Chapter 6

Chapter 6

With the meeting concluded, the only sound in the room was the hum of the air conditioner, set to Reagan's preferred icy temperature, though its chill seemed to amplify the discomfort of his dress. Ryan's rhythmic typing on his laptop occasionally punctuated the silence. A blush still lingered on Reagan's cheeks as he averted his gaze from the quiet man. In any other circumstance, he would have engaged in conversation or delegated tasks. However, the weight of recent events had left him unusually passive.

His eyes, drawn away from Ryan, fell upon the glint of the lights reflecting off his fresh manicure. This trivial detail seemed to magnify the emotional turmoil. “Why does just getting my nails done make my hands look so feminine?” he mused.

Ryan, engrossed in compiling the meeting notes, remained oblivious to his boss' internal struggle. The task would typically be assigned to a junior staffer, but given this was their first meeting with the candidate, both Eva and Ryan felt it crucial to focus their attention on him – or rather, on her. Glancing at Reagan, he noticed the feminized man examining his hands, a gesture that seemed inherently feminine. A month ago, the notion of Reagan Demir in that get-up would have been utterly preposterous. Yet, here he was, not only looking like a woman but an undeniably attractive one.

"I understand you're going through a lot, but we still have campaign matters to discuss." Ryan said, his words startling his distracted boss.

'What's wrong with me?' Reagan wondered, feeling increasingly out of control, not just with his campaign, but the entirety of his life.

For a man who prided himself on control the situation was overwhelming. First, hackers had nearly derailed his political aspirations and shattered his sense of normalcy. Second, he lost most of his staff, and now, he was expected to not only pick up the pieces but also forge ahead, seemingly alone. It seemed like in an instant he had a new staff, but concerningly he hadn't been involved in the hiring process, the same as he hadn't chosen his own clothes, or the gender he was being forcefully slotted into. It may have been necessary, as Eva kept explaining, but he felt like a passenger in his own dream, and that was something he just couldn’t quite get comfortable with.

Unable to get the senatorial candidate's attention, Ryan pressed on, "Being transgender has garnered a good deal of support from the…" but he was shortly interrupted by Reagan.

"You know, Davis…" Reagan paused, finding the very utterance of the man's last name awkward. "You know I'm not… you know… trans whatever."

A slight grimace appeared on Ryan's face for just a moment. A person’s identity never mattered much to him, as long as they treated those around them with a measure of respect. Considering he was trying to make his career in politics, it was a hard ideal to stick to. Joining Reagan’s campaign was something of a compromise, but the man had the drive to succeed - the charisma, and he was a lot better than most of his ilk in the republican party. This was especially true now that they’d swung even harder right in recent years. Not that he had a lot of love for either party, but in his mind Reagan seemed to be a candidate to get Republicans back on track. The last ad before the hack had Ryan questioning that, but seeing the man, or rather woman, sitting before him brought him hope.

"Ma'am," Ryan began, taking special care to use the feminine honorific, "you do not know me, what I stand for, where I came from, or really why I'm here, beyond what I can do for you. Is that fair to say?"

The word “ma'am” left a sour taste in Reagan's mouth, but he still nodded in agreement, knowing that if things were to work, that was the tiniest adjustment he’d need to get used to. A part of him didn't want this to work, but that was overshadowed by his rekindled fire when he heard the fundraising numbers. That, and the fact that if it failed, it wouldn't change his reputation at all. He would still have been painted with the koala pirate’s brush, and that stain wasn’t coming out any time soon.

"I do know of your education, your experience, and your goals," Reagan replied. He knew Ryan didn’t want to work the election cycle for the rest of his life. The man had ambitions for political office himself, and that was the kind of motivation Reagan could use to his advantage.

Conceding the point, Ryan nodded. "You do, but something you have to understand about me, it doesn't matter if someone is LGBTQ. Heck, my girlfriend's step-cousin is transgender. Leah is a sweet girl."

The stress of his position had been a heavy load, made all the heavier by an extremely public transition. While the change had brought its own level of support, it brought just as many, if not more, detractors - detractors that Ryan had to handle. If it wasn't for his support network, he wasn't sure it was the kind of thing he could handle, let alone remain unphased while doing so. His longtime girlfriend Candi's unwavering positivity and support was unrivaled. She acted as his personal cheerleader, and it made him feel incredibly lucky.

"That said, Miss Demir," Ryan made a point to look the blonde in those deep blue eyes, "that should be the last time you ever say or even hint at not being trans. It would be best if moving forward you only refer to yourself as a woman. If someone asks if you are a trans woman, you should admit it… proudly. We don't want to leave room for someone to insinuate you’re ashamed of who you are."

Opening his mouth to respond, Reagan instead just let it hang there for a moment before turning away. He didn’t like what the bespectacled man’s suggestion but it was part of Ryan's job to say things Reagan didn’t want to hear. The day had been long enough already, and all he wanted was to lean back in the seat, kick up his feet, and relax, but the vice-like garment around his waist kept his spine upright, and straight, refusing to let him forget it was there.

Reagan was sure that if one of those old finishing schools that girls went to back in the past were still around, Eva would have enrolled him in one. With that reminder, he crossed his shaven legs at the ankle, the position still quite uncomfortable. Without looking back to Ryan, he crossed his arms, looking out the dark window in the conference room, trying to prepare himself for what other news he missed during his month-long, ****-driven stupor.

"I get it."

"That out of the way, despite all the good news, we do have an uphill battle. We’re getting hate mail, and a few threats daily, but nothing of any substance." Ryan pulled up an Excel sheet that kept track of such posts with return addresses, and the names of the people stupid enough to put them on the envelopes. "Nothing you need to do here, or worry about, but I didn't want you to think everything was peaches and cream." Closing the file, he moved on to the next topic while Reagan digested the information.

He always considered hate mail a waste of time. Nothing would ever come of it. Considering what he heard at the meeting, these people weren't that bright. Still, he could understand people's feelings. Right then, he hated himself too. When people referred to great men it was rarely about their fashion choices.

With a sour face, Ryan continued, "Polling has you down by nine points from Gerry Eneric, and his campaign is heavily funded. Recent fundraising has been outpacing what he is bringing in though, by a wide margin, though you still have some ground to make up. That means public appearances, and new ads. That is the bad news. The good news is one of our current polls shows you pulling votes that would normally go to the Dems, so victory is still very much within our grasp."

Drumming his fingers on the conference room table, the tapping of long nails acting as yet another terrible reminder, Reagan frowned. "Eneric's platform is built on nothing of substance, so maybe we can leak to the press that he refuses to debate, and that should add enough pressure to get him on a stage next to me for all of Florida to see. The man has the charisma of a wet old sock after all. We can assume I’ve got any debate in the bag." Reagan bobbed his head from left to right, feeling his long hair in the strange style, swaying back and forth along with the weight from the stupid earrings Eva made him wear. "Social media will do a lot of the work for us. We just need to get him to open his big dumb mouth." Talk like this is what made Reagan feel more like himself again.

"We can do that. When Eva gets back, I'm sure she will know what to do," Ryan agreed, jotting down a few notes. "Next thing is less of an order of business and more of something we have to take care of." Just looking at the man's name disgusted the young professional. "Albert Amancio.”

He was a man who once tried to run for congress but failed spectacularly because of the horrible things he carried out as a Mega Corp executive. Try as he might to cover it up, those things always come out eventually. Unfortunately for the one-percenter, it came out sooner than he’d hoped. Most people didn't know about the cover-up, how he had an underling, a middle manager, try to destroy some files. In doing so, that middle manager, George Brannon, had almost gotten his best friend, August Gates, not just fired, but sent to prison. None of that worked out in Amancio's favor, so while his campaign failed, he could still use his money to maintain favorable relationships with like-minded, or easily manipulated politicians.

"While Amancio pulled his support a month ago when you came out, it seems he wants to sit down and talk. Specifically, he wants us to hold a gala, on our dime, all a smoke-screen for a back-room meeting it seems. It’s doable, but we will have to shift things around to…"

"That actually sounds good," Reagan interrupted. “A thousand-dollar plate fundraising dinner, maybe a small charity auction… say, Wounded Warrior Project, a local veterans charity in Florida…" he snapped his fingers, trying to remember the one they used before, "...Military Order of the Purple Heart… and throw in two of the children's charities too. Locally, we have Give Kids the World and say… St. Jude's."

Walking back into the conference room after terminating the mouthy intern, Eva nodded with a smile, happy to see her candidate - her "horse in the race" acting much more like his old self. Though hearing his voice come from such a pretty woman made it clear there were still some adjustments that needed to be made.

"Good idea," she agreed. "We can put up the money for everything, then all profits go to charity after we recoup. Ryan, did you go over everything else with Reah?" Eva didn't miss the look on Reagan’s face when she used the new nickname once again.

"We still have a lot to cover, but as far as what I think you are referring to, we have the beard and the medical transition."

Touching his face, Reagan felt the smooth skin where his unkempt beard used to be, and once more he felt like things were spinning out of control. It had been a very long time since he had last seen it nude, not that he didn't think he looked good that way. He just appeared so much younger without facial hair. A man with a groomed beard was like a girl with a push-up bra, as far as he was concerned. Now his face was bare.

Stepping behind Reagan's chair, Eva rested her hands on his shoulders, giving him a gentle massage. "Both topics are difficult, so let's get it over with. Reagan was a single man running for office, and we were planning on finding you a stable girlfriend to be by your side at events, and photo-ops."

On reflex, Reagan closed his eyes. They were already heavy from the unfamiliar weight of the eye makeup, and the emotional weight of his long day just added to his exhaustion. If he had been his regular, everyday self, he might have put the connection together sooner. As is though he just sat there and nodded. “I still don’t think I need a girlfriend to win, and I really don’t like my campaign manager having a say in who I screw, but I get your point. Politicians are more electable with a partner. Do you have someone in mind?”

Eva glanced over to Ryan, who was shaking his head. He was not about to weigh in on the topic.

“Well… it is a good thing your campaign manager is also a girl you trust.”

Before she could say another word, Reagan let out a chortle. "Eva, you are beautiful, you are spunky, you are brilliant. I'm still not going to date you." He wasn’t truly opposed to the idea of being with her. Taking the pretty woman to bed was more than a little appealing, but he thought it looked **** to publicly date someone from his staff.

Patting his shoulder, Eva mouthed the word "Noooo," drawing it out, even getting a smirk from Ryan. "I wasn't suggesting that. I’m still looking for the right person for you, Reah. They need to be stable, mentally and financially. I think it would be best if they have already built up a reputation in their field, and it really wouldn’t hurt if he was handsome.

Opening his eyes and pulling away, Reagan turned to Eva, the shock painted all over his face.

"HE!?"

Once again, Eva found herself nodding. Reaching forward, she grabbed Reagan's shoulders again and forcefully pulled him back, continuing her massage. "Yes, Reah, he. You are a woman now, and…" She gave a harder squeeze to the feminized man's shoulders, stopping him from interrupting, talking a little louder to speak over him. "Most people have a hard time separating sexual preference with one's gender, and we don't need to make our already tumultuous battle more difficult. Boyfriend and girlfriend fit the status quo better than girlfriends, so you are getting a male partner, otherwise known as a beard."

The conversation soon devolved into an argument, Reagan repeatedly emphasizing he wasn't gay, and wasn't going to date a boy. That was rebuked with how it wasn’t gay for a woman to date a man. It wouldn’t look right to certain older voters otherwise. The entire time, Eva, with only a little help from Ryan, made sure to continue to hammer in the use of female pronouns.

"Eva, I'm exhausted. Can we talk about this later?" Reagan asked. Too tired to argue, a tactical retreat seemed like the best course of action.

"We can talk about men anytime you want, Reah," Eva said with a snicker. "Before we go though, we do have to talk about your transition. As I told you before, there is a lot more to being a woman, and in your case, a trans woman, than just changing your wardrobe."

By now, Reagan was on his feet - his painfully heeled feet. Making his stance with his hands on his hips, glaring at his friend felt less than impactful. "A farce," he waved his hand over his body. "This is just for show…" Glancing over at the silent man, Reagan rolled his eyes. "Yes, I get it, I shouldn't be saying that, but… and listen, this is important. I. DO. NOT. WANT. TO. BE. A. WOMAN!" He let out a heavy breath, or heavy as he could with the corset restricting his air.

“Reah, don’t get your panties twisted.” She placed the back of her hand up to her forehead and mocked a dramatic faint. “We aren’t talking about you actually transitioning. We need to discuss the subject because, sooner or later, it is going to come up. You can’t have a camera in your face when someone asks the question for the first time and be totally unprepared.”

"Ma'am," Ryan interjected, his tone far more professional than Eva’s. She could be all business in front of others, but never maintained the facade in private, especially as it grew later. "We’ve prepared your answers in advance. We also have a doctor who is willing to work with us. You’re on his books now. You will be going to his office for treatment, or so it will appear. He will be paid, the paperwork will say what we need it to. For all intents and purposes, at least as far as others can see, you will be receiving hormone treatment, and any other relevant procedures."

The tight grip Reagan had maintained since getting worked up finally relaxed, and that’s when he realized he’d been stabbing himself in the palm with the new talons. "Oh." He pursed his lips, but reluctantly nodded. "So the two of you have it all worked out then."

Reagan still wasn’t a fan, but their plan would maintain the farce. In fact, it was ignoring those details that could ruin the scheme. He just didn't know if they could afford such a thing right now, and he was **** to give praise to any plan that made him appear to want what was happening to him.

The meeting continued for another hour, going over the most minute of details, but with everything that had been happening to him, Reagan struggled to keep up. By the time Eva was driving him home, he could hardly follow. None of it was appealing. The one thing he knew was that he was in for a grueling crash course in all things woman. Fashion, hair, makeup - he had thirty years of girlhood to catch up on. Admiring a sexy woman and what she chose to wear was something of a hobby for the man, but picking out the right dress and heels for an occasion sounded stomach-churning levels of awful. Completely drained, when he finally made it to his apartment door, he was completely surprised by what he found inside.

"What is this?" Reagan asked with a bit of wonder in his tired voice as he took in his apartment, not a single sign of a pizza box, wine bottle, or empty beer in sight. Feeling a gentle shove from behind, Reagan stepped into his home on his incredibly sore feet.

Following behind, Eva took a deep breath, much happier with the fragrance of clean instead of the stench of a disgusting defeated man.

"This?" She gestured around the room as she walked past the skirted man. "What you see here, Reah, is the use and **** of interns." she shrugged. "We paid them all - not enough, but they were paid."

“Yeah.” he nodded. His tongue tasted a hint of his lipstick as he pressed his lips together tightly, looking about the room. “Flowers… How nice...”

Reagan didn’t care for keeping live flowers. They were a prop to be maintained or a fleeting gift at best. They had no place on his table. Putting one hand on his wall he raised a foot to free it from the tortuous heel causing him so much discomfort. The other shoe gone, he wiggled his toes as he felt some relief from the cold tile floors.

Pointing a finger at the senate hopeful, Eva wore a tired smirk. “You have a wonderful night, yourself and remember, you have a new nighttime routine. Don’t make me hire a governess to keep an eye on you.” she said, offering a playful warning.

Reagan was known for his impeccable grooming. Now, though, she had given him a routine far more demanding than even that of the most vain of men. Oil-based facial cleanser, makeup wipes, water-based cleanser, before patting his face dry once again. All that followed by taking a facial roller from the fridge and diligently using it. Then he was to use a special under-eye cream, and a separate facial cream for the rest. Worst of all, that didn’t account one bit for the rest of his body. All in all, in his bathroom ten different products sat on the sink, and with them and the makeup, on his bathroom counter zero space remained.

As Eva left, she thought about the many other changes coming to Reagan’s apartment, and life. The first obviously needed to be somewhere to store his cosmetics.