Blue Moon 9.0

by Donna Lamb

 

"Care for another glass of wine, clarence?" asked Sophie. She smiled at him as if she'd been dining on canary instead of octopus.

"No, thanks," said Ted. "We'd better get back to business before your doppelganger gets up to more mischief."

She sniffed, disappointed that he hadn't been fooled by her distraction. "You've got so many manacles on me here, I had to try something."

Ted tried to quirk one eyebrow but he'd never been able to manage that Spockian feat even when alive and sober; both went up. "I'd think you'd enjoy manacles a bit too much for them to be useful."

She snickered. "For a clarence, you're not bad. Never met one with much of a sense of humor before."

"Could be you're a teensy bit pissed, as they say these days in Jolly Old," he said.

"Helps one to enjoy some things more. And you're looking a bit under the owl yourself."

"Under the owl? Never heard that one." He thought for a moment, considering the known habits of owls when disturbed or frightened. "Ah." He nodded. "Shit-faced, you mean. Which brings us to the important question of the evening."

"Which is?" Sophie asked, peering over her glass as she teased out one last drop of Crocodile Pete's truly excellent after-dinner sherry.

"Who's driving?" asked Ted. For a minor miracle, he kept his face perfectly straight just long enough that she cracked up first.

* * *

In the shower, Jo let the warm spray play across her body. She'd washed her short hair with some very expensive shampoo and had used some of the foam in other places. So weird, she thought.

The internet insured that she wasn't completely ignorant of the female body, even if Joel had led a sheltered, if not better called, deprived existence. Breasts are really soft, like pillows. I thought they'd be more, I dunno, rubbery? Her nipples crinkled lazily in the warm stream when she played with them gently. Her thoughts turned immediately to Richard.

She dropped a hand to her crotch. Good thing I sent Richard back to the apartment for some of his stuff. Her fingers found the spot she'd known existed, further down and back than she'd expected, though. "W-w-wow?" she said aloud. Then she gasped. Then she wondered if her knees would hold her up. She leaned against the wall of the shower, just in case. Damn good thing I got Richard out of the house before I tried this, she thought.

* * *

Richard didn't think so. Jo had suggested that he go to his apartment for some of his things in order to stay the night -- if not the weekend. That definitely went on the plus side; on the other hand, he didn't like missing the opportunity to -- to help, he decided -- to help with Jo's shower. After all, she's never done it before, she might slip and fall, he thought. Then laughed at himself.

He could hotfoot it to West Hollywood, pick up some clothes and toilet stuff and be back in less than an hour, even with the early traffic of a Friday afternoon. He decided he'd also better make a stop at a drugstore for some fresh -- supplies.

She's Jo. She's a girl and she's hot for me. She is not Joel, that's entirely beside the point, he told himself. Then why do I feel like I'm being a Dick by planning to pick up more condoms?

He almost didn't see the speeding black Jaguar coming up behind him to pass on the wrong side just as he reached his exit. Slower reflexes or less experience would surely have resulted in a sideswipe collision, at the very least. The two vehicles almost bumped mirrors except the Mustang's sat higher than the ones on the Jag; that they didn't even touch seemed like -- magic.

"Squeak!" said Richard, still thinking about Jo. He took the next exit down and looped back toward Melrose, annoyed but not alarmed by the close call.

* * *

"Regular bitch on wheels," commented Ted. He looked sleepy but sounded alert.

"I wasn't going to hurt him, you meddling clarence," said Sophie.

"Oh probably not. A few paint scratches, some flirtation to keep his temperature up -- do you think he really needs that? -- and a delay." He looked at her over the table in Crocodile Pete's. "Why delay him?"

Sophie bared her teeth in a sharky smile but said nothing.

* * *

Jo sat at the computer desk in her "studio" wearing nothing but a robe and panties, still warm and relaxed from her shower. If guys knew about that, they'd all want to be girls, she thought. She giggled out loud, booted the computer up and then surfed to Google to look up Tom K. Harmon, Hollywood agent.

After a bit of squinting, she remembered her glasses and went to retrieve them from the nose of the ceramic kitty in the bathroom. "Stupid glasses," she muttered. "Must have got w-weak eyes from Dad." Back at the computer, she quickly found a website for Tom K. Harmon, Talent Associates at the address in Century City she'd got on the phone. And yes, he did handle models, as well as actors, comedians, musicians and even writers. It wasn't a little hole in the wall place but a big office with dozens of agents and hundreds of clients, some of them well-known because there was a list.

But she still didn't know for sure what Melody had sent her portfolio to this agency for. Sucking on a fingertip, she considered. It had to be modeling or Harmon would have mentioned having or needing an audio or video sample. And her appointment as with Harmon himself, namesake of the whole company.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, if I b-blow it, Richard can always support me by driving a cab." She giggled and went back into the bathroom to the oversize walk-in closet to decide what she should wear. That's when she heard the first noises downstairs.

"Richard?" she called out. Silence. She shrugged and pulled out a short, poufy dress in some glittery peachy fabric and held it up. "Nah," she said."I ain't that girly yet." She giggled again and started to pull out another dress. Why do I think I really should wear a dress to this? she wondered.

The new noise sounded like someone trying to open a door by kicking it. She pulled her robe close around her and pushed her glasses back up on her nose. "Richard?" she called again.

No answer.

She went to the door to the bathroom and listened. Someone moving around downstairs. Saying nothing this time, she closed and locked the bathroom door after retrieving her purse and cellphone from the bedroom. She found he speed dial button assigned to 911 and poised her thumb over the button then turned out the lights in the bathroom.

* * *

Finding the back door of Jo's house standing open when he got back surprised Richard. He'd brought the smaller of his two suitcases, plus his good suit in a garment bag and a briefcase full of some of his old sheet music but he left all that in the Mustang while he investigated.

Anybody inside had surely heard the big V-8 arrive so Richard abandoned stealth in favor of speed. Running through the door, he made a quick check of the rooms on the lowest floor and started up the stairs, calling "Jo! Melody Jo!" all the while.

The second floor door to the street level front yard stood open, too. Richard felt sure it hadn't been so when he had driven down the lane to the parking apron in the back. He made a quick loop through the open rooms of the first floor, still calling for Jo, then dashed out the front door and paused on the wide, cut-stone front porch. Down the street, beyond the curve of the road, he heard a car engine surge then fade as if someone had driven away.

"Son of a bitch!!" he yelped. Turning quickly, he ran inside and started up the stairs, shouting, "Jo!" as loudly as he could.

Jo emerged from the bedroom, holding a cellphone like a weapon, just as he reached the first step.

"Jo!" he shouted.

"Richard!" she shouted back. Her robe fell open at that moment revealing that she had nothing but panties on underneath. Squeaking in dismay, she turned and ran back into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Richard stopped running on the fifth step from the top. He stood there a moment then said, "Damn," quietly. Louder, he called out, "Jo? You okay?" Can't believe how good she looked.

"Yes," came the voice from the room beyond the door. "I'm getting dressed. Can you check the rest of the house, p-p-please?"

"Uh, sure," Richard said. Jo, naked. Jo, getting dressed. Um.

He checked the studio, including the closet there. The third door on the upper floor proved to be another bedroom suite, smaller, with its own bathroom and walk-in. Richard made a note to bring his stuff up and dump it there.

Moving quickly, he checked all the other rooms on the lower floors, including closets, and discovered en route two security panels. A large one hidden behind a wooden decorative panel in the office on the middle floor and a smaller satellite inside the big glass door off the patio on the lower floor. A third panel he found in the garage.

All of the switches on the security panels were set to off, neutral or some other inoperable position. "Shit," said Richard. Probably ten thousand dollars in security here and none of it was on. I should have been looking for it. He stared at the main panel by the desk in the front room office. I've no idea how to set this up. Jo and I are going to a hotel tonight.

He went back to the Mustang, locked it with his stuff still inside then checked the pool building, spotting another probable security panel there, locked in a metal cabinet. Also a locked small gate in the back fence opened onto the brushy bottom of the ravine. Get someone out here to cut this stuff before fire season, he told himself, making another mental note.

He went back to the house and locked everything he could find to lock; though the side door on the bottom floor looked damaged, it still locked. Then he climbed two flights of stairs and knocked on Jo's door. "Land shark!" he called and heard a satisfying squeak.

Jo opened the door wearing an above-the-knee cream-colored dress of some soft drapey knit, off-white hose, bone-colored, buckled half-boots with three-inch wedge heels and several natural wood bracelets on each wrist.

"Wow," said Richard.

"Don't gawp," she ordered, poking him in the middle. "You didn't f-find anyone?"

"No, ma'am," he said. "Nothing except the door to the laundry room damaged. Did you know there's a dumbwaiter in there that goes up to the kitchen?" Jo shook her head. "Nothing taken I could tell, but for all I know your dad's collection of Faberge eggs is missing."

She narrowed her eyes but decided he must be kidding. "Should we call the p-police?"

Richard sighed. "Jo, you're a girl now; being brave is not your department. You should have called the police, or me, as soon as you heard something -- you did hear something?"

"Um," she nodded. "That's p-p-sexist, you know."

He grinned. "Don't care. Call next time. And we've got to get your security system turned back on, probably repaired, too."

"I've got a security system?" she asked then waved away the explanation. "But should we call the p-p-p-cops? Now?"

Richard considered. "Let's find the number for your security people and ask them, and maybe they can get over here and fix things today. 'Cause otherwise, well, I didn't bring my stuff in 'cause we're not going to spend a night here until the burglar stuff works."

Jo chewed a fingertip. "W-we're not going back to the apartment. Those locks are m-made of ice cream."

Richard smiled. Jo looks like a tall vanilla malt with a cherry on top. God, we're in her bedroom. With a bed. What are we talking about? "We'll get a hotel room."

She cocked her head and looked at him sideways. "Room? Suite."

"Sweet," he agreed.

* * *

Her nearly effortless wardrobe savvy had surprised Jo. She knew what would look good with her shape and coloring without thinking too much about it. In fact, thinking too much made it harder to do. She almost felt like she'd managed a female wardrobe all her life. "Well," she muttered, "I did w-w-wish for things to be easier and this is almost exactly what I m-meant." After a moment, she added, "I think."

She picked out more jewelry, a necklace of wooden beads with green and blue stones separating them, earrings of wooden half-hoops and a belt that matched the necklace but with golden beads also to match the buckle on her shoes. "Almost too easy," she muttered. "I ought to be f-freaking out."

She dusted her face with some glitter powder after doing her eyes in cream, gold and silver with green eyeliner. Coral lipstick finished things off and she chose the long red wig and settled it in place. "Now I need a b-bag," she said. She found a soft leather bag with wooden beads and a narrow strap that went perfectly with her ensemble. She loaded it up with a selection of things from her big old straw bag. "Straw in January? What w-was I thinking?"

She stared at herself in the mirror when she finished, turning this way and that, striking a few poses. "Richard is going to leap out of his socks," she decided. She smiled at her reflection. "Teach him to snicker when he m-makes me squeaky."

* * *

Downstairs, Richard had finally reached Secure Response of Burbank, who had promised to have a tech out to assess damage within half an hour. "If your system was off, this won't be included in the service contract."

"Uh, yeah, figures," said Richard. "Just get someone over here soonest, we're leaving for an appointment in less than an hour." He intended to leave forty-five minutes early to get crosstown in the mid-afternoon Friday rush. "Oh, how will we know if someone shows up that they're from you're company?"

"Always ask for two forms of ID and look for the SRB truck, sir."

"Okay, good." He hung up and started up the stairs, hoping Jo had gotten dressed and he wouldn't have to think of something else to distract him. Then he stopped, ran out to his car and brought in the satchel of sheet music he'd fetched from the apartment.

Jo met him on the landing. "Did you call the cops?" she asked.

He stared at her for a long moment. This is not Joel. This is not my geeky roomie. This is a fox who knows it. "Like the red hair," he said out loud.

She giggled. "Thought you w-would." She tossed her head, letting the fiery curls caress her shoulders. "Cops?" she asked again.

He nodded. "Not much to tell them, they said it wasn't hardly worth it to try for prints or tool marks. I called security, too and they're coming over to fix the door and turn everything back on. But ceck your phone to see if you have a speed dial for them, SRB or Security or Secure Response. I want you to use it the next time something like this happens." He looked stern.

Jo didn't argue. She recognized her vulnerability and acknowledged it to Richard. "Okay," she said, trying to look meek.

Richard restrained an impulse to take her in his arms and tell her it would be okay. Too cute, jeez! When did she learn that look?

She gave him a look from among the red curls falling around her face while she checked the phone. "Yep. Speed dial f-f-five." Uh-oh, she thought seeing his expression. Need a distraction. "What's in the case?"

He looked down at his hand to see what he was carrying."Oh, yeah. Uh, sheet music, from my old band."

She gestured at the studio, he opened the door for her and let her go in first. That's a nicer thing than it looks like, she thought, having doors opened for you.

They spread the music out on a bench. "This isn't p-p-printed sheet m-music," Jo said after looking at several pieces.

"Sure it is," said Richard. "I printed it out on the school printer." He grinned.

Jo looked closer. "You did the arrangements for the b-band?"

"Uh, yeah. I, uh, wrote some, too."

She pulled a piece out and looked it over. "You wrote this? The lyrics, too?"

"Uh, huh." Richard looked embarrassed.

She examined the piece, humming a tune. Richard looked at her, startled. "You can sight read?"

"Apparently," she took the sheets over to the keyboard, turning things on. She handed him one of the copies. "You wanna do the drums and v-vocals?"

"Uh?" He looked stunned.

"You sing tenor?" she asked.

He nodded, taking the seat at the drums.

They warmed up a bit then Jo said, "Gimme a b-beat, you don't have a tempo m-marked."

He gave her a steady, sha-boom-a-bop-a-boom till she fell into the rhythm. He played, elaborating the beat with the cymbal and toms. They ran through a couple of verses. Jo's fingers danced on the keys, playing the music he'd written years ago with the electronic stops set for piano and muted brass. Whoa, I didn't write that, he thought as Jo improvised a key change and added a second bass line.

She paused to stretch her fingers and swing her hair back, he kept time on the snare, admiring her.

"Rock b-beat with a country sound," she said."That right?"

He nodded.

She pointed at him. "Sing it!" she ordered.

He sang:

Walk with me, for a little while
It's a lonesome road I've chosen
Talk to me, give me a smile,
It's been too long since
Friendly words were spoken.

Never thought I'd be alone so long
Never thought of hearts a-breaking
Never thought of singing a lonesome song
Never thought of not seeing you
Back when I chose the road I've taken.

Jo nodded, waving for him to continue.

Walk awhile in my lonesome shoes,
Maybe you can hear them squeaking
Sing a few bars of my lonesome blues
Tell me goodbye at the lonesome gate
I'll leave some love in your keeping.

Maybe sometime I'll be back this way
Can't any promises be making
Another lonesome night, another lonesome day,
Another lonesome mile I've walked
On this lonesome road I've taken.

She waved him to be quiet, working the key change, she'd tried out. Then she sang, words that were almost the ones he'd written but words he hadn't heard before:

Never thought I'd be seeing you go
Never thought I'd ask you to be staying
Don't want to be missing you so
Take off your lonesome shoes
We've got some plans to be making.

Let's walk together, for a little while
It's a lonesome road we're taking
Talk to me, give me a smile,
It's been too long since
Loving words were spoken.

A raised finger from Jo and a key change back. Richard sang:

Walk awhile in my lonesome shoes,
Maybe you can hear them squeaking
Sing a few bars of my lonesome blues
Tell me goodbye at the lonesome gate
I'll leave some love in your keeping.

Jo's coda was better than the one he'd written, with a change of time and key and a change back; he followed the rhythm easily, it seemed so natural, finishing on the unexpected but inevitable tonic chord.

In the sudden silence, they heard the doorbell ringing.

* * *

Richard went down to deal with the security company while Jo messed around in the studio. That was amazing, she thought. If sex is any better than music, that would explain a lot about how people act.

Some instinct or habit leftover from Melody's hypothetical existence led her to check to see if she had sweated during the impromptu performance. Nope, still dry. I'll spritz before we leave and I'm good. And if that had been more exciting, I might need to change my shorts. Panties. Wait ... yeah, it happens with girls, too, just different. She giggled, glad no one could see her or read her mind.

Going over to the sound board, she checked to see if their session had recorded since she hadn't taken time to really set it up but had simply switched on recording at the keyboard mini-console just before Richard started singing. The tape in the deck looked about half used, so she rewound, held one headphone carefully to one ear and listened.

"Crud," she said out loud after a minute. She hadn't thought to tell Richard to sing into the mike and he was barely audible. Unless he was on the other track. Nope, even in mono playback, no Richard. In fact, when she looked at the drum station, she saw the voice mike turned against the wall.

The music didn't sound bad, though. She played with some ideas in her head, deciding that as a band, they were a bit thin. "More p-piano, less synth on the keyboard; add some guitars. Horn? Maybe."

Her own voice came on, startling her. She'd sung into the mike and her vocals came through very well. Entranced, she listened -- she hadn't yet heard her own voice since the transformation. When the recording reached Richard's indistinct last verse, she shut it off, her fingers trembling a bit. "I'm p-pretty good for just m-messing around. And no stuttering." She'd run into that phenomenon as Joel, the stuttering didn't happen while singing or reciting memorized lines in a play.

She'd heard Richard's voice live; a warm, expressive tenor, a little thin on the high end, that just might need training and experience to be professional. Joel had had a similar voice, in fact, except that he had had training; because singing and reciting had helped his stuttering, he'd tried to get at least one semester course in each year of college. But performing had always nearly paralyzed him.

Jo, on the other hand, felt an excited anticipation at the thought of letting the voice she'd just heard loose on a stage with people -- and audience -- listening. She suppressed a giggle while fluffing her hair, or rather, her wig.

"M-maybe we can form a b-band for real?" She looked around at all the equipment, "M-maybe I already have a b-band?"

She went to the computer on the sound board to see if it held any information on past band members.

Richard came in holding a clipboard, "You need to sign this, Jo," he said. "I don't think they know you're only nineteen, but I want these guys to fix stuff without having to call your lawyer."

"Ah," she said, looking up. "Actually, they'd want the trustee at the b-bank, I think. His name is in the computer downstairs." But she signed. Melody Jo Thierry -- with a tiny heart over the i, and the m and j looking like hearts, too.

Richard held the clipboard, just looking at her for a moment.

"What?" she asked.

"Did you remember that about the trustee? Or?"

"Um, I remembered it from when I w-was looking around down there earlier, yeah?" She frowned. "I think. B-but w-wouldn't that be the logical p-place to f-f-find it?"

"I guess," said Richard. "Look at your signature."

She looked at the paper. "Oh, God." She looked back up at him, "W-well? I w-was a cheerleader, y'know? F-fershur?" She grinned.

"If it doesn't bother you, it doesn't bother me." He shrugged. "There any of Joel still in there?"

"Uh huh," she said. "I'm m-me. What? You want me to go b-back to telling you it's all your f-fault? Hey, you know we sounded pretty good?" She popped the tape out and showed it to him. "Except the drummer forgot to sing into the m-mike."

He stared at her again. "No one told the drummer we were recording. Damn. You know you did sound good and...hey!" He pointed at the big schoolhouse-style clock on the wall, "We've got to get going in ten minutes. Uh, I'm having them do a complete check of everything, but they can't really fix the door before tomorrow, probably. We can come back here after seeing the agent and pick up what we need -- are you listening?"

Jo had switched everything in the studio off and headed through the door to her bedroom. "Going to go p-powder my nose, I'll be ready."

"Are you really?" he asked.

"What?" she paused in the door.

"Going to powder your nose?"

She giggled. "If it needs it, yeah, that, too. Go. M-meet you downstairs."

He went -- after watching her disappear into the bedroom.

* * *

The security man did a very neat double-take as Jo trotted down the stairs from the upper floor calling, "Richard? Richard?" He looked up once from the panel full of wiring he'd had open, then looked back and up again.

Jo noticed the reaction and enjoyed it. Her fiery red wig seemed to glow, the waist-length curls swinging around her. Her beige, brown and cream ensemble set off her peach complexion against the red hair in a way that could only be called illuminating. She'd spent the last several minutes moving things she thought she might need into the absolutely perfect purse: brown and cream leather with a wide orange stripe that matched her wig. But she worried that Richard had got annoyed waiting for her.

"He's -- uh -- he's downstairs, Miss -- uh -- Miss Thierry?" The technician flashed her a nervous smile. Even though he did a lot of work in the homes of the beautiful people, something about Jo unnerved him. He felt so under dressed in his typical Southern California winter clothing, tan pants, white shirt and green windbreaker. It seemed like he should have worn a suit or at least have had a tie on.

Jo paused at the bottom of the stairs from the upper floor, "Thank you," she said smiling at him. Oh, my, he blushes. She rushed on down the next set of stairs, making the turn on the wood-floored landing as if she always trotted down steps wearing three-inch heels. She didn't giggle til she reached the lowest floor. He's old enough to be my dad, she thought.

Through the big windows, she saw Richard sitting in the Mustang. When he saw her, he got out and went to open the door for her, showing his dimples in a big smile. I guess he isn't mad, after all. Probably used to his girlfriends keeping him waiting. God, could he be any better looking? That thought almost stopped her.

Richard opened the door and stood aside, "Got everything?" he asked in a cheerful voice.

"Uh, huh?" she managed to say, trying not to think about kissing him.

"Uh, huh?" Richard grinned. "You don't sound so positive about it. Where are your glasses?" I should kiss her, he thought. Damn it, she's not Joel.

They paused for a moment in the door, their faces inches apart.

"In my p-p-purse," she whispered. Jo felt a wanting inside her completely outside Joel's experience. Even with her heels, Richard towered over her -- well, he always had -- but she'd never known that his masculine strength had a palpable force to it. If I touch him, we're going immediately back upstairs, she thought. Move, Jo, before you turn to jelly.

"Good," said Richard. What the hell were we talking about? How can she smell so damn good? How can she pick out something to wear like that after less than a day? If I kiss her, will we ever get to this appointment? "Where are your glasses?" Green eyes with golden sparkles, magic eyes.

"In m-my p-p-p-purse," she repeated.

After another moment, they both felt the need to breathe.

Richard stepped back, Jo stepped through the door and Richard closed it behind her then strode around the car to hold the already open right hand door. "We have to go, traffic is unpredictable this time of day."

She felt his eyes on her legs as she crossed the concrete apron, heels making a hollow tocking sound. He looked up into her face just before she would have felt annoyed at her legs getting all his attention. Something hot and bubbly burst inside her and ran down to her new female parts under the short skirt when she brushed his arm. "You're not m-mad about me taking so long?" she asked to distract her from her own sensations.

He laughed deep in his throat. If she looked any better, smelled any better, sounded any -- sexier, I would have choked to death on that laugh. "Nah. All girls take longer than they think they will."

She giggled, taking his hand to steady her as she seated herself in the car, as graceful as if she were dancing. His hand felt cool and rough against hers, hard and strong.

Her fingers are so soft, her hands so small, thought Richard. Jo's hands were well proportioned for a woman her height, longer than average, in fact, but slender.

They let their hands drop, not letting go but allowing gravity to pull them apart. Richard shut the door and raced around the car. Inside, Jo gulped in air and wondered if she might have inherited a weak heart with Melody's weak eyes. Richard took a deep breath before opening the door and sliding in.

"Where's your glasses?" he asked.

"In m-my p-p-purse," she answered.

Richard pulled the door closed and started the engine. He looked at her. She patted her purse. He backed up the long driveway so suddenly, she made a squeaking noise in alarm.

She tried to frown at him for making her squeak but he showed his dimples and she forgave him. How does he do that? she wondered.

I love it when she makes that noise and then pouts at me, thought Richard. He put the car in gear and away they went.