Schrödinger's Girl, Ch. 05

I awoke refreshed the morning after my witching-hour ice run, if a bit... post-coital.

Breakfast was in the hotel atrium that had been silent witness to Noelle's display. Clad in boring boy mode--black denims and an untucked dark-blue button-down--I ambled through the atrium, plotting my assault on the breakfast buffet.

A tall fellow in a grey blazer approached from the other direction. When he drew near, he looked my way with a smile, and made a "tchick, tchick" sound out of the side of his mouth as he passed. I had the distinct impression that he winked as well.

I walked a couple of steps before the moment registered; then I felt like I didn't want to look back and find him watching me. I thought, "What the hell was that?"

I assembled breakfast on autopilot, my brain awash with discordant thoughts.

Was he... flirting? With me? Did my carriage and rhythm soften while my mind was on breakfast?

Or--my mind nibbled at the edges of this thought--maybe he saw me last night? Maybe he saw my frank, uninhibited display on the catwalk?

I sat where I could see the catwalk where I had walked, first while wearing a clingy makeshift off-the-shoulder minidress, then while wearing nothing but my femininity.

Whenever a guest crossed the catwalks, I tracked them, seeing what I could see. From my table in the dining area, I could make out details of their clothing. What vantage would someone watching from the rooms have?

How clearly could they see me? On my first pass, I was clad, however skimpily. On my second pass, I showed every bit of my feminized body to the quiet dark. Could anyone possibly have seen Noel in those versions of Noelle?

Or was Noelle now evident even in Noel? A quiet voice in my head asked: And if she is--do I care?

The morning conference sessions passed in a blur. I took notes, but later couldn't correlate them to anything I could remember.

Having no afternoon sessions that day, I decided to take the light rail into the city to visit a food hall that Liz and I loved.

I stealth-dressed in the same women's clothing I'd worn on the inbound flight--stretchy black jeans, long-sleeved burgundy polo, black chukkas.

I donned a thin black puffer vest to make my outfit more gender-neutral, stuffed necessities into a black shopping tote, and hopped on a hotel shuttle to the airport's light-rail station.

I sat, knees together and ankles crossed, on a side-facing seat on the train, with people coming and going through the nearby door.

I got off a couple of stops early, at a large shopping mall, and found a family restroom to make my look more completely feminine.

I freed my hair from its ponytail and brushed out my now-longish bob. I stashed my vest in the tote, popped the collar of my polo, applied a pinkish gloss to my lips, and looked approvingly at the results.

Outwardly cool behind my Wayfarers, I ventured out en femme in broad daylight into the big city, my excitement sharpening every sensation.

I breathed deeply of the city's famously refrigerated air under a blue sky, with a hint of the morning's fog still about.

I carried myself like the graceful, athletic woman I was. My stride found a relaxed swing as I strolled down the bustling sidewalk, the trolley tracks along the boulevard's median converging on a clock tower about a mile off that marked the food hall.

After satisfying my craving for good fresh oysters, I sat sipping excellent coffee by the bay, contemplating the rest of the day ahead.

The conference reception that evening promised free nosh, informal talks, and the occasional useful bit of networking.

As I sat in public fully as my feminine self, unnoticed apart from the occasional smile from passing men, a sudden thought blossomed. Why not attend the reception as Noelle?

After a few blocks of walking, enjoying the freedom of being out as Noelle, I entered a store that I, for obvious reasons, referred to as Cross Dress for Less.

Even on a weekday afternoon, it hummed with shoppers looking for off-price designer bargains. I went looking for the section with little black dresses.

After about forty-five minutes, I narrowed down my choices to four dresses and headed to the dressing rooms to try them on.

My main choice was a sheath dress with elbow-length sleeves and a hemline that fell to just above the knee--chic and elegant, rather than overtly sexy. After all, I wanted to mingle, not be the center of attention.

My emotional choice made my heart race as I slipped it onto my body. Its long flared sleeves were almost longer than its skirt! I peeked through the curtain into the corridor; I wanted to see myself walking in this hot little black minidress.

The girl in the mirror looked like a couturier's model with bad intentions. As I was walking backward on tiptoes to my dressing room, unable to tear my eyes away from the reflected vision, a store employee walked in, a tall young blonde with purple-streaked hair.

"Oh, miss, you're gonna stop traffic in that dress!" she exclaimed.

I blushed and mumbled my thanks; the dress swirled, almost exposing me, as I spun into the dressing room. It seemed that I was going to buy two little black dresses. I eyed the prices with a sigh.

"I'll take these, thanks," I said to the blonde attendant as I exited the dressing rooms, handing her my trial items.

To complete my outfit, I picked up an adorable black lace bralette and boy shorts set--going commando under an LBD seemed gauche--and a pair of black high-heel slingbacks. (And yes, shopping for heels en femme was a thrill.)

Purchases in my tote, I walked toward the central shopping district. A makeup store, known for serving all ages, all races, all genders, caught my eye. By good fortune, they had an appointment slot that was open within the hour.

While waiting in a nearby coffee shop, I ordered a drink, just to be able to answer to "Noelle" in public.

My makeup artist, Maya, reminded me of disco icon Grace Jones. "What are we doing today, hon?" she asked as I settled in.

"I am attending a reception at a tech conference tonight, in a little black dress. So," I said, indicating my face, "something elegant, but not too over the top?"

Maya laughed, a rich, throaty sound. "Oh, hon," she said, "I bet half those boys wouldn't know what to do with you with the way you look now!"

Riding the light rail back to the airport, with a fully made-up face, felt like sitting under a spotlight. I certainly noticed more male attention than I had on the trip to town.

My eyes were shadowed in smoky browns; my foundation highlighted what Maya called my "peach undertones"; my lipstick was a coral shade that was redder than the cherry shade I favored.

When I got home, those makeup items would join the rest of the day's purchases in the secret stash hidden in the spare tire well of my car.

Back in my room, I took a much-needed nap, then started priming myself for the evening.

I girded myself in the semi-stretchy black lace boy shorts and bralette; they felt and looked delightful. I strutted about my room in heels and underwear, just to settle in.

Finally, I slipped into my LBD (the safe, elegant one) and freshened my makeup. Keycard, badge, and cash went into a chic leather ID lanyard I borrowed from Liz.

After a moment's thought, I switched my wedding ring to my middle finger.

I studied my reflection in the dresser mirror. Crossdressers live in mirrors. But being fully made up and dressed up in this feminized body made me feel like Noelle was finally real outside the mirror.

I felt rather than saw the sleek sophisticate as she glided by the mirrored closet. I took a deep breath and left my room.

A couple of attendees were returning to their rooms toward the far end of the corridor; one glanced my way as his door beeped and admitted him.

The carpeted corridor again felt endless as I walked toward the elevator lobby.

Suddenly, a security guard emerged from the stairwell, halfway down the hall. An older gentleman with an officious air, he held a clipboard in one hand.

He stopped and studied me over his glasses, expressionless. I stood and waited, projecting pleasantness and patience. But inside, my stomach started to churn.

Finally he grunted, stepped back, and waved me past. "Enjoy your evening, miss," he said.

Still thinking about the odd encounter, I approached the elevators just as the doors were closing and lunged for the button. The doors opened and I slid inside with a sigh.

Too late, I noticed that the elevator was going up; the doors closed even as I mashed the buttons.

"Damn," I muttered as the elevator slowly rose. I groaned inwardly as the car slowed almost immediately.

It opened on the next floor up, then on the floor after that. Apparently, all of the elevators were headed up, so some people opted to board instead of waiting for a car to come back down.

A trio of attendees boarded, two listening to the third as he talked; their attention shifted to me as they lined up at the back.

A pair of tourists, both men, greeted me politely, then retreated to the back corner and conversed quietly in some Scandinavian tongue.

A portly attendee carried a convention bag full of tchotchkes that bumped my thigh with the elevator's motion; he wheezed as he breathed, his eyes leisurely scanning me.

I stood demurely by the buttons, my hands clasped in front of me so I wouldn't fidget with my badge holder. I keenly felt the fabric that sheathed my body, the high heels that tilted my posture toward provocativeness.

The elevator reached the top floor. The doors opened to reveal a tech bro and two brogrammer minions. I thought of exiting the elevator, but one brogrammer stepped in front of me to hold the door, then slid next to Mr. Tchotchkes.

The doors closed, leaving the tech bro front and center. He wore a black t-shirt that must have had a three-digit price tag, under a slouchy grey blazer. I knew the type--a hype merchant who believed his own pitch.

The tech bro looked me over as I looked up at the floor indicator. He leaned my way and said, "Well--the elevator gods delivered something elegant tonight."

"Très élégant," one minion chimed.

"Definitely," echoed the other.

"I'm Kyle."

I looked at him a beat, then replied, "Noelle."

"Convention?"

"Yes."

"Event staff?"

"Firmware engineer."

Kyle's smile was almost a sneer. "Ooh, dangerous. I usually only understand hardware."

One brogrammer said to the other, sotto voce, "Firm ware, heh heh."

Kyle continued, "You should come to the reception with us. We get VIP treatment."

"I'm meeting friends," I said.

Kyle leaned closer; his cologne tickled my nose. "I promise we're better connected than your friends."

"I doubt that."

Noelle wanted to be seen, but I hadn't realized what being seen could mean.

The elevator was slowing for the lobby at last.

Kyle's smile tightened as he leaned into my personal space. "You'll have more fun with us."

Even as the doors were opening, I was scanning the lobby, looking for a friendly face.

Then I saw them--two young women in matching purplish cocktail dresses.

The shorter of the pair was walking backwards--quite a trick in high heels--in perfect sync with the taller girl. They wove smoothly between a delivery guy and a bellhop, who watched them glide past with amusement. The shorter girl never turned her head or stopped talking.

"Hi, girls!" I called, waving with my left hand. When the taller one looked my way, I held my right hand in front of my body, shielding it from view, fingers up; then I tucked my thumb against my palm and curled my fingers over it.

It was all I could do to maintain a calm, even stride as I walked toward them.

The taller girl's eyes narrowed, and she said something to the girl walking backwards. "There you are!" she called, smiling with her mouth, but not her eyes, which were fixed on the elevator behind me.

I reached the pair just as the shorter girl turned to face me. She smiled, took my arm like an old friend, and pulled me into their formation. "How's your day going?" she asked as we continued to walk deeper into the hotel.

"Great, until just a moment ago," I managed to say.

They guided me into a service corridor off the lobby; it was instantly quieter when the door closed behind us.

I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Thanks so much. Some people can't take 'no' for an answer."

"Don't we know it," answered the girl holding my arm. She had mobile, expressive features and skin the color of honey; her buzz-cut showed off her well-sculpted head. "I'm Reese, and this is my partner, Shonda."

Shonda had South Asian features, a cream-colored complexion, and lustrous black hair in a short bob. She must have been close to six feet tall.

"Noelle," I replied. "Thanks for the getaway. Where are we?"

Shonda said, "We're event staff. We're heading for our office."

Reese caught me looking at their gowns and said, "They needed presenters for tonight..."

"... and we're the most presentable..." said Shonda.

"... so here we are!" Reese finished with a flourish.

"Good job with the hand sign," said Shonda. "I wish more women knew how to use it."

"You're our second rescue today," said Reese. "Just this morning..."

"... some tech bro mistook a journalist's professional interest for something else..."

"... and was getting pushy, so we interrupted, and told her..."

"... that we finally got her press pass printed, would you please come with us."

I'd been box-breathing as we walked and felt more settled. "I've heard of women being accosted in elevators, but usually when they're alone."

Reese and Shonda exchanged a look.

"The entitled don't fear consequences, unfortunately," said Reese.

"But you handled it with cool and calm," finished Shonda.

We reached a set of double doors that opened to an operations center. An older woman in black event staff garb greeted Reese, while Shonda led me to a lounge in the corner.

Remembering to keep my knees together, I smoothed my dress as I sat. I sighed as I settled into the sofa, with Shonda sitting in the chair opposite. I took the bottled water she proffered and felt my heart rate settle closer to normal.

Shonda smiled and rose as Reese approached. I came to my feet as well.

I caught Reese looking at my face a moment before Shonda took her arm.

Reese smiled and said, "We'll see you later, Noelle," as Shonda waved. They exited by a different door than the one we entered.

Their boss, who had the bearing of an ex-noncom, headed my way with a welcoming smile. "Noelle, I'm Marie. I hope you're feeling better."

"Reese and Shonda got me out of a tight spot with their quick thinking," I told Marie.

"They do that," she replied. "Listen, once they're done with their presentation duties, I can detail them to accompany you to the reception. Just to avoid any further unpleasantness."

"Can I watch the presentation?" I asked.

As Reese crossed the stage, holding a plaque, I suddenly had a flash of her with long, curly brown hair, clad in tech office wear. I recognized her from her days as a recruiting intern at my company. Her mentor had been Amanda, whom I'd greeted more than once when she had Reese in tow.

After the presentation, we briefly wandered the reception, but the three of us seemed to attract too much attention. I bought drinks for Reese and Shonda instead. (Marie gave them special dispensation.)

We stood at a small table with a selection of free nosh and chatted. Reese and I looked at each other, and started to speak at the same time. I motioned her to go ahead.

"I've been trying to place it since the elevator," Reese said, a playful squint on her face. "I interned last summer at a tech firm, and my mentor had this friend."

She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a murmur. "Seriously, I have to ask--do you have a brother?"