Metamorphosis

She arrived suddenly about three months before the project was scheduled to complete. The boss said she was an auditor. Auditors are not unusual on construction projects as large as many of those handled by our firm.

My name is Todd McGuire. I am the project manager for a major renovation of the office building next door to our company headquarters. I normally work on projects miles from the inner sanctum, which I prefer. But if I had not been assigned to this one, I might never have been aware of her existence.

She was the subject of much speculation in the lunchroom. The folded cardboard sign on her desk identified her as 'Ms. Jenkins' in hand-lettered print. When one of the guys in the office asked her for a first name, she promptly answered his question.

"Ms."

"What?" he asked, startled by her answer.

"You heard me."

She never smiled and rarely spoke. Her days were occupied with a laptop computer and piles of receipts from project transactions. The firm had several projects going at once. No one knew which one was the object of her attention. Perhaps all of them.

She brought her lunch in a paper sack and ate at her desk. When she took a break, it was only to use the restroom down the hall and she locked her office before she went. The women in the office said she refused to engage in the routine chatter that takes place in most workplace ladies rooms. When she left at the end of the workday, her laptop went with her and she locked her office for the night.

The project team got together for happy hour every couple of weeks. All attempts to include her were rebuffed. Eventually we stopped trying.

If her office quirks did not supply enough fodder for lunchroom discussion, her appearance did. The word 'homely' was often used. 'Plain' was employed by those who were more generous. Her clothing was a disaster. Several sizes too large and drab in color, it completely hid her shapeless body from view. She wore sturdy lace-up shoes with low thick heels. Her hair was drab and stringy. Her eyeglasses went out of style thirty years ago. She looked like a character in a Saturday Night Live skit.

A couple of weeks before the project was scheduled to end, several of us were taking a break in the lunchroom after a progress meeting.

"Mizz is particularly attractive today," announced Marlene, our expediter. The very traits that make Marlene so good at her job also make her a formidable opponent if someone gets in her crosshairs. That day she was on a roll.

"She actually came in with a scarf tied under her chin and that shawl must have come from a dumpster somewhere. And that hair! I'll bet she cuts it herself with pinking shears. She looks like an unmade bed."

As project manager, part of my job is to maintain some level of harmony within the team.

"Give her a break, Marlene," I cautioned her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, Todd, I know. But she drives me nuts. She makes absolutely no effort to be presentable."

"You're a hard case, Marlene," I said. "Did it ever occur to you that she must feel comfortable the way she is or she would do something different?"

"Yeah, but those clothes..."

"Give it a rest. She obviously doesn't want to draw attention to herself. For all we know she was in an accident of some sort and has scars she doesn't care to share with us. There could be any number of reasons, and the last thing she needs is you on her case all the time."

"All right already. I need to get back to work. I gotta go track down those circuit breakers you ordered," she answered, refusing to give an inch where 'Mizz' was concerned.

****

Two weeks later, on the Thursday before Memorial Day weekend, the project was essentially finished. A few final sign-offs with the building's owners and we'd be done. I would clean all that up the next day and be free for an entire three-day weekend. I couldn't remember the last time I had a whole weekend to myself.

Feeling elated at the prospect of some time off and a new project, preferably miles away from headquarters, I stopped at the water cooler. Distracted by my thoughts, I turned away with a full cup and ran into Ms. Jenkins. Literally.

"I am so sorry!" I exclaimed as the water sloshed onto her clothing. "I should have been paying more attention."

Uncharacteristically, she responded.

"Don't mention it. It's only water," she said, stringing together the longest sentence I'd ever heard her speak.

Something must have snapped in my brain. "Look, we're wrapping up our project and I feel like celebrating a little. Would you consider joining me for a drink this afternoon?"

"Yes..."

"G...Good!" I stammered, surprised by her answer.

"No."

"No, what?" I asked, now baffled.

"You didn't let me finish. You asked if I would consider joining you for a drink. Had you let me complete my sentence, I would have told you that I will consider your offer and get back to you before the end of the day," she replied, probably using more words than she had spoken the entire time she had been here.

"Oh. Sorry. I guess I asked the wrong question."

"I guess you did. I'll let you know later." And with that she spun on her spinster-like heel and marched back to her office.

"Jesus H. Christ!" I muttered to myself.

I had a final project meeting at three o'clock and returned to my office just before four. I almost missed it. A note had been tucked into the corner of my desk blotter.

"Jake's at five," was all it said. No signature. I knew of Jake's bar but had never been there. It was in the opposite direction from my usual route home but only a fifteen minute walk. Assuming the note was from Ms. Jenkins, I cleared my desk and departed a few minutes earlier than I needed to, sensing that a late arrival would not be tolerated.

When I got to Jake's, there was no sign of her so I took a booth where I could watch the door. At precisely five o'clock she arrived. I waved my hand to let her know where I was.

In an instant I sensed something different about her, perhaps a bit of a spring in her step. And then she did something completely unexpected; she smiled.

I had never seen such a facial transformation before. What had been, at best, a plain face was suddenly animated and attractive. I couldn't believe what my eyes were telling me.

Striding over to the booth, she slid into the seat opposite me. I didn't know what to say. Fortunately she spoke first.

"Thank you for the invitation. Your timing was perfect. I don't socialize with people from work," she said, smiling once more. I was mesmerized.

"I'm from work," I finally said after a confused pause.

"Not anymore."

"Have I been fired?" I asked, only partly in jest.

"No. Today was my last day."

"Your last day?" I was becoming a brilliant conversationalist.

"I guess I owe you an explanation. I don't work for your company. I am a forensic accountant."

"A forensic accountant?" I asked, once again demonstrating my linguistic agility.

"I look for cooked books. I work for a company that specializes in such matters. We were hired by your firm to investigate allegations that someone has been diverting project material for personal use and engaging in third-party sales. I finished my work today. Next week I'll go back to my real office and file the report. By the following Monday I'll be on a new job somewhere else in the area."

"I guess I don't understand. I wasn't aware of any allegations and I believe I'd have sensed something if my project was being raided for material," I said. I did not add that I was more than a little surprised by the sudden change in her personality.

"Order me a martini and I'll explain. And you can relax, your project wasn't involved. Your firm just stashed me in your offices so the real target wouldn't be alerted. And I didn't find anything. If there had been something there, I can assure you I would have found it. I am very, very good. The allegations were baseless."

"I'm glad to hear that. I know most of the project folks in my company and I would have been upset if anything like that was going on."

I ordered two martinis and then sat for a moment, lost in thought. Ms. Jenkins took up the slack.

"Everything you see and think about me is all smoke and mirrors; careful costume construction, wigs, clever makeup, and the attitude. I don't want to attract attention when I'm working. The clothes, the hair, the personality; all fake."

"But you did attract attention," I corrected. "A lot of it."

"No, I attracted speculation for a while and then everyone, except that bitch Marlene, ignored me."

"Marlene is okay. She's just a little rough on people sometimes."

"Another week in that office and I'd have ripped her face off and stuffed it down her windpipe," she said and then suddenly changed course. "By the way, my name is Misty. I don't tell people that when I'm on a job. No one has ever known an old maid named Misty; therefore the Ms. Jenkins bullshit. All part of the persona I construct in order to do my work."

"I have to tell you, you are blowing my mind. So why did you agree to have a drink with me?"

"You're the only one who asked," she replied.

"Oh."

"Plus you defended me when Marlene launched into one of her tirades."

"How did you know that?" I asked, truly puzzled.

"My office is right behind the lunchroom. Nearly every word that is said in there comes right through the ventilation ducting and into my ears. For the most part I've been amused by the comments about me, but Marlene gets under my skin. Anyway, I heard what you said and it pleased me that chivalry isn't dead."

"I wouldn't call it chivalry." I countered.

"I would, and I'm rarely wrong."

For the next hour, we talked about a variety of subjects. I was enjoying myself. She was intelligent and witty. I found myself wondering what she might look like with a makeover.

When we finished our second martini, she gathered up her laptop and what passed for a purse.

"I have to run, but I really enjoyed this."

"Have dinner with me tomorrow night," I blurted out, suddenly not wanting this to be our one and only social contact.

She gave me a long look and then sat back down.

"Give me your pen," she ordered. When I handed over the pen, she scribbled something on a cocktail napkin and handed it back to me.

"Pick me up at that address at six tomorrow evening. I don't care where we go. I'll eat just about anything."

****

The next day, I finished everything up and was out of the office before three o'clock. The prospect of having nearly ninety-six hours off without wearing a hardhat, and the anticipation of dinner with the mysterious Misty, made me feel like a teenager on summer break. I didn't have to be back at work until Tuesday and there was nothing on my calendar except dinner with her.

I arrived promptly at the address she had given me and was surprised to see a circular driveway fronting a modern A-frame house on a bluff overlooking the ocean. A BMW sedan was parked on a paved spur to one side of the drive. Forensic accountants apparently did quite well for themselves. I parked my aging Taurus in the circle and got out of the car. After pausing momentarily to admire the place, I walked up to the entrance and rang the doorbell.

"Come on in. The door is unlocked. Make yourself comfortable. I'll join you in a minute or two," a tinny speaker beside the buzzer announced as I heard the lock click. Glancing around, I found the small camera mounted above the door. Smart lady.

Pushing my way inside, I entered a spacious greatroom with a stunning view of the sea through towering panes of glass that reached to the apex of the A-frame. A flight of steps to my right led up to what I assumed was a master bedroom loft.

The greatroom was tastefully furnished and nicely accessorized. A breakfast bar separated a modern kitchen from the common area. A short hallway off the kitchen probably led to a bathroom and spare bedroom. A dining alcove was on one side of the greatroom while a large stone fireplace occupied the opposite wall. Hardwood floors with expensive oriental rugs provided contrast and tied the furnishings together. I was impressed.

A broad deck was cantilevered out over the bluff. A sliding glass door leading to the deck stood open, so I stepped outside to admire the view. The ritual of sunset was just beginning. I heard the click of heels on hardwood and turned just as Misty stepped out onto the deck.

I'm not sure I have the vocabulary to do justice to the woman who was standing before me. She was stunning in every way. The spinster was gone. In her place stood a woman with a splendid figure.

She wore a simple printed dress that stopped about four inches above knees that were part of a perfect pair of legs. A row of buttons secured the dress from neckline to hem. The scoop neck of the dress revealed a subtle hint of cleavage between the curvy mounds of her breasts. Lustrous auburn shoulder-length hair framed a face that had been completely transformed. Diamond studs, a small diamond pendant, and a delicate bangle on her wrist were her only accessories. Open-toed three inch heels adorned her small feet. She wore little makeup. I was enthralled.

"Look at you," I choked. "What a vision..."

"Thank you Sir. You clean up pretty well yourself," she said with a bright smile, apparently pleased with my reaction. I was wearing khaki's, topsiders, a blue shirt open at the neck, and a sport coat; nothing special, but certainly a departure from my work clothes.

"Where are you taking me?" she continued. "I'm starving."

"Italian?"

"Perfect!"

****

I had chosen my favorite Italian place which was only a few miles from her house. After ordering a bottle of Chianti, I looked across the table at her, still overwhelmed by her metamorphosis.

"Thank you Misty. Thanks for going out with me tonight. I feel honored," I said, finding her real name still a little hard to get used to. I kept wanting to call her Mizz.

"I'm glad you asked me out. I think this is going to be a very nice evening," she replied.

"Me too."

"Let's save a little time," she continued. "I'll tell you my life story in two hundred words or less and then you can tell me all about you. I am thirty-three years old. I was married for eight years to a guy I thought was wonderful. No kids. The man turned out to be an asshole. After a dry spell, there was a boyfriend for a few months who also turned out to be an asshole. I can sure pick 'em."

I suddenly realized it was very important for me to avoid being tarred with the asshole brush. I vowed to myself that I would be very careful with this intriguing woman.

"That pretty much did it for me. Between my growing distrust of men and a job that often eats up sixty or seventy hours a week, I've settled into being the spinster everyone at your firm thinks I am. This is the first actual date I've been on in over a year. Thank you for getting my attention. That water cooler trick was a unique come-on," she said with a grin.

"I assure you that was an accident."

"I'm teasing you. I know it was accidental. I could tell because you were so flustered. Anyway, I do have friends, both male and female, from college, work, and a local volunteer group that I donate time to when I can. I read a lot and exercise my Netflix account."

While she was talking, I studied her face. Hers was not that of a classic beauty. A mean-spirited critic would find a flaw in each of her features. But when everything was assembled she projected a beauty that was uniquely her own. She reminded me of an American movie actress, Amy something or another, who is chameleon-like in her portrayals; so plain in one movie that she is unrecognizable and so beautiful in the next that she once again defies recognition. When combined with her dazzling smile and what appeared to be a stunning body, Misty was the complete package.

"I like accounting," she continued. "The topic suits me. The house belongs to my parents. I can't afford anything like that on my salary. They moved up to Portland several years ago and turned the place over to me. Daddy is a partner in an accounting firm up there."

"So accounting is in your DNA. Why don't you work for him?"

"No way," she laughed, "I love him dearly, but we're just alike. We'd be at each other's throats in a week. If we didn't kill each other, Mom would strangle us both. Either I go to Portland every couple of months or they come down here to visit. Now it's your turn."

"Not that much to tell really. My folks live in New Hampshire. They run a bed and breakfast near Laconia. Dad made a bundle as a lawyer so they decided to escape the rat race. Mom refuses to get on an airplane, so I fly back there occasionally when I have enough time between projects."

"I was born at a very early age, so I'm now only thirty five years old," I continued, drawing a laugh from Misty. "I've also been married once. We were both pretty young so we basically finished growing up together. We parted ways amicably five years later. I briefly thought about getting married a second time but that one turned out to be a flaming bitch. I was lucky to get away from her before I started eating rat poison," I said, earning another laugh.

"I haven't dated anyone seriously since," I said, continuing my monologue. "After college, I got into project management because I like the variety. Every project is a different challenge. When I have the opportunity, I like to fly fish. Reading and listening to music are also important to me. Like you, I have a Netflix account that sees steady use. I don't keep regular hours, so I don't watch many television shows. Usually just the news and a few sporting events. Most of my friends are from work. That's about it. I'm pretty boring."

"I don't find you boring at all," she said, sounding sincere. "Where do you live?"

"I am very fortunate to own a loft downtown a few blocks from the corporate offices. When I'm needed there I can walk to work."

"How on earth did you get a loft? They're hard to come by."

"A few years ago I was the project manager for a renovation that converted an old industrial building into condos. The owner of the building ran out of money after we finished all of the bottom floors. He sold the loft to me for a lot less that it would have been worth if we'd finished it. It took two years to do all the work myself, but I ended up with a really cool place."

"I'd love to see it sometime," she said, "if you wouldn't mind showing it to me."

"I think that can be arranged," I replied with a smile.

We paused to study the menus and then placed our orders. We lingered over the superb Italian dishes for nearly two hours, talking and getting to know each other. Neither of us seemed anxious to end the evening, but the restaurant was beginning to fill up with late evening diners so we couldn't justify tying up a table any longer. After finishing our coffee, we left.

It was Friday night and it wasn't very late, so we took a stroll along the municipal docks, continuing our conversation. When we arrived back at my car, I turned toward her.

"This has been one of nicest evenings of my life and I want to see you again," I offered, my heart in my throat, "soon."

"I think that can be arranged," she countered with a smile, mimicking my earlier comment to her. "I had a wonderful time, but I suppose it's time to call it a night."

Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at her house. I got out, opened her door, and escorted her to the front porch. Taking her keys, I unlocked the door, pushed it open, and handed the keys back to her.

Misty hesitated for a moment and then made my day.

"Would you like to come in for a glass of wine?" she asked.

"I'd love to," I responded, feeling a thrill like I hadn't felt in years.

"There is a bottle of white wine in the refrigerator. The opener is in the drawer to the right and glasses are in the cupboard above. If you'll do the honors, I'll join you in a couple of minutes," she said as she retreated up the stairs to the loft.