by P R Ellis
‘Come in. Let’s get you calm and settled,’ Katie said as warm and welcoming as she always was. Her own immaculate complexion and short black hair belied her forty-four years. Jasmine often wondered at her cheerful manner despite a messy divorce and having to bring up two teenagers on her own.
Jasmine took off her red duffle coat, loosely folded it and dropped it on the floor on top of her shoulder bag. She sat on a chair beside the door and took her boots off. Meanwhile Katie busied herself at her trolley of equipment.
Katie turned around and saw that Jasmine was ready. ‘Come and lie on the couch, Jasmine. Let’s see how we’re doing.’
Jasmine crossed the small room to the high massage couch and climbed on. She rested her head on the slightly tilted end of the table. Katie directed two diffuse but bright lamps at her face and bent down to examine her.
‘So, have you been busy, Jasmine?’ Katie said as she peered closely at Jasmine’s left cheek.
‘The usual. A couple of benefit fraud cases and a woman wanting her husband checked up on. Nothing interesting but it pays the bills.’ In actual fact Jasmine was bored silly with endless surveillance and longed for something more stimulating and difficult like the cases she had tackled in the police force. Paying the bills was however a necessity and the fortnightly electrolysis sessions didn’t help her bank balance.
‘Hmm. The area we did last time looks fine. You haven’t had any reaction?’
Jasmine shook her head, then realised that she wasn’t helping Katie’s examination. ‘No. I’ve hardly felt a thing after you’ve finished.’
‘That’s good. I can see you have left the hair growth in the area we’ll tackle today. I’ll clean it off so we can get started.’
‘Thanks. Do I have to leave such a large area unshaved?’ Jasmine asked, although she thought she could guess Katie’s reply.
Katie sprayed cleanser onto a cotton wool ball. ‘I’m afraid so, Jasmine. You see, if I take hairs from too small an area it may cause inflammation. We have to do a different area of your face at each treatment and come back to them at a later date, over and over again, until I’ve eliminated each hair follicle.’ She wiped the cotton wool over the small area of Jasmine’s upper lip that had bristles. It was a thorough bit of cleaning as Jasmine knew she had to remove every trace of grease and grime that had accumulated during the day. Katie replaced the moist cotton wool with a tissue and dabbed the area dry.
Katie bent to look closely again at the selected area of skin. ‘There, that’s better.’ She straightened up and reached onto her trolley for the probe. ‘Now I’m going to fit the gold needle,’ she said deliberately and tore open a blister pack. The tiny needle slotted into the probe. Jasmine watched Katie as she checked her tool and then switched on her machine. She turned a knob and examined a dial. At last she turned to face Jasmine.
‘Right, I’m ready. Are you, Jasmine?’
Jasmine breathed, swallowed, wriggled her shoulders and rested her head back against the cushion again. She knew what was to come and was not looking forward to it.
‘Yes,’ she said without conviction.
Katie made a small adjustment to a lamp then leaned close with the probe in one hand and tweezers in the other. Jasmine closed her eyes so that she didn’t have to watch.
There was almost no feeling of the tiny needle, thinner even than her own hairs, slipping into the hair follicle. Jasmine held her breath but there was no waiting. A sharp sting, a minute dagger piercing her lip, so sharp that the area it affected was no more than a pin point, but surprisingly intense. Then a second pain as the loosened dead hair was tugged out of its hole. As always with the first hair, Jasmine flinched.
‘OK, Jasmine?’ Katie said. ‘The current was quite low that time but I know it hurts a little.’ She always sounded so apologetic after she administered her torture. The pain had gone almost as fast as it had been inflicted.
‘Yes, it’s fine. I always forget what it’s like,’ Jasmine said.
‘Just tell me to stop if it gets too much,’ Katie said bending once more.
Jasmine closed her eyes and waited for the next short, sharp, microscopically localised electric assault. The second was almost as bad and the third, but she lay still, trying not to move her head. Each brief agony meant a hair in her face had been killed and removed. It would grow again, thinner, weaker, more easily removed. Perhaps after the third treatment it would be gone, never to grow and erupt as a bristle on her face again. The problem was that there were hundreds, if not thousands, over her chin, cheeks, neck and upper lip that had to be removed by the same application of electric current. Her fair hair ensured that no other treatment, such as a laser, was possible. She would have to endure this fortnightly torment for over two years at significant anguish to her pocket as well as her face.
Katie worked silently and efficiently. The shocks came at intervals across the area of the lip that they had highlighted for today’s effort. Jasmine lay waiting for the succession of short jabs to end, concentrating on keeping calm. Katie was forced to pause whenever Jasmine sneezed. The irritation close to her nose made her eyes run as well. Each time it happened Jasmine blew her nose, dried off her eyes and then lay back ready for Katie’s next target.
Loud rock music banished the peace. Jasmine opened her eyes to see Katie withdrawing.
‘That’s my phone,’ Jasmine said. ‘Sorry, I should have turned it off.’
Katie straightened up, the electrode pointing to the ceiling. ‘No, that’s OK. I know you need to keep in touch with your clients. Do you want to answer it?’
Jasmine swung her legs off the couch. ‘I’d better. I wasn’t expecting a call though.’ She dropped her stockinged feet onto the floor and hurried across the room. She pushed the coat off her bag and reached into pull out the smart phone. It was still blaring its ringtone. Jasmine jabbed at the screen. The noise stopped. Having glanced at the screen she lifted the phone to her ear.
‘Tom?’
There was an urgency in Tom Shepherd’s voice when he spoke. ‘Jasmine. Great. I’m glad I’ve caught you.’
‘What is it?’
‘I need to see you?’
‘Why?’
‘I’ve got a proposition for you.’
‘What is it?’
‘I don’t want to tell you over the phone. Can we meet?’
Tom was obviously under pressure but what did he mean by “proposition”. Did he mean a job? Why couldn’t he say so? What sort of job? Anything like police work would be more interesting than her present private detective work but… There was always the “but”. Working with Tom also meant that Sloane would be nearby. She was wary, and she was in the middle of an electrolysis session.
‘I’m busy at the moment.’
‘For how much longer? Can we meet soon? Where are you?’
Jasmine took the phone from the side of her head and looked at the screen. The time was 18:32. She put it back to her ear.
‘I’m in the High Street having a treatment. I’ll be finished in ten minutes or so.’
‘Great. I’ll see you in the Costa at about six forty-five. OK?’
‘Alright.’
The call went quiet. Jasmine looked at the screen again. Tom had terminated the call. She dropped the phone back in her bag and crossed back to the couch.
Katie was still standing in the same position as when her pone had rung. ‘You’re needed?’ she asked.
‘Yes, but we can finish off.’
‘Good. There’s a few more I’d like to do in that area.’
Jasmine climbed back on the couch and resumed her position. Katie went back to vaporising the hair roots. Jasmine pondered what Tom’s proposition could be and why the meeting was so urgent. She could almost, but not quite, ignore the little bursts of pain.
‘There, that’s enough for today,’ Katie said after another dozen or so hairs had been pulled. ‘Let me put some balm on for you. Don’t shave that area for a day.’ Jasmine felt cool cream coat th
e skin of the treated area. When Katie moved her hand away, Jasmine opened her eyes and sat up.
‘Thanks. Where next?’
‘I’ll tackle the other side of your face, near your ear where the sideburns grow. Is that OK?’
Jasmine nodded and slipped off the couch. It didn’t matter which part of her face was treated, she would have the embarrassment of allowing a couple of days of hair growth. She sat on the chair and started to pull her boots on.
‘Do you have any news about your gender re-assignment surgery?’ Katie asked in an almost offhand tone. Jasmine was wary however, she thought she could guess why she was asking the question.
‘No. It could be in a couple of months or a couple of years.’
‘But it could be quite soon.’
‘Well, yes. There’s a chance, I suppose.’ Jasmine pulled the zip up her calf.
‘You know why I’m asking, Jasmine. You know I’ve worked with a number of transsexual women.’
‘Yes,’ Jasmine said concentrating on her second boot and not wanting to look at Katie. A blush was starting already.
‘I need to start removing any hairs growing in the affected area,’ Katie said. What she meant, as Jasmine well knew, was that hairs on her scrotum would have to be removed before the skin could become the interior of her vagina. She no longer had testicles but her scrotum had been preserved for just that purpose.
‘I know,’ Jasmine replied.
‘Your surgeon won’t operate if there are hairs still growing there.’
I know that and I don’t want a hairy vagina, Jasmine thought, but still she was reluctant. It wasn’t just the thought of the pain of hair removal from her genitals but the embarrassment of having Katie peering closely at her male equipment.
‘I know,’ Jasmine repeated.
Katie spoke as if it was an everyday topic of conversation. ‘It won’t take many treatments. There shouldn’t be many hairs to get rid of unless you’re exceptionally hairy down there. It hasn’t taken long with my other clients. Just let me know when you want to start.’
‘Yes, I will. I’d better get going.’ Meeting Tom gave Jasmine an excuse to curtail the discussion.
‘Oh, of course. Well, I’ll see you in two weeks, Jasmine. Take care.’
Jasmine pulled her coat over one arm and grabbed her bag. She hurried out of the door.
‘Yes, thanks. You too.’
5
Jasmine pushed the door of the Costa Coffee shop open and scanned the interior, looking for Tom. He was easy to spot as at this time of the evening the place was almost deserted. Tom was sitting at a table at the far end of the café. He’d obviously been looking out for her because he rose rapidly to his feet as she stepped from the dark street into the bright interior. He hurried to meet her.
‘Hi, Jas. Thanks for coming. Can I get you a coffee?’
He jumped to the bar before she could reply as if there was no time for delay. She had rarely seen him so edgy.
‘Yes, please. You know what.’
‘Anything to eat, cake, flapjack or something.’
‘No thanks. I’m supposed to be eating with Viv in a few minutes.’
Tom turned away from the young lady who was poised to serve him.
‘Can you put him off?’
‘Tom!’ Jasmine put on her most exasperated tone, ‘Viv is doing the cooking. One of his Jamaican dishes.’
‘Oh, damn. Well, can you ask him to delay it a bit?’
‘I don’t know. Is this important Tom?’
‘I didn’t ask to meet you just for a chat, Jas.’
‘I realise that. I’ll give Viv a call. See if he can hold things for a while.’
‘Thanks. You sit down. I’ll bring your coffee.’
Jasmine meandered to the table where Tom had left his half-drunk coffee. She sat down and pulled her smart phone from her shoulder bag. She called up Viv’s number. He answered almost immediately.
‘Viv, it’s me. Have you started cooking yet? No. That’s good. Look I’m with Tom. Tom Shepherd. He’s a bit agitated. I think he’s got something to tell me. I won’t be long. Yes, I know. Look I’ll ring you again when I know what it’s all about.’ She ended the call and dropped the phone back in to her bag and pulled out her powder compact. Her lip felt a little warm and tingled where Katie had been zapping the hairs. She peered into the mirror. There were still hairs there of course as Katie could only tackle about ten percent of a particular area on each appointment. It didn’t look red yet but she dabbed on some powder just in case something was showing.
‘Are you alright Jas?’
She looked up to see Tom holding her cup of black coffee and a slab of millionaire’s shortbread as she ended the call.
‘I’m fine,’ Jasmine said, closing the compact, ‘My lip doesn’t look red does it?’
Tom bent slightly to look at her.
‘No. Should it?’
‘No.’ Jasmine didn’t want to go into an explanation. Tom placed the cup and plate on the table.
‘I thought you might need something to eat,’ he said folding himself into his seat.
‘I was keeping my appetite for Viv’s dish.’ Jasmine took a bite, nevertheless, from the caramel and chocolate confection. Then reminding herself of her need to watch her calorie intake, she put it down. She searched Tom’s face for signs of his emotional state.
‘What’s this all about, Tom? You’re a bundle of nerves.’
‘Yes, well time is short. I need your help on a job and we need to get started straight away.’
‘Hold on. What job? What do you want me for?’
‘It’s a murder investigation at the Ashmore Lodge Hotel. Do you know it?’
‘Yes. Off the main road between Kintbridge and Reedham. Big place, does weddings and conferences, doesn’t it?’
‘That’s it. The victim is one of the organisers of an event this weekend.’
‘Really? What do you need me for?’ Jasmine was bemused. Tom didn’t often come to offer her work.
‘Sloane has suggested you go undercover as one of the conference attendees, to listen and pick up gossip.’
Jasmine was even more taken aback. Sloane suggested her? Why?
‘What is this event, Tom?’
‘It’s the Butterfly Ball weekend. It’s organised by Belinda and Susan. You know. The Butterflies couple.’
It started to become clear to her. ‘I remember Belinda and Susan, Tom. I know about the Ball too. They’ve been running it for years. But I’ve never wanted to go. A weekend surrounded by transvestites? Most of them a lot older than me. Not my scene, Tom.’
‘Do you think you could make it your scene, just once, as a special favour? We need you on the inside.’
It would make a change from benefits work and divorce cases, Jasmine realised, but could she spend a weekend with all those middle-aged blokes in gaudy gowns, heavy jewellery and thick make-up. She was a woman, well not quite physically yet but she would be one day in the not too distant future. She was living her dream of being female, she didn’t need make-believe. And there was Viv to consider, not just for the cosy dinner he was preparing this evening, but the whole weekend he’d kept free.
‘You’d better tell me all about it, Tom. Convince me.’
Tom glanced at his watch. ‘OK, but I haven’t got long. I need you to agree.’ He started to describe the evidence surrounding the discovery of Vokins’ body. At the mention of the knife, Jasmine flinched. In her mind she saw the blade piercing the skin, the flesh peeling back, the blood spurting. She shuddered.
‘Are you alright, Jas? You’ve gone white.’
Jasmine waved her hand. ‘It was the cutting that got to me.’ Her voice trembled.
‘Oh, god. I forgot about you and knives, Jas. Sorry.’
‘That’s OK. Go on. I’ll get over it.’ Jasmine listened as Tom continued with a summary of his conversations with Dr Winslade, Sloane, Belinda and Susan. He explained that Vokins had the suite because he organised a speci
al interest sub-group that occupied the conference wing. Jasmine listened and soon realised that an insider would be useful but she doubted that she could fill the role alone.
‘I couldn’t get to know a hundred TVs in a weekend, Tom.’
‘I’m not expecting you to. Any of them could be the murderer but we think it’s most likely to be one of the people who knew Vokins best.’
‘Who are they?’
‘The members of the Wedding Belles.’
‘The Wedding Belles? That’s the group that Vokins ran?’
‘Yes. Do you know them?’
‘I’ve heard of them. They dress up in wedding dresses and perform mock marriages.’
‘So I’ve been told.’
‘You want me to join them.’
‘That’s right, Jas.’
‘No, no, no.’ Jasmine shook her head violently. The thought of joining in with a bunch of trannies dressed up as brides horrified her.
‘What’s wrong, Jas?’ Tom’s face showed disappointment.
Thoughts chased each other through Jasmine’s head. ‘It seems wrong to me, Tom. Old guys dressing up like blushing young brides, and doing it over and over again, presumably because it gives them kicks.’
Tom’s eyebrows rose. ‘What happened to “let everyone do their own thing if it harms no-one”?’
Jasmine shrugged. ‘OK, so I’m a bridophobe or something. They can get on with it if they want to for all I care but it’s not something I want to do.’
‘Haven’t you ever wanted to be a bride?’
‘I’ve been through a marriage, Tom, as a bloke, and I have fairly fond memories of the wedding but I don’t expect to have another one, especially now I’ve transitioned. Even if I get together with Viv or someone else, which is highly unlikely, I’m not expecting a wedding with all the trimmings.’
‘You’ve never imagined yourself as a bride? Don’t most girls go through that stage at some time?’
