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Special FX -008- Boutique?
🕑 Added 2020-07-24 14:36:23 +0000 UTC
"Are you convinced?" I asked Jack. I needed him to believe me, that I was Billy Jones. I stood in the door of my room and watched him warily.
"Who am I going to believe?" he said. "My lying eyes or the gorgeous babe who wants to move in with me?" He made a gesture, like surrendering to a higher power. "Besides, you're wearing exactly what Billy wore when he left the flat this morning, complete to ink stain on the left front pocket of those jeans and ragged threads hanging from the right cuff seam."
I looked down. "I never noticed!" I exclaimed. "Jeez! Why didn't you say something? I've got better jeans than these. I look like a ragamuffin!"
"Ah, no." He laughed. "Those jeans are way too tight for anyone to be thinking of 19th-century literature."
"Huh?" He took a step toward me, and I backed up half-a-step into my room, ready to slam the door.
Jack held up his hands to signal he was stopping. "I meant 'Oliver Twist' does not come to mind when watching you walk away like I did a few minutes ago." He shook his head, still smiling. "No, it took me a moment to realize that I'd been thinking, 'Billy has a hell of an ass,'" he went on. "So I knew it was you, man. Babe."
"Well, thanks," I said. "But don't call me b-babe."
"Can't be done," he said, trying to look sad. "The way you fill out those jeans. Your nipples looking at me through that t-shirt. That hair. That face. You are one hella babe, Billy."
I shut the door on his leering face. "D-damn it," I muttered. Maybe it was better that Jack believed me, but he was going to be a problem. I stared at the door, grateful that I had had a lock I could use if necessary installed when I moved in. Some of Jack's girlfriends were a bit skeevy.
I stared at my reflection over my dresser, the strawberry-blonde haystack of messy hair, the too-tight t-shirt over the more-than-ample breasts with the nipples showing, the slightly stained and ragged jeans. I frowned. I looked a bit skeevy myself.
I headed for my wardrobe, wondering if I had anything in there that would fit. The cracked, full-length mirror on the inside of the door showed even more of my new hourglass shape. No way would any of my old jeans or slacks fit me, I knew that right away, but I grabbed a pair and held them up just to confirm.
Men's 32" waist jeans would probably measure no larger in the hips, so, no. My sweat pants had enough stretch that maybe they would work, but what would that look like? Why had the magic only altered the clothes I wore at the time, and why had it made my jeans and shirt so tight?
Gah!
I had to find some way to go back to being me!
The first thing would be to find that camera, but I had no idea how I could even start on that before the morning. And right now, I had another problem.
About that time, Jack called through the door, "You okay in there?"
Not thinking about it, I articulated my current situation. "I don't have anything to wear." Jack laughed, and I realized what I sounded like. "Don't say anything!" I warned him.
"Wouldn't think of it," he promised. "Nothing fits? That's the problem with sorcerors today; they don't think these things through."
I snatched the door open and stared at him. "You think…?"
"C'mon, you think this just happened by some technical glitch? Someone's working some powerful magic here." He grinned at me.
"Magic," I sort of breathed the word. "I don't…" I looked down at myself, "I didn't believe in magic." The evidence was right there in front of me, literally. I looked back up at Jack. "If someone could do this to me, what else could they do?"
He waved a hand. "So far, they've turned you into a beautiful girl. It's not all bad."
My eyes started burning, and I realized I was about to cry. "I—you—. Piss on you, Jack!" I tried to snarl, but it came out as a blubber. I turned and ran back into my room and slammed the door before going into a full meltdown.
The tears were hot, and there were a lot of them. I sat on the bed and got myself under control. It took a few minutes and left me feeling drained. Had someone done this to me? Deliberately? What else might they do?
I heard Jack at the door. "Billy?" he called. "I'm sorry. I know I'm a selfish, insensitive jurq, and you can tell me that to my face. Okay?"
"Hmph!" I replied. "Don't think I won't." Jack, the charmer, admitting his faults. Surprising how often that worked for him, like it was working now.
"Okay," he said, sounding relieved. "You know what I think would help your mood? Getting you some clothes that fit and don't make you look like, uh, like you're, um, advertising?"
Yeesh. I rolled my eyes. Jack could be blunt, too, and yet he often got away with it. "Maybe," I admitted. I got up and went to my closet and took out a flannel shirt I hadn't worn in months. It fit around me, though it was too large in the shoulders. I didn't button it but let it hang over the…ornaments on my chest.
"Yeah?" Jack continued. "So, let me take you shopping. I canceled my, uh, plans for the evening. It's still early—some things are open. I'll buy you some essentials, things you, uh, need." He paused. "I know this great boutique in Malibu that would just have the perfect clothes for you…."
I opened my door and confronted him. "Nice try, Jack," I said.
He noted my addition of the flannel shirt and grinned. "It's called La Bodega de la Vida en Playa, Beach Life Boutique…."
"No," I said. "You just… You're trying…. I'm not going to wear a bikini for you, Jack!" But I found myself smiling. He was so ridiculously transparent.
"Okay, then," he said. "Target is nearby and open. Cheap, too. Not too stylish, but I bet you don't know your sizes, huh?"
I blinked. "Uh, no, no, I don't," I admitted. "How would I?"
He handed me a yellow measuring tape. "I'd offer to help you take your measurements, but you might slap me," he said.
I took the tape. "Got that right in one, Jack. Why do you have this?"
He shrugged, getting out his phone. "I'm a stylish playboy; it's required in the by-laws." He waved the phone at me. "You measure, I'll take notes."
I snorted and retreated to my room again, closing the door.
