Blue Moon 4.1-4.5

by Donna Lamb

 
 

Richard opened the back left door of the big black stretch limo for Jo. "Remember, sit down backwards into the seat then lift your feet inside. And keep your knees together."

Jo balked. "Pull out to the driveway and I'll get in on the right, I w-want to ride up front with you."

"Nope," said Richard. "You're way too distracting sitting beside me. Pretty girls I'm not dating go in the back."

She stared at him. He'd said it with such a straight face. "B-b-b-b-..."

"That's right, butt first." He grinned.

Richard had a nice grin, Jo noticed, distracted. He looks so fucking sincere. But it's all an act, he's a rogue and a wolf and a -- a lothario! she told herself. Jo seldom stuttered when not talking out loud. Still, his wide, white grin in his tanned face made her nervous. Clutching her purse tight, she turned around and tried to sit in the limo backward without looking.

Richard offered a hand to steady her but she ignored him -- and missed the seat, landing with a jar on the door sill. "Ow," she complained.

"You've got some padding back there, it didn't hurt that bad." Reflexively, Richard rubbed his arm where Jo had bit him earlier. He didn't blame her for that; he'd been bitten by panicked women before. But it had made it easier to watch Jo miss the seat and land on her ass.

"How do you know?" Without really thinking about it, she put up a hand for him to help her up -- it was an awkward position for anyone and she had remembered to keep her knees together, making it more awkward.

"Let's try that again," said Richard. "Look back as you turn around so you know where the seat is; hold your purse in your right hand behind you to feel for the seat and smooth your skirt under you. You don't really need to with a tight knit dress like that, but you don't want it to ride up, either. If there's a guy holding the door for you, let him hold your other hand to brace you."

"W-why?" She scowled at him. Except to Richard it looked more like a pout.

"It's the polite thing to do, and believe me, sometimes you'll need it. Like if you're wearing heels or it's raining or both, or a long dress or all three."

Jo landed in the seat with a thump, glaring at Richard."You talk too m-m-much. You're distracting me." And he hadn't stopped grinning, his dark eyes sparkling.

"Lift your legs in," he said.

"Let go my hand!" She shook her hand loose and lifted both feet into the car.

Smiling, Richard shut the door. Then immediately opened it again, sticking out his hand.

"What are you doing? I'm in, let's just go."

He shook his head. "You need practice getting out too; we're going to do this three times, at least." He smiled, softening his expression a bit to show that he understood her reluctance. "Take my hand, brace yourself and do everything in reverse. Lift your feet out, shift your weight forward then I'll give you just a bit of help getting your feet under you while you keep your skirt from riding up with your other hand."

It went smoothly enough, though Jo felt oddly breathless to find herself standing in front of Richard still holding hands. "Let go," she whispered.

He did, nodded, pretended to swing the door closed then opened it again. He waved at the interior.

Jo sighed and tried the process again. This time, Richard kept his instructions terse. "Look back. Take my hand. Smooth your skirt. Sit back. LIft your feet. Smile at me as I let your hand go."

Jo smiled, it felt like the right thing to do, though she couldn't have said why. She also blushed.

Richard thought she looked charming, slightly flustered and oh, so vulnerable. If she wasn't Joel, he told himself.

They did it twice more and the last time, Richard said nothing except to ask, "Comfy?" before closing the door.

"Yes, thanks," Jo said, smiling.

Richard got in the driver's seat, started up and backed the big Lincoln out carefully.

Jo sat back in the seat, sighing, feeling very odd about everything. Without really thinking about it, she muttered mostly to herself, "I w-wish this all were a little easier."

Richard slammed on the brakes and shouted, "Jo!" But too late -- she'd already said it.

* * *

"While it has become traditional recently to refer to agents of celestial being with my assignment as 'Clarence,' my name is actually Theodosius." The prim gentleman sharing the backseat of the hellish taxi with the personage calling herself Sophie Drake nodded politely.

"Well, TED," Sophie drawled. "You're nothing but a damned hitchhiker."

Still smiling, the angel nodded again. "This vehicle travels toward Hell, in that sense, we are damned."

"I don't appreciate you insinuating yourself into my transportation; didn't running over you convey a tiny bit of animosity?"

"Oh yes, I got the 'message''." He put the quotes around the word with his fingers, a mannerism that annoyed Sophie when used by others toward her. She'd invented the gesture in the sixteenth century to prick that insufferable poet, Willy Shaxsper.

"She made another wish, she's my plaything and you can't do anything about it." Sophie stuck her tongue out. It really was forked but the clarence ignored that.

"Not necessarily," said the angel. "I've a commission signed by Mary and Her Son to protect this Messenger person as much as I can but we can negotiate the exact terms of what you can do to her in regards her latest wish."

"It's still Strangefellows Day in her time zone! I can do whatever I want to her!"

"You know that isn't so, uh, Sophia."

The Devil in Drag blustered some more but finally gave in. "All right, it's not worth missing playing with my other toys this day to argue with you. What are your terms, Angelman?"

"It is the position of my Superior, that you have to abide strictly by the words of the wish. And since she phrased her desire in the proper subjunctive, that you cannot alter the past this time. We think you cheated on that first wish; the man, Richard also used the subjunctive and you should not have altered the past."

Sophie smiled."I didn't at first, and I only altered time as far back as last Strangefellows Day in my second intervention, just two months." She laughed. "The poor booby hasn't discovered what I did yet."

The clarence waggled a finger at her. "No more of that. Your justification for the second intervention violated several rules; Joel did not actually make a wish in simply agreeing with Richard's and you changed time. It is the position of my Principal that what is done is done and what is undone is undone, so no more mucking about with time."

She glared at him. "You were a lawyer in life?"

"A solicitor," he said.

"You're supposed to be one of mine, you back-stabbing shyster!"

Ted, for so his friends actually did address him, tut-tutted the Devil to her face. Angel-ified English barristers do not quail in front of opponents no matter how powerful. "It is our position," he went on, "that Jo's wish can be bent only a little, and that only in terms long agreed between us; to wit, if an unclear word or phrase has been used, you may define that word or phrase to your liking.

"Hmm. The twit said, 'I w-wish this all were a little easier.'" The Devil in Drag mimicked Jo's voice perfectly, including the stutter.

"Yes, well, as unwise as it may have been," he pronounced 'been' to rhyme with the vegetable and not the clock, "the only unclear reference in her wish is just exactly what she meant by 'this all.'"

Sophie smiled. "So I can define those two words to suit me?"

Ted winced. "Yes. But you cannot alter her consciousness of who she is, only her body parts and environment and no playing with the Wayback Machine."

She shrugged, thinking. "I can live with that."

Ted stared at her a moment. "We expect you to try to cheat, you know."

"Of course." She nodded. "That's the fun of these contests. Cheating within the rules."

Jo's clarence sighed. "May I ask what you're going to do? What do you intend to treat the words as meaning?"

Sophie grinned. "I think when she said 'this all' she meant 'my virtue.'"

"High five, boss," said the driver, holding his hand up above the seat back. Sophie cackled and slapped the blunt-fingered hand of her henchman, Bill Z. Bubb.

Ted looked appalled. "That's diabolical," he said.

"Why thank you, clarence," Sophie purred. "High five." She held up her hand again.

"No," said Ted, crossing his arms and looking so terribly stiff upper lip about it.

* * *

"W-what?" Jo asked.

Richard had stopped the limo in the driveway to get out, open the back door and stand there staring at her. "You don't look any different," he said after a bit.

"Should I?"

"I dunno, just don't make anymore wishes. Oh, and scoot over to the other side before you buckle up. That way you can get out on the sidewalk side when we get there and not risk stopping traffic." He closed the rear door, got back behind the wheel and buckled up, watching Jo in the mirror.

She slid across the seat a bit awkwardly, unsure of how to hold the mini-skirt down at the same time. She finally just grabbed the hem in front and pulled on it as she slid, then ran her hand under her butt when she'd settled in place. Snapping her belt closed, she said, "I'm all b-buckled in, Richard."

"Ay,caramba," said Richard. Keeping an eye on her while she struggled with the mini had been worth it.

"Do you really think I could?" she asked.

"Could what?"

"Stop traffic?"

"Sure. Those legs are a sigalert waiting to happen." He backed out onto the street, turning the big awkward car west.

"Are you going the wrong w-way?" Jo asked. She looked down at her legs. They did look nice. The idea of maybe dozens of men staring at her intrigued and frightened her at the same time.

"Hey, who's the driver here?" Minutes later, they both had hot coffees from the drive-thru Starbucks and were headed north to the 134 to take the 210 to Monrovia. Going against the flow of traffic, city center to suburbs meant that even on a Thursday, the busiest commute of the week, they made good time.

"Why don't you call and see if anyone's there yet? Find out if they're expecting you," Richard suggested.

"I don't have my cell phone," Jo pointed out. "All of m-my stuff disappeared, remember?"

Richard pressed a button on the dash, opening a compartment in front of Jo. "Use the carphone," he suggested.

"It's a real ph-f-fone," squeaked Jo, staring at the old-fashioned handset and receiver in the little cabinet.

"No, it just looks like one. Go ahead, call in." He didn't say it aloud but silently he added, See if they even know who you are.

Jo dialed, frowning in concentration.

"Bueno?" someone answered.

"Oops, wrong number." Jo redialed, the tip of her tongue appearing at the side of her mouth. "No answer," she told Richard after eight rings.

"Waddaya mean no answer, you've got an answering service, don't you?"

"Uh huh." Jo tried again. The phone dial seemed like an alien thing, the numbers in her mind slippery creatures.

"Hello?" someone said.

"Is this Assemblyman Aronhaus's office?" Jo asked.

"No." Click.

Richard could see her in the mirror; she looked about ready to cry. He almost stopped the car, right there on the freeway, to take her in his arms and comfort her. It would be so easy. He gritted his teeth.

Jo sniffled. "I keep f-f-m-m-m-f-f-fucking up the number."

"Don't cry," he said. "What's the number? I'll have Patch dial for me." He put his hand on the button to call limo dispatch on the radio.

Jo said nothing for a moment. "All I can think of is, it's six on m-my speed dial."

Richard pushed the button and said, "Dispatch, this is L23," into the hands-free microphone in the steering wheel.

"What you doing up so early, Ricky?" asked a voice.

"Oh, hi, Carmen. Got a deadhead to Monrovia, favor for my roomie. Can you patch me into Assemblyman Aronhaus's office there? I don't have a number."

"You know you've got a pickup in Burbank at eleven?"

"Yeah, I'll make it."

Carmen didn't keep him waiting long. "Here's your number." Click.

Richard didn't have his headset on or the barrier between front and back raised; Jo could hear everything.

"Assemblyman Aronhaus's office. May I help you?"

"Yes," said Richard. "I'm trying to reach Joel Messenger, does he work there?"

"Of course I w-work there," Jo muttered in the back seat. She tugged on her skirt and squeezed her knees together, distracted by the sound of Richard's voice and the look of the back of his head where the hair was clipped short.

"I'm sorry," said the voice. "Mr. Messenger passed away in November. Can someone else help you?"

Richard broke the connection. Shit, he thought.

Jo made fish noises in the backseat then blurted, "B-b-but I'm not dead. I'm right here. Richard, tell her I'm not dead!"

* * *

With morning traffic, they wouldn't reach downtown Monrovia for another twenty minutes. Richard tried to ignore the sniffling girl in the passenger compartment of his limo and think about the situation.

How can this have even happened? People don't just change from weedy male nerd to slender fashion model in the bathroom. Not even once in a blue moon, it just doesn't happen. And yet it had. He couldn't deny that, his roommate Joel, neurotic computer geek with physique to match had turned into ginger blond bombshell Jo without gaining the slightest ounce of common sense while losing almost forty pounds of useless male flab.

He looked at her in the mirror again. Even with her eyes almost constantly red since she'd appeared last night, Jo remained one of the top ten women in looks he'd ever had in his limo; including fashion models, starlets and trophy wives. He'd always thought he liked curvier figures but Jo's shape seemed elegant and right. Just thinking about the glimpses he'd had of Jo naked and the times he'd touched her, even held her made him feel -- well, he wasn't sure how he felt.

Jo is Joel, and you can't be wanting to score on Joel, that just isn't right! he told himself. But how? How had it happened? Joel had blamed it on that careless wish last night but Jo had just made what looked like a more dangerous wish and apparently, nothing happened. And wishes don't really come true outside of Disney movies, Richard reminded himself.

So what had happened? Cosmic rays? Air pollution? Alien abduction? Richard thought briefly of a teevee movie he'd seen once where aliens came down and rebuilt humans for some horrific purpose -- but that seemed as unlikely as some invisible genie granting wishes. Hormone imbalance? Maybe Joel had always been a little bit female and -- but how could that happen in a matter of minutes and without any surgery to help things along?

He looked in the mirror again, checking on her. She was covering first one eye then the other and looking out the window. What the heck was that about? And why are we still going to Joel's job in Monrovia when the people there think he's dead? Better not think about that too hard, it would creep him out, he decided.

Looking out the window had to be safer than staring at Richard, Jo felt. She didn't think about it precisely because it seemed dangerous to even think about it. Much safer to experiment with why she had double vision, and that blurry, for everything much further away than six feet or so. "I think I'm going to need glasses," she said aloud.

Richard almost snorted coffee out his nose. He'd been playing with some mental images of Jo that put her remark in a whole different context.

"Maybe I can get contacts," she said. "Everything outside the car is sort of b-b-b-...." She trailed off, having caught sight of Richard's amber eyes in the rear view mirror. She felt the color rise in her face, the warmth spreading from somewhere inside her. She felt her nipples crinkle against the soft fabric of her dress. "Richard!" she squeaked.

"You okay?" She sighed and the sound of it reminded him of steam escaping from pressure. He tried to get a better look at her but their exit came up just then and he had to deal with driving.

"I think so," she said. She couldn't tell him what she'd just felt. "I'm not sure what happened but yeah, I'm okay." Actually, I know exactly what happened and it scares me, she admitted to herself. She squinted to try to read a street sign as they turned off the freeway, hoping to distract herself.

Aliens, thought Richard. Aliens or hormones. He glanced in the mirror again, analyzing her expression quickly; the unfocussed gaze, the lower lip parted, chin lifted. Why couldn't it be aliens?

* * *

Richard parked in the lot, leaped out and went around the car to open the door for Jo. She'd just gotten her belt open and looked up at him. Had her eyes been so green before? he wondered.

He held out his hand. "Remember the lessons?"

Jo nodded and put her hand in his. She felt the electricity of his touch but she tried to ignore it.

He helped her out and her awkward grace charmed him, not to mention the erect nipples visible against the little black dress. "Don't forget your purse," he reminded her.

She started to reach back into the car, across the seat, not complaining, though. She seemed a little dazed.

"Bend your knees, just a bit, but keep them together. Put one hand on the back of your skirt; with one this short, hold the hem. Squat a bit to keep your balance. If it's too far to reach, get back in to retrieve it," Richard instructed.

Her jaw dropped open and she stared at him. "How do you know so much about b-being a w-w-w-girl?"

"I'll get it," he said. She moved out of the way and let him retrieve the purse, taking it when he handed it to her.

"Thanks," she said.

"Years of girl watching," he said.

"W-what?"

"You asked how I knew what you should do."

"Oh. B-but I thought m-men just im-m-magined all girls naked?"

He grinned at her and she blushed, feeling some kind of heat passing between them. She took a step backward.

"Is that what you did?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said. "M-maybe? Sometimes." She looked around, squinted a bit, then pointed, "That's the of-f-fice. I gotta go to w-w-work."

"I'll go in with you."

"No! Go fi-find me some clothes."

"What if they don't know who you are? They think Joel is dead."

A little air seemed to leak out of her and her shoulders slumped. "W-w-wait out here. Okay, if I'm not back in f-fi-fif-twenty minutes, go on and shop for m-me and come b-back in an hour."

Richard didn't want to do that. He thought about insisting that he go along but suddenly Jo put a soft little hand on his arm.

"P-p-please, Richard?"

"Okay, okay," he said. He turned away and walked back around to the driver's side, standing where the open door shielded him a bit. I'm hot for my roomie, he thought. Jerry Springer, here we come. A bizarre little guitar riff played in his head, "Hot for roomie, hot for roomie!"

"Thanks," she said.

"Yeah."

Jo sighed and set off for the back door of the office building. Richard watched her walk away. Her hips didn't sway as much as some girls but she had a loose, long-legged style that seemed sexy to him just then. So slim, her short hair somehow making her look even taller. She reached the glass door, touched the wide horizontal handle.

"Jo!" he called suddenly.

She turned, looking back toward him, squinting a bit.

"Be careful," he said. "I'll wait here for you."

Jo smiled and waved at him. "I'll be okay, I'm just going in to w-work." She struggled a bit pushing the door open, surprised at its weight. She'd opened this door a thousand times, at least, and never noticed the mass.

Richard watched her disappear inside. She still doesn't believe this has happened, not really. He whistled a few bars of Walk Like an Egyptian then sat back inside the limo to think. She's not Joel anymore, Joel is dead. So who is she? And how do we find out if she doesn't know?

"Fucking aliens," he said out loud.