A Proper Young Lady

Back Cover

A New Adult Novel by Lianne Simon

A woman with the complete form of Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome might never discover that she has testes in her abdomen rather than ovaries and uterus. Danièle knows, and she grieves that she can never have her own children. She has a partial form of AIS that left her with ambiguous genitals, a steady stream of doctors and psychologists, and parents determined to see her happy as a girl.

After Danièle’s best friend and childhood crush agrees to act as a surrogate for her, Danièle learns that the clinic can extract sperm from her own gonadal biopsies, so she becomes the biological father of Melanie’s baby herself.

Ethan adores the graceful young woman named Danièle, while Melanie imagines a life with the father of her children. Danièle? She’s happy with her intersex body—somewhere between princess and little boy. But in a black and white world, she must choose—once and for all—who she will be. And whom she will love. 

A Proper Young Lady © 2015 by Lianne Simon.

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-9851482-2-5 (e-book)

ISBN: 978-0-9851482-1-8 (paperback)

www.liannesimon.com

Faie Miss Press

Springfield, Tennessee

PUBLISHER’S NOTES

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Individuals depicted in the images are models and used for illustrative purposes only.

Chapter 1

Melanie

The boy will never come back again, yet I dream of his kiss as I blow out the candles. Another birthday—another year with him gone. 

Mom hands me a present. I mumble my thank-you and tear off the wrapping paper. No way some little presentation box holds the carburetor parts for my dad’s motorcycle. Or a new helmet. An audible sigh escapes my lips. Rude, yeah, but jewelry’s the last thing I need for my birthday. Okay, so maybe perfume would be worse.

Mom grins at my sister Beatrice. I’m sure they conspired on what to get me—girly stuff no doubt—a polite way of saying nineteen’s too old for me to still be a tomboy. 

Yeah. Whatever.

The lid to the velvet case springs open with the faintest
pressure from my thumbs. 

Whoa!
My heart stutters before my trembling hand grabs the silver chain and the case tumbles to the floor. I haven’t seen my locket since Dani’s family moved away. I was so pissed at her for leaving that I broke the thing trying to get her picture out. 

Treating the heart like a family heirloom, I click the latch to open it. Dani’s grinning face peeks out at me. Like a fool, I sit here mute till Mom speaks. “Danièle’s coming to spend the summer with us—at least if that’s all right with you.” 

“For real?” I scowl at my mother. Fury wars against a desperate longing. Dani and I were best buds, but she skipped town and never contacted me again. Five eternal years without even a stupid text. “No, Mom. Not her. Not whatever horse she rode in on.”

My mother pulls me close, like I’m gonna start crying or something. “Don’t be too rough on Danièle. Her doctors thought it best you two not see each other again, and we were all foolish enough to go along with them. We owe you both an apology.”

“Mom, I don’t—” The old wound splits open then, and a yearning I’ve almost forgotten overwhelms me with the need to see Dani again. “Oh, all right.” 

Mom’s face remains serious. “Danièle’s engaged now, honey. She needs someone she can talk to about surgery.”

Doctors have stalked Dani since the day she was born, intent on making her body and mind conform to their idea of normal. Any other girl could have a life without everybody harassing her. Not
Danièle
. Not with psychologists and crazed parents analyzing her every move. 

She fled once to avoid having parts cut off. Why cave now? Her body might look normal when the surgeons are done, but will anything be left of the free spirit I knew? “Mom, even the doctors admit that surgery sucks.”

My mother’s expression lays the burden on me. “All the more reason for her to be certain what she wants.”

“But why marry some jerk who won’t accept her the way she is?”

Beatrice eyes me from behind Mom. “Mrs. Welles says it’s Danièle who thinks she has to be the perfect woman.”

“Can’t you tell her how messed up that is?”

“I’d love to, but I need to get back to Fred and the kids.” My big sister hugs me the way she always does before leaving. “Look, Melanie, nobody even knew I was intersex until I got that inguinal hernia. Finding out I had testes in my abdomen was pretty traumatic. But at least my body looked female on the outside. Danièle’s had to deal with sexual ambiguity from birth. I understand why she might want to have surgery.”

“So why’s the girl my responsibility? You're the one who's intersex.”

“Didn’t you promise to always be her friend?”

“Well, yeah.”
I am so gonna regret this.
 

Danièle

Daddy points to his wrist while looking at me—fair warning that we’ll be boarding soon. I stroll into the ladies’ room, check my hair, and touch up my lipstick. The company jet is well equipped and spotless, but who wants to use a restroom on an airplane? 

On the flight I sleep the best I can. And read. But each time I gaze out the window, the clouds grow darker and thicker. In the Miami afternoon sky, they stretch to the horizon. Summer lightning flickers out over the ocean.

As we begin our approach, the plane lurches, sending a cup of Jasmine down the front of my dress.
Brilliant. Just brilliant.
Not hot enough to burn, but the tea will leave a stain. 

My father smiles encouragement and caresses my hand with his.

Yes, Daddy. I'll be brave. For you. And Mum.

Surgery has lurked in the dark corners of my world since the hour of my birth. At times, the threat seemed distant—almost fanciful—but the monster crouches on my doorstep now. His restless blade stands between me and consummation. What choice have I but surrender if I wish to marry
?
 

We land without incident and taxi to a stop in front of the general aviation hangar. After one of the crew opens the door, I unbuckle and follow Daddy outside into unexpected sunshine.

A dark-haired technician with a clipboard meets my father with some urgent matter, and they head inside.

I pace next to the aircraft while the crew searches for my luggage. With so few passengers, how difficult can locating my bags be? Yet they find nothing. So I wander inside to the break room.

My father glances up from his reading. “Something wrong, love?”

“They’ve lost my bags.”

“Didn’t Ethan carry your luggage out to the limousine for you?”

“Apparently not.”

“Well, chin up, love. Think of this as an opportunity to add to your wardrobe. I’m sure Miss Fairbairn can recommend some suitable boutiques.”

Yes. Melanie. Rambunctious little redhead with green eyes and a non-stop grin.
If she still cares, she'll help me though this.
 

My father sets down his book and hugs me tight. “Are you certain you don’t want your mother or me here for your surgeries?”

“I’ll be fine, Daddy. It’s best I face this alone.”

His eyes search my face, but they hold more doubt than mine. “All right. If you change your mind—if you need anything at all—ring me. All right?” 

“Sure.”
Not a word about security. Which means you have that covered somehow.
 

An hour later, Uncle Randolph drives up in his BMW. I still don’t have my license. Daddy wants me to wait. For how long, though? Mum never drives, but at least she knows how.

Randy speaks with my father before approaching me. “Got your bags?”

“No. They’ve gone missing. Would you mind stopping at Dadeland on the way to the Fairbairn home?”

He rolls his eyes as though I’ve asked him to take me to Paris instead of a local mall. “Do you know what my time’s worth?”

I grin at my big-shot uncle. “Counsellor Welles, the young ruffian Ethan Davis is responsible for my misfortune. Sue him for damages if you like.”

My uncle shakes his head in mock agony, opens the passenger-side door, and waves me in. “After you, princess.”

Melanie

The rusty pair of Vise-Grips drops from my throbbing hand. I sit on the ground, squeeze my eyes shut against the pain, and suck on my bleeding knuckles.
I stripped the stupid threads. The machine shop on Flagler might have a replacement bolt, but a glance at my watch tells me they’re already closed for the day. And besides, I’ve got no wheels. 

Grey clouds slide across the sun, and the mosquitoes start a feeding frenzy, so I roll my dad’s motorcycle back into the garage. The tools—most of them somebody else’s rejects—go into a plastic bucket. 

A new set of metric wrenches waits on the dresser inside. My father bought them for me just before he went back to Afghanistan.
Dad, if you were ever home, you’d know I was working on your stupid bike. Hello? Ancient British motorcycle. As in not metric?
Of course, if he was here, he could fix the piece of junk himself. 

Whoa, buddy!
A black BMW M5 pulls into the driveway, a sweet custom job with tinted windows and wicked fender flares
.
 

The driver gets out—a stocky guy with black hair and a well-trimmed goatee. Dark glasses keep me from seeing the dude’s eyes. One hand holds back the side of his jacket, like he might have to draw and shoot somebody. The guy scowls at the entire neighborhood before flashing me a lopsided grin. Kinda creepy. 

The passenger door swings open. Out steps a model—well that’s what she looks like—with her fair skin, an almost white blonde mane floating around her shoulders, and a body way too thin for her height. 

“Dani?” One hand creeps up to my throat. Careful of the grease on my fingers, I click open the locket and compare the photo inside with the young woman strolling toward me.

“Yeah. Guess so.” My former best friend’s become a beauty queen.

Shame floods me.
I was the prissy one back then. What am I now?
I wipe both hands on my T-shirt, but only manage to start my knuckles bleeding again. 

In spite of my sweat and grease, she hugs me tight. “I missed you.” After the girl lets go, she waves a carefree arm toward her driver. “This is my uncle, Randolph Welles.”

The guy nods at me and wags a finger at Dani. “The motorbike’s off limits, princess.”

She lets out a plaintive sigh. “If you say so.”

He scans the area again before heading back to the car. When he returns with an armload of shopping bags, I show him to my bedroom. “She’s staying in here...with me.”

He gives me another crooked smile, drops the stuff on my bed, kisses Dani on the cheek, and walks out the door. I wait for him to bring back a suitcase or something, but he just drives off.

“Don’t mind him. Uncle Randolph’s not one for chatting with people unless they’re his clients.”

My polite smile fades when I notice the dark streak on the front of her dress. The fabric appears to be silk.
Wonderful. The thing probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.
I brush a grubby finger across the stain. “I’m sorry I ruined your dress.” 

Head down, she picks at the fabric. “This? I spilled tea earlier. On the plane.”

Yeah. Right.

Dani grins like we’re best buds.

Not even a message in all that time, and you think we’re still friends?
“Mom says you’re engaged.” 

I forgot how well Dani reads my body language. Her violet eyes beg for understanding. “I’m sorry, Melanie. Mum still blames me for what happened.”

“Are you serious? That was ages ago.” I study her face, in search of any hint of the old Dani. “Why should people expect you to be perfect, anyhow?”

For the proper young lady standing in front of me, even a shrug displays her grace, like maybe she’s already a Stepford wife or something. She brushes a delicate fingertip across the locket at my throat. “My guess is that Mum’s betting against me going through with the surgery. Help me prove her wrong, will you?”

“At fourteen you wouldn’t even let them touch you. Now you wanna cut off body parts? What are you—crazy?” 

Her face turns grave, almost desolate. “I’m calling Dr. Pierson in the morning.”

What did the psychologists do to your brain, girl?
Only hunger keeps me from yelling at her. “Mom’s working late. Are sandwiches okay?” 

“Sure.”

After we eat, I show Dani where to put her things. My dresser and closet are small, but it isn’t like I have a bunch of stuff. While she unpacks, I throw my grubby clothes into the hamper and go into the bathroom to wash up.

I work on my dad’s old bike. Okay? That doesn’t mean I like crud all over me. By the time I scrub off the grease and blood, and finish my shower, Dani’s sitting on my bed in a fuzzy pink robe.