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He’d made the cover of a magazine once, and never let the rest of the office forget it. Fortunately, he was part time. Wigs were his forte, the hair looked almost human.
    â€œNo, it’s just the same as last week,” I replied meekly.
    â€œYou don’t say.”
    Actually I did say. Dorian frowned. He’d once pushed a note into my desk drawer asking for a date. I wasn’t gay, and he came across as creepy, obsessed. The way he watched me, undressed me, made my skin crawl. He once asked for a lock of my hair, and was my main suspect for the brush missing from my desk.
    â€œMust be the shampoo then, or the conditioner; you’ve changed your routine.”
    I just smiled limply, as we headed to our desks.
    There was a poster at the side, hanging down like my head. ‘Crossdress for Success’, it read, and there was a picture of a tranny. He wore a black power suit with shoulder pads, and a smile wrapped in thick red lipstick.
    A paperclip hit the back of my head and I turned around. Sitting, smirking, behind me were Cassie and Trudi, two crossdressers still waiting for success. Cassie put her hand to her mouth as she spoke and Trudi giggled. They had me in their sights, the office gossips.
    Claire Morgan, our manager, entered the room in her tight skirt. She wore flats but had the legs for it; though I wasn’t supposed to notice.
    â€œValery, so glad to see you back,” she said. I was surprised to see her; she rarely came out of her office.
    She undid the top button of her blouse, carefully watching my eyes for the slightest reaction that might give me away. No need, the new meds had kicked in. My sex drive was in reverse, like so many others. But I still wondered what it would be like to hold her in my arms and smell her hair.
    â€œValery, are you listening?” she asked.
    I wasn’t.
    â€œSorry, I was looking at your hair.”
    Her eyes narrowed.
    â€œMeaning?” she asked.
    Had I been caught out? Were my hormones racing out of control again?
    â€œThe colour, it’s simply divine. I must go for it next time at the salon.”
    â€œHmm,” she appeared neither convinced nor impressed.
    â€œI’ll give you the number,” shouted Dorian from his desk. “I go all the time.”
    Light streamed into the office through the large glass windows. The grass had just been cut, and the smell of freshly mowed lawns permeated the air.
    â€œOh, how pretty,” I said looking out of my window, “a swallow.”
    â€œWhere?” asked Cassie, running to my side.
    â€œSettle down,” said Claire, “There’s work to be done. Important news from the War Office, they want a new design in camouflage.”
    â€œOh my,” I heard Trudi say.
    â€œCatch me, I’m going to faint,” said Cassie.
    â€œIs that possible?” I asked. “You are talking about one coat, a single brushstroke?”
    â€œIndeed, invigorating isn’t it? The most exciting war project I, sorry, the team has been involved in.”
    Claire was overstating our importance to the war effort a little. We at 15 Payton Gardens designed nail polish, including the packaging. We received free samples every Friday.
    â€œWell, get to work. I’ll be back at mid-day,” said Claire.
    Now just how did you combine two colours that when painted on the nail separated in two, green and brown? But not clearly divided, mottled, with one blending into the other. I went to the coffee machine and met Steve, he was clearly excited.
    â€œThis is going to revolutionise nail polish,” he gasped.
    He was almost drooling with excitement.
    â€œI know, amazing isn’t it?”
    He didn’t detect my sarcasm.
    â€œAny ideas?” he asked.
    The tone in his voice was high.
    â€œMaybe,” I replied before placing the end of my pencil in my mouth. His pupils were dilating as he watched me twirl the rubber coated end between my