Chapter 53

Georgia added two bottles of 1999 Ravenswood Zinfandel to her cart, already brimming with fine cheeses, pates, caviar, deli salads, smoked salmon, hard-crusted breads, and the like. She pushed her cart into the checkout line staffed by the healthiest-looking specimen of the bunch, a carrot-topped, athletic woman in black rectangular-framed glasses nearly six feet tall.

"I can take someone over here," a pimply, skinny, greasy-hared teen boy called from the next aisle over.

"Why don't you go - you've been waiting," Georgia said sweetly to the elderly matron in front of her in line. The older woman did not protest; her cart nearly ran over Georgia's foot as she pushed it rapidly past.

Georgia added a roll of wintergreen Breathsavers and the latest People magazine to her cart as she waited. The best part of being a cross-dresser, she realized, was the freedom to impulse shop like a man after browsing like a woman.

She scanned the cover of the magazine. A headline caught her eye. Under an inset photo of the mayor ran the caption: "Can this man stop Manhattan's crime spree?" She turned to the article, a 2-pager tucked into the "news" section. Good work, she nodded. The reported noted both the overall increase in violent crimes and car thefts, and specifically noted the curious blip in stolen taxicabs and the high-profile murders of the Wallersteins. There was even a sidebar on the grisly organ-theft murders.

She reached the cashier and began unloading her cart. "Did you find eerything you needed?" the redhead asked. Georgia read her nametag - Brenda. "Yes, thank - actualy, no, there was on ething I couldn't find. Capers. Do you carry those?"

"Sure. Aisle five. What size jar do you need?" Brenda was picking up her paging phone, already punching in numbers.

"Just a small jar. Smallest you have. Oh, and some dijon mustard, please."

Brenda requested assistance from Chuck and began scanning the goods already in her cart. "Oh, I love Brie - oh, and Gorgonzola.. That'll go great with the Carr's Wheatmeal biscuits and the zin. You must be having a party?"

"A small one, yes," Georgia smiled. "Let's call it... an organ recital."

"Such a beautiful instrument," Brenda said. "Do you play?"

"In a manner of speaking," Georgia said. "You seem to appreciate some of the finer things in life, am I right?"

"I'm at chef's school," Brenda said, scanning the shrimp cocktail sauce. "I'm getting spoiled, but as a student, I can't afford my champagne tastes."

"Hmm. This would work out nicely. I'd love to have this party catered. Do you think...?"

Brenda's eyes lit up. "I'd love to! When is it?"

"Tonight at seven. Give me your phone number..."

The data were exchanged. The trap was set.