All the World's a Stage

"Oh my God!" he squeaked. She seemed to have recovered enough core stamina that she didn't completely topple into him, at least.

"Shh," she said, and even that little hushing breath was somehow delivered in her bright, vacant, Stepford voice. "Remember, Sir, the ..."

"... show must gouuumm," he went to finish for her, and instead didn't even get to finish himself as her lips found his again. Her leg and core muscles might be starting to get tired after all the walking in those ballet heels, but she still apparently had plenty of mental energy and focus to duplicate the transformed-Charmaine's simple and total eagerness to please. He once again reminded himself of the envy he'd feel for whoever played Ed in the real production.

Then, a little louder, like an audience would be listening, she continued. "Do you like how I feel, Sir?" She now continued forward and settled herself on his lap, seated sideways across his lap. She subtly guided his left arm behind her back. His hand brushed briefly against one of the locks as it slid behind her and settled into place.

He nodded. Speech was beyond him.

"Then please touch me, Sir," she said.

He had no idea what to do, he wasn't an actor, but he drew his free arm, his right one, along her side.

"Mmm, ohh," Charmaine-Lauren moaned. As his hand reached her hips, she straightened and raised her leg on that side. On autopilot, he continued. She was showing off the impossible, gleaming black heels in the full focus of the stage lights, he realized. He continued his hand along her leg until he touched the lock on the top of the boot, just past her knee, then let it fall. Charmaine-Lauren continued to vocalize her pleasure, and gave a dramatic wriggle and arched her back. Toby's slacks had already been tight, and he hoped that she couldn't feel the effect that had on him. His slacks were thick, but her outfit would certainly transmit every tactile straight through.

Whether she felt it or not, she gave no sign, but she leaned in and tilted her head sideways to kiss him again.

"Come, Sir," she said, just as she had the first time, and lowered her feet to the floor. He stood just after she did, and she reached back to take his hand again, and he walked behind her, her hips rolling and the locks on her back and boots glinting, until they reached the library door. This time, however, rather than open it and go through, she simply stopped, drew him close up behind her, and then leaned forward onto the door for balance as she drew one leg behind her and up the back of his legs and back down. As she landed that leg again, she turned to face him, still leaning on the door. Her own face was a little flushed now, too, but nothing compared to how he felt.

"Sir, I think," she said in her Stepford voice, and then suddenly she was back in her normal voice, "that this might be as far as I go." She grabbed the door handle and began to lower herself.

"Urp. Game over," he said. But he wasn't about to let her collapse to the floor. He picked her up, which was doable but not easy, I am going to start using our workout room more than three times a week going forward, carrying her under her knees and back, and laid her down on the chaise again.

"Thank you, Sir," she said, again in her normal voice. "This is better than the floor."

"That's kind of the point of furniture," he noted. "Might be time to change out of that. Think you've rehearsed enough for today?"

She smiled. "You don't have to let me out yet if you don't want to, Sir, but I might be crawling if we go anywhere else."

Now there's a new intrusive thought, he said, but that was secondary and pushed to the back by the fact that he had forgotten that he was still carrying the keys to her boots and suit.

"I'm at least getting you out of those boots," he said. "I can get you out of your clothes a little later."

"Mmm-hmm, good plan," she replied with that mischievous spark back in her eyes. He looked back at her and shrugged, not sure why that was such a good plan, but it worked for now. He was just thinking that the boots were top priority. She'd clearly reached the limit of her endurance in those.

He found the key, unlocked the boots, and slid them off her feet, one by one. "There," he said.

"Thank you, Sir," she replied. "Any chance you're up for helping me stretch my feet? Supposed to do that for a bit after wearing these."

Hadn't thought of that, but not surprised in the slightest. "Definitely," he said. He helped stretch each of her feet several times in all directions, and in circles as well, and massaged them as best he could to loosen the muscles. She hummed as he worked on her muscles and tendons. "Better?" he asked after maybe ten minutes of this.

"Definitely," she said. She slid the boots back into their mesh bag, put them back in her duffel bag, and retrieved her Boulevardier.

"Good," he said, and returned to his armchair. "Tell you what, I know the evening isn't even forever far along, but I'm exhausted. And I wasn't even the one wearing those things."

She nodded at the wall clock. "Time flies. I've been here for two hours."

"Also good," he said, raising his Boulevardier. "Means we've been pacing ourselves."

"True, but: Your parents coming home soon?"

Toby chuckled regretfully. "Probably got at least another hour before we see either of them. Dad's on a big case for one of his big clients, trial starts in two weeks. Mom's getting ready for a conference next weekend where a bunch of their big investors will be, too."

"You think it would be OK if I used your shower before they get here? Remember the lube it took to get this on—I'd kinda like to wash it off before I put my outside clothes back on."

"Oh, right. Yeah, go ahead, use the bath in my room. Or the guest bath, but honestly the one in my room's better."

"Sounds great," she said. "Whenever you're ready."

"Huh?"

She smiled over at him and turned to expose her back, with the locks still holding her suit closed. "I'm in no rush, Sir," she noted. "Just whenever you're ready."

He winced. For the second time in fifteen minutes, he'd forgotten that he held that keyring.

"You good like that for another fifteen minutes? Pretty sure I can finish my chapter by then. And I'm kinda in the mood to just chill."

"I'm down for just chilling in your happy place," she said, turning back to lie sideways on the chaise and gesturing around the dim, warm, two-story room.

Toby quickly lost himself in his book again, though the reflected light on Lauren's bodysuit caught at least a corner of his eye when she got up from the chaise and strode across the room to put Liz' astronomy book away and get out something else. He recognized it. It was the family's good hardbound copy of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, not the cheaper, paperback version that he had gotten in high school to have something to dog-ear and highlight. Unasked, she also mixed the last Pimm's Cup and handed it to him while she was up. He accepted it gratefully, wordlessly.

He reached the end of the next chapter, another study on mind-machine interfaces, this time with an emphasis on possible defense applications. He looked up and saw her sprawled out on the chaise again, absorbed in her book, the light glinting from the padlocks on her back and shimmering along every curve in the skintight rubber suit. He found that he wasn't actually in any hurry to let her out just yet. And he had said fifteen minutes, and as it turned out, it had been only fourteen.

"Watchya readin'?" he asked.

He caught her smile in profile. She didn't even turn, yet her theater voice filled the library, projected without even feeling like it was shouting or straining to be heard. Not her vapid, empty Stepford wife character voice. Not even what was likely her pre-transformation Charmaine Wimperis voice, which he realized he hadn't really heard yet. This wasn't a character, or if it was, it was her playing herself. This was theater-major, music-minor, poetry-slam-champion Lauren Vandermeer.

"As an unperfect actor on the stage,

Who with his fear is put besides his part,

Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,

Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;

So I, for fear of trust, forget to say

The perfect ceremony of love's rite,

And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,

O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might.

O let my books be then the eloquence

And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,

Who plead for love and look for recompense

More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.

O learn to read what silent love hath writ!

To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit."

"Sonnet twenty-three," he noted. He refrained from mentioning that she had been well into the second stanza before his memory had connected the words and the number. Then again, she was the theater major, not him. She'd probably had it in class at some point. It had simply been leisure reading at one point in high school for him.

"A man of culture as well as science."

"I read it in high school. Not for class. Just for a little self-culture after some really enthusiastic freshman roped me into drama club for my junior and senior years."

"Hmm, sounds like a keeper, whatever happened to her?"

"Happy to say that she's still around."

She gave a little flip with her hair and turned for a moment to smile at him.

"Think she's about to go take a shower, actually," he continued, and he rose, took the keyring from his pocket, and began unlocking the back of her suit.

"Typical."

"I could list the top hundred adjectives that describe her and that wouldn't be on it."

"Oh yeah? Start at the top."

"I did start at the top," he said, and in fact, he was just unlocking the bottom-most lock now. Her back was to him so he couldn't see her face, but the blonde curtain of her hair swayed as she shook her head. The last lock came free, and he handed all three back to her, along with the keyring.

"Thank you, Sir," she said, though he got the impression she was holding in a laugh. "Help me out of this? Takes a little bit of work. Easier with two."

As with putting it on her, he couldn't argue with her workflow efficiency analysis. He unzipped the double zipper from the top. Even with two, and with the lubricant still on her body underneath the skintight rubber suit, and with the long zipper splitting the suit all the way down and through her legs to in front of her waist, peeling her out of the latex second skin took a bit of work. But he didn't mind. He liked the feel of it sliding over her skin.

Soon enough, she was standing in the library in front of him without a stitch on yet again, the lubricant glistening on her skin. She took the bodysuit and hung it in the garment bag, and slipped the padlocks and keyring back into the duffel bag. Then she gathered up her discarded slacks, her sensible, old-fashioned librarian top, and the black businesslike heels that she had arrived in.

"Is there an extra towel in your bathroom?" she asked.

"Actually, no, I'll come with you," he said. She actually probably knew where the linen closet was, she'd been here often enough, but she'd also never showered here before. Better safe than sorry. He headed out of the library, and she followed him, still stark naked, into the center hall, up the broad staircase, and around the upstairs hallway to the second floor linen closet. He fetched her the biggest, fluffiest towel he could find, and a bottle of conditioner as well, then led her again up the smaller staircase to the third floor where his own room was.

"You sticking around here or heading back to the library?" the naked woman in his bedroom asked.

"Think I'll head back down. Got a Pimm's Cup and a book that both need finishing off."

"Nothing you can think of that might need finishing off up here?"

He shrugged. "No food or drinks upstairs. And I left my book down there."

She gave him a long, silent look, then shrugged back. "See you back in your happy place, then."

He met Liz on the second-floor stairs. "Lauren leave?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Showering in my bathroom."

She narrowed his eyes at him. "Showering in your bathroom."

He nodded.

"Where you are not." Her expression was inscrutable, notwithstanding his best attempts to scrut it.

"Just came from there, got her set with a towel and all. She's good to go."

"Oh, I'm sure she is."

"What?"

"Never mind. Anyway, did you get the text from Dad?"

He shook his head. "Left my phone in the library. I actually put it on airplane mode earlier, sorry. After we were texting."

She gave a quick nod of acknowledgement at that. "No offense taken. You definitely had better things to focus on. But anyway, he and Mom should be home in about thirty minutes, and they're bringing a couple of pizzas from Ernesto's. I didn't tell them that Lauren was here. But you want to invite her to stay?"

"I'm not going to kick her out right as Ernesto's comes in the door!"

"Does feel like there's probably a law against that."

"Thanks, Liz."

Chapter 8: Denouement

He returned to the library and got lost in his book for just under twenty-five minutes, until Lauren joined him, now back in her street clothes.

"Hey!" he called when she came in. "Mom and Dad are almost home, apparently, and bringing Ernesto's. Want to stay?"

"Can't say no," she replied with a smile.

As if right on cue, there came the sound of his father's voice calling out from the back door. "Liz! Toby! We're back!"

"Pizza time?" she asked.

"Pizza time," he confirmed, handing her her half-finished Boulevardier and taking his own half-finished Pimm's Cup. Lauren handed hers back to him and picked up the silver platter with everything they'd brought to the library over the evening.

"Might be time to take this back," she noted.

"We've put a few away by now," he acknowledged. "Though I feel pretty good."

She smiled. "Me, too, Sir."

They went down the hall to the kitchen, where Toby' parents already had the pizzas spread out on the island. His father saw the two of them first.

"Oh, hey!" he called out warmly as Lauren came into view. "Hey, Megan, Lauren's here!"

"Mr. and Mrs. Chapman, great to see both of you again, too. Is it OK if I mooch a slice?" Lauren asked.

"I already said she could," Toby clarified.

"By all means!" Toby's mom had just finished putting her coat up in the closet and now came to join them. "And you're not in high school anymore, you can call me Megan now. Lauren, great to see you again. And ... are you making Boulevardiers?"

Lauren smiled. "That was Toby at work, actually. I made him Pimm's Cups and he made me Boulevardiers."

"Teamwork makes the dream work," Grant said proudly. "And you can call me Grant now, too. Nice to see the two of you together."

"Been since high school," Toby noted. "Or well, maybe occasionally on holidays."

"Wait, were you two together in high school?" Megan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What? Oh, no, not like that together, just, you know. Being together."

Grant and Megan looked between Toby and Lauren and then shared a look with each other that was unfairly like the Girl Telepathy Look, even though Grant was his dad. "Well, glad you came around anyway, then, Lauren," Grant said. "A lot of Toby's class is scattered all over the place by now."

"I know," she said. "But glad he came home."

"So are we," Megan said. "Especially since it seems like he figured out how to make Boulevardiers at some point. And I could go for one right now. Be a dear son and help your Mom out?"

"The work I do for my room and board," Toby sighed, and got to work. Unasked, he made one for Liz, too, who had been watching quietly this whole time. He didn't make one for his dad, since he knew he was going to be having a Scotch if he had anything.

They took their pizza and drinks into the dining room. Lauren chatted at ease with Toby's parents. Toby, maybe starting to feel the drinks now a little more than he had earlier, or maybe just content to let others do the talking, was quiet for a while. They never really got into any of the tech topics that would have set him going, anyway. Lauren did mention she'd been cast in a community theater production, which surprised his parents no more than it had him.

"I think I've got to head up to bed," Toby's mom said at last. "Almost ten. And I have to go straight to the office after mass tomorrow."

"Same," sighed his dad. "Lauren, great to see you again. Hope you're back again soon."

"Thanks, Mr. ... I mean, Grant. And I hope so, too."

Toby hoped so, too.

Chapter 9: Exit

Grant and Megan excused themselves and headed upstairs. Toby and Lauren finished their slices and cocktails and left Liz in the dining room as they returned to the library. Lauren opened her phone and called for a Lyft, and a car was only a few minutes away. Then she idly flipped over to her messages. She had left her phone on silent the whole time she had been here as well, so she had missed a few. Her expression grew thoughtful.

"Hey, Sir," she said, her voice as thoughtful as her expression.

"Yeah?" Toby had settled into his armchair again. His book was calling to him, but he was relaxed now.

"Did you enjoy practicing with me today?" she asked.

"I really did," he answered with a smile. "Brought up lots of good old memories and made some new good new ones, too. Just a lot to process."

"Mm-hmm. Well, think you might be up for processing a bit more of it over the next month?"

"Oh?"

"Just got word that the guy who was going to play Ed isn't going to be able to make it. Ed is really a tiny part, nowhere near as many lines as Charmaine. He got a bigger gig in New York, a paid one, and he needs to jump on it."

Toby raised his eyebrows. He'd been jealous of the guy he'd never known, and now the guy was bailing. Bailing on an unpaid role, true, but one that, in Toby's amateur opinion, came with exceptional other perks. "Well, does whatever his name is' understudy know?"

"Unpaid community theater doesn't really work like that, especially for roles that were already small. It'll probably just be someone from the production team. Or we pull back someone who was in a different cast in the past. But seriously, it's not a ton of lines, so—want to be on set with me?"

"I haven't acted since high school. Now you want me to play someone who's both an evil genius but also has an incomprehensible inability to prioritize?"

She grinned at him, and that mischievous spark was back in her eyes. "I think you could figure it out. And I'd be happy to come over and help you rehearse as often as you want until you're comfortable. You did just say you liked practicing with me tonight."

Now that was a bit more appealing of a thought. "I did," he admitted. And he had also just admitted to himself that he was secretly jealous of whoever got to play Ed. But if he took the part, then he'd have to be jealous of himself. A mind-bending conundrum.

She brightened. "So, same time, same place, same plan tomorrow, then?"

He smiled back. Her enthusiasm was infectious, considering that getting onto a stage in front of people had not even been on his top hundred ideas for things to do when he got up this morning. "Works for me. Still no promises about getting me on stage, but I'd be happy to help you rehearse again." He gestured around the library. "You know where to find me."

"I'll be here," she said. An alert popped up on her phone. Her Lyft had arrived.

"I can help you carry some of that," Toby volunteered. "Or wait, actually, you're going to be here tomorrow anyway—want to leave any of that here?"

Her smile warmed. "I could do that. Let me take the red suit with me, I might need to clean that a little. I can leave everything else. The dress and all the stuff that went with that outfit, and then both pairs of shoes. Is that legitimately OK?"