9/14/12

The Crossover Affair
By John Laneri


I accidentally met Stephanie at a local coffee shop. It was an explosive beginning in which my elbow sent her cappuccino skidding across the floor.

Right off, I mumbled a few choice words until I noticed a sympathetic smile along with silky smooth hair, warm features and one, snazzy little figure – all of which were standing quietly beside me, staring helplessly at a huge mess.

I suggested a refill. She agreed, and before long, we were sitting at a table, looking at one another, wondering what to say next.

I began by telling her that friends call me 'Thorny' and proceeded to indicate that it's a nickname for Jason Thorne. She seemed interested, so I avoided deploying my private investigator handle, knowing that it frequently unnerves some people.

We continued to gaze at one another until her lips parted as if to say something then hesitated. That's when, I politely stepped in and asked, “What were you just thinking?”

“I was just thinking about how sexy you look in jeans.”

Surprised, I replied, “I'm not wearing jeans today.”

She blushed and looked away, her embarrassment obvious. Once composed, she went on to say, “But, I remember seeing you in jeans several days ago.”

“And, where was that?”

“You were standing in the rain outside my apartment, waiting for someone.”

Thinking back, I recalled the day. It was the one those mornings when I was keeping tabs on Martin Frock, a slippery husband whose wife had been paying me three hundred dollars to watch each Tuesday – his usual day to disappear. Up to that point, the only thing I knew for sure was that he regularly visited someone in that same sprawling complex of apartment buildings.

Continuing, I said, “I remember the day. It was raining and cold.”

“If I had known you better, I would have invited you in for coffee.”

“A rain check works, but I'll need your number.”

“Cell or apartment?” she asked in turn, her eyes sparkling pleasantly.

“Both, if you don't mind.”

Later that day, on returning to the office, I fired up my computer in hopes of learning more about the delectable, Stephanie Walker. I soon learned that she worked as a model and fashion coordinator for a high priced woman's boutique. Otherwise, she seemed to live a normal life, so I reached for my cell in hopes of meeting her for dinner – well aware that the best ones often present when least expected.

We met at Leonardo's, an upscale restaurant near her apartment. I was waiting at the bar when she arrived. She was wearing a colorful silk top with a nicely tailored skirt and stylish heels. By then, I was beginning to enjoy her presentations.

Once seated, we ordered wine then drifted into a few minutes of small talk before she said, “I've been thinking about that day in the rain. Were you following man named Martin Frock?”

“Who?” I asked, thrown off by her direct manner.

“I recalled seeing you the previous week and later remembered that I'd seen you several times in the past wandering around the complex whenever he visited my neighbor.”

“He's like a client,” I replied evenly. ”Where do you get your information?”

She smiled. “I keep my eyes open. It's an necessity that goes with apartment living.”

A waiter brought our wine then I asked, “Are you friends with Martin Frock?”

“Not at all,” she replied, taking a sip. “Oh, nice selection. A bit sassy too... anyway, as I was saying, I met him one day in the stairwell and introduced myself. He'd been coming and going from that apartment for months. At first, I thought he lived there.”

I considered her reply and asked, “Can you tell me about the woman he's visiting?”

She laughed softly, her eyes directed to mine. “She's not a she... she's a he that cross dresses into a very stylish she. Initially, I thought she was a fashion model until I realized that she was really a he.”

My confusion growing, I reached for a menu to consider our conversation, my mind trying to digest the information just thrown my way.

Later, we ordered dinner, and somewhere around ten o'clock, we parted ways. Then reluctantly, I headed home only to spend a restless night reassessing the facts.

The following morning, I returned to the complex to install a small, motion activated camera to record the comings and goings along the third floor of her building unit. Then smiling to myself, I headed to the office. It was time to sit back and wait.

A few days later, I returned to the apartments and retrieved the recordings. After watching the video, I concluded that Martin Frock did indeed visit a stunning cross-dresser who likewise fooled me on first look. Later, as I continued to consider his affair, I began to wonder if Martin crossed from a he to a she during their livelier moments or did he remain a he and take the upper hand when he conquered the she.

In the end, I presented the video and a handful of photographs to the wife, who was not overly surprised, indicating quietly that she'd suspected something amiss for years.

The next day, I turned my full attention to Stephanie and soon learned exactly why jeans belong in a man's wardrobe. From there, we quickly became regulars. And before long, our relationship blossomed into a warm, intimate affair – reaffirming once again, that the best ones often present when least expected.


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John is a native born Texan living near Houston. His writing focuses on short stories and flash. Publications to his credit can be found on the internet and in several print edition periodicals.