“You that important?”

At times, arrogance was Addison’s middle name. She knew it. Others knew it. Others dealt with it, but right now, the taste of arrogance was foul. “Yes,” she said with a nod. “In my own circles, I’m...I’m that important.”

Robert saw sadness cross Addison’s face. Even her eyes seemed to lose their light as she mindlessly fiddled with the spoon in her hand. Unintentionally, he knew he had opened a wound, but why was it there?

In a voice louder than needed, Robert said, “So, do we ever talk during the day?”

Addison looked up. “Um...no. I’m at work.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Robert said. “Busy lady.”

“At times I am, but...um...I wouldn’t mind doing this again. That is if you’d like to?”

Robert flashed an irresistible grin. “Oh, I would so enjoy that! You really don’t mind?”

“No, I don’t,” Addison said, her eyes creasing at the corners. “I don’t mind at all.”

***

Standing in front of the Victorian cheval floor mirror in her room, Addison zipped up her trousers. Made of the finest virgin wool and fitted to her frame, they were unlike any pair she had ever worn before.

It had been a conscious decision to dress like a man, made years earlier when her young mind believed emulating her father would somehow get him to accept her as his own, but she had been wrong. Nothing could erase the color of her skin or the shape of her nose. She had her mother’s height as well as her beauty and curves, and while their eyes differed in shades of blue, there was no mistaking she was Alena’s daughter, no matter what clothes she wore.

At first, it seemed being androgynous suited her. It had tempered her gender identity while adding a tenacity that allowed her to compete and best others in her field. They didn’t need to know that under suits of wool was lingerie of silk and lace. What they saw was what she wanted them to see. A force formidable and sexless...but that was going to end tonight.

Tonight was about attention. It was about garnering gawks and whispers of awe, while photographers scrambled for extra film or memory cards. In a frenzy of flashbulbs, their fingers would press the shutter releases of their cameras, and the quiet darkness of the night would be filled with the cacophony and brilliance of a man-made storm only notoriety could provide.

Hearing a familiar tap-tap-tappity-tap on the door, Addison called out, “Come in, Evelyn.”

“There’s a swarm of people helping Joanna to get ready, so I thought I’d just pop in and see if you needed any help,” Evelyn said, closing the door behind her.

“I haven’t needed help dressing since I was two.”