Plus-One With A Vengeance : 7 / 29

[ An Altered Fates Story ]
by Iolanthe Portmanteaux

 

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"We'd all do well to start over again, preferably with kindergarten."
— Kurt Vonnegut

---

 

Friday evening, over dinner, out of the blue, and quite bluntly, Max told me, "The move is off. You're staying."

"I am?" I replied, a little put out by his peremptory tone.

"No, you're not. I mean, yes, you're not moving. This whole thing totally pisses me off. The only reason you would move out — the only reason that I would let you move out — is because of Amber: because she's manipulated everything. And I mean everything — you, me, every woman in town..." He shook his head.

"You're just worried you won't find a replacement cook," I quipped.

"Well, you have gotten pretty good," he admitted. "To be honest, you've had a couple clunkers, but a few times you really amazed me. Which reminds me: my mother wants to come over." He blushed.

"So I can cook for her? Or so we can cook together?"

"I don't know. I didn't think to ask. Both? Either?"

"Either is fine," I told him, although I did have a moment of what have I gotten myself into?

"You know," Max began, "Changing subject — you told me that you get offers of work from headhunters and corporate recruiters — programming jobs. Is that still true?"

"Oh, yeah," I replied. "Every day!"

"How come you don't take them?"

"Well... at first I was so burned out by my experience at the startup..." I paused. "The idea of sitting all day, long days, doing nothing but writing code, almost made me physically ill. Now... well, now I guess I like my life the way it is. It's peaceful. I'm sort of off the grid. Not really, but I hardly use my computer or phone nowadays." I gestured lamely, and repeated, "I really like the way my life is now."

"Cooking? Taking care of apartments?"

"Yeah. I like what I'm doing."

"So what, then? You've given up your professional life? You'll never go back to programming?"

"I wouldn't say never. I think it's just a break. Eventually I'll probably fall in love with coding again, and then it will be different."

"Fall in love?" he repeated, his eyebrows dancing with amusement. "I had no idea you were such a romantic!"

I rolled my eyes.

 

---

 

It turned out that Max had another reason for not wanting me to go — a bit far-fetched and slightly paranoid, but I understood. Naturally, it had to do with Amber. As we were cleaning up after dinner, Max told me that Amber had been leaving him messages. Notes, specifically. Dropped outside our door, left with the receptionist at Max's office, stuck in the windshield of his car. After the first few, he began discarding them unread.

"They're bizarre, psychotic things," he said. "She says all kinds of crazy stuff and tries to get into my head. Hinting that she could come back and forgive me, if you can believe that."

"Forgive you? Forgive you for what?"

"For you, obviously." He growled in frustration. "She also makes hints about Nessa's wedding. And this really pisses me off. She was going to come as my plus-one. Obviously there's no way that's going to happen... but get this: she said she'd still be willing, but only if I kicked you out and swore I'd never see you again."

"Jesus!"

"I know. Sorry. Anyway, somehow she's gotten to be great friends with Nessa, and not only Nessa, but also Nessa's mother, who is my aunt, AND the groom's sister and mother!"

"My God, she never stops, does she? She's insidious!"

"Now, as it turns out, that's how Amber weaseled her own invitation, AND she is bringing her own plus-one!"

"And her plus-one is—?"

"I don't know and I don't care. It isn't me, and that's all that counts. But now I'm determined — come hell or high water, I am going to find a date for the wedding, and not just a date, but a HOT date. I don't care if I have to pay someone, but I am not going alone."

"Why not go alone? You can brave it out. Would it really be so bad?"

"No — if I'm alone, Amber will try to get in there. She'll stick her arm through mine. She'll be in every picture by my side. She won't just try to get back together with me; she'll do her best to make it seem that we ARE back together. I can't let that happen. I need somebody to occupy that space, so that Amber can't step into it."

"You really think Amber would try to get back together with you?"

"She IS trying. She's already trying! Haven't you been listening?"

"Oh!" I exclaimed. Suddenly a light came on in my head. "And if *I* move out, you're afraid that Amber will move in! Aren't you!"

"Yes," he said. "I'm not ashamed to admit it. I mean, if you're not here, I'm certain she'll find a way to move all her crap back in, the same way she snuck everything out. I wouldn't put it past her. She's nuts, and I want her out of my life. Definitively. I've got to close every opening, nail up every window and door, and not give her even the smallest toehold."

 

---

 

From that point, Max began to really scrape the bottom of the barrel of his desperation, although his attempts to find a date were stealthy. He briefly tried a dating app, concentrating on women from out of town. He again went through his college and high-school yearbooks, this time googling nearly every woman, trying to find someone who looked good but lived outside of Amber's baleful influence. Once again, he didn't call any of them.

"This is hopeless!" he exclaimed. "It's too complicated!" He was also finding that many of his old crushes and flames were married.

"You know," he confided one night, when he was more than a little tipsy, "I do have a kind of date of last resort. In case of emergency, break glass, right?"

He had the air of a man with a dirty little secret, so his confidential whispering made me uneasy. "Who is she?"

He put his finger to his lips and made the shhh sound. I shook my head. "Max, you are so drunk."

He sighed heavily. "Just take it as my coping mechanism, okay? It's not like I drink all the time."

"You're right," I admitted. "So who is this girl of last resort? And what makes her so out of the ordinary?"

He leaned close and in a stage whisper, hissed, "She's my cousin."

"Oh, come on, Max! You can't be serious."

"I'm not serious," he objected. "I'm drunk. Anyway, she is a DISTANT cousin — I'm not even sure if we're related at all. Probably by marriage or whatnot. Not consagui— constabulary, whatever. Anyway, this girl is hot as hell, believe me. I'm seriously thinking of calling her. I'm pretty sure she'd say yes. She's a wild little devil, and she'd do it for a laugh."

"Okay," I said, in a dubious tone, stretching out my okay to make it clear that I only meant, I hear the sounds you're making, but I am not implying agreement or approval. I was about to suggest that he at least wait until he's sober to call, but he wasn't finished talking.

"The problem is," Max continued, "Nessa knows her, too. She'd know who she was, and I would never live it down. Never."

I only tell that anecdote to show how far he'd fallen; how low he'd sunk; how desperate he'd become.

The turning point came when Max's mother — I mean Melissa — came over to bake with me. I hadn't yet ventured into that part of the cooking world, so this was my baptism with flour. We made extensive use of the big kitchen island, creating breads, focaccia, and a killer apple pie. There was flour everywhere. As we worked, I brought Melissa up to date on Max's state of affairs. I even told her about the distant cousin, and it nearly broke her heart.

"He is right," she admitted. "She is very pretty, and very, very wild. And it's true that she's only related by marriage, so technically it wouldn't be a problem, but he'd be making a fool of himself if he brought her. She's such a crazy little thing, she'd probably say yes, just for a laugh. And for whatever trouble she could cause." She shook her head sadly. "It could backfire for any number of reasons, aside from the stigma of dating his cousin."

When Max came in, Melissa ran to him and hugged him and hugged him and wouldn't let go. She cooed, "My poor baby! My poor baby!" over and over.

"What did you tell her?" he asked me over her shoulder. I shrugged in what I hoped was an innocent way.

"You know," Melissa told him, wiping her nose and getting flour on her cheek, "I'll bet your Aunt Viv could help you."

At the mention of that name, Max's face went white. "How?" he asked.

"I don't know," Melissa admitted, "but she knows more people than God, and she's the wisest woman I know."

"And the scariest," Max added.

"That, too," Melissa admitted. "But I bet she could find a date for you."

 

---

 

To make a long story short, Melissa called her sister-in-law, Max's Aunt Vivianne. She went into another room to make the call and she closed the door, so I didn't hear any of the conversation. It lasted twenty-five minutes. Melissa emerged and declared that Vivianne would stop over on Wednesday after dinner. Melissa had already told her the whole story, as she understood it, but Vivianne wanted to hear it from Max and me, from start to finish.

Wednesday arrived. Max's nerves were on edge from anticipation; he had a hard time eating dinner. "I've got such a knot in my stomach," he complained.

"Is she really so bad?" I asked. "I mean, if she's so scary, why would your mother want her to come?"

"I don't think she scares everyone," Max admitted, "but she's always frightened me."

When Viv arrived, she shook our hands in a businesslike way. She was dressed in a conservatively cut white tailleur. Her hair was a caramel-blonde bob that seemed to radiate control. She was in her late forties, I judged, with a good figure and a nice face. She did have an air of command and was clearly used to having her own way. I could see why Max felt so intimidated.

She had less of that effect on me, I suppose because I didn't have any childhood memories of her as my scary aunt. I won't say I wasn't intimidated, but I didn't experience the same fear and anxiety as Max.

To my surprise, she wanted to hear the story from my point of view first. She asked a lot of questions, and prompted me to talk about my family, the death of my mother, my father's move to Florida, and a brief overview of my dating history — which didn't take long to tell. I didn't understand why she needed to know all of that, and in retrospect I'm surprised that I spilled my guts so readily.

She was particularly interested in my conversations with Kitty. She had some very detailed questions about who said what, and the sequence of remarks. It was odd, yes, but I was already in a momentum of confession; whatever she asked, I answered.

Then she turned her attention to Max and asked him whether anything was missing from my account. He took a deep breath and soon found himself recounting the story of his relationship with Amber. At one point I couldn't contain myself, and I blurted out the question, "Max! What on earth attracted you to her in the first place?"

Vivianne glanced at me with an expression that read I'll allow the question, and she turned her gaze expectantly to Max.

"Well," he mused. "The thing is, Amber is pretty hot. That's what struck me at first. Initially, it was physical. The first time I saw her, she was wearing this tight bathing suit, and I..." His attention drifted off into his memory and held there momentarily. "Then, as I got to know her, it was her clarity. She is so sure about everything! No doubts, no questions. I mean, to me, life is a big mystery. Why are we here? What are doing with our lives? Other people — other people can be hard to read. But Amber was always absolutely positive she knew what everyone was up to. For her, the world is black and white, with hard edges. She's like Judge Dredd in a more attractive package."

Viv didn't comment until after Max had unburdened himself. At that point, Viv offered only one observation, "For a woman... honestly for any person to vanish the way she did... is simply not normal. To say that her whisper campaign is vile and manipulative, is to say too little."

Then she nodded, rose to her feet, and instructed Max to come see her on Friday after work.

"Be ready to stay the weekend," she warned him. There was something in her manner that made you feel you had to obey, and in fact, Max acquiesced with a nod.

"What are you going to do?" I asked her. Something in her manner, in her tone, got my hackles up. Frankly, I was worried about Max; worried about his safety. I don't know why, but the feeling was strong.

"I'm going to show Max a possible solution," she told me. "There is what seems to me a fairly obvious and even elegant solution, but it does come with a certain cost. And I need to know that Max understands that cost."

"I hope he will," I told her, "because I sure as hell don't."

Her only response was to smile and squeeze my hand. I'm sure it was meant to be reassuring, but it wasn't. My question remained unanswered.

 

---

 

Dutifully, Max packed his bag Thursday night and took it to work with him Friday morning.

"What do you think is going to happen?" I asked before he left.

"I'm expecting a kind of Dating Game," he said, smiling nervously. "Remember that show? You know, she'll introduce me to a couple of women and see who I hit it off with."

"Sounds promising," I said. "But I don't remember her saying anything like that."

"No, she didn't, but what else could it be? How else could she possibly help me?"

"I don't know, but I didn't like it when she mentioned a cost. Didn't that creep you out? Maybe you have to sell your soul to her, or to her demon master."

Max didn't laugh. "Aunt Viv has always creeped me out. She's one scary lady." He paused for a moment, reflecting. "You know, though, there have always been whispers about her, that she's into some kinky stuff. Maybe she's going to introduce me to a domme or to a trans girl or to someone woman who's fallen under her spell."

"I hadn't thought of that," I admitted. "How would you feel about that?"

"As long as the woman is good looking and has a decent personality, I'm game." He smiled, a little ruefully. "Whoever she is, whatever she is, she'd be doing me a huge favor. Anyway, let's face it: at this point, I've got nothing to lose."

Or so he thought.

 

---

 

I spent Friday night alone. I was a little nervous, but nothing like the nights when I was here by myself after Christmas. I slept in my own bed, I didn't worry about Amber breaking in, and I didn't wake up once.

Early Saturday morning I was in the kitchen. It was my first attempt at making popovers, and I was anxious. Partly because I was afraid the popovers wouldn't come out right, but mainly because I was worried about Max.

Max came in the back door just as I was pouring the popover batter into the tins. It was only 7:30 in the morning, but he looked like a wreck. He was visibly shaken, pale, clearly unnerved. I was shocked and even frightened to see the state he was in.

"Max!" I cried, "You look like you've seen a ghost! Were you in a car accident or something?"

He looked at me with hollow eyes and cried, "Worse! Much worse!"

He opened a cabinet, and clumsily took out a short tumbler. With some difficulty he clumsily set the glass on the counter and tried to still his shaky hands. He picked up a bottle of whiskey, but it seemed to come alive in his hand. The neck was pointing in every direction as he tried to unscrew the cap. I had no doubt that if he succeeded in opening the bottle, more whiskey would land on the counter and the floor than in his glass. I took the bottle away from him, saying, "Hang on, let me." I twisted off the cap. "Are you sure you want this?" I managed to smell his breath but didn't catch any whiff of alcohol.

"I need it," he rasped in a throaty whisper. "If you saw what I've seen..."

I poured an ounce. He gestured more. I poured another ounce. He gestured more. I poured half a cup, and he drank it off all at once with a shudder. He looked a little better.

"One more," he croaked.

"Max!" I protested.

"One more!" So I poured another half cup and put the cap back on the bottle. He threw the whiskey down his throat, and to my surprise, he stopped shaking.

"Better," he said. "Much better."

"What happened to you?" I asked, full of concern.

"Oh, my God," he said. "You don't want to know. And I can't tell you, so don't ever ask me. It's insane, completely insane. You wouldn't believe me, anyway." He looked down and shook his head, as if trying to wake up. "I don't believe it myself." He cleared his throat, straightened up, and squared his shoulders. "Now, I'm going to go get changed, then I'm going to go for a run, a long run, and then—" he spread his hands, palms forward, as though he was gently pushing open a pair of doors. "—and then, I'm just going back to being normal again. How about that?"

"Yeah," I said. "How about it?" I had no idea what he was talking about.

I finished portioning out the popover batter and set the pans in the oven. He came downstairs in his jogging clothes, and went out the front door.

I called Melissa and asked for Vivianne's phone number. I made a lame excuse about Max having forgotten something.

Then I called Vivianne and demanded an explanation. "Ah," she said. "You're very protective of your friend. That's good. I noticed that when we spoke."

"Yes, I am," I told her. "And I want to know: What did you do to him? He looks terrible, like he's been through some kind of trauma."

"Yes," she admitted. "He reacted badly. I tried to prepare him, but honestly, I didn't expect that sort of reaction. How is he coping?" I told her about the two whiskeys and the jogging, and she said, "Well, he'll be alright, then. If he gets really distressed or upset, please call me. I'll come right over."

"But what did you do to him?" I repeated.

"It's difficult to explain. It's better if I show you."

"And *will* you show me?"

"Of course," she replied. "Could you come by this evening after five, and be ready to stay for a couple of days? Otherwise, you could come next Friday."

"No, screw it!" I shouted. "I'm coming over right now, and I want some straight answers."

She didn't react to my strong language or my shouting. She answered me as though we were both speaking calmly, in a friendly way. "Believe me, you will have your answers. You'll understand everything," she said. "But can I ask you one more question? Do you remember what you told me about your conversation with Kitty? You said that you'd go to the wedding with Max if you were a girl. Would you really? Are your feelings that strong?"

"Feelings!?" I shouted. "He's my best friend!"

"But would you do that, if you could? If you were a girl?"

"What kind of question is that?" I asked, taken aback, and more than a little offended.

"It's a yes/no question," she replied. "Would you?"

"Sure!" I shouted. "Of course I would! And if I had wings, I'd fly! Anything else?"

"No," she acknowledged in a smooth tone. "I'm sorry that you're so upset, but once you're here, you'll understand."

"I hope so."

I almost hung up, but she stopped me, asking, "Do you have my address?" I didn't. She dictated it to me, and then I caught a whiff of my popovers.

"Excuse me," I told her. "I'll be over after I take my popovers out of the oven."

"How lovely," she commented.

And THEN I hung up on her.

 

---

 

I didn't tell Max where I was going, but when I said I might be gone for a few days, he looked distinctly uncomfortable. "You can call me if you need me," I said.

"I'll be fine," he answered, but he didn't sound fine.

It was a short walk to my car. Along the way I was very aware of the heat from my popovers, which were wrapped in a kitchen towel in a small paper bag. I left some for Max on the kitchen island.

Vivianne Errison, Max's aunt, lived in the rich part of town. Her house — like the woman — was beautiful, imposing, stately, intimidating.

She received me in a small sitting room, and had tea waiting. "I know it's a bit late for tea," she said, "but it's a good small thing in socially awkward situations. Do I smell popovers?"

"Yes, you do. And I'm sorry for shouting and swearing at you, but I'm worried about Max. I want to know what you did to him."

"Right you are," she said. "Then let's take care of that first, shall we? and after we'll have tea and popovers. Have you ever heard of the Medallion of Zulo?"

"No."

"It's a strange sort of token, and it happened to come into my possession. There's a lot that I could tell you about it, but to keep this as brief an explanation as possible, it's a device that can turn one person into another."

"Oh, what BS!" I exclaimed. My feelings were still hot.

"I don't expect you to believe it—"

"That's good, because I don't."

"Fine. Now, if you don't believe it, you won't mind trying it, will you? Then, when it doesn't work, you can heap all the mockery you like on me, and I will dutifully listen until you're done. Will you try it?"

"Sure," I said.

"I'll do to you exactly what I did to Max, which is to turn you into a little girl."

"A little— what? Oh, jeez. Why?"

"We can go into the why of it afterward, but let's start the demonstration first."

She opened a necklace case and lifted out a small medallion on a chain. She carefully, gingerly set it around my neck, then picked up a young girl's dress that was draped over a nearby chair. It was a sleeveless dress with a flared skirt in bright royal blue with a white band across the waist. She touched the dress to the medallion and smiled a little smile. Nothing happened. I didn't feel anything, and I didn't change. As she draped the dress back over the chair, I reached for the chain, to take the medallion off.

"Wait!" she said. "Just leave it!"

"Nothing happened," I pointed out. "Are we supposed to pretend?"

"No," she said, "We wait for half an hour. That's how long the transformation takes. I suggest that in the next few moments, we might sample your popovers."

"What is the point of this?" I asked her.

"You said that you'd go with Max to the wedding if you were a girl. This will allow you to be that girl. If — of course — if and only if you really meant it."

"A little girl?" I laughed. "He's not going to take a little girl to the wedding, even if this crazy thing could do that."

She stood, picked up the dress again, and led me through a doorway into a smaller room. It had a small platform a few inches high and about five feet square. The platform stood in front of a full-sized three-way mirror. In the far corner stood a privacy screen. Near the door we entered were two small armchairs and a tiny occasional table. "This is my fitting room," Vivianne explained. "Why don't you step up there, on the platform, so you can watch yourself in the mirror." I stepped up. She stood nearby, looking up at me. To my surprise, my eye level began to lower, and Vivianne correspondingly lowered her gaze. Now I could see changes. They slowly developed, but they were quite definitely happening. My arms and legs grew thinner. Vivianne's eyes grew closer in level to mine as I shrank in size. My hair streamed out of my scalp and spilled down to my shoulders. At the same time, my head became narrower and more childlike, both in size and aspect.

"How can this be happening?" I exclaimed. I was now on the same eye level as Vivianne. "Did you hypnotize me? Was there something in the tea?"

"No, I didn't hypnotize you, and no you didn't have any tea. Not that there's anything in it anyway. Here," she said, handing me the dress, "Why don't you go behind that screen before your clothes fall off? There's some underwear back there, some socks and shoes, and obviously you'll need to put on the dress, as soon as you're small enough that it fits you."

I gathered up my pants legs and awkwardly shuffled my way behind the privacy screen. When I lifted my feet, my shoes fell off. I let my pants and underwear fall to the ground, and shoved my massively large shirt off over my head. My body was now slim, small, and hairless. There on a chair was a pair of pink underwear with lace trim and a little bow in front. I slid them on. They fit perfectly. Then I got into the socks, which also fit my tiny feet perfectly. I looked at the dress. It seemed totally foreign. I hardly knew where to begin. I took the obvious first step of undoing the buttons. "Which end of the dress goes on first?" I called.

Vivianne answered, "Step into the dress. Don't pull it over your head. If you can't do up the back, come out and let me help you."

I got the dress on. I stepped into the shoes, which were black, shiny, and round-toed. I picked up the clothes I'd worn in, my pants, shirt, underwear, and socks, and arranged them neatly on the chair. I tucked my wallet and keys into one of my shoes and set my shoes underneath the chair.

Stepping out from behind the screen, I told her, "I can't reach the buttons." (To tell the truth, I didn't really try.)

"That's fine," she said. "Come over here." She placed me in front of the mirror, gently turned me to face it, and began buttoning me in. When I saw myself as a little girl, my jaw fell open.

"You didn't wear your hair band!" she chided gently, and went behind the screen to fetch it. It was a red plastic band that she placed on my head. "It will keep your hair off your forehead," she explained.

I studied my image in the mirror. "This is crazy," I exclaimed. "How can this even happen?"

"Magic," she replied simply.

"There's no such thing," I said by reflex.

"Oh, well then!" she laughed. "You've got me!"

I studied my face up close: my eyes, my teeth, my cheekbones... "Who am I now?" I asked her.

"Who are you? You're you, Elliot. You're you. The you you'd be if you were born a girl."

"And what am I... ten?"

"About that."

"But what does this accomplish?" I asked her. I stepped back a little from the mirror, turning my hips back and forth to make the dress swish. I twisted around so I could see myself from different angles.

"Several things. First of all, it shows you that it's true; that the medallion actually works. Now you believe me, don't you?" I nodded. "Good! Now let's try those popovers and hope they aren't too cold."

The popovers were pretty good, considering how they'd cooled off and that it was my first attempt.

Vivianne chatted with me. I dangled and swung my legs — which no longer reached the floor. She told me more about the medallion and its rules. It all seemed impossible — and not just impossible, but ridiculously impossible — and yet here I was, a ten-year-old girl in a bright blue dress. I turned my head this way and that, just to feel my hair trail across my neck and shoulders. My hair. Can you believe it?

"You make a quite pretty little girl," Vivianne told me. I couldn't help but blush.

"So, this is what you did to Max?" I asked.

"Yes, do you understand why?"

I sighed. "I think so. Your idea was to change me into a girl so I could be his date. I'm not sure that that's the greatest idea, by the way."

"We'll see. In any case, I did this to Max because I wanted him to understand that it was possible for me to transform you, but that it would come at a cost."

"What cost is that?" I asked.

"The cost to you," she explained, frowning. "You don't feel that this costs you anything?"

I shrugged. "Not particularly. I don't think so. I mean, it's just a part to play."

"No," she said. "No, it's not. You won't be playing a part. You'll BE someone else. A different person."

"But always me."

"Yes and no. Are you still you, right now?"

"Ahhh..." I paused, awkwardly. Then I sighed, acquiescing. "Okay, I see your point."

"You will feel differently. You'll see yourself differently. You'll have different needs and desires. Also, and perhaps more importantly, everyone else will see you differently and treat you differently."

I thought about it for a moment. Then, "So, when you did this to Max—"

"—he freaked out. He demanded that I change him back immediately. He was angry, frightened... almost hysterical."

"Then why did he only come back this morning?"

"Because I couldn't return him to his own form right away. Your body needs at least twelve hours to recover before you can change again. The instant Max's twelve hours were up, I changed him back."

"Poor guy!" I exclaimed.

"Hmmm," was Vivianne's only comment.

"But why a little girl?" I asked. Vivianne let out an exasperated sigh.

"Well, this has nothing to do with either you or Max, but in the past... well, it's because there were two young men who were transformed into women, and they both went hog-wild sexually, and it was not a good thing. One got herself pregnant almost right away, and had to remain a woman forever. The other... well. It's a long story."

She reached out and gave my hand a squeeze. "This way, you can have some experience as a girl — in fact, you'll gain some memories of life as a little girl — leaving the whole sexual aspect of womanhood completely out of the picture. As an introduction to the medallion, it's much less complicated this way."

"I see." I swung my legs a bit more, then looked around the room, and happened to see a clock. "Oh! So what time will I change back?"

"It's not automatic," she answered. "You need to use the medallion and your own clothes to change back, and you won't be able to do that before 8:30 tonight."

"What will we do in the meantime?"

"I want you to experience some aspects of life as a girl, and if you don't mind, I'd like to change you back on Monday morning."

"Okay, I guess," I replied, after a few moment's thought. "Can I call Max to tell him I'm going to be away?"

"Ah... you could, but it might not be a good idea. He won't recognize your voice, for one thing, and knowing you're a little girl might trigger him."

"Mmm."

"Why not send him a text?"

"Good idea!"

 

---

 

After a little more discussion, we went for a walk outside. But not before Vivianne gave me a lesson in using the bathroom while wearing a dress. Talk about complicated!

We walked slowly, leisurely, through Vivianne's neighborhood. She instructed me to call her "Aunt Viv" (the way Max does), and told me, "Now, as to what we call you: how do you like the name Lorelei?"

"It's a bit much," I said.

"Fine. Then Darcy."

"Okay," I agreed.

"Darcy Meriset."

"What?"

"It's just a made-up name. Go with it. And remember: you're ten years old. So what grade are you in?"

"Fifth grade."

"Good girl."

"And where do you live?"

We worked our way through my personal info — what's they'd call my legend if I were a spy.

It was interesting, exciting, and fun to experience the sensations that come with wearing a dress, the way it shifts over the body. I loved the sensation of the air and the occasional breeze on my bare legs. I kept tilting my head back and forth, to feel my hair sway.

"You're liking this, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," I replied, smiling. "Shouldn't I?"

"No, it's fine! Although you ought to expect some negative reactions, fear, shock, and disbelief, at some point."

"Maybe," I acknowledged.

"Still, if you like being a little girl this much, you'll probably enjoy being a grown-up girl as well. We can give that a try before the weekend is up, if all goes well."

I shrugged, then tipped my head back and waggled it, so I could feel my hair dangling past my shoulder blades.