Plus-One With A Vengeance : 14 / 29

[ An Altered Fates Story ]
by Iolanthe Portmanteaux

 

---

"Man knows that there is love,
but he does not know what love is."
— Emanuel Swedenborg

---

 

As quickly as I could, I dashed upstairs, stripped off the bathing suit, and pulled the t-shirt dress over my still-wet body. I was fast, as fast as I could manage, but not fast enough. When I bounced back downstairs and into the kitchen, Melissa was alone. I looked out the window to the patio. The little white table was empty.

"He's gone," Melissa told me. "He said he had to get to work."

I glanced at the clock. "He is usually gone by this time."

"Hmmph." Melissa grunted and, distracted, squeezed her fingers together. "I was hoping for a little more electricity," she complained.

I scoffed and told her, "Believe me, there was electricity," but she didn't seem to hear me.

Her eyes scanned me up and down. "Did you put that on while you were still wet? Wet with pool water?" Shaking her head, she added, "Don't do that again. And do NOT wear that dress without underwear."

"Okay."

She looked around the room, as if looking for a clue. "Right. Now what?"

"Could we have breakfast?" I asked.

"Yes," she agreed, but as she spoke her eyes traveled up to my head, and with a look of distress she said, "But first — that hair! Oh my saints, girl! It's full of tangles! You've got a rat's nest on your head!"

"I'm hungry!" I cried.

She huffed impatiently and shoved a muffin in my direction. I grabbed it before she could change her mind, and peeled off the paper. "Is there any coffee?"

 

---

 

After a hastily consumed muffin and coffee, Melissa sent me to shower, pointing out which products to use. She gave me a rough-textured cloth for my body ("but not for your face!"). Lastly, she pointed out a big-toothed comb hanging in the shower: "Use that to comb the conditioner through your hair. Comb GENTLY until all the tangles are out. Do you understand?"

It was easier said than done. The first day of my war against tangles.

After my shower, Melissa had me trying on clothes, the ones she bought while she impatiently waited for me to decide to transform. The pile of skirts, tops, dresses, and pants intimidated me, but Melissa scoffed at my trepidation. "All you have to do is try them on. See how they fit, see how they make you feel, see whether the look suits you." After taking a deep breath to steel myself, I picked up two of the items. I lifted them up, looked at them, turned them so I could see the back, and set them back down on the bed. "Melissa, what if I don't like — something. What if they don't fit? What if I don't like any of them?"

She laughed. "We'll take them back! That's half the fun, girl! Now let's get cracking! Are you afraid you're going to hurt my feelings? Don't! I want you to look good and to like what you're wearing."

It took us over ninety minutes to get through the outfits. About half of the items didn't fit right, and others didn't look right. In the end we kept only three pieces.

"I'm sorry," I told her.

She gave me a strange look. "You're sorry the clothes don't fit you or suit you? Listen, Lorelei, you've got to get used to the process! Sometimes you have to try dozens of clothes to find the one or two or three that you really like and want to wear. If you keep something out of guilt for not wanting it, it's a waste, because you'll never wear it. If you're in doubt, toss it out."

One dress, a black, black halter dress with a floral motif that seemed painted over one thigh, really appealed to me. I loved that dress. I didn't want to take it off, I liked it so much. When I finally *did* take it off, my fingers sought out the price tag. Melissa swatted my hand away, then gave me a quick smack on the butt.

"Ow!" I yelped.

"No looking at the price tag! Bad girl! Bad!"

"But—"

"No buts! This is my treat. You'll have plenty of clothes and things to buy on your own."

"But— I mean, still, all of this must cost a lot of money! I can pay you back, you know. I *want* to pay you back."

"You don't have to pay me back," Melissa replied with a grin. "And I don't want you to pay me back. At least not with money!" She laughed and hugged me, saying, "This is an investment in my future!"

"Huh?"

"Grand-babies!" she whispered.

"Melissa — Melissa — come on, can we tap the brakes on that grand-baby business? Let's take it slow. Max isn't even on board for taking me to the wedding yet. He hasn't even asked me for a date."

"You've been a girl for what— all of one day? Patience!"

"What I'm saying is that we have to let this develop slowly, naturally. You know, often when you push too hard, all it does is make people dig their heels in."

"Hmmph," Melissa said, as she folded the clothes on the bed. "Lori, you can tap those brakes all you want, but I am 100% full-steam ahead."

"Anyway," she added after she'd folded the last piece of clothing in the "returns" pile, "I'm going to be in the background. Max won't see me or hear me or feel me pushing. But I'll be there, pushing as hard as I can."

I bit my tongue to keep from responding.

 

---

 

We sorted the return items into the bags for their various stores. Once that was done, Melissa and I prepared lunch for ourselves and dinner for Max.

We served generous portions into microwaveable containers and sealed them tight. Melissa said, "We'll leave this in his fridge, and you will send him a text so that he knows it's there." She tapped one of the plastic lids with a dark red fingernail, tap-tap-tap. "You know, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

"Is that true?" I asked. "I've heard people say that, but is it really true?"

"I don't know," she confessed, "but I do know that men are happier after they eat. If we feed him every night, he's going to associate that happy feeling with you. And that's a good thing. So don't mention that we prepared his meals together, you and me. In his mind, it's has to be you, only you, understand?"

"Even so... won't he feel like we're meddling?"

"Look: if the food is there, will he eat it?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then! Case closed!"

 

---

 

After our mission to Max's house, we went and got my hair cut and my ears pierced. "Tomorrow we'll do makeup and nails," Melissa told me. "Right now it's time for more clothes. And shoes."

I mentioned the Outerland Mall earlier — Vivianne brought me there when I was Darcy. Back then, the other children, and parents with children, smiled at me. It was like being part of a club, just by virtue of being small and cute. Now I got a lot of looks as well, but they were quite different in character. Males, from teenagers to old men, visually assessed me. I felt as though I was being mentally undressed over and over. I don't think I would have minded if all they did was stare at my breasts, but they took their time looking me over, as if I were a doll they might buy and play with. Some of the men were fairly discreet in their scrutiny — especially if they were accompanied by a woman. Others, and not only the younger ones, openly leered and ogled. They didn't literally have their tongues hanging out, but they weren't far from it.

"It's like they've never seen a woman before," I groused sotto voce to Melissa.

"Ignore it as well as you can," she advised. "You never get used to it. Unfortunately, you have to learn how to deal with it."

The women, on the other hand, gave me more cold, clinical appraisals — though more of my clothes and hair, it seemed. I got the mental picture of a stern, fault-finding sergeant inspecting a rookie soldier. "Women size up the competition," Melissa explained. "It's fine as long they don't say anything."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, women can be so catty," she explained, "and some of them are experts in cutting you down, no matter how good you look or feel." She flushed red at some memory, and said, "That damn Amber is one like that. You know how some people don't have a mean bone in their body? Well, Amber — all she has are mean bones. She's got nothing but mean bones in her body. I've never heard a single compliment — to anyone — or any kind word come out of her mouth. Ever."

I chuckled, but Melissa didn't.

Anyway, we looked at clothes. I tried on clothes. We put clothes back. I tried on others. We bought some. I stuck my feet into dozens of shoes, usually because Melissa observed that a certain pair would go with something else I had at home or in a bag.

 

---

 

Shopping for clothes was interesting for a while, but after more than two hours, I ran out of gas. Melissa didn't catch on at first, but when I began grunting in response to her repeated question "isn't this SO cute?" and then flatly refused to try on a pair of shiny black boots, she looked at my dull eyes and tight jaw. "Oh, no — Paul gets that face when he's had too much shopping. You need a break. You need a little snack, and I know just the thing."

Melissa stood to my right, and she turned away from me, so as to face the Mecca of our snack break. I took a step forward. At the same moment, she stopped and made a half-step backward, which caused the two of us to softly collide. She turned slowly to the left, reaching at the same time for a pair of leggings on the rack next to us. She picked up a pair of white yoga pants, which were veined like marble, and feigning interest, she gave me an intent, low-voiced command. "Look at these pants," she said. "Don't look up. I said, don't look up! Look here—" and she shook the leggings to draw my attention.

"What's going on?" I murmured, carefully keeping the radius of my attention small and focused on the white yoga pants.

"Your friend Kitty is here," Melissa whispered. "Listen, now: you need to remember that you don't know her. You never met her, alright? You have no idea who she is. Do not talk to her. Don't open your mouth at all unless I prompt you, okay?"

"Why?" I asked.

She huffed impatiently. "Because we want some control over the situation. You're so open and friendly, you'd end up telling her everything, including the medallion."

"I would not!"

"Hush, will you now? Please?" She glared at me with eyes wide open. Honestly, she looked a little crazy, but I grudgingly agreed to keep quiet.

... but I added, "I'm done here. If we don't want to see her, can we just leave?"

"No, wait. At least here, I can see her coming. Better to do this now. I don't want to be taken by surprise."

Of course I wanted to know what this was, and why it needed to be done at all, but Kitty rolled up quickly and quietly on Melissa's left, so I glued my lips shut and examined the offerings in the leggings rack.

Kitty cleared her throat, but Melissa pretended not to notice. A few seconds passed, so Kitty gave another ahem; also ignored by Melissa. So Kitty resorted to speaking first. She said, "Hi, Mrs Errison — I thought that was you! How are you doing?"

Melissa looked up slowly and gave a polite smile. "Well, look who's here! If it isn't Hello Kitty." She knew quite well that Kitty hated that nickname. Of course, none of her friends ever used it.

Kitty frowned out of reflex, then fought her frown back into a smile. Watching the curve of her mouth drop, then spasmodically rise again was like watching a boat nearly capsize, then right itself.

Melissa spoke again. "Kitty, would you mind not calling me Mrs Errison? It makes me feel a thousand years old! Please call me Melissa."

"Okay, Melissa," she replied, and I could see And don't call me Hello Kitty written across her face. But she didn't say it.

Kitty tilted her head right and left, trying to see past Melissa and get a good look at my face. When she opened her mouth to address me, Melissa cut her off, asking, "What brings you to the mall in the middle of the day, Kitty? Don't you have a job?"

Kitty, a little discomfited, replied, "Yes, I have a job. I run a staging business. I'm actually here to buy supplies. I need knickknacks, lamps, and table coverings."

"Oh, I see."

Again, Kitty tried the direct approach. She asked, "Who is this with you? I don't think we've met." The question was addressed as much to me as to Melissa, and ordinarily I would have responded by telling my name. Kitty tried to extend her arm to shake hands with me, but Melissa blocked her by leaning forward slightly. She made it look unintentional, but Kitty's face reddened with frustration. Melissa didn't make eye contact with me, but I could feel her radiating the command to keep quiet, so I did.

"Okay," Kitty said, as if accepting her defeat. But she held up her phone. "Could I take a selfie with you two?" and she began to arrange herself and hold the phone at arm's length.

"Oh, no, of course not!" Melissa replied in a haughty tone. "I'm not one of your little high-school friends. No thank you!"

She slipped her arm through mine. She asked, "Are you done looking?" When I nodded, she led me toward the exit.

I glanced back as we passed through the main door. Kitty was fuming, her jaw working. I'd never seen her that way before.

 

---

 

I expected that we'd head for home after the encounter with Kitty, but Melissa wanted a bubble tea. She led me to a pavilion next to the food court. Soon the two of us were sitting on a stone bench sipping our green drinks through big fat straws. The bottom third of the glass was filled with soft, chewy black balls. "What are these funny bally things?" I asked.

"Tapioca," she replied. "Isn't it refreshing?"

"I guess," I said, but before I could get any further, my attention got sidetracked.

The bench on which we sat was set against a wall. Nearby, small tables, big enough for two or three people were arranged, and most of them were occupied by people eating, drinking, or hanging out. My eye was caught by the face of a man who sat directly opposite from me, on a similar stone bench; his was set up against the big concrete planters that defined the food court. A man my age, with short, wavy brown hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders, and a handsome, manly face. I knew that face somehow; I was sure I did. As I stupidly stared at him, trying to remember how I knew him, he smiled. Then he winked at me.

Maybe this is strange of me, but I don't like winks. I don't like them at all. They bother me. I don't know why. Max doesn't wink. Neither do most of my friends. I've seen Amber wink, and it confirms everything I dislike about the practice. Having this man — however good-looking — wink at me, made me uncomfortable, and I found myself shifting in my seat, jostling against Melissa.

"What's going on there?" Melissa asked. "Do you need to use the ladies room?"

"No," I muttered. "That guy over there just winked at me."

She smiled and gave a little snort of a laugh. Then she glanced over and followed his gaze. "Oh, I see." she took a pull on her tea and told me in a confidential tone, "Put your knees together. He's looking up your skirt, and you're giving him a free show."

I clamped my thighs together and glared at him, as if it was his fault entirely. He smiled, shrugged, put his hands together as if in prayer, and bowed his head in thanks. I stood up abruptly.

"Let's go home," I said, and started walking to my right.

"The car is this way," Melissa reminded me. I turned, feeling as foolish as a cartoon character, and went to the left.

We hadn't gone far, when a voice came from behind us: "Miss? Miss?" It was that man again. He followed me! He caught up with me!

I straightened up and was about to aggressively, offensively demand What the fuck do you want? when he held up my phone.

"Is this yours?" His eyes twinkled. "It was back there on the bench... where you were sitting." Somehow he made the word sitting sound dirty.

"Yes, it is mine," I admitted, embarrassed. He was being nice — kind, even — and yet he repulsed me.

I reached for it, but he waggled it and held it closer to himself, at his right shoulder, next to his face. "Might there be a reward? A kiss? Your phone number?"

I gave him a distressed, pained look, so he gave it up, saying, "Never mind, then. Here you go. I thought— well, never mind what I thought." He handed me the phone. "Have a nice day." He turned away, then looking back, he said, "And thanks. You made my day anyway." He followed up by a devilish grin.

 

---

 

When we got in the car, I said, "Edison."

"What?"

"That jerk at the food court, the one who had my phone — his name is Edison. Max and I went to school with him."

Melissa scratched her head. "You certainly got his attention."

"I didn't want to!"

"You need to be more careful," Melissa told me. "All girls go through this; most at a younger age. But you'll get it. Lesson learned?"

"Lesson learned," I confirmed. At least, I hope so.

 

---

 

The next day, which was Thursday, started off with a light breakfast. Then Melissa showed me how to do my hair. "This will be part of your daily routine," she explained. It was the first time I had any second thoughts about being a girl.

Still, it's only temporary, I told myself. The phrase popped up out of habit: I used to say it daily when I was working at the startup. Even when I'd changed to Lorelei — at least at the start — my intention was to turn back after the wedding. But how long after the wedding?

Then I'd gone and told Max that I was never changing back. Why did I do that? I meant it at the time. I felt it at the time. If I didn't mean it, I ought to tell him as soon as possible. It would be wrong to mislead him.

I don't want to think about this now! I told myself, I don't want to be dragged back into that indecision! and suddenly became aware that Melissa was gently knocking on my head, the way you knock on a door.

"Hello, hello! Are you home in there?"

"Sorry — lost in thought."

"You have to pay attention, Lorelei. You're going to have to do this yourself. For yourself, by yourself. I won't be doing this every day."

Next we had a little discussion about what to wear. I mean, what *I* should wear. I grabbed the first thing at hand, a light blue summer dress. Melissa wanted to spend more time on the decision, considering the possibilities: where we'd be going, who we might meet, what impression we'd want to make. In the end, I won out, and wore the summer dress, but she promised I wouldn't get off as easily in future.

We made Max's dinner — as we had the day before — and after loading it into his fridge and picking up the empty containers from yesterday's dinner, I texted him.


Me: Your dinner is in the fridge.
Max: You don't have to do that.
[a few seconds later:] But thanks. Yesterday's dinner was great.
 


I hesitated over the tiny keyboard, my thumbs raised. "Don't answer," Melissa cautioned, reading over my shoulder. "Leave him on the back foot."

"I don't know what that means. Anyway, I want to answer."


Me: I'm glad. I like doing it.
Max: Hey...
[after a maddenly long interval of watching the dots, knowing he's typing]
What do I tell people who call for you?
Me: Who would call for me?
Max: I don't know. Your job? I could tell them you're visiting your dad.
Me: That sounds good. Thanks!
Max: What if your dad calls?
[the typing dots dance again — I wait]
I could tell him you had a sex-change operation. LOL
Me: ha ha
Max: Seriously, tho... how are you? Still not freaking out?
Me: I'm good. Not freaking out at all.
Max: Okay. I'm here if you need me.
Me: Ditto.
 


I waited for a bit, but that was the end of the conversation. Melissa groaned. "That's it? Oh my God, I hate text messages! All these crazy abbreviations and letters and emojis." She laughed. "You should send him that eggplant emoji." She laughed some more.

After blinking a half-dozen times, I asked, "Why would I send him *that* emoji?"

She seemed surprised by the question. "Because it's funny!"

"Do you know what it means?"

"It means something?"

"Yes, it means 'penis'."

Her jaw dropped in shock. "You're kidding."

"No, I'm not."

"Eggplant means 'penis'? It can't."

"It does."

"Oh my God, oh my God!" she cried. "I send that to my friends all the time! What must they think of me?"

"Maybe they don't know what it means either," I offered.

"I hope so," she replied in a chastened tone. "I guess I can't take those messages back, can I?"

"Nope."

 

---

 

We went together for mani-pedis, and then back to the mall for cosmetics, as she promised. At one of the counters at Macy's, a woman whipped up a "light daytime look" with some direction from Melissa. The effect was as shocking and striking as the transformation by the medallion. I mean, I liked it. I didn't realize I could look so glamorous. She made a video of my face while she applied the products, narrating instructions as she went along, and sent me the video afterward. Of course, I bought all the products that she used, and had (I thought) a realistic hope of recreating what she'd done.

The day would have been uneventful except for one thing, which I'm about to tell you. I wondered whether we'd run into Kitty again, though for some reason it didn't feel likely. We ran into someone else entirely, but the experience with Kitty had opened my eyes to something. I was raised to be polite, to not insult people, and to treat others as I would have them treat me. But Melissa's treatment of Kitty — which was, admittedly, a little unkind and a little rude — made me realize that being polite wasn't my only option. I'm glad I had that lesson, because I needed it today.

Oddly enough, I was looking through yoga pants again — but this time out of interest. Melissa was off in the changing rooms — she'd done so much shopping on my behalf that she needed to buy something for herself or she'd pop.

Amber appeared out of nowhere. She seemed to rise up out of the floor with her phone in her hand, snapping pictures of me. She scowled. I'm sure she imagined herself intimidating, off-putting, but her little show struck me as stupid and foolish. I think she was trying to come off as something like a cop; that her interrogation of me was the equivalent of a traffic stop.

What truly took my attention, the overwhelming thing I noticed — especially after all the hours I'd spent looking at my new self in the mirror — was that Amber and I had the same build. Like me, she was slender, with a narrow waist. Her eyes were level with mine, and I felt pretty sure her measurements were the same as mine. The realization was so odd and so unexpected, that it distracted me from her aggressive manner and from the arrogant things she said.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

Irritated, I responded, "Who wants to know?" I think she expected me to object to her taking pictures, but I didn't give a toss.

Not expecting that sort of pushback, she bristled at my response. "It's a simple question."

"Thanks for the explanation."

"What is your name? It's rude of you not to answer!"

Instinctively I knew better than to reply to her statements. It would put me on her ground, and I had no desire to give her the advantage. So I said, "Buzz off, will you? Go away, little girl."

Her eyes blazed. Her shoulders and jaw tensed. Her fists clenched. I'm sure the sight would have frightened a lot of people, but by this time (I mean after months of Amber's lies and undermining) I had nothing but contempt for her. I've never been in a physical altercation, but if she wanted a fight, I'd give her one, and I'd do my best to make her sorry.

"You do NOT tell me to go away!" she growled through clenched teeth.

"Reality check," I pointed out. "I just did." Then I smiled. She fumed and raised her fists. I don't think she meant to hit me; she was clenching her fists out of anger. I picked up a half-dozen yoga pants on their hangers and draped them over her arms. "There you go!" I declared. "Now scoot!"

I know that last move made no sense; it occurred to me in the moment, so I went with it. And I was so glad I did! It really blew her top. "You'll regret this!" she shouted, loud enough to make the store personnel and other shoppers turn to stare.

In that moment, she seemed nothing more than a petulant, spoiled child, throwing a little tantrum. Loud, angry, but not to be taken seriously.

And so I laughed. Out loud. This was Amber? This was all she had? I laughed.

She glared. She bared her teeth. "Aren't you going to stamp your foot?" I asked, and then to my surprise, she did. She stamped her foot, three times, growling as she did.

Amber threw the clothes on the ground and screamed at me. A full-throated, blood-curdling scream. I won't lie — that part, the scream, scared the hell out of me. I don't know what expression I wore on my face right then, but I wasn't laughing now.

"You'll regret this," she repeated in a low, menacing tone.

She turned and left. I didn't move a muscle as I watched her walk away.

Every hair on my body stood on end. My heart was pounding.

Once she was out of sight, I picked up the clothes, shook them out, and hung them back on the rack. Then I held on to the rack and took a few deep breaths. I needed to calm down.

Melissa came out a few moments later, asking, "Did I miss anything?"