Chapter 33

The teal little car coasted past the sprawling, farm house style house, coming to a stop against the curb half a block down the street. Calvin stared out the passenger window, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. His heart hammered wildly in his chest. Its rabbit beating made him pay more attention to his demi bra holding his tits that he shouldn't have. It had been weeks since he had been in his own home and as much as he wanted to come home it wasn’t supposed to be like this… not as a servant. Every instinct screamed at him to unlock the door and run, not that he would go far or fast in his current footwear, but his panicked breaths were coming so fast he felt lightheaded. ‘Trapped… I’m trapped, fuck what is wrong with me?’ He thought before going over his mantra, needing to be Clara right now more than ever and not himself.

Cutting the engine, Ana pulled the keys from the ignition. The car’s engine ticked as it cooled, the sound filled the quiet car as Ana turned, she immediately noticed Clara’s trembling hands and frantic breathing.

"Whoa, hey, breathe, flaquita," Ana said, her voice softening with concern as she reached over and gave their shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You’re having a panic attack over nothing. Listen to me. The rich people inside? They are just that... people. Sure, they are way more arrogant and entitled than normal people, but they are still just people. And honestly, you don't even have to worry about them. Most of them will look right through us like we are part of the walls or the furniture, at least once the guests arrive and the wine starts flowing."

Swallowing hard, Calvin forced his eyes to squeeze shut. He was the arrogant, entitled person she was talking about. He owned… Moriah owned the walls they were supposed to blend into.

"For now, we are just going to go inside through the kitchen side door to set up," Ana continued, her tone light and conversational, trying to ground her friend. "The first time I worked a gig here, I came with Jorge. You didn't meet him, he got fired months ago. Anyway, Jorge didn't know the rules and we walked right up to the front door. Mr. Bennent, that absolute prick, caught us in the foyer and chewed us out so bad that Jorge talked back to him. Fired him right on the spot."

Ana rolled her eyes, shaking her head at the memory. "But you don't have to worry about that horn dog today. As far as I know, he is still on his sabbatical or vacation or whatever. So it’s just Ms.Abrams, and she’s much easier to deal with."

The vitriol attached to his own name, delivered so casually by a woman who had just adopted him as a sister, felt like a physical blow. A prick. A horn dog. That was his legacy to the staff he paid.

Overwhelmed by the weight of his own past behavior and the humiliating reality of his present, Calvin slowly opened his eyes. He let his gaze drop to the floorboard, staring blankly at his own feet. They were resting in the brand-new, four-inch black felt pumps Ana had just forced him to buy. ‘I bought these and fuck my feet shouldn’t look this good in them.’

"I'm sorry," Calvin whispered, his breathy alto cracking slightly under the strain of a very real shame.

With a lopsided smile on her face Ana tried once more to comfort her friend, happy she was coming down from what looked like the beginning of a panic attack. Misinterpreting the apology as nothing more than her sheltered friend feeling embarrassed about having a nervous breakdown in the car, she patted her knee affectionately. "Oh, Cariño, stop. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for," Ana reassured them, flashing a confident smile. She leaned back, looking Clara up and down with an approving nod. "And don't worry so much. You look amazing in that outfit. You are cute enough that if you mess up, drop a fork or something, all you have to do is flutter those pretty long lashes of yours, look a little coy, and apologize exactly like you just did. I promise you, no one in that house will have a problem."

Clapping her hands together once, Ana popped her car door open, the dome light illuminating the cramped interior. "Now grab your purse, pretty girl. We have a dining room to prep."

Calvin took one last, trembling breath. He grabbed his purse and stepped out onto the asphalt. Carefully placing one stiletto pump in front of the other, he followed Ana down the sidewalk toward his own home, swaying his hips with every step without having to think about it, preparing to be the invisible help in the very house he used to rule.

It was only a few minutes before he was back in his home, standing next to Ana as Moriah’s gaze roamed over them both but to him it felt like every second was hours.

When the help for her dinner party arrived, Moriah was more than a little surprised and didn’t do the greatest job hiding that fact.

Standing in the center of her pristine kitchen, Moriah looked every inch the well put together hostess. Wearing a dark deep blue strapless midi dress paired with a bell sleeved cropped red cardigan, her highlighted blonde and light brown hair swept up into a high, voluminous updo with two long, curled tendrils falling perfectly to frame her jawline. On her feet were black four inch stiletto sandals. Her hands froze mid-gesture, her dark eyes widening as she took in the sight of the two women standing by the side entrance.

To her, Ana looked composed, standing tall in the charcoal-black dress layered over a white collared shirt. Her short, textured brown bob styled in what she would describe in a spunky manner, the sweeping layers falling just below her ears to give her a chic, polished look.

But Moriah’s gaze slid and stayed glued to the person standing next to her.

Calvin, her feminized ex-husband, who she had no idea would be here tonight was a wreck. He was wearing the exact same outfit, the white cuffs of his blouse folded neatly over the black sleeves. His honey-toned skin, thanks to his Greek heritage, was flushed with a deep, humiliating blush. His dark bangs shadowed his eyes, and the large gold hoop earrings dangled heavily against his jaw.

He seemed devoid of all his usual arrogant swagger, Calvin was practically folding in on himself. His shoulders were slumped, his manicured hands clasped nervously together in front of his groin, and his wide eyes seemed to be boring a hole in the floor.

For a fraction of a second, Moriah just stared, taking in the shame radiating off her ex-husband as he stood in her kitchen ina pair of four-inch heels she didn't recognize. Recovering her composure, the savvy woman masked her shock with a polite, slightly standoffish veneer. "Ana, thank you for coming on such short notice," Moriah said, her voice smooth and authoritative, completely ignoring the trembling man for a moment. "Your hair looks lovely, by the way. That textured bob suits you perfectly."

"Thank you, Ms. Abrams," Ana replied easily, completely oblivious to the psychological drama unfolding right next to her.

Moriah then turned her attention fully to Clara. She allowed a patronizing, polite smile to touch her lips, acting as though she was looking at a total stranger rather than the man who used to sleep in her bed.

"And you must be... Clara, correct?" Moriah asked, her tone detached. "I believe Mrs. Long mentioned we had a new junior maid on staff. I wasn't expecting her to send you, but I suppose we will make do."

Her words reverberated in his mind. ‘We will make do.’ Like he was a consolation prize. He could feel Moriah’s eyes moving over his body, and under her scrutiny, the intense dysphoria he had been trying to suppress roared to the surface. Her gaze felt almost tactile, burning into his skin. He felt the air conditioned, cool air of his house over his smooth, hairless legs. He felt the unnatural, forced arch of his lower back and the sway of his hips, dictated by the steep pitch of his pumps. The bodice of the cheap dress felt like it was hugging his D-cups prominently into the V-neck of the white blouse.

He was a successful, powerful man, yet Moriah was looking at him as if she had engineered him to be a submissive, hyper-feminized servant. The wrongness of his own body, the hairless skin, the heavy breasts held in a sexy demi-bra, his painted lilac nails digging into his palms made his stomach churn with a sickening cocktail of grief, emasculation, and a twisted, unwanted arousal that only deepened his horror.

He felt so small as he forced his words past the lump in his throat, remembering Ana's instructions to act coy. Not entirely sure why he was doing it just in front of his girlfriend, he fluttered his long lashes, keeping his chin tucked submissively as he stared at the floorboards he had paid to have installed. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you for having me."

"Of course," Moriah replied. Her gaze took one final, excruciatingly slow trip down his body, tracing the smooth line of his bare calves down to his painted toes squeezed into the heels, before snapping back up to his flushed face. "Now, we have a lot of ground to cover and not much time. The caterers have already prepped the appetizers. I need the two of you to head into the dining room. Set the table, polish the silverware, and make sure the wine glasses don't have any fingerprints or smudges on them."

She paused, looking at the clock on her stove before continuing. "Guests will be arriving in roughly half an hour. Once they do, remember your place. You are here to serve. To be seen,but not heard. Please do not speak to my guests unless they speak to you directly. I expect absolute perfection tonight. Understood?"

"Sí, Ms. Abrams," Ana answered, giving Clara a subtle nudge with her elbow.

Moriah didn't look at Ana. She kept her eyes locked on the blushing, humiliated man in the dress, waiting for him to verbally submit to her authority in his own home.

Knees trembled slightly, Calvin blinked slowly wishing he had never agreed to this not just because of the humiliation but desperately wishing he was in his bed right now. "Understood, Ms. Abrams," he squeaked.

Not terribly long later, back in the kitchen, Ana gave Clara a subtle, encouraging nudge. She pointed a finger toward a bottle of expensive, dark red wine that had already been properly aerated, before scooping up a decorative silver tray of prepped, lightly seared bacon-wrapped scallops. Calvin’s mouth satiated at the scent of the appetizer and the thought of drinking the ten year old vintage made his time in the kitchen agonizing. Leaning on the counter he had one foot slightly raised rolling ankle.

With the tray in hand, Ana poked her friend in the side as she prodded her to get moving. “If you have time to lean…” She started to say in a joking manner.

Slumping his head forward, his long hair fell into his face. “Then I have time to clean…” He said, finishing the saying, something he had said to his staff dozens of times, to the point Bethany did the same or at least she did at the hotel.

“Don’t be like that, girl. We are being paid decent for once and while Ms. Abrams is a hell of a lot nicer than the other owner, she is a bit…” Ana was about to go to say two-faced, elaborating that being nicer did not mean nice, but this was not the time or place for it. For Calvin he thought of how pretty his once wife was tonight, and assumed Ana was going to say strict as if to say his Moriah was a bit strict at times and agreeing he straightened up and collected the bottle of wine he would love to have a glass of.

Skiing his pretty painted acrylics closed around the neck of the wine bottle no longer seemed out of place, it being part of his new normal,it dudn't even register to him as a thing, so long as they weren't chipped or scratched.

On drink duty he was the first to push through the swinging door and step out into his own dining room. The moment he crossed the threshold, his four-inch heels stopped dead on the Persian rug. His blood ran cold.There sitting around the long mahogany table, the very table Calvin had special-ordered from Italy, were the absolute worst people he could possibly face. Seated near the head of the table, in his seat no less was Kyle Morris, the young, blonde Mega Corp liaison who held the entire Ahuva Bahyeet buyout in his hands. But it was the man sitting, in Moriah’s normal seat, across from Kyle that made Calvin’s heart stop completely.

Seated near the head of the table was Richard Prince, a regional bank manager and one of Calvin's frequent golf buddies. Calvin would be the first to admit the guy was an arrogant prick, Richard actually delighted in the nickname "Dick," often joking it made him the Prince of Dicks. Right now, he was swirling a water glass and laughing loudly.

Next to him sat two people Calvin had spent months wining and dining in a bid to acquire their real estate. Elenore, a cold but undeniably beautiful French woman in her mid-forties, owned the Artisan Coffee & Morning Bakery next door. Beside her sat Paul, the fifty-something owner of the Wine Tasting Rooms & Craft Cocktail Lounge, that was on the other side of Ahuva Bahyeet. Between her fresh-baked bread and his craft cocktails, their businesses pulled an infuriating number of guests away from Calvin's own hotel bar.

These people knew his voice, his tells, his mannerisms. The arrogant, man’s-man part of his ego wanted to believe the disguise was flimsy, that beneath the long dark weave, the hoop earrings, and the semi-permanent cosmetics, his innate masculinity was still glaringly obvious. But he knew the truth: he was horrifyingly passable. If they looked closely and recognized him, the illusion wouldn't just shatter. The resulting scandal would kill the deal and completely obliterate Calvin's existence or so he believed.

Just a single step out of the kitchen he felt rooted in pace. His chest heaving as paralyzing terror kept him from moving. ‘I think I’m going to vomit.’

From behind, Ana stepped up close, the tray of scallops balanced effortlessly in one hand. She noticed Clara’s pause but from her angle she couldn’t see her chest heaving. Leaning in closer to her friend’s ear, she whispered, "Tranquila, flaquita. Eres hermosa y lo estás haciendo muy bien. Adelante."

Calvin understood maybe a single word of the rapid-fire Spanish, but the warm, grounding tone of her voice and the gentle, physical bump of her hip against his own broke the spell of his paralysis.

Blinking rapidly, he forced his eyes down to the floorboards, relying entirely on the physical conditioning Moriah had drilled into him. He remembered the specific etiquette rules he was normally on the receiving end of, wine poured from the left, food served from the right.

Placing one stiletto carefully in front of the other, his hips swaying with a forced grace that was getting easier to maintain by the day, Calvin approached the table. He moved toward Richard Prince first, his entire body trembling. Stepping up to his friend’s left side, Calvin kept his chin tucked low as he reached out to fill the crystal glass.

Not everyone but a few of those around the table noticed the chesty girl pause her eyes going vacant as her bosom rose and fell. Those with more deviant mind sets paid close attention to the girl with the wine as she displayed her ample but conservatively covered chest before moving forward with an enticing wiggle in her gait.

As Cal leaned forward, the lack of a corset betrayed him. Without the supportive compression holding his torso in check, his heavy D-cups felt like they gained weight. He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination betraying him or if his labored, panicked breathing was causing the man that he knew all too well to look directly at his chest.

Richard didn't even try to hide it. The banker paused mid-sentence, his eyes dropping shamelessly straight down from the V the servers collar to her breasts a bit sad she was so covered up. Ogling the girl’s prominent tits, he could imagine what her cleavage would look like if she was a server… a cocktail waitress at one of the clubs he frequented.

The overt objectification made Cal’s skin-crawl with revulsion. ‘Get a grip Rich! I’m a man! You gave me the loan for Ahuva Bahyeet ‘s construction.’ He was currently being mentally undressed by his own golf buddy's greedy eyes. The sheer terror of being recognized completely overrode his instincts. Trapped by the disguise and goals, Calvin did the only thing Clara could do. With a humiliated blush flooding his cheeks, and a weak, nervous smile on his puffy, inflated lips as he stood back up after giving Rich a bit of a heavy pour of the wine.

To Richard and Kyle, who was watching from the head of the table, that blush and shy smile didn't look like terror. It looked like she was flattered. It looked like a pretty, submissive girl thoroughly enjoying the attention of powerful men. Kyle had a charming, appreciative grin, sending a fresh wave of nausea through Calvin's stomach. ‘This guy…’ Calvin thought seeing the man from Mega corp smile at him. Being the person he actually needed for his desired future, Cal returned the smiles he met Kyles's eyes.

Well accustomed to such things, Ana moved in seamlessly from the right, as she had been taught many moons ago by Bethany Long. Wielding a pair of silver tongs to plate the bacon-wrapped scallops onto Richard's china. Richard's gaze found her chest. Emboldened from the reaction from the girl with wine, as Ana turned to move to the next guest, the banker casually leaned back in his chair, blatantly staring at the sway of her ass covered by the charcoal dress.

Catching it, Calvin watched in horror, fully expecting Ana to dump the scallops on the man's head. Instead, Ana caught the look out of the corner of her eye. She didn't flinch. She simply offered a knowing, razor-thin smirk, adding just a fraction more sway to her hips as she stepped away.

Later, in the safety of the kitchen, Ana would call him a pendejo, as if Richard was stupid, going on to add the word pig, but right now, she was monetizing his gaze. She was working the room. Ana was many things and a few of them were a pragmatic, thick-skinned survival expert when dealing with situations like this that made Calvin feel small and out of his depth.

As the dinner progressed, the conversation flowed, and so did the wine. Calvin was forced to stand silently by the wall, very much wanting to be ignored and attempting to blend into the shadows while Kyle Morris began turning his charm on the table. Kyle flirted easily with the women, including Moriah, complimenting her choice of wine and her impeccable taste in decor.

Hearing another man openly court his girlfriend in his own house infuriated Calvin. His manicured nails dug so hard into the corkscrew in his pocket. But Moriah accepted the attention with graceful, respectful detachment, playing the perfect hostess. The French bakery owner, Elenore, leaned into it. She offered Kyle a sultry smile over her wine glass. "You know, Mr. Morris… Kyle, for someone I expect to be ruthless in logistics, representing Mega corp as you do. You have a very pretty face."

She wasn’t trying to be demeaning in her choice of words; it was confidence. Where she came from a man being called pretty was a turn of phrase. The bar owner, Paul, chuckled, holding a thumb up and closing one eye as if framing a picture of the Mega Corp liaison. "She’s right. Come next Halloween, put on a wig and some heels, we can see just how pretty you can be as 'Kylie'." While use of the word pretty was a compliment, Paul’s comment was more of a mocking jest.

Still, the table laughed and Calvin’s heart felt like it stopped beating in his chest.

Kyle didn't bristle. He didn't get defensive or offended. He leaned back, utterly secure in his own masculinity, and laughed along with them. "Oh, I guarantee I would make a devastatingly sexy girl," Kyle boasted easily, flashing a brilliant smile. "But I could never do that to you fine gentlemen. I wouldn't want to deprive the ladies of this handsome visage, and I certainly wouldn't want to tempt the men and make them feel insecure. I am pretty, even my mother has said so, though she might have been teasing me growing up. I have never been what girls call ruggedly handsome like you.”

He motioned to Paul, then glanced at the servers then to Moriah. “It would be funnier if you…” He looked to Paul then Richard. “Tried to pass as a girl or Clara here or even…” Kyle paused realizing he didn't know the other hispanic girl’s name that was serving them. “I’m sorry Miss, I know Clara here but I have not had the pleasure of hearing your name.”

“Inclining her head, Ana responded. “Sir.” Ana said, starting to the charismatic blonde man. She had seen a few of the people she was serving before, them owning companies next door to her work place, but for Kyle she had no idea who he was in relation to one of the owners of her work place other than overhearing his name, so she acted reserved and demure. “People mostly call me Ana but my full name is Ana María Isabel Valdez.”

Inclining his head to Ana, Kyle took a sip of his wine. “A lovely name for a beautiful woman, thank you. But as I was saying.” He paused trying to remember where he left off before he shrugged. “I think I lost my place but my point was something about Paul and Richard looking ridiculous trying to look like a female, just like these lovely ladies would look the same pretending to be men.”

The irony of Kyle.. this man that Calvin might have described as a twink, if he didn’t need him so much with his confident banter completely shattered Calvin.

‘I would look ridiculous pretending to be a man?! Fuck you!.. You you.. Pendejo!’ Calvin raged even as his left hand raised up to cup his left breast feeling his fingers giving his flesh a quick squeeze before dropping his hand to the side. ‘Temporary breasts from some bullshit Asian injections or not… I have tits… Of course that's how I’m seen.’ He thought feeling like he stupid emotions were going to torment him once again.

He stood there by the wall, looking and acting like not just a female but a servant for his betters as he listened to this powerful man joke about the very nightmare he was living. Kyle was so secure in his own skin that crossdressing was just a fun, hypothetical joke. For Calvin, it was a reality. The fact that he…as Clara, was actively tempting these exact men, while simultaneously being told he couldn't pass as his true gender, was a psychological attack he could barely withstand.

The tension around the table finally snapped midway through the main course. Ana was leaning over to clear a side plate from Richard’s setting, a small silver boat of au jus balanced on her tray. Emboldened by the wine and the permissive atmosphere of the room, Richard’s hand drifted under the table. His fingers brushed deliberately against the back of Ana’s bare thigh.

The thirty-year-old latina didn't scream, she didn't even flinch. With a lightning-fast flick of her wrist, the silver boat tipped. A dark splash of hot gravy landed squarely on the thigh of Richard’s expensive trousers.

"God damn it!" Richard barked, shoving his chair back.

"Oh, ¡lo siento! I am so, so sorry, sir!" Ana gasped, her eyes wide with fake terror. "So clumsy! I will get a cloth right now!"

Before Richard could fully erupt and make a scene, Ana spun on her heel and rushed into the kitchen. Calvin watched, his heart hammering, as she emerged seconds later. She carried a pristine white cloth napkin draped over her left arm, a fresh bottle of Cabernet, and a metal corkscrew gripped tightly in her right hand.

She marched directly back to Richard. Holding the wine bottle steady with the napkin, she raised her right hand just slightly. The sharp, coiled metal of the corkscrew caught the dining room chandelier's light. She looked Richard dead in the eye, all traces of the submissive servant completely gone. "Sir," Ana said, her voice dropping into a low fake polite register with her exaggerating her accent. "Would you like me to stab... sorry. My English, es no bueno. Would you like me to uncork the next bottle for you?"

With the threat thinly veiled but hanging there in the air. Richard's mouth snapping shut as he stared at the point of the metal tool hovering just inches from his hand.

Before the silence could curdle into a scandal, Moriah’s voice cut through the tensioner so she tried. "These things happen, Richard," Moriah said smoothly. Her tone making her sound unbothered by the events. It was as if she was commanding the entire room without raising her voice a single decibel. She offered a wolfish smile that sent a shiver down Calvin's spine. "The powder room is just down the hall, second door on your left. You'll find a stain stick in the basket by the sink. Clara, be a dear and pour Mr. Morris another glass while Richard freshens up."

Swallowing, Rich felt the wind taken out of his sails, his bravado neutralized. He offered a tight nod, throwing his napkin on the table, and scurried off toward the hallway.

Moriah inclined her head in the bankers direction as if to thank him for not making a scene, hoping she had fully smoothed it over, protecting the negotiation while simultaneously letting Richard know exactly who controlled the room. Watching her, Calvin was in awe of her social control while he could do nothing to help, only follow her directions, to continue to serve. Stepping forward he poured more wine for Kyle, finishing off the bottle as it really started to hit him that Moriah wasn’t just surviving without him. She is thriving.