Makeover

"I want to see 10 or 15 more pounds on you."

"Now you sound like my mom. I can't, okay? I can't gain weight. Even if I force feed myself, the pounds don't stay on."

"I think you need a different approach. I agree we're never going to get you looking curvy like Marilyn Monroe. But muscle tone. We can add some muscle. The difference between super skinny and super athletic - it's a very fine line. With just a little bit of tone on your legs and arms - suddenly you're not skinny anymore, you're super fit. And guys love that. You need to get on an exercise regimen that focuses on muscle building, and we'll pair it with one of those scientific weight gain diets. Believe me Denise, your body isn't cursed - it'll respond the way it's supposed to with the right food and exercise."

"It won't work."

"We're only looking for 10 or 15 pounds here, that's it. I can give you the name of a trainer."

"Okay," she said. "Trainer. Muscle tone. A little makeup. Posture, Feminine outfits. Longer hair. Landing strip. Is that it?"

"Well that's a fucking lot. Can you do all that?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Some of these things you can start doing tomorrow. Others, like the hair and the fitness, that will take time."

She stood up. "I think I better be going. I've had about all the guy-perspective I can handle today."

"Hey!" I followed her as she headed for the door. Getting in front of her I faced her, trying to look her in the eyes, but she didn't want to meet my gaze. "Hey, did I go too far? Did I hurt your feelings?"

"No."

"Denise, I don't care what you look like."

"...I think you do."

She opened the door and I stepped aside as she walked out. Maybe honesty isn't always the best policy. It was the last I saw of her for months.

2

"You're a piece of shit."

Harsh daylight filled the bedroom. My wife Helena was collecting items from around the room and tossing them into an open suitcase. I stood in the doorway, pleading with her.

"I know," I told her. "But we talked about counseling. Can you please not move out till we've at least met with the counselor?"

"How many women, Eric? How many? And how far back?"

"It was just one. And just once." why am I lying?

"Just one where you got caught, you mean." Helena stopped to look at me. "How many times when you didn't get caught?"

"Hel, It was just the one time." this is a dream right? she left me years ago.

"You're lying," she hissed at me. "And that's why I'm leaving. Not for betrayals in the past that we could work through. But for the lies you're telling right now."

"Don't go..." my eyes filled up with tears. "I'm all alone here."

"You like being alone."

"No I don't. Don't leave." stop punishing yourself. just wake up.

I woke. The room was dark. Thin strips of streetlight came through the blinds and covered the walls. Going back to sleep proved to be impossible, so I got up and exercised as the sun rose. My plan for the day was to get a little work done on a laptop at my local coffee bar. Free wifi and cheap caffeine were often the right stimulants on a Sunday morning.

I guess it was around 10 o'clock. I was deep into coding when I heard the jingle at the door and instinctively looked up. I saw a stranger walk in and I looked back down - for about a second. Then my brain said "Denise" and my head snapped back up. It was her.

Denise walked toward me and then stopped about three feet away, with one hand on her hip and a prankster's smile on her face. "Hi Eric." she greeted me.

I stared dumbfounded. My jaw was slack. My mind boggled. I'm not going to lie and pretend I didn't recognize her. It was definitely Denise. But it was her and it also wasn't her. My brain simply couldn't process the contradiction.

"Uh...bu...wha?...." I said in reply.

She had never looked like this. Chestnut colored hair fell around her shoulders and gleamed in the daylight. Her glasses were new - less bookish, her lips pink with lipstick. Her freckles, always a hallmark of her awkwardness - now somehow were an asset. It didn't make sense. Her smile had always been infectious, her best feature, but now her face beamed with a radiance that in an instant I knew had always been there but that I never wanted to notice.

Lowering my gaze, I took in her white blouse and pencil skirt, which somehow was hugging actual curves. Denise had a waist! Who knew? Sculpted and toned calves stood atop high heeled shoes. Her posture broadcasted confidence. Several other men in the café had paused their conversations to check her out.

Look, I'm no fool - it was still Denise, with the same gangly limbs, slight overbite, bad eyesight - and she didn't walk any better in heels than I did. There was a chance this was all a joke. But the truth could not be denied: every winning feature of her looks had been augmented - spotlighted, and every weak point hidden. Opening my mouth to speak - even my voice was conflicted. I knew I was talking to an old friend, and yet somehow I spoke with the quickening heartrate any guy has when meeting an attractive girl.

"What... what have you done?"

"I changed a few things," she said with an impish smile, Thank you for noticing."

"Are you in disguise?" I whispered. "Do you work for the CIA now?"

"No, I just took a friend's advice. Mind if I sit?"

"Denise... holy shit!" She made herself comfortable in the lounge chair opposite. "Denise, you look amazing."

"Thank you."

"Are these all the things I said to do?"

"Every one. The fifteen pounds were the hardest part."

"You gained weight!"

"It went straight to my stomach and butt, my arms are still skinny."

"But... but, you've got sleeves now!"

"Of course! A guy has to earn the arms, right?"

"Ha ha! Oh my God. Denise, you look gorgeous. I want you to know that."

"It's strange, but I feel different too. This new look gives me confidence. I feel like I could do anything."

"Yeah?"

"And people - I've noticed people treat me differently now."

"Now that you're... hot."

"I've never had so much attention from guys. It's really weird. But also a little depressing, since I know it's fake."

"Is it really fake though? If you're getting compliments, I'm sure they're genuine."

"Yeah, I don't know. It's confusing. And I don't want to get used to it. I kind of preferred when I only got one glance instead of two."

"Now you know why hot chicks can be so irritating. Imagine getting that treatment every day of your life. You think you're Queen Shit." She flashed another one of those smiles at me. I continued: "Well. That guy you were crushing on, the one from work. You're ready now. You've never looked better. Ask him out. And you know something: a) he's going to say yes, and b) if he doesn't - screw'em. You can do better than him now. You're a fucking knockout."

"Yeah, I think it's time. But I'm still nervous."

"If you're nervous, that just means you're human. Be nervous. Enjoy the nervousness."

"Thanks."

"You know, after you left my apartment that night, I regretted the way I acted."

"Why?"

"The brutal honesty. I forgot how deep words can cut. I know you felt hurt when you left. I'm sorry for being an asshole."

"Don't be sorry. I'm glad you said what you did. I thought your advice was just what I needed."

"Well thanks for taking it that way. I just wanted to be helpful." Denise shifted around uncomfortably in her seat, like she was distracted. I looked up at the menu board. "You want something to eat? We've got to keep you filled up with carbs, right."

Denise started to speak, stopped, then tried again. "Actually, there's something I want to ask."

"Ask away."

"Well, you know how you said I'm ready to ask that guy out?"

"Yeah."

"Well,"

"..."

Denise fidgeted in her seat. Her eyes darted up to mine and then down to the floor. When she spoke it sounded like she had to pull the words out with a struggle.

"You, uh, you want to go out for dinner sometime?"

"What? Yeah anytime you want. But what does that have to do..."

Realization dawned. No. Impossible. She doesn't mean me. Denise was now sitting upright in the lounge chair, still as a statue. Her breath was shallow and her eyes were unblinking. Her right hand had an iron grip on her left. Okay. It's me. Holy shit.

"Denise?"

"Like maybe, Italian? Or... or, or seafood?"

"You said it was a guy at work."

"Yeah. I lied. Sorry about that."

I was in shock. I was the guy? My best friend... Oh god. This was horrible. The friendship was over. I was going to say no, and then there'd be no going back. We'd be finished. I looked at her. She was practically in agony. Why? Why is she doing this? What does she expect me to say?

"Just... just think about it," she said, standing up rapidly. I was suddenly aware I had been silent for too long. Breathing rapidly she began walking out on her unsteady heels. I saw my best friend in pain and suddenly my shock was gone - I was flooded with pity. I dashed up and raced after her. She made it outside and I got in front of her.

"Hey hey, wait up." Denise stopped but looked away. Her lip was trembling. "Look at me." I said. With a great effort she turned and looked at me. "You caught me by surprise in there. First with this, this makeover. It has my brain all confused."

"I know."

"And then this. Look..." I paused again, having no idea what to say. She began to walk away again and again I intercepted her. "Denise!"... But no words came. My mind was swimming. Each time I blinked, she changed. She was a real, beautiful woman - a stranger - but then no, she was my gawky friend, wearing this fraudulent outfit, stumbling in heels, pretending. She was moments away from tears, so I had to be quick. "Listen. I swear to you. Whatever happens - I will not hurt you. Okay?"

"Okay." She whispered. She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "Call me."

And she was gone.

I walked home in a stupor. Then in the privacy of my dark apartment I put my face in my hands. I didn't want this. I couldn't give her what she wanted, and the line she had crossed couldn't be un-crossed. It meant the end of the friendship.

My phone hummed. It was a text. It was two photos, both of Denise. One showing off her new look, head to toe, the other a close up of her smiling face. And a message: "I'm okay now. Take all the time you need.". I lingered on her face and again my brain tried to process the contradiction. My best friend - who I was not attracted to. Never had been. And yet, there was that radiance.

"That's crazy." I said to the living room furniture. "No one becomes beautiful. They either are or they're not."

I mean, what did she want from me? To go on a date? The very idea was ridiculous. Dates are for getting-to-know-you shit. What were we supposed to talk about on a date? Where we went to school? What kind of music we enjoy? What kind of charade did she expect it to be? And what about after the date? She would want... well she would want what people want after dates.

For the first time, I did something I had made a point not to do for 20 years. I imagined fooling around with Denise. The most taboo of all fantasies. This was the wall that held up the friendship, and I was about to knock it down. Okay so there I was, holding her. I pressed my lips to hers...

Nothing. This did nothing for me. It didn't feel right.

My mind drifted to the image of her standing in front of me in the coffee shop. That impish grin. That strange, awkward, beautiful woman who flashed that knowing grin at me. I could remember a thousand laughs coming out of that mouth.

I took the phone back out of my pocket and pulled up the photo. Yes, there she was. I scrolled over to the closeup of her smiling face. There was a hint of that knowing grin there. She wanted to let me know she was okay. She couldn't fool me. She wasn't okay, she was a nervous wreck. She had probably taken 17 of these photos before she found this one where the smile looked natural.

Attraction to Denise. Was it even possible? I tried again. I imagined looking into her eyes. The kiss was imminent. I leaned in... nope. No sale.

I mean for God's sakes, weren't we already close enough? For years this girl had been my closest confidant. She had listened with patience to every complaint about Helena when all of that was happening. I had helped her through her own darkest hours. What was wrong with her? What was romance going to add to what we had?

"You can't date your friends." I said with insistence to the carpet.

Involuntarily, my mind went back to the first photo. I dwelled for a moment on her new physique. Then Denise stepped out of the skirt. The shirt slipped off as well. There she stood in bra and panties and heels - still smiling, and turned around, showing me a pert little butt, which moved up and down as she walked. Where was she walking? To my bedroom. She glanced behind and crooked a finger at me, telling me to follow her. I did. I stepped through the doorway. The bra fell down. The panties followed. She turned back around to face me and moved onto the bed.

Now what was I feeling? I was scared out my mind. She's naked - my friend is naked. She wants me. She wants the last part of me that I haven't given her. I join her on the bed, naked too. My heart shouldn't be thumping. She's my friend. I can't show her my real vulnerability. I can't give her everything. "Why not?" she asks, running her hands up and down my sides. She slips a leg between mine - smooth... hot and cold...

I blinked myself out of the fantasy. An idea occurred to me. "Sleep on it. See how you feel tomorrow". Always wise advice. I put my computer away. I turned off the phone.

3

"You're a piece of shit."

Harsh daylight filled the bedroom. My wife Helena was collecting items from around the room and tossing them into an open suitcase. I stood in the doorway, pleading with her.

"I love you," I said desperately. "Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Is that what you tell them all?" Helena mocked. "All your girlfriends? You love them?"

"You know I don't." this dream again?

"And now I find out about Denise. You and Denise? How could you do that to me?"

"No!" There was panic in my voice. "Nothing happened with her."

"You cheated on me with Denise. She's your friend. You preyed on your own friend?"

"I didn't! I would never do that!"

"You're a liar." this is pointless. wake up.

I woke.

Sometimes after a good night's sleep I can wake up with a fresh perspective and with new insight on a problem. Sometimes a coding problem that confounded me the night before will have an obvious solution in the morning. But I awoke with no new clarity on the problem of Denise. Again and again as I went through the motions of my morning I pulled up Denise's picture and studied it.

At work, in the office Manual and I shared, he noticed my preoccupation and silently circled behind me to see what had me so distracted.

"Nice..." he offered, lowering his head close to the phone and nodding approvingly at the image. "You got a new girlfriend. You weren't going to tell me?"

"That's Denise. She's not my girlfriend."

Manuel was not entirely convinced. "Where'd you meet her?"

"Meet her? She's one of my oldest friends. You had dinner with her. Remember, my birthday?"

"Whaaat?" Manuel looked closer. "That's her? I thought she was like was a butch lesbian or something. That an old picture?"

"No. It's her new look." I exited the photo app and shoved the phone into my pocket.

He whistled, but then stopped and grew thoughtful. "You know buddy - be careful. I can see you're uh, a little distracted today. Your friend isn't quite what you thought she was."

"That's an understatement."

"But friends are friends. You want love, you look somewhere else. You should never date your friends."

"No?"

"Definitely not. They already know you too well. They would see through all your bullshit. How can you date someone without bullshit?"

"You can't."

"No way." His curiosity satisfied he sat back down at his desk and resumed typing. "Good talk."

The day wasn't a total loss. I did have one insight. I found myself wishing that I felt an attraction to Denise. Everything would be so much simpler if I did. I would be willing to gamble the friendship. I realized why I kept going back to her two photos and staring at them compulsively. I was trying to will myself to feel something. To become interested. Is this what people did in countries with arranged marriages? Did you look at your new spouse and try to persuade yourself to desire them? Is it even possible to talk yourself into lust?

Even with her makeover, it was still Denise. And God, the idea of Denise in heels, lipstick and a dress was funny. Too funny. Sure, I was the one who told her to wear them, but not to attract me! But every time I wanted to simply laugh and put the phone away - I noticed the smile. That joy was not fake. What if that joy could become my own joy?

That evening she texted me. Just one line: "Take a chance on me."

There was no point responding unless I had something to say, and I still had nothing. I so badly wanted advice - the kind you get from a best friend. In bed a little later, I decided to embrace the contradiction. She was still my best friend. Why not ask her what I should do? I reached for my phone.

"Hey" I texted. I looked at the screen for about a minute-thirty.

Then the green bubble: "Hey yourself."

"I need a little advice. Can you help me?"

"If it's with coding probably not."

"I wish it was. See, I've got this friend, a dear friend. Probably the closest friend I have in the world."

"Go on."

"But this friend, she wants something from me, something big. And unexpected."

"Sounds serious."

"And here's the problem. If I say no, I think I lose her forever. And if I say yes, I think it ends with disappointment. And then I lose her forever."

No response.

"And I don't want to lose her forever. I don't know what to do. Can you help me?"

A pause... "Yes. I can help you."

"Good. Please tell me."

"I think you've got it wrong in two ways. If you say no to this very important friend, I don't think you lose her forever. That's just my hunch. And, you're wrong about saying yes."

"I wouldn't lose her then either."

"I mean the part about the disappointment. The big, unexpected thing that she wants, that you can't give. I don't buy it. Too pessimistic. You might be surprised."

"I've been thinking about it non-stop. I've tried to see, this friend, that way, but it's not working."

"Not to change the subject to me, but I recently went through some really interesting personal changes and growth."

"You mean, your makeover."

"Yeah, and it wasn't just the change in appearance. I feel different now. I have a new outlook on my whole life. I can go after my dreams - I've found this new courage."

"I can tell."

"It took all of that courage to open up to you in the coffee shop. But now I feel even stronger. Give me a chance, Eric. You can change too. Your reluctance - that can change. I can help you see me in a new way."

I felt a sting of frustration. It's like she had no idea the thin ice we were on.

"This is reckless. Don't you know what happens when a relationship goes south? When it explodes?"

"I do."

"We both do. Why take this risk?!"

"bc the alternative is worse."

"The way things are now is worse? Being my friend is worse?"

The conversation had taken a wrong turn. It was heading towards an argument. And that could end with us not speaking to each other. There was no room for error.