REDRESSED

a short story

This author does not consent to the harvesting, analysis, or re-use of this media by or for machine-learning or generative AI purposes.

February 2020

“And, action.”

Sacha, in character as cross-dressed chanteuse Gale, sat in the dressing room waiting to go on. Fully made-up, wearing her lingerie (corset, stockings, and garter belt) under a charmeuse robe, with high-heeled satin mules at the end of her slender legs. Smoking a nicotine-free cigarette and listening to Max – in character as Robbie Starr – perform onstage, a few feet away on the other side of the wall, audibly flirting with her showgirls in between lines of ‘Let’s Face the Music and Dance.’ The production’s second AD, with his camera set up just outside the dressing-room door, stayed on Sacha for the entire length of Max’s number. When the time came to edit, they’d have plenty of material for inserts. Sacha made sure his face said ‘really listening.’ He let himself react: a smile, a nod, other signs of appreciation. Then it was his scene.

The camera continued to roll as a gangster (or just a drunk customer) barged into the dressing room. Sacha knew how it would look: a broad back suddenly blocking the camera’s view. The impression of size; the immediate sense of threat. Another camera, mounted in a corner of the room, would capture Gale’s reactions. Startled, annoyed, then frightened. Getting to her feet with graceless speed; putting the flimsy cabaret chair in between her and the intruder. Face turned away, shoulders hunched, body language saying ‘please don’t hit me’ as she countered the intruder’s rough propositions. The camera angle and body position would conceal the fact that Sacha in heels was as tall as the intruder. “I’m on next,” Sacha said, pitching his voice in the mid-range that could be either male or female. “I need to change. Could you please go? Maybe we could have a drink after my act.” In the background, the end of Max’s song. She spoke a few indistinct words as the nightclub patrons applauded. The intruder lurched toward Gale.

Then the four showgirls – Rita, Sherry, Annette, and Tasha – came twittering in, their chatter changing tone in a flash when they registered the presence of someone who shouldn’t have been there. “God, she’s fun, isn’t she?” “Gale, you ready?” “Who are you?!” “Get out of here!” Tasha grabbed the door frame, leaned out, and yelled down the hall. “Mac!”

The other three girls got in between Gale and the intruder, hissing and pushing and cursing, trying to force him toward the door. A moment later Mac (the movie’s star, Vicky Russo) loped in. After a word of thanks to Tasha, she grabbed the barger-in by his collar and one arm, shoved him out of the dressing room, and said, “Don’t ever come back here. You see the girls in the lounge or not at all.” She followed him out. In the hall: a scuffle, a thump, a yelp. Mac re-entered the room, brushing her hands together. “You good, Gale?”

Gale had already flung off the robe and was wriggling into a snug satin dress, cunningly designed to give the impression of cleavage. “Ready in a sec,” she said. “Thanks.”

“Next time, don’t forget the goddamned baseball bat.”

“Yeah,” she sighed as Rita zipped her up. She hated the idea of hitting someone. It wasn’t Gale’s nature to be violent, even in self-defense. You’d think she’d’ve learned by now.

“And, cut.”

They took the scene once more, start to finish. Out in the lounge, there were three cameras running on Max’s number. Recording the vocals live, because director Tanith came up doing theater and so did many of her actors. Sacha was having the most fun. Last summer’s dance concert, midway through the development of this movie, had been a lot of fun too. He couldn’t wait for his next scene.

The following day …

It was Sacha’s turn on stage. In the satin dress from the previous scene, singing ‘Am I Blue;’ accompanied by the movie’s lounge pianist Tom, played by real pianist Tomás Calderón. They’d debated adding instruments, trying guitar and clarinet before deciding to keep the focus on Sacha and his voice.

Gale was the most fragile character, the one who in a mid-twentieth-century noir would have been a victim who might or might not be avenged. In ‘Undertow,’ Gale was the sibling of Mac’s bookkeeper Amy, a wartime friend and occasional lover, played by established actor Dana Richardson. Dana and Vicky had some great scenes together. Rosa Ramirez (as the torch singer Rose) was their third star. She and Mac worked as mechanics together during the war, got fired together when the soldiers came home, and weren’t too happy about the limitations all of a sudden landing on women again. Oh, you fixed Jeeps and ships and aircraft for five years, great; now get back in the kitchen. Yeah, no.

But you needed more than frustration to drive a plot, so the job Mac got after the war was managing the entertainment at this mob-owned nightclub. After Amy hesitantly introduced her brother/sister Gale, Mac offered an audition. She already had Rose, but you couldn’t run a club on a single act. Then once Gale was hired, they found Robbie Starr. Most of the club’s patrons had no idea what was under Gale’s dress. All of them knew Robbie was a woman, but a lot of guys got off on a woman wearing a suit. Very few tried it on with Mac. Her pinstripes said she meant business. Specifically, the business of taking over.

Mac was in the club, watching the patrons with sardonic eyes, simultaneously keeping half an eye on the stage and making sure the cocktail waitresses could spend more time delivering drinks than getting pinched. She was right there at the end of Gale’s number, walking her back to the dressing room. One of the camera operators followed them through the set with a stabilized GoPro.

“And, cut.” Tanith sounded pleased. “Very nice, Sacha. Let’s re-set and take it again.”

Another day, another scene.

Today they were shooting the end of a performance night. Some long takes of extras and supporting actors clearing out of the club. Staff clearing and wiping tables, emptying ashtrays, polishing glasses behind the bar. Then a few takes of Gale leaving the stage after her last number, saying a few words to Tom, returning to the dressing room.

As Gale stripped down to boxers (wig and makeup off, plain white tee shirt on) and began to put on her street clothes, Robbie hung around. Smoking, making a desultory effort to tidy up the makeup counter, transparently waiting so Gale didn’t have to walk out alone. “You sounded good tonight.”

Gale shot her a glance. “You mean, considering what happened? Thanks.”

Robbie narrowed her eyes. “Actually I just meant you sounded good. If Annette didn’t tell me what happened, I’d never’ve known.”

“You were at the bar, huh.” Gale turned to the mirror, took in the drab suit she wore – part of her camouflage – and sighed. Not so much in dissatisfaction with how she looked, but in disappointment. “I should be used to it. Why can’t I do what needs to be done? Why do I wait to be rescued?”

They took the scene twice more, for plenty of coverage. This was the first time the audience would see that Gale was biologically male. In the years following World War II, the descriptors ‘trans’ or ‘non-binary’ didn’t exist yet. The law required Gale to wear at least two pieces of male clothing in public. She was ‘he’ to everyone outside the club. Only here could she be herself. The process of becoming outwardly male hurt, every time. Sacha let it show.

“Cut. Great work, both of you. Sacha, see you next week.”

“Thanks Tanith.”

“God, I’m ready to shuck this off.” Max wasted no time, flinging off her circa-1948 suit and pulling on jeans. Her vintage shirt went in a bag for the wardrobe mistress; her own thermal pullover appeared from a drawer. “Dinner, yeah?”

“That’s right.” Sacha was himself again, also in jeans, with a cashmere sweater. They were meeting Sacha’s wife Charlie, who was patiently waiting at the soundstage exit, having spent the day doing behind-the-scenes and continuity photographs. By now everyone in the cast knew all the restaurants and watering holes within a few blocks of the stage. The servers and bartenders knew them, too.

Later …

“Okay, so.” Charlie finished a piece of bruschetta and washed it down with a mouthful of Chianti. “If I didn’t know who you were, I’d never guess about Gale. I mean, until the clothes come all the way off.”

Sacha laughed into his wineglass. “Glad to hear it looks right. How’s it playing?”

“Really well. Great chemistry across the cast. And wow, did Vicky do a good job producing all these numbers.”

“She did,” Max agreed. “Having not done film before, it barely occurred to me that the audience all had to be actors too. Cast, blocked, rehearsed. Good thing Tanith had the budget for so many extras. Your doing, I hear.” She nudged Sacha.

He shook his head. “Not really. After I was cast, I asked Tanith if I could show the script to my friend Gary. He’s in acquisitions for this streaming service, and they do a few theatrical releases a year, and.” Half a shrug, head tipped, smiling.

“And Gary’s inclined to look seriously at anything Sacha gives him,” Charlie finished.

“So he should, after your documentary. Cannes! An Academy Award! Bloody brilliant!” Max eyed Charlie, then returned her gaze to Sacha. “I suppose that’s the only downside. People who’ve seen the documentary will go into this one immediately expecting something like Gale.”

Charlie made a ‘maybe so’ face. “But is that a downside? It’s kind of like Tanith casting Andy and Victor as her baddest bad guys. Put those two in a movie together, after everything that’s happened, and the world is going to think okay queer movie. Boom, half the marketing’s done, free.” Sacha and Max both laughed. Charlie looked up as a server approached; made a yummy sound as deep-fried zucchini blossoms were delivered. “Mmm, oh my God,” she mumbled a moment later. “Get some before I eat them all.”

Most of an hour later, they were done with their entrees and sitting around with coffee. “It’s nice having this time to wind down,” Max decided.

“How does Anton feel about things?”

Max grinned at Charlie. “He’s thrilled. He knows how much I’ve missed performing. I’ve been around the Underground Cabaret for years, but I’m no dancer. Once our doomed mobster tipped me off to ‘Undertow’ I thought, here’s my chance. And Tanith went for it, which never ceases to amaze me.”

“You’re knocking it out of the park,” Sacha said. “How much of Robbie Starr is you?”

“Oh, loads.” Max sipped coffee. “I’ve been a cross-dresser since college, male impersonator on stage many times, lesbian on stage likewise, and of course I’m bisexual so Robbie’s antics with the showgirls are a delight to play. I’ve played male roles on stage, and in audiobook narration you read every kind of character. Could ask you the same question?”

Since it actually did sound like a question, one with an implied ‘permission to ask,’ and since this was Max, Sacha didn’t wave it off. “Gale is drawn from life,” he said after a moment. “Before I met Jerry, I was in a bad way. All kinds of bad things happened, some a direct result of bad decisions, others the natural consequence of bad circumstances. One of the things I instantly loved about this script was that Gale isn’t a victim. She has the expectation, based on experience, of being a victim; but because she lands in this supportive environment, she finds safety. And freedom,” he added. “I still sometimes think I had more freedom as Maggie than I ever did before that.”

“Bloody brilliant,” Max said again. “We already halfway knew you when we saw the documentary, so it wasn’t wholly a surprise, but the scope of what you pulled off was.” She paused to find the right word. “Stunning. How do you feel about it now?”

“About being Maggie?”

“Well, about the rest of it.”

Sacha caught Charlie’s eye. Her expression said ‘do you really want to talk about this.’ He thought about it for a moment. Years of therapy had gone into defining his feelings about everything Before Jerry, and also into everything After Jerry. His first round of therapy didn’t cover Maggie, because Sacha’s double identity was a very closely-held secret at the time. And once they finished the documentary, he hadn’t felt the need to really examine it again. But it’d been years, and this role might not’ve been possible for him had he not been Maggie.

Both women were quiet, waiting for him to speak. Sacha poured the last ounce of wine into his glass. “I’m still not sure how to characterize the relationship. At the time, I strongly identified as straight, which made my bond with Jerry difficult to define.”

Max said, “I happen to think gender and sexuality are fluid. There’s also the transformative nature of love. The circumstances may have facilitated a relationship you wouldn’t ordinarily have considered. But as to identity,” she paused, “perhaps, at the beginning, you might’ve very much needed your identity to be as you’d always known it.”

Charlie sat forward, nodding to Max and then speaking to Sacha. “You’d lost a lot of the things that made you feel like yourself, so maybe that identity helped you get your balance. But you’re not stuck with that anymore, if you don’t want to be. The whole world knows about Jerry, and people are going to think what they want to think, but it’s all irrelevant. Your identity is how you feel, and who says it has to be the same all the time?”

Max made a sound of assent. “I’ve learned a lot about labels in the past few years and I agree with Charlie. It’s irrelevant. Your identity is your business, and Charlie’s, and no fucking body else’s.”

Sacha nodded thoughtfully. “I’m really comfortable as Gale. I mean, the part plays up the danger and sadness of that identity, but being Gale is a lot like being Maggie. I enjoy looking that way. I don’t feel like a man in a dress. I feel like something else.”

“You have to. Otherwise you’re just some cis male cross-dresser. Gale is trans.” Charlie blinked. “Isn’t she?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Whereas Robbie Starr is quite happy being a woman who wears a suit to perform. A shamelessly butch lesbian woman.” Max’s satisfied tone made Charlie laugh.

Sacha finished the wine. Set down his glass, staring at it. “I would have had sex with Jerry if he wanted it. There were times I really wanted to.” He glanced up; both women were studying him. Sacha made a ‘don’t know’ gesture. “Does that mean I’m bisexual?”

“Well have you ever wanted to have sex with any other man?” Sacha thought it over, shook his head. Max raised her eyebrows, waved a hand. “Probably not, then. The desire was specific to that relationship.”

Sacha made an enlightened sound. “Oh my God, I was demi-gay.” Both women laughed. “No, it’s great! I’ve always wondered. Between that, and how easily I became Maggie, and now how easy I am in Gale’s skin. I was like, am I nonbinary? Genderfluid? What?”

“Has this been bothering you?” Charlie sounded concerned. “Because for the record, I’m going to love whatever Sacha is in my house and in my bed. I don’t give a single solitary shit about labels. I love you.”

Sacha leaned over for a kiss. “I love you too. I think, you know, I’m forty. I’m officially middle-aged, and I feel like I should know myself by now.”

“For the record,” Max said ruefully, “forty is not some magical line of demarcation beyond which all mysteries of life are solved.”

“Oh damn it, another myth busted.” Charlie’s tone was so exasperated, Sacha laughed.

THE END

Cast & Crew, and where to find them:

Director: Tanith Salazar (Million Dollar Death)

Cinematographer & 1st Assistant Director: Reza Naderi (Drawn Out)

Mac (the impresario): Vicky Russo (Undertow)

Amy (the bookkeeper): Dana Richardson (Stripped)

Gale (the chanteuse): Sacha Lebedev (Lost & Found)

Robbie Starr (the cross-dressed crooner): Max Davies (No More Words)

On-set photographer: Charlie Lebedev (Lost & Found)