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Deity Arms 2: I Call My Sugar Candy By The Professor Luk had been making great progress in learning English. He had even been picking up some of the local slang, so when Mr. L told him to be part of the furniture, he assumed that meant he was to be very quiet while observing his mysterious boss as he carried out a negotiation. Not so. He would have sighed, but in his current shape as a floor lamp, it was impossible for him to do so. In fact, how he could see and hear was a mystery to him. As a minor deity, the spell Mr. L had used on him was far too complex for him to comprehend. "So do we have a deal?" The man who spoke was what Luk believed the local idiom referred to as a "mover and shaker." Tall, handsome, and expensively dressed, the man reeked of power and success. At his right, a beautiful woman with dark red hair sat, sharing his aura. No, that wasn't quite right. She seemed to have an aura of her own - perhaps even greater than the man's. Her short green skirt rode high on her crossed legs, turned just so to give Mr. L a full and impressive view. It was just as well Luk found himself part of the furniture. Otherwise, he might have snickered at the pair. They thought they were in control of the meeting. Nothing could have been further from the truth. He was sure they would never learn that until Mr. L was ready for them to know. Mr. L leaned forward in his large leather desk chair. His hands were folded on the desk in front of him as he peered at the pair. There was a twinkle in his steel blue eyes that hid the gaze of a predator. "Now let me see if I understand," he began calmly, a thin smile on his lips. "You believe that I have certain arcane powers which will allow me to carry out your plan, and you wish to pay me fifty thousand dollars when I do. Is that correct?" The man nodded. "That's about the size of it." "I must say, Mr. Sherman, your plan is most inventive," Mr. L said smoothly. "However, to carry it out would demand great magical power - " "Which I have been assured you possess," Mr. Sherman interrupted with a wicked smile of his own. "I'm not sure..." "Seventy-five thousand then," Mr. Sherman said confidently. "Shall we say a hundred thousand?" Mr. L replied calmly. "A hundred and you'll deliver?" Mr. Sherman asked. "I'll most certainly deliver," Mr. L assured him, rising to take the man's well-manicured hand. "Please call on my assistant, Mr. Luck at nine tomorrow morning. All will be arranged." "But Chrysler's plane will be in at three tomorrow afternoon," Mr. Sherman protested, releasing Mr. L's hand. "That doesn't give us much time. We'll need to start today." "On the contrary," Mr. L said calmly. "There will be plenty of time. You must trust me on this, Mr. Sherman." Luk could tell Mr. Sherman wasn't used to trusting anyone for any reason. But the dapper man had no choice. He had been told that Mr. Logan was the one man in the city who could do what he wanted done. He would have to trust him, no matter what his instincts told him. He looked at his female companion who gave a nearly imperceptible nod. "Very well," he agreed reluctantly. Then to his companion as he took her arm possessively, "Let's go." "Good day to you, Mr. Sherman," Mr. L called out cheerfully. "And to you, too Mrs. Chrysler." The pair nearly stopped walking toward the door. Neither had remembered mentioning the name of the woman. But perhaps there had been a slip... The heavy oak door closed behind the couple. Mr. L waived his hand, not bothering to watch as the floor lamp which had been casting light on the rug moments before plumped out into the figure of Luk. Luk felt his dark hair, still warm from being a lampshade. "Well, Mr. Luck, a most profitable encounter, don't you think?" Mr. L said. "I must thank our associate for referring Mr. Sherman to us." "But," Luk asked respectfully, "are you going to do what he wants?" "Oh yes." Mr. L smiled a smile Luk hoped never to see directed at him. "I plan to do exactly what he wants. And more." ***** "Mr. Chrysler?" It was Alice, the receptionist. Usually she would have called Brenda Travis, my admin assistant, but Brenda was already in New York, meeting with my staff there while I handled the corporate move from back in Cleveland. I had just talked to Brenda, and she was having a ball getting things arranged. She was going to really take to New York; I could tell. "Yes, Alice." "There's a reporter on the line from the Plain-Dealer. He's most insistent." I sighed. Brenda would normally take care of this. I didn't really want to talk to another reporter - particularly one from the local paper. Everybody from the Mayor's office to the Chamber of Commerce was pissed off because Chrysler Publications was moving to the Big Apple. It seemed I was to be castigated in print one more time before the move. "Put him through," I said reluctantly. "Jack Chrysler?" a voice came through my speakerphone with no preamble. "That's right." It was really John David Chrysler III and Jack to my friends. A reporter from Cleveland's biggest newspaper was certainly not my friend, but I wasn't in a mood to split hairs. "Matt Rogan - Cleveland Plain-Dealer. So how is the move going?" "On schedule and on budget," I told him as laconically as I could. I wanted this interview to be over already and it had just begun. I wasn't a very popular person over at the Plain-Dealer these days. I was just moving my business out of Cleveland. Jeez, you would have thought I was moving the Cleveland Browns - the original Browns, that is. "Why do you feel the need to move your publishing empire to New York?" Empire? I'd hardly call it an empire, I thought. It consisted of four magazines, only two of which were still making a profit. Of those, only First Class Male did very well, and it had been losing circulation steadily for the last three years. All of them were owned by the Chrysler Family Trust - an organization founded by my father which had left me in charge after his death. "Matt, I've been through this with another one of your reporters already." "I know," he said quickly. "But indulge me, okay? I'm writing a little different angle on this." "A different angle?" I pressed, my defenses suddenly alerted.. "I thought you were primarily an editorialist." Silence for a moment - then, "Well, I am." "So you plan to write an editorial about our move to New York," I concluded. "Something tells me it won't be very favorable." "Jack, a lot of people think you're just doing this to please your wife." "My wife?" I practically yelled indignantly as my hackles rose. "What does my wife have to do with this?" I could almost hear the droplets of sweat at the other end. This wasn't going like the editorialist had hoped. "Well, Jack, it's pretty common knowledge that your wife hasn't been very happy here in Cleveland." I cursed silently, admitting to myself that it was true. I had met Vickie at a publisher's show in New York. She had been there helping to promote a coffee table book featuring top models from around the world. She was one of the top fashion models in New York - read that the world. Vickie was absolutely stunning. I fell in love immediately. She had a natural poise and grace that was alien to a Midwestern boy like me. Before I knew it, we were engaged, then married. I had just inherited Chrysler Publications - or at least enough of the stock to exercise control of the company - from my father. He had died at his desk - as he would have wanted it - only three years before. My father was a legend in Midwestern business circles. He had built Chrysler Publications from the ground up. And as dynamic as his reputation had been in his business life, his personal life had been no less memorable. He was known to have had a number of mistresses before my mother's death, and after her death, he had often been seen with a stunning young actress or model at his arm. Since inheriting the business, I had been struggling. I had never really wanted the business and had certainly never thought I would inherit it at the tender age of thirty-five, but my father's unexpected death had left me the sole heir. Nearly two hundred people were employed by Chrysler, and I had made up my mind to do well for them if nothing else. And yes, there are businessmen who care about their employees - quite a few of them actually in my experience. I was proud to be one of them. Unfortunately, I wasn't a very good one. Once at the helm, sales of all our magazines began to slip almost at once. I was actually in New York at that publisher's show to try to dig up a buyer for some or all of our titles. But then I had met Vickie, and I forgot all about my mission. I had a new mission now - to bed and wed a world-class model. Unfortunately, I succeeded. I suppose in a way, I was trying to imitate my father. If he had been able to woo beautiful young models, why couldn't I do the same? I suppose in retrospect, my feelings for Vickie were influenced by the memory of my father. Oh, it started out well enough. The honeymoon in Rome was everything I could have hoped for. The problems started when we got back to Cleveland. For a girl like Vickie, born and raised in the shadow of the Empire State Building, Cleveland was a drag. Personally, I had always liked the town - its friendliness seemed to more than make up for its lack of sophistication. But Vickie was the proverbial fish out of water. I was spending more time trying to salvage my marriage than I had running my company, and it was starting to show. By a strange coincidence, it was Vickie who saved the day. She knew Del Sherman from her days in New York. Managing Editor for a top men's magazine, she was sure she could talk him into taking a similar position at First Class Male. It seemed to be the answer to my prayers. I could then run the other three magazines, boosting them in circulation, while Del did for us what he had done for other publications. The strategy worked at first. First Class Male rose dramatically in circulat ion, and I was even able to bring our other titles up some. The problem was that the increase was temporary. Then came the opportunity to move to New York... "Any comment on your wife's role, Jack?" "The decision to move to New York was mine," I told him, then adding, "And mine alone." "Del Sherman had nothing to do with it?" he asked innocently. "Of course Del was part of the decision," I growled. "First Class Male is the main reason for the move. I feel in New York, that publication will be better able to keep our finger on the pulse of immerging trends and - " "What about your employees?" My train of thought interrupted, I asked, "Employees?" "Yeah, Jack. Those folks who work for you. How many of them are moving to New York with you?" Uh-oh. Now I knew where he was going. "Matt, most of our employees were offered the chance to move." "Sure," he countered, "but only about twenty of them are actually doing so, and all of them are associated with First Class Male from what I hear." The correct number was twenty-two, but I kept quiet. "Not very many considering the way you said three years ago that you wanted to take care of your employees," Matt commented. "Oh come on now," I retorted. "It isn't my fault so many of them wanted to stay here. And we even hired an outplacement firm to help them find new jobs." I was proud of that move. It had been my idea. The firm had found jobs for nearly half of our people, and most of the rest found opportunities on their own. Thank god the local economy had been growing. "Sure," Matt said sarcastically. "You offered the same money they were making here in spite of the difference in cost of living in New York." "Profits aren't sufficient to increase wages," I replied, hating myself for using an argument Del had advanced over my objections. "Once we're established, I've promised a bonus program that should more than make up for it." I hoped. "Have it your way, Jack," Matt laughed, to my consternation. "I hope you get what's coming to you in New York." There was a click at the other end. I didn't even have the pleasure of hanging up on the bastard. He was bound to pillory us in the next day's edition. The hell of it was, I was afraid he might be right. The move to New York had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I wasn 't so sure. Oh, Del was still enthusiastic about it, but I wasn't sure the additional costs would ever translate into revenue for the company. But I also knew that Vickie was anxious to move to New York. That damned reporter had been more right than I was willing to admit about that. But right decision or wrong decision, the choice had been made. I was due to fly out to New York that very day to see the temporary location Del had picked for the company offices. So far, only First Class Male was gearing up in New York, but the other magazines would be headquartered there within a few months. Del had convinced me that it was imperative that we get First Class Male moved as quickly as possible. "You'll like the offices," Del had told me just an hour before. "They're in an older building - near the Village. It's a brownstone that's been converted to apartments and offices. You and Vickie can live right there in the building." "How about you, Del?" I had asked my good friend and associate. "Did you get a place there, too?" "I wish I could," he had laughed. "But they don't get vacancies very often. There was no room at the inn for me, I'm afraid." "Well, I'll have you up for drinks as soon as we get settled in," I had promised. I was going to make good on that promise sooner than he thought I mused as my chartered jet took off from the airport. I had brought along a nice magnum of champagne to christen the place as soon as I arrived. Of course, I didn't have to wait to start celebrating. There was a bar on the plane, and although there was no flight attendant, I was quite able to make my own drink. I didn't usually drink alone, but I was happy and relieved to get out of Cleveland. It wasn't that I disliked the city. Actually, I liked it very much. The problem was that ever since I had announced the move, the city didn't like me. At least once in New York if that reporter wanted to call me, it would cost him the price of a long distance call. As for being alone, I was certainly that. There were no other passengers on the flight, and the crew had apparently come on board and taken off while I was napping. I hadn't even seen them. They didn't even respond when I tapped on the door of the cockpit to find out what the slight shudder had been while we were climbing out. The only response I had gotten was a distorted comment from the pilot over the intercom. He assured me everything was all right. Mollified, I sat back down to enjoy my drink. It was nearly dark on a brisk early spring evening as we touched down at Westchester Airport. I had napped during the relatively short flight, so I was now ready to celebrate. With a wide smile on my face, I lifted the magnum up over my head so Del and Vickie could see me from the side of the waiting limo. "You came prepared, pal," Del commented, taking the bottle while I hugged Vickie. God, it was good to be back in her arms again. I buried my face in her long, red hair. "Always, Del," I laughed. "Well, we'll get this one on ice as soon we get to your new offices," Del told me. "There's another one all ready for us in the car." "The offices?" I said stupidly. "I thought we'd be going to the Ritz-Carleton this evening." Del gave me a wide grin. "Why do that when your new office and apartment are all ready?" "Ready?" Del nodded. "Of course. Why did you hire me if you didn't want things done? The building manager, Mr. Logan, put a rush on everything. He had people working through the night to get it done. Of course, we didn't have to remodel since the offices are just temporary." "The apartment, too?" I asked. "What about our furniture?" "Well," Del admitted, "the apartment isn't actually ready yet, but Mr. Logan arranged for you to use another apartment in the building for a while. He's quite a miracle worker." "Sounds like it," I agreed. "I'd like to meet him." "Oh, you will," Del assured me with an unexpected twinkle in his eyes. A uniformed driver carried my luggage to the car. He was a homely little man - short and rather nondescript. It was hard to imagine a little fellow like him even being able to see over the steering wheel of the black behemoth that waited to carry us into the city. I helped Vickie into the limo. Damn, she looked good! I was so relieved that we had settled our problems with the move to New York. She was wearing a dark blue dress - cocktail length and made from a shimmering material. Every inch of her body was sheer perfection from her lush red hair to the tips of her dainty toes. I loved her more every time I saw her. "Our first night together in New York," I whispered in her ear. We were alone in the back. Del had chosen to ride up front with the driver. I think he was just trying to give us some time alone. "And it will be wonderful, darling," she giggled. "I've already got the champagne on ice at the apartment. Of course, it's not as big or nice as our real apartment will be, but we can make do." "I'm sure we can," I assured her, covering her dark red lips with my own. Damn! I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it to the apartment. I wanted her right that minute. "Here we are, sir," the driver announced, opening the door for us. He had a strange little accent - one that sounded almost Russian. Probably from the Balkans, I thought. With all the trouble there, there had been a large number of refugees even in Cleveland. New York had to be full of them. When I got out of the car and found myself staring up at a large building squarely in the middle of the block, its brownstone fa?ade weathered by both age and pollution. It was six stories high and had obviously been built in a more opulent age. The windows and corners of the building displayed ornate detail. Above the polished heavy oak front doors, two gargoyles perched on a ledge. Between them, carved into the stone, were two words: Deety Arms. But part of the stone on one of the words had either worn or been chipped away, for the second "e" looked more like an "i" at first glance. "It's magnificent!" I remarked. I fell in love with the building that very moment. I have always loved classic buildings more than the steel and concrete monstrosities that rise up from our cities. With their mirrored glass and imposing scales, they seem designed more for the machines that inhabit them than the people who must work there. This building had character. "Come on," Del insisted as he grabbed my arm. "You've got to see the offices." I marveled at what Del had been able to accomplish in such a short time. Our temporary offices were nicer than our permanent offices back in Cleveland. Technically, I suppose the offices weren't in Deety Arms. They resided in a building next to the brownstone, but it was similar in character. "There's even a hallway from the lobby of your building to this one," Del pointed out as he indicated the softly lit, carpeted path I would walk to work each day. "You won't even have to get your feet wet." He led Vickie and me through a double door of glass and brass into an office lobby replete with walnut wainscoting and tasteful furnishings in a deep burgundy shade. Gold letters displayed our logo, a stylized Chrysler Publications inside a drawn book. I could scarcely believe it. Del had done all of this in just a few days. I had known he had contacts in New York, but I had never dreamed they were so efficient and resourceful. "Of course, we just have a skeleton staff," he told me apologetically. "That's all we'll need for a few weeks," I reminded him. The official business plan was that First Class Male , which had just published its latest issue, would be the first to move to New York. The other titles would continue to be published in Cleveland for the next few months until sufficient New York staff had been hired. First Class Male's senior staff consisted mostly of people Del had recruited, and they had been more open to the move. "I suppose you're right," Del said as he popped open a magnum of champagne. Producing crystal glasses from behind the reception desk, he smoothly poured glasses for Vickie and me, handing them to us before pouring his own. "I propose a toast," he said, holding out his glass. "To success!" "To success!" Vickie replied quickly, hoisting her own glass to meet Del's. I practically had to squeeze my own glass in to participate in the toast. I was very pleased, though. Vickie was obviously happy to be back in New York. This would be the spark that would rekindle the fires in our marriage. "What a joyous occasion!" The comment had come from the entranceway. It was deep and cultured, lacking any trace of the harsh New York accent I would have expected. I turned to look at the speaker. The man was tall and slender, his face a series of contrasts. His skin and build were those of a young man in the very prime of life, but his hair was completely white, cut closer than current styles would dictate. And his eyes... the steel blue eyes seemed older than dirt, as if this man had seen it all. He was dressed in a dark blue suit, obviously tailored specifically for his narrow frame, and his shirt, tie and shoes had obviously been selected with impeccable taste. I suspected the clothing on his back cost more than most people made in a month. "Jack, allow me to introduce our landlord, Mr. Logan." Mr. Logan extended a slender hand. His grip was warm and confident. I met his welcoming stare with one that I hoped was equally strong. But I couldn't match his look somehow. It was as if he was examining me - perhaps all the way down to my very soul. "It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Mr. Chrysler," he said. "I've followed your company for some time now." That pleased me. Our firm wasn't all that large as publishing companies went, and to have a man of such obvious tastes familiar with us warmed me greatly. "Do you read any of our publications, Mr. Logan?" He favored me with a small smile. "Yes, I have. I particularly like that little architectural magazine you publish - The Classical Touch. Last quarter's article on medieval European influences on Nineteenth Century New York buildings was marvelous." "I can see why you enjoyed it," I commented, warming to him at once. Art and architecture had always been my own first loves. "This building shows some of those very touches." "Yes, doesn't it?" I didn't bother to mention that I had actually written the article, although not under my own name. I found myself liking this polished man. He was obviously a man of sophisticated interests. Yet there was an air of mystery about him, as if seeing him was only seeing the very tip of an iceberg. "Would you like a glass of champagne?" Del called out. "Yes, that would be very nice," Mr. Logan replied, although he continued to look at me. His eyes never left me even when Del handed him his glass. Del had ushered Vickie into his office, presumably to show it off to her, leaving me with Mr. Logan. "Mr. Chrysler," Mr. Logan began after a sip of champagne, "I'm rather curious about you. Your firm publishes such fine magazines as The Classic Touch. Yet you also publish that rather titillating... magazine known as First Class Male." I smiled. It wasn't the first time I had been asked that question. "I realize many people may feel First Class Male is in less than appropriate taste..." He dismissed that line of conversation with a wave of his hand. "I assure you, taste has nothing to do with my question." "Then is suppose the best way to say it is that First Class Male pays the bills so I can afford to publish quality magazines like The Classic Touch." If I had expected an argument, I would have been disappointed. Instead of the sanctimonious retort I had expected from him, Mr. Logan merely nodded with a smile. "I see. That sounds reasonable," he commented. "Yet it doesn't seem to belong in your group. I wonder if concerns about its publication are hurting the circulation of your other magazines." "I've wondered that myself," I admitted frankly. "That's why I've made an effort to keep it toned down a bit from other men's magazines. I try to maintain a higher standard than even Playboy." And it hadn't been easy, I might have added. Del had been pressuring me practically since his arrival to give First Class Male a harder edge - more explicit pictures and titillating articles. I had let him make a few changes I actually felt uncomfortable with. I had to admit, both circulation and advertising had picked up as a suspected result, but I didn't want the magazine to become trashy. "That's a laudable objective," Mr. Logan allowed with a thin smile. With that, he set his glass down, careful to place it on a coaster so as not to leave a ring. "Then if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to. I hope you enjoy your stay here, Mr. Chrysler." "I'm sure I will." I was impressed with Mr. Logan, I thought as I watched him leave. He carried himself with the poise and dignity of a man who is in charge and knows it - and doesn't have to flaunt it. And as I was to learn later, I didn't know the half of it. "Well, I'd better let you get settled," Del said with a friendly slap on my arm. I looked over at Vickie. Getting settled wasn't exactly the first thing I had decided to do. I had missed Vickie, and here in New York, she seemed even more radiant than I had remembered. I hoped our new temporary apartment had a large, comfortable bed. Vickie and I embraced like teenaged lovers once the elevator doors closed. "I've missed you," I told her in a husky voice. "Oh darling, I've missed you, too," she replied. I lifted my hand under her short skirt, only to have her gently pull it back. "Maybe we should wait until we're in the apartment," she admonished me gently. I could scarcely wait. I could feel the erection in my trousers growing to the point that I wasn't sure I'd be able to walk out of the elevator. I toyed with stopping the car and doing it right then and there. "I love you," I said, unaware of how enslaved I was. "Oh! We're here," she said as the elevator bell rang on the fifth floor. "Now, don't be alarmed, darling. This apartment is just temporary. It's very small." I grinned. "Does it have a bed?" "You'll see." She led me into the apartment, turning on only a small dim light. I strained to look around, but it was as if my vision was beginning to blur. "I feel suddenly very tired," I mumbled. What was wrong with me? A few moments before I felt fine. In fact, I felt better than fine; I felt fantastic. Now, I could barely keep my eyes open. "You've had a long day," Vickie said in low soothing tones. "Why don't you just lie down on the bed and I'll get ready." "Ready? Oh... yes, ready. Yeah, I'll just... lie... down." She had led me into the bedroom where I saw the faint outline of a bed bathed in the weak light coming from a single courtyard window. It didn't look like a very big bed, but it looked soft and inviting. I didn't so much as lie down as throw myself on the bed. I heard water running from the next room. She was getting ready for me... Ready for what? Oh, yeah... that... As I slept, I thought I was dreaming, for I heard voices and could make out people walking around the room. "Is he breathing?" a familiar woman's voice asked. "Oh yes," another familiar voice - this one male - responded. "How long will it take?" Mr. Logan's voice replied, "It will start any moment now." "Yes, I see. My God, that's amazing!" As if on cue, I felt something tickling my neck. Then, I dozed off again. I awoke to a feeling of disorientation. As a businessman, I had traveled often, so the feeling of waking up in a strange room in a forgotten city was not uncommon. While that, too, involved disorientation, this was different. Everything was different. The sounds, the smells, the very feel of my body seemed different than I had ever experienced before. I felt an overwhelming urge to pee, but the sensation seemed to be coming from within my body rather than in my penis. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. I had awakened lying on my back, and as I shifted to get out of bed, I felt flesh pooling beneath my ass and something flopping at my chest. Something else was tickling my shoulders and back. There was something short and silky, barely covering my body. In that sudden moment of self-awareness, I nearly dropped back onto the pillow in a catatonic state. Sitting there on the side of the bed, I knew what had happened to me. What man wouldn't have known? I was a woman. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force myself back to sleep and out of this impossible nightmare. I had gone to bed male, my wife with me... Where was Vickie? I suddenly wondered, a wave of embarrassment washing over me. She couldn't see me like this! It wasn't right. I looked around. She was nowhere to be seen. Actually, there was no place for her to be. The bed, with its pink and white feminine sheets, was a single. I put my head in my hands and groaned as I nearly poked myself in the eye with an unexpectedly long fingernail. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't. I think I might have sat there for the rest of the day, just trying pointlessly to make it all go away, but my bladder had other ideas. I knew if I didn't get up and go to the bathroom I was going to make an embarrassing mess on the bed. Being a woman was bad enough. Being an incontinent woman was more than I could bear. I was already finding out that a woman, unlike a man, needs relief more urgently. With a sigh of resignation, I stood up. Standing up was not altogether an unpleasant sensation. This new body was lighter and most probably younger. It moved with a grace that even my unfamiliarity with it could not totally destroy. I found it to be more cat-like - ready to spring upon an instantaneous command. I softly padded into the bathroom, feeling the sensation of a silky babydoll rustling against my new flesh. I could also feel my face flush as I experienced for the first time the gentle sway of hips and breasts. In a terrifying way, it was exciting, and I hated myself for thinking of it in that way. In moments, I had peeled off my panties and accomplished my first female act, and I felt an odd little flush of pride as a result. It hadn't been as difficult as I thought it would be. While the muscles were different from my male ones, the barely-conscious command I sent to my body was very similar to its male equivalent. I was rewarded by a fine spray of urine that instantly relieved my discomfort. It seemed less directed than a male stream would have been, and I began to realize completely for the first time why women had to squat to pee. I also knew women wiped I did it tentatively, only hoping I had done it correctly. I then discovered the full-length mirror that every woman finds so necessary. It was attached to the inside of the bathroom door. Part of me didn't even want to look, but I would have to face the new me sometime. I had been correct in my initial assessment. I was quite a bit younger than I had been - maybe early twenties if even that. I was first drawn to my hair. Unlike my darker shade, I was now a blonde - a pure blonde. The hair that cascaded off my shoulders and down my back was the natural color of spun gold. There was virtually no trace of darker shades; nor was it unnaturally light. It was an almost uniform gold which almost sparkled in the morning light. I supposed I would now be the butt of blonde jokes, but that somehow seemed to be the least of my worries. The hair framed a face that spoke of both innocence and desire. The eyes were a deep, sparkling blue, and the nose was pert and blended smoothly with the almost patrician lines of my cheekbones. My skin was flawless, but it was particularly smooth and feminine on my face, accented as it was by two lips that were so full and perfectly formed that they seemed to need no enhancements - such as lipstick. Oh dear God, would I have to wear lipstick now? As for my body...well, perfection is an arguable state, but my body was nearly perfect. The breasts were full and thrust proudly forward without being outlandish. My waist was narrow and my hips a perfect complement to it. My legs were long and smooth. I was an absolute knockout. It was a body any woman would kill for. But it was enough to make me want to kill myself. "This isn't possible," I mumbled in a voice that was breathy and sweet. And it wasn't possible - not at all. I suppose my first thought had been that I had been shipped off to some sex change clinic where I had been altered into this new form. But no surgeon's knife had done this to me. My new body was smaller and perfectly formed by the forces of nature - not medical science. But how? And why? Those questions would have to wait. Someone or something had done this to me on purpose. I needed to face them fully clothed, no matter how repugnant it seemed to have to wear women's clothing. After looking around what was obviously a very feminine apartment, I wasn't surprised to find a closet loaded with women's clothing. I managed to wrestle on a reasonable outfit in a few minutes. As expected, the bra gave me a little trouble, but I managed. In some ways, the panties were more an indication of what I had become. The breasts had already become apparent to me, their presence emphasized by practically every movement of my body. The panties, on the other hand, emphasized something I had lost rather than gained. When I pulled them up, they nestled themselves at the edge of my new slit, reminding me I was no longer a man in any way. As for outer attire, a polo shirt, jeans, sneakers and socks were not too different from their male counterparts. The only difficulty was slipping them on. I was used to the more casual fit men enjoyed - loose without being baggy. There was always plenty of room to move around in men's clothes. Not so with my chosen outfit, however. The polo shirt pushed outward from the pressure of my breasts, and I thought I was going to have to get the jeans on over my ass and hips with a shoehorn. And why did the sneakers have to be trimmed in white and pink? Pink? I had no idea what to do with so much hair. Finally, I just gathered it into a large, loose ponytail and tied it off with a rubber band-like item I had found in the bathroom. If I had thought to disguise my femininity in any way, I would have been greatly disappointed. The image in the mirror was of a sweet young blonde, feminine and vulnerable in every way. Thank God I had decided not to attempt makeup or jewelry. If I had looked any sexier, I would have probably been assaulted in the elevator. Having managed to dress myself with a minimum of problems, I turned to the next issue: who was responsible for this? It seemed that my dear wife had something to do with it. I recognized her voice in the night, talking with a man who sounded distinctly like Mr. Logan. Vickie was gone - God only knew where. That left Mr. Logan. I hoped I looked angry. The angelic face I now had was scarcely intimidating, but it was the only face I had. I used it to frown the second I got off the elevator. An elderly man, looking like an overweight Cesar Romero stood in a doorman's uniform in the lobby. He smiled at me as I approached. "Good morning, Miss Dixon. Did you sleep well?" "Where is Mr. Logan?" I demanded, trying to get my new pussycat voice to mimic a growl. Then I stopped. "What did you call me?" "Why, your name, Miss Dixon," he explained. He was trying to keep a straight face, but I could tell he was well aware that I was a newly-minted Miss Dixon. "Where is he?" I demanded, ignoring his amusement. The doorman hurriedly moved to open an oak door. "Right this way, Miss Dixon." I'll Miss Dixon him, I thought to myself. Just wait until I get all of this straightened out. I pushed by the oh-so-helpful doorman and barged into Mr. Logan's office. He was sifting through a rather large stack of papers with his eyes focussed on them. "Please be seated, Miss Dixon. I'll be with you in a moment," he murmured. "A moment my ass!" I yelled. "What the - " Suddenly, I was unable to speak. Not even a squeak came out of my mouth. And just as suddenly, I felt a firm push from the very air in front of me, causing me to fall back into a soft chair. At least I presume the chair was soft. It's possible that what was soft was my new feminine ass. I was unable to get up or even move about. Finally, I just leaned back in the chair and scowled as Mr. Logan read his papers and ignored me. I'm sure it was just a few minutes, and I realized it was being done in part to show me who was in charge, but it felt as if I sat there glued to the chair for an hour. At last, Mr. Logan looked up at me. There was a nonchalance to his expression which infuriated me even more. "Now, Miss Dixon, what can I do for you?" "You can change me back, damn you!" I tried to make it sound like a forceful demand, but it came out as a shrill request. I realized for the first time since my change how difficult it might be to be taken seriously with my weaker woman's voice. "Sorry, Miss Dixon," Mr. Logan replied calmly. "I don't think that would be a good idea at this time." "Why did you do this to me?" I also wanted to know how he did it, but why was more important at the moment. "Let's just say it was in my financial best interests to do so," he explained blandly. "Financial..." I suddenly remembered Vickie's voice from the previous night. "My wife... paid you to... to..." "Change you?" he finished for me. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose that is the case. More specifically, it was your associate, Mr. Sherman." "Del?" I gasped. "Del paid you to do this? Why?" Mr. Logan leaned back in his chair and sighed, "Really, Miss Dixon, you should be more observant. You seem to lack the survival instincts required of a businessman. Mr. Sherman has been having an affair with your wife since the day he signed on with you. Before he signed on actually." I tried to say something, but words wouldn't come out. There was no magic to my silence this time; I was just stunned. Del and Vickie? Why hadn't I noticed? The answer came to me unbidden. I hadn't noticed because I didn't want to notice. I wanted to believe that Vickie loved me for who I was and that Del was a loyal employee. I should have realized. How could I have been so blind? So Vickie and Del had conspired against me. "You can't just change me into... into this," I said motioning to my new body. "I'll be missed. Vickie won't have control of Chrysler Publications for a long time." "Actually, she will have effective control almost at once," Mr. Logan pointed out. "You may be missing, but your whereabouts are not unknown." "Excuse me?" "Your plane was seen crashing into Lake Erie right after takeoff. It will take a few days before they give up searching for your body in the wreckage. Then, it will be a few days more before you are declared dead and the will read, but these are only minor roadblocks," he explained with a smile. "But I was seen here - in New York," I pointed out. "Yes," Mr. Logan agreed. "But who will remember you? Mr. Sherman and your wife? The pilot? The driver who brought you here?" I saw his point. No one outside their potential control had seen me. Even the pilot hadn't seen me. As for the driver, he had undoubtedly been paid off. I had called no one and seen no one else who would remember me. And somehow, Mr. Logan had managed to fake a plane crash as well - probably with the same unbelievable powers he had used to change me into a woman. How could I possibly fight such powers? There might be a way, but for the moment, I was trapped. "So what happens now?" I asked quietly, resigned - at least in part - to my defeat. "Now, Miss Dixon, you live your life," he replied blandly. "But...but I don't even know who I am," I protested in a choking voice. "You are Candy Sue Dixon," he told me, as if he was reading from an unseen script. "You are twenty-one years old and are from Buffalo. You graduated from high school there and left at once for New York. Your mother is dead and your father's whereabouts unknown. You came to New York to get into modeling but found you don't have the right build for it." He nodded at my chest. "What...what's wrong with my build?" I blurted out before realizing just how much it made me sound like the very girl I had become. "Your breasts are too large," he explained. "Most models are not as well endowed as you are. Your former wife is a perfect example of this. In any case, modeling closed to you, you tried acting with equally poor results. No talent for it, I'm afraid." This was sounding worse by the minute. Alone in the big city, a young uneducated girl seeks her fortune but fails at every turn. It was the stuff stories were made of - tragic stories. "What do I have talent for?" I asked, very afraid of the answer. "Well," Mr. Logan sighed theatrically, "you are very attractive..." "No!" "...and rent in this building is rather expensive," he went on as if I hadn't spoken. "Did you say something, Miss Dixon?" "I said no!" I replied as forcefully as my new voice would allow. "I know what you're thinking. I won't be a prostitute." Mr. Logan smiled sadly. "Oh, Miss Dixon, I'm sorry you think so little of me. I wasn't suggesting that at all." I felt my heart slow down just a little. I had been sure he had intended me to earn my keep in a brothel of his choosing. "Then what are you suggesting?" I asked slowly, still sure I wasn't going to like the answer. "It just so happens that there is a new tenant in the building," he explained. "It's a publishing company, I believe..." I groaned out loud. "What? Work for Del? Work for the man who did this to me? Are you serious?" "As serious as death," Mr. Logan replied, a threatening tone in his voice. "I would suggest that you consider your options. You have an appointment with Mr. Sherman for ten this morning. If you are interested in the job, I suggest you be there - dressed appropriately for an interview." "And if I'm not interested?" "Then you may choose to make other living arrangements. I'm sure Mr. Sherman can be convinced to advance the first month's rent for you if you are hired. Without a job, however, I'm afraid you'll be required to move at once." "You wouldn't!" "I would," he said calmly. "Now, if you'll forgive me, Miss Dixon, I have work to do. And presumably, you have an interview to prepare for." I didn't move. I felt if I did, I would be somehow giving up any chance of returning to my real life. After all, with each passing minute, the sham death of Jack Chrysler would become more and more of a reality. Rescuers would find the plane in the bitterly cold waters of Lake Erie. More than likely, the hull of the plane would be broken, and it would be assumed that Jack Chrysler had either swum out or his battered body had merely floated out. In any case, it would never be found. I would be presumed dead - case closed. And Vickie and Del would live happily ever after. And me? Well, maybe Candy Dixon could find a nice job as a waitress somewhere. With her looks and lack of education, she'd be a natural for a stint at Hooters. Shit. "Mr. Logan..." "Miss Dixon, I told you I am very busy," he said stiffly. "I can assure you that as miserable as you think your life is now, I can make it worse if you continue to bother me. Now, good day." Fear rose in me all at once. I jumped unsteadily to my feet. I wanted to try once more to convince him to change me back, but I realized I would be risking what little I had left. Tears forming in my eyes, I fled the office. I slammed the door to my apartment and burst immediately into tears. How could Del have betrayed my trust? How could Vickie have returned my love for her in this way? How was it possible for Mr. Logan to change me like this? Who - or what - was he anyway? What was I going to do? The questions were almost overwhelming. I wanted to just crawl back into bed and cry myself to sleep. Maybe if I did, I'd awaken and find out all of this had just been some terrible nightmare. I could just sigh with relief and look at Vickie sleeping contentedly beside me. But no, I knew that wasn't the case. This didn't feel like a dream; it was all real. Del and Vickie had stolen everything my family had built up, and I was stuck in the body of a voluptuous, uneducated woman. To make matters worse, Del was going to rub my cute little nose in shit by offering me some menial job at my old company. I wouldn't do it! But as I slumped into a chair, slowly getting control of my tears, I began to realize I really had no choice. Unless I listened to Del's proposal and took the job, Mr. Logan would have me thrown out on the street. I knew enough about renter's rights to realize he couldn't legally do that to me without proper notice, but given his powers, I had no doubt the threat was not an idle one. Besides, what else was I trained to do? Who would believe that I had attended the finest private secondary school in Ohio or that I had graduated with honors from college? No one - that's who. I had no choice. With a sigh of resignation, I pulled my busty body up out of the chair and stumbled into the bathroom to look at myself once again in the mirror. The full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door showed a very attractive girl who looked as if she had been run over by a truck. My eyes were red and puffy. My hair was disheveled and looked as if it had last been combed when Reagan was President. As for my clothing choice... well, the less said the better. If I was going to go to that interview - and something told me I'd better do just that - I had a lot of work to do. After a another traumatic trip to the toilet to void myself again, I began in earnest to get ready for my job interview. I almost changed my mind again when I saw the contents of my closet. Apparently Candy Dixon didn't have a skirt bigger than a postage stamp or a pair of shoes with a heel low enough to get up on without a stepladder. Oh, it wasn't really that bad, but it seemed like it. I almost lost my resolve and fled from the building. Maybe starving in the streets would be better than working for Del. What kind of a job did he have in mind for me anyway? I shuddered to think of it. Maybe I'd be his "personal" secretary, servicing him under the desk after a hard day. No, that wasn't likely. Vickie would be a jealous lover and wouldn 't want me getting into Del's pants no matter how humiliating it might be for me. No, I'd just be one of the many attractive young women in the office. It was sort of expected of a men's magazine to have attractive women displayed in the office. So okay, I thought. I can do that. I can file and look pretty until I can get some things sorted out. Even stuck like this, maybe I'd go to night school and get an education. Maybe there was still a chance I could convince Mr. Logan to change me back. There were always alternatives - there had to be - but first I had to eat and keep a roof over my head. A job at First Class Male might be demeaning and humiliating, but what choice did I have? As Candy I had only a limited education and no apparent work history. Life as a young woman alone in the big city offered few viable options for me. With a sigh, I pulled a dress out of the closet. It was short like all the rest, but its color - a medium blue - was one of the tamest in the closet. I knew enough from observing women to put together a reasonable outfit. With the practice I was sure to get, I knew I could do better, but the accessories I was able to gather looked reasonable together. Fortunately, I had a lot of time because I turned out to be not as savvy as I thought I was. The blue dress worked okay, but the lower heeled shoes I had chosen at first were not right with it. Even my formerly male eyes could tell that they were the wrong shade of blue. The right ones had about a three inch heel on them. I didn't want to wear one that high, but they were the only shoes that really matched and I didn't want to start over. I was a little wobbly in heels, so I walked around for a few minutes to get used to them. I was surprised to find walking in them wasn't that difficult. Maybe it has something to do with the shape of a woman's body, but with a little practice, I was able to develop a natural rhythm that made walking in heels reasonably easy. I had decided on not wearing pantyhose. My legs were smooth and tanned and Vickie had told me not long ago that many women were forgoing them. Frankly, I was sure I'd look better with them on, but I didn't want to take the chance on running a few pair without having a little time to practice putting them on. I could practice later, but there was no time to do it now. I ran a brush through my hair. Fortunately, it sprang into place fairly easily. Slipping on a gold necklace and bracelet wasn't a problem either. So at last I had all the easy stuff done. Now came the hard part - makeup. I looked in horror at the dozens of bottles and tubes laid out on the dressing table before me. It looked more like the contents of a mad scientist's lab than a collection of beauty products. I'd have to go lightly at first and experiment when I got back from the interview. Hesitantly, I applied a little lipstick as I had seen Vickie do hundreds of times before. It had an unpleasant, waxy feel to it and a taste I didn't care for. I was thankful I had applied it lightly. Next, I tried a little eye shadow, gently brushing on some bluish tint I thought would go with the dress. It didn't. With a sigh, I removed it with cold cr?me and tried another more gray shade. When I had finished, I wasn't entirely happy with the results, but at least I had avoided looking clownish. Although I was sure I had not done a very good job, I decided to quit while I was ahead. Eyeliner, rouge, and mascara were well beyond my ability to master. I'd experiment with them later. I thought about trying to insert earrings in the holes I had discovered in my ears but decided against it. It was nearly ten and I had visions of getting one in and having trouble with the other one. I felt Del would have enough to chuckle about without giving him more. When the elevator doors opened for me in the lobby, I felt like pushing the button for my floor and staying on board. I swear every male eye in the lobby was on me. The staff, I suspected, knew I had once been male. Their looks were more penetrating and their smiles a bit stifled, as if they shared a private joke. Other men in the lobby looked at me with undisguised lust. I must have looked like a fine bit of female flesh. I guess I had never realized before how obvious men were with their looks at women. Had I been equally bad about that? I wondered. I tried to walk without wiggling my ass too much, but it was difficult in such high heels. Besides, I was trying to walk as fast as I could to get to Del's office before some sex-hungry man grabbed me and carried me off. In my fear and embarrassment, I managed to keep just a small emotional fire of hatred burning for Del, Vickie, and Mr. Logan. Damn them all to hell anyway. I could already feel my face flushing as I timidly entered the new offices of Chrysler Publications. How different this was from my triumphal entry the night before. I had been so stupid. I should have suspected something was wrong. After all, Del and Vickie had both been in New York. And they had known each other before I knew either of them. And then there were the problems Vickie and I had already experienced in our relationship - problems that had driven me to make the move to New York. How could I have been so blind? But how could I have anticipated what they had done to me? I still found it hard to believe it was possible. "Hi." It was a woman's voice. Looking around, I recognized her immediately. It was Lucy Travis, the woman I had let Del hire as office manager. She was a good-looking thirtyish blonde. If anything, her skirt was shorter than mine. She looked a little on the bimbo side, but looks could be deceiving. She held an MBA from the University of Michigan and was certainly no slouch. But come to think of it, she was one of Del's key hires. I wondered if she knew who I really was. If she did, she didn't let on. "You must be Candy Dixon. I'm Lucy Travis, the office manager here. Mr. Sherman told me you'd be coming in this morning. Normally, I'd interview you first, but he said he wanted to do it himself." That wasn't a surprise. Del obviously wanted to gloat. I knew this interview was going to be one of the most uncomfortable experiences of my life - either life. But Lucy seemed a little baffled by the process. I knew instinctively that Lucy would have little influence over my situation. To my relief, she obviously had no idea who I was - or rather, who I had been. "Here's an application," she said, handing me an employment application and a pen. "He said when you're finished filling it out, just knock on his door." She pointed at a closed door I already knew to be Del's. "Good luck, Candy." Well, once again there was certainly no indication that she knew who I really was. I supposed Del and Vickie would have kept what they had done quiet. At least I wouldn't have to suffer the ridicule of everyone in the office - unlike Mr. Logan's staff who seemed to all know who I had been before that morning. With a sigh, I began to fill out the application. I opened my purse so I could get the information to fill out some of the blanks. Name. Okay - Candy Sue Dixon. Why Candy? Why couldn't they at least given me a more neutral name. Candy smacked of femininity and - no pun intended - sweetness. Age. Twenty-one. Well, at least I was legal. I looked more like jail bait. Address. I put down the number of the apartment I had awakened in and the address of the building. Then I was stuck. Education? Mr. Logan said I had a high school education, but that was all I knew. Work experience? I had no idea. Trying to be a model or an actress didn't mean I had any experience at those jobs. In fact from what Mr. Logan had told me, I suspected I had no experience as either. I knew what happened to most girls like Candy Dixon. Their dreams of glamour usually became the mundane reality of lower level jobs - waitresses, store clerks and receptionists as examples. And that's if they were lucky. The unlucky ones might find themselves in far worse straits - prostitution came to mind. I shuddered. As I stared at the unanswered questions on the application, I began to realize even more that as degrading as it would be to work as Del's receptionist, I had no choice. If I didn't get this job, I would be forced to find work elsewhere, for no one would believe my story. But without a work history or an education, who would hire me? Sure, the economy was good, but my prospects were limited. Mr. Logan had intimated that by taking this job, I'd have a place to live at least. I stood reluctantly, smoothing my dress, and clutching the application in my small, feminine hand, knocked hesitantly on Del's door. "Come in!" I opened the door and tried to make a dignified entrance. I'm sure I failed. Yes, I needed the job, but seeing Del as he sat as his desk, a leer on his face, caused me to snap. "Damn it, Del, change me back!" I blurted. The leer turned to a merciless frown. He rose from his chair. Del and I had been about the same height and build, but now he was much taller and muscular than I. "Shut up!" Suddenly intimidated, I froze. "Sit!" I sat, my knees together like a schoolgirl about to be chastised by the principal. "Let's get something straight right now," he growled. "You are Candy Sue Dixon and no one else. You need me but I don't need you. If it were up to me, you'd be out on the street in a heartbeat. Hiring you was Vickie's idea. Logan put it in her head. They want to embarrass you. I just wanted you out of the way. If it had been entirely up to me, I would have handled you more directly." I had a bad feeling about what he meant by "directly." As quickly as it had begun, the frown went away and the leer returned. I squirmed in my seat, trying to get my short skirt to cover more of my legs. I almost preferred the frown to the leer. "But since this is the way Vickie wants it, I suppose it could be entertaining," he mused. "God knows Logan made you into a looker. I never would have believed magic was possible." That was something we could agree on, but I remained silent. When he was sure I had learned my place, he explained, "You are going to be our receptionist. In a way, it will be instructive for you. You'll have a chance to see how this company should have been run from the beginning. If it had been, Chrysler Publications wouldn't be in the toilet today. I'm going to create an entirely new image for this magazine, and you're going to be part of it." I nearly cringed. This was going to be worse than I had imagined. "You start tomorrow, but I'd better see a vast change in your appearance. Your dress is too dull. I expect to see you wearing a shorter, tighter skirt and something up top that shows your cleavage. And do something about that hair and makeup. I want to see some curls in that hair. You look like a librarian. And lose that little girl makeup. Go over to Bloomingdale's and get somebody in the makeup department to get you a new look." He pulled three hundred dollar bills out of his wallet and slid them across the desk to me. "And get your hair done while you're at it. Do it all curly. "Now I don't care what Vickie wants. If you don't look the image of First Class Male, you'll be out of here. And the way things are, you need this job, don't you?" Reluctantly, I nodded. "Then get out of here," he finished. "You start work at nine in the morning." I had no choice, I realized forlornly. I could feel the embarrassed flush on my cheeks, and my lower lip was quivering. I knew I was ready to burst into tears. I rose and fled for the door. "And higher heels!" Del called after me. "I want to see your ass wiggle when you walk!" Safely back in my apartment, the dam burst. I threw myself on the bed like some heartbroken teen and bawled my eyes out. The funny thing is, it actually felt sort of good to cry. It was as if the pain and frustration of the morning had liquefied and was flowing down my cheeks. Maybe this was why women cried more readily than men. As my tears abated, I felt strangely better. Lying there, I managed to gather my resolve. I would do what Del had told me to do, and I wouldn't let him or Vickie or Mr. Logan see how much it bothered me. That was the only way I would be able to keep my sanity and a roof over my head at the same time. I wasn't looking forward to what I had to do, but somehow I'd manage. I might be stuck as young woman, but I wasn't going to let it destroy me. I'd have to try hard and do a lot of things I really didn't want to do, but there it was. I dried my eyes and even fixed my makeup as best I could. I thought about changing clothes. There were jeans in the closet and some casual sweaters in one of the drawers, but I decided to stay in a dress. The next day, I'd be dressed even sexier, so I'd better get used to being stared at, I thought. I was going to jump into the deep end of the pool. Del and Mr. Logan had seen me at my worst. By the time I had to actually face Vickie, I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing me in misery. Del had given me money to have my hair and makeup done, so what the hell. But I regretted my decision to remain in a dress when I got on the subway. Walking only a block or two, my feet began to hurt in the heels. Besides, the area around my building was a little rough. As a man, I wouldn't have worried, but as a woman, I was becoming a little frightened, even in the light of midday. I had three hundred and fifty dollars in my purse - fifty that had been there before and the three hundred Del had given me. But I had no idea how much my little shopping excursion was going to cost. So I was reluctant to take a cab. The subway seemed the best answer - until I got on it. It was not rush hour, so the train wasn't too crowded. But that didn't stop guys from rubbing against me as they passed me while I was looking for a seat. I finally found one, but it was next to a man wearing a cheap suit and smelling of even cheaper cologne. "Don't I know you?" he asked. I could smell the liquor on his breath, presumably from a liquid lunch. I tried to move down as he leaned into me, but the man sitting on the other side of me looked even worse. "I don't think so," I managed, turning away. I felt his arm behind my shoulders. "Maybe we should get to know each other." "And maybe we shouldn't," I huffed, standing and catching a strap that was higher than I anticipated. It made my breasts stick out a little more. God, was that a mistake! Now once again, a couple of men on the car found it necessary to move about the car, pressing against me as they passed me. I even felt one pinch my butt. I bit the inside of my lip and tried to ignore what was happening as the train proceeded slowly to Midtown Manhattan. Was this what it was like for women in New York? Were they constantly ogled, jostled, and propositioned? It was like being a mouse in a world full of cats. I resolved to save enough money from my trip to take a cab back - no matter what the cost. I had been in Bloomingdale's before. I don't think it's possible to spend much time in New York and not go there at least once. From the subway, it's particularly convenient since there's a station below the building. But I had never seen Bloomie's through the eyes of a woman before. I suddenly realized that most of the huge store is dedicated to serving women. There are clothing departments of every imaginable sort - sports wear, intimates, designer, petite, formal, and on and on. I checked in at the beauty salon first, since I thought I might have to make a later appointment. To my surprise, they were able to take me at once. As they led me to a chair, I felt like a prisoner about to be electrocuted. "A wash and set today?" the beautician asked me. Huh? "Uh... yeah I guess." Whatever a set was. The wash I had figured out. We then went into a discussion about what was to be done with my hair. Del had said curly. I'm sure the beautician was a little taken aback by how little I seemed to know about women's hairstyles, but she caught the "curly" bit. I just sat back and let it all happen. It took longer than I thought it would. I guess I was used to getting a haircut as a man. That's right, Bill, just take a little off the top and trim it up. How about those Browns last Sunday, huh? Well, those days were over it seemed. The final result was impressive though. When she showed me the mirror, I thought I looked a little like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally - I mean the party scene where she had long, curly hair. I hadn't realized I really had all that much hair now. I suppose when it's fluffed out and curled, it has more body. Next, I tackled the makeup department. Or maybe I should say it tackled me. My previous forays into the makeup department of a store had been just to pass through. I had never even bought stuff like that for my wife. Vickie was very particular about her makeup and perfumes, so I stayed out of that world - until now. The women in the makeup depa