Chapter 25

With confused chaos breaking out through the home, Calvin's gaze shifted across the faces of the strangers, the federal agents, across Ana and her overly flirty brother. The idea of being outed as a crossdresser and it going on his record was not something he was willing to endure, so with the officers coming in the front door, he made his way to the kitchen and out the back.

He shoved blindly past panicked partygoers, a frantic blur of pale blue fabric and dark hair, he made a desperate beeline for the sliding glass door. For a few fleeting seconds, his heeled sandals clicked rapidly across the linoleum and out onto the concrete patio. He could see the dark, open expanse of the backyard, swallowing as he looked over his shoulder before abandoning the party in need to save himself. ‘I can do this… at least I wore shoes I can move in.’ he thought, never guessing he would think such a thing about his current footwear.

Clearing the patio, he lunged forward into the dark night. The moment his full weight came down on the soft turf of the lawn, disaster struck. Instead of finding solid ground, the thin, stiletto heels acted like needles, punching straight down into the earth all the way up to the soles of the shoes. With the straps securely buckled around his ankles, he couldn't just step out of them so they anchored him completely to the ground.

His frantic sprint came quickly to a jarring halt. Calvin stumbled forward, his arms flailing wildly to keep from face-planting into the grass. The sudden unexpected stop caused his chest to bounce viciously against the restrictive underwire bra, while the tight compression of the lacing of his corset gave him support. Panic surging, he tried to take another step, but he had to forcefully yank his trapped foot upward just to break free of the ground's suction, only for the other heel to sink just as deeply on his next stride.

“¡Mierda!” He cursed, his desperate escape devolving into a pathetic, wobbly, high-stepping march. He grunted in frustration, his painted nails clawing uselessly at the dark air, utterly stripped of any grace or speed.

It made it effortlessly easy for the ICE agent stationed at the perimeter to overtake the fleeing girl. "Hold it right there!" a gruff voice barked from the shadows. A heavy hand clamped down onto Calvin’s bare shoulder, yanking him backward by the fabric of his cardigan. With his heels firmly planted deep in the dirt, the sudden backward momentum completely upended Calvin's center of gravity. He fell backward, his hips swaying wildly as he crashed directly into the unyielding chest of the federal agent.

The physical contact ignited every ounce of Calvin's imprisoned masculine rage. He thrashed wildly, throwing his elbows back and kicking out with his dirt covered sandals, desperately trying to fight off the larger man. "Take your fucking hands off me, you mindless ape!" Calvin screamed, fighting the best he could. Too much was against him, feet practically stapled to the ground, but even if it were ideal conditions for him Calvin David Bennent was no brawler and stood no chance. Completely unable to push the man off him, he was just flailing his arms, the tight corset limiting his range of motion and leaving him gasping for air.

"Settle down, girl, or this is gonna get worse," the agent growled, easily absorbing Calvin's clumsy, manicured swipes.

"I am not a girl!" Calvin shrieked, kicking a clod of dirt into the air. He tried to summon his deepest commanding tone, but with his lungs squeezed so tight by the laces of the corset and his physical efforts so far, he couldn't draw enough breath. Instead, his threats ripped from his throat in a high-pitched, hysterical pitch. "I am an American citizen! I’m a business owner, I own a multi-million dollar hotel, and if you don't un-cuff me right now, I will sue you and this entire department into the ground! Do you know who I am?!"

The agent didn't even flinch. He simply grabbed Calvin's wrists and swiftly twisted his slender arms behind his back. The cold metal of the handcuffs clicked shut over Calvin's delicate gold bangle, holding it tightly to his flesh in a painful way as he defeated.

Pinning the girl’s arms backward, he forcefully thrust her slim waist and prominent chest forward. He groaned, ignoring most of her outlandish claims but still kicking himself for referring to her as a girl when he was sure he could just as easily find her on a street corner as this family event. "Sure you are, sweetheart. Keep walking and keep the theatrics down," the agent grunted.

The officer shoved her forward, marching them back toward the house. Calvin was forced to hobble, awkwardly yanking his dirt-caked heels out of the grass with every humiliating step, his hips swaying wildly just to keep from falling. He was so far removed from his true self. He was a helpless, hysterical girl throwing a drunken temper tantrum in police custody.

Paraded back through the patio doors and into the chaotic glare of the living room. Blinding beams from tactical flashlights swept across the terrified partygoers lined up against the walls. Through the harsh light, Calvin caught a glimpse of Mateo standing with his hands raised, his dark eyes wide with shock as he watched the girl he was flirting with being roughly hauled in by law enforcement, her dress rumpled.

"I didn't do anything wrong! Let me go!" Calvin sobbed, genuine tears of frustration and humiliation.

It was only then, seeing Clara practically hyperventilating in handcuffs, that Ana fully realized what was happening. She saw her friend sobbing, screaming things that mightaswell have been nonsense with how little impact her words had. To Ana, she saw exactly what she expected to see, a terrified dreamer who had drunk too much and was having a total breakdown at the sheer terror of being deported and as strong as she thought she was, Ana wasn't sure she would do any better.

Something inside Ana flared hotter than her fear. She didn’t know what pushed her forward, bravery or stupidity. Ignoring the agents shouting for everyone to stay put, she broke from the wall, scooping up the purse she had seen Clara with, a synthetic leather purse she had dropped near the sofa.

"Wait! Stop! Don't hurt her!" Ana yelled, stepping directly into the path of the tactical officer holding Clara. "She's just scared!"

"Back away, miss!" the agent barked, shining a blinding flashlight directly into Ana's face.

"I have her papers!" Ana insisted, frantically unzipping the purse. She dug her fingers inside, bypassing things till she pulled out a small wallet. Stepping backwards as the officer marched his prisoner forward With urgency, Ana pulled out the state ID. She shoved the card directly toward the officer's tactical vest. "Look! Look! Her name is Clara Diane Bent! She is a dreamer.. She is protected from this!" She yelled trying to help but not really sure how much she was actually helping.

The ICE agent snatched the ID from Ana’s trembling hand and put it in his vest pocket. “Step out of the way ma’am.” He said not even glancing long enough at the card to read any of the information on it. Calvin squeezed his eyes shut to shield himself from seeing everyone looking at him, his chest heaving helplessly.

Ana’s well-meaning intervention had little effect on the outcome as Cal was perp walked outside the house and put in a windowless van with four others inside, each of them handcuffed, just like him. “Stop… Please… Stop! I’m a US citizen!”

"Clara Diane Bent," the agent read aloud, his tone shifting from aggressive to deeply annoyed as he lowered the ID card he had pulled out now that the feisty young woman was secure. "Twenty-two years old. Female… Bent…" The man said chuckling, liking the name with its association to the girl, picturing her bent over, just like her supposed name but also positive he was more likely her real last name was Rodriguez or Gonzalez.

Calvin opened his eyes, tears stinging. If he kept fighting now, if he somehow managed to force them to prove he was Calvin Bennent, he wouldn't just be exposing his crossdressing to a few people. He would be directly implicating Sidney, his wife… ex wife and himself for forging federal documents and Ana for interfering with a federal raid, if they wanted to be vindictive. The scandal wouldn't just ruin him; it would destroy part of his life and those connected to him.

The fight completely drained out of him, he sunk down in the seat, realizing that his fake identity was now his only shield against total destruction. He lowered his long eyelashes, staring down at his heels. He hated wearing them but for some reason the sight of them so filthy brought his crying to full body shaking sobbing.

Unable to stop the waterworks, Calvin heard a male voice he thought was talking in his direction but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Considering it was all in Spanish he could make out maybe one word in every ten.

The voice was gentle, a soothing murmur. Calvin sniffled, dragging his tear-streaked face upward just enough to see the man sitting across from him in the dim, blue-tinted light of the transport vehicle. It was an older man with weathered features and kind eyes, his own wrists secured in front of him with thick plastic zip-ties.

"Tranquila, mija. Todo va a estar bien," the man whispered, leaning forward slightly.

Calvin knew tranquila. Ana said it enough when he fumbled with the cleaning cart. Calm down. He knew mija, too. My daughter or little girl. The fatherly tone of the stranger's voice, meant to comfort a terrified young woman, was just another blow to Calvin's fractured pride. He wasn't a peer. He wasn't a fellow man facing adversity. To this stranger, he was a delicate, helpless girl who needed protecting.

Shoulders heaving, Calvin swallowed hard, tasting the salt of his own tears mixed with the fading remnants of the sugary drink he had been sipping on at the party. He couldn't explain the reason behind anything. He couldn't snap himself back with his usual self. If he dropped the act now, trapped in a federal transport van with undocumented immigrants, he didn't even want to imagine the danger he'd be in. He was locked into this and if he was being honest with himself he wasn’t sure he could convince anyone of the truth. Far as they were concerned he wasn’t even Clara. He was just an immigrant.

Forcing a nod, Calvin lowered his chin, his dark hair falling like a curtain to hide his face. "Gracias," he choked out, his voice cracking perfectly into the breathy, fragile alto he had spent weeks perfecting.

The man offered a sad, reassuring smile before leaning back against the metal wall, leaving Calvin to his swirling, suffocating thoughts.

‘I believe in manicures, I believe in overdressing, I believe in pink, I believe…’ He started to say to himself in his head, between sobs, his voice a mewling whine. ‘I believe in primping at leisure, and I believe in wearing lipstick. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner aside from kissing, and I do believe in kissing, I believe in kissing, a lot. I believe in being strong when everything else seems to be going wrong. I believe the happiest girls are the prettiest girls. I believe tomorrow is another day, and it’s a wonderful day for me to be a happy, pretty girl.’

The ride felt like an eternity. Every pothole and sharp turn sent pain through Calvin's body. With his arms pinned behind his back, he had no way to brace himself. His corseted waist kept his posture rigidly upright, forcing his chest forward, meaning his breasts bounced against the underwire bra with every bump in the road. His short, pleated skirt had ridden up high on his smooth thighs, and without the use of his hands, there was absolutely nothing he could do to pull it down. He had never felt so physically exposed, so entirely at the mercy of the world around him.

His wrists ached where the cold steel cuffs bit into his skin, pressing his bangle painfully against his bone. He stared down at his feet. The once-pristine light blue stiletto sandals were caked in dirt, along with his toes. The sight of them made a fresh wave of quiet sobs wrack his body. It was such a stupid, girly thing to cry over ruined shoes, but it was just one more thing.

“What is going to happen when we reach the detention center? The panic began to spiral anew. Would they fingerprint him? If his prints were in the system from his driver's license or background checks for the hotel's liquor licenses, the name Calvin Bennent would be flagged immediately. Sure, Sidney had procured the ID, but how deep did the forgery go? Would they strip-search me? The thought of standing in a sterile holding cell, forced to unlace his corset and unhook his bra for a female guard, made his blood run cold, instead of boil. Needing strength from anywhere he could, he started in on a part of the mantra once more, only this time speaking softly out loud. “I believe in being strong when everything else seems to be going wrong. I believe the happiest girls are the prettiest girls. I believe tomorrow is another day, and it’s a wonderful day for me to be a happy, pretty girl… I need a phone. I need my fixer.. I need Sidney. God I need Moriah.

The van suddenly decelerated, the brakes squealing as it made a wide, lumbering turn before coming to a jarring halt. The rear doors swung open, flooding the back of the van with blinding floodlights. Cool night air rushed in, accompanied by the barking orders of ICE officers.

"Alright, let's go! Single file! Move it out!"

The other detainees began to shuffle forward awkwardly. Calvin forced himself to stand, his legs trembling. With his hands cuffed behind him, standing up in the stiletto heels required a balancing act that he was surprised he could manage. He locked his knees, his hips swaying instinctively as he found his center of gravity.

When he reached the edge of the van, the drop to the pavement looked like a canyon.

"Come on, let's go," an officer snapped, reaching up to grab Calvin by the bicep.

"I... I can't jump in these," Calvin stammered, looking down at his shoes, his voice trembling with genuine fear. The sheer absurdity of the sentence burning part of something in him away or so it felt. The officer rolled his eyes, unimpressed by the crying girl in the pretty dress. Instead of offering a hand, the guard simply grabbed her by the waist and practically hauled him out of the back of the van, setting him roughly on the asphalt. Calvin stumbled, his ankles rolling slightly before he caught his balance, his hips rocking side to side.

"Move," the guard ordered, giving him a light shove between the shoulder blades.

Calvin minced forward, falling into line behind the older man who had comforted him. They were being herded toward a massive windowless processing facility surrounded by razor wire. The harsh halogen lights illuminated everything but the light didn't bring him any comfort, only letting him see the source of his next destination, only increasing his dread.