Nicole Miller Big Ben Chicken Kiev, wild rice, green beans and a California Merlot wait on table top at six o'clock for Ben. "Hey babe." He gives a kiss and a hug that is returned by a friendly pat-on-the-back. "Go sit down, I've one more thing to bring out." "Libby, you're so wonderful, have I told you how lucky I am today?" He wraps his arms round her from behind. "You sure haven't. Go sit down, honey." Ben smiles and takes no notice of the devious one she has on and descends into the dining room. "This looks great, my god I'm starved." He tilts his head towards Libby. The latter is carrying a basket filled with lip-sticks, make-up, a folded dress, and two stiletto heels hanging from either side, kept in place by a black garter-belt. "Sweetie, I made this centerpiece special for tonight. Just some odds and ends I found lying around your apartment. Thought it would be an interesting conversational piece." "Wha-where…oh." His face losses its natural pallor and hunger vacates his body. Libby revisits the morning's moment of pulling a flowered hat box from Ben's closet after he was off for work. She had pulled out the black dress, the ankle-clasping heels, the garter belt, the make-up, and mounds of costume jewelry and placed them in a circle on the hardwood floor of the apartment. "This is so weird," she picks up a pearl necklace. "I seem to remember you saying you hadn't had a girlfriend since you came to Los Angeles. It's funny that you have this stuff." She smiles and serves Ben a mound of tawdry beads and pink plastic mascara. "Well, I don't know. I mean you have to understand-" "No, no, no," she placed the basket in the middle of the table. "No Ben, I don't have to understand. I just have to know that you are a lying, cheating schmuck. How funny this whole thing is, don'tcha think? I mean on this very morning you, my dear, were spouting vows of love and I don't even keep a toothbrush here. This girl must really be getting an ear full of bull." She smiles for his reply. The day he first said he loved her repeats over and over in her memory. "I think I'm falling in love with you." Two months in seemed like an appropriate amount of time to be in love. "Silly boy," she teased. "I think you are too." Libby flashed a smile that ignited a grumble in Ben. "Not exactly the answer I anticipated." She gave a quick kiss then hopped from between the cotton sheets where chills run over her naked skin. She smiled and ran to the bathroom. Ben followed her lead, grabbed her, and started licking her face. "STOP." She was tickled and giggling. "Stop you're so gross." She finally broke from his embrace, picked up a tooth brush, and began scrubbing her teeth. Ben did the same. They stood naked staring at their reflections. He kissed her with a mouth of bubbles, spit then left the bathroom to get dressed. It was of little matter now. "You don't understand. This is not what you think it is. This is different." Ben pulls her back into the reality. "Oh." She sips her wine, "How so? Do tell." Ben gulps slowly. He closes his eyes, pulls in the air, and with shaking hands begins confession. "It was last year for Halloween. I dressed as this dead guy. It was a gruesome sight, trust me." "Yeah, because a dead guy cannot be seen without his garter belt. Try again Ben." "I did." "Come on. Stilettos and jewelry? Why don't you just tell me the truth? At least that way you can maintain a modicum of dignity." "Well you know the office? I used to rent it out to this chick. She left some stuff and I've been meaning to return it." "Ree-ally. For some strange reason I seem to remember you saying the dress was from an ex-girlfriend. No wait, yes, why that was just this morning." Her eyebrows query and lips taste the wine. "Well we dated for a while, that's why she moved out. Things were getting too complicated." His eyes fly about the room, taking in everything to avoid her glare. "Funny, being a woman, it seems that if I forgot all my make-up I would surely be back to pick it up. These are not things we woman can do without. Especially this face cream," she fumbles through her handmade centerpiece to find a bottle of Borghese wrinkle-cream. "This stuff is expensive darling." "She was a make-up artist. So she had a lot of make-up. I mean this chick had a huge black trunk filled with the stuff. It was literally huge." "Let me get this straight. You have lived in Los Angeles for five months. In that short period, you have had a roommate, had a sexual relationship with this roommate, broke it off, and she moved out? This could all very well be true, except for two questionable things. One, you have never made mention of her before. And two, we have been dating now for a bit over two months." "I know that's why I didn't tell you because I met you like the day after she moved out. It was strange, but I didn't really want to talk about it because it was kind of a bad break-up. You know?" His hands remain glued to the arms of his chair. "Hmmm, bad break-up." She is Sherlock and she knows. "Interesting. That brings something else to my mind. Make-up artists don't make much money. This dress. It's vintage Chanel." She smirks at that. Her hunting expedition had given way to trying the dress for size. Finding that it was too big comforted her. "These fucking shoes, and I must complement the girl for her remarkable taste, they're Marc Jacobs…quite pricy." "Yeah I don't know how she could have forgotten those." "Hmmm, me neither." "Wait yes, that's it." He gives a bit of chuckle. "Yeah, it's actually pretty funny about the shoes and dress. You see a friend of hers came by a few days after she moved. And returned them to her, I guess she had allowed her to borrow them. I doubt she even knows I have her stuff." "Oh, so now a friend stopped by? Is that it?" "Yeah she did." The pressure releases allowing Ben to breath, so he pours a glass of wine, and shoots it. "I wonder how a pair of my black fishnets made their way into your little box of goodies." "I don't know. I probably picked them up and thought they were hers, so I put them in the box." "I see, Good idea." "Are you in the mood for some music? Perhaps some Thelonious Monk?" "I feel more in the mood for Rage against the Machines." Ben looks curiously at her. "I don't own that CD." "No? Perhaps some fucking Macy Gray would be more appropriate? So I can wallow in my stupidity, you ass." "Libby." His voice was meek and bewildered. "I would appreciate if you please do not talk that way to me." "Ben, I would appreciate if you please do not insert your cock into every dark hole in the LA area." "I'm not." "You are! All those Saturday's when you insisted upon 'going out with the guys,' why do you take me for such the fool? How could you have done this….no I don't care how just tell me why?" "First of all, we never defined the terms of our relationship, and-" "I knew it." The weight of truth lowers slowly upon her shoulders. "No, I'm not saying I cheated on you. Damn it Libby, you know I love you. You know I would never do that. I cannot believe you would think otherwise." He kneels in front of her and buries his brow in her lap. She takes no notice and travels to a day they walked down the promenade hand in hand. Two naked souls frolicking in a shallow pond of bliss. The thought causes a tear to fall. "You disgust me." She pushed him away and got up from her seat. Ben's eyes filled with tears. He followed her into the bedroom. "No wait, what are you doing?" "I'm leaving, you moron. What did you think I would do? Wait around until I find your prick penetrating some random whore?" "No, there's only you, there's only always been you. No Libby it's not what you think." "Okay then Ben, what is it?" "Well it's funny." He begins through crooked throat. "Remember that script I was working on with my buddy Jake?" "Sure I do." She stops packing her bag and props hands on hips. "Jake whom I've never got the chance to meet, and now I know why." "Jake is my friend, the opportunity for introduction has yet to present itself. But that's not the point. The point is that the story was about two prostitutes and we were trying to describe the things they wear so we went out and bought stuff. For research." "Really," she laughs viciously. "Did I ever tell you that I was conceived yesterday? I was. No really, I'm brand spanking new to this world." "I'm serious Libby." "You can cut the tears out of your act, they're not working." Ben grabbed her shoulders forcefully. "Listen Libby, my baby girl, I love you. There is no one else I love you. Just know that." "Yeah, you love me and the rest of the female gender. No wonder you've never had a long relationship. You treat women with less respect than your entire collection of Star Wars trading cards. You need to get a life." "Fine I'll be honest with you. I have this strange habit. It's kind of awkward to talk about. But...I like to collect trinkets from my past girlfriends. That's why I have the fishnet stockings. That's why the make-up. That's why I don't throw it away. It makes me feel secure to know that they were there. A part of my life at one time." "You should have started off with that one. It's been the most convincing thus far. Just so you know for next time." She begins to exit the bedroom with luggage in hand. Ben drops again to his knees. "Please Libby, god damn please don't go. I'm sorry. I promise I never cheated on you, I swear. I need you in my life. You make it worth living. You're my bit of sunshine in this cloudy world of chaos. I don't know what I will do without you." "That's a good speech. You should stick that into one of your damn scripts. You have no one to blame but yourself for this, so don't try to make me feel guilty for leaving." "Okay, okay." He grounds her and tries again. "I will tell you, but it's not what you think. It's completely different. It's something I've been ashamed of for a long time. I never tell anyone because I'm scared of their reaction. But Libby I cannot let you to leave thinking that I would ever do you wrong." "I'm waiting…." "These clothes are here, this make-up, this jewelry, all this stuff. I like to wear, Libby." "What?" "I do." He drops in defeat. "I certainly have heard my fair share of excuses, but never in my life have I crossed paths with such an audacious liar." "No, I'm serious Libby. I like to dress up as a woman." His eyes spring a leak like faucet. "Really?" "I'm not gay, I'm not a transsexual, it just makes me feel good to be treated as women are treated." "You're serious." She sits. "Well, why?" "I don't know. I-I guess I just like it. Women get treated better. Women get glanced at, and bought drinks." There was a significant pause while both gathered their thoughts. "Really?" "Really." "For how long has this been going on?" "It started when I was little. I would put my mom's make-up on, pull the covers over my head, and masturbate. I went through years where I tried to deny it, but I was so depressed. "It makes me feel good. I turned twenty-five when I was in New York, and I went to this meeting where people like, they like tell secrets that they are ashamed of and they don't want anyone else to know about. So I told them. They were so cool about it." Her heart tears a bit, how easy it was to believe him as a cheat, but no, not a man with a sub-cultural obsession. This surely could not be the same man she had attended a pro-Israel rally on the campus of San Francisco a few weeks past. That day she watched Ben through bloodshot eyes, stab off the threats and cries. "Hitler should have finished the job!" From women in turbans and, "Burn Fuckers, Burn!" She beamed with pride when Ben returned their obscenities by valiantly raising his sign and began Oseh Shalom. The thin string of police officers stood between them and the "Palestinian Children Meat, slaughtered according to Jewish rite," signs. This was the man that was perfect for her. "Does your mother know about this?" "I told her." "Really?" "Yeah, she was okay with it." She sees his words are labored. "I think it was the way I presented it. I told her something was wrong and let her assume: gay? No mother. Homicide? No mother. You voted republican? No mother. Then I told her." The desperate undertone of his voice began to disappear. "I don't know what to say." "Don't say anything." He reels her in for an embrace. She allows it and the two remain propped against his bedroom wall for the remainder of the evening. Neither knowing how to feel, neither knowing what to say, neither knowing what is to come.