamity and hardship as well. You’ll see; you’ll understand,’ she told me.”

“Well,” Detective Mayer said, “maybe there’s some truth to that, but…”

“However, once, when I confronted her in her male state as Dimitri, I asked her if she still held these beliefs. Dimitri smiled at me in the same coy way, his eyes sparkling with an impish light, and said, ‘Men pretend to be weaker only to gain a woman’s sympathy and understanding. We like to be babied, held like children in our mother’s arms and protected by the same warmth forever and forever, even when we’re ninety. But it’s a pleasant deceit. Women expect it, want it. Someday you’ll understand all this. It’s instinctive, especially for the Androgyne.’”

“Smart fellow this Dimitri, who was your mother?”

“In her male state, yes. Anyway, we arrived at our home and I ran quickly to the front door. Janice said something to Nelson and followed me into the house. I went directly to my room and suddenly looked around distraught. For the first time, my room did not please me. The curtains were too dainty, too frilly; the light pink walls looked pale, weak. My canopy bed seemed too fragile, and although the scents of my colognes and perfumes were still pleasing, there seemed to be too much. It was overwhelming. The posters of some of my favorite rock and movie stars made the room look like the room of a juvenile. I went directly to them and started tearing them from the walls.

“‘What are you doing?’ my mother asked, as soon as she came to my bedroom door.

“‘These pictures,’ I told her, ‘it’s so stupid to have so many of them up.’ I tore one after the other from the wall, not even taking care not to rip them. When I turned around, Janice was smiling and shaking her head. ‘Well … they are stupid,’ I insisted.

“‘Not to Clea,’ she said softly, and I stopped crumpling them in my hands. I looked around the room that I had loved, had felt so comfortable and secure in these past years and then turned back to her. Tears streamed down my face.

“‘I can’t help it,’ I said. She came to me and embraced me, holding me to her tightly. When her breasts pressed against me, the sensation was different, more interesting. I was more aware of their firmness and the memory of her naked flashed across my eyes, her rose-colored skin turning creamy white as I visually traced the lines of her neck down over her neck bone to where her delicious bosom began to emerge, the cleavage dark, promising, her breasts perky, the nipples lifting as if to place themselves gently but firmly between the lips of her lover.

“Even her scent was different. It was stronger and reached places in my mind that had been dark and closed. I felt the light come, the thoughts and reactions stretch and enliven. What I realized was I was experiencing my mother through every sense of my being, something I hadn’t done so completely before. Before this, I would admire her in a new dress or in a new hairdo and concentrate on one thing about her. Now, when I heard her voice, I heard it in the same way I felt her body against mine. There was sensuality in it, and the combining of her scent, her voice, and the touch of her brought a taste to my lips I had never before experienced. I held her longer than I usually did. She brushed the hair from my forehead and guided me to the bed.

“‘Get undressed,’ she told me. ‘Sleep, rest, wait,’ she said. I stared up at her.

“‘It’s happening,’ I whispered. ‘Faster, much faster than it happened to Alison.’ I took off my clothing.”

“This is getting kinky,” Detective Mayer said, but I could see the excitement in his eyes.

“‘You are beautiful,’ my mother told me and leaned over to kiss my cheek. I wanted to hold her against me forever and ever, but she pulled back and left me. I closed my eyes and envisioned Alison.

“We were changing for physical education class, putting on our mint green uniforms, the one-piece pleated skirt and blouse. She was beside me, talking. I could hear and see her in my mind as clearly as I could when I was actually beside her. She had opened her locker and was unbuttoning her blouse. She peeled it off her shoulders and her bosom quivered under the firm elasticity of her bra.

“I watched her lower her skirt and fold it. Then she turned to me in this daydream and said she just hated sweating in her undergarments and then putting them on after a shower.

“‘Don’t you?’ she asked. Before I could reply, she had reached back and unfastened her bra. Her small, developing bosom seemed to come folding out of her chest, the nipples a rich apricot.

“I felt like reaching out to touch them. In my mind Alison closed her eyes and brought her hands up behind her head, offering herself to me. I felt a warmth building from my ankles up. It was as if I were being lowered into a warm bath. I brought my own hands up to my face and felt the heat. Then I ran my fingers down my cheeks to my neck, slowly moving over my collar bone to my chest. My emerging bosom was gone, but I didn’t open my eyes in shock. I thought only of Alison standing naked before me.

“My hands went to the small of my stomach and hesitated. My male organ had come the way a man’s erection builds. Suddenly it was there, hard and throbbing, just the way Alison had described it happening to her. But I did not scream, as she had. I opened my eyes.”

Detective Mayer’s eyes were bulging. His mouth was wide open.

“Janice was out in the kitchen,” I continued, “making a pitcher of lemonade. I sat up slowly and looked at the mirror above my vanity table and confronted myself. ‘Richard,’ I thought.”

“Richard?” Detective Mayer said, recognizing something familiar now. I nodded.

“It was my first thought. I actually sensed Clea drifting away, falling inside me until the sound of her voice in my thoughts was completely gone and replaced by Richard’s voice and Richard’s thoughts. Clea had been there, but had left.

“I brushed back my dark brown hair, thinking I could use a trim. I stood up to study my muscularity, the trimness in my waist and the firmness in my hips and thighs. I thought I cut as handsome a figure as Nicholas.

“Finally, the exploration of my body completed, my narcissistic hunger satiated, I went to the bedroom doorway and looked out at Janice, who had just settled into a chair to thumb through one of her magazines. She looked up and then put the magazine down alongside her glass of lemonade.

“‘Welcome, my darling,’ she said.

“‘Richard,’ I told her.

“‘Richard,’ she replied. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’ She took my hand and led me to a closet in her room. There, as I always knew, she had clothing stored for me, anticipating my size and shape well. I dressed quickly, anxious now to go out and explore and experience everything from Richard’s point of view. Janice understood.

“When I gazed at myself in the mirror, I saw the same excitement in my eyes that I had seen in Nicholas’s eyes when we were together on the beach in Santa Monica and I understood why his senses were so heightened. I was like a lion cub anxious to test his new-found strength.

“‘Be careful,’ Janice told me at the door, ‘you must get used to yourself.’”

“I’ll bet,” Detective Mayer said.

“I could barely hold myself back from charging out the door. I took a deep breath, looked back at Janice, who smiled at me with a mother’s pride, and then stepped out into the world, reborn. An Androgyne.”