"Name?"
"Lashondra."
"Lashondra what?"
"I said, Lashondra!"
"No, last name, please."
"Oh. Bijou. Lashondra Bijou."
"That your real name?"
"Depends."
"On what?"
"Who's asking."
"Please, state your real name, for the record."
"Fine. Evelynn Jones."
"Age?"
"24."
"Real age."
"34."
"Sex?"
"Fifty dollars. For you, forty."
"No. What is your sex?"
"Oh. Damn, officer, can you be more specific with these questions, please?"
"Fine, Ms. Jones, what sex are you?"
"Depends."
"Miss Jones, please."
"Fine, male. I'm a man. Sir. Officer."
"Then your real name isn't Evelynn Jones, is it?"
"That's what I call myself when I'm not Lashondra Bijou."
"What does your mother call you then?"
"Bitch. Or whore. But she usually doesn't call me. We're not very close. Anymore."
"Fine. What does it say on your birth certificate, then?"
"Leroy. Leroy Brown."
"Fine, Mr. Brown. Height and weight?"
"It's not polite to ask a lady?… And don't look at me like that. Lady is a state of mind."
"Height and weight, please."
"Fine. Lordy, you're a rude one. 6'1, 160 pounds. And to save you the trouble, blonde hair and blue eyes."
"Without the heels, wig, and contacts?"
"5'8, brown, and brown. Wanna see?"
"See what, ma'am?"
"The wig? Got it at Miss Love's House of Hair. Only cost me twenty bucks, a steal…I mean, cheap. I didn't steal it or nothing."
"No, ma'am. Keep your wig on. They'll take it when they bring you back. And the heels."
"What? These heels? Nuh-uh. Not these heels, officer, sir. These my only good ones."
"Sorry, ma'am. Rules are rules."
"Rules, like these cheap nails, meant to be broken, officer…officer…say, what's your name, anyway?"
"Officer Babcock. Sergeant Justin Babcock."
"Sounds dirty. That I like. Fits a big, strong man like yourself."
"Please ma'am, can we just finish this. Got a big line behind you."
"Hey now, nothing big on this behind. Got something big on this front, though. Wanna see?"
"Please, ma'am, can we just…"
"Wait, did you say Justin Babcock?
"Yes, ma'am."
"Seronda Babcock's boy?"
"Yes, ma'am. Why?"
"Justin, it's me. Leroy. From 19
"Sorry, doesn't ring a bell. Now, if we can continue. Current address?"
"Justin, you know my address. It's three floors up from your mamma's. You used to come play with me all the time. But my mamma moved out and I stayed on. Remember?"
"Please state your address for the record, ma'am."
"Why you keep calling me ma'am? You know it's me…Leroy. You the one who brought me my first panties. Remember?"
"Please then, sir, I haven't lived at that address for over ten years. How can I be expected to remember…"
"Oh you remember, all right. Used to come over and make me wear your mamma's panties and bras. You the reason I ended up like this…probably. Your fellow officers know you like to dress up other men in lady's things?"
"Please, sir, keep your voice down."
"If I remember it correctly, you used to like it when I was loud. Specially when you was tearing those panties off from the back, like you like."
"Now hold on just one minute…"
"Yeah, that's what you used to ask me to do. Though it was more than a minute, if I remember correctly. Though it never did take much longer than that. You never could last very long, now could you?"
"Please, sir, maybe we can talk about this outside. Please walk this way."
"Oh, not that way, sugar. Not in these heels."
"Please, just follow me."
"Sure, officer. Anything you say."
"Okay, look. Seeing as our mamma's were probably friends and all, I'm going to let you off. This time. For old time's sake. But don't let me catch you here again. Please."
"Oh, okay, no problem, officer. Just give me a couple of quarters so I can call for a ride. This ain't no safe neighborhood for a lady like myself."
"Fine. Here. The phone's around the corner. Just go."
"Okay, Justin. Will do. And say hello to your mamma for me. Tell her I still got some of her panties, if she wants 'em back. They don't fit me no more, anyway. You can even come over and get them yourself, if you like."
"No thank you. Good bye, sir."
"I think I like the ma'am better. But okay then. Bye for now, Justin. And thanks for the quarters."
…
"Hello, Laquisha, it's me, Lashondra. I'm down at the police station. Come get me, please. Oh, and thanks for that tip. Worked like a charm. He turned whiter than Michael Jackson there for a few seconds. Thank goodness he didn't ask for your panties back, though. I clean forget to put any on today."
Rob Rosen was born in Brooklyn. He spent his childhood in the suburbs of New Jersey, his teen years in Hilton Head, South Carolina, and much of his early adulthood in Atlanta, Georgia, where he graduated from Emory University. When he turned thirty, he packed it all in and followed his dreams to San Francisco, where he is now an Office Guru. So much for that expensive education. His short stories appear regularly in The SoMa Literary Review. His first book, "Sparkle: The Queerest Book You'll Ever Love", was published in 2001. Check out his web site.