Chances Are Omnibus (Gender Swap Fiction) Read online

  “Spoilsport,” Maddy says. She pouts as long as it takes us to go through the front doors of the nearest clothes store. Then she’s got all sorts of things she wants me to try on: blouses, pants, skirts. I politely decline most of her suggestions.

  What I don’t want, Maddy takes for herself. We go into changing rooms next to each other, where Maddy talks through the wall. “I think I like the pink one better. Do you think the pink one is better?”

  “They’re both fine,” I say. I mean it too. I think Maddy looks good in any color.

  I try on a dark purple blouse. Maybe pink would look good on me, but I’m not ready to go there yet. Purple seems like a good place to start in that direction. I turn in the mirror and put a hand on my stomach. I’ve gained ten pounds since I moved back in with Tess. A couple more months and I’ll be fat.

  I snort at this. I’m definitely becoming a woman. “Something wrong?” Maddy asks.

  “No, nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine.”

  ***

  We get lunch in the food court. We don’t usually come out here to the mall, but this is a special occasion. Maddy and I are going back to school. Different schools. Maddy’s going to the state university to work on her journalism degree. I’m going to community college to decide whether college is what I want. If it is, then I can transfer to a four-year school later.

  “We’re going to be the best-dressed kids on campus,” Maddy says. Her enthusiasm is infectious; Grace and I smile in time with her.

  “I don’t think that’s hard at community college,” I say.

  “Don’t start running yourself down,” Maddy says. “A lot of people have started with community college and gone on to something big.”

  “Name one,” I say.

  She waves the question away. “You need to think positively. This is a chance to find yourself.”

  “She’s right,” Grace says. “You got to learn to walk before you can run.”

  “I guess so,” I say. I know they’re right. I need to find some direction in my life. Grace’s shop isn’t much of a career. The way things have been going, she’ll probably shut it down in a few months when she’s finished with her dissertation. Then I’ll be on my ass with no money and no prospects. I pat Maddy’s hand. “I wouldn’t be doing it if it weren’t for you. Thanks for giving me the push.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetie,” she says. I feel funny when she kisses me on the cheek. It’s not the way she used to when she was little. That was a loving kiss; this is just a kiss between good friends.

  The phone in my purse rings. I fumble around until I find it. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Stacey,” Dr. Palmer says.

  “Hi.” I put one hand to my ear to filter out some of the noise from the food court. “I didn’t expect to hear from you for a while.”

  Maddy and Grace look at me. I signal it’s OK. Then I get up. I hurry outside, to stand opposite a couple of smokers by the front doors. “Does this mean you have good news?”

  “Not as good as I’d like,” Dr. Palmer says. “I’ve looked over the formula Luther gave us and Dr. Nath’s notes.”

  “They’re good?”

  “The formula matches what we took from your blood. It’s definitely FY-1978.”

  “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “It is. And Dr. Nath’s notes seem to be legitimate.”

  “Are they helpful?”

  “They should be. Gita was nothing if not thorough. A lot of what she did, she documented in these files.” Dr. Palmer sighs. “Maybe she knew they were coming after her.”

  “Maybe,” I say. “Maybe she’s just thorough, like you said.”

  The doctor sighs again. “Anyway, I think we’ll have our first batch ready to test in a couple of months.”

  “That’s great. Isn’t it?” When it comes to this biology stuff I still don’t understand most of what Dr. Palmer says. I figure I’ll take a couple of college classes in that area.

  “Yes. But there’s still a long way to go before we can try it on humans. Years of testing on animals.”

  It’s my turn to sigh. Though I’ve been a woman for a month now, I still check the mirror every morning to make sure there’s no change. I’ll have to do that for years to come. “I guess we already knew that, didn’t we?”

  “Right, but look on the bright side: it shouldn’t take us as long now.”

  “Fifteen years instead of twenty?”

  “Maybe. Don’t lose hope, Stacey. We can beat this thing.”

  “I know.” I smile a little and think of how many times the doctors said that to Jenny. She did beat it for three years, but eventually the disease won. Maybe that’s how this will be. Maybe by the time Dr. Palmer finds a cure there won’t be anything left to cure.

  Then I look inside. Through the doors of the mall I can see Maddy and Grace at our table. Maddy sees me and waves. I wave back to her. Things could be a lot worse. This isn’t the end for me; it’s a new beginning. Like Dr. Palmer said, it’s a chance to start over again. Maybe this time I’ll get it right.

  “Thanks for letting me know, Doctor,” I say. “And good luck.”

  “You too.”

  I hang up the phone. Then I go inside to rejoin my friends.

  Book 2: Second Chance

  (Chances Are #2)

  Part 1:

  Identity Crisis

  Chapter 1

  I take one last look in the mirror. For a moment I don’t recognize myself. Earlier that day I spent a hundred fifty bucks (with tip) at the beauty parlor for the stylist to give me a perm and dye it red. Neither was my idea; I let Maddy choose my new look for me. She had run a hand through my straight brown hair and said, “It’s so boring like this. You need some flair.”

  I could have pointed out how straight and brown her hair had become in the last year, but she would have countered she was already taken. So I kept my mouth shut and let my daughter talk the stylist into the perm and red hair. Not a carrot-orange red or rusty chestnut red, but a deep burgundy, like a glass of red wine. When I asked Maddy why that color, she said, “Red is so passionate and it goes really well with your natural skin tone.” That was a nice way to say I’m as white as a ghost.

  I touch the wavy red hair now and wonder if it really does give me some flair. It certainly is different. So are the clothes. I wear a short black jacket, short black skirt, white blouse, and tall black boots, all designer labels. Those weren’t Maddy’s idea. I bought them about a year ago with the credit card of a dead man. The outfit is gorgeous, fit for a movie star, a far cry from the faded T-shirts and torn jeans I usually wear.

  I’ve done what I can with the makeup to cover up some of my natural skin tone. Although it’s been a year since an experimental drug known as FY-1978 changed me from crusty old Detective Steve Fischer into young Stacey Chance, I still can’t put on makeup. Tess has tried to teach me, but most days I don’t wear more than lipstick if I can help it. Tonight’s effort doesn’t look too bad. I’ve got a little pinkness to my cheeks and some definition to my eyes and lips. Maybe I’m not ready to pose in Playboy, but at least I don’t look like a kindergartner finger-painted all over my face.

  “Stacey, are you all right?” Tess asks through the door. “Do you need any help?”

  Tess doesn’t know anything about my real past. To her I’m an abused runaway who wants to get on her feet. I’ve become like a surrogate daughter to her, a replacement for her daughter Jenny who died of cancer four years ago. I don’t mind her mothering most of the time, especially on nights like this, where I need all the help I can get.

  I open the door for her. Her face goes pale and she puts her hands to her mouth. “Is it that bad?” I ask.

  “No, dear. You look gorgeous,” she says. Tears actually come to her eyes. “You look so grown up now.”

  “Thanks,” I say. I am by all estimates nineteen years old, a grown-up in the eyes of the law. In the eyes of Tess is usually another matter. “You think he’ll recognize me
?”

  “Of course he will. If he doesn’t he’s no kind of gentleman for you.”

  I smile a little at this. Sometimes Tess sounds like a character from a Tennessee Williams play, a faded Southern belle who entertains “gentlemen callers.” At those times it’s hard to believe Tess is two years younger than I would be if not for FY-1978.

  Seth Barnes waits downstairs in the living room. He’s as shocked as Tess when he sees me. “Stacey?” he asks.

  “It’s still me,” I say. I give my hair a little toss. “You like it?”

  “It’s great,” he stammers.

  Seth has cleaned up a little himself. He wears a white button-down shirt and dark blue pants, very different from the polo shirts and jeans he usually wears to Chemistry 102. That’s where we met, in the lab when the professor assigned us as partners. We kept our minds on our experiments throughout the class, so it came as a little bit of a surprise when he asked me out after our final exam. I had considered it myself, but it's a new experience for me to ask out a man.

  Tess makes us wait so she can take a picture, as if I’m going to the prom. She hasn’t graduated into the digital age yet, so I’ll have to wait a few days to know how the pictures turn out. I probably have my eyes closed or I’ll just have that terrified look I usually have in photos of me as a woman.

  Of course tonight I’m terrified for a good reason. I’ve never gone on a date with a man before. I think of it as “a date with another man” before I correct myself. I’m not a man, not anymore. Dr. Palmer did a whole bunch of tests to prove I’m completely female, except for my memories. I have gone on a couple of dates before with other women, most notably Maddy’s partner Grace. We even made love in Grace’s bedroom before I came to my senses and realized how wrong it was to steal my daughter’s lover. Since then Maddy has set me up a couple of times with girls she knows, but it hasn’t worked out. They were perfectly nice, but there was no chemistry between us.

  None of them gave me the same nervous flutter in my stomach as when Seth and I worked together in the lab. I still remember when our hands touched for the first time as we reached for a beaker at the same time. We stammered apologies and laughed like idiots, which only proved he wanted me as much as I wanted him. Now’s our chance.

  He takes me by the arm and leads me out to a Pontiac Grand Am. It’s old, but still in good shape. He tells me about how he’s tweaked the engine and suspension systems. I’m so nervous I don’t pay attention to the details. From the tremor in his voice, I figure he babbles out of nervousness. What a pair we are, scared as a couple of junior high kids on their first date.

  We agreed through text messages to go to the latest superhero action movie at nine o’clock. That gives us a couple of hours for dinner. He pulls into the parking lot of an Applebees-type place I haven’t gone to before. As the hostess leads us to our table in the back, I can feel people stare at me. I force myself to walk with my back straight and proud, like a princess. A princess with her prince.

  Seth grabs his menu and uses it to shield his face. “You want an appetizer or anything?”

  “If you want one,” I say. I’m not really hungry at the moment. I don’t know if an appetizer or anything else will stay down.

  I order an iced tea to drink and wish I could make it a Long Island iced tea. There are plenty of places in the city that will serve a nineteen-year-old without question, but those are harder to find out here in the suburbs. A chain restaurant like this certainly won’t serve a minor and God knows I don’t look a day over eighteen even with the makeup, hair, and clothes.

  While we wait for the waitress to come back with our drinks, we say nothing; we just stare at our menus. Another time I might order a steak, but tonight my lack of appetite and girlish modesty prompt me to look at the salads instead. “We could split something if you want,” I suggest.

  “We don’t have to. I have plenty of money.”

  “I didn’t mean that. I just thought if you’re not hungry—”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s my fault,” I say. I lower my menu so he can see my eyes and cheeks that are probably redder than my dyed hair. “I don’t mean you’re poor or anything. It’s just that I’m not very hungry right now. I’m a little nervous, you know?”

  His face goes red too. He smiles at me. “I know. I’m really glad you said yes.”

  “I kept hoping you would ask me.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes.” Seth looks surprised at this, probably because he’s not exactly GQ material. He’s gawky, about six inches taller than me, with some leftover teenage acne on his cheeks. His black hair sticks up no matter how much goo he puts in it. Then are the ever-present glasses with black plastic frames that make him look like a control room extra in a movie on the moon landing. In short, Seth is a nerd. My nerd.

  The waitress shows up and I decide to order a Cobb salad while Seth gets the chicken fingers. The waitress leaves again and we’re left with silence. Seth looks down at the table, unable to look me in the eye.

  “Are you taking any classes this summer?” he asks.

  “No. I thought I’d take a couple of months off.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m taking a music appreciation class.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “Have to do something to complete my art elective.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “I got accepted to USC. My counselor says all of my credits should transfer.”

  “USC? That’s so far away.”

  “I know.”

  “So this is a one-shot deal?”

  “Well, no. We have the whole summer—”

  “Then you’ll be gone.”

  “Maybe you could transfer too in a year.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “If you want.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you out.”

  “No, it’s all right. I’m glad you did.”

  “But you’re not happy now.”

  “Well, no,” I say. “I thought we’d have more time to get acquainted.”

  “Yeah.” He wipes his glasses with a napkin to buy some time. “I don’t have to go to USC. I could go somewhere closer—”

  “USC is a good school. I wouldn’t want to hold you back,” I say with such iciness that he reels back like I’ve slapped him. I can’t believe after all this time he finally asks me out and then says we have no future. Not that I was about to get our wedding invitations printed, but I thought we might have a little more time to see if we really do have some chemistry. There’s not much point to it now.

  We don’t say much until the waitress brings our entrees. Then we spend most of our time eating; we look down at our plates so we don’t have to look at each other. What a wonderful evening.

  ***

  We still see the movie, mostly because I don’t want to explain to Tess why my date lasted only ninety minutes. Seth buys the popcorn and sodas, though I make him buy separate tubs of popcorn so I don’t have to share with him. Then my hand won’t touch his like in the lab.

  In the second half of the movie, when the hero gets his suit and starts to bust criminals, Seth puts his hand on my thigh. I move a seat over. I cross my arms and try to focus on the movie, but I never liked comic books much as a kid. I preferred detective stories, the old hardboiled kind with guys in trench coats and fedoras. I used to own a trench coat, though by then only hipsters wore fedoras.

  What am I doing here? I ask myself. Steve Fischer wouldn’t be here; he wouldn’t sulk because some broad will move away in a couple of months. At nineteen years old Steve would have welcomed that because it meant he could get laid without all the bullshit of a relationship. He wouldn’t have prepared for the date all day either; he would have just combed his hair, slapped on some aftershave, and then got dressed in a rumpled shirt and trousers.

  Why do I c
are if Seth will leave in a couple of months? We’re just lab partners, not married. And I’m only nineteen years old, way too young to settle down. This isn’t Little House on the Prairie for Christ’s sake; most girls nowadays don’t get married until their late twenties or early thirties, if at all.

  I slide back to the seat I vacated. I lean over to put my head on Seth’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “For what?”

  “For acting like such a bitch. I mean, we should just try to have fun, right?” I put my hand in his hair as I say this.

  “Yeah,” he says. He puts his arm around me to keep me close.

  As the movie goes on, I let my hand wander down from his hair, along his chest, and then to his crotch. Right as the hero works up the courage to finally kiss his girl, I give Seth’s junk a little pat. “Stacey?” he whispers.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “Um—”

  “Let’s forget the rest of the movie and go out to the car.”

  “What? Why?”

  I start to knead the crotch of his pants as I say, “Take a guess.”

  He bats my hand away like it’s a poisonous snake. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he says loud enough that some in the audience shout for him to shut up—some more vehemently than others.

  I storm out of the theater; I knock over his popcorn and Coke in the process. He catches up to me in the lobby, where he tries to take my arm. “Stace—”

  “Shut up and take me home,” I say.

  In the car I again sit with my arms crossed. “What’s your problem?” I finally ask. “You’re supposed to fool around during the movie.”

  “Usually you stick to making out,” he says. “You’re not supposed to give me a hand job in public.”

  “It was dark. Not like anyone was going to notice.”

  “What happened to you?” he asks. “Why are you acting like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “So…aggressive.”

  “Maybe I thought one of us should be.”

  “If this is about dinner, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”