Me And Marilyn
~~by Bobbie Cabot~~

Halloween costume parties are pretty fun things, Debbie Delaney, professional photographer, thought. Of course, the costumes need to be good, and as close to being realistic as possible. But this is taking realism too far!

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I could have been doing something better tonight, especially in New York City, but here I was standing around the entrance of a big fancy ballroom, waiting for my two friends. If our boss hadn’t said it was mandatory, I wouldn’t have come.

I was dressed as Marilyn Monroe, complete with the bright red lipstick, overdone lashes and the permed bright-blond hair, and I was wearing a duplicate of the dress she wore in The Seven Year Itch. It was a Halloween costume ball, after all, I thought, and if I had to wear a costume… Yeah, yeah, I know – it’s a bit of wishful thinking, but I can dream can’t I? For a transgender girl, Marilyn was more than just an icon.

“Now where the heck are my guys!” I said as I took pictures. I was the photographer, after all. “It’s almost seven PM!”

Looking at the end of the hallway, I finally saw Pete and Simone come out of the elevator. Thank God!

Pete was the photography technician that was assigned to me, and Simone was the department’s EA. I called them up earlier in the week and roped them into going with me to this shindig. I won’t be the only one wearing a costume!

“Thank God you’re here!” I said. “The director’s about to start the program.”

I looked them up and down. Pete was wearing leather pants, boots and a leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders, and a big chain wrapped around his shoulders. As for Simone, she was wearing a black halter top, black jeans, a silver ankh on a chain around her neck, and a henna tattoo of the Eye of Horus around her right eye. Over it all, she had a gray-brown hooded robe with the hood thrown back.

“Who are you guys supposed to be?” I asked.

“I’m Teleute,” Simone smiled, “the Angel of Death from Sandman.”

“How about you, Pete?”

“I’m the Ghost Rider! Cool, huh?”

“Yes, you are,” I said impatiently. “Now, let’s go and get this over with already!”

 

I dropped my little Canon Powershot into my clutch – the one with Dr. Tully’s lens attached. Also in my clutch was my wallet, a tube of lipstick, a comb, some other little things, plus my wayfarer sunglasses with the experimental lenses, also from the Doc.

Dutifully, I turned off my phone’s ringer. Everyone knows that at formal fund-raising occasions like this, one’s supposed to turn off her phone, just like at the movies. Otherwise, you might, gasp! Interrupt some dowager as she made her point to some social-climbing mid-level politician or something.

I looked around and only half of the people were in costume. Dammit! It wasn’t mandatory!

Most of those in costume hadn’t put in much effort into their outfits, though – policemen, firefighters, construction workers, punk-rock guitar players and that kind of costume. For the girls, there was the slutty nurse, the Arabian princess, the cheerleader, Hermione from Harry Potter and a lot of ho-hum outfits. In my own humble opinion, I think I looked far better than most of them.

 

To me, this was the lamest of all cocktail parties ever, but you do what you need to do. Otherwise, I might lose my standing as staff photographer.

It had been more than three hours already, but somehow, I didn’t feel too tired. A while ago, I felt something weird – my breast implants suddenly felt different and the little twinges I still felt from time to time because of my gender realignment surgeries sort of disappeared. I also felt, I don’t know, looser, you know, down there, and my panties felt fuller behind me. I was glad I’d worn the full 60’s-style panties. And, I don’t know, I felt gigglier and more flirty. I thought I could last a couple more hours, especially with all this attention from everyone.

Anyway, I ignored the weirdness of it, and we continued standing around drinking watered-down drinks and eating little cubes of ham, pretending they were fancy canapés. I made the expected polite hi’s and hellos to the directors and the other bosses.

I sure wished that guy in the werewolf costume would stop bothering people with his leering and wolf-whistling and slobbering. Clearly, the guy in the Dracula costume was getting fed up with him, as well.

I decided to get another glass of champagne.

 

There were a few interesting costumes, though, and after hours of milling around and chatting, we all picked out our favorites for the best-in-costume contest. And, surprisingly, Pete, Simone and I were in the top twenty.

The twenty of us found ourselves ushered on stage as the director, in a lame Emperor Napoleon costume, stood there saying all the expected boring blah-blahs, and thanking everyone for the generous donations and contributions that the foundation had been receiving all year round, and toasting everyone.

He did an excellent French accent, though. I thought he wasn't French. Hmmm.

 

As we listened to the director drone on in his weird mish-mash of English and French for more than thirty minutes, I looked through the room. I changed my opinion. Most of the people in costume had actually done a good job with their outfits, after all. Very realistic!

“Everyone looks so cute!” I said to Pete.

He looked at me in a funny way. “I guess,” he said.

“You’re no fun!” I said, and leaned to my right. “Don’t you think so, sweetie?” I said to Simone.

She looked at me funny, as well. “’Sweetie?’ What’s wrong with you?” she said. “Why are you talking like that?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” I said breathily.

It would be so wonderful when they announced the winner! I hope I win!!! Heehee!

Suddenly, someone screamed. I couldn’t help myself and reacted as well with my own scream.

We looked down the line of people standing on stage and we saw the one in the werewolf costume struggling with the one in the Dracula costume. After a final punch at Dracula, werewolf guy leaped off the stage, screamed at everyone and ran to the fire exit. He ran on all fours, like a real wolf.

At the last moment, he turned back to us and howled. We all gasped at that, and he again turned and loped out of the fire door.

“My goodness!” I exclaimed.

“You shall not escape me, you foul denizen of the night!” the Dracula character declared in very over-acted yet authentic-sounding Transylvanian Bela Lugosi tones. What a cornball... He jumped off the stage and, with cape outstretched, like he was trying to take off, he ran after the werewolf.

Several of the others, mostly the ones dressed like policemen and soldiers, chased after them. “Come on, you jarheads!” the one dressed like a World War II marine yelled and waved for us to follow. Talk about stereotype GI dogfaces. Heehee.

Even the girls that were dressed like the slutty policewoman and the sexy soldier followed.

“I don’t understand what’s going on!” I exclaimed loudly in high, girly but sultry and sexy tones. Everyone turned to look at me, especially the men. Their expressions were unmistakable, and it made me want to hide or something. What had made me yell that! Why am I acting like a bimbo?

 

Suddenly, someone slammed open the ballroom’s main doors – I think it was our department’s assistant director - and ran into the room. He was carrying what looked like a TV remote control. He went directly to the director and whispered into his ear.

Clearly, the director didn’t want to believe and they had a short argument, the director’s faux-French accent echoing in the room.

“I can’t hear what they’re saying!” I whined plaintively, and one of the men near me, this one wearing a Prince Charles-esque costume, reached for my hand and patted it comfortingly.

“There, there, child,” he said in RP English. That was strange…

After a few minutes of arguing, the director turned back to us.

“Mesdames et Messieurs,” he began, “I have just been told ce qui s'est passé – umm, what has happened. I shall let l'assistant directeur explain.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man began, “about thirty minutes ago, this was broadcast on CNN and the three major networks nationwide. Normally, this would just have been laughed at, but the proof is all around. Here, let me play it for you.”

He pointed to the ceiling with the remote control and a projection screen started coming down. In a few moments, the news piece started playing.

Apparently, magic was real, and there were still witches and warlocks still around. And a bunch of these witches that called themselves the Shapers’ Coven had, for funzies, made a little magic spell. Well, not ‘little...’

Anyway, apparently, everyone that was affected was quite literally turned into the person that they were dressed as.

Oooh! So that’s why I was acting strangely! Goodness!

There were other details, but I didn’t think of any of that. I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone. But my phone had mutated into a retro something that someone like George Jetson would have used.

I dialed Dr. Tully’s number and fidgeted while it took its time connecting.

“Hello?” Dr. Tully said from the other end.

“Oh, Dr. Tully,” I said breathlessly (and sexily), “thank goodness you’re there!”

“Who’s this?” he responded.

“It’s me, Dr. Tully!” I said. “Don’t you recognize me? It’s me! Debbie!”

“Oh, no, Debbie,” he said. “You’ve been affected!”

“I knoooow!” I moaned, just like Marilyn Monroe would have. “I don’t know what to dooo!”

“Debbie, calm down! I know what’s happened. Keep it together!”

“But, but, but…”

He sighed. “What are you wearing?”

“I’m wearing a Marilyn Monroe costume!” I said excitedly, giggling. “You know? From that movie, The Seven Year Itch? It’s that one where Marilyn was wearing this white dress and, while she was walking over a subway grate, the air blew up and flipped her skirt up?” I giggled. “It was so funny but so sexy, too. And then…”

“Debbie, Debbie! Stop! Keep it together – whatever compulsions you have now, you can control it, Debbie! Just remember who you really are and you’ll be fine!”

“Oh, Doctor! Will I ever…”

“The ones on the news – those Shaper witches – they said that everyone that was affected will change back to normal at sunrise so long as you keep your costumes on and intact until sunrise, so just keep telling yourself you’re Debbie Delaney, and in a few hours you’ll be back to normal.

“But, Doctor… there are some people here…”

“I know. It’s happening all over the country. The authorities are doing their best to take care of it. Did anyone there change into anything dangerous?”

“Well, nooo… most of the people here had very lame costumes, so we’re mostly okay, except… oh, my goodness! There was one dressed like a werewolf and there was one like Dracula, and…” (I couldn’t seem to stop talking like Marilyn, darnit!)

“Say no more. Helen, Lucy and Jackson are actually on the way to you now. Sit tight – they’ll help you round up those Dracula and werewolf characters, and whoever else needs help.”

“Yayyyy! But… you know,” I whispered, “will the ghost be coming with the guys?” I remembered our new ghost team-mate.

“Dana?”

“Ummm, yes?”

“Yes, she is. So keep your camera handy. Did you bring the sunglasses?”

“Yes?”

“Good. Use them. You'll need the glasses and the camera to see Dana. I have to say goodbye for now – lots of other calls on the line.”

“Oh! All right. Thank you, Doctor.”

“And, by the way, you sound so cute right now.”

I couldn’t stop myself and giggled.

 

Pete, Simone and I sat at a table and drank some of the party’s remaining prosecco, and I looked into my bag. It seemed that my Canon Powershot had morphed into a vintage late-model Leica M-Series camera, but the lens’s material was still Dr. Tully’s lens, and my Wayfarers had turned into vintage cat eye sunglasses, but the lenses were also still Dr. Tully’s. I giggled at that.

Sitting beside me was Pete, and he was almost fuming. His head hadn’t really turned into a skull like Ghost Rider, with fire surrounding it. Instead, his face had turned so gaunt that it might as well have turned into a skull, and his face was so bright red, he looked almost apoplectic in barely-contained anger.

I put on my fancy sunglasses and, through the glasses, I could see a vague nimbus of something like fire surrounding his head.

“Yikes!” I exclaimed.

He did something and his skull-like head returned to normal, and the ghostly fire-aura disappeared.

I turned to Simone, and she looked pretty normal, even through the sunglasses, but I could feel a kind of cold coming off her.

She smiled at me as she sipped her prosecco. “I’m fine, sweetie,” she said, apparently reading my mind.

Well, I thought she was more than fine. She looked much thinner and cuter than before she changed.

She had complained that she was feeling warm and wanted to doff the cloak, but I was able to stop her in time. If she did that, she’d be like this permanently.

“Sunrise was like five hours away, honey,” I said. “You could take it off then?”

As for Pete, he wasn’t complaining much. Since he mostly looked like himself (when he wasn’t in his “Ghost Rider” persona), he didn’t mind it much.

As I was looking at him though my Jackie Kennedy glasses, I saw Dana fly through the doors and float towards me, smiling and waving.

I waved back, and I didn’t care if the people around me thought it was weird I was waving at nothing.

Dana stopped and floated in front of me. She gestured at me, up and down, and wolf whistled.

I giggled and waved her away in false modesty. Pete looked at me like I was crazy while Simone smiled in an indulgent way. Clearly, she knew to whom I was waving.

Seconds later, my friends, the rest of the unofficial Ghostbuster team of Flagstaff University, burst into the ballroom, and went directly to me. (Just to be clear, though, Flagstaff University isn’t in Arizona – it’s just the name.)

There was Jackson, our electronics guy, Helen, the tall, giggly blonde who’s our designated hacker, Lucy, our ass-kicking brunette analyst and all-around toughie, and, of course, our newest ghostly member, Dana, floating right beside me.

The girls gave me a hug, and Jackson wolf-whistled. “Wow, Debbie – you look super-sexy!”

I smiled and preened.

“So, Debbie,” Lucy said, “Doc said there were some people that were changed…”

“Oh, nothing dangerous except maybe for these two” – I gestured to Pete and Simone – “but they’re okay.” My guys nodded hello to the two. “Oh! There was also one who was dressed like a werewolf and another one like Dracula.”

“That could be a problem,” Helen said. “Where are they now?”

“Last we heard, they were running through the offices upstairs, being chased by Hogan’s Heroes.”

“Hogan’s heroes?”

“Oh, just a bunch rejects from the Police Academy movies,” I giggled. “Guests dressed as soldiers and policemen.”

Just then, we heard several shots.

I looked up and saw Dana waving towards the fire exit.

“Come on!” I said. “Dana’s signaling us to follow her!”

I got up and everyone followed me as I minced to the fire exit. Keeping in mind what Dr. Tully had said, I switched to normal running instead of the mincing, tapping fast-walk I’d originally fallen into.

I followed Dana up the stairwell as she floated up to the roof, and we came to the roof deck’s door. One of the people from the party that was dressed like a marine was blocking it.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” the man said, “I can’t let you through.”

“But we have to get up to the roof!” We heard several other shots.

“You’re very pretty,” the man said, “but this is a military operation. Please…”

Pete came up and slugged him in the face. The faux-marine fell down like a sack of potatoes.

“Military operation, my ass,” Pete growled.

“Petey!” I exclaimed. “You didn’t have to do that!”

What was I saying? I thought to myself. Petey? Really?

Anyway, I peeked around the metal door and saw several of the fake marines and police on the ground either dead or unconscious while the rest that were still standing were firing at the Dracula lookalike.

Dracula just stood there absorbing the shots, but he wasn’t really invulnerable – the bullets were actually hurting him but, for some reason, he was still standing.

Dracula had his right hand at the throat of the werewolf lookalike, the werewolf struggling in his grip, while he had his right arm wrapped around the sexy faux-policewoman as he fondled her. She was also struggling to escape.

It seemed that Pete couldn’t leave it alone. Taking the chain from around his shoulders, he used it to rush the vampire-lookalike, his face looking like it was about to burst into fire, and wrapped it around the Dracula-wannabe’s neck, forcing him to let his prisoners go.

The werewolf fell on the ground, unconscious, while the girl escaped and limped away. Helen and Lucy grabbed the girl and pulled her to safety.

Having let go of his prisoners, Dracula brought both his hands down and around Pete’s neck, and the two struggled, whoever choked the other first would be the winner. The others stopped firing so that they wouldn’t hit Pete, and tried to find a clear shot.

Dana floated in front of me to catch my attention, and waved to two of the unconscious fake policemen’s belts. I saw their handcuffs and tasers, nodded to the floating entity, grabbed the cuffs and tasers, and then ran towards Pete.

I crouched down and snapped a pair of handcuffs around werewolf-man’s wrists and another around his ankles, and then signaled Jackson to drag him away.

I then turned my attention to Faux-Dracula. I stood up, pressed both tasers against his temples and pressed the triggers.

That sent electricity directly into his brain and, after shaking in electric shock for a minute, he fell down unconscious.

After a beat, I giggled into the silence. “Wow! I’m good, aren’t I.”

A beat after that, I saw Dana giving me a razzberry.

 

A few hours later, the real military had come over and taken the affected people away. I was told that they were going to be put into holding cells until the morning, and since the witches said that, for those who were lucky enough to have stayed in their complete costumes, they should revert back to normal when the sun rose.

However, for the others who didn’t, the military would keep them isolated until the witches who’d started all of this could take charge of them.

As for Pete, Simone and I, we went home to my apartment while Jackson, Helen and Lucy went back to Flagstaff.

It was sad, though – Pete was permanently stuck the way he was. Simone, too.

Since Pete had inadvertently taken off his chain during his fight with Dracula, he couldn’t change back to normal anymore, but since he mostly looked like he used to, I think he didn’t really mind.

As for Simone, she had taken off her robe earlier, too, so she was stuck as well. But since she looked very similar to her old self, she could just pass for normal, and just pass as herself later after all of this is over, and just say she'd had a bunch of plastic surgeries, tattoos and a lot of liposuction to the people who knew her.

At present, the two of them were in the living room – Pete was sleeping on my couch while Simone was sitting and watching TV.

I looked at them from my bedroom door – Pete snoring and Simone munching popcorn. Without turning, Simone waved to me – she didn’t need to look: she just knew I was there.

I knew enough of the Ghost Rider comics that I knew what Pete could do now, but I didn’t know much about the Death character from Sandman. I guess I’d find more about it later.

As for me – well, I didn’t really have any special abilities, except to look and sound sexy. But at least I knew now that I didn’t have to act like a bimbo if I didn’t want to.

But if I did, I knew that I could make most guys do anything I wanted just by asking. I guess that’s enough of a super power for me.

But at the moment, I had a question I needed to ask myself.

I could now be a real girl if I wanted. My only worry was that I might lose my photography skills, and whatever other talents I had learned or accumulated over the years if I permanently stayed this way. And, of course, I’d have wasted the thousands of dollars I spent for my GRS and other operations… Well, not really.

I took my little Canon camera, which had changed into a vintage Leica film camera. Nope – this camera won’t do.

I grabbed my other camera, the DSLR, and tested things – taking pictures of my bedroom, living room, the buildings outside my window, and everything else inside the apartment. I grinned – seemed I hadn’t lost any of my photographer’s magic.

Hmmm…

I guess I’ll take a shower, i said to myself.

I took off my white dress as well as my underwear, went to the bathroom and had a long, refreshing shower.

After my shower, and as I rubbed the water from my bright-blonde hair with my towel, I watched the sun peek over the horizon.

“Good morning, Marilyn,” Simone said.

“No,” I replied. “It’s Debbie, actually.”

---end---

P.S. The picture was a collage made from publicly accessible pictures of Marilyn Monroe, Ghost Rider, the Grim Reaper and other pictures. No ownership is claimed. No IP infringement is intended.

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