True Colors

Senator John Bailey’s shocking secret is the furthest thing from his mind on this warm spring afternoon in Washington, DC. 

“Senator Bailey, where are we going?” William, his legislative assistant, asks as he struggles to keep pace with the congressman’s stride through the hallowed halls of the United States Capitol building.

“Outside, William, to inhale the sweet aroma of the cherry blossoms,” Senator Bailey says over his shoulder while his Martino leather dress shoes click on the well-polished floors. “I need to clear my head of this infernal den of hot air.” Bailey turns and straightens his silk tie in the reflection of William’s starry-eyed admiration. 

Bailey cuts left into the entrance hall and exits through the tall double doors with his assistant chasing after his illustrious coattails. Descending the broad marble stairs, he shields his eyes to adjust to the daylight. Disoriented by loud shouts and clicking cameras, he squints into the crowd, making brief eye contact with a pretty young girl. A swarm of reporters, with video camera operators and microphones in tow, part to let the young girl step forward. 

The Senator’s eyes linger on her bulging belly as she jabs her finger into the air towards him and screams, “He’s the one. Senator John Bailey, he’s the father of my child!”

The nipples of his bound breasts harden in denial. As a toddler, his parents coerced him with stereotypical girls’ clothes and toys, eventually having to accept the obvious. His father, an influential lawyer, helped to make the necessary legal changes to transform Joan to John, for all intents and  purposes. Not long after, John’s lawyer father divorced his wife for another woman, a “trophy wife.” he had called her. John led a sheltered life with his mother, all the while longing to follow in the footsteps of his strong and powerful father. His mother homeschooled him and by the time John entered college he had buried his female identity forever, or so he thought.

A reporter jolts the senator from his childhood memories, pushing past the capitol police. “Senator, what do you say to these accusations?” he asks while sticking a microphone in Bailey’s face. “Senator, Senator!”

In an unaccustomed loss for words, Bailey is silent. He does know the pregnant girl on the steps pointing her finger and claiming he fathered her child. 

His thoughts drift back to when he befriended her in his last reelection campaign. Not even old enough to vote, she had worked tirelessly stuffing envelopes with campaign promises. Bailey was well aware at the time that she had an adolescent crush on him, or rather on the pretense of Senator John Bailey. He had felt sorry for the forlorn girl living in the projects in an unsavory part of the city. When they worked late at the campaign office, Bailey had given her rides home in his BMW convertible. 

I was only trying to protect her. I never tried to encourage her feelings.

“Senator Bailey, we need to get you inside,” William shouts over the chaos.

Bailey’s eyes blink as a ticker tape of thoughts stream through his head. All I have to say is that I’m really a woman and couldn’t possibly have gotten this young girl pregnant.

It sounds so easy, but Bailey knows that nothing is simple in politics. 

His mind races with thoughts of his rise to power. One of his goals in running for office had been to spearhead changes in the laws and prejudices against people like him. He had studied political law at Harvard before he ran for Massachusetts State Representative in his late twenties. He went on to win his first bid for the United States Senate, serving four consecutive terms. Senator John Bailey achieved his desire to emulate the image of his father in wealth and power. With one big difference: Senator Bailey used his prestige, with the honor that his father’s character so sorely lacked. Bailey championed for the LGBT community. He filibustered for the rights of same-sex couples. Senator John Bailey became their “man” in Congress. 

How brutally ironic. I’ve lied to everyone, including myself. The senator self-consciously brushes the front of his double-breasted Italian suit. 

William steers Bailey back up the Capital steps away from the rush of reporters. The Senator stumbles and falls on the cold stone dais attempting to escape the horde of merciless media. Bailey glimpses some of his fellow congressmen and -women gawking at the scene. A weak laugh escapes his lips as he realizes that not one of them will step forward to defend him. Whether they believe the adolescent girl or not, they know as well as Bailey that it’s not always the truth of the accusation that kills a career, sometimes it’s only the uncertainty of the idea.

Why should they risk their careers to defend me? Bailey’s stomach churns.

Two police officers break through the crowd and pick Bailey up under the arms, whisking him through the massive double doors. Leaving him in the empty Rotunda chamber, they hurry back outside to contain the growing unrest.

William sits beside the senator on the bench under the large mural depicting the baptism of Pocahontas. Bailey smiles deliriously at the image of the Indian Princess, lying on a dais, her head bowed and her hands clasped before her, as the assembled audience looks on with an array of emotions from power to pity.

“Senator, no one is going to believe that girl,” William says. “Everyone knows your distinguished reputation.” 

Would William think as highly of me if he knew that the real reason I always use the stalls in the men’s room is that I don’t have the equipment to use the urinals? Bailey blinks back tears and starts to weigh his options. 

Demanding a DNA test will only confirm his female identity. What if I take responsibility for the girl's child?

Bailey thinks back on some of his colleagues who had faced similar accusations and politically survived the aftermath. Still, he had seen other lengthy careers crash and burn in the media frenzy. It was all up to the whim of the news mill, and the chance of a more prominent headline drawing the spotlight away from his sorted story. 

William returns from talking with security. “The police have contained the crowd. I think we can leave soon,” William says.

Bailey turns to avoid William’s eyes. Is it safer to tell the public that I’ve misled them all along in believing that I’m a man?

Bailey can admit his deception and beg for the mercy of the voters. The LGBT community might forgive him knowing what he has achieved for them in the guise of a straight male. But Bailey is well aware that the vast majority of voters that keep him in office are men. If he tells the truth, he does not doubt that the good ol’ boys will seek revenge in the ballot box. 

“Senator.” A guard approaches. “We will have a car for you in a few minutes so you can leave.”

Bailey presses his hands to his face. I can leave, but where can I hide? The press will already be outside my condo.

Bailey reflects on his choices. He thinks about the poor pregnant girl with pity. She has to be destitute to bring herself to this public forum. 

Even so, he knows taking responsibility for her child could ultimately prove to be the destruction of his career. If Bailey says that he is a woman, he will be admitting to the deception of everyone who has ever supported him in his quest to become a United States Senator. Either way, I very well could be speaking my last words as an elected official.’

“Come on Senator,” William prods him. “Let’s go.”

The choice I make today will change my life, as I know it, forever. Bailey breathes a sigh of resolve.  There is only one decision that I can live with.

The guards stand at attention as the Senator squares his shoulders and walks across the hallway. They open the entrance doors to the frenzied press. The crowd turns from the pregnant young girl and strains against the police line.

“You don’t have to go out there, Senator,” William pleads.

Bailey grasps the boy’s shoulder. “William, there’s a child about to enter this world who needs the full support of a father,” Bailey looks into his eyes. “I have to stand up and be that man.”

Senator Bailey faces the crowd with political prowess, while his feminine feet struggle to fill unfamiliar shoes.

Truth and honor are not always the same thing.