The Graduate, Vamped and Revamped: 5 / 6

An Altered Fates Story
A second look at the 1967 film, The Graduate
and the 1963 novella of the same name by Charles Webb.
By Iolanthe Portmanteaux
 

Ben left the house and sat in his car. He considered his choice: a bachelor party or a cry for help from a bride-to-be. Jenny’s call had to be a cry for help, mustn’t it? Otherwise, why call so late in the day? And coming, as it did, at the same moment as an invitation to the groom-to-be’s bachelor party. Ben had a pretty good idea of how each option would go. With the bride-to-be, it would be tears and uncertainty. There could be wine or ice cream, or maybe both. With the groom-to-be, there’d be an excess of alcohol, an oversupply of testosterone, and probably a naked woman or two. Ben had only been a man for a couple of hours, so the idea of a woman stripping off her clothes and shaking her moneymaker had no special appeal. Even as a woman, it would hardly be titillating — to be the target of lust for a group of drunk, salivating twenty-somethings.

So, here was Ben: no longer a woman; newly minted as a man. At the same time, he had enough Leslie in him to want to maintain his role: he couldn’t forget that he was Ben now. He smiled, thinking that — if he went to the bachelor party, he might drink too much, revert to Leslie’s unrequited desires, and accidentally add a homosexual episode to Ben’s history. Or worse, an unsuccessful attempt at a hook-up with another man.

On the other hand, the bride-to-be might really need help. After all, she was marrying the son of the town’s most notorious pervert: the Bagman. The acorn probably didn’t fall far from the tree.

It wasn’t a hard choice. Besides, he’d already promised Jenny that he’d come. In fact, he assured her he'd be there in five minutes. So Ben started the car and searched his memory — first, to remember who Jenny’s parents were, and second, to remember their address.

When he arrived at the house, he found the garage door wide open. Jenny stood inside, in the light, gesturing him to pull the car inside. He slowly rolled in, noticing how wide, clean, empty, and uncluttered the garage was. He parked close to the left side of the space, where Jenny stood. Before he had a chance to kill the engine, Jenny had already hit the button to close the door.

“I don’t my neighbors to talk — gossip — you know — that you and I had a rendezvous,” Jenny explained, rolling her eyes and tensing her hands nervously. She pronounced rendezvous “ren-dez-vuss,” but Ben didn’t laugh or correct her. He knew what she meant, but he couldn’t tell whether she was trying to be funny or really thought that's how the word sounded.

At the door that led from the garage into the house, she stopped, turned, and looked into his eyes. “Thanks for coming over so quickly. My family’s away tonight, and I couldn’t bear to be alone.” She hugged Ben, letting her breasts rest lightly on his chest. She buried her face in his shoulder and as she hugged him, and pressed her thighs into his.

“Is everything alright?” Ben asked, his voice muffled by her hair.

“No,” she replied. He felt the vibration of her voice in his neck.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. She sighed, turned, took him by the hand, and led him into the house. He followed. She was dressed in a light, cream-color silk blouse and a pair of soft, tight jeans that showed off her slim legs and firm, full backside. She was barefoot. Her fingernails and toenails were painted a rich, dark, lacquered red.

On a counter in the kitchen were two empty martini glasses, and a blender full of an inviting slush, the color of translucent jade. “Would you like a margarita?” she asked. “I make a really good one. You have to say yes, because if you don’t have at least one, I’m going to drink the whole pitcher myself.”

“Can’t have that!” Ben replied. “I’d like one — they look good.”

She poured two glasses, the ground ice sloshing as it slid from the blender to the glass. They toasted each other, and each took a sip. The margarita was good, Ben had to admit. A little sweet, but not too.

“Did Bagger invite you to his bachelor party tonight?”

“Yes,” Ben admitted.

“But you didn’t go.”

Ben drew a deep breath and took another sip. “A friend of mine asked me to come over,” he told her, his eyes twinkling.

“Thanks,” she said, lowering her eyes. “I’m glad that I rate missing a party.” She shot him a quick glance, then dropped her eyes again. “Do you know what they’re doing at that party?”

“I can imagine,” Ben replied. “Getting drunk, telling stupid jokes. Lots of yelling, adolescent toasts, gag gifts for Bagger.” He shrugged. “Stuff like that.”

“Is that all?”

Ben shrugged again. “Bagger didn’t give me the program,” he said, playing dumb, trying to avoid the question.

“They’re going to hire some women,” she told him, in a bitter tone. “You know, the kind of women: women you can buy.”

“You don’t know that,” Ben cautioned.

"Women," Jennie repeated. "Women, plural."

Ben shook his head. "Jennie, you're assuming. You can't pretend that you know."

“But I do know,” she contradicted. “I know it for a fact. Bagger's father said so.”

“The Bagman? He told you that?”

“Yes. No... Yes, he *said* it; but no, he didn’t tell me. He wasn’t talking to me. I overheard him telling Bagger. He said he was ‘lining up some tarts’ so Bagger could have ‘a last hurrah’ before tying the knot.” Jenny took a deep sip of her drink, draining half the glass.

“I’m sorry,” Ben told her.

She let out a sound, something between a sigh and a groan. “Listen. I need to change out of these clothes. Do you promise not to run away while I’m gone? If you stay, I promise I won’t cry on your shoulder.”

“Yes, of course I’ll stay. And it’s fine — you can cry if you want.”

“No,” she said, topping up his drink. “I’m not going to cry.” She turned, as if to leave, then stopped and said, “You know, I thought I knew what I was getting into. I knew he’d been with other girls. Slept with other girls. Fucked other girls, yeah. Meanwhile, *I* was saving myself for marriage, like an idiot, even though I knew he wasn’t.” She bit her lip. “I knew he was a jerk, and I could live with that. But right now it feels like Bagger and his creepy dad are shoving my face in it… rubbing my face in it.”

Ben hesitated a moment, then asked in a gentle voice, “Are you sure you want to marry him? I mean, it’s not too late to back out.”

She shot him a tight-lipped look. Her eyes blazed fire. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said.

“But why?” Ben asked. He didn’t mean to say it. The words just came out.

“Why? Why am I marrying him? I’ll TELL you why! Because you didn’t ask me, that’s why! If you HAD asked, I would have said yes. But you didn’t. And because you didn’t, you have no right to criticize the choices I make in my life.”

Ben shocked by her admission, took it in, but couldn’t find the words to respond. His hand shook a little, more from surprise than nerves. She stilled his hand with her firm, strong grasp. “Okay, sorry,” she said. “Forget I said that. In fact, forget everything I said. Drink your drink. Let me go get changed. You’ll stay, won’t you? I don’t have to handcuff you to the rail to make you stay, do I?”

“No,” he replied. “I’ll stay. Go get changed.”

“Have a seat on the couch,” she told him. Then she walked out of the kitchen and out of sight.

Ben sat down and took a slip of the margarita. It tasted pretty good, pretty refreshing. For some reason, it drew a memory from deep in Leslie’s past, of a party, more than ten years back, where the Bagman loaded a batch of margaritas with too much alcohol. They didn’t taste strong, but everyone at the party, even the guests who only had one drink, ended up plastered. No one was capable of driving themselves home. No one even dared to try. Friends who were usually moderate and controlled, found themselves waking up on the floor. The next day was a very awkward aftermath, the least of which was paying off the babysitters, who never meant to stay the night, and apologizing to their parents, who were out of their minds with worry.

“I didn’t mean to make them *that* strong — in fact, I didn’t even mean to make them strong,” the Bagman protested afterward. “I couldn’t taste the alcohol, so I kept on adding more.”

Why am I remembering that now? Ben asked himself. Then he called out to Jenny. “Hey, Jenny — how much alcohol is in this margarita?”

“I don’t know,” she called back. “I started from a recipe I found online, and then I went by taste. It definitely started out with not enough alcohol… but I only added a little at a time. We’ll find out. We can always add more.”

Ben opened his mouth to reply just as Jenny re-entered the room. Whatever he was about to say, never got said. Jenny was dressed — or maybe undressed — in a floor-length sheer gown. It had long sleeves, and was closed at the wrists and neck by scalloped lace trim. As the phrase goes, it left nothing to the imagination. Ben could see every curve, every inch of skin. Her twin areolas were small dark dots. Jenny had a slim, athletic build and a lovely face, but the gown wasn’t doing her any favors. It looked like something out of the fifties; something she might have found in her grandmother’s attic. She would have been better off naked, or wearing something short, shiny, and clingy. At least, that was Leslie's opinion. Ben felt his penis stiffen slightly, and the movement in his pants startled him.

Jenny climbed onto the couch, and knelt in a kitten-like pose next to Ben. She blew softly in his ear. Ben had heard of people doing that, but in the moment it was decidedly unsexy. She slipped her fingers inside Ben’s shirt.

“What are you doing, Jenny?” he asked.

In answer, Jenny took his glass and brought it to his lips, forcing him to take a generous sip. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m getting you drunk, so you can take advantage of me.”

Ben looked at her, hardly knowing what to say. He certainly wasn’t unsympathetic; but he in spite of the quick salute from his groin, he definitely wasn’t turned on. It’s not that he didn’t find her attractive. It wasn’t that he’d only been a man for a couple of hours. It’s just that the whole situation, the entire set-up from the get-go, was all so… perfunctory. She didn’t really want him; and he didn’t really want her. Probably in a different situation, with a different lead-in, the thing might have happened, all by itself, without the drinks and the lingerie — but this, all this, was simply too calculated, like an item on a checklist.

She saw all those thoughts, written in his face, and she sighed, exasperated. “Okay, look: I’ve been waiting — saving myself for my wedding night. I’m a virgin. I don’t care that people laughed at me for it. I didn’t care that Bagger wasn’t chaste. I always knew he wasn’t. I know who he is and what he is. I always have. I’m not fooling myself. But… at first, I thought I was keeping myself for God. And then, for my husband. And then… for him, specifically, for Bagger. Finally, in the end, I decided I was doing it for myself. After all, I’ve gone so far, I couldn’t just throw it away all those years of abstinence, all those opportunities I didn't take.” She paused, and let the coals of anger catch fire inside her. “But now, while he’s off fucking some two-dollar whore, I’ve decided that I’m not going to wait any more. I’ll be damned if I’m going to be a virgin on my wedding night.”

“Jenny, I—”

“Wait. Don’t say anything yet. I’m not asking you to fall in love with me, or to want me, or to do or say anything romantic or sentimental. I don’t want any promises. I don’t want it to mean anything. I just want that injection. I want you to stick your thing inside me and wiggle it around. It doesn’t even need to be good. I mean, I hope it will be good, but I need to be able to look in Bagger’s face on our wedding night and know in my heart that he isn’t my first. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Ben said. “I understand. You just want me to check that box for you.”

“Will you?” she asked.

“Yes, absolutely,” he replied, with a smile. “But can I suggest something? Let’s get naked — completely naked — and have a drink. Let's take our time. And then we can screw a couple of times and cure you of your condition.”

“My condition?”

“Virginity.”

“Oh, right.” Then she smiled and gave him a look through lowered eyes. “Can you really go a couple of times?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Which is lucky, because the first time is often awkward.”

“Okay,” she said. She went to fetch the blender of margaritas and a glass for herself. When she returned to the couch, she’d lost the fifties veil, and Ben had tossed aside his clothes. Surprisingly, the act of undressing aroused him, and he was pretty stiff.

“Change of plans,” Ben told her, “Come here and lie down on the couch.” She scurried over and arranged herself, looking up, expectantly. He lifted one of her legs high and began positioning his hips closer to hers. Then, as he looked at the opening between her legs, he realized something. “Oh, no!” Ben exclaimed. “I don’t have a condom.”

“Fuck the condom!” Jenny shouted. “I don’t care! Just get inside me! Now!”

 

---

 

Chad stopped at a stoplight. His arms were twitching with anticipation. He glanced over at Leslie, then scanned her, up and down. “Listen,” he said. “Undo your seatbelt for a minute.” She undid the hasp and let the belt slide away from her into the car’s frame. Chad put the car into park, there in the middle of the street. He reached over to Leslie’s legs and said, “Lift your butt off the seat.” She complied, and he gathered her dress and lifted it so it was all above her waist.

“Okay, sit down,” he said. She felt the leather seat under her naked legs and through her delicate underwear. Then Chad lifted the front hem of her dress until her legs and panties were exposed to view. He tucked the loose fabric behind her, so it wouldn’t fall and cover her crotch.

“There!” Chad softly exclaimed, his face red with nervous arousal. The car behind them honked, and brought Chad back to earth. He put the car into gear and drove ahead.

“Where are we going?” Leslie asked.

“To your appointment with destiny,” Chad replied, and laughed. “Oh, God, I’ve wanted to do this ever since I met you.”

However, despite their appointment with “destiny,” Chad drove around, seemingly at random, looking for a man or group of men standing at a bus stop or waiting for a light to change. He’d pull up close and pretend to consult his phone, as if he was lost. As soon as the men noticed Leslie’s legs and started making comments, Chad would drive off.

He did this several times. At the third stop, one of the men called for Leslie to “whip out her tits,” to which Chad gave a gasp that sounded nearly orgasmic. He had some trouble driving off.

Leslie was about to ask whether they were going to spend the evening doing these drive-bys, when Chad took a deep breath and began to drive with a clear goal and direction. It didn’t take long for Leslie to see that they were heading for the Bagman’s house. She quivered a little, nervous, eager, and very turned on. She couldn’t understand why the real Leslie didn’t want this. Didn’t *all* women want this? The real Leslie said no, but this temporary Leslie was pretty excited about it. At the very least, she told herself, the real Leslie would have to be grateful that she had a stand-in for whatever was going down tonight. At least it won’t be her. Not really her.

They pulled into the Bagman’s driveway. Chad got out, walked around the car, and opened Leslie’s door for her. Before he took her hand to help her out of the car, Chad bent down and looked into her face. She knew, without asking, that he was still disappointed that she wore no makeup. He made a sound of resignation, and helped her stand. Then, still holding her hand, he led her to the Bagman’s front door. As they walked, her bunched-up silk dress fell into place, and she smoothed it with her free hand.

Chad knocked. The Bagman called from inside, “It’s open!”

They found the Bagman sitting in an armchair, barefoot, wearing casual slacks and a white, well-pressed dress shirt. When he saw Leslie, he smiled and rubbed his hands in obvious satisfaction. “Dear God!” he exclaimed. “I have dreamed of this moment from the first time I laid eyes on you! Leslie, you are an angel on earth! Do you know that? An angel! My God! Look at you! You’re perfection incarnate! Perfection!”

He leapt from his chair and moved to her as if magnetized, devouring her with his eyes, walking around her as if she were some sort of exhibit, silently admiring her flawless skin, her shining hair, her perfect posture and poise…

“There is something different about you,” he mused.

Chad cut in, “She’s not wearing makeup.”

“She’s not?” the Bagman asked, in a tone of astonishment. He examined her face and smiled. “Well, she doesn’t need any, does she.” Then, standing behind her and just to her right, the Bagman clapped his hands softly and said, “Now, Leslie, let me help you out of that dress.”

He gently and slowly took hold of the zipper and pulled it down, protracting the experience for as long as he could. He admired every square inch of skin as it came into view. With great tenderness, he slipped the dress off her shoulders and guided it down, off her body, flowing over her curves, to the floor. He took her hand to help her step free of the dress, which he carefully draped over the back of a chair.

The Bagman didn’t ask her to turn or twirl or pose. Instead, he walked around her a second time, his hands clasped, taking her in. When he returned to stand in front of her, he looked at her face and smiled. Spontaneously, she smiled back, which made him smile even more.

Then, he touched her: lightly, very lightly. Almost reverently; almost as if he hardly dared. He gently put his palm against her abs. Holding his breath, he ran his fingers down her inner thigh, barely grazing the skin. He took a handful of her derriere and cradled it, neither squeezing nor lifting; just holding it.

At last, he stepped close behind her. He smelled her hair and rested his chin on her shoulder. He pressed his body into hers, so his erection (still inside his pants) pressed into her soft behind. He snaked his arms under hers, and cupped her breasts with his hands, holding them as if they were a source of power, power that flowed up his arms and down the front of his body, direct to his cock, where her buttocks completed the circuit. Of course, in reality, it did none of that. But the feeling was there: something electric, something alive. She knew without seeing that his eyes were closed, that he was drinking in her Leslie-ness, absorbing her female energy.

Then he let go and took a step back, and — surprisingly — helped her put her dress back on. He zipped her up and patted her shoulders with both hands.

The Bagman stood in front of her, and, eyes twinkling, asked, “Will you do everything that’s asked of you tonight?”

“Yes,” she replied in a soft voice that cracked. She cleared her throat, and in a normal voice repeated “Yes.” She heard Chad draw his breath and realized she’d forgotten he was there.

“Good,” the Bagman said. “Come this way, then,” and he led her, holding her hand high, at the height of her chin, and tenderly walked her toward the door to the patio. “We’re going to the pool house,” he explained. “My son is there. You know he’s getting married. I know he’s not a virgin, but I want him to have sex with the most exquiste, the classiest, the most beautiful woman I know. Of course, that woman is you. I hope you can stay with him until morning, when I’ll come for you. Will you do that?”

Leslie glanced at Chad, but only because he had just stepped into her field of vision. He thought she was looking for permission, so he nodded with enthusiasm.

“Yes,” she said.

“Excellent,” the Bagman said, grinning. He signalled Chad to stay, then led Leslie across the patio and into the pool house. The Bagman’s pool house was as large as a small cottage, and was fitted with a full kitchen, two bathrooms, and two changing rooms, all clustered around a huge, open living area filled with couches and chairs, dominated by an enormous TV. Bagger’s eyes were glued to the screen as his hands moved spasmodically on the controller. On the screen, his character was shooting everyone and everything in sight. His father walked in front of Bagger and gestured with his chin. Bagger set down the controller and turned off the TV. His eyes grew large as lanterns at the sight of Leslie. His mouth opened slightly, but he didn’t dare ask the question that was foremost in his mind.

“Cletus,” the Bagman said — and Leslie had to think for a moment before she remembered that Bagger’s real first name was Cletus — “I brought a woman here and gave her one mission: to make sure that when you leave your bachelor days behind, that you don’t leave them with regret.”

“Regret?” Bagger echoed, puzzled.

“Regret over things you never did, never tried, never dared to do with a woman. Leslie here is willing to do whatever it takes to squeeze the last drop of desire out of you. Aren’t you, babe?”

Leslie’s mouth was suddenly dry. Bagger? This was so weird and so wrong, but she’d come this far… Still, no one would ever know that she was really Ben. No one would believe it, even if she told them.

“Babe?” the Bagger repeated.

“Yes,” Leslie replied, with a smile. “Yes, absolutely, yes.”

“Okay, then! I’ll take your clothes away with me, so they stay fresh and clean. You’ll get them back after breakfast. Cletus, will you do the honors?”

Bagger jumped to his feet. Tentatively, scarcely believing his good fortune, and watching her face the entire time, he licked his lips and slowly unzipped her dress. Then he unfastened her bra and worked the straps forward, off her shoulders, down her arms. “Oh my God,” he said in a soft whisper. He massaged her breasts for a moment, then kissed each of her nipples before slipping his hands inside her panties, cupping her ass with both hands before pushing her underwear down her legs. He pushed his face into her crotch while he was down here, nuzzling his nose against her clitoris. He gave her labia a long, slow lick before he straightened up. His father collected Leslie's clothing, including her shoes. The Bagman struggled for a moment with her garments, draping her dress over his left arm, clutching her shoes between finger and thumb, and crumpling her undergarments in his left fist — all to leave his right hand free to pat Leslie on the ass and give it a gentle squeeze.

He let himself out and returned to the main house.

Bagger, excited and somewhat uncertain as to how much he dared to do, looked behind him at the assortment of furniture, trying to decide where to land. Then, he took her hands and backed himself toward a rattan chair, and guided her, standing, facing him. After he seated himself, he grabbed a loose cushion and tossed it to the floor at his feet. Tugging gently on her hands, like the reins of a horse, he drew her to kneel at his feet. “Unzip me,” he whispered. “And open my pants.” She did, and moved aside his white underwear, revealing a thick white snake, that did nothing but grow and harden as her slender fingers brought it forth.

Leslie had to admit: she was curious. Of course, as Ben, she’d stood in showers after gym with Bagger, but at those times his cock was always soft, withdrawn, and small. Now, it was erect and ready for use. It wasn’t enormous, it wasn’t porn-star grade, but it was a respectable size. It’s probably good not to have a pile-driver for my first, she told herself, but this will certainly do the job.

Bagger shifted his butt forward in the chair and pushed his pants down until they fell from his feet to the floor. His erection bobbled stiffly in front of her nose. She looked up at him. He licked his lips and slowly maneuvered her head so her mouth enclosed his penis. She closed her mouth around it. He smelled surprisingly clean and didn’t taste of sweat. Thank goodness for that! After her first movements made him gasp, Bagger held her head still, using both hands. Her mouth was filled by his penis. She looked up into his face. He smiled. He moved her head a little, forward and back, and groaned. Then cleared his throat and asked her, in a whisper, “Would you mind if I called a couple friends, and asked them to come over? Just nod your head yes or no.”

She thought, In for a penny, in for a thousand pounds, and nodded.

“That’s good,” he said, and a huge smile spread across his face. “Because they’re already here.” He continued to hold her head — not tightly — if she made a small effort, she could easy break free, but he kept his cock moving in and out of her mouth so she couldn’t speak. At the edges of her vision she saw young men moving, taking off their clothes. They came and touched her. They squeezed her breasts; they stroked her ass.. They spoke, they exclaimed to one another. One said, “Oh my God! It’s Mrs Crusoe! She’s the one Ben’s gone nuts for!” And another asked, “Where is Ben, anyway?”

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing!”

“I dunno, maybe he does know. I heard they’ve been fucking every day.”

A pair of hands lifted her backside off her heels. She was still on her knees, her face buried in Bagger’s lap. After some experimental fingering, someone penetrated her from behind. If her throat were free, she would have gasped and groaned as a strong, hard, cock slid inside her for the first time in her life. It was an incredible feeling. She could feel it, vividly. In her mind’s eye, she could see the penis moving like a piston, deep inside her. Hands fumbled at her breasts, feeling, palpating, touching her everywhere, rubbing her clitoris, fingering her butt.

She meant to keep count of each sexual act, but too much happened at once. It was a unbroken flow: When one man finished, another began. She was moved, positioned, bent, lifted. At one point, her face seemed to be covered in wriggling penises, leaving her cheeks and chin wet and sticky. Despite the small number of men present (she was pretty sure there were only five), there seemed to be an endless supply of cocks. The muscles of her jaw began to hurt before long, and soon after that, her vagina felt tender and bruised. Her little backdoor seemed to be her most resilient part.

Luckily, in spite of all their excitement and youth, none of the men had the sort of sexual stamina or imagination they imagined. After two hours, Leslie found herself lying alone on a chaise, sticky, thirsty, and sore in several places. She surveyed the room: all the men were slouched in chairs or on the floor, leaning into bolsters. Two of them were sound asleep. She gingerly, experimentally, got to her feet. Wobbling a bit, she walked over to Bagger and asked, “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

Bagger looked up at her face. His eyes traveled down to her pudenda, then her derriere. “Get everyone a beer first. And bend over when you open the fridge, so we get a good look at your ass.” She laughed, and did as she was asked, although Bagger was the only one paying attention.

When she emerged from the shower, Bagger was still the only man awake, and he was watching television. She wrapped herself in a large beach towel, and settled down to sleep on the chaise.

 

---

 

She slept deeply and well, although she woke four times, to find someone fucking her in the darkness. No words were spoken. There were barely even grunts. The first time, she fell asleep before he finished. The final time she lay awake, wondering whether she should get up.

Leslie didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until the Bagman came on tiptoe to wake her. He led her by the hand, past the sleeping men, outside and past the pool. On the patio, near the kitchen door, a breakfast table was set with all the elements of an American breakfast: eggs, bacon, sausage, ham, two kinds of toast, blueberry muffins, English muffins, scones, croissants, condiments and spreads, sliced red onions and smoked salmon.

Chad was at the table, sipping coffee. He smiled when he saw her.

“What, no donuts?” Leslie joked.

“They’re over there,” the Bagman replied, “in the box near the coffee urn.”

“This is a lot of food!” she exclaimed.

“The boys will eat it. It’s mainly for the boys. But help yourself.”

Leslie filled her plate with eggs, bacon, and a croissant. As she filled her cup with coffee, she felt the men’s eyes on her ass. Apparently she wasn’t going to get her clothes back yet.

After she sat at the table, and had a bite of croissant and a sip of coffee, she asked, “Did you know all those boys would be there?”

“No,” the Bagman replied. “Sincerely, I had no idea. I hope it wasn’t a problem.”

She shook her head no. The Bagman raised his eyebrows at Chad, who shrugged and smiled.

The Bagman leaned forward and touched her knee. “Leslie,” he said, “I’m so glad you finally came around.”

“Yes,” she replied, and then, with a barking laugh, “I’m not sure that I’m going to stay around though.”

The two men frowned.

“What does that mean?” Chad demanded.

Leslie paused, mid-chew. Should I not have said that? she asked herself. Still, I can’t let them think that the real Leslie is going to be up for this sort of thing.

“Um,” she said, drawing out her pause as long as she could, “I’m just saying… well, what I mean is... that tomorrow, the old Leslie could be back. Or *will* be back. Or… uh… should be back.”

The two men were dumbfounded. Thunderstruck. Bewildered. No one moved or spoke for several beats until the Bagman shook his head and said, “Women!”

Leslie bit her tongue to keep from laughing, as she thought, If only you knew!