Evenwith knowing he was a crossdresser they were really playing the part.Art could tell whatever joke that was being played was at his expense,he just hadn't worked out the punchline yet, "What are you doing outhere all on your own?" You working?" Marcus piped up. Art didn't understand what he meant. Heturned away again. Another angry shout by Marcus made him turn backtowards the car. Art's knees were shaking. Not only had he been caughtcrossdressing but it was also by two boys from school. His academic lifewas over. At least he wouldn't be a nobody anymore."What's your name?" And yet the boys in the car hadn't yet made theirmove. They hadn't yet jumped out and beaten him up. They hadn't yettaken a picture, and now they were asking him his name. Art wondered ifthey were just stringing him along, trying to make his suffering worse.It didn't seem likely. Doyle and Marcus weren't usually that smart."Oy, what's your name?" Marcus again. He was certainly the less patientof the two. Art. By the end of October we still had temperatures in the 70s in the afternoon, sunny day after sunny day. The kids had school, of course, and water polo practice, but we figured we'd keep the pool open maybe until Thanksgiving, even. This was California. We had no intention of actually heating the pool, not through the winter, but we decided we'd stretch it as far as we could.We'd had a quick conversation with Julie after she'd sent us that e-mail about Stephanie."You guys OK with that?"My spouse hugged her."You bet, Julie."On this particular Saturday, Stephanie was over and the two girls had done some work on papers they said they had to finish before the Thanksgiving break. Lee and I had done everything we needed to do that Saturday morning--the usual things everyone seems to be stuck with and that never seem to get done during the week.The upshot was that we'd all ended up at the pool late in the afternoon. Nothing much was going on, on the surface, at any rate, but I know I was.
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