For some reason, the club felt like a safe place even though it was probably the worst place to be in the world given what had happened to my hammer. Carl was here, doing stock and tabulating. I had sat in back with him all day as he chain smoked cigars and sat with his glass of scotch.

"What's up with you, huh? You want some bourbon?" Carl asked, making check marks and x's on his piece of paper that was too complicated for me to comprehend.

"No, I can't," I said quickly, thinking about what would happen if I got ahold of a bottle of bourbon right now.

"What, you pregnant?" Carl asked, a fake look of concern on his face. The next moment, he burst into snorts of laughter at his own joke and stuck his cigar back in the corner of his mouth.

"Not funny, Carl," I sighed.

"Aw, I'm just joking. You'll be alright. Just tell Frankie boy to wear a condom next time," Carl winked, still carrying on, not listening.

I sighed again and leaned back in my blue seated swivel chair. In a way, I was glad to hear jokes, no matter what the subject. Sometimes Carl could be so insensitive, but I was glad for his company anyway. He was a big, strong, muscular man despite his advanced age. His bulk gave me comfort in the circumstances.

"What're you going to do for Thanksgiving?" Carl asked suddenly, his head popping up and turning to me from his work like a meerkat.

Hmm... I hadn't thought of that. In fact, I had forgotten Thanksgiving was this week. Most years, I didn't celebrate Thanksgiving. I normally didn't have much to be thankful about anyway.

Carl didn't stop to hear my answer, as always. He plowed on like an excited bull.

"Paulie told me that Avi is celebrating with his new fiancée and her family. So he's got nobody. My daughter's going to her boyfriend's house. My ex-wife, as you know, is up in Montreal now. I've got nobody, too. You got somewhere to go?" he asked hurriedly, a small smile spreading on his face like butter on a roll.

"Huh?" I asked, unprepared.

"You wanna come to my house for Thanksgiving, George?" he asked. I flinched a little bit at his use of this name for me, not used to it after only a few months of being called otherwise.

He plowed on again, trying to convince me to come. "Paulie said he's making a turkey. He's going to make fried okra and the mashed potatoes. He said he's going to make fresh cranberry sauce, too. It's going to be so good, you know how Paulie is, with his passion of the food."

I opened my mouth slightly, thinking about it.

"I know you got nowhere to go, George," Carl winked, leaning forward expectantly. "I'll make you a pumpkin pie, home made whipped cream. Come on, George."

I sighed. Thinking about it, it would be nice to be in someone's warm home. But my hammer. The hammer was always at the back of my brain. Thoughts of Mr. Chamberlain flooded my brain and I shut my eyes, trying to make them go away.

"But I like apple pie," I said, surrendering.

"Hahaha!" Carl burst out laughing, "I knew you'd come! I'll get Paulie to make you an apple pie, then. I don't know how to make that complicated stuff. I'll make the whipped cream, though."

I leaned forward on my chair, thinking more. "Hey, Carl, you know what," I started, then paused.

"What's that, George?" Carl asked.

George. I sighed again.

"You're sighing a lot. Something on your mind?" He asked.

Finally. He was paying attention to me.

"Yeah, actually," I said, putting my chin in my hands, my elbows on my knees.

"What's that?" he asked. He turned his swivel chair back to his work. Oh, so close. Damn, Carl, how about giving me your full attention for once?

"Well, I wanted to talk to you about something. For a while now, actually."

"Go on and spit it out then."

He said "go on" like "goan". Always the country boy no matter if he tried to hide it up here. It shocked me a little bit, always forgetting he was originally from Alabama. The struggles he must have gone through, growing up there as a black man. It reminded me that we all have our struggles, some more than others. Made me remember just what we have to be thankful for. It changed something in my heart, eased my annoyance at him for not giving me his full attention.

"About...that name. That 'George' one. You know how Paulie calls me 'Georgina'? Frankie calls me 'Georgina'? Even Avi calls me 'Georgina'?" I asked, staring at the back of his head with focus.

"Yeah, it's your name on stage," Carl nodded to himself, making a check mark with his blue pen.

"That's the thing, Carl. It's not."

He stopped. His pause caused a shiver feeling to crawl down my back. My hands gripped the sides of my seat.

His head turned to me. He didn't speak for a bit, just staring at me. An uncomfortableness spread, and the room began to feel hot and stuffy, like the air was hard to breathe. I opened my mouth to say something, but he interrupted before a word could leave.

"Is Paulie's name 'Paula', too? You know, him being 'Precious Paula'?" he asked, his eyes looking confused. It was not a joke, but genuine. I could tell by his eyes.

A small smile began on my face. "No, Carl. Paulie is still Paulie. It's just me."

"I don't get it," he said, turning his chair to me now. The smile widened on my face. He was paying attention now. Trying to understand.

"You see...did you notice I don't dress as a man in this club anymore?" I asked gently, my voice soft and slow, like I would to one of our older male customers.

"Yeah, but, I thought that was your costume," he said slowly, too, his mind moving along like clockwork. His eyes looked at my short, curly blonde wig, my blue high heels. They traveled to my pink and yellow checked shift dress, my yellow nylons. They studied the wooden bangles on my wrists, the little gold heart locket on my chest that Frankie had given me. They finally settled on my breasts, the elaborate padding underneath making them look real.

"No, I..." I said, feeling braver under his gaze than I ever thought possible. "Carl, I'm a..." I couldn't find the words.

Carl's eyes went wide, the whites showing prominently. After a moment which seemed like forever, a small smile formed on his face. My entire body exhaled.

"I knew Frankie wasn't gay," Carl joked. Then he bark laughed and slapped his knees, so in his laughter, how funny it was to him. I started laughing, too. "It ain't a problem with me. Look where I work!" Carl continued, a tear forming in his eye as he lost himself in his laughter.

"So call me 'Georgina' from now on," I smiled, completely serious and hoping he recognized my tone.

"You got it 'Geo-r-jee-na'," Carl pronounced out with a wink. He beamed at me, his teeth so white. He swiveled back around to his work and smacked the desk in finality like a drummer, composing himself.

I was so happy, so full of a soul refreshing joy, that I forgot about the hammer for the rest of the afternoon.