Switched Ch. 06 - Shaping Up

It was a surprise to hear that, to be sure, but I took a moment to think it over. I said, "There are similarities, I guess. But there's a big difference. You're not keeping me hostage."

"You can theoretically walk out that door, but you don't have anywhere you can go. Not really."

I shuddered. "Maybe. But that'll change. I need to get on my feet. Meet some new people. Define myself, you know?"

"I know." He kissed my head again.

"But there's still the question of you and Tawney. I feel like I'm doing something wrong."

"You can't help how you feel," he replied, and I felt so unworthy of him.

"You two need to fall in love. Then it would be perfect."

He turned me over and pulled me tightly against him. His breath puffed in my ear as he said, "If you love her, then I'm already halfway there."

Rusalka

Jessica

The next day, I met the dangerous and elusive coiffure artisan Slavomir, a man of mystery, who had set up shop in the sunroom of the mansion. He was immune to fame or wealth, as neither of those things made him a better hairstylist. He only took his enormous fees because it was his due.

He took one look at me and sighed. He sighed, and he rolled his eyes. What the fuck?

I looked in concern to Francine, who shrugged, looking worried.

Slavomir pointed a hairbrush at her like a duelling dagger. "Francine, Darling," he said irritatedly, "Why do you bring me goddess?"

Now Francine and I exchanged looks of an altogether more appreciative nature.

He went on, "I am magician! Okay? I do impossible! Do you know? But this?" He indicated me with a wave of his hand. "It does not take magic. It takes no magic to make a goddess look beautiful."

He turned to me and played with a few of my locks thoughtfully. At once, his eyes widened, his nostrils flared, and he took a deep breath.

"Yes," he said. "I have it!"

He began to style me. While he worked, he worshipped his new goddess. For a while I thought I was going to get kidnapped and dipped in molten gold. If I went to his house, I fully expected to find cave paintings on the walls featuring my angelic face.

I made the mistake of asking a question about what he was doing. I received a history of hair, its significance in human history, its proteins and how they interacted, and the care and feeding of mine, which I was told was of a very rare and special type.

He poked through my scalp for a moment and said, "Cut with American garden tool, naughty girl." He didn't seem surprised or even impressed. I was, though. How good a hairdresser did you have to be to figure that out? Slavomir fretted over all the hairs that were pulled out by the root or ripped in half thanks to the hedge trimmers' less than ideal barbering qualities. Or, come to think, the killer vines.

He worked his magic. I swear, it looked like he wasn't doing anything at all. He hardly even looked at me until the end.

"You look like pixie Rusalka," said Slavomir. "You lure young men to drown in river."

In the end I emerged, bag full of arcane hair products, looking like a new woman. My shortish hair was arranged into an adorably unkempt sweep that changed my profile entirely. I was fun and cute, I couldn't have imagined anything better. I'd have fucked me in a hot second.

I was fetched to the lounge where Francine presided over a collection of anxious-looking designers.

When they saw my new hairdo, half of them went running off to rearrange everything. Francine was enchanted, we both were, with my new look. I was fresher than a tube of toothpaste! Everyone generally flattered me that I was destined for fashion greatness. I wondered how much more you had to pay to get this level of service.

We were seated and served drinks and hors d'oeuvres while Francine and I chatted about clothes with Armaund, who was top designer by virtue of being the smallest and the weirdest-looking. I liked him.

Soon, the techno music was thumping and they began our own private fashion show. Woman after woman paraded about in a variety of outfits for our eyes alone. Francine shocked me by beckoning the model over, then turning her this way and that and pointing out various details of her outfit before releasing her. Fully interactive, the private fashion show was.

Of further surprise was the fact that I was expected to weigh in on the outfits, which would then be purchased or not on that basis.

This was all for me.

Francine, in the middle of a discourse on the proper length of a skirt when tall boots are worn, did not expect me to fling my weepy self at her and cling to her neck. I blubbered my thanks, but that only made the models give me their adorable 'aww' faces and now I was boo-hooing like Cinderella when they said she could go to the ball.

"How can you do this?" I blubbered, "How can you be so generous? How can you..." I lost it. For a moment I couldn't do anything but cry.

My sobbing redoubled when she put her arms around me. "Oh, Darling! Come here." She enfolded me and when I put my head against her chest it got even worse, because then I remembered that it had been five years since Mom had died. Five years since I'd felt this kind of comfort from another human being.

"I miss Mama," I bawled, and Francine, damn it, she smoothed my hair and held me and murmured reassurances in a soft whisper. It was like she was trying to drag the frickin' tears out of me.

I would not look any weaker in front of this woman than I already had. In a real way, I carried part of Bryan's honor. With every deep breath, I pushed all those feelings down. Just for a moment. I settled my face as best I could, knowing my eyes were puffy and red and blobby with unshed tears. Standing as straight as possible and folding my hands before me, I settled myself, then faced her. It took a minute to master my voice box and say, "I don't know how to thank you. I had nothing, and you have provided for me. I will never forget that, and I will find a way to pay you back."

Airily, she waved that off. "Oh, that's not necessary."

"No offense, Francine, but you'd understand if you'd ever been in my place."

She sipped her tea. "I have a very good feeling about you and Bryan, but even if I'm wrong and heaven forbid it doesn't last... You're family, Chase."

I was so touched that I had to be given a cup of tea and a half a Xanax.

The fashion show resumed, and maybe I imagined it but the models seemed that much brighter, and just a touch kinder. Even the fashion designers came off a little less bitchy. I wanted to hug them all. I tried, actually, when it was all over, but they were busy people so I couldn't get 'em all. One of the models tried to recruit me for her agency. Or maybe she hit on me. It's hard to tell when someone comes up and tells you you've got a rockin' bod and gives you a phone number.

*

Shaping

Jessica

"Am I late?" I asked. I knew image was everything, so I walked in coolly instead of scurrying about with my shoulders hunched. If nothing else, I could fake it.

"Darling, everyone's late in this industry. You were late before you were born." The soft man with the gorgeous skin and the asymmetrical haircut laughed with the older woman next to him in the raincoat dress with the huge sphere of hair.

There were a couple of racks of clothes here and a shooting area set up. Lights, backdrop, the whole bit.

"Oh my God, Darling, where did you get that dress?" asked the man without apparent segue. He and his companion circled me, complimenting my clothes and my look.

"It's custom," I said. I mentioned the designer's name and their little eyes went full round.

"How did you pull that off?" asked the woman.

"I have a well-connected Fairy Godmother? Who wishes to be anonymous?"

"Ooh!" squealed the man. "Well done! This is Yvette," he indicated the woman with the bold hairdo, then himself, "I'm Dawid."

"Daweed?"

"Dawid."

"David."

"David with a W!" He slugged some of his cocktail. "Jesus!"

"Sorry." I was screwing up already.

He sighed. "No, no, you're here. Let's just do this."

I said, "My makeup is terrible, I know. They told me someone here would do it?"

"Who told you?"

"Natasha?"

"Natasha Broente?" asked Dawid.

"I didn't get her last name. Tall, leggy, great eyes."

"Model, then. You gotta narrow it down, Honey!" he chuckled.

I frowned, inwardly. I was not particularly tall. How would I succeed as a model?

"Okay, let's try something from the Spring line. I hope you don't get cold easily, Darling."

I changed into a nice, flirty floral print dress, right there in front of them. I had no feminine modesty. Bryan theorized it was because of my lack of people telling me my whole life that I had to hide my charms. Either way, my new coworkers approved. Both watched me, but it was purely professional interest. I doubted either one was into the likes of me, sexually.

Once dressed, I posed.

"What are you doing?" asked Dawid, lowering the camera. "What is this?"

I'd researched this. I explained, "Shaping my body. Long neck. Smile with the eyes. Straight back. One leg forward, right?" There were a million things to remember. I could only handle about three at a time. "Am I throwing a chin shadow?"

"Ooookay. Listen, this is a flirty Spring dress, right? You want to look like a girl who's flirty and full of life, got it?"

"Got it."

"Because right now? You look like a girl who's trying not to drop a marble held between her buttcheeks." As his companion laughed, he gave me a pitying look.

I tried not to scowl. "No marble. Got it."

"Just... Think about her. She's fresh, and she knows she looks good, and she's ready to meet and mingle! Got it?"

"Yes!"

"Give me fresh!" He raised the camera.

I gave him fresh.

"Stop!" He looked at me over the top of the camera, like he was aging in fast-forward before my eyes. "What is that?"

"Fresh."

"No, just... No. You're terrified, aren't you?"

"A little. A lot." I simpered.

"Forget all the advice. Just remember to stand up straight and keep an appropriate thought in your head."

"Like what?"

"Spring! Fashion! Flirty!"

"Okay! Sorry!" I didn't wince, I just got a little light in my eyes.

"Just... Ignore the neck and the smizing, okay? Be you. No. Be you... after you got your first beautiful dress. And you walked out, where everyone could see you as a woman."

He might as well have stabbed me.

He was taken aback by the expression on my face, "Go pull it together, then come back out," he ordered, as if it weren't already too late. He and his partner shared weary looks.

I went behind a rack of clothes, my emotions tumbling. I had come to terms with this already. I liked being a woman. But oh, how powerful those feelings were, right after the change. I could smell Tawney's garage loft.

This was all going down the tubes. I'd never felt less flirty in my life. It looked like modeling wasn't in the cards.

He called, "Okay, Darling! Don't keep me waiting with your flirty self!"

I rolled my eyes at myself. The sooner I got this done, the sooner I could put it behind me. I walked out to stand in front of the lights, but accidentally kicked a light stand. It wobbled dangerously, causing all three of us to shriek like frightened children, but Yvette caught it just in time.

I was fucking this up so badly, but to hell with it. I stood in front and thought about smashing every single light on the room.

While I was taking a breath to tell him to forget all this bullshit, he yelled, "Stop! Freeze!"

He took a picture, then a rapid-fire set of them, walking around to my left. "Look at you," he murmured, "Where have you been?" More pictures.

"Give me Winter!" he commanded, one arm locked, pointing straight up.

Yvette brought me a dark, strappy thing. I shucked the dress and handed it to Dawid, then they helped me put the strappy thing on. It was a little like a puzzle, a little like a party dress, mostly bondage and upcycled vinyl.

That done, she pounced, swiping around my eyes with a makeup sponge and carefully applying eyeliner. I tried to be too manly to twitch while she did that, but her hands were steady.

"Yes!" triumphed Dawid, and climbed onto a stepladder to take some shots. "I just fucked your boyfriend! Yes!" he jumped down and knelt, shooting my face. "No! Stop being happy! Go back to pissed off! That's it. You're going to beat my perfect ass! Unnh! Beat it!" He slapped it for emphasis. "Now the jacket."

Reeling, I stumbled out of there an hour and a half later. I had contacts in my phone and a few appointments. They'd called me 'fierce' and 'suicidally fearless' (a compliment, apparently), and loved the fact that I was unlike any woman they'd ever seen. And then they told me that I needed to get way better at walking in heels.

*

Tad

Bryan

"Bryan, I've heard some odd rumors about you and your friend Chase." Dad, over the phone.

It was best not to volunteer anything, so I just replied, "Oh?"

"What have you heard?" He knew how to play this game.

"Not much. I haven't really been in touch."

"Your mother says you were in an Exclusion Zone. That can't be right, can it?"

"I was."

"And she says you were there with Chase McKenna? How can that be, when he was in intensive care?"

"That wasn't Chase. The real Chase was with me. Have you got a few minutes to hear the whole story?" It was an unfortunately necessary question. Dad was a busy man.

"I'm listening." Noncommittal. Keep your options open. Smart man.

"Okay. First, at the convention center where he was shot, Chase did a... I know this will sound crazy, but bear with me. He did a mind switch with a woman in the audience."

"A mind switch? How is that possible?"

"At the time, Chase didn't know what had happened. She just thought the Variants had done something to her."

"Her?"

"Yes. Remember the part where he Switched with a woman? So Chase is a she now. Her father was going to cover it up. She knew she'd be a virtual prisoner or worse—they'd already drugged her and seemed more than willing to do so again—so she ran."

"So you two just drove to the nearest lawless wasteland to hide out."

"I hid her at a friend's first, but McKenna's people found us. After that, we went to the EZ. While we were there, we, uh..."

"Don't tell me..."

"We fell in love."

There was a long, tense silence on the phone. I heard one of dad's people talking to him and his muffled, angry, "Not now!" in response.

"Dad?"

"I'm here, Bryan," he said heavily.

I wiped my damp palms on my pants and observed, "You're unhappy with this news."

"Son, I want you to listen to me, and listen carefully. Chase's father isn't just a political rival. He is one of the most powerful people in the country. He would ruin me in a hot second if he thought he needed to or if I gave him an opening."

"I know that."

"And yet! And yet you... You did this! Whatever it is. And Chase—wait, does that mean that's not him campaigning for the state Senate?"

"It's not. Desiree, the woman he changed places with... You know Chase never wanted a career in politics. Desiree, on the other hand, is ambitious. They found a way to block Jessica from Switching back. I'm certain the elder McKenna is behind all this."

"You know, your being best friends with the son of my worst enemy has been difficult enough, but this... This is dangerous, son."

"I know. But I love her."

Dad sighed. "Look, I've got to go. We'll talk about this, okay?"

"Why not now? You don't really have to go."

He ignored that, "We'll talk about it in a few days. Iowa is coming up and I need you for a couple of weeks. My agent will contact you with the itinerary."

I barely had time to tell him I loved him when he signed off.

Jessica wasn't going to like this.

*

She was watching one of her car shows when I came in the room. One look at my face and she said, "You've got bad news."

Wincing, I nodded and sat next to her on the bed. "Where's Tawney?"

"She's visiting her grandma."

"Are you... Are you painting your nails?"

She shrugged, "I thought I'd try it. The old coat was almost all chipped away. It's surprisingly hard, even if you can avoid getting high off the fumes." She leaned over and kissed me, and for that moment I was content. "It must be bad if you're stalling," she observed.

"Dad needs me in Iowa for two weeks."

"Oh."

"You sure you're okay?"

"Sure. Hey, can you get me a glass of water?" She held up her hands with their drying paint.

"Are you sure you're sure?"

"I understand about family duty, trust me. I'm fine, you goof! I need some alone time anyway. I've got to establish myself." she laughed.

"Okay."

I was in the kitchen when I heard the nail polish bottle hit the wall. "Dammit, you're cleaning that up before it dries!" I yelled.

*

Butter

Jessica

The hotel lobby had an excellent brunch place, so I decided to invite my boyfriend's mom.

Francine suggested the short peach dress that hugged my hips, a wrap for modesty, and a hat. I wore heels, of course. Always heels. I needed the practice. Infatuated with my new hairdo, I argued against the hat and we compromised on flowers.

Her florist arrived at the restaurant and pinned a cluster of little pink rosebuds to the side of my head, and I had to admit, I was darling. The fact that I used words like 'darling' now didn't even bother me. Much.

I made sure to compliment Francine, which was easy because she really was classy and gorgeous in her lace dress and wide, rakish hat.

Over crepes, she asked me, "Do you have any plans right now, Chase?" She still called me that. It was oddly soothing, from her. A sense of where I'd come from. A reminder that it hadn't all been taken.

"I want to see about becoming official. As a cape. I think I could really help people with my ability. If I contact the authorities, I'll be able to make use of their network to do some good... Wait a minute, what am I saying? This is the government we're talking about." I looked at her directly and laid my fork down. "I guess I'll go it alone, then. I've got the beginnings of a plan."

"Slow down!" Francine laughed. "How many mimosas have you had, Dear?"

Two? No, three mimosas. "Sorry. I've been thinking about it a lot."

"Have you talked it over with Bryan?"

"Yeah, but he's not good with ideas. I was always the idea person. He just says he'll support me. Which is nice, but the actual support I need from him, I'm not getting."

"You must feel lonely," she said.

"I have my friends," I said simply. I reminded myself again we had decided to not tell Bryan's mother we were walking the Threefold Path. I took a deep breath and laid out the bad news, "Bryan is going on the campaign trail with his dad for two weeks."

"Ah, I see." She patted my hand sympathetically, "I suppose you'll not be able to accompany him because..."

I finished for her, "Because as far as my former father is concerned, I'm political nitroglycerin. If I were to join the campaign trail, or even just travel with people in your husband's orbit, he would consider it a declaration of war. I'm not ready for that yet."

"Yet?"

"Oh yes, Francine. I don't mind telling you. I'm going to destroy that man and everything he stands for, and I'm going to break his organization and scatter it to the four winds."

"Passion," she said admiringly, as if she heard dramatic vows of vengeance every day, and perhaps she did, as the wife of a senator. "Never let go of that passion. Ah, to be young again!"

I took stock: feeling pretty good, and perhaps most importantly, not feeling the chafed and swollen aftereffects of our going-away sex, thanks to my super constitution. This was doable. I sipped my tea and eyed her over the rim of the cup. "How would you like to feel it for a few minutes?"