Love, Neve

The Players

Love, Neve
Act I: The Players

Kevin and Neve were as opposite as they could be. Kevin came from an upper income family. He Graduated in the top ten of his High School (preparatory school, his father often corrected him), had his own car at age 16, and was generally on the fast track to a Fortune 500 corporation after College. Neve, on the other hand, was from the poorest part of town, ostracized by her strict Catholic family. She never finished High school, dropping out in the middle of her 11th grade year because of bullying, homophobia, and the general hell that a pre-surgical transgender teenage girl is put through by her peers. In short, her life was hell until she decided to change it. Neve knew the stereotypes. She knew, for instance, that anyone who found out she 'wasn't really a girl' expected her to be some sort of prostitute, hooked on drugs, promiscuous to the point of self-destructiveness, going through some weird phase, rebelling against her parents, etc. She had heard it all. The fact was that she went to work every day. She went home. She did her dishes and her laundry. She watched old movies on TV. and she dreamed that someday she could afford to make her body agree with her mix heart and mind. She didn't date. She couldn't afford drugs. And she was terrified of an STD destroying her body and mind. Had she been biologically female, most people would wonder why she was so reclusive. The old woman at the dry cleaners where Neve worked often asked her why such a pretty girl kept to herself so much. Mrs. Sanders didn't know that Neve wasn't a biological woman. Neve would smile and shyly offer that she wasn't interested in other people enough. Mrs. Sanders would chuckle and tell her that she was going to wind up an old spinster with a dozen cats for company if she wasn't more outgoing. Neve would smile politely and ask if that was such a bad thing. Mrs. Sanders, more often than not would Cluck her tongue and say, "It will be when the other side of the bed is too cold to sleep on." and they would continue their workday. Mrs. Sanders often secretly wondered if Neve was a lesbian, but in a University town, why would she be so, well, stand-offish? And as so often happens, she would shake her head and decide that it was none of her business and continue with her work. Neve's life, in short, was pleasantly boring, and predictable, something she never tired of.  Neve knew she was fortunate. Mr. Dresden, the man who owned and operated to the dry cleaners where she worked, was a ‘closet case’ himself. And while he kept quiet, his sexuality was an open secret. He didn't flaunt it. He was from a different time.
She had saved enough from birthday money, and the occasional odd job, either through tutoring, running small errands, or helping out at the corner store during summer vacation, that she was able to rent a ratty little apartment, outside of her parents’ parish. The day she left home was the last time she ever spoke to them. Whenever she thought about them, one thought summed up everything: no big loss. She bought groceries, first and foremost. She had been fortunate that her apartment was furnished and utilities were included, but she knew that the first time she was late with the rent; she would also be homeless, so the second order of business was finding a job. Her rent was paid up for a month, so at least she had bought herself a little time. Her landlady, Ms. Redthorne, never questioned Neve. As far as Ms. Redthorne knew, or cared, Neve was biologically a female. Unfortunately, Ms. Redthorne was a 'hard-ass', who was harder on young women than she was on young men. Neve suspected that some of the men may have 'earned' at least part of their rent, but she kept her suspicions to herself. She didn't find work until almost two weeks into her new apartment, and just slightly over two weeks before the next month was due. That‘s when she lucked up, and met Mr. Dresden. It was a chance meeting, one of those wonders of synchronicity that tempted her to believe in a God. She was trying to shop for groceries, with the last of her savings. Her basket however was full of nothing, and it seemed like there was precious little that she could afford. Prices were higher than she had estimated. Nearly in tears, she picked out a loaf of markdown bread, and was seeking something to put between the slices that she could afford. Mr. Dresden walked up and stood beside her in front of the peanut butter. Neither of them spoke to the other right away, but the despair nearly oozed from her pores, and he spoke to her. "Young lady, is there something wrong?" Neve managed a weak smile. The acknowledgment 'young lady' lifted her spirits, even if only slightly. "I'm just...um...trying to decide." Mr. Dresden cocked his head and stole a quick glance at her basket. "Trying to decide, or trying to find something you can afford?" he asked bluntly. Neve hung her head in shame. She started to walk away, when he startled her, "I'm sorry, that was rude of me. Let me buy you something to make up for my manners?" If Neve believed in God, she would have sworn her unspoken prayer had been answered. Mr. Dresden looked over the peanut butter, and clucked his tongue. "Hardly fit for meals. Would you accompany me?" he held out his arm, elbow crooked. Neve, who was dumbstruck, threaded her arm into his and allowed herself to be led to the sandwich meat. "Let's see. You don't look like the bologna type to me. Perhaps honey ham?" Neve only nodded. She suddenly felt ashamed of herself. She thought she was somehow deceiving this man. "I appreciate it, sir, but I can't," she said. Mr. Dresden scowled at her, "Pride goeth before the fall, and an haughty spirit is an abomination unto the Lord." Neve blushed. "No sir, you don't understand. It isn't pride. I'm ashamed of myself." Mr. Dresden looked at her as though she'd slapped him, "What in god's name for?" Neve replied, barely audibly, "Sir, I'm not 'really' a girl. I'm a boy." Mr. Dresden chuckled. "Poppycock, young lady. You may not have the right plumbing, but you are just as much a young lady as I am an old Jew. Now, enough of this nonsense, Honey Ham?" Neve burst out in a bizarre mixture of laughter and tears. The sheer ludicracy of an old Jewish man offering to buy her ham, combined with his utter matter-of-fact acceptance of her gender was almost more than her mind could wrap around. "My name is Nathaniel Dresden, at your service, Miss...?" Neve held her hand out in an exaggerated coquettishness, "You may call me Neve, Mr. Nathaniel Dresden. Neve Chamberlain" Nathaniel smiled. With a gleam in his eye, he winked at her and whispered, "And fear not, young Miss Neve.  While you may have my preferred equipment, you aren't quite my, shall we say, choice of intimate companionship? If you don't say anything, neither shall I. Do we have a deal?" Neve giggled. "Deal."  Mr. Dresden bought her a dozen eggs, a pound of sliced honey ham, a half gallon of milk, and assorted sundry items, chatting idly about random things as though they were lifelong friends. As they were checking out, Nathaniel asked her, "Miss Neve, do you happen to work anywhere?" Neve, who by that time was well beyond being shocked, simply shook her head. "Are you looking for gainful employment? I'm afraid one of my employees quit on me yesterday evening. It would seem Miss Ramirez found a 'sugar-daddy'. Do the young people still say that? Sugar-daddy? At any rate, I wish her well, but it leaves me short-handed." Neve nearly squealed, "Oh my god, I could KISS you Mr. Dresden! I've been looking for work for two weeks!" Nathaniel, blushed lightly, "Well, while I'm most certain that it would only serve to enhance my reputation, I believe we can dispense with kissing, if you don't mind, " he said with a gentlemanly smile, "I'm sure you understand," and winked at her. "If you would like a job, be here," he reached in his inner coat pocket for his business card, "at 7:30 a.m. sharp, tomorrow, and I'll gladly put you to work. He knew Neve wasn't 'fully' a woman, but he also knew how hard life was for transgender people. He gave her a job, he gave her the benefit of the doubt, and most importantly, he gave her respect as a female. In his eyes, she was a woman; it was as simple as that. The 'waterworks' were just different. Neve loved him like a father.
One Friday afternoon, just before closing time, Mr. Dresden announced that Neve had been promoted to shop lead, a sort of supervisory position that gave her the responsibilities of a manager without the title. It also came with a pleasant raise. He congratulated her in front of the other employees, handed her a set of keys, and announced that he could now start taking a little time off, as he had found someone trustworthy to run the business for him. Neve thought she was going to simultaneously explode from pride and die of embarrassment. He winked it her and said, "Just try not to embezzle me out of a retirement fund, OK?” Neve blushed. She had been accepted. Life was finally looking up.
Neve sat in her apartment, alone as usual, watching television. She had remained secluded for so long, with nothing to truly celebrate, except for her freedom, that she didn't know HOW to celebrate anything anymore. She wondered what her town actually had to offer in the way of entertainment. She hadn't been to a movie since she was a small child, before... well, before she realized she wasn't ‘Neville', as her father had hoped she would be. At first they had held out the hope that she was just 'awkward’ or perhaps even autistic or some sort of savant. That would have been embarrassing, sure, but not a mortal sin. She was trapped in a Hell that she neither understood nor chose. She couldn't escape by suicide, because everyone knew that suicides went straight to Hell, do not pass go, do not collect $200. So, she tried. She tried to be 'Neville'. During the day, at school, at the dinner table, during Mass, she was 'Neville', but Neve knew who she was, inside her own heart and mind. She knew that she was no more this 'Neville' than Daniel Radcliffe was that famous wizarding kid. And like the wizarding kid, 'Neville' was a character that her parents invented and desperately wanted to believe in. And she almost got away with it. The boys at St. Joseph's Catholic High School knew she was different, they just called her a faggot, fairy, flamer, queer. Rump-ranger, and much worse. Nothing the nuns and priests would hear, but Neve heard. She heard the snide remarks, the sniggering. She endured the hatred, sanctioned quietly by the Church, or at the very least tolerated by turning a blind eye to it. She endured it for two and a half years, until she turned 18. Then she got out. Her parents weren't happy about it, but they weren't surprised either. While she didn't leave home with their blessing, they didn't discourage it either.
Kevin Williams was as All-American wholesome as a young, white, nouveau riche teen could hope to be. He always made the honor roll; he had been inducted into 'Who's Who in American High Schools' all four years running. For his 16th birthday, his parents had bought him a new car, nothing flashy, but nice, responsible, practical. He was carefully being groomed, by both of his parents and school administrators, for the fast track to success. All he really had to do was do the work. His parents, who had come into their money through smart investing, hard work and the right connections, were among America's new wealthy. They paid lip-service to 'noble' ideals, but in practical terms, they were staunch conservatives. Kevin was never precisely sheltered from the lower classes so much as he was never exposed to them. He wasn't haughty, proud, or mean-hearted as some of the spoiled wealthy tended to be. In short, he was good kid, who believed what his parents dutifully spouted as being modern, progressive parents. The acceptance of things, and people, outside of their own social circle, although, privately their liberal mindset tended to disappear, but Kevin never saw it, so he believed them. Black was white, white was black, Asians, Native Americans, Middle Easterners; everyone was just 'people' to him. While he was aware of homosexuality, and even knew some girls (and a guy or two) who had 'explored' their sexuality, it was something outside of his personal experience. He had nothing against it, he had simply never been confronted with it directly, but it was okay. Love is love. He believed that. He believed the world was good, keep your nose to the grindstone, stay faithful, keep your word, and you'll go far. His parents had been ecstatic when he received his acceptance letter to the Ivy League school. He would be the first of their family to attend a major, prestigious University, and his success was generally viewed as their success also. One of the first questions both his guidance counselor and his baseball coaches asked him was if he had plans to 'pledge' to a fraternity. Kevin was far from stupid, he understood the sort of doors that having the connections you make in a good fraternity can open. Ever the diplomat, he would reply that, yes, he planned to pledge but had to review his options carefully. It could influence his entire life, after all. Kevin had been away from his hometown on vacations, trips to visit family, shopping trips, etc, but had never been away from home, entirely on his own. He insisted on driving himself to school, which his father heartily agreed to, taking it as a sign of his son's burgeoning independence. It was agreed that Kevin would leave for school a week early, to get accustomed to his new life, learn the campus, and overall not have to rush at the last minute to get settled in before classes started. His first week was hectic. Kevin knew the demands of Prep school would be minuscule in comparison, but was in no way ready for the pace of college. His father assured him over the phone that, no one was ever 'ready' and to hang in there. He was proud of Kevin, and would talk to him after things settled in to a more even pace. And of course his father was right. He slowly adapted to college life, made new friends, and integrated into his new life. His grades were good. Better, in fact, than they had been in high school. At Christmas break, Kevin's father asked him if he had yet given any thought to which fraternity he intended to pledge to. Kevin had, of course, deeply considered his options. A good fraternity could open a lot of corporate doors to him, it could introduce him to the 'right' people and it eased networking significantly. Joining a fraternity had been a part of Kevin's college plan from the beginning, and when he informed the elder Williams of his choice, his father was noticeably proud of his son for choosing his old 'frat'. Kevin suspected that his father would be making a ‘few closed’ door phone calls, ostensibly to brag on his son's choice, but in reality to pull a few strings behind the scenes. Kevin may have been young, but he was in no way naive. He may not have been fond of the idea of an eased entry, but he understood that was how the game was played. What good are connections if you don't use them? "Of course," he said to his father, "that won't be until next year. You know they don't let freshmen pledge." His father's eyes twinkled, "You never know these days, my boy, do you?" and winked jovially at him. Kevin almost expected an invitation letter awaiting him when he returned to campus f holiday break, his father was just that predictable. Kevin was content with his life.
By time his sophomore year rolled around, Kevin was already a full –fledged member of his fraternity, so when they held their “Back to school mixer”, it was expected that he would attend, and of course, he did.
Neve was reveling in her new found popularity at work, even if unnerved by it. She felt like she has passed some sort of test, run some unspoken gauntlet, and been approved. When one of the afternoon shift college girls invited her to a sorority mixer, she felt she'd arrived. She was a woman in the rest of the world's eyes. Some would disdain that, but for Neve it was independent confirmation.
She decided to splurge on a new dress. She took the bus across town to a shop which she knew was ‘friendly’ to transgender people. Shopping anywhere else would have been awkward, considering the fact that off-the-rack clothing may do the job, but did little to flatter.  The lady behind the counter beamed at her as she walked in. “Neve! Darling! It's been too long!  Are we needing a new hairpiece today?” Neve smiled at her. Mrs. Patel was always friendly. Perhaps, Neve mused, she had her own secrets to protect. Who knew? More importantly, what did it matter? “No, ma'am. I'm looking for a dress. Something semi-formal.”  Mrs. Patel’s face lit up. “DO tell! You have a date? Little Neve has a date? Come, come; tell me all about it while we pick you something out!” Mrs. Patel barked something in a tongue that Neve assumed to be Hindi and a pretty young man came out of the back room to take her place at the register. “Come! Come; tell me, what sort of semi-formal event are we attending? Fancy dinner date? Theatre? Tell Shairi all about it.” She guided Neve to the area usually frequented by Homecoming and Prom night girls on a tight budget. Neve blushed. “No ma'am. No date, exactly. I got invited to something at the University by one of the girls at work. I didn't want to look like the charity case pity invite.” Shairi looked at her intently. “The University?”  She asked with obvious concern. Neve, puzzled, replied, “Yes ma’am. Why?” Shairi tried to nonchalantly browse for just the right dress, “Well… Certainly there’s nothing WRONG with the University. It’s just that… well… the students, they can be cruel sometimes…” Neve understood and chuckled. “Mrs. Patel-" she began, “Please, call me Shairi,” Mrs. Patel interjected. “Shairi, I don’t expect anything like that to happen. I… I recently became sort of the manager where I work. The girl who invited me CERTAINLY wouldn’t endanger her job over a quick laugh, would she?” Shairi’s brows knitted, “I suppose not. Unless she can AFFORD to lose her job that is…” Neve laughed and kissed the little woman on the top of her head. “Shairi, you’re too much!” and they chose Neve a tasteful, striped, tea length dress with puffed sleeves, new cosmetics, and a new clutch.

Kevin admired himself in his fraternity room mirror. He’d already taken residence in the house, and had successfully integrated into the ebb and flow of frat life. His dinner jacket was immaculate. His fraternity pin precisely placed on his lapel. He knew he would be low man on the totem pole, but he was at least ON the totem pole. He brushed at an imagined speck of dust on his shoulder, when a knock came at the door and a head appeared in the opening. “Hey, froshie! You ready, brother?” Kevin smiled his most charming smile. “I was ready before I got spiffed up, I had to dress down to give you dogs a fair chance!”  His frat brother chuckled, “Yep, you’re a Sigma, alright. Let’s hustle. The Betas are waiting.” Kevin grinned again. “Well, let’s not disappoint them.”

Neve agreed to meet Jessica (the young lady who had insisted she come with her) at the dry cleaners. She wasn’t necessarily ashamed of her little apartment, but caution was always prudent. If no one at work knew where she lived, no one could ‘pop in’ for an unexpected visit at an inopportune moment. Jessica gushed over Neve’s new dress, her makeup, her clutch. It was only then that Neve realized she had forgotten shoes. She was wearing her sneakers. Jessica made no comment; she simply reached behind her car seat, removed her own pumps, and replaced them with her own sneakers. Neve blushed, and Jessica quipped, “Hey, if we’re both wearing them, it won’t be so awkward for either of us. Who knows? Maybe we’ll start a new trend!” Jessica tittered. For her part, Neve felt perhaps she had genuinely made a new friend. 
They arrived slightly before the little soiree was to begin and as such were spared the formalities of making an entrance, which suit Neve just fine. Jessica began introducing her to all of the sisters in the sorority, who seemed absolutely delighted to meet her. “Jesse here has been positively BORING with excitement this week. I can see why,” said a young brunette named Carla. Neve, unsure how to respond, chuckled. “Well… um… thank you, I think. I live a pretty boring life, so I guess it’s appropriate.” Jessica gawked and the other sisters chuckled nervously. She hurriedly ushered Neve away from Carla.
The Beta House was in easy walking distance, but being upper middle-class fraternity brothers, Kevin and Mike (the brother who had stuck his head in the door) of course drove. The long way around. They had to make an impression, after all. It was all about the entrance; the first impression.