I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror, and it was true: I did have a cute pout.

I pushed a strand of hair out of my face and smiled at Jack, trying to look sleepy and confident.

"Whoa," he said, grinning. "They must have had a box of new attitude in there."

The sales lady giggled. "I was right," she said. "Target should pay you to wear their clothes."

"You could use a top that's a bit more revealing," Jack suggested, so I glared at him.

"I'm fine," I said. The sparkly top showed plenty of cleavage, leaving no doubt that I was female and a mammal. Jack was just being Jack.

I tried a few more things in the cart on, even the pink stretch pants, which looked like strawberry paint! I didn't have the nerve to wear those out of the changing room—yet. But if I wore them anywhere, I knew men would be looking at me. I wanted to not buy them but, jeez, they were amazing!

I did have Jack put one top back (I would have risked arrest wearing it on the street!). I kept the tags out for my last change back to the blue denim and had the salesgirl ring me up. Jack offered his credit card, and I let him pay. It would have made a good-size dent in my bank account, so why not let him be chivalrous, if that's the word?

We picked up some other things: toiletries like shampoo and conditioner, about which I got a lecture on why my old stuff was no good for the new me, but the big thing was stopping at the makeup counter.

"Just the basics," Jack said. "Lip gloss, mascara, foundation and blush; you'll need lessons to use anything else."

"I duwanna," I whined. I didn't admit it to Jack, but I knew more about cosmetics than he suspected—drama major, right? That didn't mean I wanted to wear makeup for everyday.

My reluctance amused him. "It's not like you need anything to look good," he pointed out, "but makeup for women is a status thing, too."

I repeated my reasoned objection. "I duwanna."

"You're cute when you pout like that," Jack observed.

Glares were wasted on him, so I refrained, but I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror, and it was true: I did have a cute pout. I pushed hair out of my eyes, again, and made a note to remember that expression. It could be useful in front of the camera.

Thinking of cameras reminded me that I wanted to look for the special effects camera from the film museum, which had evidently been used to cast a magic spell on me. I still found it hard to believe in magic, but no other explanation that didn't involve me being insane seemed possible.

"Shoes," said Jack. "Target's not the best place to pick up shoes, but we should be able to find some sandals or something. And then we'll know your shoe size."

"Okay," I agreed. You can't wear sneakers everywhere, not even high heel ones.

He snorted. "We'll have to get you some heels. You're already tall for a girl, but don't give away your advantages. You'll need to learn to walk in heels, 'cause you don't want to be passed over for a part because you're a klutz. Some short girl in five-inch heels might get a part you wanted and would be perfect for, but you're face down in the ficus cause you didn't train to walk in glamorous shoes? Huh?"

Damn. Jack was talking sense, which automatically made me suspicious, but I grinned at him. "Okay, okay," I grumbled. I was already wearing heels, and Jack hadn't noticed.

He laughed. "We'll compromise, nothing more than three inches and no stilettos. 'Kay?"

I nodded glumly. Things just kept getting girlier and girlier. Maybe when I got back to being male, I could get work as a drag queen.

We picked out two pair of shoes, one of black nearly-flat slippers that Jack assured me were called kitten pumps, and the other pair were beige sandals with straps across the ankle and instep and a three-inch cork wedge heel. They weren't expensive (this was Target), and Jack actually sneered at the prices.

"We'll get you some nice shoes soon enough," he promised. "Legs like yours deserve them."

"You haven't seen my legs," I pointed out.

"I've got an excellent imagination," he said, smiling. "If you have less than a set of fabulous limbs under those pants, I'll eat your pantyhose." Speaking of which, he threw several pairs of cheap hosiery in the cart.

I scoffed, but I couldn't help smiling, too. Jack's reputation with girls had not really prepared me for being the focus of his attentive charm. Now, dammit, I wanted to show him my legs. I'd seen them in mirrors a couple of times, and they were fabulous.

We stopped at the jewelry counter, too. My ears were already pierced. I'd had that done my senior year of high school at the urging of a girlfriend who, frankly, had too many holes in her head. And wonder of wonders, in my new body, my ears were still pierced. Jack picked out an assortment of dangles, bangles, beads, barrettes, rings and things, mostly in gold with flower and butterfly motifs.

"Huh?" I said, glaring at the more delicate imagery.

Jack explained. "You're a big girl, with heels on, nearly six feet. You need some stuff that emphasizes your femininity."

"I—what?" That shifted the glare to him, but he shrugged it off.

"Stinkum," he announced. "You need perfume. And Target does make an effort to have some decent brands." He steered me to the smelliest aisle in the store. "Your rich boyfriend," he waggled his brows, "can buy you something better later, but we are here now."

I still had the glare turned on, but Jack unerringly picked out two scents I could actually imagine myself wearing. One was flowery sunshine on a summer morning, and the other was a dusky, musky night of dancing in a spotlight. That one scared me, but it was something that I knew would have driven boy-Billy crazy.

My hair was in my face again, and I blew a puff of air to get it out of the way. "Too sexy," I complained.

"Says the girl with the double-D chest," Jack scoffed. "I saw your eyes light up when you got a whiff of that. And if you think this flyswatter is something, wait till I take you to Le Minou on Rodeo Drive and introduce you to their bottled violence."

That confused me, and we ended up with bottles of both scents in the basket. "Why both?" I asked.

"Night and day, darlin'," he drawled. "Night and day." He pulled out his credit card and paid for all of it, again.

This made me nervous. Despite his joking, was Jack thinking of himself as my boyfriend? When we got back to the apartment, what was he expecting out of me?