XXII

DAY THREE

And the ball was back in Clancy’s court.

And there was NO WAY that Medea del Rio was going to have the last word on HER story.

She called just as I was running to catch the bus. “Hey, Bloom,” she boomed. “GREAT NEWS! The viewers want more. Are you ready for a follow-up?”

 

Oh hell, yes.

I was loving this.

I took to the spotlight like a duck to l’orange, like ugly to Ashlee Simpson, like crazy to Courtney Love.

Quick on my feet? You bet!

I loved the attention. Give me a microphone, and I’m off and running, chattering away about things I know nothing about.

 

And the camera loved me.

Just lapped me up.

Turns out I don’t have a bad angle.

Every new tilt up or tip down revealed new facets of my beauty. I was mesmerizing. So when Clancy’s cameras began rolling this time, I soared. I took flight. I came alive.

I spoke winningly of tranny power and the need for tolerance. “Homophobia is SO LAST CENTURY!” I proclaimed. “Heal the world, and vote for the sissy!”

I elaborated on my “cross-dress for success” campaign strategy. “Dare to dream!” I urged everyone. “NOW dare to dream in a dress!”

“Up with wigs! Down with prigs!” I chanted.

All in all, I think I was even MORE fabulous than I had been before.

 

Then: Clancy announced that since the story first aired, she had been contacted by the Broward chapter of Trans Pride America, and in support of my cause, they had created a line of Scarlet Fs (for “freak”) to pin on one’s lapel. They sent a box to the school for students to pick up and made them available on their Web site, as well, so that everyone could support me!