The Alpha For Her

“I am,” Jennifer said. “Connecticut.”

“Absolutely fabulous. Must have been a hella long flight for you. But I see that you dressed comfortably. Very wise. Very wise indeed. When I fly trans-continental, I do the same. But this suit is silk; I sometimes spend all day in it. What brings you to ‘Frisco?”

Her words were so clean, and her enunciation so complete, that she might have been a reporter for the BBC.

“Business, “Jennifer replied. “Sort of. I’m attending a conference.”

“This is the place, and this is the season.”

The two chatted as the line moved along. When they finally reached the concourse, Jennifer glanced and smirked at the chauffeurs holding signs with people’s names on them. She always wondered what it might be like to be met and treated so graciously.

“Oh,” the French blonde said. “That’s me. Nice meeting you. Ciao.”

“Au Revoir,” Jen said.

The woman turned and smiled. She watched the pretty thing waltz to a man in a black suit holding a sign reading: C. Montgomery. She passed on by, and then stopped, and then turned, and then did a double-take. On the same sign, below the C. Montgomery was J. James. She hesitated. Dryzek’s secretary had told her that she would be seen to at the airport, but she was a little afraid of being embarrassed. Still, she crept up to the man chatting lightly with the British woman, waiting quietly for a break in their conversation.

“Um,” she said when the chauffeur looked at her, “I’m…I’m, uh, Jennifer James.”

“Excellent, Ms. James,” the man said, breaking into a smile. “If you will just step this way and give me your baggage check, we can be on our way.”

“Oh, mon Dieu,” the woman said. “You are with the Dryzek conference? How absolutely fabulous. Hi. My name is Candice, but everyone calls me Candy.”

“Hello, Candy. I remember; you have a site called Candy’s Land.”

“Spot on. You’ve read your homework.”

“I’m Jennifer, but people call me Jen, Jenny, sometimes even J-J; whatever.”

“J-J? Oh, right, Jennifer James; Jenny’s Gems. J-J. I think I like that.”

“If you don’t mind my saying,” Jennifer began as they walked the concourse, “I’m a bit confused. I saw you with all those people speaking French. Are you some sort of guide?”

“Odd accident,” Candy replied. “They are with a tour. They had just about cleared security when their guide tripped coming down an escalator and broke a heel; I mean her heel, not a high-heel. Of course the paramedics were with her like that, but her group was all in a dither. When I heard them speaking French, I stepped up and offered my assistance. They just needed help finding seats and ordering drinks. I understand that their tour is sent someone to meet them in St. Louis. They tipped rather extravagantly. The French can be so appreciative.”

The girl certainly had the knack for chat.

“Your French sounds so natural,” Jen said.

“Merci. Actually I’m just learning. It was most excellent practice. Oh. Look.”

The chauffeur had led them to a lovely lounge with a stunning fourth floor view. The sign read British Airways Terraces Lounge. He led then to an elegant table where two women sat; one was a tall, short-haired brunette dressed in a charcoal grey pant suit, the other had long, raven flax. She wore tight, cropped jeans with silver heels, and a relaxed silver shell under a blousy white shirt. Her make-up, while natural and impeccable, was just a tad sultry.

“Ms. Lane,” the drivers said. “This is Candice and Jennifer.”

“Oh good,” Ms. Lane said, rising and shaking their hands. “We are all here. Call me Lois. I’m with the Dryzek foundation, and I am here to take you in hand. This is Billie Esposito. She’s one of you. We’re just relaxing over a glass of wine while Robert sees to all your baggage. Sit. Do sit.”

“Lois Lane,” Candy said, grinning. “I shant go near that one. I’m sure that you’ve heard it all.”

“Thank you so much. I do hope that you like the choice I made. I thought that you, Candice, might feel at home here. Alas there are no New England or Texas themed lounges here.”

“Texas?”

“Billie is from the Lone-Star state. I thought to meet at that barbeque place, but it was rather loud. This is much more relaxing. So, how were your flights?”

Candy chatted on and on about her adventures with the French. Lois was so amused. But she was also the perfect hostess, making sure to include Jennifer and Billie whenever possible. Billie seemed a little soft spoken. The waiter came by, but all that Jennifer wanted was water; she still had her pills in her, and they were still working. Jennifer sipped, trying to recall Billie’s blog. She knew that it had something to do with gender issues, but she couldn’t focus too well.

“A site called …and damned proud,” Candy said. “Correct?”

“Yes,” Billie said, nodding.

“You deal with the transgendered population.”

“Well,” Billie said, “Certain sections do. But I host many forums and blogs that are geared to the non-trans community; there’s still a lot of ignorance and fear out there.”

“I’m so sure,” Candy said. “So, are you trans? But, of course you must be.”

Jennifer suddenly felt mortified for Candy. How could she speak on such a delicate and personal topic in such a blasé manner. She could feel her chocolate skin blush.

“Yes,” Billie said, unfazed. “I’ve been female for four years now.”

“And you do look absolutely fabulous. I would love to hear about the transition process sometime – oh, but there I go again. I can be a bit brash. Do forgive if I have offended.”

“By no means,” Billie said, a small smile on her face. “In fact, my website is all about sharing the intimate details. I feel that the more people know about us, and the difficult path to transitioning, the more accepted we will become. ‘Ignorance is darkness, knowledge is light’. That’s one of my slogans.”

“Ignorantia est tenebra. Lux ipsi scientia.” Candy said. “That’s Latin.

“Candice is multi-lingual,” Lois said.

“And,” Candy said. “I never miss the opportunity to show off.”

Lois laughed.

“Way Cool,” Billie said. “I gotta write that down.”

“Jennifer,” Lois said. “You’re rather taciturn.”

“I hate flying,” Jen replied. “Have you ever heard of Ashwagandha?

“I have,” Lois said, chuckling, “And I understand.”

Just then, her phone toned as single tone.

“That’s us,” she said. “Robert has all your things and the car awaits.”

It was what Jennifer was afraid to have dreamed; a stretch Cadillac limo, parked in a private lot. Evening was coming on as they drove down the two-eighty highway. Jen was somewhat disappointed that they didn’t cross the Golden Gate Bridge, but in that dreary weather, she was sure that she’d have seen little.

It was a two-hour drive from the city to Carmel Highlands, and so Lois had a plate of finger food, promising a proper dinner at the estate.

They were driving south of Salinas, but even on that misty day, Jennifer was captivated by the sometimes rugged, sometimes rolling hills, peppered with lush green grass and spots of white sand, dotted with strange, gnarly trees. Jennifer was quite familiar with the lush hills and boreal forests of New England, with their mix of conifers and deciduous. But the view beyond her window looked almost like something out of a fantasy movie.

They had just rounded a bend when the sea came into view. The three newcomers gazed in awe of the magnificently sculptured shore, alive with waves crashing, and looking almost angry.

But even as they drove, Jennifer thought that she heard the strangest noise. It almost sounded like slow thunder behind them, and when she turned to look, she saw that Lois had gone a bit pale. Then she thought that she felt a small vibration.

“Robert,” she said. “Do make haste.” Then looking at Jennifer added, “We, um, wouldn’t want to be late for dinner.”