Authors: Tessa Saks
He pushed it away,
replacing his napkin. “Yes, whatever you need. It’s important that you are
…
um, happy.”
“Then I’ll also need
to change a few things around the house.”
“The house?” He took
a rather large sip of wine.
“It seems
…
well, it’s classy and all, but God,
it’s so frumpy and frilly. It’s just so boring.”
“Boring?”
“Well, stuffy, you know
…
old-fashioned, like old people live
here. I was thinking about how it should look kinda cool and modern, like us. I
plan to decorate everything—”
“Whatever you want,
dear,” he said, cutting into his remaining meat.
“And I’ll need a lot
of money for all this. Do I have to ask you about every little thing? Or do I
have my own money? I would hate to run out
…
and get all upset
…
and
depressed.”
“You can have
whatever you want. Use your platinum American Express card, there’s no limit on
it. The money in the bank has always had your name on it, so that shouldn’t
cause you any worry.” He studied her for a moment. “All right? Feel better?”
“Yes, but there’s
the servant thing.”
“What servant
thing?”
“Do they go home at
night?” she asked as a sinister smile spread across her face.
“Of course not.”
“So they sleep
here?”
“Some of them.”
“Weird.” She
shrugged her shoulder. “Very, very weird.”
“Ellen? What is it?”
He set his cutlery down and glared at her with narrow eyes.
“It’s creepy. I
never thought about it before. What if we want to screw, you know
…
like on the stairs—or in the
kitchen? Do they watch us? I can’t run around naked and wild, can I?”
“Ellen!” Jonathan
stood and dropped his napkin.
“Well? What then?”
“They would—” His
face went crimson as he stood. “Well, they’d stay in their room, I suppose.”
Jonathan turned and strode out of the room without another word.
“Don’t you want
dessert?” Sam called out, but he was already too far away to hear. She could
hear him open the front door and a few minutes later a car drove away.
Aware of the
emptiness of the large dining room after the servants quickly vanished, she
stared at the crème brulee they had placed before her.
It’s just like me,
she thought.
Hard, dry, crusty on the outside but smooth, silky and
delicious on the inside.
She cracked it with her spoon and tried to
swallow.
“Honest to God, I
don’t know how you older women put up with it,” Sam called out from her fitting
room in lingerie department of Saks Fifth Avenue.
“With what?” Patty
yelled back.
“These soft mushy
bodies. It’s horrifying. All of these folds and creases. I can’t even look at
myself, let alone imagine a man getting turned on
…
God, turned off more likely!”
“Speak for yourself,
hon!” Patty shouted.
Sam pulled the
curtain open and stepped out into the dressing area as Patty relaxed in a plush
velvet chair surrounded by all of Sam’s purchases. “And just where do I put
these?” Sam laughed and reached into the bustier, trying to pull her breasts up
to make cleavage. They folded over the top and appeared to be oozing out of it.
“Better tuck that
back in,” Patty laughed. “Here.” She stood and tried to squish them back into
the bustier.
“Like stuffing bun
dough into a mail slot,” Sam said, shaking her head.
“There,” Patty said,
tapping her hands over the bustier. “Just don’t lean over.” Patty grinned as
she stepped back and admired her work.
Sam turned toward
the mirror. “With candlelight, it might just work.” Her hands ran over the
puffy cleavage. “These lace overcoats are amazing
…
hides the fat arms and the saggy ass.” She struck a pose.
Her breast popped up again. “Damn it,” she cried as she pushed it back in.
“These marshmallows are about to be lopped off in favor of silicone.”
“Good for you.” Patty
clapped. “I can’t believe the change in you. It’s remarkable.”
“Just wait. A bit of
nipping and tucking.” Sam turned and faced her. “Okay. A lot of nip and tuck
and then I’ll be back in business.”
“Atta girl, Jonathan
won’t keep his hands off you.”
Sam slumped into the
chair. “God, I just want him to touch me, even once. I’ve never gone this long
without sex. It’s been over two weeks already.”
“Uh huh
…
Okay tiger.” Patty crouched down
and picked up a sexy high-heel shoe. “Here, try these.”
Sam tried to squeeze
her feet into the strappy heel. “Crap, her feet are so friggin wide.”
“Her?” Patty asked,
raising her eyebrows.
“Mine. Hers.
Whoever. These bulges make it impossible to wear anything cute.”
“You can get surgery
for that.”
“You can? Sign me
up.”
“Not so fast, tiger.
They cut the bone off, and you can never wear heels again. Nothing over one
inch—ever!”
“You’re shitting
me?” Sam sat back.
Patty laughed. “No,
I am not shitting you, Mrs. Pottymouth.”
“Isn’t there
anything good about being old?” Sam tossed the heels into the box.
Patty glanced up, a
finger resting on her chin. “Let’s see
…
hmm
…”
After a silent
minute, she smiled and said, “No!” She shook her head and laughed, “No, I can’t
think of a thing.”
Sam joined in her
laughter. “I can’t believe I’m stuck in this body. This is so horrible all I
can do is laugh, because if I didn’t laugh, I’d probably kill myself.”
Patty stopped
laughing and leaned forward. Sam slapped her arm. “Kidding! Don’t get so
serious.” Sam leaned in toward Patty, placing her hand on her chest. “I would
never try and kill myself. It was her, you know, Ellen—the old bag—she did it.”
Patty studied her
with a tight inquisitive face and said, “Yes, and now you are the new Ellen,
the improved model. Out with old Ellen, right?” She snapped her fingers.
“Right.” Sam
laughed. “Out with the old, in with the new.” She looked at Patty and wondered,
did she understand?
“You
do
know, I’m not Ellen.”
“Yes, of course.
You’re Yellen. Young Ellen.” Patty’s giggle sounded forced.
“No. I mean, that
I’m Samantha Miller.”
Patty put down the
mink-trimmed shoe she had been petting. “I know who you are
…
you are my friend. I know what
happened, I helped you, remember?” Patty shook her head, placing her hand on
her cheek as she stared intently at Sam. “I just don’t think we need to keep
bringing it up. You can be whomever you want in your head. I’m sorry that you
aren’t who you
think
you are, but you have to be who everyone else
knows
you are. Don’t you see, you have to forget that you think you’re Samantha
Miller.”
“But you know that
I’m her, and she’s me.”
Patty let out a big
breath of air. “Wow! Listen hon, you’re my oldest—I mean, my best friend. We go
back a long way. What happened?—I don’t know—but you have to get a grip. You
are you. You are Ellen Horvath, like it or not.” Patty rose and sat beside Sam.
“You can think young, act young, feel young—whatever you want.” She put her arm
around Sam, squeezing her with reassurance. “You can even imagine you are
Samantha—whatever. Just do not continue to tell people that you are not you.
It’s just—well, it’s weird—and impossible, but even if it were possible, which
it isn’t, no one will believe it anyway.”
“But it happened. It
did.”
Patty stood and put
her hands up in the air as if surrendering at gunpoint. “Hey, I don’t even want
to know.” She turned away from Sam and picked up a lace jacket, smoothing the
marabou collar. “I have no idea what it was like for you—the powder, the
coma—all that. I hope you are okay, that you’re all there and stuff, but
…”
She turned and tapped her finger
on Sam’s forehead. “This little brain of yours had better accept the reality
you are in now or it will find itself on the inside of a nuthouse getting a
lobotomy and a few rounds of shock treatments. So whatever—whoever, you think
you are
…
keep it to yourself,
got it?”
“Yes
…
yes, I get it.” Sam shrugged. “I
just thought you believed me.”
“I honestly don’t
know what to believe anymore,” Patty said and put her arm around Sam. “But I
still love you, whoever it is you think you are.” She pinched her cheek. “And
besides, you’re just so damned much fun now.”
“Just you wait. A
few more weeks and you’ll really see how much fun I can be.”
Patty sat down
again. “Here!” she said, throwing a thong at Sam. “Let Jonathan see just how
much fun you can be.”
Sam grabbed the
panties. “I’ll see to that, don’t you worry. Whatever it takes,” she said,
holding the thong in front of her wide hips. “
Whatever
, it takes.”
***
It was late that
night when Jonathan finally came home.
Sam sat drinking
wine in her room, anxiously waiting for him. She spent the evening trying on
all her new purchases, unable to make her mind up about what would be best for
seduction. The outfits looked worse than she remembered. Her body was
hopelessly unattractive and looked nothing like she did inside. She shuddered,
imagining how this wobbly flesh would feel to a man, any man. Young or old,
they would find it loose and unsatisfying. And her body was stiff and
inflexible, incapable of any stamina at all. Her attempts to work out, running
at first, followed by aerobics, resulted in several scenes with Maria rushing
to call the paramedics as she collapsed onto the floor with severe dizzy spells
and chest pain that rendered any attempt to get fit hopeless.
And she hurt. Even
if she didn’t exercise, her joints were tight, aching no matter what remedy she
tried. She was tired all the time, too. It always seemed that she should sleep
or nap, yet whenever she went to lie down, insomnia appeared, making her
restless and jumpy, but still exhausted. It was worse in the morning, waking at
five a.m., powerless to get back to sleep.
When had she ever
had a problem sleeping in before? But then, when had she ever been this alone?
No matter how many pretty things she purchased, no matter how much she spent,
nothing seemed to erase the empty feeling constantly haunting her—the sheer
loneliness that seemed now inescapable.
Sam heard the front
door latch close and set her glass of wine onto the nightstand. She stood,
realizing the full effects of several glasses of wine, and quickly lit the
candles on all her dressers as his shuffle of footsteps slowly came up the
stairs. She caught her reflection in the mirror and turned away before she lost
her nerve, then adjusted her cleavage in the silk corset, and the garter belts
and stockings. She untied the frothy fat-concealing lace overcoat as she
positioned herself into a flattering stance and waited.
“Johnny,” she called
out in a sultry whisper. “Johnny.”
Jonathan stepped
into the doorway, his body silhouetted by the hall light.
“I have a surprise
for you.” She grabbed his arm but he pulled back, causing her to trip.
“I’m exhausted,” he
said, turning toward the door.
“Johnny,” she
whispered as she ran her fingers over his shoulders. “Come here,” she said
softly, kissing his neck and inhaling the masculine scent of scotch and cigars.
“I want to give you a treat.” She rubbed his crotch and started to undo his
belt.
He pushed her hand
away. “Not tonight, Ellen.”
“You’ll love this,
come on
…
I know you’ll enjoy
it.” She tried to undo his belt again. She could feel a bit of a response. “See
…
someone wants to play.”
“Ellen, this isn’t
appropriate.” He pulled away. Sam fell backward, landing on her wrist.
She looked up at
him. “Appropriate? You always loved it when I did that. Is it because now I’m
old? Is that it?” she cried out, rubbing her sore wrist.
“No. Now, come on,”
he said and reached to help her to her feet. “Be sensible.”
As he grasped her
hand, she pulled him down. “Make love to me. Give it to me, like you used to.”
He leaned against her and kissed her. “I want you
…
I need you,” she whispered and pulled him closer, kissing
his neck, his chest, her hands frantically unbuttoning his shirt.
He grabbed her hands
and held them. “I can’t,” he said, releasing his grip. “I’m sorry.”
“You can’t. What do
you mean, you can’t?” Sam yelled, hitting his chest with her fists. “You don’t
want to—”
“No. I
can’t
.
You know my
…
my
problem
.”
“Problem? What
problem?” Sam stopped hitting him and glared.
“My, well, I can’t
…
you know.” He looked sheepish as he
struggled to his feet.
“Like hell you
can’t, I know you can—you liar.”
He stood and
fastened his belt. “Ellen, this is just like you. You have no understanding.”
“I understand all
right. Oh, I understand just fine. It’s my body, isn’t it?” Tears welled in her
eyes, her fortress of confidence collapsing, as pent-up tears escaped. “It
turns you off, doesn’t it? Admit it.” Sam couldn’t stop the tears, or her body
from trembling as she wiped her cheeks with her hands. “Can’t you see I’m young
on the inside? Can’t you look past this wrinkled skin
…
these saggy boobs and see
…
see me. I’m in here.” She pointed to her heart. “It’s
me.”
“It’s not that
simple
…”
“But it is. You
loved me when I had a young body on the outside. Why is this so different? Why
can’t you see I’m still the same on the inside? Nothing’s changed, just my
skin.”
“Ellen, I’m sorry,
here
…”
He tried to help her to
her feet but she pushed him away.
“Go away, you
heartless—you monster. If I were in a young body, you’d be all over me, begging
for it. You’d fuck me anywhere, anytime—but because of this
…
this damned old body
…”
Sam cried out, choking, unable to
breathe. “You can’t even touch me now. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault I
have this crappy old body. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want any of it
…”
“Ellen
…”
Jonathan reached down to touch her
shoulder.
“Go! Go away!” she
screamed, pushing his hand away. “You’re such an asshole. Get out of here!” She
picked up her fluffy evening slipper and threw it at him, hitting his chest.
“Leave me alone
…
don’t ever
touch me,” she pleaded, collapsing onto the floor. “Just
…
leave me,” she whispered, knowing in her injured heart
that it was the last thing she wanted him to do.
***
As Ellen opened the
next box lid, she knew what she would find: more unpaid bills. They seemed to
be everywhere. She found parking tickets, months overdue, and all unpaid. No
wonder Sam didn’t drive anymore. The only reason she had a phone was because it
was in Sienna’s name. Morty was right, this was serious debt. Ellen put the
piles on the bed as she went through every drawer, pocket and box in the room.
She found them stuffed under the bed, in magazine piles, everywhere. The amount
owing pile seemed to grow while the paid pile remained thin.
Sienna rapped on the
door. “Hey, you
…”
Sienna
slouched against the doorframe, holding her lighter. “Cleaning again? What
gives?”
“I can’t live like
this. Not only am I stuck in this disgusting apartment filled with weirdoes, in
a horrible neighborhood, and in a job I can’t stand; now I have to put up with
this?”
“Yah, well some of
us don’t get the choice, princess. Some of us are also trying to make it, in
case you decide to get off that new pedestal you’re on. Oh, hey
…”
Sienna tossed a small pink case
onto the bed. “I found your missing diaphragm.”
Ellen glanced up at
Sienna. “Mine?”
“Relax, it’s not
like I used it or anything. You left it in my evening purse.”
Ellen opened the
pink case and stared at the contents, trying to imagine using someone’s
…
“Yuck.” She made a face and set it
on the nightstand to deal with later.