All the World's a Stage

She stood up and looked down at him, not returning to the chaise, and her eyes shifted again to her vacant Stepford stare, and her voice was again the over-bright, eager, faintly robotic. "Oh, well done, Sir. And I do believe you liked it ever so much, which is just so wonderful. Would you like to help with the rest, or should I?"

"I mean, you can." Her cheerful cyborg persona was eerie. Which of course was the point, but she was eerily good at being eerie.

"As you wish, Sir," she said, this time without missing a beat. She turned and bent over at the waist, now able to bend freely without the cincher, and ran her hands down over her petticoat and stockings to her shoes. She unbuckled the T-straps and stepped out of the powder pink heels. She then unfolded slowly, just far enough to reach the top of her petticoat, and began sliding that down off her legs as well. Then she unclipped her stockings from the garter, and slid them off one by one. The garter followed, unhurriedly, a moment later.

Toby had reached the end of another study in his compendium, another really interesting one about how the brain processes stimuli and a complex attempt to mirror that computationally, which raised even more questions than it answered. He took a quick glance up to see what Lauren was doing.

She had now removed her gloves, and was reaching back to unhook her bra.

"Lauren?" he asked.

Her voice was back to normal. "My last outfit is the special one my husband got me. They mention it but never actually show it in the book. But that was 1972. In 2024, we're going to. Especially because we can't really show the big shocking moment of the tennis court getting torn up, just the usual standing-at-a-window-and-looking-horrified acting. And that special outfit can't be worn with underwear." The bra was now off, and she bent over at the waist, still only a step away from Toby's armchair, and began sliding her lacy panties off.

His eyes narrowed, and he cast his mind back along long-untraveled literary paths. He had read the book, but not since high school. "It was a rubber suit of some kind?"

"'Some kind,' indeed," she said. "You'll see." Then, back in her Stepford voice. "And I do hope you like it, Sir, but the evening is still young. Might I air out my skin for a little before I change into it for you?" She stretched her hands up, then put her hands on the back of her head and cocked her hip to one side.

"Um, sure?"

"Mm, thank you, Sir," she said, and she turned, not a stitch on and not a care in the world, and smiled at him. She had not a single visible hair anywhere below her neck.

"More comfortable now?" he ventured.

"Ever so much. You should try it sometime, Sir."

"I mean, I try to be comfortable every chance I get." But I am decidedly not comfortable now. It just has nothing to do with my clothes.

"Anything you're in the mood for that might help with that?"

He swallowed. "Another drink."

She laughed, and her breasts jiggled. "I did have a feeling you might ask at some point. Which is why I brought what I need to make more." She took his glass and returned to the silver platter.

"That's because you're brilliant even when you're acting brainless," he noted.

She gave a quick but full flip of her blonde hair as she turned her head to look back over her shoulder briefly at him, and smiled. It was another one of those warm human smiles peeking through the Stepford character. He liked it.

Lauren had mentioned that Charmaine's character was a former elite tennis player, and she was definitely starting to look the part. I should hit the gym more than three times a week, he said. Not just because it's good for my brain, either.

What's the curve of diminishing returns for gym workouts? Probably age-dependent. But there has to be something out there on that. Three is definitely better than one. I'm sure five is more than three. But ten can't be that much more than five.

His mind flashed back to one of the nanotechnology studies he'd read earlier in the book. Would it also be possible to design nanites that let people get more benefit from workouts? Or avoid diminishing returns from more workouts in a week? He had been thinking in terms of nanotechnology to let people interface with machines more easily. How big is the physical fitness industry, anyway? And how much of that is just people who join a gym but never go? He looked again at Lauren, whose back was still turned to him, mixing more Pimm's Cups. She was making herself one this time, he realized. The decanter that she had brought contained the Pimm's cordial and maybe a little extra gin. She should advertise for her gym, he thought. Except that they always want people who are really out of shape for their "before" pictures and that was never her. But she's really getting close to another level. Can't imagine what she'll be like by opening night. Except that his brain then very much did try to imagine what she might be like by opening night, even though she hadn't even told him yet when opening night was. But figure another month or two.

Lauren finished the drinks and returned, handing him his.

"To comfort," she said, raising her own.

"Amen to that," he replied, and their glasses clinked again, and they drank. "How long do you want to, um, air out your skin before you show me this last wardrobe change?"

She shrugged. "Oh, a little while, Sir. I'm still practicing to be able to wear it longer, but it does take work, so let's save it for a bit. But I'm doing my very, very best for you."

"Well, I'm certainly not questioning your effort."

"Why, thank you, Sir. Anything else you're in the mood for?"

"I mean, not sure. I feel like you're asking me that a lot more than I'm asking you. Is there anything you want?"

"Oh, Sir, I just want whatever you want. It's all I live for."

I want to avoid a seizure. I want an emergency cooldown system for my brain. Well, I know what works for that—why change a winning game? "I, uh, wouldn't say no to more piano music. My, uh, brain, you know, settle my brain. But I know you didn't come over here just for that."

"A brilliant man you are indeed. Quite right you are. But we're none of us in any hurry, are we, Sir?"

"I'm certainly not. I'm, you know, really liking having you here."

The warm, real smile peeked through again, though her eyes somehow wore a different expression. Still, she fixed him with that look for only another moment before turning back to the baby grand, and a moment later seated herself, still wearing only what she was born in, back at the baby grand. A moment after that, the haunting, regal melody of Fauré's Pavane in F sharp minor filled the library. And his mind recentered, or the dozen parallel strands of thought surging through it no longer overloaded him again.

"Like it?" she asked after a minute or two. This was neither her regular voice nor her community theater Stepford Wives voice. This was hushed, almost woven into the melody.

"I can't even explain it. You know I struggle with words sometimes." She merely nodded and kept playing, though there was a momentary hitch in the motion of her fingers. Had she been holding in a laugh? Well, maybe he deserved it, but still, that wasn't something she laughed at him about. It was one of the reasons he was comfortable around her. "I feel like I'm in a palace library in another age."

His phone lit up with a text. He was glad he had it on silent, but even so, he cursed the interruption. Especially because even with the music helping him focus, he had never really been very good at resisting looking immediately when he had a notification. It was from Liz. Is that Fauré's Pavane? That's my favorite!

Yup, he texted back. One of mine too.

Get a video! Send it to me!

Liz thought Lauren was still wearing that dress, he realized. He texted back: I don't think I should. She's between wardrobe changes. Doesn't have anything on at the moment.

Wait, what?!?!

She has one more outfit she wants to show me, but taking a break between wardrobe changes. Airing out her skin for a bit.

Wardrobe changes. Airing out her skin.

What she said.

OK, I'll just be out here in the rest of the world enjoying the music. You enjoy the music, too. And the view.

Toby, thinking he had been texting way too much while Lauren was here, anyway, did exactly that. Fortunately, Fauré's Pavane was a little longer than the pieces she had been playing earlier, so he still got to listen to most of it undistracted. He put his phone on airplane mode to avoid any further distractions from his sister trying to get a recording of Lauren's playing.

Then he realized that there shouldn't be a problem with just recording her playing, and he really wanted to be able to keep this memory. He quickly opened his camera, set to video, and pressed record, with the camera aimed facedown at the end table.

Lauren wasn't looking straight at him, but could definitely at least see something out of the corner of her eye. Probably had seen him texting and didn't like it, he realized. And now she stopped and turned and faced him, unconcerned with how much of her he could see. "Watchya doing?" she asked, in her normal voice, even with a trace of a sharper Boston accent in it.

"I was ... sorry! I got carried away. I was going to record you playing. Just the audio, I swear. See, the camera's facedown on the table. Is that OK? I'd—I'd really like to have something to remember this by. Not that I'm going to forget, but you know."

She smiled and melted back into her Stepford voice. "Oh, Sir, like I said, I want whatever you want. But is that really what you want?"

"I mean, yeah?"

"Or do you want to record me on the video, too? Be honest, Sir, I just couldn't bear if you weren't."

He definitely needed to get some classical music playing in this room again soon because his brain was overheating again rapidly. "I'd ... I mean, I'd definitely be OK with that if you were OK with that."

"Then pick up the phone, Sir," and she now turned back and put her hands on the piano keys again. "Let me know just before you hit record, so we don't clutter up the video with all this ever so unnecessary talk."

"Then wait a moment," he said, and he now got up, for the first time since Lauren had come into the library, he realized, and quickly figured out where to put the phone to capture the best of the light, both the now-fading light of sunset and the warm but slightly dim lamplight. He made a little stand of books to prop the phone in position, then turned, slipping for one moment back to the high school plays that she had roped him into his junior and senior year. "And three, two, one," he counted down, and then "action!" he whispered, and pressed record. Lauren's face lit up at the stage directions, hopefully as good of memories for her as they were for him, and resumed playing the rest of the regal number.

Toby returned to his book, but one of the many strands of thought in his mind was now firmly on the camera and her piece. He knew when it was about to end, and got up with a few seconds to go to switch the camera off, making sure to never cross into the frame himself.

"Might I see it myself, Sir?" she asked.

"Be my guest!" He handed her the phone.

"I do like being your guest."

"Me too. I mean, not being my own guest, I mean I like you being my guest. But be my guest watching the video, too. But of course you already are."

"Sir," she said. "Shh."

Toby went to retreat to his armchair and the waiting book on the end table.

"Sir," she called as he turned. "Want to watch it with me?"

That didn't sound like a bad idea. He turned back. The way Lauren was holding the phone, he had to get right behind her and look over her shoulder for the best view. He moved her blonde tresses out of the way on that side of her head, as gently as he could. Lauren sighed. They watched the video together. He felt a momentary sense of pride. He had caught the lighting as well as he could have hoped under the circumstances, and could do a little more with filters and after-effects later if he wanted.

He returned to his armchair.

"Want your phone back, Sir?"

He shook his head. "You keep it. It was just distracting me."

"Then I'm going to send this to myself, if that's OK, Sir."

"All yours. Glad you like it."

"Did you?" she asked as she messaged the video to herself.

"Oh, it was great. I'd fill my whole phone with memories like that if I could." Then he realized how that probably came out, and stammered, "but I mean, wow, I don't expect you, I just, wow, that came out wrong."

"Toby," she said, shifting both back to her real voice and his real name. "No, it didn't."

"Oh. OK. Well, good, then."

Chapter 5: Pièce de Résistance

She was silent for another several moments, then said, "I think I'm ready to show you Charmaine's special outfit that her husband got her. The one that was only mentioned in the book and never showed up in either of the movies."

"Didn't the original Charmaine think it was way over the top?"

"Oh, totally. When she was describing it to her friends, she said, quote, 'you're not getting me into it. Zippers and padlocks all over.' But the jury's still out on whether you empathize more with original Charmaine or with Ed, her husband, when you see it. That and the little extras we're adding, if I can handle them by production time, to add to the effect."

"Um, weren't all the Stepford husbands the bad guys?"

"Again, totally," she said. "But not because of their fashion senses. So let's see what you think." She got up from the piano bench, moved the first garment bag off the chaise lounge, and spread out the second one. "This is it!" she said.

The suit that emerged from the garment bag in her hands was red, somewhat like the dress she had worn for her first costume, but more candy apple red than ruby. It looked small, to the point where even though he knew rubber stretched, that he wondered if the arms and legs were too thin for her newly-toned limbs to get into. It was glossy and caught the warm lamplight in here in almost hypnotic, shimmering patterns as she spread it out in her hands and held it up against her body.

"Can you even fit into that?" he asked.

"Oh yeah," she said. "The secret is this." She set the garment itself down for a moment and reached into one of the outside pockets of the duffel bag and brought out two small bottles. She turned to face him, once again seemingly without a care in the world for the fact that he was looking at every inch of her from hair to toes. "Silicone lubricant," she clarified. She held out a bottle in his direction, and her Stepford voice returned. "Do be a gentleman, dear, and help your darling out? The work is just so much easier with two."

Well, he couldn't argue with her workflow efficiency logic, so he got up and took the bottle from her.

"I'll do the front and arms, Sir, you do my back and legs," she said. "Thin, even coat everywhere. Include the feet even though the suit doesn't cover them, since I'll need to slip those through." A worthwhile clarification.

He took a dollop of the lubricant and placed it on the small of her back, then began to spread it out. He'd made it a little larger than expected and a lot slid down, but he was able to catch it lower down and spread it out towards her ribs. He went to work then on the back of her shoulders, and worked his way down more slowly. Soon enough, he got to the curve of her back just above her derriere.

"Is it OK? If I touch you, you know, there?"

"Not just OK, Sir. You need to. We don't want the skin there catching on the inside of the suit, do we?"

"I suppose not," he agreed, and continued to work. The slow, steady motion and concentration on getting the coating exactly right, or at least what he thought was exactly right, was a stabilizing thought amid the fact that he was touching Lauren Vandermeer on her behind. And on her legs. And just touching her back had caused a bit of an awkward reaction that he hoped she wasn't able to notice. He knelt down as he began to work on her lower legs and feet, and there was a different scent here as his head reached the level of her hips. He ignored it and focused on his task, sliding the lubricant up and down her toned legs.

"What're you thinking, Sir?" she asked.

"You're really getting into this role. Like, are you taking tennis lessons, too?"

She laughed and slipped back into her normal voice. "Remember, no tennis court on the stage? That's part of why we're doing this instead. Tearing up the tennis court that she used to love so much was the big shocking moment they showed in the book and movie. Instead, we're doing the outfit that she never wanted to wear before."

"You did mention that," he admitted, as Lauren lifted her foot to allow him to rub a little lube on the underside of her feet. She giggled a little at the sensation as he rubbed there.

Rather than lower her foot to the floor, Lauren now stepped into the red latex bodysuit, pointing her foot as best she could to make it as narrow as possible as it went through the leg of the suit. The silicone lubricant apparently did its job, because her foot slipped through with only a little bit of effort. She then stood and let Toby likewise rub a small amount of lube on the bottom of her right foot, and then did the same thing. The rubber fit her legs like a second skin, but it stretched to accommodate them and showed no sign of tearing or even of real strain. Toby was shocked.

Lauren turned to face him again now, and began to wriggle and pull as she stretched her arms up into the bodysuit. Her breasts jiggled with the movement and exertion as she began. She held her fingers together to make a spearpoint as she pushed them through the sleeves, and again, the lubricant did its job. Her breasts now slid into place in the supportive cups built into the inside of the front of the garment, and so now jiggled far less, even with the zipper in the back not zipped yet.

"Now zip me in, Sir, and then you can put the locks on," she said, again back in her Stepford voice. "I'm sure you've been looking forward to that."

"Wait, the what?"

"Oh, Sir, zip me in, first, then you'll see."

The zipper was actually a double or two-way zipper that began at the crotch in the front. To zip the suit closed, Toby had to zip it down between Lauren's legs, then back up to the top in the back, just between the shoulders. It was set in a recessed track so that no metal would be at risk of scraping on her skin, though that also made the zipper harder to get moving and keep moving. It got stuck once or twice at the thicker parts of her curves, but nothing that couldn't be handled with a little bit of wiggling and patience.

"There, Sir," she said. "Now, see the flap? Close it over the zipper, then these go there." She bent down, again at the waist, and her behind actually slid backwards a few inches, which was all that was needed to slide it up against his crotch for a moment. She straightened again, and handed three small, gleaming, chrome padlocks over her shoulder to him.

The flap she had mentioned was narrow and ran vertically up the back of the suit along the right side of the zipper from the curve of the waist to the top of the suit. There were three small horizontal straps of thicker latex built into it, which could be used to pull the flap taut across the zipper. There were small buckles for the straps on the left side of the zipper, and small extra clasps in those buckles where the locks fit in.

Toby was stunned, but quickly figured it out and tightened the straps, and then slid the locks into place. He decided not to mention how much he liked the little clicks as each lock sealed Lauren into the suit. With the flap locked closed, the zipper could only be opened around the crotch, using the second slider on the chain of the zipper. So she would still be able to go to the bathroom, but not get out of the skintight suit.