Fiction by Ann Garvald
It all started with what I though would be just another of my secret Diane-For-The-Day days. Whenever I could manage those days they were always sheer bliss. But unfortunately I couldn’t make them happen as often as I wanted. Rachel knew nothing about Diane. We’d been living together for over three years and I loved Rachel dearly. And she loved me. Which was why I still procrastinated about telling her everything — I was afraid I would lose her.
Well, one typical Vancouver wet November day the inevitable happened. I had the day off, but Rachel had to work. I gave her a good half hour after she left the apartment, just in case she might come back for something. She didn’t, so then I showered, shaved very carefully and — embarking on a delightful stay-in-bed morning — I put on bra, undies, sheer pantyhose, my light blue satin caftan and (finally !) my wig – dark ash-blonde, silky, swingy, bra-strap-length. Always the moment when I really became Diane. Happy now, I fluffed up the pillows and slipped back into bed, toast and coffee beside me, to lie back and watch morning TV — a lovely lazy morning. After lunch ? Nothing seriously planned. Experiment with make-up. Practice clarinet a bit. Write some letters. In other words, just enjoy living life as Diane. Which first called for getting dressed. My white silk blouse, long-sleeved to cover my distressingly masculine arms, dark tights to cover my equally distressing legs, my little red tunic dress, a single strand of pearls, pearl clip-on earrings and comfortable low heels. At perfect peace with myself. And totally unaware that a grid failure had hit downtown, that computers were down and that office buildings were in semi-darkness. But SkyTrain was still running and everyone was heading for home.