O'Malley's List

(Contains cross-dressing themed material)

Lyla stood in front of the full-length mirror, analyzing her dress for the third time since she started dressing. The chiffon fabric was a swirl of blues, greens, and yellows that reminded her of a meadow in the spring. Her husband, Malcolm, felt she should wear a dress tonight. This was the only one she owned that was light enough for the environment. She had yet to update her cool weather wardrobe to suit their new climate in the desert. Though she was much more relaxed in jeans and a blouse with a light jacket, Lyla wanted to make this evening easier for Malcolm at the expense of her own comfort.

Malcolm entered the walk-in closet, which was more like a dressing room, and stepped into the beam from the over head lights. Wearing his Haggar classic slacks and a pressed linen shirt, the smile on his face was as thin as the tie he was securing around his neck. Though this was his normal work attire, he looked no more comfortable than his wife.

“Why so glum, Chum?” Lyla teased.

Malcolm’s lips pressed tighter as he smoothed his hair back with a studied hand. He let out a tired sigh at his wife’s question. This was no time for humor.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“More than ready,” she replied, forcing a smile as her eyes locked with his in their reflections in the mirror.

Tonight they were attending the church dinner party, but it seemed more like a high-pressure audition than a casual gathering. It was their first social interaction with Malcolm’s new circle of work friends. Malcolm was introducing Lyla to the CEO at his new job and made it clear she was to leave a good impression on his boss, an imposing man of strict moral standing.

“Remember what’s at stake, Lyla. You know why we had to move. This is my chance to do better.”

Lyla nodded, but her husband’s words did little to ease her angst. Keeping a secret was not in her nature.

As they drove to the church, Malcolm filled the time with bits of information about his boss. Patrick O’Malley was the owner and CEO of the city’s largest textile manufacturing company. He was a conservative catholic, and traditional to a fault. He made his millions by insisting on always meeting the highest of standards. Malcolm advised Lyla to steer clear and, if interaction was unavoidable, he ordered her to stay on her best behavior.

From the hallway outside the banquet room, the hum of conversation and clinking of glassware floated through the open double doors. Malcolm squeezed Lyla’s hand and she gave him her best smile. They crossed the threshold together, but Malcolm was whisked away to be introduced to the important people. 

Finding a group near the perimeter, Lyla mingled with the other wives, engaging in idle conversations about their kids’ soccer practice and cooking hacks and exchanging platitudes about church life. Beneath her controlled exterior, Lyla longed to engage with the men and talk about things that mattered to her. To hang with the women allowed her to escape Mr O’Malley’s looming presence, but was it a worthwhile sacrifice?

When she could no longer avoid Patrick O’Malley without appearing rude, Lyla and he struck up a conversation. Patrick O’Malley, a tall man with impeccable manners, presented with a warm smile accompanied by an unsettling intensity in his gaze. He talked about his values, the importance of family and faith, and how he expected those values to be upheld by all those around him, including his employees.

“I have high hopes for your husband’s future with O’Malley Manufacturing.” Mr O’Malley explained. “Since my partner will retire soon, we have been searching for the right man to fill his shoes.”

“Would those shoes be loafers or pumps?” Lyla tried to swallow the words before they could escape, but it was too late. She always turned to humor when she was nervous. Frantic to fix the situation, Lyla could think of nothing to say as she stared into O’Malley’s blank eyes. Maybe he would think he had misheard. Then he got this ‘aww-shucks’ look on his face. A pointed finger and a loud guffaw saved the situation.

“Ha-ha-ha,” O’Malley laughed. “You almost got me.”

Together they laughed some more at her apparent humor, then O’Malley said, “Malcolm told us you are a quick wit. I like that.”

Lyla looked down at her feet, relieved she’d pulled through that close call.

“Malcolm speaks highly of you, Mr. O’Malley,” Lyla looked back up, hoping to see a lessening of the tension.

“Call me Patrick,” he said with a softening of facial muscles. “After all, we are almost family.”

Lyla stiffened at the thought. She barely knew the O’Malleys and couldn’t consider them as family so easily.

“Family is everything to me,” Mr O’Malley lectured, “followed by my company, and I run both with a fierce love. A Godly love.” his eyes narrowed. “Jesus teaches us we must live a principled life in every way. It’s all relative, Lyla. I can see you and Malcolm are good people.”

Lyla turned the choke building in her throat into a chuckle, hoping O’Malley didn’t notice her fabricated smile. She could imagine the catalog of principles he lived by and knew Malcolm’s trans-dressing behavior wasn’t on O’Malley’s list.

The conversation ended when other guests summoned Patrick. It was time for dinner. The caterers brought out a dry roast, lumpy mashed potatoes, and over cooked steamed vegetables. Everything on the dessert trays blared too-sweet, but the other wives gathered around the table off to the side to indulge.

Smiling, listening, and nodding now and then, Lyla held her cup of black coffee and felt like she did not belong with these church wives who talked superficially about home making. Lyla dared not mention any mainstream subjects, though that was what she would talk about in her old group of friends back East. Moving to the desert southwest had been the right decision for Malcolm’s career, but it had proved to be a daunting change for her.

The drive home that night was quiet, but Lyla was feeling accomplished. She had navigated the evening without arousing Mr. O’Malley’s suspicions or anyone else’s regarding her husband’s more private personal lifestyle preferences. Lyla recognized how stressful the party had been for Malcolm and gave him his space when they arrived at their apartment.

“I need to run to the corner. We are out of milk and bread.” Lyla announced, knowing Malcolm would head right to their bedroom, where he would tear off his clothes and slip into some lingerie. They both knew her trip to the market was a ruse. It was Lyla’s way of bowing out so Malcolm would get more from his dressing experience if she weren’t hovering in the living room watching TV or reading a book.

Lyla headed out in the heavy evening air. Springtime in Phoenix was nothing like the season back home, but the nightlife vibe was inviting. As she walked, she remembered the day Malcolm had come out of the closet. They had been married almost twelve years, with not the slightest mention of his need to dress up.

“It’s not that I’m gay,” Malcolm had explained when Lyla caught him one day wearing a woman’s negligee and striking poses in front of the full-length mirror as if he were on the runway. “It’s just the slinky fabric feels good. It comforts me.”

“I can’t handle this,” Lyla had said, expressing her shock. “How can I ever be attracted to you when I know this? I can’t unsee you twirling and frolicking like a school-girl.”

Malcolm had underestimated how deeply would be the effects of his cross-dressing behavior on his wife. He had been dressing up but had never shared it with her. He had kept a wardrobe of women’s clothing hidden. After calming herself from her initial reaction to this disturbing news about her husband, Lyla let him further explain.

In small doses, Malcolm admitted to wearing women’s panties, dresses, shoes, and hosiery when he was alone at home. He had wigs, and make-up and wore earrings, too.

“And you never thought this was something I should have known since the beginning?” It was difficult for Lyla to accept her husband had kept such information from her.

Once Malcolm’s cards were on the table, there was no rearranging the deck. Lyla kept an open mind, but she would need some time to process.

“You are a man, Malcolm, and you are wearing clothes more girly than mine!”

All Malcolm could do was shrug. “It helps me deal with stress and gets me in touch with my feminine side.”

Malcolm gave Lyla time to evaluate the situation, assuring her it wasn’t perverse or sexual. Lyla couldn’t agree it wasn’t sexual. According to Malcolm it did arouse his drive and often led to self pleasure. It went against her morals as an objectionable addiction, but she came to terms with it thinking there are a lot worse things people do. Malcolm was neither a sexual predator nor a pervert. 

In time, they had reached an agreement. Among other things regarding Lyla and her feelings, Malcolm would only behave this way in private, and Lyla would not be a part of it. The arrangement often teetered back and forth for Lyla between acceptance and rebuff. It was unsatisfactory and detrimental to their marriage, but neither felt there was anything else they could do.

Arriving at the corner market, Lyla continued walking a couple blocks further to the local cafe where she enjoyed a cup of chamomile tea. When she had given Malcolm what she hoped was enough time to calm his nerves by fixating on his silky relaxation methods, she returned home. They both had had a trying evening at the church social event that night, but had weathered the storm and could now breathe easily.

The next day, however, Malcolm returned home from work. He stomped in and declared, “We need to talk.” Lyla knew something had shattered the peace in the interim.

“What’s wrong?” Lyla's eyes grew wide as she recognized Malcolm’s mood.

“Patrick confronted me about the cross-dressing,” he snapped, almost slamming his brief case on the counter. “He said it goes against the church’s teachings! He said his company requires a certain standard of people. What did you tell him?”

“I said nothing!” Lyla gasped, taken aback. “I kept my mouth shut, Malcolm. It’s not my secret to tell!”

“You must have said something! How else would he know?” Incensed at the possibility, Malcolm’s voice rose as he paced across the dining area. “How could you betray me?”

Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. “I swear, I didn’t slip up. I didn’t betray you.” Lyla remained in the kitchen.

“You must have done something because here I am, at the mercy of another narrow-minded boss. All because you couldn’t manage your tongue last night!”

Malcolm spun around as his words flew. His words and actions triggered an eruption of Lyla’s held-back emotions. Next came a blow-out fight the likes of which their marriage had never encountered. Malcolm criticized Lyla for her outspokenness, a characteristic he often admitted he admired. Feeling resentful of his keeping secrets, Lyla accused Malcolm of being dishonest, stating that without trust, their marriage had no value. They exchanged angry words until they’d run out of things to say. Then, in the silence between them, the only sound was the breaking of two hearts. 

Malcolm huffed with frustration, while sorrow overcame Lyla.

“Malcolm,” Lyla expelled what was left of the air in her lungs, “I may be an outspoken and strong-willed person, but I would never hurt you that way.”

Malcolm sat down at the table as his breathing equalized. His head dropped to his open palms, elbows propped on his knees. Pressing his fingers into his temples with a circular motion, he groaned softly. “I know, Lyla. I know.” he whispered.

To see her husband in such anguish struck Lyla at her core and knew she had to do something. With a deep breath in, she said, “What exactly happened? Are you sure he knows?”

Malcolm sighed and thought for a moment. He ran through the dialog that had transpired that afternoon. “Well, O’Malley was actually sharing an event that happened to a former employee. A man who got fired. The man went to clubs all the time, dressed as a woman.”

Lyla fought to understand then asked, “So, O’Malley wasn’t talking about you?”

“He looked right at me, then said, ‘You understand why this company frowns upon that behavior, right Malcolm?'" Malcolm dropped his voice an octave and continued, "'I have a reputation in the community, in the business world and if that kind of behavior becomes public, we cannot tolerate it.’”

Lyla listened as Malcolm relayed the information he claimed was word for word. Her husband never went out in public dressed as a woman. He wasn’t trans gender and had no intention of transitioning. There was no need for that kind of recognition. His cross dressing was for personal pleasure only. Her heart ached for the trauma written all over Malcolm’s face. The turmoil and shame. Then Lyla saw them. The two small sparkling diamond post earrings in Malcolm's ears.

“Your earrings,” she gasped.

Malcolm’s hands shot to his ears, and his expression turned to shock at realizing his careless mistake. The post earrings—a small but unmistakable sign of his hidden self—had slipped his mind as he had rushed off to work that morning.

Lyla felt the angry wind leaving the sails of their argument as pain stabbed at her heart. They had been through this before. Malcolm’s behavior had come to light in the most embarrassing of moments when a former co-worker found out what Malcolm does to relieve stress. Bob, whose house had flooded from a broken pipe, was crashing on their couch when Malcolm needed to relieve some stress after a grueling day at the office. Bob accidentally saw Malcolm in a nighty and wig but lacked the grace and maturity to handle the knowledge and leave it alone. They’d had to move to another state to get away from the threat of humiliation. In fear, Lyla realized history was repeating itself. They were on track to lose everything again.

“We can’t keep doing this, Malcolm. I don’t want to keep your secrets anymore,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “You never considered what it means to ask me to keep your secret. You need to decide what’s more important: what others think of us or our respect for each other.”

Malcolm’s shoulders slumped. “I just wanted to protect you… protect us.”

“But at what cost?” she asked softly. “If you’re ashamed of who you are then you must in some small way believe it is wrong. If you don’t believe what you’re doing is immoral, then you need to own it. I accept you. And God accepts you. Nobody else should matter. God doesn’t care about what any of us wears and so shouldn’t anyone else. I’m tired of letting your secrets characterize our relationship.”

Silence filled the space again as the fragile reality they had cultivated crumbled around them. It was in the moment that Malcolm fully grasped the impact of his decisions. The harder he tried to conceal his truths, the more he hurt the person he loved the most.

“I’m so sorry, Lyla.” Stripped of anger, Malcolm’s vulnerability broke through. “It was never my intention for you to feel this way. I thought… well, I thought we could manage it all. It wasn’t fair to you. I see that now.”

Drawing nearer, Lyla’s heart flickered with the faint, but familiar warmth of forgiveness. “Find the courage to be yourself, Malcolm. Your entire self. Be honest about who you are so you can be honest with me, too.”

Moving forward on shaky ground, they wove a new understanding. With respect and honesty, their relationship, though changed, could flourish. The shadows cast by the secrets had come to light, and the chips had to fall where they may.

Regarding O’Malley’s list of principles, Patrick O’Malley could form his own opinion and do what he felt was appropriate for his company. If the company defined an employee as poor because of his pierced ears, then that wasn’t the right company for Malcolm, after all.

No matter the outcome; what city in which they would live or what jobs they would have, Malcolm and Lyla would face the challenges together. They forged ahead with a stronger, better partnership. With mutual understanding rooted in both love and respect for each other, they had renewed their faith in their marriage and in the Lord above.