Boredom. Habit enforced boredom. Mind numbing, tedious, repressive, habit enforced boredom. What kind of life is it when you knowingly allow yourself to be bored just because it's habit?
Mark figured it wasn't much of a life, but failed to do anything about it.
He was riding in the passenger seat of his wife's Corolla on their way to dinner at one of those cheesy theme restaurants. Mark thought that these places were why the word ended in rant. Well, at least they had those bread sticks he liked.
Mark chided himself for that last thought. It was that line of thinking that had him stuck in a rut. He was forever trying to make himself accept what he didn't want by finding something he did like about it - no matter how infinitesimal.
He stifled a sigh, knowing that it would simply trigger his wife's insecurities and probably cause an argument. She'd been getting progressively worse as their marriage went on. She was sensitive now to anything she might even remotely consider criticism or general disapproval for her and her doings. He had to admit part of her problem was his own self. Thanks to his mother's short temper and impatience he was short tempered and impatient. It didn't take much to set him off, either - especially as of late. And as his wife's insecurities grew she grated on his nerves with increasing frequency. Even so, neither was willing to leave the other, and neither tried to change. Mark suspected this was what pop psychologists call toxic codependency.
He turned to look out the driver's side of the windshield. Traffic in his town was horrid. Not from the amount, but from the lousy attitudes many of the drivers possessed. It was just another in a long string of reasons he hated his life, and the primary reason he rarely drove anymore.
He glanced at his wife, being careful not to let her see him do so. She didn't take even passing admiration very well, and lately it could also trigger a fight. She was pretty - at least to him she was - but not a knockout. She was significantly overweight, and a minor chemical disorder meant a little acne now and again. Mark didn't care about that, he had fallen in love with her soul. Looks did not hold a great deal of value to him.
Rachel's doctors had finally gotten a handle on that disorder as of late, and the treatments had included the fringe benefit of loosing weight. Oddly, this had put a strain on their marriage, since he never wanted her to feel like he valued her according to her looks. Every time Rachel asked if he was happy about her weight loss, it would inevitably end in a quarrel. He simply could not bring himself to tell her he did like the fact she was slimming down. He hated himself for even thinking that. Of course, he could never tell her that - that would be too logical and straightforward. Besides, emotional openness gave him the willies.
Mark grudgingly admitted to himself that he was also a little jealous.
As Rachel turned through an intersection one of those idiot drivers cut around her, causing Mark to let out a stream of profanities.
He sat back in his seat and looked out his side window, chiding himself again. He was far too willing to get angry with the little twits in life. As much as he tried to settle down, though, he could not.
"I'm sorry." Rachel said.
"For what?"
"I let him go around."
Mark sighed, he wasn't concerned about her driving but she always assumed he was angry with her when he yelled at those morons. Yes, she had a few habits she had that made him nervous, but in all she was a good driver.
"Not your fault, cute-stuff." He replied, tacking on the pet name more out of habit now than any emotion.
Feeling ashamed again at his state of affairs, he slid back into silence and began to examine his feelings for her. He was only mildly surprised to find his love for her just sort of lay there, nearly dead. It was still there, though. What kept him from reviving it? Everything that he had fallen in love with was still there.
Habit.
Again, it was just habit. His whole life was one long deep rut. He felt that he was a thirty-two year old going on seventy.
Perhaps he was just too frightened to make the necessary changes. He knew that divorcing his wife would probably as much as kill her. Perhaps it was just his gargantuan ego, but he felt she was far too reliant on him for her sense of being. He also suspected he had begun to rely on her for his sense of being.
She was even afraid of simply moving to a new town or getting a different job. Rachel was very frightened of change, and he didn't want to put her through a major transformation just for his own selfish benefit.
Of course, he was frightened of change, too. He scolded himself again - he knew there were ways to make changes in his life without scaring Rachel in the process. He was just too afraid to start.
"Are there any parking spots near the restaurant?" She queried as they passed by the mall where their destination was situated.
He looked over the guardrail into the lot below and saw it was only sparsely populated. Their choice of odd hours was serving them well again.
"Plenty of ‘em."
He looked over at the movie multiplex. Several films interested him, but he shoved the idea out of his mind. He knew she would want to get home to her crafts after dinner.
He fiddled with the door grab bar, pretending as usual that it was the cyclic stick in a helicopter. He had chased a pilot's license when he was a teen, but never completed his ground school - a fact he sometimes kicked himself over.
Rachel pulled into a spot very near the entrance to the eatery. Mark hopped out and waited by the back bumper for Rachel to catch up.
He looked at the people in the restaurant's little patio. He reflected that the patrons looked a great deal like him. They were probably middle class, out for a little fun and finding only an over priced, under cooked meal served by high school age kids who wouldn't care if they vaporized in their seats.
They entered the lobby and waited for one of the so-called hostesses to come out of her stupor long enough to give them a table. He stood behind Rachel, knowing he had a tendency to leer at these pretty young jailbait girls. He feared if she suspected he was looking at them, she would rate herself against their looks, and being overweight and almost forty meant she would came out last.
He caught himself leering at one young girl with a particularly full bust. He figured looking at the young pretties was just a normal human male action. He never considered acting on his impulses, but he knew that Rachel would not take it at all well if she actually caught him looking. He had caught her looking at other men - men younger and more ‘buff' than he was - but in an attempt to be fair, he had never said anything even though it sometimes hurt or made him jealous.
He looked down at his growing belly. He remembered - dimly - when he himself was in good shape. Back then he could run around playing paintball with his friends all day, leaping and jumping and climbing. Now he got winded going up a flight of stairs.
As they were seated, he looked at the food at other people's tables. It was all fats and starches with gobs of cheap filler. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist the tasty if nutritionally empty treats this place offered, even knowing that it would mean another pound gained and who knew how much plaque in his arteries.
He frowned as he considered the menu, pushing his glasses back up his nose. Food had become a centerpiece in his life. It irritated him, since there was so much else he would really rather do. Money forever stood as the excuse for not doing any of it. He wanted to learn some eastern martial arts, but his job took up too much time and he certainly couldn't afford to skip work. He wanted to make plastic models, but the vacuum form was too expensive. He wanted to just get in shape, but those gym fees were absurd.
Food, however, he could afford.
He began to realize that he had become part of the system, a cog in the machine. Money held him there. An old bumper sticker came to mind: "I owe, I owe, so off to work I go."
He hated credit.
He had a hard time pinning down the exact moment when his credit had overextended his reach. Rachel had always wanted that one more item. One more article that she hoped would fulfil their empty little lives, or perhaps just her life. Mark at first always tried to give her that something, whatever it was, because he loved her so. Lately it was just out of habit. That habit dug them deep into debt.
And they had very little to show for that debt. An aging Toyota, a once-nice stereo system that he now had to repair almost monthly, and an overabundance of odds and ends most of which did little more than take up space in their closets.
He kicked himself mentally again. He was to blame for some of that debt, as well. It was very easy to get caught up in materialism. America thrived on it, its very air saturated with the advertising that perpetuated it. Depth was reduced a concept, something that was joked about in sitcoms.
The theme restaurant he was sitting in was a damned temple to that very fact.
He stifled another sigh.
"What looks good to you, Hon?" Rachel asked - never able to decide what she wanted on her own.
"A stack of hundreds as tall as I am always looks good." Mark joked.
Predictably, Rachel chuckled. Never mind this was the hundredth time he told that stale old joke. He could probably tell her that very joke one hundred times in a row, and she would laugh each time entirely out of habit.
"Actually, I was thinking of the combo platter." Mark finally answered - knowing it was her favorite dish the place served. It had a little of everything the restaurant made well.
"Hmmm." She hummed, looking thoughtful.
He took off his glasses to wipe away a little dust and an eyelash. He took a moment to look around at the now blurry world. Too much time spent looking at detailed schematics definitely took its toll on his long distance vision.
Replacing his glasses, he looked at the menu seriously for the first time. It hadn't changed since their last visit except for the prices, which had gone up. Without inflation, where would he get his variety?
He decided on the "MegaPlatter", his usual order.
Boy - that rut sure is deep.
The waiter - a boy who looked about sixteen or seventeen years old, with one of those stupid ‘mushroom' style haircuts and a nasty case of acne - approached their table, set down a couple of glasses of water and asked in a bored monotone if they were ready to order.
Rachel ordered her usual combo platter, with her usual drink of diet lemon-lime soda.
Mark ordered his usual MegaPlatter, with his usual drink of cola.
He dreaded this part. Now she'd want to talk. He could count her list of subjects on one hand and have four fingers to spare.
As sure as death and taxes, she started to talk about her work.
He hated this. It was always the same pattern: Idiot customers followed by idiot managers. Then she would segue into something she had done that she thought would impress him. She was always searching for approval. He tried to surprise her with approval whenever he got the chance even if it meant making it up, but that never seemed to satisfy her. So, she went mining for it.
To make matters worse, she often forgot which events she had already told him about and would repeat a story. At least, he hoped it was because she forgot. If she was that desperate…
He realized he wasn't paying attention to her again. He quickly tried to ascertain where in her usual pattern she was so he could catch up. Thankfully, she was only up to the idiot management. He had time before he actually had to participate.
He began to play with the water condensation on his water glass. He drew a couple of Chinese ideograms that he had memorized. He loved to know unusual things. He had a head full of strange yet useless facts.
Well, it had served him well back when Trivial Pursuit was popular.
Rachel had come around to the bit where she tries to impress him with her feats of brainpower. What bugged him most about this part was that her ‘feats' weren't feats at all, just the usual paint-by-numbers stuff everyone was expected to be able to do. They really didn't earn her any praise. This incident was no different in that respect. She had just gone by the book and ended up on top.
She was good with people, though. A good employee, really, who was well suited to retail sales. When she wanted to, she could do wonders with customers. The world was a cruel place, though, and her managers always took her for granted.
Rachel never defended herself unless Mark pushed her into it. She probably figured she wasn't worth that kind of effort. When Mark did push her, it took a tremendous toll on her.
It was wearing thin on Mark, though. He wondered sometimes how much longer he could stand it. Thoughts of hermitage danced in his head.
Rachel was silent and staring at him. He had drifted off into thought again. Damn it! He knew what she had said, but failed to respond.
"Sorry," He said, weakly. "I just got to thinking about how they never appreciate your talents enough there." He said, handing her a half-truth.
Rachel flushed. She didn't take compliments well.
"Oh, I just do my best."
Mark nearly rolled his eyes. She was forever minimizing his compliments and maximizing his criticisms. Of course, he proved he was of the same habit whenever she complimented or criticized him.
He was about to try to change the subject when the waiter showed up with their meals. The plates landed before them with a clunk, the waiter as much as throwing them onto the table.
"Anything else?" The boy asked, obviously not interested.
"No, thanks." Rachel answered, in her usual light-hearted style.
Mark was glad he never wanted anything else, since Rachel never so much as looked at him when that standard question was posed. She just sent the little waiters off. She had always been of that habit, though, even when they had first started dating. It hadn't bothered him before the past few years.
He immediately dug into his favorite portion of the meat-and-potatoes meal. The fats and starches were delicious. He hated himself for loving it so much. He knew they would kill him one day.
Off on the edge of his consciousness he could sense Rachel talking about work again. This time it would be an endless rant about a customer, probably one of her worst regular customers. This fellow was real prick who would come in almost every day and try to weasel or bully some kind of absurd discount or freebie from the store. Whatever to subject, it followed a very specific pattern, and Rachel made the conversation very one-sided making his share of the chat easily accomplished with half acknowledgements and grunts requiring almost no effort on his part.
His latest little project wandered into his thoughts. He was researching an urban legend called ‘randomizer effect' on the World Wide Web. This was another of his unusual fact hunts. He had heard that sometimes reality would change at random. The idea was ludicrous, of course, but he loved that sort of urban legend.
As he downed the last of his tiny cola (wondering if the waiter would ever refill it), he again wished they could go to a movie. As much as he wanted to learn more about the randomizer effect, he wanted more to have an evening of mindless, passive entertainment. Again, he pushed the idea out of his mind. Rachel had a craft project waiting for her and she did so love her crafts.
"Want some dessert, honey?" Rachel asked, again according to pattern.
He could never manage to eat anything beyond the MegaPlatter. As a matter of fact, the platter was really more than he could eat as it was. Yet, she always asked if he wanted dessert. He realized she might really be asking if she was allowed to have some.
"I think I've eaten too much as it is, sweetie." He hated how they always attached pet names to their statements. "If you want one, then please…"
She looked at him for a moment, and obviously decided against it.
The waiter tossed their bill on the table as he scurried by, not waiting to see if they wanted anything further.
Mark looked at the statement and took the necessary cash out of his wallet to cover the charges, plus a miniscule gratuity.
Rachel took out a couple of dollars; ever forgiving she was upping the tip.
Mark silenced yet another sigh and got up from the table, offering his hand to Rachel. She took it and got out of her seat, not using his offered help in the least.
On their way home, Mark watched the town go by. Rachel was still ranting about her customers as she drove and he didn't pay any attention. He was fantasizing about his ‘randomizer effect' research, asking himself ‘what if' questions and having a little fun with the idea of living a different life from the one he found himself in.
As they approached their apartment, he asked her what she wanted to do with the rest of the evening. He knew what she was going to answer:
"Oh, I don't know. What do you want to do?"
All the real possibilities ran through his mind. He knew that suggesting any of them would result in her agreeing to it then moping through the activity, constantly looking over to her craft table.
"Oh, I thought maybe I'd study on the Web or something." He lied.
"Ok. I'll just work on my kitty." She replied, sounding like she was resigning herself to her fate. She was building a wicker cat from a kit. It was always a kit. She never did do anything that was actually creative anymore. Come to think of it, she never really did anything all that creative to start with. He could sense in her a reserve of creativity, which demonstrated itself on occasion when she was selling to her customers.
So, joy of joys, another evening spent on the Web.
Well, at least he could do more research, and someone may have posted a new Matrix fan-fiction story he could read. He loved those fan fiction stories. He reflected that the stories had similarities to the ‘randomizer effect' urban legends. They were all wonderful fantasies about being something different.
One day, the thought, he'd have to try writing one of those. He knew he'd probably never even try, but he'd still like to. He never did anything that was actually creative anymore. He probably never really did anything all that creative to begin with.
Rachel parked her car as close to the apartment as available space allowed. She loved ‘close parking', even made little prayers spaces to be available right next to the door. It was sort of a game, but she would occasionally take it a bit too seriously.
Two of their three cats, Goofus and Doofus, greeted them at the door - probably hoping they had brought home some treats from the eatery. Mark reached down and pet the cats, talking a sort of baby talk to them, then headed down the short hall to his computer room.
He heard Rachel fire up the stereo, playing her favorite CD for the zillionth time this week, and too loud at that. He plugged in his headphones to his CD-ROM so he could drown her music out. When the machine finished booting, he put in one of his favorite CDs, dialed his Internet service provider and waited for the connection.
He wished that he could take his computer to the back porch. There was a pretty park back there that he could look at. He kicked himself for the umpteenth time for not getting a laptop. They never used that porch anymore. He wondered if the door would even open.
As the modem went though its gyrations, he again returned to his altered reality fantasies. He felt a little guilty when he realized that all of his fantasies didn't involve Rachel.
One day, soon, he was going to have to face up to the facts and deal with them, but this was not the day.
Tomorrow probably wouldn't be the day, either.
Nor would it likely be the day after that.
As his web browser loaded his favorite search engine page, he pondered his own weakness, his blind devotion to the status quo.
He shook himself out of his reverie and poured himself into his search.
The alarm clock began it's incessant buzzing. He hated that clock. Or was it morning that he hated? Perhaps his loathing wasn't reserved for either, but applied to both equally well.
Rachel got up and trudged to the bathroom. He had about forty-five minutes before she would give up the bathroom to him, so he put on his glasses and went down the hall to the kitchen and started to make a light breakfast. That is, if you could call pouring a bowl of dry cereal making breakfast.
As he stirred the colorful bits of nutrient free sugar balls around in their milk bath, he returned again to his ‘randomizer effect' research. He had found a site that claimed that these effects could be seen whenever earth was in a certain part of space relative to the sun the Web site called the ‘Randomizer Field'. The site - as is usual for sites of the sort - claimed extraordinary evidence of these changes, but failed to actually provide any. It did provide a lot of ‘before and after' pictures, but nothing spectacular. Normal construction or simple trickery could explain any of the images.
Rachel called him from the back rooms - it was his turn to get ready for the day.
He headed back, his mind still sorting and digesting his new information.
He got out of the car, kissing his wife goodbye like he has done every working day for the last nine years. He trudged into the building and headed quietly for the little cubicle that was his work area. Waiting for him were all the tasks his fellow workers were unable or unwilling to do themselves, which amounted to about eighty percent of the total workload.
Frowning and grumbling quietly, he sat down and began to try and put a dent in the pile.
Mark sat in the lunch area and munched on his ham sandwich. He had a successful morning, plowing through most of his work for the day. Still, it didn't lift his spirits any, since this sort of success simply meant his boss would brush him off when he complained that he was doing more than his fair share of work.
His boss may even threaten to fire him the next time he mentioned it.
Now angry, he crushed the remains of his sandwich in his fist and threw it into the rubbish bin, heading back to work.
Rachel was waiting for him in her usual spot. He got into the little Corolla and fastened his seatbelt. They exchanged their usual ‘missed you' greeting and she started off for home.
Mark scribbled and doodled on his notepad, not listening to Rachel's usual banter about work.
"I quit my job today." He interrupted.
"What?" She panicked.
"Woah! Woah! I'm just kidding!" he said, smiling. Recently Mark found he liked to scare her about money or unexpected change at random. It was a little sick, but lately he did just about anything to entertain himself.
Mark felt guilty about that, but habit prevailed again.
Rachel was silent the rest of the way home, an angry frown on her face.
Rachel pulled the car up to their friends' house. They were beginning their usual Saturday afternoon routine of dinner, movie and general hanging out.
"Hey guys!" Wendy said as she met them at their car holding her boy, Charlie.
"Hi Wendy. Hey there little man!" Rachel replied, stepping from the car.
Mark grunted a greeting and they all headed into the small tract home that was the Katz' abode.
Dinner consisted of standard fare and Charlie bugging Mark to play with him. Mark liked the little four-year-old, but the normally shy Charlie could be incredibly pushy once he got to know you.
It took Mark a long time to get used to Charlie. He wasn't around other children much as he grew up, so he lacked the skills and experience to be comfortable dealing with the boy. Now that he had known Charlie for four years and become more willing to interact with him, he had miraculously become the boy's favorite ‘uncle'.
Sitting on the living room sofa, with Charlie perched in his lap playing with a small toy, Mark talked for the rest of the night with Bill about his job as an electrician. They worked for the same company; Mark designed the jobs, and Bill made them happen. They were both roughly equal in intelligence, the main difference being Mark had been lucky enough to have the money to get a degree.
Wendy and Rachel played with Wendy's latest craft project at the kitchen table talking about who knows what. Mark would sporadically look at Wendy as he talked with Bill. He was very attracted to the shapely little blonde woman. Every time he did, he felt a wash of guilt. He felt as if he was betraying Bill, his best friend. He worried he would betray Rachel some day in the future. He wondered if Wendy would even be interested in him.
Mark turned on the television.
The babble box showed his favorite channel, the Public Broadcasting System. Time for his favorite program, Nova, he sat with his bowl of low fat, no flavor popcorn and cola.
The television started talking about the local star system, including orbital positions of earth for its seasons. What do you know? Earth was in the Randomizer Field, how droll.
Rachel glued away at her kitty project, watching the show from her craft table.
Bill and Mark went over some plans together with Mandy – one of Mark's fellow engineers. They discussed at length the requirements of the project, breaking it down into its component parts.
Ultimately, Bill and Mandy decided that the best way to deal with the project was to let Mark finish designing it.
Mark frowned, grumbled assent and took the papers back to his cubicle.
It was three in the morning. Mark was sitting in front of his computer, wishing he could go back to sleep. He was on his Nth iteration of solitaire and listening to a CD over his headphones, and his mind was at his work. He could feel his chest tighten and his shoulders stiffen as he troubled over all the projects he had to finish or continue. Everyone wanted something from him.
Everyone!
His solitaire game went poorly. He whacked the table with the palm of his hand in frustration.
He tried to remind himself that it was just a game, but his frustration mounted anyway.
The pain shot through his left arm and down his back. Black flowers bloomed over his vision. He stood up and tried to call to Rachel, but no sound would come out. He took a step toward the door. Panic began to take over. He tripped on his headphone chord.
Daylight came in though the windows above Mark's computer. He sat up on the floor, feeling very peculiar.
He tried to remember the events of that early morning. He figured the heart attack he thought he was having was actually some sort of stress attack.
He looked at the clock on the wall. It was late - very late. Rachel probably assumed he had fallen asleep on his computer again and called him in sick.
He rubbed his eyes, and untangled the headphone chord from his head.
He wished that she would wake him, but was also thankful she let him have an unscheduled day off now and again.
He looked at the clock again. He didn't have his glasses on. But the clock was sharp and clear. He saw his glasses on the computer table. That made no sense.
Jeez, he sure felt funny. He stood, and felt a tad top-heavy. The room seemed much shorter. He guessed the attack must have had the added plus of a hangover. More to be thrilled about.
His pajama pants fell to the floor.
His wedding ring followed.
What the hell was this?
He looked down and saw breasts underneath his pajama top.
He saw a thin body with a strong athletic build. He saw smooth, dark olive skin. He saw long, shapely arms and legs with more than a hint of a well-developed muscular structure.
He… no… She ran to the bathroom, shaking off the pajama pants from her ankles.
She looked at the mirror. This was too much.
The woman looking back from the mirror was beautiful. She looked to be well over six feet tall. She appeared about twenty years old. Straight light brown hair that hung in a long ‘bob' to just above her neck framed an oval face with dark green almond eyes.
Nervously, she removed her pajama top. Pert breasts sat on her chest. They were not very large. They were just enough to be definite even when she raised her arms.
She smiled and the reflection flashed nearly perfect pearly white teeth. She waved and the reflection followed suit.
Now what to do?
She looked down. Feeling a bit silly, she felt her breasts, hoping her tactile sense would report this was some sort of a hallucination. Her hands reported that her breasts were indeed real, and they felt ‘real'. Then, with no small amount of anticipation, she felt around her crotch. She felt no penis. She was surprised at the wave of distress that caused. She hadn't expected that little appendage to actually be that important to him.
Trying to calm down, she reasoned that being male wasn't really part of her identity. Being male was just a random thing. She could have started out female just as easily.
That was logical, right?
Maybe she would change back, maybe this was temporary.
She wondered how he would have sex. She reasoned that it was not as if sex was become impossible, sex had simply become different. Just how different remained to be seen.
Curiosity getting the better of her, she slid her finger into herself and experienced a sensation unlike any before in her life. Sex was very different. The difference helped drive home the reality of the change.
How would one get used to such a difference?
Unexpectedly feeling a little guilty - as if she has somehow violated some taboo - she stopped playing with herself and washed her hands. She decided she should get dressed, even if just to occupy herself while she worked this out, so she headed to the bedroom.
The cats watched her sleepily from the bed, except for Blob, who was still asleep. She looked around, deciding what would be appropriate to wear. Women's clothing seemed the logical choice. First, she tried on her wife's underclothes but they were too large. She abandoned her wife's clothes and went to her own dresser. She dug out some old briefs she had been keeping as motivation to thin up again. They fit a little loose, but not threatening to come off.
She decided not to bother with a brazier. The breasts on her chest were obviously too small for her wife's bras to be useful.
She pulled on a tee shirt and one of her heavy white shirts, checking in the dressing mirror to see if she could see her breasts beneath through the cloth. It was enough to cover.
Tan pants and a few minutes driving a few new holes into her belt with her pocketknife made for workable if baggy leg coverings. They rode high over her ankles - her legs were much longer.
She was happy to discover her wife's feet were now nearly the same size as her own, close enough for her to be able to pull Rachel's tennis shoes on with a little effort. Her feet were now shod with tall tube socks and white tennis shoes.
She loaded her pockets with her usual items: keys, wallet, pocketknife, and loose coin. Even in these extreme conditions habit refused to be ignored.
Her watch would not cinch up enough to fit her wrist, so she put it in her pocket.
So clad, she sat down at the kitchen table and pondered. One of the cats, Doofus, sat in her lap and purred. Goofus lounged on the table across from her looking sleepy. Blob was probably still asleep on the bed, always too lazy to do much else.
What else did she need to do?
She needed a name. ‘Mark' no longer seemed a good fit.
Maureen? No. Mandy? Nah. Monica? Close, it should be more exotic… Romonica? Yeah.
Romonica… what? A bird name would be fun. Raven? That was too much. Something to match her new hair color, perhaps. What was brown? Kiwi? No, kiwis were too silly. Wren. Yeah, that's nice. Romonica Wren. Yes, that she liked.
This part was fun, building a new self. It was reminiscent of living one of those fantasies she had recently had.
Looking down at her makeshift outfit, she felt she really needed some clothing. She was going to have to spend some money. Time to hit the savings. Can't use a teller, she wasn't who she used to be. The ATM would have to suffice.
She needed to get a hotel room, too. She didn't think Rachel would let her stay in her bed!
What about Rachel - what would she think? Who would believe that she had just transfigured like this? No, she had to leave Rachel and try to figure this out on her own. A note, something about leaving for need of space, perhaps. A midlife crisis as an explanation might avoid making Rachel feel like she was the reason Mark left. Fetching writing materials, she began her ‘Dear Jane' note. After a few lines, she stopped and stared at the page. Her handwriting was different - much different. It was very neat, clean and had a positively feminine style.
She rumpled up the page, tossed it in the kitchen rubbish bin, and headed for her computer. She typed out the note with the word processor. She worried about the impact the remote nature a typed note would have on poor Rachel. She printed it out, and carefully made an imitation of her old signature and old name at the bottom of the page.
She stopped to think - trying to make sure she got the details worked out. She went to the kitchen to grab a trash bag, and returned to the bedroom. She began stuffing some of her clothes, shoes, underwear and glasses into it.
Pinning the note up on the ‘fridge, she felt a heart pang. Rachel didn't deserve this sort of sudden parting. Rachel hated change, and this change was just treacherous. If only she could think of an alternative!
Gathering up her resolve, she picked up the phone book and looked up the city's bus system information number.
Picking up the phone, she dialed.
"Hello" a bored male voice said.
"Hello." Oh - a fine, melodious voice! She had forgotten that would have changed, as well.
"I need to know what route number I need to get from north Chutney to the mall?" she asked.
"Twenty six. Every fifteen minutes. Stops are every other block on Chutney, and on Rouge." The bored voice answered.
"Thanks!" She said, and hung up the phone.
The reality of her next step sank in. It was time to leave the old home, the old marriage, the old job, and the old life - probably permanently. This was the sort of thing Mark could never bring himself to do on his own, only magnified to colossal proportions. Now Romonica had to leave. She had no other choice she could discern.
Doubts came to torment her. She had no idea what it meant to be a woman. What did she know about menstruation? What was different with visiting the doctor? How would she deal with men? How could she deal with America's vaguely misogynist predilection? How would she deal with simply being ogled?
At the same time, it was very exciting. Since everything was different, she no longer had any excuse to stay in that old rut that had tormented her just days ago.
The mixed feelings were almost as confusing as the change itself.
She looked at the clock on the wall. It was three o'clock, too late to worry. She did not dare have Rachel catch her in the apartment in this new form, and she needed to get her supplies and a hotel room before the stores closed for the day. The world was pushing her along.
"Time waits for no man, even one who is recently turned to a woman." She chuckled while trying to hang on to a little sanity in a world turned on its ear.
She headed out the door, carrying the bag of clothes. Down the steps to the ground floor she went.
"Hello Ms. Williams!" She said, waving at her neighbor.
"Oh, hello young lady." The old woman replied, looking a little confused.
Realizing what she had just done and not wanting to have to explain how she knew Williams's name, she quickened her pace toward the ATM that was a few blocks up the road near their neighborhood shopping center. She flung the bag of clothes into the garbage dump on the way by.
She was thankful the old lady was almost blind. She became more self-conscious as it wouldn't do to make too many mistakes of that magnitude, never mind any truly dangerous ones.
She looked down at herself again, and thanked whatever powers that be her breasts were small enough not to bounce much as she walked, even at this quick pace. The first order of business would be to buy a brazier. Damn - how did she know what size to buy? She hoped she could try them on or something along those lines.
At the ATM, she withdrew her daily limit of $500 and was thankful the machine let her do it. She put the money in her pocket, got her receipt and put her card away.
When she turned around, she saw a man across the street, looking her way and appearing to be a vagrant or homeless… or considering the red marks on both arms, a drug addict.
Oh, great - he probably saw her stuff that big wad of cash in her pocket. Cursing quietly, she turned toward the bus stop, and marched.
The vagrant crossed the street.
Damn it.
She quickened her pace.
He broke into a run, catching up very quickly. She could hear his raspy breathing behind her.
DAMN IT!
Without thinking, she spun on her heel, leapt into the air, and unfolded into a kick to his solar plexus that left him on the ground totally winded. She landed gracefully in a battle-ready pose that looked to be of some kind of eastern martial art.
"Holy shit!" she said to herself, impressed with her newfound prowess, and took off at a run for the bus stop.
Her luck finally changed. She arrived only moments before her bus did.
She had exact change, and so boarded quickly. There was no sign of the aspiring mugger.
Mid-afternoon busses were nice and empty, so she took a seat away from her few fellow riders that were already aboard and waited for the mall.
She wandered around the women's section of Lori Ann's looking at the braziers. She kept an eye out, and if there weren't people looking at her she would hold up a bra to her chest and get an estimate of its fit. She had no idea what social taboos existed for women's underwear shopping, so stealth struck her as wise. Once she found one that looked right, she picked up a shirt that also looked to be the right size, and headed for the dressing rooms. The saleslady did not so much as bat an eye at her taking the bra into the dressing area, so she figured it must be permissible to try them on for size.
She was thankful that the damn thing fit perfectly, once she figured out how to put it on. She was discovering her need for news skills extended into the world of clothing.
The shirt, a simple white blouse with button-down collar, was also a great fit. The buttons were on the ‘wrong' side, so she had to relearn that, as well.
Next, she fetched a pair of pants. At least women put their pants on one leg at a time, so there was no need to learn a whole new set of skills there.
Was the world was so nice? Of course it wasn't.
Her new height turned out to be another problem. While the shirt she tried happened to fit acceptably, none of the pants in the department came anywhere near her size.
Romonica went up to the saleslady and asked if she had any tall sizes, and if she could help her with sizes in general.
"Glad to help, miss. We do have tall sizes, but you're more in the very tall range." The sales lady said, then stopped for a moment to ponder. "I don't think we would be able to help you, but there is a store in the mall called ‘Uma's Specialty Fashions' that will almost certainly have your size." She suggested, smiling.
The saleslady continued, pulling a measuring tape from her pocket. "Let's get a measure on you and figure out your size exactly."
Romonica submitted to the measuring, discovering that her new body was just a wee bit ticklish.
"Must be a pain, being so tall." The saleslady remarked. "I'll bet you get tired of having to wear these men's clothes just to get something that fits."
Romonica had no idea, so she simply replied "Oh, it's OK. You get used to it."
"You know, if you buy taper cut jeans instead of straight leg they'll look better." The saleslady said, smiling and finished her measuring. She wrote down a set of measurements on a scrap piece of paper.
"These will help you get a good fit for pants." She said.
Thanking the sales lady, she went to scoop up seven each of what did fit: white ‘big shirts', white braziers, and panties. She went ahead and picked up one set of black taper cut jeans from the men's department that would fit. On her way to the sales register she picked up a new belt, a few pair of black tube socks, and some sunglasses that just caught her eye. She felt a little odd being out in public without glasses, so sunglasses made a fair pacifier. She put them all on one of her credit cards with a silent repentance to Rachel. The saleslady beamed at the big purchase. She thanked Romonica for buying them not only for her commission, but also because the sizes she wore moved so slowly.
With the saleslady's enthusiastically given blessing, she headed back to the dressing rooms to change into her new outfit.
When she emerged, the saleslady greeted her.
"Oh, yes - that's much better." She said, bubbling.
"Thanks." Romonica said, smiling.
She headed into the mall. Deciding she didn't need such ill-fitting clothes, she stuffed her old clothing into a trashcan that was just outside, then went to find the specialty-clothing store.
Romonica entered ‘Uma's Specialty Fashions' and looked around. The shop seemed to pander primarily to women who were unusually wide rather than unusually tall. An older, short, and very plump saleslady approached her.
"Boy, are you in the right shop." She said in a motherly tone, smiling. "Follow me." She continued, motioning for Romonica to come along with her.
She led Romonica to a back corner of the shop. There were a number of simply styled pants, skirts and dresses stacked on shelves.
"Sorry about the skimpy selection," the saleslady apologized, "But women of your height are very rare, as I'm sure you know." She reached up to a shelf just over her head and pulled down a pair of pants, unfurling them and putting them against Romonica's legs to check for size.
"These are close." She said.
Romonica presented the measurements she had gotten from the saleslady at Lori Ann's. "I think these will help." She told the saleslady.
Taking the measurements, the saleslady responded "That they will." She refolded the pants she had selected, seeing they were too short and too wide. She pointed at a shelf out of her reach. "That row, second from the top, that will have your size." Pointing to the shelves as she spoke, she continued "Pants from here to here, then the skirts start here. We probably only have pants in black and navy in your size right now. We can order special to get colors you like, of course."
"I'd love to be polite and fetch them down for you, but I left my stilts at home today." She added, smiling.
Romonica smiled back and fetched down the six pairs of black jeans. "Can I try them on?" She asked the saleslady.
"Certainly! The dressing rooms are right this way." She said, leading Romonica the short distance to the dressing area in the back of the store.
Romonica tried on one of the pants, and they fit far better then the men's jeans she had just bought. Looking at herself in the mirror, she thought if she were still a man, she would find herself attractive in these jeans.
Coming out of the dressing rooms still wearing the pants, she said, "I'll take them all."
The saleslady looked a little worried. "All six?"
"Yes." Romonica said, a little confused at her worry.
"This is the first time you've shopped for specialty clothing, isn't it, dear?" She asked.
"Well, yeah."
"I can tell. Ok, brace yourself. You're about to get sticker shock." She held up the jeans so Romonica could read the price tags.
Romonica's eyes grew wide. The clothes were expensive in the extreme.
"Oh." She stammered. "I think I'll just take two." She said apologetically.
"I thought that might be the case. These manufacturers have us odd sized folks over a barrel, so they charge whatever the market will bear. You're lucky to be able to wear men's sizes, dear. I ain't got no options." She said, patting her large belly. "Do me a favor, would you dear? Put these back for me? The manager still hasn't sprung for a stepladder." She pleaded with a smile, handing Romonica four of the jeans.
"Sure." Romonica said, taking the jeans and placing them back on the shelf where she had taken them.
As Romonica waited for the saleslady to charge her purchase to her credit card, her shoes began to remind her that they weren't a perfect fit.
"Can you recommend a place that sells tall boots, and would have them in my size?" Romonica inquired.
"All the boots in your size would be tall, dear." The saleslady joked, smiling. "There's a boot and leather shop just a few doors up, I'll bet they'll have just what you're looking for." She said, pointing over her shoulder.
Romonica punched in her PIN to authorize the charge, then - thanking the saleslady - headed for the leather shop.
The leather shop had that that atmosphere and odor that are particular to their species. Romonica liked it, and wished she could browse all the fine leather jackets and vests right now, but her feet were just killing her.
She spotted a display of boots and headed for it. A salesman in a fringed leather vest met her there.
"Howdy miss. What can I do you for?" He asked, with a decidedly Texan accent. As he approached, he exclaimed "Wow. You're a tall one."
Rom stared at him for a moment.
"Sorry ‘bout that. I'll bet you're tired of hearing that, right?"
Of course, Romonica wasn't, but decided she probably would be if she had been so tall all her life.
"Don't worry about it." She said. "I need a pair of boots, something nice and general purpose."
"Sure. Let's start with a size."
"Um…" Romonica faltered. "Do you have one of those foot measuring things? My shoes don't fit comfortably anymore." She said, trying to cover for the fact she had no idea what her shoe size was.
"Sure! Let me go get one. The woman's boots are over there. Have a look at the styles." He said, pointing to some shelves across from the fitting chairs.
As he went to fetch the Brannock device, Romonica went to browse the women's boots. She found a pair she really liked, with a buckle across the front of the ankle, and one at the top of the boot. It had a low heel and slip-resistant soles like a pair she used to wear when she was a teen, except they were a bit taller, and they were definitely shaped for a female foot.
"Ok, let's get the foot measured." The salesman said.
She sat on one of the fitting chairs and removed her wife's tennis shoe from her right foot. The salesman guided her foot into the Brannock device and worked its sliders.
"Ok, miss. Is that engineer boot the style you're interested in?" He asked, pointing at the boot she had picked up.
"Yes." Rom answered, nodding.
"Ok, I'll be right back again, then." He said, standing to head to the back.
Romonica removed her other shoe; they were really quite tight. She looked inside the shoe, they were marked size 8½, and the measuring device had read a 9½. It was a wonder she had even gotten the shoes on in the first place.
She tucked the shoes out of the way beneath the chair and stretched out her feet, feeling relieved.
The salesman returned, and took a boot out of the box he had retrieved. "All right then, let's see if these fellas fit."
He helped her slip the boot on. It felt nice, far better than the tennis shoes had. He adjusted the buckle at the mouth of the boot.
"This one's for real, the one across the ankle is just for show." The salesman instructed. "You'll want to walk around on it, check the fit." He suggested.
Romonica got up, and put her full weight on the boot. The salesman pushed his thumb against parts of the boot, checking the fit.
"Hoo-yeah, I think we got a perfect fit here." He said, a smile forming on his face. "Good thing, too. It's the only pair we have in this size."
Romonica walked a few paces away from the chair, then back again. The boot was a little heavy, but the fit felt great.
"Yeah, let me try them both on."
"You got it." He said, and pulled out the second boot.
Putting it on, she adjusted the second buckle herself, matching it against the other leg. She stood, and walked around the fitting chairs. The boots felt good, real good.
"I'll take them." She said. "And I'll start breaking them in right now." She handed the salesman her credit card.
"No problem, ma'am." He said, and picked up the box as he headed for the register.
Romonica wandered around the store as the salesman rang up the order. She stopped to look at some very nice and unusual leather jackets. A blonde woman with several facial piercings came out of the back, and stared for a moment at Romonica, then caught herself and looked away. The woman headed to the salesman with an odd look on her face, like she was stifling a grin. Romonica strained to listen.
"Damn, Hank! You weren't fucking kidding. She's a goddamn Amazon woman!" The woman exclaimed in a low hush.
"Shush Linda!" Hank whispered, looking angry. "Don't be talking like that where customers might hear you."
Romonica smiled a little. She didn't mind being referred to in that manner, but it was evidently expected that she would consider it was a worn-out joke. She headed to the counter.
"All ready." Hank looked a little nervous. "This is our leather tailor. All those custom jackets you see there are her work." He said, pointing out the rack of leather jackets Romonica had just been admiring.
"Hi, Linda. I'm the Amazon Woman." Romonica said, offering Linda her hand and a wry smile.
Linda flushed; she had obviously been overheard.
"Um, hi. Sorry. I mean, no offence, right?" She said, and loosely shook Romonica's hand. Linda sized up Romonica overtly for a few moments, then brightening, she said, "Hey - wait a second. Let me get something."
Romonica watched Linda disappear into the back.
"Look, sorry about that remark…"
Romonica interrupted by raising her hand. "Don't worry about it. I don't even notice anymore." She lied.
"That's some damn good hearing, though." Hank said.
"Hmm?"
"I thought Linda had been quiet enough not to be noticed. Heck, I could hardly hear her."
"Oh. Uh, yeah."
Linda came out from the back with a black leather jacket.
"A woman ordered this custom job months and months and months ago, and never came back to buy it. It's got the same kind of buckles on it as your new boots." Linda explained in an excited rapid-fire. She went around behind Romonica to get her to try the jacket on. "Thing is, she left a really big deposit on it, so I can sell it real cheap."
Romonica let Linda put the jacket on her, then crossed to a dressing mirror near the register counter. The jacket looked good on her, and was very nearly a tailored fit. It had several pockets on it and each could be closed with a zipper. There was extra leather and padding on the elbows, probably for further protection. There were buckles and straps that could adjust the fit across the waist, hips and wrists. Linda was fiddling with them to make the jacket fit Romonica perfectly. With epaulettes to finish the look, it was a classic motorcycle rider's jacket. And Linda was right - the buckles were exactly the same sort as were on her boots. The girl staring back at Romonica from the mirror was a virtual icon to all the things she had wanted to be as a male, except she was female.
Romonica was near in love with the jacket. "How much?" She asked Linda.
Linda smiled, "One hundred and fifty."
Romonica turned to Linda. "You're kidding!"
"Like I said, the lady who ordered it walked away from a huge down payment." Linda said, shrugging.
"Legally we can only ask for the remainder of the original price." Hank added. "It's a hell of a deal, and you're probably the only other person we've ever seen who could wear that jacket and not get lost in it. We've had it for over a year."
Romonica had always wanted a leather jacket. "Ok, sold."
Linda got exited, jumped over to Romonica and hugged her. "Thanks!" She said, squealing. Romonica gave her a quick hug back.
Romonica pointed to a pair of black leather riding gloves. "How about a pair of those, too." Romonica liked this leather look.
Hank helped her find a pair that fit well. He rung it all into the register and presented Romonica with the PIN pad.
"If you will do the honors."
Romonica entered her PIN, and put the card back into her wallet.
Smiling to Linda and Hank, she said thanks. Romonica put on the leather gloves, her new sunglasses, and headed back out into the mall.
Behind her, she heard Linda say: "She came in an Amazon Woman and left a Grrrrl. God, I love this job."
She was seated in the food court of the mall with her feet, shod with her new boots, up on the table in front of her and idly sipping a soft drink. She looked over her purchases with no small amount of guilt. She had gotten far too into the ‘persona building' and spent a great deal more credit than was necessary, especially at the leather shop.
Taking stock of her purchases, she noted that she now had and wore a nice black leather jacket of the sort worn by motorcyclists, and her wife's tennis shoes were replaced with tall black engineer boots with low heels that fit wonderfully over her jeans. She had a week's worth of underwear and shirts. And finally some necessary little things like basic toiletries and a nightshirt.
She had even bought a new watch.
Her old clothes were stuffed into a trashcan just outside Lori Ann's and her wife's tennis shoes were left in the boot and leather store as if by accident.
She noticed that men were staring at her, and it was a very uncomfortable feeling. She still felt too male to enjoy the attention - assuming women enjoyed such attentions. Would her attitude change, she wondered? It seemed likely that her tastes would grow more female as time passed. As she understood it, it was mostly a matter of hormones anyway. It unnerved her a bit, the idea of such a change, even more that the physical change she had already undergone. Of course, she could turn out to be a lesbian. As she thought about that, she examined how she had reacted when Linda hugged her in the leather shop. Romonica would have fainted with delight if a pretty young woman had hugged her that way just the day before, when she was still a man named Mark. This time it just felt like a friendly thing to do.
Well, there was no use in worrying about it at this point.
In walking through the mall, she had realized just how tall she had become overnight. She towered over everyone, women and men alike. She used to be a little shorter than average, so this was an astonishing and absolutely new perspective.
Her new height, sunglasses, boots and leather jacket combined to make an imposing form, judging from the way people acted around her. People were more willing to get out of her way now than they had been when she was Mark. Even as she waited in line to buy that cola she was sipping, the teen employee would constantly look over to her as if he was affronting her by making her wait.
Romonica spotted a pair of young men, perhaps better described as older boys, whom were talking and glancing over at her. The one who had the big grin on his face was the one looking at her the most. The other looked uneasy and frowned a lot. He only looked over when he seemed to be making a point.
They looked to be about eighteen or nineteen years old, and both wore the local university's logo on gray sweatshirts. The frowning one was becoming more animated and started to make negative gestures, obviously repeating the word "no" to his companion.
This didn't seem to have the desired effect, as his companion got up out of his chair and headed over toward Romonica. The frowning one set his forehead on the table in a defeated posture.
Romonica watched the boy walk over toward her. He was tall, about six feet or so, his hair was cropped very short and shaven on the sides. His smile was very large and toothy, and he had a definite swagger in his walk. Though the sweatshirt hid his build, his shoulders were broad, suggesting strength.
Romonica tagged him instantly as an egotistical jock.
He approached the chair nearest him at her table. As he put his hand on the chair to pull it out, she moved one boot from the table and put it on the seat.
"Taken" She said inhospitably.
His smile became larger. He moved to the chair across the table from the one he had just tried and sat down in its edge, leaning toward Romonica. Romonica took her feet off the furniture and turned slightly in his direction.
"You don't take hints very well. So, let me try the direct approach: Go away." Romonica ordered.
"Hey, girl. I know about your type. You want talk to a guy like me." He said, full of presumption. "I can satisfy you." He boasted, grabbing his crotch.
Romonica hooked one boot on a leg of his chair and yanked back. He had been sitting on it at a lousy angle anyway, so the chair came out from under him cleanly, landing him in a heap on the floor.
Several of the surrounding customers snickered at his predicament.
He stood up, and loomed over her.
"You fucking bitch." He exclaimed.
Romonica stood up slowly, turning to face him. She stood over him, realizing he was shorter than her original estimate. Mild surprise crossed his face, his expression then returned to anger.
"Watch your language, boy." Romonica quipped.
The jock, his ego badly bruised now, didn't know what to do with himself. He balled up a fist, then relaxed it several times as if considering striking her, and then finally walked back to his companion, calling over his shoulder. "Lesbian!"
Romonica half smiled. "Malodorous undereducated emasculated minute witless lummox of a jock."
The jock shot her a nasty look, but otherwise could only grit his teeth. He turned and marched quickly away. His companion shrugged apologetically at Romonica and followed.
Romonica replaced the chair she had moved, and finished her cola. She picked up the bags containing her new garb and headed for the mall's bus stop. She had to head to a hotel and get ready for job hunting the next day. She began to assemble the details for her new life. She had to figure out how she was going to repay Rachel for all the money she had spent today. She was going to have to kill that credit card.
A detail floated to the surface. She had no social security number - at least not one she could use. And no birth certificate to get a new one.
Damn it.
Where could one get forged documents?
Is that even the solution she wanted to use?
She had a lot of thinking to do, and she figured she had better do it quickly.
What a strange set of dreams he had. Being changed into a woman. Stupid guys hitting on her. They were very weird dreams indeed.
She rolled out of bed and padded through the shabby hotel room to the bathroom. Looking in a mirror, she was reminded that it was not a dream. She was now a she and not a he. She grimly thought of it as being emasculated, and a chill ran though her. No, she thought, that was exactly the wrong way to think about it.
She had to keep picking out positive aspects. The situation needed no further derangement.
She yawned and stared into the mirror. She remembered choosing this hotel because she could use about half of the $500 she had taken out of savings to pay for two weeks straight, and they didn't require her to show I.D. or have a credit card. That last detail was important, as her credit card was in ten pieces scattered in ten different places along the bus route from the mall to the hotel.
She tried using the toilet. Habit made her stand in front of the toilet at first, but reaching down to aim reminded her that women sit for this. Misestimating female physiology slightly, she urinated a little on the toilet seat, a quick scoot back corrected the error.
Cleaning up the results of that experiment, she decided to shower. It turned into an interesting and downright erotic experience, since she decided to go ahead and try to fully explore what being a woman was physically about and to try to become acquainted with her new body. Her skin was soft and smooth - a far cry from the rough, dry skin she used to have. Touching her nipples was far more interesting than it used to be. The sensation seemed to extend down through her belly to her crotch. Her muscles were firm, and when flexed they were like rocks. She reached down to her crotch, this time intending to fully explore the most different part of her outer body. She discovered her clitoris, and in stimulating it, she thought she might have had an orgasm. It wasn't as obvious a feeling as the orgasms that she had experienced as a male, nor was it centered on her crotch but instead involved her whole body. It was an intensely enjoyable sensation. One she considered repeating, except the water was getting cold. She instead turned the water off and stepped from the stall.
As she toweled off, she studied her image in the mirror. Taking in every detail, she tried to get used to her new appearance and memorize her face so she would recognize it if she saw it.
She dressed, fighting again with the brazier. She headed back to the bedroom.
She stopped and stared.
A package sat on the dresser-table. It was about a cubic foot and wrapped in shiny, festive paper like a birthday present including the requisite ornate bow.
On top was a card.
Nervously, she plucked the card from the package. Opening it, she read it aloud.
"The universe provides."
Feeling a little faint, she took the package to the bed. She sat down and opened it, a slow process since her hands were shaking. Within she found an identity for Romonica Wren. It was complete. There was a driver's license that told her she was six feet four inches tall and capable of driving a motorcycle. Then a birth certificate proved she was twenty-one years old and has the same birthday as before. A social security card was next. There was also a set of keys on a leather fob with a colorful Harley-Davidson logo on one side, and the name ‘Wren' stamped in bold letters on the other.
She found a high school diploma, which indicated she had graduated early at seventeen years old and in the top ten percent of her class. A Bachelors Degree in electronics engineering matched her old one, this one had been earned in three years instead of four, with honors.
So, she had brains as well as beauty. She hoped she could live up to what these documents suggested.
And there was money scattered loosely at the bottom of the box - gobs of money. After counting it, she found she was twenty thousand dollars richer.
Immediately she decided to redeposit the $500 she had withdrawn from her savings the previous day. She also decided to fully cover her shameful credit card expenditures by adding it to the deposit. She dug out her wallet only to discover her old identity was gone. Her driver's license, ATM card, social security card, library card and insurance card had vanished, as had her old keys. Without the ATM card, she didn't know how to get the money where it needed to go.
"I guess you're really Romonica now. Mark is gone." She said quietly to herself, her whole body beginning to quake slightly from fear of the change and her shame that she had stuck Rachel with such a large credit card debt.
When she moved to put the money back in the box, she noticed another card. She took it from the box and read it aloud.
"Durability and strength are yours. Spared are you from the female cycle, as are you from bearing children. Disease is no longer a concern. Languages abound in your mind. Sustenance is needed not, but may be enjoyed even so. The ability to defend yourself you discovered on your own. This is a gift given at random. May it bring you joy."
She reread the card.
"Joy?" The full force of her change edged up on her mind.
"What fucking joy? What the fuck does all that mean?" She yelled.
She shuddered, and cast the card away from her. She pounded the wall several times, leaving deep impressions of her fist.
"This can't be happening. This is a dream." She sobbed.
Turning facedown on the bed, she began to weep.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered that these displays of emotion were supposed to giver her the willies.
She sat in front of the mirror over the dressing table. A woman with red, puffy eyes looked back from the mirror.
"Ok, what are you going to do now?" she asked her image.
Her image didn't answer.
"Big help you are." She said, and giggled a little.
Her giggle turned into sobs, and she turned and floundered back onto the bed to cry again.
Loud music and louder conversation stirred Romonica from her melancholy. She sat up in the bed and tried to make herself come fully awake. It was after dark – she had been sleeping again. Her memories of the past few days were foggy. She remembered a few things like going to the parking lot and looking for a motorcycle, though she could not remember why.
She thought she heard fireworks outside.
Something or someone was making a rhythmic thumping noise on her door. She got out of the bed and put her boots on.
It wasn't knocking, but it was hard to tell for sure because of the noise coming from the next room. She moved to the window and moved the curtains to the side just enough to take a look at the space in front of her door. She saw a woman with her back leaned against the door, her legs pushing up on the railing across the way. A man stood between her legs holding the woman's bare buttocks in his hands with a sublime expression on his bearded face, pumping his pelvis.
She watched them, curious about sex for a new set of reasons.
The man was doing most of the work, concentrating on his balance against what was probably an alcohol-induced instability. They had to be drunk, Romonica could not imagine being interested in intercourse out in the open like that without some significant chemical repression of inhibitions.
The woman was relaxed. She was letting the man do all the work, and was obviously enjoying herself – the position certainly assuring plenty of clitoral stimulation.
Some fireworks exploded in the sky behind the couple, amusing Romonica that she should be seeing two sorts of fireworks in the same glance.
The woman would occasionally pinch or scratch the man on his arms or chest to break his concentration. Romonica guessed she was making sure he didn't climax too soon.
The woman eventually reached orgasm, gripping the man's arms and moaning loudly. She stopped poking at the man, instead stroking his chest, and kissing his face. He obviously climaxed with a shudder soon after. He helped her down from her perch. She reached down and gently tugged off the condom he was wearing. They leaned gently against each other for a few moments, then pulled their clothes back together and headed back to the party.
It wasn't romantic by any stretch of the imagination. Watching the couple had nonetheless helped Romonica resolve to start living this new life.
Making sure the door was properly secured, Romonica removed her boots again and relaxed in the middle of the room. She allowed her body to remember the moves, and began to do a slow and meditative kata while she waited for the party to die down.
She awoke to a brisk and early morning. She felt her resolve crystallize as she showered off all those days of depression and confusion. She dried her hair, and enjoyed the feeling of combing it as she made a clean and simple style that framed her face. She looked into the mirror.
"You are beautiful." She said to her image.
Flexing her right arm under her left hand, she told her image: "You are strong."
Crossing her arms over her breasts, she stared her image in the eye: "You are intelligent, Mark…"
She closed her eyes tightly. After a moment, she looked back at the mirror.
"Romonica." She reminded herself.
"Romonica, you are far better off today than you have ever been in your pitiful life."
Romonica stood back from the mirror to view her body.
"Romonica Wren. Beautiful, strong, intelligent, and female." She proclaimed at herself, her arms outstretched.
"Enjoy what you are, Romonica. Romonica Wren."
She dressed in new underwear, her last pair of clean pants, and a new shirt. She didn't have as much trouble with the brazier this time.
She went to the hotel's ramshackle little lobby to pick up a newspaper. She looked at the date. A week and a day she had spent in her room. Most of the time spent crying or simply brooding over the change.
She would have no more of that.
As she returned to her room, she considered what she had learned about her new self. She thought about that second note from the enigmatic package.
The sustenance she didn't need was food, since she hadn't eaten nor had she drank for the whole stay. She hadn't even wanted too.
She had noticed the fist impressions on the wall, and decided to try lifting the room's ancient, inoperable television to see about the strength part of the note. It was easy to lift, as was the bed. She had the feeling that she hadn't even scratched the surface of her new strength.
She also discovered the notes were written in Tibetan. She could read them so naturally that she hadn't noticed that fact at first. That must be what the ‘languages abound' part was about.
The claim of durability was clarified when she was playing with her pocketknife during a fit of depression and had tried to cut her hand. The knife was unable to find purchase, and so no cut. She felt the attempts, a little bit of pain, but only negligible scratches resulted from her most energetic tries.
As the fob suggested, the keys were to a nice Harley-Davidson Softail motorcycle, which was complete with helmet, large saddlebags, cargo rack, maintenance manual and toolkit. Her biker persona was complete, indeed.
She entered her room and locked the door. She sat at the dressing table and found the classified ads section of the paper. She looked through the legal section first, and found that Rachel had started divorce proceedings. She hadn't really expected Rachel to start so quickly.
She then moved to the ‘furnished apartments for rent' section. There was not a great deal to choose from, most of the apartments listed were in the seedy parts of the city. The idea was actually frightening, and Romonica didn't feel prepared to take on a solitary lifestyle while dealing with her gender change. The stay in the hotel helped her to recognize she was not willing to live alone, not as a woman. Moving to the ‘roommate wanted' section; she found an ad with a familiar phone number. Rachel was looking for a roommate. That made sense. Rachel would need some help making the rent, and she would avoid moving if she had some choice in the matter.
The temptation was great. That vestigial part of her that was still a he missed Rachel. She also yearned for some familiar surroundings.
With a ‘what the hell' she picked up the phone.
Romonica looked a little irritated as sat across a desk from a well-dressed bank officer, her helmet in the seat beside her, and the package in her lap.
"How much?" the bank officer again asked, surprised and a little skeptical.
"Twenty thousand dollars American." Romonica stated, deliberately and clearly. She placed the package, now devoid of it's fancy wrapping, on the desk and shoved it towards the new accounts officer.
The officer looked inside the box and her eyes widened a little.
"Yes, ma'am. Let's get your account started!" She said, smiling, and pulled out the necessary forms and items.
"Welcome back, miss. What can I do for you today?" The little round saleslady said, greeting Rom.
"You recognize me?" Rom said, surprised.
"How many dark skinned, green eyed six-foot-plus tall women do you think we have in this town?" The saleslady admonished.
"Oh, yeah." Rom muttered. "I ran into a little windfall and I thought I'd expand that part of my wardrobe that actually fits." Rom explained while walking toward the shelves that contained clothes in her size.
"I should also thank you for suggesting that leather shop, you steered me to one incredible deal on this jacket." Rom said, indicating her leather garb.
Rom pulled down three pair of black and two pair of navy blue jeans from the shelf that had her size on it, emptying it.
"I'm always glad to help a fellow odd-size." The woman said. "Would you like to try out a skirt? I'll bet a skirt would look great on your tall frame." She suggested.
"Maybe in the future. I've never worn a skirt before, and I think I'd be a little uncomfortable in one." Rom said, heading back to the cash register to purchase her new pants.
"Too bad, they're really comfy." The lady said, swirling the hem of her dress around.
Rom pulled out her new cash card.
"Stopped using credit, I see."
"It seemed the wise thing to do." Rom replied, punching her PIN into the machine.
"Are you sure you can lift the packages, miss?" The burly man asked.
"Quite certain. Would you like me to prove it?"
The burly man nodded an affirmative, got up from his chair while motioning for Romonica to follow him. On the floor of the warehouse, he gestured to a large package.
"That one's about 200 pounds. Normally we have two people handle a package that heavy, so if you can even budge it, you have the job."
Romonica walked up to the package, squared herself near one corner, lifted the package off the ground and moved it into a waiting truck.
"I'll be goddamned!" The burly man exclaimed. "Well - welcome to UPS." He said, smiling.
The call to her (soon ex-) wife had gone very well. Romonica had come up with the story of having just come into town to cover her sudden existence. She has established an easy and quick rapport with Rachel, mostly because she already knew her. The difficult part was hearing her voice again.
The blow was far easier than she had anticipated. Her tastes were becoming more female as she had suspected they would back in the food court at the mall. Her sexual interest in Rachel was definitely waning – it was almost totally gone – but she still liked Rachel.
Two days after the call, Rachel called Romonica's hotel room. Rachel told Romonica that she was on the short list for the room and Rachel wanted to interview her. They arranged for a time, said their good-byes and closed the phone connection.
As she entered her old apartment, she noticed some differences. Her old television-watching chair was shoved into the far corner of the living room by the sofa. Rachel's crafts table no longer had an incomplete wicker cat on it, but held only acrylic paints, brushes and a couple of paint-stained rags. Beside the table, an easel held a stretched canvas. A dark and decidedly gothic scene of a man hung from his ankles was half painted. There were no numbers on the canvas, not that one could get such a dismal scene in a paint-by-number kit. The image was wholly from Rachel's mind. Romonica wondered if the hanged man was Mark.
They introduced themselves to each other, shaking hands and smiling. Rachel's eyes had widened when she saw how tall Romonica was, covering her mouth to disguise her gape.
Romonica had to clamp down on the need to giggle from nervousness.
Rachel looked better. She was standing straighter, and spoke with more confidence. That flash of spirit in her eyes that Mark had first fallen in love with those many years ago had returned. She was wearing a nice dress that Romonica wasn't acquainted with. That would make it the first new thing Rachel had acquired by herself in over a year. It had become obvious that Mark's sudden disappearance had not been a terrible blow, as Romonica had feared it would be. In fact, it seemed the unanticipated change was precisely what the doctor ordered.
Rachel gave her the grand tour. Romonica's old computer room was to be her new bedroom, if Rachel chose her as a roommate. The computer was gone, as was every other trace of materials that Mark used to keep in that room. A dent in the wall suggested the corner of the CPU tower - it had probably been thrown. Burn marks on the power outlets furthered the evidence of a violent end to Mark's old ‘Wintel' machine. Mark was purged from Rachel's life in a fit of rage, or so it would seem.
Rachel pointed out her bedroom and Romonica noticed that the exercise bike had been pulled out of the closet and set up in the middle of the room. Since it wasn't covered in either clothes or dust, Romonica assumed it was actually being used.
Romonica (or ‘Rom' as she decided she'd like to be called for short) and Rachel sat and talked for a while over cups of tea. Romonica was forced to begin fleshing out a little prehistory for herself. Something she wished she had thought of before she had shown up for the interview.
Fortunately, it came to her extraordinarily easy: She had a jerk of a father who was smashed most of the time. Her mother died when she was six. She had graduated from high school early, and lived college twenty-four hours a day, 365 days a year to avoid her father. Once she had her degree, she left town because she simply could no stand even being near her dad any longer.
Rachel shared a bit of her history, not mentioning her soon to be ex-husband. Surprisingly she never once mentioned her job. Much of what Rachel was saying was new to Romonica, making the conversation profoundly engaging.
Romonica thought it ironic that she had to come back as a stranger to have an interesting conversation with her wife.
The cats took to Romonica immediately. They probably remembered her from her original appearance after the change. Or perhaps they knew who she used to be.
"Wow, Doofus really likes you." Rachel said, observing the cat in Romonica's lap.
"Well, Doofus is a neat little fluff ball, aren't you?" Rom said in a cutesy way while scratching the cat behind the ears, trying to avoid using her (well, Mark's) usual way of talking to the cats.
Doofus purred his approval. Goofus meowed with envy, procuring some ear scratching from Rachel.
"Well, it's getting late. You'll be at the same hotel for a while?" Rachel inquired.
"I'll be there until I find a real place to stay." She said, with a small smile.
"Great" Rachel said, walking Rom to the door, "I'll call you one way or the other tomorrow after work hours, OK?"
"I look forward to it, Rachel."
A smile and good-bye later, Rom was on her motorcycle making her way to the hotel.
Two nights of sleeping on a bedroll was plenty to motivate Romonica to buy a few articles of furniture for the empty room, particularly a bed. Even with her new and sturdy body, the bare floor was hard to sleep on.
That Saturday Rachel offered to take Romonica to All-Mart to pick up the inexpensive furniture kits she couldn't carry on her bike. Romonica quickly agreed, needing the help.
They had fun together roving about the huge store, teasing each other about their hypothetically lousy tastes and playing interior decorator.
Rom bought simple bed sheets, a pillow, a few throw cushions and a comforter for her new berth.
She decided to test the storage capacity of the Corolla by also getting a desk kit, a couple of plastic clothing stacks, and a metal folding chair. To round out the furniture, she chose a desk lamp, a small CD player/stereo radio, a couple of CDs of modern bands she had heard about and thought she might like, and an alarm clock.
While in the consumer electronics department, Rom sat down in front of an Apple iBook laptop and questioned herself: Was it worth the expense? She decided it was if she wanted to do research on the Web to find out how she got to this new gender and if it had happened to others.
One ‘Tangerine' iBook and an AirPort later Rom and Rachel were headed for the bedroom department.
Romonica quickly decided on an inexpensive twin bed. Since they had no way of fitting it in the Toyota, it had to be delivered.
Romonica tried to convince the dock men to deliver it that day. They would have none of it until, advised by Rachel, Rom started flirting with them.
Romonica thought about what she used to like women to do when they flirted with her, back when she was Mark. She smiled, leaned toward them and occasionally touched a shoulder while she carefully coerced them. Soon she had two of the drivers bickering over who got to deliver the bed. It was a strange feeling, being able to manipulate men that way.
As they followed the delivery truck back to the apartment, she found herself in a familiar seat in a familiar car beside a familiar woman but in a decidedly unfamiliar body. Rom had to suppress a chuckle and a sad sigh that it had taken so much to rediscover the friendship she had in Rachel so very long ago.
She thanked Rachel for the ride and the help, and started a conversation about how to decorate her room.
Romonica was sitting cross-legged on her bed reading one of Rachel's ‘girl' magazines, one of those she had always complained about when she was a he. The magazine had become a minor resource in her quest to learn what it was to be female. Sure, the magazine had that ‘women must please men' angle she had despised even when she was male, but that came primarily from the advertisements. The articles themselves provided plenty of useful information and advice so long as she didn't read the articles on fashion.
She was also waiting for the iBook to finish downloading the typical software patches and updates that any new computer needed.
Rachel had not yet disconnected the second phone line Mark had used for Internet access before, so Romonica offered to handle the payments on it so she could have her own phone line, which suited Rachel just fine. The Phone Company was very happy and cooperative with getting the number switched over to her name. Rachel gave Rom the living room phone set, saying she would just use the set she had in her bedroom for her line.
Romonica had her music up a little loud, Rachel was at the Katz' that evening and Romonica had the apartment to herself.
Romonica suspected that Rachel considered her to be ‘just a kid' and may have expected her to be chatting on the phone all day like a high school girl. Rachel had mentioned, albeit casually, that she was happy with the volume level that Rom chose to listen to her music as she was setting up the furniture kits and that Rom went to bed at a reasonable hour - as if she was surprised at Rom's maturity.
If Rachel picked a ‘kid' for a roommate, what must have the other applicants been like?
Romonica hoped that Rachel's motherly view was the reason she had not yet mentioned Mark. Rom was starting to feel a little rejected, never mind how silly that was given the circumstances. She considered ways she might get Rachel to talk about her husband.
She wondered about the divorce. It had only been two weeks and a few days since the divorce was filed. She probably wasn't finished with that yet. Mark was still just absent, not yet technically abandoning his marriage.
Well, at least Rachel didn't have to suffer any court battles. She only had to suffer a long wait.
She looked over at her computer. A few minutes left to download those patches.
On the floor, Blob sauntered in. A saunter was probably that fat cat's top speed. She had always been worried about the cat's weight and general lethargy, but had never mentioned anything to Rachel. Now she felt as if it weren't any of her business.
Blob clambered (clawed? climbed? scaled?) onto Rom's bed, curled up on one of the new throw pillows, and reentered her usual blissful slumber.
Romonica liked her new job. It didn't take a great deal of brainpower like her previous one did, but everyone pulled his or her own weight. There was teamwork, as well. If you needed help lifting a package, which Romonica so far never did, you just called out and someone would help. Even the manager, Mr. Valdez - the big burly man who hired her - would get his hands dirty when the crew needed the extra hands. She liked that so much she didn't much miss having to use her brain.
She also got a bit of a kick driving those big brown vans.
She had expected some ogling or a come-on or two from the crew, if only because she had the notion physical laborers had that kind of reputation. She was pleasantly surprised when, two weeks into working there, the expected gawking never materialized. Two other women also worked as drivers, perhaps they had already taught the men proper manners.
She had endured a great deal of friendly teasing about her height, however. She was almost a head taller than her tallest fellow employee was. She had established the habit of resting her folded arms across the shoulders of whoever was standing in front of her during their morning meeting. That had won the guys over very quickly, who seemed to enjoy it immensely.
One Friday evening at home Romonica wandered out of her room toward the kitchen to refill her teacup. As she approached the living room, she heard Rachel sobbing.
She came around the corner and saw Rachel on the sofa, with some papers in her hand. With some reluctance, Rom set her teacup on the craft table and went to sit beside Rachel.
Putting a hand on her back, Rom said, "What's the matter, roomie?"
Sobbing, Rachel handed her the paper. It was obviously a bill, and Rom silenced a gasp as she realized it was a credit card statement.
"The bastard went for a ride on it before he disappeared." Sobbing louder, she continued "I don't know how I'm going to pay for this…"
"What bastard?" Rom asked, trying to sound ignorant of Rachel's situation. Romonica read the bill, worried that it might help make a connection between her new persona and her old life as Mark. Fortunately the bill wasn't itemized; it was just a list of the stores and the total charges from each.
"My husband, the bastard. Look how much the bastard spent at that leather shop." Half laughing, half sobbing she continued, "I'll bet he thinks he's some kind of tough-guy biker now or some shit like that." Looking at Romonica's boots, she added "Oh, sorry. No offence?"
Rom chuckled both from relief that Rachel wouldn't make any connections and at Rachel's accidental insight, and considered for a moment. Although that bill was entirely her fault, she couldn't just offer to pay it off and be done with it. She had to find a more believable way to meet her responsibilities.
"Look, I've got some money left from my graduation gifts. How about I pay this card off, and you repay me when you can, no interest?"
"I don't know." Rachel replied, sounding hopeful but unwilling to borrow from her new roommate.
"Hey, it sure beats trying to keep up with, uh…" Rom looked at the bill, "Jeez, twenty percent interest!" She hadn't realized what a horrible drain that card was.
"Are you sure?"
"Hey, what are friends for?" Rom said, smiling and delicately rubbing Rachel's back.
Reaching over and hugging Rom (who found herself hugging back), she sobbed "Rom, thank you!" Rachel began to cry again, this time with both sadness and relief. Rom comforted Rachel for several hours as Rachel anguished over her missing husband and her changing life.
Romonica learned that Rachel had come to both love and hate Mark. With his habit of being quiet for weeks, then exploding with rage at whatever – or whomever – happened to be nearby Rachel had lived life as if in a war zone. When she had read his note, she wasn't sure how to feel about it at first.
She had gone looking for him, not because she wanted him back but because she needed some answers. She needed to bring their relationship to a close.
Rachel was afraid she wouldn't be able to live without a partner. She was feeling old, weak and exposed.
Wendy was trying to help. She had suggested the painting, getting rid of Mark's things, and getting a roommate to defray some costs. Rachel was feeling so helpless that she had followed all Wendy's advice without thinking about it.
Rachel finally fell asleep, exhausted.
Rom fetched a blanket from Rachel's room. After making sure Rachel would be warm, she sat in the recliner with a leg over one arm so she could watch Rachel sleep, and contemplate.
That Saturday morning, Romonica woke to the sound of Rachel on her exercise bike. Rom got out of bed, and began her morning stretching and did a couple of energetic katas. This new body felt great to use, and she was building a habit of exercising it. Once she heard Rachel finish with her shower, Romonica headed to her own morning preparations of showering and dressing. After, she went to eat her usual small breakfast of a mini-muffin or toast. She decided she should eat a little something for breakfast just so Rachel wouldn't wonder if she were anorexic. She could take advantage of not needing food during the rest of the day.
"Morning!" Rachel said, sounding cheery and refreshed.
"Hey roommate." Rom replied, putting some bread into the toaster oven. "Feeling better?"
"Bunches. Thanks, Romonica, for putting up with me last night."
"No problem for me. You needed they cry and I'm glad I could offer the shoulder to cry on." Romonica said, sounding reassuring.
As Rom fetched some margarine from the refrigerator, Rachel asked, "Hey, I'm headed over to some friends this afternoon around three or four, would you like to come along?"
Romonica knew which friends she was talking about. She wanted to say no, but she didn't have any reasonable sounding excuses.
"Uh, sure. I'd like to meet some new people." She lied. "Do you mind if I just meet you there, though? I was going to go shopping for a good dojo today." She said, taking her toast and margarine to the table.
"A what?" Rachel said.
"That's where people practice martial arts."
"Oh. Yeah, that'd be fine. Let me make you a map."
Brightening, Rom asked, "Hey, would you like to come along? We could make a day of it." Rom smiled and bounced a little in her seat to accentuate her enthusiasm, emulating something she had seen a young woman do before. She had been meaning to try and spend some time with Rachel and finish getting her feelings for her sorted out.
"Oh, I don't know. I'm not sure. All that seems so violent." Rachel was definitely a pacifist.
"No, no! No one who takes the art seriously is there for violence. It's really a matter of self-discipline, and control over your body. The slow katas are very peaceful, even meditative. It's great exercise." Rom as much as quoted the web site she had read a few days ago. "We don't even really learn the art as a way to hit people, though I was forced to use it that way, once." Rom said, remembering her would-be mugger.
Almost under her breath, with a thoughtful look on her face, Rachel said, "Peaceful…"
"Come on, let's! I'll even treat you to lunch!" Rom bribed.
"OK, let's." Rachel said, sounding honestly eager.
The first two dojos on the list were a bust. They were little more than big, expensive machismo-fests. They laughed when Romonica said she was just looking for a place to do supervised practice, not to take classes. They didn't even offer such a service. Rachel was beginning to wonder about the truth of Rom's little speech, as was Rom.
The third, however, was Rom's speech made manifest. The owner was an old Japanese man, Master Kenji Otomo, who had a quick smile and a peaceful, quiet and dignified air about him. His students and teachers were very polite and respectful, and eager to help. Students practiced on traditional flooring or out on the grass, teachers patiently reminding them to concentrate, to control themselves and to be at peace. There were students out on the grass, moving through Chi Gung and Tai Chi exercises with satisfied expressions. There was already an area set aside for practice, and several teachers who would supervise anyone practicing their art manned it, and they were available for sparring.
As Rom was given the grand tour, one of the Master's students took Rachel to a complimentary beginner's Tai Chi class, which she loved.
Rom was ready to sign on the spot, but Master Otomo insisted they visit the last dojo on their list, reminding them that they must be certain his services were the best fit for them.
Rom didn't really want to, but who was she to question a Sensei? With plenty of reservations, they left to visit the last dojo on their list.
The dojo was large and very fancy. There were all sorts of Japanese and Chinese calligraphy on the walls interspersed with all kinds of edged and blunt weapons. The interior was decorated in nice hardwoods but done up so much that it was more like a tawdry Chinese food restaurant than a martial arts center.
"Eww. This is not the place." Rom said, looking at Rachel "This is just another boy's clubhouse for a testosterone brigade."
Rachel was about to suggest they go to that lunch Rom had promised when a ruggedly handsome man in a black gi walked up to them.
"Hey there, sweetie." He said to Rachel.
"Hello, stretch." He said to Romonica.
"What can I do for you?" He asked, voice dripping with self-importance.
"I was looking for a dojo that offers supervised practice." Romonica replied, glaring at the man.
"Oh, really?" He said, overtly skeptical. "We don't offer that for beginners. And you'd have to take a sparring test before we let you in. Wouldn't want to let you hurt yourself, beautiful." He said, a predatory smile forming over his large jaw line.
Rom was infuriated by his patronizing tone and chauvinistic manner, and barely managed to keep control. She went up to the man while crossing her arms, and used her four-inch advantage to force him to look up. "Fine, are you the proctor? Have a few minutes?"
The man raised an eyebrow, looking up at her, then shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever, sweetie. Follow me."
Rachel and Romonica followed him back to one of the empty rooms. He pointed to a door with a pictogram of a woman on it.
"There are some gis in there, and some protective equipment. Get ready, I'll be here." He said, sounding entertained.
Rachel sat down on one of the benches that were against the walls in the room, and ignored the instructor. Rom went to the dressing area.
There she found racks of uniforms, clean and ready to wear. She selected one that would fit her fairly well, grabbed some padding and headed for one of the curtained areas.
When she emerged, she found the instructor kneeling near the middle of the arena with protective padding on, waiting. She handed her wallet to Rachel, then walked over to a spot opposite him. He stood to face her.
"Ready?" He asked, a half-smile on his face.
"Hai." She said, using the Japanese affirmative. She stood straight, then bowed curtly, never taking her eyes off his.
Without returning the courtesy, he lurched into a wide stance, looking stiff as if he was showing off his physique rather than standing at the ready. Rom easily flowed into a relaxed, catlike stance, her face alert but expressionless.
They stood there for a few moments, the instructor smiling. With a sudden burst, he lunged for Rom, driving his fist toward her stomach, obviously expecting a swift and effortless victory.
With what was little more than a flick of her arm and a step to the side, Rom sent him tumbling to the ground behind her. She danced over to where he was originally standing and faced him again in that catlike posture.
"Oh, very good, stretch." He mocked as he got up.
He returned to his original stance, this time looser, taking Rom a bit more seriously. He began to hop or bounce in her direction, jerking his arms toward her, trying to goad her into striking first. Rom only waited impassively.
When he was in range, he threw a series of punches aimed at her stomach, chest and head, each of which she parried away with small movements of her arms. Her face remained deadpan. As he recoiled for another series, her arm snapped out and the palm of her hand struck him in the padding on his forehead, snapping his head back and forcing him to stumble back a few steps. When he recovered, she was still in her place, her face still wooden.
His face, in contrast, was full of raw fury. He charged her, emitting a low growl.
As he reached her, she sprung into the air and struck with her closest leg while emitting a loud "Kai!" Her kick landed on his chest and knocked him to the ground. She landed in a low crouch, and brought her elbow down into his stomach, knocking the air out of him with a whoosh. She leapt up and landed a few paces away back into her ready stance.
He rolled over and got to his knees, coughing and gagging. He looked at her and held up a hand as he caught his breath. "Ok, ok… you win. When do you want to start?" he said, still wheezing.
Rom shrugged her shoulders. "I have to think about it." She said, and strode back to the dressing area.
Walking back to the car, Rachel began to laugh uproariously. So much so, she had to lean on Rom to keep from falling over.
"Oh! I loved that. That was funny!" She said in between guffaws. "He deserved every bruise!" She exclaimed.
Rom, however, was feeling a little guilty. "Yeah, he needed the slice of humble pie. But I was out of control. I didn't learn this just to beat up on morons." She lied, but she knew she had broken a cardinal rule of the art from her studies on the Web. Still, it was enjoyable knowing she could take on an expert and win.
Rachel still giggling, they boarded the car and headed off to get something to eat.
"Why did he have to act like that?" Rom pondered aloud.
"Oh, he was probably just threatened by your size. Men don't like to have to look up at women." Rachel said, her laughter calming.
Rachel pulled into a spot some distance away from the front door of the restaurant even though there were plenty of spots far closer, surprising Romonica somewhat. When Rachel saw Romonica looking at the empty places, she explained that she likes to walk a little. Romonica smiled and agreed that it was nice to enjoy the out of doors.
The restaurant was a hole-in-the-wall place that served vegetarian fare. Rachel explained she had discovered it while driving around looking for her husband the day he left.
Romonica felt guilty again, but reminded herself again that she wasn't given a choice.
The place had a friendly atmosphere. It was the rare sort of restaurant that made you smile and say hi to your fellow customers. The wait staff talked to you. The food was tasty and reasonably priced.
The lunch chatter went well. At first, Rachel was caught up making jokes about the idiot from the last dojo, but the conversation quickly grew into many other subjects. Of particular interest to Rom was Rachel's newfound passion in painting. In the few weeks Rom had been rooming with Rachel, she had completed five paintings. They had that clunky look of a beginner, but the talent was obvious.
They were also all very dark, gothic scenes. Sometimes of torture like the hanged man she saw during the interview, mostly they were of dark streets and castles with mysterious human shaped shadows.
Rachel explained that they were representations of all the sad and angry energy she had been allowing to build up in her soul for her entire life. Mark's sudden departure and Wendy's suggestion that she needed an outlet was the catalyst for her first tries.
The paintings had motivated her to change her life. The imagery frightened her a little. So, as she expressed her anger and depression on canvas, she tried to build a new and happier life around her.
It had been showing, too. Her body was starting to firm up from the exercises she was doing every morning. She was acting a little more assertive, and she was starting to smile more often. Romonica found the transformation both impressive and very encouraging.
Rachel ordered a delicately roasted honey-glazed banana for them to share as dessert. Rom was glad to see her take that initiative, and to see her eat a treat without guilt.
Rachel began to talk about the Katz'. Romonica did her best to seem interested as she went over who they were and what they did.
After their lunch, Rom and Rachel had gone back home with four hours to wait for the evening with the Katz family. Rom had decided to go out to see a movie and buy some exercise clothes, and Rachel had worked on her latest painting.
Rachel had decided to go a little early. She and Wendy were chatting on the Katz' home porch, watching Charlie play in the yard.
Hearing the low rumble of the Harley's engine, Rachel announced Romonica's arrival to Bill, who was dillydallying inside the house, so he could come out to meet her.
The sound of the Softail's engine frightened Charlie, who ran and hid behind Wendy.
Romonica parked behind Rachel's Corolla on the curb, cut the engine and set the kickstand in one easy motion. (Romonica was increasingly of the opinion her new body had come with grace lessons.)
She took off her helmet and waved a hello at Rachel, who waved her over. Once she had the bike secured, she headed over, undoing the zipper of her leather jacket.
Romonica was gathering up her courage as she approached. It was going to be a real test, trying to act as if she didn't know her best friends. True, screwing up would probably only make them uncomfortable, she still wanted this to go smoothly.
She approached Wendy.
"Hi. You must be Wendy." Romonica said, offering her hand.
"That's me, you must be Romonica." Wendy said, shaking Rom's hand. Wendy had a weak, ‘dead fish' grip.
Rom bent down and peered around Wendy. "And you must be this Charlie I keep hearing about."
Charlie looked at her and smiled. He came around and hugged Rom, then scampered back into the yard.
Wendy and Rachel looked absolutely flabbergasted. Rom knew why: Charlie was remarkably shy. He was out of character hugging her like that.
Rom tried to fit the mood. Looking between Rachel and Wendy, she reacted to their expressions.
"What?" She asked.
"He never does that." Wendy said, in a whisper.
"Well, Romonica had that same effect on my cats." Rachel explained, "You must just have one of those trustworthy auras about you." She said to Romonica.
Bill bumbled out of the house and walked straight up to Romonica.
"You must be that Romana character we keep hearing about." He said, pumping her hand with a crushing grip.
"That's ‘Romonica', dear." Wendy corrected.
"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that, my girl, I have trouble pronouncing my own name on occasion." He said, with boisterous laughter.
Romonica noted how different he was acting. It was as if he didn't really know what to do, but he wanted to be the center of attention.
"It's OK, I get that a lot." Romonica lied, an amused look on her face. "Please, call me Rom." She told them.
"Rom it is." Bill fairly yelled. "Hey, how about we start on dinner, girls? What say?"
Rachel and Wendy agreed, and gathered Charlie as they went inside. As Rom turned to follow, she was surprised to feel Bill's hand on her posterior. Taking a quick startled step forward, she turned and glared at Bill, who tried to look innocent. Now she knew why he was acting strange - he was trying to show off for her.
Now she was uneasy like never before. Dealing with a leer or two was easy, but she was not ready to handle overt sexual attention from the fellow whom had been her best friend. The guy she would get drunk with and talk guy stuff… Rom scolded herself. She knew what a flirt he was, but failed to consider the ramifications when she agreed to accompany Rachel.
She was about to toss her jacket on the couch in her usual manner when she realized that this was supposed to be the first time she'd been to the Katz house.
"Um, where would you like me to put my jacket?" She awkwardly asked.
"I'll take that, m' dear." Bill said, taking her jacket with a wink and heading to the hall closet.
Rom could scarcely believed he was acting this way in front of Wendy. Her reaction to his audacity and insensitivity to his wife overwhelmed her reaction to the fact she was the subject of his attentions.
She headed to the kitchen and tried to make herself useful.
Through the meal preparation, Rom carefully placed the table between her and Bill, trying to keep his advances to a bare minimum. He still managed plenty of ogling, and kept trying to make conversation with her. All his questions made him look stupid, however. Most of them earned embarrassed glances from Wendy and Rachel. Rom figured his mind wasn't on chitchat, but simply on getting her attention.
Dining went far more smoothly. Charles had parked himself in Romonica's lap. Wendy and Rachel had managed to maneuver Bill into sitting on Wendy's side of the table with Rachel across from him.
This was especially nice since Romonica got to concentrate on talking to Wendy. She was surprised at what she didn't know about her, since Bill and Mark had always left ‘the girls' to their own devices. Wendy was smart. She was exceptionally smart. Romonica used to think of her like a kind of a working housewife out of the 1950s, but that image was wiped cleanly away by this one conversation.
They discussed a variety of interesting subject matter. It turned out she had a masters degree in sociology, which was her favorite subject by far. Rachel kept right up, having learned a great deal from Wendy during their Saturday afternoon chats. Rom had to ask a lot of questions, not being familiar with much of the jargon and several of the concepts Wendy and Rachel were using. Rachel would often start answering a question and ramble on, making connections between facts that were astonishing.
Bill just ate, looking a little bored.
Rom remembered when she, as a he, would do the same thing - never paying any attention to what ‘the girls' were saying, waiting until after dinner to talk ‘guy stuff' with Bill. She felt ashamed for having ever thought of them as not being worth listening to.
After dinner, Rom insisted on washing the dishes in a ploy to further avoid Bill, knowing he never helped clean up. She also wanted to repay the Katz' for dinner, trying to avoid taking anyone or anything for granted. Rachel and Wendy helped and chatted with Rom about some local events while Charlie played at their feet. Bill sat in the living room and watched a baseball game on television.
They retired to the living room, Wendy telling Bill to start being social and to turn off the game. Bill stood up from his recliner to turn off the TV, ignoring the remote that was on the coffee table, then sat down beside Romonica.
Wendy and Rachel got caught up in a continuance of a conversation they started a week before, and functionally forgot about Romonica and Bill.
Bill acted as if he was paying attention to the conversation, but would surreptitiously run his hand along the outside of Rom's leg, or try and put his arm behind her. Flushing, Rom would move his hand away, wishing that he would stop or Rachel would notice - fearing that Wendy would notice first.
Bill even leaned over and whispered into Rom's ear: "You're very beautiful."
Finally Wendy and Rachel stood up and invited Rom to come see something that Wendy had recently made. Rom politely declined, saying she had a question to ask Bill. Smiling and continuing their chat, Wendy and Rachel headed out to the back yard, and Charlie followed.
Rom stood up and paced a couple of steps from the sofa, and turned to Bill.
Bill looked up at her, and with a predatory smile asked, "So. What did you want to ask me, you sexy vixen you?"
That was all Rom could take. Placing a foot by the sofa as a brace, she gathered Bill's collar in her fist and hauled him out of his seat.
"Listen up, you dickless imbecile! I'm not interested in you. Don't even consider touching me again. Remember that you're married and have a kid, fuckwit, and remember Wendy could become a widow at any moment." She growled at the frightened face.
She threw him back into the sofa and gave him a swift expert kick to his shin to punctuate her point, making Bill yelp. As he rubbed his new bruise, she crossed over to and sat in his recliner chair, crossing her legs and setting her hands on her knee. She glared at him, daring him to test her resolve. Wisely, he meekly apologized and asked if they could turn the game back on.
She used the remote to turn the TV back on, then turned to go see what Wendy had made.
"Say, could you, uh, not tell Wendy about this?" Bill pleaded.
Rom looked over her shoulder at him. "We'll see." She replied, and went to the back yard.
"Hey Rom" Wendy greeted, "Did Bill answer that question?"
Rom considered for a moment then replied "Actually, I had to ask him to stop flirting with me." Rom smiled an embarrassed smile.
"Oh, yeah. Isn't he awful?" Wendy said.
"One of the worst I've ever seen." Rachel interjected.
Rom was astounded. "You knew?" She asked.
"Oh, yeah. He's always flirting with pretty women." Wendy replied, matter-of-fact.
"But, you're pretty, and his wife. Doesn't he flirt with you? How can you stand it?"
"Thanks for the compliment, dear." Wendy said, brightly. "No, he lost interest in me after Charlie was born. I guess you just get used to it after a while. Men are such pigs." She said with a wink.
When the evening came to a close, Romonica told Rachel that she was going for a ride around town before she went back home. She was still fuming about the hideous way Bill had acted, even though he had been a perfect gentleman after she had ‘explained' things to him.
She wanted to blow off a little steam, and her motorcycle rides had become a great way to do that. She paused to take the tinted face shield off of her helmet and replace it with a clear night-driving version. She touched the starter button and her bike came to life.
Even fully muffled as her bike was, Harley-Davidson motorcycles made a good powerful rumble. That was probably part of their appeal for many Harley owners, and it certainly was for Rom. She enjoyed the feeling of raw power it gave her. As she took off, she waved to Wendy and Charlie, who were standing on the porch to see their guests off.
Romonica rode around town, slowly forgetting about Bill, and enjoying the cool late evening air. She approached the intersection near the mall, and had started a left turn when an adolescent in a brand new red Mustang cut around her, forcing her to evade and nearly run over the curb.
Angry, she took off after the little twerp.
She caught up to him at the next stoplight and pulled up close beside him.
Flipping up her face shield, she said "Time to apologize, little boy."
The kid, not bothering to look at her, just raised his middle finger and said "Fuck off, bitch."
Romonica kicked the side of his car so hard it left a traffic accident sized dent and probably froze the door shut. The light turned green and she started off into the night, relishing the astounded look on the boy's face.
Lying in bed petting Goofus and Doofus, Romonica felt like a fool for having been so incensed over that kid's crappy driving. The poor thing was going to have to explain to his parents how the car got thousands of dollars worth of damage, just because he got stupid for a moment.
Bill may have deserved getting frightened a bit, but he probably did not deserve the bruised shin. Even then, she felt she overreacted.
She got up from the bed and went to the back porch. Looking at the park that was behind their apartment, she sat cross-legged on the floor. It was time to learn how to meditate and she figured the gorgeous view here was an excellent setting. The new body may have improved large portions of her life, but it hadn't done much to quell her quick temper. Perhaps a little eastern philosophy would help her finally change that.
Months went by, and Romonica felt she had adequately settled into being a woman. Her Web searches for others experiencing similar changes hadn't panned out, but she had made the link to the ‘randomizer effect'. Perhaps that wasn't altogether urban legend after all.
Questions e-mailed to the site's web masters hadn't yet been answered, so there was little left to do but wait. She considered old-fashioned research in the local library.
Her meditation was going well. She had mentioned it in passing to her sensei and he had offered to help her, without charge. Slowly she was taming that temper.
"Rom?" Rachel broke Romonica's reverie. She was standing in Rom's doorway, holding a check.
Rom turned in her chair. "Hey Rachel. What's up?" Rom greeted, smiling.
Rachel handed her the check. It was Mark's retirement money, all $57,000 of it.
"Wow. Nice little nest-egg." Rom hadn't kept tabs on the fund, and was genuinely surprised at the amount.
"I don't know what to do with it. With the divorce held up, I can't roll it over to an IRA, and I can't cash it since it's made out to him." She spit out the last word.
Swallowing her guilt at Rachel's anger, she looked back at the check and thought about it. There was no use risking forging her old signature. All she had to do was get it into her account.
"If you're willing to pay taxes on it, just write ‘For deposit only' on the back and put it in your bank account." Rom suggested. This was a nice turn of events. Making sure Rachel got the money was a good step toward repaying both the credit card debt and the pain of disappearing on her.
Taking the check back, Rachel wondered "Will they do that?"
Rom quickly made up more history for herself. "I'm sure they will. I used to deposit my dad's welfare checks that way all the time, and I was just a kid. They probably wouldn't even look twice if you deposit his check into an account both you and he sign on."
Rom retook the check from Rachel's hand. Picking up a pen, she wrote the words on the back.
"Ok, now let's fill out a deposit slip."
Rachel just followed Rom, willing to let Rom do this for her. Rom pulled out a deposit slip from Rachel's checkbook on the kitchen table. She filled it out, all deposit with no cash back, and dated it.
"Can't ask for cash back, because Mark would have to sign the check." She explained. "It will take a few days, but once this sucker clears you can start writing checks against it. Just keep some aside to pay the taxes."
Rachel held the papers; "This is going to be a huge help. I can pay off everything!" She began to get exited, "This means I can finally start to relax. All I'll have left are the monthlies. Thanks Rom, you're always a big help."
Romonica stood, and hugged Rachel. "Shoo - off to the bank with you."
Rachel smiled, and headed out the door.
Romonica and Sharon were loading their vans when the P.A. squawked.
"Miss Wren, please come see me in the office." Mr. Valdez announced.
Romonica looked up at Sharon in surprise.
"What you do now, troublemaker?" Sharon joked.
Rom shrugged and headed to the manager's office. Entering, she saw Mr. Valdez behind his desk as usual and a stranger in one of the other chairs. The man wore a blue blazer and a very serious look on his face.
"Rom, this gentleman needs to talk to you for a bit. I'm going to handle the rest of your loading, and if necessary I'll drive your route." Mr. Valdez headed out the door.
Rom cocked an eyebrow at Mr. Valdez, watching him leave. She turned and sat in the chair opposite the stranger and looked him over. He was a looker. He held himself with an air of authority, his black hair cropped short. His eyes were a deep amber color and shone with alert intelligence. Rom was surprised to find herself attracted to him.
He pulled out a wallet from his coat and opened it, showing her a badge and police identification card.
"I'm detective Wallace, of the Kissimee Police Department. I'd like to ask you a few questions." He asked with a light southern accent.
Rom blanched. "Is this about that stupid kid's car? It was his fault. The little bastard cut me off and…"
"No, miss." The detective interrupted. "I'm with homicide." He explained.
Romonica felt her face pale, and her mouth dried out.
"Homicide?" She asked, suspecting where this was going now.
"Yes, miss." He pulled a notepad out from his coat. "I just have a few questions. This involves one Mark Mills."
Rom swallowed and tried not to look afraid.
"Where were you on the night of June 25th?" He asked, suddenly sounding like a bad cop movie.
Rom stammered. That was the night of the change. She didn't know what to answer, and fear was making it hard to think.
"Miss? You ok?" He asked in a monotone.
Rom tried to stall for time. "Um, shouldn't this be a missing person's search instead?"
"It was, but murder was suggested, anonymously."
Rom didn't listen to his explanation. She franticly assembled an answer to his question, and tried to frame answers to others.
"So, miss, where were you on the night of June 25th?" He repeated.
"Oh, sorry. I was on the road." She answered while trying to sound relaxed.
"Where were you headed?"
"Here. To Kissimee."
"Where were you coming from that night, miss?"
"Ottowa Beach." She said, quoting the town name from her diploma.
"Home town?" He asked.
"Yes." She said, hoping all this would show up as true if he looked it up.
"Ok. Have you ever met Mark Mills?" He inquired.
"No, never."
"How about Rachel Mills?"
"Yes, she's my roommate."
"How long have you known her?" He asked, writing on the notepad.
"I met her when I called her about her ad in the paper. About July 5th or 6th."
"What can you tell me about Mark Mills's disappearance?"
"Only that he left Rachel. She doesn't talk about it much." She answered, trying to sound as ignorant of Mark as possible.
"What's your relationship with Rachel Mills?" He asked, still writing on his notepad.
"Like I said, she's my roommate."
"No other relationship?"
Rom cocked an eyebrow. "Well, we're friends now, too. Is that what you mean?"
Wallace ignored the question. "There's no sexual relationship, then?"
Rom smiled in surprise. "Detective! How personal!"
"Sorry, miss, I have to be thorough." He said, sounding honestly apologetic.
"I'm a heterosexual, sir. I fairly certain Rachel is, too." Romonica said flatly.
"Good." The detective said, under his breath.
"Pardon?" Rom asked. Her excellent ears serving her well again.
The detective rushed to cover his gaffe. "Has Rachel Mills ever discussed wanting Mr. Mills dead?"
"No!" Rom barked.
"Ok, miss, just one last question. Can you tell me about a $20,000 deposit you made into a new account on July 5th?" This time, he looked up at her instead of writing on his notepad.
"I, uh… That was the sum of all my graduation gifts."
"I see. That's not a bad haul. Rich family?"
"Yeah, I guess." Rom tried to be noncommittal.
"Why did you carry it in cash? Wasn't that a bit dangerous?" He asked, still looking at her.
Rom shrugged, trying to guess why she would be carrying cash. "Seemed like a good idea at the time?"
"I see." He said, standing up. Rom stood as well, discovering she was a full head taller than he was.
"Well, thank you for your time, Ms. Wren. Because of the nature of this investigation, I'm going to have to ask you not to leave town for a while as we may need to speak with you again."
"Who is ‘we'?" Rom asked.
"Well, the department in general, miss, and my partner in particular."
Rom made a show of looking around the room. "What partner?"
The detective chuckled, "He's doing another interview, miss. He's too big to keep in my pocket."
Rom smiled, relived he found that humorous.
"So, I'm a suspect, then?" She asked.
"No, no. There are no suspects, because we're not even sure there's been a crime yet. This is just a preliminary investigation of an anonymous tip. To be frank, miss, chances are nothing will come of this." He explained.
"Oh. I understand. Well, I didn't have any road trips planned anyway." She said, offering her hand. "See you around, I guess."
The detective shook her hand. "It's a small enough town I think I can safely say that's likely." He said, smiling.
The detective left, and Rom sat for a few minutes. This was an odd turn of events. She hoped it would just blow over like the detective thought it would, since there was no body. Through the office window, she watched the detective get into his car. Jeez, he was cute.
Romonica made her deliveries distractedly that day. She couldn't get her mind off of the interview.
She wanted to get home and talk to Rachel and find out if Wallace or Wallace's partner had spoken to her. She wanted to make sure Rachel was Ok.
Rom grabbed the last package out of her truck and headed into the Welcorp Electronics building. She went straight for the stairs, as was her habit - they were quicker than the elevator and provided exercise.
"Hey John!" She yelled as she entered the office. "John! Come on buddy! This is my last delivery and I have to get home!"
John, a scrawny fellow with bright red hair, thick glasses and woefully inadequate fashion sense, came from a back room to the receiving counter. "Hi Rom! I'm right here, keep your shirt on."
Rom set the package down and handed him the signature board. John quickly checked the package and signed.
"Ok, girl - run! Get home!" He said, smiling.
Romonica turned and ran out of the room, calling over her shoulder; "Thanks John, see you tomorrow!"
John lifted the package and immediately set it back down, calling for help. He was always amazed at what Rom could carry.
Rachel was already home and sitting at the kitchen table when Romonica arrived.
"Hey, Rachel. What are you doing home so early?" Rom asked, suspecting the answer.
Rachel handed her an official looking paper. "Somebody thinks I killed my husband." She said, sounding distant.
Romonica took the paper and read it. It confirmed that it was a preliminary investigation.
"The detective said I wasn't a suspect, he sort of hinted that I was first in line for the position."
"Yeah, a detective interviewed me today, too." Romonica admitted. She put her hand on the back of Rachel's "Are you OK?"
"Yeah. Oh, Rom. I don't need this. The cop treated me so badly, and in front of customers, too. My supervisor put me on leave after he left. I think he's scared it'll effect the business."
"Well, don't you worry. Since he's not even dead – well, not that we know, anyway – this will just blow over."
"I don't know. The detective – Wong I think he said his name was – sure sounded certain Mark was dead, and that I'd killed him." Rachel said sounding a little defeated.
"Oh, I'll bet he's just seen too many cop movies." Rom said, making a dismissive gesture. "Look, we'll stick this out together. Right, friend?"
Rachel looked up and smiled a little. "Right, friend."
"You know, you should probably write a complaint to the police about the way he treated you."
Rachel nodded her head.
A week passed without another word about the investigation from the detectives. Rachel's manager had relented and let Rachel come back to work, once Romonica had talked to him and hinted about suing the store.
Everything had almost turned back to normal, until Wendy called. Wendy had just been interviewed by both detectives, and called Rachel to apologize. Rachel explained to Romonica that she had on several occasions, when angry with Mark, discussed his untimely demise with her to blow off steam. Wendy had gone into one of her long rambling answers to a question Detective Wong had asked, and ended up telling them about it. Rachel immediately forgave Wendy for it, she knew that to Wendy the rants were just an interesting personal manifestation of a sociological reaction and she would never have considered what it might mean to the police.
Romonica knew it would still not be enough to build any sort of case against Rachel, but it would serve to fuel the detectives' interest in the investigation.
Wendy had spoken to Romonica as well. She told Romonica that Bill had also been interviewed, and told the detectives that Romonica was a violent woman, telling them a substantially embellished story about the bruise she had given him. He had suggested that Romonica might be, as Bill put it, the triggerman.
The three women knew this was just his bruised ego (and shin) talking, but Detective Wong ate it up. Wendy described Detective Wallace shooting Wong a dirty look to get the younger detective to calm down.
Romonica was headed down the stairs on her way to work, when she literally ran into Detective Wallace, who was coming out of Ms. Williams's apartment. Romonica steadied herself on the wall, but Wallace landed on his behind.
Offering him a hand up, Romonica said "Sorry about that, detective, Blind corner here."
Wallace accepted her help and pulled himself up. "That's ok, miss. No harm done." He said, brushing off his trousers.
"Call me Rom, detective. I figure after you plow into someone you may as well be on a first name basis with them." She said, with a diminutive smile.
Wallace chuckled. "Alright then, Rom. Call me Rob."
"Hi Rob. What're you doing bothering that old woman?" She asked, half in jest.
"I'm just finishing up that preliminary, the one I interviewed you for." He answered.
"So, where is that headed? Anywhere interesting?" She asked, smiling.
"Right where I thought, no where." He answered.
"Big surprise. Well, Rob, I have to get to work, you have fun today." Rom said, with a little flirt. She headed for her bike.
Rob hurried to walk beside her. "Rom. Do you get a lunch?"
Rom stopped and looked at the detective. Continuing toward her bike, she said, "Well, no. My workday isn't that long."
"Oh." Rob looked a little dejected and began to fidget.
Romonica recognized the hesitation. "You have something you want to ask me, Rob?"
"Yes, I do." He said, and took a breath. "Would you like to have dinner with me this evening?"
Rom was taken mildly off guard. "Uh, yeah. I'd love to." She felt a little excitement at his interest.
Rob smiled and looked relived. "Can I pick you up around six, then?"
"Sure. I'll be here." She answered, and mounted her motorcycle.
"Great. See you then." The detective said.
Rom started her bike and put on her helmet. She waved a good bye to the detective and backed out of her spot, heading for work.
Rob watched her head down the road for a while, then turned with a leap, pumping his fist in the air and smiling broadly.
"Hey John! Where are you, buddy? I've got a full load today." Rom called out. She began unloading her hand truck, which was piled to the top with packages of various sizes.
John came out from the back offices. "Good gravy. They really spent our budget this time." John said, looking at the pile Rom was creating on the countertop.
Rom helped John inspect and confirm each package.
"You're antsy again, Rom. What's up?"
"Oh, Nothing." Rom said, smiling.
John stopped and looked at Rom. "Come on, you can tell ol' John."
Romonica's smile grew. "I've got a date with a real cutie tonight."
John's eyebrows shot up. "I don't remember saying yes…" He teased, smiling.
Rom swatted him playfully on his arm. "With another cute guy." She returned the joke.
"So, who's the lucky hunk?" He asked, continuing to check the packages.
"He's a detective. Black hair, amber eyes, about five ten, great smile…" She described, dreamily.
"He must be a cop, how else would you describe such a date than by an APB?" John teased.
Rom chuckled at herself. "What can I say? He has that cop-like effect on me. You'll never guess how we met." She said.
"Traffic ticket?" John guessed.
"Nope, he interviewed me in a murder case." She said, trying to shock John a bit.
"I guess that answers the question ‘Who do I have to kill to get a date in this town?'" They both laughed. "So, you're a suspect?" John asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
"I don't think I am. I doubt he'd date a suspect. I was just a possible witness."
John signed the signature board. "Well, cool. Let me know how the date turns out. If it goes particularly well, bring pictures." He said, an impish grin on his face.
Romonica swatted him again, and took the signature board.
"See you tomorrow, pervert." She jested as she left.
When Romonica returned home from work, she immediately took a shower. After dressing and compelling her hair to behave, she set to work polishing her boots and jacket.
She was excited, and Rachel watched from her easel as Rom bustled about impatiently, waiting for her date.
"Rom?" Rachel called.
"Yeah?" Romonica replied, coming back into the living room.
"Would you mind not ricocheting off the walls anymore? It's making me nervous. What's got you all worked up?"
"Uh, well…" Rom started, nervously. "Don't take this the wrong way, Rachel. I have a date with Detective Wallace."
"Oh really? Cutting a deal to send me up the river, are you?" Rachel said, smiling.
Romonica frowned. "I know it probably seems a little, well, like…"
"Like you're betraying me?" Rachel suggested.
"Well, yeah." Rom said, troubled.
"Well, don't feel that way. He's a very nice man. He knows this stupid investigation is a waste of time. He came by and saw me today, and apologized for the way Wong acted."
"He did? That's good. That Wong guy sounds like a real ass." Rom was silent for a moment. "So it's Ok with you, then?"
Rachel set her brushes down and went up to Rom. "Look, once I settled down from the shock of this silliness I decided that none of this should bother me. I'm fine with the investigation, and your date is not only Ok with me, I think you've chosen a well-mannered and handsome man to go out with." Rachel put on a mischievous grin. "If I were twenty years younger, you'd have a fight on your hands."
Rom hugged Rachel. "Thanks, friend. I've felt guilty about it all day."
Rachel smiled and picked her brushes back up.
Romonica wandered to the living room window and watched the parking lot. Soon she saw Rob's blue Chevy Caprice pull into the lot.
Rom put on her jacket and headed for the door.
"See you later!" She said to Rachel, and headed out the door.
Rom bounded down the steps and met Rob at his car, surprising him as he got out.
"Whoa!" He exclaimed, swiveling on a heel to face her. "You scared the heck out of me, lady!" He said, smiling at her.
"Sorry, I like to keep people on their toes." She said, returning his smile.
"Good job so far." He observed.
Rob took Rom's hand and guided her to the passenger's side door, opening it for her.
"Let's start the evening, shall we?"
Romonica got into the car, and Rob shut the door as she fastened her seatbelt. She looked around the interior. There was a police radio looking thing under the dash, and a little magnetic red light was on the floor by her feet. The back seat was crowded with black cases – Romonica assumed they were full of the equipment he needed to collect and sort evidence. The stereotypical mess and handcuffs on the rearview mirror were pleasingly absent.
Rob got in to the driver's seat and fastened his seatbelt. As he started the car, he smiled at Rom.
"Ready?" He asked.
"One question." Rom said, thoughtfully.
"Shoot."
"This is personal and not professional, right?"
Rob chuckled. "This isn't coercion and I don't date suspects, if that's what you mean."
"Ok, then where are we going tonight?" She asked, turning slightly in her seat to face him.
Rob pulled out of the parking spot and headed for the road.
"Nope, sorry. You said ‘one question'. That would make it two." He teased. "You're just going to have to wait and find out when we get there."
Rom looked at him with a surprised smile, then sat back in her seat to enjoy the ride.
"So, what's it like, being a homicide detective?" Rom asked.
"Well, in this town it's nice and boring. There are only an average of three cases a year, so most of my time is spent helping lighten Burglary's caseload." He paused while he negotiated an intersection. "Of course, sometimes you meet some really interesting people." He said, offering an obvious compliment to Romonica.
"And on that subject, I've been curious. How did you end up working as a driver for UPS, after earning a four-year electrical engineering degree in three years? With honors no less." He inquired.
"Well, I just grabbed the first job that came around, so I could get established. I suppose I just never got around to looking for a better job. Turns out I like working there, the people are great, the hours are good and the work can be fun. I like to talk to some of the regular customers on my route, too. The pay kind of sucks, though." She answered.
Rob chuckled, "I think lousy pay is a universal standard."
"Well, as long as we're a consumer society, no amount will be enough – so, yeah." Rom mused. "I'm trying to start out simple and stay that way. I've already seen people give up happiness just to chase after toys. I don't want to make that same mistake. I also don't want to pay twenty percent interest if I can avoid it."
"I sure wish I had thought of that before I discovered credit cards." He said, smiling.
Romonica smiled and patted his shoulder. "We shall overcome!" Rom quoted.
Rob turned down a side street.
"Off the beaten path." Rom said, almost to herself.
"All the good places are hidden." Rob said.
They came to a small parking lot beneath a sign saying it was for restaurant parking only. Rob parked and shut off the Caprice. He rushed around the car to let Rom out, but she was already locking the door behind her. He smiled and offered his arm, which she took.
Rom looked around the alley. "So, where's this eatery? Or are we rooting through the dumpsters this evening?" She joshed.
Rob pointed to a hand carved sign over a nondescript door across the alley.
"The Laughing Unicorn?" Rom said, reading the sign.
"Best food in the state." Rob said, and they started for the restaurant.
As they entered, appetizing and mellow scents caressed Rom's nostrils. Several tables of customers were carrying on quiet conversations, delectable food before them. A waiter approached them.
"Robert! Welcome back. And who is your lovely companion?" He said with a slight German accent, bowing slightly to Romonica.
"Hey Hans, meet Romonica. Romonica, this is Hans, he owns the joint."
Romonica offered her hand to Hans, who shook it firmly. "Good to meet you, Hans." She said.
"I assure you, the pleasure is all mine." He said, then turned to Rob. "Your usual table awaits." He turned toward the dining area.
Hans asked if he could take Rom's jacket. When she agreed, he helped her remove it and hung it on a nearby hat rack. Rob pulled out Romonica's chair for her, and she sat while looking around the room.
The place had an old-fashioned tavern feel to it. The tables and chairs were made of a heavy wood decorated with carved scenes of European farm life.
"Oh, this is delightful. I never even suspected we had such a nice place in this berg." Romonica said.
"Like I said, the nice places are always secluded." Rob said.
Hans launched into the list of the daily specialty dishes. They were mostly traditional German fare, with some French and English dishes as well.
Romonica asked Hans about one of the dishes, a peasant's meat pie, and got caught up in a conversation with him about the dish's history and modifications Hans' chef had made to it. She turned to Rob and saw he was staring at her slightly slack-jawed.
"What?" She asked.
"You speak German?" He marveled sounding pleasantly surprised.
Rom hadn't noticed she had lapsed into another language.
"She does, and quite well, I might add." Hans commented while filling their water glasses. "I shall return with some wine and bread in a moment." He went to the kitchen.
"So, what other wonders do you have hidden away in that brain of yours?" Rob inquired, obviously enchanted.
Rom shrugged, and took a drink of her water. "You don't really want me to ruin the mystery, do you?" She flirted as she set her glass down.
Hans returned with the promised bread and a bottle of wine.
"This bottle contains a fine wine from the vine fields of a cousin of mine. I offer it as a gift to the lady whose fine use of my native tongue has rendered me homesick today."
Rom blushed and smiled.
Hans made a show of opening the bottle, offering the cork to Rob who nodded his approval at the bouquet. He poured some wine into three glasses. He took one, raised it up and said in German "Long life, good roads, better friends!"
Rom and Rob took a glass each. Rom raised hers, and said in German "To our future!"
Rob Raised his glass to theirs, and said "To taking classes in German next summer!"
Rom and Hans chuckled. They touched the rims of their glasses with a slight clink, and drank. The wine was very good.
"Now, what can we make for you two tonight?" Hans asked as he refilled their glasses.
Rom ordered the peasant's pie she had asked about, with salad greens. Rob ordered stuffed beef chops and spiced potatoes.
Hans returned to the kitchens.
As they waited for the meal to be prepared, they started into conversation. As they learned about each other, Rom found herself occasionally reaching over and stroking the fingers of his left hand. She was amazed at the level of attraction she felt for him, and she wondered if he felt the similarly for her. Some latent masculinity within her was a little uncomfortable with the situation, however, and she would get a little sidetracked.
She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. She had liked kissing when she was a male, and she didn't see why it should be all that different just because of a gender change. She definitely felt a physical attraction to him, and that vestigial manhood was bothered by it. She was going to have to get over it if she wanted a long-term relationship with anyone.
Rob was a charming man. He was quick witted and humorous, effortlessly keeping the conversation both lighthearted and interesting. He dove into any subject she cared to bring up, impressing her with his broad knowledge and willingness to admit ignorance.
They discovered they both liked to learn. Their heads were full of interesting if useless information. They both liked motorcycles, and Rob owned a BMW touring bike. They discussed a ride into the countryside.
Rob had Hans bring them a dessert of sweet berries in cream, which they shared.
Rob paid for the meal with a cash card. "See?" He said, waving the card in the air. "Credit cards are dead. And not a moment too soon."
Romonica smiled at his comment.
"It was self defense, they tried to kill us first." She said, being silly.
They rose from their seats and headed toward the door.
Hans stopped them in the anteroom.
"I hope your dinner met your expectations." Hans said, looking at Rom.
"No." Rom said.
Hans looked shocked.
"Dinner far exceeded any reasonable expectations I may have had, as did the service and atmosphere of this heavenly establishment. You, sir, are an angel and your restaurant a part of paradise." Rom said, gushing.
Hans looked relived and uplifted by the compliments. He shook both Rom's and Rob's hands and invited them back, and bidding them good-bye, he headed to another customer's summons.
"That was a lovely dinner." Rom said. "I liked the place and I liked the food, but I liked the company the best."
Rob unlocked and opened the passenger door. "I'd have to say you were the one who made this evening rewarding." He complimented as she entered the car. "Has any one ever told you that you're incredibly smart?"
Rom flushed. "Honestly, no. Never." She said, almost to quiet to be heard.
Rob looked her in the eye. "You are incredibly smart."
The drive back to Rom's apartment was quiet but comfortably so. They exchanged glances and smiles now and again, as they mused over the evening.
Rob parked the car near the apartment, and came around to again find she was already out of the car.
He walked her to her door, and the traditional first date uncomfortable parting began.
"This was a enjoyable evening." He said.
"It was." She answered. "How about we do this again?" She offered.
"I was thinking the same thing." He said.
They stared at the floor for a moment.
"Well. Good night." He said, and began to turn toward the stairs.
Rom made a decision, and put her hand on his shoulder. He stopped and faced her. She leaned down and gave him a quick kiss.
"Thanks for a wonderful evening, Robert." She whispered to him.
He smiled, and she went into the apartment, waving a good-bye before closing the door gently.
Romonica rode toward the local supermarket enjoying the Saturday afternoon sun. She thought about Rob, who she had started to date regularly – almost every other night – for the past three weeks.
As she turned a corner, she spotted a familiar blue Caprice parked behind a white Caprice across from one of the local consumer electronics stores. Approaching the cars was Rob and an oriental man who gesticulated spiritedly. Romonica decided to stop and say hello, so she made a U-turn and parked behind the Caprice.
As she shut off her engine, she waved at Rob, who brightened, waved and headed toward her. The other man looked annoyed, and followed.
"Hello there, Rom!" He greeted her enthusiastically as she took off her helmet.
"Hey Rob." She returned, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "What're you up to?"
Rob pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Minor burglary, we've just done the preliminary." He looked over his shoulder to the other man. "Hey, Jim. Meet Romonica Wren."
Jim nodded curtly.
"Rom, meet my partner, Detective Jim Wong. Please pardon his boisterous greeting, he just loves to meet new people." Rob said sarcastically.
Romonica waved at Jim. "Hi Jim."
When he didn't respond, she said "Hi Mr. Wong?"
His continued silence prompted a "Yoo hoo – Detective Wong!"
The detective stared glacially.
"Deaf and dumb, is he?" Rom asked Rob.
Rob looked back at his partner with a wry smile, then said to himself "Nah, that's too easy."
Romonica chuckled, having a good idea what Rob was probably thinking.
"Want to go see a movie tonight?" Rom asked.
"I'd love to, but I'm flat broke."
"My treat, then." Rom offered.
"Well, if you put it that way…" Rob teased, affirming.
"Robert, do you mind if we actually get some work done today? We don't have time for chatting with biker chicks." Jim asked with a sour look on his face, interrupting.
Rob looked back at his partner, surprised at his incivility.
"Disagreeable little fellow, isn't he." Rom commented.
Rob looked back to Romonica, about to apologize for his partner - again.
"Shut your mouth, Amazon girl." Jim snapped at her, his voice acid.
"Stop!" Rob said, pointing to his partner, raw anger on his face. "I don't know what the hell has gotten into you, but you're acting extraordinarily unprofessional and treating my girlfriend poorly. Just shut your trap." He said, enraged.
Jim snorted and got into the white Caprice. Rom brightened at being called ‘girlfriend'.
"Sorry. I don't know what that's about." Rob apologized.
"Girlfriend, huh?" Rom asked, a hopeful smile on her face.
Rob smiled, "Well, it's true, isn't it?"
Rom replied by wiggling her eyebrows and smiling broadly. "I'd like to think so."
"Hey, my idea light has come on. Today's a short day for me. I'll be off work as soon as I write this report out. How about we make that movie a matinee? I could pick you up around three thirty or so."
"Do I get to keep you for the rest of the evening?"
"Sure." Rob said, smiling.
"Deal." Rom started up her Harley. She reached over and brought his face to hers and gave him a vigorous kiss. Putting her helmet on, she noticed Jim was watching them though his rearview mirror, shaking his head.
She rolled her eyes, then waved at Rob and took off down the street.
Romonica walked into the apartment, and hung her jacket over the back of a kitchen chair. She wandered over to the living room, ready to wait the ten or so minutes for Rob to arrive.
Rachel came in from the back rooms holding a piece of paper. "Hi Rom." She said, smiling.
"Hey Rachel. Guess who I met today."
"Who?"
"Detective Jim ‘F. E.' Wong. Your descriptions of him did him no justice. He's more a gargantuan prick than he is merely an asshole."
Rachel laughed. "What's the ‘F. E.' for?"
"Fuck everybody." Rom joked.
Rachel guffawed.
She looked at the paper she was carrying and handed it to Romonica.
"What's this?"
"Freedom." Rachel replied.
Rom read the first few lines, then put the paper down and stood up to hug Rachel.
"Congratulations, Miss Rachel Leiberman, recent divorcee!" Rom enthused.
Rachel and Rom exploded into a gleeful dance and some excited squealing. They celebrated with a small bottle of champagne Rachel had bought for this occasion. Romonica was amazed at how much relief she felt seeing the final divorce. She honestly felt elated for Rachel and she hoped Rachel would go out and find a fellow who would treat her better than her previous persona had.
When Rob knocked on the front door, Romonica dragged him in and told him the good news. He led them in a toast to the future, impressing Rom by using the German salutation she had used at The Laughing Unicorn.
Instead of going to a movie, the three sat on the apartment's back porch overlooking the park and talked about new plans, hope, and dating well past nightfall.
Romonica woke slowly feeling content with her world. She found herself on the couch, with a blanket over her she didn't remember getting. Sitting up, a faint snoring brought her attention to the sleeping form of Robert Wallace in the lounger chair. He, too, had a blanket over him. Goofus and Doofus were asleep on the back of the sofa. Rachel was nowhere to be seen, and Romonica assumed she had been wise enough to sleep in her own bed.
Being Sunday, she decided to let Robert sleep. She went to her room and fetched a new set of clothes, then went to the bathroom and readied herself for a new day. When she returned to the living room, Robert was still asleep. Rom decided to wake him up in the friendliest and gentlest way she knew how. Rom quietly started a pot of coffee brewing, then sat in a kitchen chair and waited for the aroma to catch up with the slumbering population of the house. She heard Rachel start her morning exercise routine a few moments later.
Rom fetched the newspaper, returned to the kitchen table and began to read. Goofus and Doofus ate breakfast.
Soon, Rachel emerged on tiptoe, also trying not to wake the detective. She waved a good-morning to Romonica and helped herself to a cup of Java. Rachel picked up a discarded section of the paper for herself.
Once they had exhausted the paper, Romonica looked over at Robert and shook her head.
"At this rate he'll be up in time for dinner – on Monday." She whispered to Rachel.
Rachel filled another cup with coffee and handed it to Romonica, motioning toward Robert. Romonica went over to Rob and swayed the cup under his nose a few times, eliciting a few mumbles and a squirm.
Rom looked at Rachel with a smile. Romonica dipped the tip of her finger in the Coffee and placed a drop of the brew onto Rob's lips. He licked the droplet off and his eyes fluttered, finally focusing on Romonica.
"Well, Hi there." He said.
"Good morning, sleepy. Have some coffee?" She said, offering him the cup. With thanks, he accepted the cup and took a drink, scooting to the edge of his seat.
Rob spotted Rachel. "Good morning, Miss Leiberman." He greeted.
"Morning Detective."
"Rob, miss, call me Rob." He said.
"Call me Rachel, or ‘Your Highness'. Whichever you're comfortable with." She joked.
"‘Your Highness' it is, then." Rob said, raising his cup in salute and taking another drink.
"He's even funny in the morning." Rachel said to Romonica, looking amused.
"What time is it?" He asked.
"About half past nine." Rom answered.
"Oh, damn. I was supposed to meet Jim at eight."
"Jeez, don't you get a day off?" Rom asked.
"I vaguely remember the concept." He said, waving his hand in the air in a nebulous gesture. "We were going to try and catch up on some paperwork. No big deal, but he's going to be ticked off."
Rom sat on the sofa beside him. "And that's different from his usual emotional state in what way?"
Rob laughed, almost spilling his coffee.
"Point taken." He replied.
"What is that boy's attitude about?" Rachel asked. "He treated me like I still had blood on my hands when he grilled me."
"Jim has forgotten who we work for." Rob explained. "He's the type who thinks of everyone as a potential criminal first and citizen second. He gets on everyone's nerves at the department."
Rachel shook her head. "Pretty sad." She mused.
"Screw Wong." Rom said. "Let's talk about spending our time today frivolously."
Rachel had wanted to go window-shopping. To Romonica's surprise, Rob hopped on the idea with some gusto, suggesting an arts and farmer's market just outside of town. The idea appealed to everyone, and Rob asked if he could use the shower, explaining that he carried an extra set of clothes with him in his car. Handing the keys to Rom, he asked if she'd be nice enough to go get them while he tried to fully wake up. Rom was happy to do so, and headed out the door while Rob and Rachel started talking about her latest painting.
Rom opened the trunk of the Caprice and immediately spotted the bag Robert had described. She stopped for a moment and looked at the shotgun and M-15 rifle, which were on a rack mounted to the back of the trunk. There was a body-armor vest, a ballistic helmet and a few teargas grenades as well. She hadn't considered the potentially violent side of his profession before. She hoped to herself that those weapons would only be removed from their mounts for cleaning.
She returned to the apartment and tossed the bag at Rob, who thanked her and headed for the bathroom.
"Fresh towels are in the closed immediately to your right." Rom said. He opened the door and extracted a couple of towels, then resumed his trek to the back.
Romonica cleaned the coffee cups while talking with Rachel about one of the articles in that day's newspaper.
When Rob returned he was cleaned but not freshly shaven. Rom saw him for the first time without his blazer on, discovering he wore a shoulder holster with an ominous looking black gun in it. His profession again reminding her of it's darker side.
"Rob? Could you hide that thing, please?" Rachel said, indicating his gun.
Rob looked confused for a second, then understood. "Oh, sorry about that." He said, putting on his blazer to cover the weapon.
"Anyone for breakfast? I burn a mean pancake." He offered
"Goodness, burnt pancakes. Tempting, but no - thanks. Just toast for me." Rom said.
"I just want my Choco-Puffs." Rachel said, fetching down a bowl.
"Want some eggs?" Rom asked while she had the fridge open to get her margarine.
"Please."
They prepared their meals quickly and sat about the table discussing what they liked in art.
Rom pushed her hand truck into the receiving room at Welcorp Electronics. John greeted her as she entered.
"Hey, it's my favorite murder suspect, Romonica!"
"Hey John. Welcome back from vacation."
"Ah yes, two weeks of scorching in the sun with my pasty white skin. Want to see my tan?"
"Tan? What tan?" Rom said, looking incredulous.
"Yeah, I have it in a jar under the counter."
"Ugh. You are a sick, sick man, John. No wonder I like you."
John beamed. Rom began to unload packages onto the counter.
"While I was sitting on the beach increasing my chances of a terminal melanoma, a thought occurred to me." He said.
"Poor, lonely thought." Romonica gibed.
Ignoring the gibe, John continued. "You never told me how that date went."
Rom cocked an eyebrow at him. "Why were you wasting your time thinking about me during your vacation? I was under the impression the point was to not think about work."
"I'm a 23 year old virginal university student with a high IQ and geek appearance who gets to talk on a nearly daily basis with a six-foot-four absolute knockout of a woman without having to shut off my brain. Work it out." He replied, serious. "Now, how did your date with the cop go?"
Rom was mildly surprised at the confession, and flattered by it. She had suspected he was a student, and the high IQ was obvious. He was far too smart to be a receiving clerk. The job must strictly be to pay for university classes. She was a little worried that he might be hurt when she told him about her relationship with Robert.
"Well, let me put it this way. Rob and I have dated a great deal since."
John smiled. "Excellent!" He paused for a moment, then smiled that impish smile of his. "Did you bring those pictures?"
Rom swatted his arm as was their custom, and they both chuckled. John signed for the delivery.
"Rom."
Dark clouds flowed around the room. Romonica felt like she was floating.
"Romonica."
Rom settled to the ground, and sat on a barstool. A dark figure approached her.
"Romonica Wren" The figure said.
"Who are you?" Rom asked.
"I am you." The figure said. A spotlight came on, illuminating the floor before figure.
"How can you be me if I'm still me?" Rom asked.
The figure stepped into the light.
"Mark. What are you doing here?" Rom asked.
"I never left. We have to talk."
"About what?"
"You've been kissing a guy, Romonica. I'm not supposed to be doing that. I'm straight, remember?" Mark said.
"But I'm a girl now."
"Are you? Look." He said, and hauled his pants down. "I still have my dick."
"No, that's changed. I remember the pain of the change. I'm a woman now."
"That doesn't happen. Let's go back." He said, approaching her, his clothes evaporating.
"There's no way back." Rom said, hugging the nude figure of Mark.
"I didn't want this." Mark said, angry.
"Yes you did." Romonica said in comforting tones. "You accepted it too quickly not to want it."
"No, not like this. It's not right. Guys don't want to be girls."
"You know that's just society conditioning you to stay in a gender role. I read about that several years ago. Remember?"
Mark's body began to decompose.
"Then I am dead?" Mark cried.
"No! I am alive!" Romonica yelled.
"But I'm not Mark anymore."
"I am Romonica now."
Mark's penis fell to the ground, melting into the floor. His chest swelled.
"I miss Mark." He said.
"I'm friends with Rachel again. Life is interesting again. All the opportunities I passed are available again."
Mark grew in height, and his features became rounder.
"I make the same mistakes over again too often." Mark lamented.
"I can change that. I have already begun." Romonica answered.
"I want to be an engineer again." Mark said, his voice changing pitch.
"No I don't. I hated engineering."
"What do I want?" She asked herself.
Romonica looked at Romonica.
"I want to spend time with people. I want peace. I want love. I want to be around people I can respect, and to be respected for who I am."
"Can I have those things?"
"I can have whatever I work for."
"It will be Ok, won't it?" She asked, sounding frightened.
"It already is." She answered, standing alone.
Romonica kicked the practice bag and returned to her favored ready stance, her gi snapping in the air. She continued to strike at the bag as fast as she could with her feet and hands, jostling the bag in all directions with a blur of motion. She was very fast, so fast that the teachers supervising her tended to stare in awe.
She had been given several tips on form from the instructors, helping her perfect her newfound art. What she thought she was benefiting most from, however, was Master Kenji Otomo's presence. He carried himself with such quiet dignity. She held such respect for him that she was humbled in his presence, and that humility had helped quell her anger by quelling her arrogance.
Romonica finished off her exercise with a ‘roundhouse' kick. The bag settled, and Romonica moved to kneel down near the side of the room, facing its center, to meditate.
She could hear a class in the next room going though a kata, and she heard a couple of people in the garden enjoying a joke. She felt perspiration drip from her forehead onto her cheek, running down her neck. She felt her heart beating quickly, but was already slowing.
She felt someone tap her leg with a cane.
Without opening her eyes, she greeted the man. "Good afternoon, Master Otomo."
"Good afternoon, Wren." He said.
She stood, and picked up a towel.
"Please walk with me." He entreated.
He walked toward the gardens. "I have been observing you, Wren. My assistants have been talking to me about you."
Romonica flushed. "Have I done something offensive?" She asked.
Master Otomo chuckled. "Not in the least. We are impressed with you. I wish to test you."
He stopped and turned to her. "I believe that you have fully mastered your art, Wren. Master Kawai is here today. He has agreed to proctor the somewhat brief examination required by our tradition. I am willing administer the examination. I have gathered the instructors who have earned the respect of Master Kawai and myself to act as council. All that is required is your agreement."
Romonica was stunned, and stood agape.
Master Otomo wagged his finger at her. "Do not take this lightly. We do not offer this to someone who's training we did not supply unless they hold themselves to the highest standard. You practice almost daily. Your technique approached flawless when you arrived, and you still accepted critique and instruction. These are the hallmarks of a true Master."
He paused, and let the words sink in.
"Wren, do you accept this challenge?"
Bowing deeply, she found herself saying "Yes, Master Otomo." surprising herself.
"Excellent. You have made me smile, Wren." The old Master looked at his watch. "In a half hours time we will start. The large practice room is already being prepared. Tradition requires that you meditate from now until the test begins. Please go to the center of the room and begin." He said.
Romonica bowed again and went to the indicated spot, kneeled and tried to calm herself.
Sitting on her ankles with her hands on her thighs and closing her eyes, she asked herself why she had agreed to the test. It was her body that knew the art, not her self. She decided that she would probably not pass the test, and therefore it wasn't worth worrying about. She decided to do her best so that Master Otomo would not be too disappointed in her.
She relaxed, and stilled her mind.
"Romonica Wren!" An unfamiliar voice called.
"Hai!" She said, opening her eyes.
Master Otomo was kneeling before her. He wore his Master's gi, which was a work of art. It had his seal on the back, and a beautiful depiction of bamboo stalks embroidered on the left front. Behind him, near the edge of the room and unfamiliar man was kneeling. He wore the same sort of gi Master Otomo was wearing, so he must be Master Kawai.
Out of the corner of her left eye, she could see about fifteen other people in instructor's gis. Some she knew from this dojo, others she didn't know. She knew they were the council.
Several students stood on the right side of the room to watch.
Master Kawai spoke: "Stand."
Romonica and Master Otomo stood.
"Begin!" Master Kawai commanded.
Otomo and Wren flowed into similar stances. They began to orbit each other. Otomo constantly shifted stances, occasionally striking to her left or right.
Romonica tried to stay ready, but was unwilling to strike first.
After a few minutes, Master Kawai barked "Pass?"
The council replied "Yes!" in unison.
Master Kawai then barked. "Begin!"
Otomo launched a vicious attack on Romonica. She had to move as fast as she could to keep his blows off her. She was hesitant to return any blows, so stayed on the defensive.
Master Kawai yelled, "Stop!"
Otomo moved away, and stood. Romonica mirrored her teacher.
Master Kawai asked the council "Pass?"
The council replied "Yes!" in unison.
Master Otomo spoke. "It is the most laudable goal for a teacher that his student becomes a greater master than himself. Wren, you must bring me to the floor or I must bring you to the floor."
"Yes, Master Otomo." Romonica replied, bowing.
"Begin!" Master Kawai ordered.
Otomo and Wren glided back into their ready positions. Otomo moved toward Wren.
Wren jerked toward Otomo, then retreated to a low crouch as Otomo's fist whipped over her head. She grabbed his ankle and used her strength to pull it out from under him. He fell on his back with a resonant thud.
She let go of his ankle. Then retreated several paces.
Otomo stood and bowed, with a satisfied smile on his face.
"Pass?" Master Kawai said.
The council replied "Yes!" in unison.
The council and the two masters kowtowed once to Wren.
Master Kawai motioned to one of the students, and she left the room.
Master Kawai rose. He and Master Otomo moved to stand before Romonica.
The student returned with a gi of the same style as the two Masters wore.
Master Otomo took the uniform, and handed it to Romonica.
"Thank you, Master Romonica Wren. You have brought our tradition honor."
She accepted the uniform, stunned that she had actually passed the tests. She bowed.
The council members rose and began to talk with each other.
Master Kawai smiled, "Master Wren. I have heard a great deal about you. I see that, for once, Master Otomo did not exaggerate the competence of his student." Master Kawai elbowed Master Otomo, literally ribbing him.
"Thank you, Master Kawai." She said, still not fully accepting that she had passed.
"Please go change into your new uniform, Master Wren. After a brief sake ceremony, which is really more a show for the waiting students in the gardens, I wish to speak with you about an offer." Master Otomo said.
Romonica nodded and headed to the changing rooms.
When she returned, a student led her to the waiting ceremony. About eighty students were there of all levels and ages.
The ceremony was simple. The two old Masters shared a small cup of sake with the new Master then presented her to the students. The students bowed to her, and she returned the courtesy.
Then it turned into a little party. There was a table of sweets and snack foods and a bowl of punch. Master Kawai mingled with the students, telling jokes and talking shop.
Master Otomo waited for Romonica to get herself a cookie, then approached her.
"You look a little incredulous." He said.
"In all honesty, Master, this is all so sudden."
"First, you may call me Kenji now, unless we're in front of students, then we both refer to each other as ‘Master'. Second, the test is always given to the candidate without warning. That is part of the point. So, start believing it. You have achieved the only rank our tradition has. You are a master of the art."
Rom liked that, but her skepticism remained.
"I have an offer for you. It is my hope you would be willing to teach. The advanced students are in need of polishing, and I believe you are the one who can do that."
"Me?" Rom squeaked.
"Now, I know that you need to pay your bills, so I offer you ten percent of our chain's net profit per month. I don't know the precise figures, but I am told that would amount to an average of five thousand dollars per month. As I do with the other Masters of our tradition, I will contract with you so that you have a floor of two thousand and a ceiling of the full ten-percent of the net. We also offer health insurance benefits." Kenji smiled and put his arm around her shoulders.
"And if you don't have greed enough to make you want the job, allow me to appeal to your will to learn. I would be teaching you our traditions. I know you already speak, read and write Japanese, but would you want to learn the more esoteric art of calligraphy?"
"I think I'm going to faint." Rom answered.
Kenji chuckled. "No need to answer now. The offer will remain open indefinitely."
Romonica wanted the job. This place felt right. The people felt right. She was herself here, and she liked herself when she was here.
"I would love to teach." She said.
"Excellent!" Kenji smiled.
"I will need your guidance, though. I've never taught anything before."
"As I expected. Do not worry. All of the instructors and I will help you. We will work out the details later."
Rom smiled. "This is perfect."
They returned to the little party, and celebrated.
Romonica entered the apartment, holding her new uniform over one arm. Rachel was sitting on the sofa, watching the television. She turned it off when Romonica came in.
"Hey Rom. Late practice?" She said, then eyed the new uniform. "Wow, that's nice."
"Rachel, something really neat and very unexpected happened to me today at the dojo."
"Oh? What?" Rachel asked, curiosity piqued.
"Well, I was given a surprise test. It seems Master Otomo felt I had mastered my art."
"Yeah? Go on…" Rachel said, excitement entering her voice.
Romonica pointed to the back of the uniform. "That's my seal." She said briskly.
"I passed the test, and they made me a Master! The student's now call me ‘Master Wren'!" She almost yelled, her glee reaching a peak.
"Wow!" Rachel exclaimed. "A real martial arts master!"
"Master Otomo offered me a teaching position, too!" Rom said, sitting down beside Rachel.
"Did you take it?"
"Yes. That kind of scares me a little, but it excites me, too." Rom admitted. "Wow. Rachel, so much is going right!"
Rachel smiled, "My divorce is over, you get a new and exciting job and a new boyfriend, we're both completely out of debt… What more could roommates need?"
Romonica pushed her hand truck through the halls of Welcorp Electronics for the last time. She rounded the last corner before the receiving office and pushed through the swinging doors. John was standing behind the counter, arguing with a FedEx guy.
She set the hand truck by the counter and began to unload.
"Look, just sign for the thing." The FedEx guy said.
"No, it's been opened. I'm not accepting it. That's the rules, you know the rules, stop arguing with me and deal with it." John said, obviously irritated.
The FedEx fellow breathed a big sigh and left.
"How they hate it when I make them do their job." John commented. "However, I'm always happy to accept deliveries from UPS." He said, smiling at Rom.
"Well, I hope you mean that generally, because this is my last delivery, friend. I got a better job." Rom said, smiling.
"Damn. I'm sorry to hear that, and happy to hear that. If you catch my meaning." John said, gloomily.
"Hey, don't be like that. Here." She handed him a slip of paper. "That's my e-mail address. I don't want to give up our little chats either."
John perked up. He grabbed a sticky-note from under the counter and scribbled his address on one and handed it to her. "This is mine. I'm still going to miss you. You have been the only delivery person I've met here that had more than three neurons." He complimented. "So, what's the new job?"
"I'm going to be teaching advanced classes at a local dojo." She answered.
"Martial arts? Damn, Rom, is there anything you don't know how to do?" He said, laughing.
"Well, let's see…" She looked thoughtful for a few moments. "Nope. I know it all." She joshed.
John laughed. They bantered back-and-fourth for a little while, then shook hands and said their good-byes.
Romonica left the dojo, feeling a little tired after teaching rigorous classes all morning. She got on her Harley and headed toward the mall. She was going out to play for the afternoon, no classes left to teach until the next day. The new job was even more fun that she had expected, and she discovered that the same learned patience that had helped control her temper also helped make her a good teacher.
Master Otomo was becoming as much a friend as he was a mentor. His continued advice helped her adjust to her new role quickly.
Romonica turned onto one of the main arteries. Glancing into her rearview mirror, she spotted a white Caprice several car lengths behind her. She had seen it several times, always a good distance behind her.
She furled her eyebrows, remembering that Detective Wong drove a car like that. She turned down a smaller street at random. Checking her mirror again, she saw the same car turn onto the road after her. She turned in her seat and gave the car a good looking at. She could make out Detective Wong in the driver's seat.
Holding back feelings of paranoia, she decided to head back to the main road in a tight circle. If he were still behind her after that, she would know for sure that he was following her.
She stopped at the traffic light on the main road, waiting for a left-turn arrow. She peered into her rearview mirror. Six cars behind her, the white Caprice sat, it's left turn signal flashing.
The car behind her honked its horn. She hadn't noticed the arrow. Rom started into the intersection, still wary of the Caprice.
She heard tires squeal. Looking to her right, she saw the hood of a red Mustang careening toward her. There was nowhere to go. The Mustang struck her Harley on the front tire, the bumper just missing her leg. The force of the blow knocked her into the air, her body bouncing on the hood of the red Mustang. She had just enough time to roll herself into a ball, hoping her jacket and boots would take the brunt of the slide she was about to experience. For the next few seconds, she held her eyes closed.
The world was still again. She opened her eyes. Her helmet's face shield was badly scratched and cracked. She moved slowly, worried about broken bones. Her right knee only slightly hurt. She sat up, removed her helmet, and inspected herself. The pants leg on her right side was torn from below the hip to above her boot, the skin beneath was scratched, with a few small spots of ‘road rash' and a couple of minor lacerations were bleeding slowly. Her jacket's right arm was ground thin, obviously having taken the brunt of the slide. She stood, discovering that her right knee hurt slightly when she put her weight on it, but there were no obvious signs of injury, so she didn't worry about it much.
She turned to see what had happened to the other car. She saw her Harley, badly damaged in the middle of the road. On the other side, in oncoming traffic, the red mustang had struck a minivan before it stopped.
Traffic was at a stop, so she limped across to see how the occupants of the minivan were, stopping to get her first-aid kit out of the saddlebag on her bike. She found the driver, a small woman, dazed and confused in the front seat, the car's airbag sagging from the steering wheel. Looking into the back, two young children, a boy and a girl, cried with fear in their seats, their car seats having saved them from significant injury.
"Ma'am? Are you OK?" Rom said.
The woman looked at her. "Weren't you on the motorcycle?" She asked.
"Yes." Rom answered.
"Wow. I thought you would be dead." She said bluntly. "He hit you so hard. I don't… hey." She looked up, her mind clearing. "He hit me! My kids!"
The woman quickly removed her seatbelt. Romonica went around to the sliding door of the van and opened it, concerned for the children as well. The children hugged their mother, sobbing from fear.
Rom decided the woman was best suited to handle her kids, and headed over to see how the driver of the Mustang had faired. In the intersection, the white Caprice was parked, a magnetic red light flashing on its roof. Jim Wong directed traffic.
The boy in the mustang looked familiar, and the deep dent in his door let Rom know she had encountered this boy's poor driving before. The car's airbags hung from the dash and steering wheel. The boy was unconscious - blood trickled from his nose and a large gash on his forehead. Rom checked to make sure he was breathing, and to see if his heart was beating – making sure she didn't jostle him for fear his neck was injured. She noticed a clear liquid seeping slowly out of his left ear.
She heard sirens in the background.
Rom used several bandages from her kit on the boy's forehead wound, to stop the bleeding.
"Are you OK?" A man said from behind her. "Should you be up? He really nailed you."
"I'm fine." Rom said. "I don't think he is." She said; noting his heart rate was slowing.
She looked to the intersection, and ambulance had arrived and the paramedics were disembarking.
"Hey!" She called to the medics. "This one's unconscious, bleeding from the nose, has some clear liquid coming from his ear and his heart is slowing."
One of the paramedics rushed over and began to take the boy's vital signs.
Romonica limped over to the median and sat, knowing she would only be in the way now that the professionals were on the scene.
"Did you see the accident?" Rom asked the man who had talked to her, who was standing by her looking unsure what to do next.
"Yeah, I was the one who honked at you when you didn't see the light change." He looked guilty. "I didn't mean to force you into the intersection."
"Not your fault." She pointed at the red Mustang. "It was his fault."
"Yeah." The man said, still sounding guilty.
The paramedic who had gone to check on the woman and her kids walked up to Romonica.
"You were on the motorcycle?" He asked, setting down the case and backboard he was carrying.
"Yeah. Lucky me, huh?" She said.
He opened the case and pulled out a neck brace and began to put it on Romonica, who drew back.
"Hey, I'm fine!"
The paramedic looked her in the eye. "Miss, you may have injuries that aren't obvious. Even if you were wearing a helmet, you neck might be hurt. I strongly urge you to let me stabilize you and take you to the hospital."
Rom noticed his intensity. "Ok." She said, feeling a little frightened all of a sudden.
The paramedic put the collar on her. He helped her take the leather jacket off, making sure she didn't move her arms more than was necessary. He then had her lie down on the backboard, with his careful help. He strapped her to it.
Out of the corner of her vision, she saw a second ambulance pull up beside them.
A man took a picture of her, concentrating his attentions on her right side.
"Hey!" she exclaimed.
"Don't worry, miss! I'm going to give these to the cops, to help you get your due insurance payment. Your jacket's going to be expensive to replace." The man said.
"Oh, okay then, thanks." She said, and the paramedic shooed the man away.
"Damn cops can't keep the rubbernecks off a scene anymore." The paramedic mumbled to himself.
The paramedics lifted her onto a gurney and headed for the first ambulance.
"How's the boy in the Mustang?" She asked.
"I don't know, I've been concentrating on taking care of you." The paramedic said. "Don't worry about him, we'll take care of him." He said in a reassuring tone.
"How about the woman and the kids in the minivan?" She asked. "You saw them, right?"
"They're fine. Airbags and child seats can be pretty cool things." He said, smiling.
They loaded her into the back, and began taking vital signs again.
A familiar face came into her field of vision.
"Hey Rom. How are you doing?" Robert asked, taking her hand.
"Rob! Hey. What's a nice guy like you doing in an ambulance like this?" She joked.
"What happened?" He asked, a worried look on his face.
"I got bumped by a idiot in a Mustang. Why was your partner following me today?" She asked, remembering why she had been so distracted.
"What?" Robert was furious.
"Woah! Let's deal with this a little later." She said, not wanting to deal with his anger or Wong's idiocy while strapped to a board.
"Detective, we have to go, do you want to ride along?" The paramedic asked.
"Can't." He replied to the paramedic.
"I'll meet you at the hospital in little while. I need to get my watch officer, Jim was supposed to be somewhere else today. I can't let him get away with this." He said to Romonica. He gave her a quick kiss, then headed to his car, closing the ambulance doors on his way.
Rom was sitting by an exam table in the emergency room. She was drinking from a cup of water, waiting to be released by the extremely busy staff. Her doctors had been amazed at her lack of injuries, given the description of the accident from the paramedics. Her minor wounds were bound, and her torn pants leg was held together by several strips of gauze that a nurse had been kind enough to give her. The doctor had put a stretch bandage brace around her knee, saying that it would probably be fully healed in a week or two.
An officer in uniform was interviewing her about the accident. He gave her a copy of the report and his card. As he left, Robert and a mustached man she didn't know approached. She waved, happy to see him.
"Hey Rom. This is Captain Al Roybal. He's my boss and the watch commander today."
Rom shook the man's hand. "Hi."
"Nice to finally meet you, after hearing about you daily from Rob here." He said, pointing a thumb at Robert.
Romonica flushed a little, looking at Rob, who smiled a stately smile.
"He's going to ask you a couple of questions. I can't be here for it since there would be an ethics problem if I stayed. I'll come back to see you after Al's done, Ok?"
Romonica nodded, taking his hand. She tugged him down to her and gave him a kiss. "Thanks for showing up at the scene. Made me feel better." She cooed into his ear.
He smiled at her, then they kissed her again. He turned and headed for the waiting area.
The captain pulled a stool around the exam table and sat, pulling out a notepad from his blazer.
"Rob tells me that you think Detective Wong was following you today." He started.
"Yeah. When I left the dojo today, I spotted a white Caprice like the one he drives some distance behind me. When the car was still there after several miles, I tried to drive in a circle to make sure I wasn't just being paranoid. I was about to complete the circle when I got into the accident. He was immediately there, directing traffic afterward."
"I see." He said, franticly writing on his notepad.
"Did you actually see him driving?" He inquired.
"Yes. On the street before I turned to look directly at him, and I could see him though the windshield."
"So, you would not have been crossing that intersection if he hadn't been behind you?"
"I would have been crossing it from the main road, not the side road. I was on my way to the mall."
"Ok." He said, writing more on the notepad. "Now, it was Detective Wallace who interviewed you on the Mills case, right?"
"Yes."
"When did you meet Detective Wong, then?"
"I saw Robert on the street some weeks after, and I stopped to say hi. Wong was with him. I think they were investigating a burglary of the electronics store downtown." She said.
"Ok. I don't think I need to keep you two lovebirds apart any longer." He said, smiling. "Thanks for the information, chances are someone will be contacting you about this matter in the near future." He informed her.
"Wong's in trouble, isn't he?" She asked.
"I can't say. These internal investigations are touchy, so I don't talk about them even to those involved."
Rom nodded her understanding, and stood up to shake his hand.
He looked up at her. "Yow." He quietly exclaimed at her height. Regaining his composure, he took her offered hand and said his goodbye.
Robert returned shortly after the Captain left.
She hugged him, inexplicably feeling better about all the unpleasant events with him around.
The nurse who had given her the gauze approached, carrying a clipboard.
"Ok, dear. Sign here and get your life back." She said, offering the clipboard and a pen to Romonica.
Rom signed the promissory note, hoping the boy had the insurance to cover the expense.
"Thank you. And thank you for being the first motorcycle accident victim we've had in months who was smart enough to be wearing a helmet and leather." She said, smiling and patting the worn leather spot on Rom's jacket.
"Rob, can you give me a ride home? My motorcycle isn't feeling well today." She appealed, joking about her bike.
"Sure." He answered.
They walked out, his arm around her waist, hers around his shoulders.
Rom was curled up on the sofa, reading the letter from the boy's auto insurance company. The man who had been taking pictures at the accident had come though with his promise to give the police his photographs and several witnesses had come forward. The insurance company was cornered, and was paying everything, almost without question.
The boy's parents were afraid of a lawsuit and apparently, they were quite wealthy. Romonica found out the boy was the son of the owner of Welcorp Electronics, and the boy had probably opened them up to gold digging before. Their lawyer had offered to settle with her before she had suggested a complaint, and an attractive fifteen-thousand-dollar offer it was.
She had thought it over in a few minutes, and decided that she would accept the offer so that she could replace her jacket and pants easily, and to increase her cash reserves against any future monetary dry spells. Why go through all that fear without some reward, she reasoned.
The lawyer had seemed surprised that she accepted the money. He probably expected her to join the ranks of the gold-diggers. Odd thing is, she felt as if she had.
The boy was recovering from his injuries. His airbag had not deployed correctly, and he had struck the steering wheel with his head, giving himself a very severe concussion. The quick response of the paramedics and the expert care by the hospital – and a bit of good luck – meant he got to live though his headache under the care of a good hospital for a few weeks.
Robert had found out that the boy was always dancing on the edge of having his license revoked. He had a list of moving violations that, as Rob had put it, would give you a hernia to lift. The accident would probably be all a judge would need to permanently revoke his driving privileges, though his family would probably use their influence to avoid that.
Her Harley was being repaired, and she knew it was being well cared for. She had talked the insurance company into letting her get it fixed at a real Harley-Davidson approved shop. When she had it brought in to the shop, the mechanic had actually cried when he saw the damage. She could probably stop relying on the busses and bumming rides off of Rachel in another week.
She had taken her jacket to the leather shop right away. Linda was impressed with the damage, but noted that it had effected only the sleeve, so it could be replaced. The rest of the damage was just little dings and scrapes, which she said she would polish out. Linda had it back in Rom's hands in just a week and two days, looking like it had the day Romonica bought it.
That had brought back memories.
Romonica rode her well-repaired Harley up to Robert's small house. It was a nice little place, with big trees around it. It had a sort of old farmhouse feel to it. Parking her bike, she dismounted, and removed her helmet.
She gathered up her courage. He had been extra wonderful to her after the accident, acting honestly concerned for her well being. It had done a lot for her attraction to him, and tonight she wanted to share a little something special with him.
It was mildly difficult. She had believed that she was fully settled into being a woman, but it was obviously going to take far more than a few months to totally rid herself of some male reactions. That vestigial Mark-ness was in a full panic over the idea of sex with a male.
She also needed the courage because she was just a little worried that he might reject her. He had never asked or hinted at sex before – at least in no way she had recognized. She wondered if he was interested in that level of relationship.
She walked to the door, took a deep breath and knocked.
The door opened, and Robert smiled in greetings.
"Come on in." He said, motioning for her to enter.
She entered, giving him a quick kiss on the way by. The house was simply decorated, with a definite bias for comfort rather than style, giving it a cozy atmosphere that appealed to Rom.
He took her helmet and jacket and put them away in a closet by the front door.
A wonderful smell came from the kitchen. The lights were minimal, giving the room a gentle light. A beautiful painting of a forest stream at midnight with the moon reflecting in the water was over the mantle. Wine and cheese waited on a simple coffee table, in front of a quiet fire. The sofa looked like a giant cloth covered marshmallow.
"This is nice." She told Robert.
"Thanks. Have a seat, dinner will be ready in a few minutes." He said, motioning to the sofa.
She sat, studying the artwork.
"I love that painting."
From the kitchen, he replied. "Isn't it great? My sister painted that."
"I didn't know you had a sister."
"Sorry, cop habit." He said, returning from the kitchen with a serving platter.
"I can be a little tight-lipped about my personal life. It's not healthy to let suspects get too close." He set the platter on the dining table and returned to the kitchen.
"I'm not a suspect, am I?" She asked, teasing.
"No." He replied.
He returned to the dining table with a set of plates, full of cooked vegetables.
"Ready?" He asked, motioning to the table.
She stood and walked to the table, eyeing the repast he had set out. On the large platter, slices of tender looking roast beef sat in dark natural gravy. Mashed potatoes, broccoli, and sweet corn sat on the surrounding plates. She sat and spread her napkin across her lap.
He served her from each offering then took similar servings for his plate and sat.
"This looks good." Rom said, smiling.
She cut a piece of meat, and consumed it. The flavor was superb, subtle spicing had brought out it's full potential.
"My goodness. Why didn't we do this earlier?" She complimented.
He blushed a bit. "Oh, I'm not usually this good a cook, I guess. Let's just say this meal was inspired." He said.
"Oh really." She said, beaming.
He simply shrugged and smiled lightly.
The rest of the meal Rom spent primarily enjoying the food and the company in silence. Rom went ahead and had a second helping of the meat, which seemed to give Robert a kick.
"What?" She asked.
"So, you do like it." He answered.
She gave him a questioning look. "Come on, certainly by now you know I don't hand out empty compliments."
He nodded his assent.
They finished their meal, and Romonica had offered to do the dishes. He had pooh-poohed the idea immediately, guiding her to the sofa.
"No, I can handle the dishes. I have to talk to you."
She looked at him, hope blossoming in her hart that he would be thinking similarly to herself.
She sat on the sofa. He sat a polite distance away from her.
Romonica rolled her eyes, then scooted over and squeezed up against him, putting her arm over his shoulders.
"Yeah, much more comfortable." She said.
He looked up at her, and she planted a kiss on his lips.
He looked uneasy.
"What?" She asked.
"Uh, well…" He stammered.
She stroked his cheek. "Just relax. I'm not going to take a bite out of you." She said, and kissed him by his ear. She closed her eyes and cuddled him, cheek to cheek, and cooed a little, trying to relax him.
He stood up and took a couple of steps toward the fire, sweeping his short hair back.
"What's wrong?" Romonica asked, worried.
"Well, I just… Look, I can't…" He stammered.
Rom was very confused and starting to feel rejected.
"Out with it." She said, trying not to let the hurt show.
"It's just that, well, you're so tall. When you have your arm over my shoulders, I feel like… I don't know… a girl." He said, not facing her. "And I have to look up at you, that makes me feel the same. You're so aggressive, too. I don't know – it just kind of hit me all at once last time we saw each other."
Rom felt ill. "Ok, I can keep my arm under your shoulders. I can back off a little. I mean, this isn't that big a deal, right?" She said, hopefully.
Still not turning to face her, he shrugged. "I don't know." He said, sounding ambiguous.
Rom stood silently and started for the door. Her stomach was really hurting her now, and she felt like she was ready to cry.
She stopped by the closet, her hand on the doorknob.
"Is this what the meal was for? To say goodbye?" She asked.
"Yeah." He said.
She opened the closet, pulled out her jacket and donned it. Tears were starting to run down her cheeks. She pulled out her helmet and closed the closet door.
She turned back to him. "Are you sure? Can't we work this out? Didn't this mean anything to you? Come on! This is a fucking stupid reason to dump me!" She said, her emotions starting to overwhelm her control.
He stood silently.
"God damn it, you chicken-shit! At least face me!" She yelled, stomping a boot on the floor.
He flinched, but didn't turn.
She whipped open the front door and stormed out. She put on her helmet as she headed for her bike, wiping her tears from her eyes. She mounted and started the Harley in one fluid motion and popped the kickstand. She sped up the street with a loud tire squeal, leaving a black streak on the road behind her.
Romonica stumbled into the apartment, tears flowing freely down her face. Rachel turned from her painting and gasped at the sight of Romonica's emotional state.
Romonica rushed past and went to her room. She tossed her helmet by her computer and collapsed, sitting on the floor, sobbing loudly – all shreds of restraint gone, leaving only her pain.
Rachel approached her, and tentatively put her hand on her shoulder.
"Rom? What's the matter? What can I do?"
Rom couldn't gather herself together enough to answer; she just looked up at Rachel pleadingly. Rachel sat beside her and gathered Romonica into her arms. She began to coo at Rom, trying to calm her sown.
Rom's heart was torn asunder, and she could do nothing but bawl. She held on to Rachel desperately, trying not to drift away into her suffering.
Rachel guided her up, and onto the bed. She kept stroking Rom's hair and shushing her. She knew Romonica wouldn't be able to talk about this sort of pain for some time.
Eventually Rom fell into a fatigued sleep, not having the energy left to so much as dream.
Romonica awoke to light streaming in through her windows. She was still dressed and had her jacket on. Her heart still ached, and it was all she could do not to start crying again. Goofus and Doofus were sitting on her desk, and Goofus meowed at her.
She stood and removed her jacket. She wandered out to the living room, finding Rachel at her painting.
Rachel immediately set down her brushes.
"Rom, are you Ok?" She asked, concern ridging her forehead.
"He…" Rom started, then suppressed a sob. She closed her eyes and fought for control.
"He told me I was…" Another sob slipped past her defenses.
Rachel guided her to the sofa and they sat down.
"He said I was… too tall." The words were almost obscured by hiccups of barely controlled sobs. "He said… I made him feel like… a girl."
Rachel hugged Rom, empathizing. "Jeez. Oh jeez, Rom."
Romonica's control collapsed again, and she began to weep again.
"It'll be Ok, dear." Rachel cooed.
"It hurts… so much." Romonica sobbed. "I thought I… loved him."
"I know, Rom." Rachel said, still trying to calm her.
"He just… Like I didn't… mean anything."
Romonica had been lying in bed for nearly two days when Rachel finally forced her to get up, shower and eat. Rom had never experienced emotional pain of this intensity, and was totally unprepared for it. She wondered if this meant women had stronger emotions than men did, or if she had simply never been in love before. Or perhaps it was simply that she had never been so totally and harshly rejected before.
Rachel had called Master Otomo, who came to visit and help Romonica meditate for a while. He was not surprised at her emotional state, and knew just what to say and do to help Romonica begin to deal with it. His visit was almost as much of a relief as Rachel's presence.
That evening Romonica went to the park behind their apartment and began a long and energetic series of katas. The isolation, the silence, the trees and the exercise would help her think.
Her black gi flowed with her movements. She chose moves that complimented her environment, flowing with the wind, balancing on an outcropping of rock, posing with a tree.
Her mind raced with emotions and thoughts of Robert. He had gone from someone she thought of as nearly perfect to someone who was obviously a spineless asshole in a matter of twenty-four hours.
She leaped into the air and kicked at space several times, landing gracefully.
So many possible problems had been expected when she woke up as a woman, why hadn't this one ever occurred to her? She had dumped women for stupid reasons herself, as a male in high school and college. Certainly, she knew the complete consequences now.
She performed an elaborate series of punches and blocks.
She had to decide. Did she want to force him to work out these problems? Did she want to just forget him? Both questions made her heart ache all over again.
She spun and attacked an unseen opponent.
The answer hovered just within her awareness. She didn't like it, but she forced herself to face it. She no longer trusted him with her emotions. If he had just turned around and faced her, she could have made it better. She could have at least brought it to a less painful close.
She spun again, kicked and punched an invisible adversary who was on the ground.
She recoiled into a hard ready stance with a loud "Hya!" She stopped. Crouched near one of the trees around the park an adolescent boy was watching her. He was dressed just as gang members were so often depicted. He made some sort of sign with his hands, smiling and nodding his approval at her exertions.
She stood, and bowed affably in the tradition of her arts.
He stood and started over toward her. That made her a little nervous, but she stood her ground patiently.
As he approached, he asked if she could teach him. She said she could and would, and told him where her dojo was and the costs of an introductory class. She was surprised when that satisfied him. He politely thanked her, claimed he would go to the dojo the next day, and walked deeper into the park.
She watched him go.
People are not always as they seem. Nor are they necessarily as they are represented.
Romonica was doodling on some scraps of paper on her desk. Her hair was still wet from the shower that rinsed off her long practice in the park. She was still thinking about Roger, trying to see if the boy's unintentional lesson applied. She thought about the possibility that something other than the reasons Robert gave had split them apart. She thought perhaps…
No. She chided herself for wishful thinking. He had been downright cruel about the end of their relationship. Nothing could excuse his keeping his back to her.
He hadn't wanted to talk to her. He was just kicking her out of his life and not facing the consequences.
Even when she had ended relationships for stupid reasons, she had at least faced them. She remembered that once Mark had even been slapped. The latent Mark-ness within whispered to her about men being unable to face their emotions.
She asked herself if that meant Robert should be forgiven. She couldn't answer that yet.
She reached over and had her computer check her e-mail. She heard the modem dial and connect. The computer informed her there was one letter, a note from John.
They had been carrying an e-mail conversation about nothing in particular. She wondered if she should tell him about Robert.
She typed a quick reply, something innocuous and just a little too cheery. She decided against bringing up Robert – John wasn't really that kind of friend.
She sent the mail, turned off the computer and began pacing her room. Robert's sudden change gnawed at her. It left so many unanswered questions, and she was finding herself unwilling to ask him those questions. Her frustration level began to rise, and she clenched her fists.
Height? What an idiot's reason to end a relationship. Were male egos so delicate? She tried to remember a time when she had similar problems as a male. Nothing came to mind. She raged at Robert for making her feel so horrid.
She stopped herself before she lost control. Taking off her robe, she turned off the light and crawled into bed, folding her six-foot-four frame to fit the six-foot twin bed.
Romonica was headed to the reception area in front of the dojo to wait for her next class and to chat with their receptionist - Marsha. She like to meet her students as the arrived, hoping that it made them feel like she cared about them and their progress.
At the front desk, making Marsha nervous, was the boy she had met in the park the previous day.
"Well, hi there. I'm glad to see you decided to give it a try." She said, greeting the boy.
He looked like he didn't know what do with her enthusiasm. He probably didn't see much encouragement – or so the stereotype goes.
"Yeah." He said simply.
Marsha visibly relaxed seeing Romonica actually recognize the boy.
"Which classes are you interested in, sir?" She said, adding the honorific in an attempt to keep the boy feeling respected.
"I dunno. One of the cool ones, I guess." He replied.
"What are you interested in getting out of the class?" Romonica asked.
The boy looked at the ground for a moment. "I dunno. I guess I wanna kick ass."
Romonica knew that was coming. She went behind the counter and made a show of sifting through all the papers.
"Ok, sorry. We don't seem to have a class in ass kicking." She joked.
The boy chuckled despite himself.
"However, we do have a class in learning how to defend yourself, and one class that emphasizes self-discipline. Either one would probably get you where you want to go."
The boy made a sour face. "I just wanna learn to fight, though."
"Well, that's the essence of the matter. Without discipline, you'll never be able to fight. Brawl, punch, and kick perhaps, but not fight." Romonica explained.
The boy looked confused.
"You saw me in the park. Why do you think I was doing all that? To show off?"
"Well, no. I guess not."
"No, I was practicing. I practice every day – without practice I'd get sloppy and probably end up hurting myself. Without discipline I'd never practice." She explained.
The boy looked thoughtful.
"I don't want to sound like a salesman, but discipline is incredibly rewarding. With it, you can achieve whatever you want." She said, making a sweeping motion with her hand.
Marsha handed the boy a sheet of paper. He took it, still looking thoughtful.
"Ok, how much?" He asked.
Romonica patted the boy on the shoulder, giving him a smile.
"I'll let you and Marsha get the details together. I look forward to seeing you around the dojo, and to teaching you when you get to my advanced classes." She said, looking serious.
The boy smiled and pulled out his wallet.
Romonica sat on the benches near the door and waited for her students to arrive.
The actual lesson the boy had taught her was "Remember your discipline". Romonica spent the winter months in meditation, practicing and teaching. She did very little else. Master Otomo had voiced his concern that she was spending too much time at the dojo and not enough time living her life. He relented when she described the dojo as solace and her best retreat while she healed.
It had been a wet winter. She had kept her Harley in a rented storage garage, and she had purchased a small Nissan sedan from a reputable used car lot so she could get around. It was definitely an anticlimactic way of being on the road after the Softail.
Her efforts rewarded her with a feeling of closure. The only remaining test would be meeting Robert again. That could happen at any time, at random – it was still a little scary.
Romonica Rode her Harley down the street toward home, enjoying finally being able to ride it again. Spring was in the air in every way, and the nights were finally getting warm.
She pulled into the apartment house parking lot and found a space.
As she dismounted, a man came up to her. She paid him little attention as she covered her bike against any possible mild spring rain, assuming he was just a tenant going to his car.
"Excuse me." Said a strangely familiar voice. "Romonica Wren, right?"
She turned and looked at the man.
The shock very nearly knocked her over.
Looking back at her was Mark Mills. Her old body. What used to be her body.
"Ma... Mar…"
"Mark. Yes, apparently we used to be one another." He said.
Romonica looked at him, studying him. He wore a tight tee shirt, displaying a muscular physique. His hair was full and black. The face looked young.
It was Mark, when Mark was twenty-one.
Romonica went up to Mark and spun him around. He let her. She lifted his tee shirt and located on his side the oddly shaped mole Mark had since childhood.
"Great maker…" She quietly exclaimed.
They faced each other for a few moments.
"This is a very strange feeling." He said.
As if on cue, each touched the face of the other. They drew back, embarrassed.
Romonica started with a sudden cognition. "We have to leave! You used to be married to…"
"Yes, to a Rachel. I've done my research. There's a coffee shop down the street." He pointed. "Public enough to feel safe, private enough not to risk being seen."
Romonica agreed, and they cut through the park to get there faster. They hurried silently, each forming the questions they would ask the other.
They sat at a table near the back of the dining area with their chairs close together, so they could talk quietly. They ordered a pair of simple coffees and waited for them to be served before they began talking.
"So…" The both began.
They shared a nervous laugh, and Romonica insisted that he should speak first – she wanted to know about the night of the change.
"Well, my father had just beaten the crap put of me again. The fucker held all the aces, Romonica. There was nothing I could do about leaving, my university days were over, so I couldn't hide there anymore. I was ready to die." He began.
"He had caught me sleeping with my boyfriend, you see. That body you're using right now has a little mileage on it." He said, with a knowing smile. "That always set Dad off. Damn spineless boyfriend took off and didn't even look back. My whole life took on an ugly sort of despondency. I sat out in the back yard with a razor to my wrists, and I begged God to give me some other way out of my life. I chickened out, of course. I didn't want to die. But then I got some sort of pain attack or something. When I woke up the next morning, I was male. A handsome male, too." He said, again smiling.
"That first day was hellish. I had to get clothes, sneak away from my father's property, find a place to stay… Awful."
"Do tell." Romonica said, with a wry smile.
Mark laughed. "Hey – we finally get to talk to someone who will really understand." He laughed.
"Anyway, it all improved dramatically a day later when I got a birthday present. Did you get one?"
"Yeah. Your old identity, twenty grand and a motorcycle." Rom answered.
"Cool. I got your identity, twenty thousand and a Plymouth. I love Plymouths." He said, wistfully.
"Martial artist?"
"Yep. Tough as nails body, too."
"Languages?"
"Sí. Hai. Oui. Yep."
Rom chuckled.
"What else?"
"Seems I can't get anyone pregnant. Can't get sick, either."
"That's great, isn't it? I made it through winter and didn't get a series of colds for the first time ever."
"Same here. Hey, have you tried starving yourself yet? Man, it's cool not having to eat. I hid out in the wilderness for a couple of weeks after…" He looked sad.
"Girlfriend dumped you?" Romonica asked.
He was surprised. "How'd you know?"
"Boyfriend dumped me. I had a feeling our first loves were doomed. Mine said I was too tall, and more to the point, too aggressive. I guess I was still too male to really bond with him."
"Yeah. Mine said I was too soft, whatever the hell that means."
They were silent for a moment. Romonica quickly sketched over her first days as a woman.
"Being this tall is a pain." She said.
"No shit. I thank you for being of slightly less than average height. I've never had such an easy time buying clothes. And so cheap, too."
He was thoughtful for a moment. "You know what, I never really hit depression like you did. I wonder if that's meaningful."
"Probably. I felt emasculated. I have a feeling women don't identify themselves as their gender so strongly."
"I guess. I was more curious than scared."
They contemplated for a moment.
"So, what do you do for money now?" Rom asked.
"I got me a job with Public Electric. Nice that we happened to have the same sort of degree. You?"
"I'm a teacher at a local dojo, as a Master of the art."
"Not using your degree?"
"I hated engineering. This pays almost as well, and it's a great deal more fun."
"Hey, how old were you when this happened?"
"Thirty-two. You?"
"Twenty four."
They smiled at each other.
"Now we're both twenty one, I'll bet. And born on the same day – June 25th." Rom conjectured.
"Yep. Is this the weirdest fucking thing you ever did hear of?"
"Damn near. Ever hear of the ‘Randomizer Effect'?"
"Yeah, I read about it on the Web."
They sat silent again.
"So, do you feel it?" He asked.
"Well, I think so. What feeling are you talking about?" She asked, knowing what it was.
"The attraction. The possibility of ultimate Narcissism."
Rom flushed, and fiddled with her coffee. "Yeah, actually. Is that sick?"
He chuckled. "Probably. But who the hell else ever had this sort of opportunity?"
They were silent again.
"So, you want to?" He asked, looking into his coffee.
"Yeah. I do."
They reclined in each other's arms, the bed sheets soaked with perspiration. Their night of libidinous pleasure had started out awkwardly, neither really knowing the mechanics of sexual intercourse from their new perspectives. After each patiently instructed the other, the night had become filled with pleasure and experimentation. With the sort freedom granted only to people who have no fear of disease or pregnancy, they tried everything their fantasies had ever suggested. Each knew the other's body intimately, and used that knowledge to full effect.
The sun was peaking over the horizon.
"That was extraordinary. I don't know how to begin to describe that." He gushed.
"Was that your first sexual experience as a male, outside of masturbation?" Rom asked.
"Yes. And my first sexual experience that was one hundred percent fulfilling."
"Same here. It sure is advantageous to know exactly what the other wants. And being a woman is so damn different!"
Mark chuckled. "No kidding. It's weird for me, having to recover from an orgasm." He commented.
He thought for a moment, then smiled. "Hey, how about some eats? My treat?"
"Sure" Rom said, stretching.
Mark rolled over to sit on the edge of the bed, and picked up the phone to dial room service.
"Do you mind if I order?" He said as he waited for an answer.
"Go ahead, It's all palatable." She offered. "I'm going to take a shower."
He made an OK sign at her and began to talk to an operator.
Romonica stepped into the hotel's shower. She began to wash off the results of their passions, fully immersed in a warm afterglow.
Marked popped his head in to the bathroom. "He said about fifteen minutes."
"Come on in, the water's fine." Rom discovered herself saying.
They scrubbed each other down, teasing and toying with one another, eventually climaxing again.
They toweled off, and dressed.
"So, outside of considering me a sexual goddess, do you feel anything more for me?" Rom asked.
Mark chuckled. "I knew you were going to ask that."
"Oh, how?"
"Because I was going to ask you pretty much the same thing."
"So, stop dancing around it and answer."
"Honestly, no. I mean, the attraction seems so purely physical."
"Not to insult you, but good. The sex is spectacular, and by ‘spectacular' I mean sensational and without equal. But I think that once the novelty wore off, we'd hate one another."
"I agree. We're too alike. This whole trip was just to see if my old identity lived on. I didn't expect this." He said, waving at the bed.
A knock at the door signaled the arrival of breakfast. Mark had ordered two massive breakfasts with scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon, hashed-browns, biscuits and gravy, and tall glasses of milk. It was exactly what Rom had been hoping for.
Mark paid the waiter and they sat down to eat.
"You know what, there's a consequence to this we hadn't considered." Rom started, cutting into a sausage.
"What's that?" Mark asked.
"After a night with your old self – the one who knows your body because they had lived in it – sex with anyone else is going to be sort of a bummer." Rom chortled.
Mark guffawed. "Oh shit! You're right!"
Mark and Romonica spent the day comparing notes and using the public library's internet access. They discovered that the random changes sometimes did mean two people traded bodies, but as far as they could tell, this was the first time it also involved changing genders.
They couldn't decide if their rich fantasy life had anything to do with being ‘selected' for the change. Some of those stories they found on the internet suggested that people who wanted or were otherwise ready for the change were those who were ‘randomized'. Both had wanted out of their lives pretty badly at the time.
As they left the library, Rom spotted a familiar white car. She grabbed Mark by the wrist and dragged him over to it.
"Open up, Wong, you fucker." She said rapping her knuckles on the window.
"What are you doing, Rom?" Mark asked, confused.
Wong got out of his car, one had in his jacket, presumably near his handgun.
"This is that bastard movie-cop-wannabe who's been harassing us."
"Oh-ho! Well, here, happy whatever day." Mark said to Wong as he handed him his driver's license.
"What the hell?" Wong looked confused.
"I'm not dead. Getting the urge to apologize yet?" Mark sneered at the detective.
Wong handed the license back to Mark and got back into his car, started the engine and left in a tire-squealing rush.
"I guess not." Mark said, smirking.
"That was oddly satisfying." Rom became concerned. "Mark, if Rachel hears about this, I'm going to have to say I found you and dragged your sorry ass over to Wong for her sake."
"Hey, I understand. Look, I'm not the one with an emotional attachment to Rachel or this berg, Rom. You are. I'm leaving in a few moments for parts unknown, blame whatever you like on me, I'll probably never know, much less care."
Rom considered this for a moment. She had made the mistake of thinking of this man as the same person that she used to be. This was the original Romonica, not Mark. He only looked like Mark.
Rom shrugged at him. "Of course, you're right."
"Well, I'm gone. Have a hell of a life, Romonica. Let's try and make ‘em better than our first tries."
Rachel was oddly relieved to hear about Mark's brief appearance. Knowing that Wong was finally letting the case die let both Rachel and Rom relax.
Everything returned to what now passed for normal. Rachel managed to find a nice man to start dating, one who had interests very similar to hers. He worked in a retail store in the same mall where Rachel worked, and they had met at the food court. Rom was pleased to see Rachel was becoming so happy.
The big test of Rom's satisfaction with her new life came when she entered the apartment one evening, coming home early from a movie that had broken, and heard the sounds of sex coming from Rachel's room. She wasn't jealous; she was only a little embarrassed to have discovered them.
Finally, she had seen Robert. Some of those old emotions stirred, but nothing she couldn't handle. He was with a woman, who was a good six inches shorter than he was and seemed happy to follow his every order. All the evidence said there was no way he and Romonica could have managed to remain a couple. He was straight out of a 1950s sitcom.
Watching her class go through a complex kata, Rom reflected. Life was pretty good.