I moved uncomfortably in the bed. Whatever the decisions, having put that bodysuit on again made me feel embarrassed like hell. Hadn’t I done it the previous evening, I probably wouldn’t dare to do it now.

Okay. If I will be trying again to secure a job in that company, let’s look up the name of its boss. See why I feel I have seen it before.

The first thing the Net search returned was a Wikipedia article. Acad. Prof. Sergio Montafun, Honorary Chairman of the European Statisticians Society. Laureate of two World Statistics Excellence Awards, the equivalent of Nobel for statisticians. Inventor of seven new methods in Bayesian and multi-group statistics, co-author of more than a dozen others. One of the creators of the experimental statistics. Author of over 10 university textbooks on statistics, used all around the world – I probably had studied by some of these. Considered to be the greatest statistician alive and one of the all-time greatest. 76 years old… So, that is how he manages to get orders from the European Commission. He was the living God of statistics.

Wow! I was going to work for him!

And I was going to lie to him. Shame…

But I had to stay out of prison. From the rumors I had heard about the debt collection lawyers, I didn’t doubt that if they learned about the bodysuit, they would try to put me in the prison in it, and without the remote to prevent me from taking it off. As a reward for their pals the violent mafiosi enforcers there…

Let’s go! A human being is not just an appearance – he needs documents. She, that is. Can I do something about that?

As a start, I photographed myself – that is, the suit – on the backdrop of the white bathroom wall, and also my statistics diploma. Downloaded on the screen a good free graphics program from the Net and started painstakingly replacing my photo and name in the diploma image. The digital copy studio a block away sometimes dropped into the mailboxes around vouchers for three free copies or prints, and I had a couple of these – would print my forgery and present it as a photocopy.

Alexandra looked a good name to me – I could say that I am called Alex, and avoid being stuck with some overly feminine name. Surname… Manzoni? It was only just to honor Mom’s memory, by using her maiden family. Entered a birthdate three years after mine – the bodysuit looked about 17-18 years old, but so young a girl couldn’t have majored with a Master’s degree. She had to be 21 at least. Well, there are youthful-looking people, right?… After several hours of work, the forgery looked pretty convincing.

Now, the hardest part. If Massimo wasn’t at work, or if he would get cold feet, everything would fail… I switched my phone off, glued a piece of duct tape over the screen’s cam, turned the mic off and sent a chat nudge to him. In a few seconds came a reply:

> why on chat?

> everyone in the country and EU uses our DB – police, taxmen… no way!

I clenched my teeth and, burning with shame, went for the nuclear option:

< man, remember when you slipped under Monte Rosa?

< are you there for me when I am in need?

After a bit of silence Massimo wrote back:

> okay, but youll owe me a big dinner, I gave you one then

> is the GF beautiful? :) guess so, if you are so hooked

I sadly thought about the reflection in the mirror.

< yeah… supermodel plus level, pops your eyes out

> happens often, nobodys gonna pay attention, God bless Italian sloppiness

In ten minutes, Alexandra became a legal country citizen. Now, I could have documents in her name, receive a salary etc.… But that could wait.

I dialed the company. Almost immediately there was the voice of the woman in their lobby:

“Montafun Statistics, how I can help you?”

“Umm… A friend of mine told me that you offer a job for statistician. Is it still available?”

“Yes, Miss. Could you come for an interview tomorrow? Say, 10 o’clock? Bring your resume and diploma on paper, our boss prefers them this way. Your name, please?”

“Alexandra Manzoni. But everyone calls me—”

“Thank you, Ms. Manzoni. I hope to see you tomorrow.”

“Yoooo-hoooo!!!”

I jumped from the chair and started dancing some tribal dance. Everything was going just perfectly!

Then suddenly a thought shot through my head. What if someone was spying on random windows? And watched now a prime beauty dancing naked…

Next moment, I was back in the chair, legs closed, hands over my… bodysuit’s nether parts. Then guessed to move one of them over the breasts. Had to put on something, just for the case some wacko is watching.

And had to wear something for the interview, too. They might recognize my suit, and besides it, I had only mountaineering clothes. Okay, women also wore these, I had seen them countless times.

When I tried to get into them, another surprise expected me. The pants were just too narrow for the bodysuit, by the tiniest bit, but I couldn’t get into them. The shirt and the jacket suddenly had become a size or two big. And the shoes were at least two sizes big, my feet were skiing inside them. The bodysuit feet, that is. Shit!…

There was something else, too. Women could wear whatever they wanted, but still… If men have to wear a suit for a job interview, women probably also had to be dressed officially. But what was the official female garb?

After some hesitation, I took a nylon trash bag out of the wardrobe. Sandra didn’t want to live with me in so small a place, but often spent the night here, and kept here a set of work clothes, to go straight to work in the morning. When we parted, she forgot to take them. I had put them in a trash bag, but never carried it to the bins. Secretly hoped first that she will return, and then simply forgot about them.

In there was a black skirt, a white blouse, a nylon package with three pairs of black tights, and a pair of shoes. If these were good enough for working as a secretary, they should be good enough for a job interview too. No panties or bra – happily! I did not feel ready to put on such things.

The blouse fit me well, except for being a bit tight in the chest – the breasts of the bodysuit weren’t huge, but were bigger than Sandra’s. The skirt was down to about mid-thigh and tight, and made walking noticeably harder. Why the hell women wear so inconvenient clothes? Why they inflict that on themselves? I could never understand it. Except by believing that they aren’t normal. That they suffer from a craziness caused by having two X chromosomes…

The shoes were the worst part. They fit perfectly by size, but had a six-centimeter stiletto heel. Why the hell women would… No, they definitely couldn’t be normal.

I tried to walk in the shoes. On the second step found myself on the floor, face down. Luckily, the breasts of the bodysuit softened the hit. Hadn’t thought that women have an advantage with that, too… Okay, maybe they hurt if they fall on their breasts, but I didn’t. Hooray!

After an hour of walking in heels I had mastered it enough to not fall and to feel relatively stable. Small strides, careful balance, much like on rocks covered with ice… My feet however were hurting. There are no mountaineers with weak feet, but those shoes weren’t made for walking in them. Any doubt that I might have that women are crazy had evaporated.

I was about to declare Alexandra ready for the interview, when my eyes stopped on the package with the tights. Sandra never went to work without these – probably they had to go with the other clothes.

Took a pair out of the package and put them on. Turned out, they had a lot of snags. How that was possible? They were new… And were twisted, which looked rather ugly. I tried to set them straight – that ran more snags. What a flimsy thing! Women are…

After a bit of thinking, I turned the screen on and started browsing through rom-coms. Soon found a scene where a woman was putting tights on. Rolling them all up in hands and then inserting her leg, handling them gently enough to not run snags. I took off the tights that were already in tatters and tried to put on another pair in this way, very carefully… Did it – there were neither snags nor twists!

What else did that woman in the movie, while preparing for a meeting? Make-up – I neither had any, nor was going to put any on even if the hell freezes over. Perfume too. Hair brushing – I didn’t even have a brush, and the hair of the bodysuit looked great without any of that.

Without a single penny, I would have to walk to Montafun’s office. In those heels. For a package that makes walking and dancing in heels easy, please visit the company online shop. Only 30,000… Okay, I should be able to walk an hour and a half in them, no matter what.

Now, let’s take the damned suit off… Ooops! 8 hours for taking it off, 8 more for putting it on – I didn’t had that time!… Neither I would have it during the working days, would be able to be myself only during the weekends!

I was really pissed off, but had to acknowledge – that still was better than the prison. Even if not by much.

The morning procedure was not exactly my usual one. For a start, I remembered that I won’t need shaving only after covering the chin of the bodysuit with cream. Taking shower in it brought another surprise – washing the body parts that didn’t belonged to me felt too good both to my hands and… well, to these parts. To my utter embarrassment, I felt like really having them, and touching them was way more pleasant than I expected. It was an effort to finish that shower… But combing the hair of the bodysuit turned out very easily – I had kept it from getting wet, knowing that it won’t dry quickly, and I didn’t have a hair dryer. Just shaking it once turned out enough for it to fall in a way as neat as if it was combed by a hairdresser.

At 8:00, the reflection in the mirror looked good to me. I checked it once again – blouse, skirt, damned tights, triple damned heels. Time to go!

The clicks of the heels on the floor rang through the silent staircase like gunshots. I didn’t knew if the bodysuit was blushing, but I felt I was. Luckily, I met nobody. Even Aunt Lauretta didn’t show up. Either had died, or went to buy some food. There was no other way she would miss the opportunity to try and gossip with someone.

The morning air outside was fresh and cool. I tried whistling, but stopped – even that was coming out girlish! Circumvented carefully gave a bush a wide birth, to keep it away from the tights, and nearly fell – the left heel got caught in a crack in the sidewalk. Oh well, climbers are used to evaluating every step, when on a risky terrain. Just had to watch for cracks too.

On the positive side, the copy center was a pleasure. The boy there made five extra copies, just to pick up the best one. And forgot to take the voucher. The only downside was where his eyes were all the time. I started understanding why some girls are grumpy about men watching their breasts.

I made a wide arc around a kid who was waving carelessly around a small flag on a wooden stick, and get out on the street. Twenty paces later there was a shrilling wolf whistle. Out of habit, I glanced around to see where the beauty is, and saw several road workers, all staring at me. Stopping myself from beating their teeth out right there took an immense effort. Couldn’t afford to ruin a job chance for which I had accepted to masquerade as a woman!…

Five minutes before 10 o’clock I was standing in front of the office building. My feet hurt like hell and my temper was just short of exploding. Keep under control, I thought in the elevator. Keep on top of it. I need this job. Keep calm…

When the woman in the already familiar lobby saw me, one of her brows slightly went up.

“Hello, my name is Alexandra Manzoni—”

“For the interview? Just a moment.” She picked up an old-fashioned phone handset. “Mr. Montafun, the candidate is here… Yes, right now… Ms. Manzoni, please come with me.”

I followed her, pretending to not know where she was taking me. Just before the leatherette-covered door, she stopped and looked straight into my eyes:

“Mr. Montafun has a mentality that is not found easily anymore. Please don’t abuse that.”

I wonder what that had to mean?! I had no time to think – she ushered me inside.

“Hello, Ms. Manzoni. I am Sergio Montafun. Do you have your resume and diploma on paper, please?”

“Yes, Mr. Montafun.”

He took them and started scrutinizing them in the way I already knew.

“You said to my secretary that some colleague told you about the job?”

“Yes. His name is Damiano. He was a few years ahead of me in the university. Told me that he got an excellent impression of you…”

“Mine about him is excellent too. Pity that I wasn’t at liberty to offer him a job… You graduated just a couple of months ago, with excellent grades? Could you please tell me how many kinds of regression statistics there are, and what is the mathematical difference between them?…”

The exam was even more verbose than the previous one. Finally, he rose up from his chair:

“I am satisfied with your knowledge. However, as a manager of the company, I must ask you something. If you believe that the question is too intrusive, please feel free not to answer, it will not affect your application negatively.”

Yep sure. If it wouldn’t, why ask it in an interview?

“It is okay, Mr. Montafun, you can ask for anything.”

“Do you plan any extended periods of leave during the next year?

“No, Mr. Montafun. I am thoroughly committed to the work.”

His gaze pinned me to the chair:

“Do you plan or expect a pregnancy during that time, for example?”

“Absolutely not!” I smiled, happy to tell the truth for once.

“Are you sure? Situations happen…”

“Um… Currently I don’t plan to be in a situation where I might conceive.” I couldn’t even imagine such a situation, to start with.

“Please accept my sincere apologies for the personal question. I must ensure that the work here is being done, and must consider the possibilities that an employee might be away from work… Fabricia, could you please come here?… I am delighted to present you our newest colleague. Please show her the company. She starts work tomorrow, prepare her documents and give her the address of our tailor. Well, Ms. Manzoni, I hope that you will like our company.”

“Thank you Mr. Montafun, I am sure I will.”