The sassy young waitress at Father & Son Pizza in Jefferson Park distributes the dinner menus and soon returns to take drink orders. Katie, who’s blond, statuesque, and wears a floral print dress with a lace collar, asks for decaf. “That’ll be decaf–for Betty White,” jokes the waitress, reminded of the old sitcom star. Robin, Lynne, and Carole laugh heartily.
Each is the other’s best friend. “There’s tremendous worth in their bond,” says Barbra McCoy Getz, a social worker who has been seeing Robin clinically. “It’s the concept of here’s another human being in the world who understands you, who can see you for who you are.”
Lynne turns to Robin. “If you’re not a teacher, what do you do for work?”
At 7:30 the occupants of the red booth leave Father & Son and walk across Milwaukee Avenue to the Stardust banquet hall. They’re headed to the monthly business meeting of the Chicago Gender Society, a support group. There’s barely a glance from passersby. They’re taken for what they want to be: four women out for a night of fun.
It takes Katie about an hour to get ready. There are nails to attach (“Contact cement works best as the adhesive”), makeup to apply, and a woman’s watch, a crystal-encrusted tennis bracelet, rhinestone wedding bands, and a fluffy blond wig to put on.
To Katie, nothing much beats a chatty conversation over a light meal. “What interests me are personalities and relationships. To talk about the Bears, and who’s up for a trade, bores the hell out of me. The only thing that separates me in personality from a natural-born woman are my genitalia.”
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She grew up in a Catholic household on the south side. “As far back as I can remember, when I was a little bitty kid, I was interested in being like a girl,” Katie says. “I would dress up in secret. To my knowledge my father, who was a cop, was never aware that I did it, though once when I was 13 my mother caught me. After that there were no more instances, as far as she knew–I got smarter.”
