Tibor and I met Burdock Global Media's "Electronics 2.0 Branding and Communications Wizard, Midwest Region" — and, yes, Burdock had embossed that ridiculous job-title on his business card — in a loud, old-world deli on East 9th at 1:30. As we entered, a reedy voice hailed Tibor from the back, and we sauntered towards it.

I'd expected a sloppy tech geek. Instead, a well-groomed hipster sporting skinny jeans, tortoiseshell glasses, and an ironic "I'M A MILLENNIAL SO I DON'T LIKE LABELS" t-shirt extended his hand to Tibor. "Tibor, nice to see you."

They shook, and he turned to me. "Ulysses?"

I nodded, shaking his hand.

"Excellent, the infamous Ulysses Garrity, and face-to-face." He handed me his card, an impish grin on his face. "Joshua Holiday, but EVERYONE calls me Josh."

"It's a pleasure, Josh."

With a mock-serious, theatrical sweep of his arm, he invited us to sit, handing around menus. "On Burdock, gentlemen. Don't be shy. But seeing as Tibor selected a deli, I suppose the damage won't sink the company." Which made me grin, since Burdock had a market cap in the hundreds of millions and ran the most lucrative communications empire this side of Disney.

Lunch was quaint. Josh seemed decent, if a little fruity, but despite the differences, we shared much in common. We'd both graduated from public-Ivies, me from State, him from Berkely. We were both young and ambitious, climbing our respective ladders, me to partner, him to the boardroom. And unlike "just-the-facts-because-truth-matters" Tibor, Josh and I were both shameless marketers.

After some preliminary chit-chat, like Josh showing me photos of his husband and their adopted infant, he jumped in, feet-first. "So, Tibor says you're itching to destroy the trolls and rapists in your life. What's your plan?"

My heart skipped a beat, and a sly grin crept to my face. This wasn't Tibor's "truthiness" tripe. Instead, Josh's inquiries had legs. Tibor wanted the truth, which is noble, but Josh's approach screamed "slay the bastards."

I liked that.

Intrigued, I leaned forward and steepled my fingers, trying to contain my over-eagerness "First, I want PJ and Squee behind bars. Then I want to sue Gawker Daily, 7-Chan, any big tech company that's played patty-cake with my info. And truth be told, I'm sort of pissed at my fraternity. Maybe I can sue them. or just the State chapter. Who knows?"

"Interesting," Josh said, "but slugging it out with the big boys is a hard row to hoe because they have deep pockets."

I scoffed. "Didn't that goofy big-time wrestler Jesse Fortuna sue some creepy tabloid out of existence?"

Josh nodded. "Indeed. But remember, he had mega money behind him, the billionaire Peter Neal, who paid for the legal fees."

Deflated, I slumped back. "Crap."

Josh patted my arm. "Chin up. Yours is NO lost cause. Now, I'm no lawyer, so my legal advice may suck, but I can help you drag the assholes into the spotlight. You've got a kick-ass story, and folks want more. Let's market you, make you look good, make them look bad. Get your pound of flesh that way. "

I grinned. "Put them in the stocks in the public square, so to say."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Josh clapped. "Exactly."

Intrigued, I asked, "How?"

"Well, first off, we'll get you in front of social media influencers, but via the back door. For instance, trolling conservative Christians, like Family Focus. Get them riled. They hate queers... eh, um, or the 'LGBT community' as the PC police WANT me to say." He smirked, rolling his eyes.

I groaned. "I feel you, dog. Political correctness sorta sucks."

"Sort of? It's positively puritanical. Well-intentioned, but — Anyway, that's a different discussion for a different time. We'll rile up their small-minds. Their grousing will drive people to your story. Online clicks for Burdock, which means ad revenue. The guest-spots and interviews for y'all. The end-game will be book sales. Money for everyone, me, you, Tibor, Burdock, and thanks to queer-hating Christian a-holes whining."

I cleared my throat. "Great Idea, but remember I'm not gay. Or trans."

"That a fact?" Josh sipped iced tea, narrowing his eyes. "You sure about that? You into dudes? Were you born female?"

"When you put it that way.... Fuck." I glanced away, my eye drifting to the slow, steady slog of East 9th traffic. "I assumed everything would just... I don't know... like, work itself out, go back to normal, but I guess this is normal." I spread my arms, revealing my form.

His face grew round and animated. "Don't worry, honey. We all go through it." He leaned forward, his face thoughtful and eyes expressive. "I mean, I tried acting butch to make my pops happy in high school. I played baseball and basketball. Made the teams, but my heart wasn't there. Dated a cheerleader for six months, hoping it would get me beyond the crush I had on the leading man in the school play. And I prayed to Jesus to take away my cup..." He clapped, and I snapped to attention. "Know what? None of it worked. And here I am, gay, proud, and out loud."

I grinned. "It's just new ground for me. I've always been good-old Ulysses, and now—"

With a scoff, he cut me off. "Yes ma'am, 'good-old Ulysses.' And that is a problem."

"Huh?"

He chuckled. "Not you, the name. Ulysses. It's a boy's name, and it clashes with our goals."

I reared. "Screw you. What's wrong with it? It's a family name. My great-great-great-grandfather on my father's side served as an aide-de-camp for Ulysses S. Grant in the Civil War. While he was president, Grant stood as godfather to his eldest son, whom they named Ulysses in his honor. So it's tradition, passed down from first-born son to first-born son."

"Oh my, dearie. I didn't know, and I can see how it's important to you, but..." He leaned forward on his elbows, his eyes deep pools of compassion, "... it's still a boy's name. And if you want to make a splash, get sympathy, you need a girl's name. Say, Lisa, or Alice, or Yolanda, or—"

I sighed so loud he stopped mid-sentence, staring at me. I leaned forward, my jaw set. "MY NAME is Ulysses, NOT Lisa. So take your 'Me Too' bullshit and shove it."

He tsked, rapping the table with his knuckles. "But you want to make the assholes pay?"

"Of course."

"Then just take a girl's name, like yesterday, and quit acting like a pussy."

I winced, shocked by his lack of professionalism.

Josh cut himself off, holding his hands to his cheeks, which burned crimson. "Oh, my, I am such a bitch." He gathered himself for several beats, breathing deep. "I'm sorry for being so direct, but I understand what works. From decades of watching Oprah and Ellen and growing a huge following on social media. People empathize with women easier than they do men, and a girl's name will help with that."

My heart thudded as I willed my tongue silent.

Josh grabbed my arm, reassuring. "I know this is hard, and I'm acting like the queeniest of queens, but it's necessary. It's my job to get real and move fast, because our time is short. Just trust me. Please. I know the media, I know marketing, I know how to sell books and magazines and get people like you airtime, and I know millions of people will want to hear your story: abused women, bullied gay guys, feminists appalled by toxic masculinity. They all want you." He paused, leveling his gaze. "And based on my experience and training, it'll be easier for them to feel sympathy for you if you lose the male name."

I pondered, long and hard, the throb in my head waning. Josh was right, so I sighed, resigned. "What about Alyssa?"

"Who?"

A bashful blush burned my cheeks. "My new name."

"Oh, Alyssa." Josh thought for a few seconds, his head bopping as he mouthed the name several times. And then, his face lit up as he clapped his hands in a comedic half-clap, wiggling in his seat. "I lllllllove it. It's perfect!"

If a second before I'd felt resigned and confused, I was soon basking in his praise and lit up like Times Square. He'd been such a bitch, and yet I loved him then, and still do. The mood lightened. We plotted our media campaign in broad strokes while Tibor looked on, bemused but soaking it up.