Do you know how much a tube of paint costs? More than I have. Along with giving up Donna, I gave up security.

Suddenly, nobody was buying any of my paintings and I had blown all of my money by traveling with the church. And to make matters worse, between Fran and I, we had about $150.00. Which wasn't enough to cover the rent. She got a check for a day's work on a Bic commercial, but that went to her car payment.

However, even with no money, no studio, and no paint, I couldn't stop thinking about painting Hillary. What I did have though were my brushes and my mind, so when Fran was out, I would sit on the kitchen floor in front of the white refrigerator and practice painting Hillary. My mind's eye held a visual of her almost naked, only metal underpants kept her from being truly revealed while she held an armor helmet in her hand to show she was in the process of revealing her true-self. All I needed was the model and the paint.

So I went to see Hillary.

She was living in a cottage house built in the 1920's. It was by some famous designer who bought up a parcel of land and built five cottage houses all the same, but slightly unique. Like all of them, Hillary's was brown with a wavy dark brown roof. But unlike all of them, Hillary's had a small fountain in front with an Egyptian man painted on the bottom. Actually, the whole house had an Egyptian theme.

I rang the front bell and Hillary, dressed in a gold lame robe and pastel blue Candies', dragged her heels as she headed towards me with a smile. "I haven't quite got the hang of these."

"Where'd you find your size?"

"I had to send away, you know, special order." She looked at me, pausing, the two of us realizing who she was now and who he had been. "Come on in, I was glad to hear from you. I made some fresh coffee and I whipped together some brownies."

She smiled back at me and for the first time I saw a woman- - a coy, embarrassed, charmingwoman.

We sat and chatted about everybody, but mainly Fran. Hillary had a new found interest in her which I figured as a way to get a few pointers about being a woman. But for now Hillary was eager to help Fran get back on track until finally, Hillary asked about what I was doing.

"Well", I said eagerly, "I want to paint, keep painting and never stop."

"That's great. You weren't painting while you were with the church?"

"I did at the beginning but I stopped. Suddenly, I paused. "Hillary, I want to paint you."

"Really?"

"Yes, I have this concept."

"Sounds great, but in this bathrobe? I'm going to see a wigmaker today."

"No, you don't understand. I have a concept."

She was silent like I hurt her feelings and sat back. "And what'sthat?"

"Well, I want to show a transformation.

"Well, I'm not a thing."

"No, I know that." I knew I had to choose my words carefully. "But you represent something Hillary,something inspirational on one level. You're going to be transformed." She lowered her head and I could tell she had become emotional.

"What's your concept?" She whispered.

"You're naked except for metal underpants and a knight's helmet in yourhand. I'm interested in showing you as a warrior- a medieval and a modern day catharsis from man to woman."

Tears began to stream down her face and her head bobbed. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, hey. It's all right. I would never want you...to do something you're uncomfortable with."

She looked up and there again I saw a woman. A woman with hurt in her eyes, a hurt caused by me. "I'm sorry."

"How about some more coffee?"

I nodded in silence and watched her leave the room. Suddenly, I felt like an idiot, realizing how presumptuous it was of me to think of her as an object. A freak. I didn't understand transvestites, and her prepping to be a transsexual was perhaps more emotional than I imagined. She was a person, not an object, and I knew in that moment that this relationship was going to take some time.