[Poggio]

He did not like it but it was work, and no matter how much he wanted his boss assured him he would have to work at least one Saturday of the month. Galvin held some small hope that his lunch comments to the elder Garagin, ruined any illusion that he was Nell. He smoothed his fingers over the red pencil skirt tucking a pencil inside the bun. The undergarments were the worse part to get used to, the delicate trappings of a woman made him itch and was often too tight. His sporadic thrusting movements usually ruined the garments. He growled leaving from behind the back stage. By now he was also used to the shiny red pumps. He paced his way across the room against wolf whistles and cat calls to the bar. He'd serve drinks to the booths until he found some one that wanted to pay for a dance.