Weapon of Choice
1.
Inside the club it was like being at the bottom of the ocean, a dim, uncertain place filled with random movement and sound. Grant Blackley moved through it like some great marine predator, shoals of lesser creatures parting before him as if unconsciously realising all of this was his territory.
Because it damn well was, Grant thought. He took up one of his regular positions at the top of a flight of stairs, overlooking the dance floor. At six foot five he hardly needed the extra elevation to see what was going on, but it amused him to stand there like some kind of warden, and who the hell was going to tell him no? His name might not be on the deeds, but everyone knew he was the ruler of this place, the power behind the throne. As long as he kept the customers in line and the money rolling in, Solomani would turn a blind eye to whatever else went on.
No point in having power if you didn’t have fun with it, hey? He enjoyed the looks on their faces when he refused them entry for not meeting the dress-code – when his own habitual choice of t-shirt, jeans and boots would never have got him into anywhere remotely classy. Also the expressions of anyone he’d caught using on the premises, when he’d ‘confiscated’ their stuff and thrown them out. What were they going to do, go to the cops? Even if they did, Solomani had friends.
Yeah, Solomani had friends, but that was all his boss had going for him, Grant thought. When it came down to it he could snap that runty bastard in two any time he wanted. Some would say that he, Grant, should officially be in charge of the place – he was the one who kept it running, after all. Well, maybe, Grant thought. Solomani could keep all the hassle and paperwork and headaches. Grant was happy where he was.
The music shifted and slowed and fragments of conversation from the people around him became audible. Usual clubber shit, Grant thought, but then his ears pricked up at something he heard:
‘...worth millions, man, I tell you. And he just keeps it locked up in the lab...’
Someone hurriedly shushed the speaker but not before Grant could zero in on him. A couple of college-boy types, looking kind of out of place here, standing together beneath and to one side of where Grant was. One of them looked considerably more hammered than the other, and it was he who’d spoken.
‘...don’t shush me, you asshole... you got to talk to him, there’s a fortune just sitting there and no-one’s allowed to touch it?’
‘Benny, shut up.’ The drunk’s companion, a tall-ish, sandy-haired man, glanced around him. ‘This isn’t the time or the place. It’s supposed to be secret, remember?’
‘Secret, schmmm... shurm... shu-secret,’ Benny eventually managed to say. ‘Guy, if it was so important they’d have put it somewhere more secure, wouldn’t they?’
This all sounded kinda interesting, but Grant’s earpiece blipped: somebody wanted him at the entrance. Reluctantly he left Benny and Guy to their squabble – though he took care to fix both their faces in his memory – and lumbered off to the door.
Ratman and Karl, two of his guys, were on duty there, currently being bawled out by some yuppie asshole in a suit. With him were a couple of assholes from kind of the same mold, and some women. Hell, now, they were something else, though... the one with the lead asshole had reddish-brown hair, fabulous green eyes, and a body that had him starting a boner just on seeing it. He grinned at her but she just scowled and looked away.
‘I want to see whoever’s in charge,’ the asshole said to Ratman.
‘Mr Blackley’s in charge of admissions,’ Ratman said, smirking and indicating Grant.
‘This? This is the manager?’ The asshole stared at Grant with disbelieving contempt all over his face. Grant knew right then he was going to hurt this guy before many more moments passed.
‘Yeah, I’m in charge here,’ Grant said, scritching at his beard and grinning at the guy. ‘Gotta problem with that?’
‘The problem is, your men here won’t let us into the club,’ the yuppie asshole said.
Jesus, Grant thought, why did they want to come into a dive like this anyway? He had no illusions as to the quality of the place. Maybe this bunch was looking to get their kicks by slumming it amongst the lesser mortals. He made a show of looking the man up and down. ‘Yeah, well. Maybe we don’t want your type in our nice night-club.’
‘Do you know who I am?’ The asshole was getting really angry now, it was funny to watch.
‘You’re an asshole who’s not getting into our club?’ Grant said. He heard Ratman and Karl laughing, which was right, that had been a damn funny line. He smiled at the asshole’s woman. ‘If you ladies want to come in, though...’
The woman was still staring at him like he was a piece of shit, though, and that was starting to piss him off. Didn’t they know who he was? He was Grant Blackley, damn it, shitkicker-in-chief around here, and that meant something.
Incredibly, the yuppy asshole was now jabbing at Grant’s broad chest with his forefinger and yelping at him. Maybe he’d already had a few drinks to build his courage up. ‘We have a legal right to come into this establishment –‘
Grant slammed both his palms against the asshole’s own front, sending him reeling back a few feet. ‘Stuff your legal right up your fuckin’ ass.’
The asshole turned purple and, even as his friends made to restrain him, lunged at Grant, swinging. Grant felt the man’s fist bump against his jaw, and was amused more than anything. As he threw another punch Grant let it smack into the wide expanse of his palm then closed his fist around the man’s, squeezed.
‘Aahhhh...’ the yuppy asshole said, sounding more like a pussy than ever. Grant jerked his arm, forcing the man to his knees in front of him. ‘You bastard ape!’
‘That’s not nice,’ Grant said. He could feel the bones of the man’s hand grating together in his grip, and that gratified him. He drove his boot into the man’s stomach and released him. The guy doubled over, retching, sobbing for air, and clutching himself all at once. He stepped back as the asshole’s friends gathered around him and helped him up. ‘Ladies, the offer still stands,’ he said.
‘I’m going to call the police about this!’ the asshole’s woman said, glaring at Grant.
‘He started it. Can’t have troublemakers in our nice club, can we, boys?’
‘No way. He started the whole thing,’ Ratman said from somewhere behind him.
The asshole was mumbling incoherently now. His woman went to his side and started speaking to him comfortingly. ‘It’s okay, George. Forget about this thug. In five years time he’ll still be a thug but you’ll be a partner in the firm...’ She shot Grant another of her toxic, contemptuous looks
The party withdrew. Shame, Grant thought, he had only just begun to enjoy himself. Something about the whole thing had annoyed him, though, was still nibbling away at the back of his mind. He turned back to Ratman and Karl. ‘Why didn’t you wanna let them in, anyway?’ Ratman shrugged. ‘Just because. Thought we might have more fun if we didn’t.’
‘You got that fuckin’ right,’ Grant said. He looked after the retreating group. ‘Jesus, how’d a prick like that end up with such a babe?’
‘God knows, man.’
‘I mean, look at the guy, he was such a pussy, whinin’ like a little girl... what’s wrong with the fuckin’ world?’
‘Money, dude,’ Karl said. ‘These guys are all born with it comin’ out of their asses. Some chicks dig money more than bein’ a proper man.’
‘No reason why you can’t be a proper man and have money too, though,’ Grant said. That was what was bothering him, the total failure of that woman to recognise... well, recognise what a dude he was. That irked him. Were there many people who’d think that way? Not that he’d see down the club or in his own group of associates, not normally. But the very fact that they existed out in the wider world was an insult to his pride.
He’d never worried about money before, not seriously – it was easy enough to score a few bucks here and there, if you were Grant’s size and fairly cautious about who you leant on – but maybe that oughta change. He would be twenty-nine later in the year. Maybe it was time to start thinking longer-term.
‘Going back in. Blip me if there’s any trouble,’ Grant said.
He prowled around the edges of the dance-floor for an hour or so until one of the bar staff hustled up to him. She knew how the place worked, both officially and in reality. ‘Think we got a guy carrying drugs,’ she said.
Grant nodded. ‘Where?’
‘At the back, near the bathrooms. Green shirt.’
He told the woman she’d get her cut of whatever he made off this and drifted over in that direction. God must be smiling down on him, because the only green-shirted guy up there was good old Benny, looking more wrecked than ever now, clearly having taken something else on top of the booze. Benny who’d been so loose-tongued about the hidden fortune in the lab...
Grant waited until Guy went to the bathrooms then went up to Benny. The man goggled at him.
‘Need to talk. My office,’ Grant said, smiling thinly.
His office was, of course, the alleyway out back. Benny looked around in agitation upon realising the two of them were alone there.
‘I – er – what’s all this?’ Benny said, shuffling around to face Grant.
Grant unloaded one deep into the man’s stomach. Usually he preferred to go for the face, but on this occasion he didn’t want to leave marks. Benny toppled over and puked spectacularly. Grant waited until he was done and gasping for breath and grabbed the front of his shirt.
‘You come into my place and do fuckin’ pills? You bring narcotics into my club?’ Grant hauled him up one-handed and drew back his other fist, making it clear that this one would indeed go into Benny’s face.
‘Oh God, oh Jesus, no, I’m sorry! Please! Please don’t hurt me!’
Grant affected to look unsure. ‘Why shouldn’t I just fuck you up? Or at least call the cops, you fuckin’ junkie asshole?’
‘Oh, God, please!’ Grant liked it when they started crying, gave him a warm feeling inside.
‘Well, okay, but it’ll cost you...’
Benny started fumbling for his wallet. ‘I’ve got forty dollars...’
‘Jesus!’ Grant threw him across the alleyway. ‘It’ll take more than that, you cocksucker.’
Benny struggled to his feet. ‘I’ll get it, I’ll get it –‘
‘Shut up. Earlier I heard you and your boyfriend talking, somethin’ about a fortune, worth millions, in some lab somewhere? Not locked up too tight, either...’
Benny’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, God. Look, I – I can’t tell you any more about that –‘
Grant nodded. ‘Okay, then.’ He balled up his fists and again and made to start swinging.
‘No, no, please!’
‘So tell me - where is it and how’d I find it?’
‘Lab building four on the university science campus.’ Benny was sobbing. ‘The stuff’s in the chemistry lab at the back of the building, in a big metal cabinet marked ODM-13. But you don’t understand –‘
‘Chemistry?’ Grant grinned. Looked like he might have unearthed himself his own drug stash. ‘Okay, I’m gonna let you go, but don’t tell anyone about this, okay? And if anything should happen at your lab, you keep quiet – or we’re gonna have another conversation where I’m less fuckin’ agreeable.’
Fear and uncertainty were dancing in Benny’s eyes. ‘Ah - okay.’
‘Now fuck off,’ Grant said. ‘I’ll tell your friend you had to go home unexpectedly.’ He didn’t want this clown back in the club, shooting his mouth off.
Benny nodded and set off, a run that was half a stumble. Grant went back inside and found Guy, who was obviously looking around for his companion. He looked like less of a cock than Benny, not that that was saying much.
‘Benny had to go,’ Grant said.
The guy looked at him almost as if doubting Grant’s word. That pissed him off and he had to fight down the urge to get physical with him. ‘Why didn’t he tell me that himself?’
‘Beats me,’ Grant said. ‘Argue about it between the two of you. None of my fuckin’ business, is it?’
‘Thanks,’ the guy said, still obviously unsure what had happened. He finished his drink and made to leave.
Grant watched him go. Another college boy with money, he thought. There was no fuckin’ justice in the world whatsoever.
2.
Grant arrived back at his building early the following afternoon, having spent a couple of hours scoping out the university science campus. He had drawn a few stares due to his size and way of dressing, but everyone had been too pussy to challenge him over what he’d been doing there. He hadn’t actually been able to get into the chemistry lab in building four, but he knew where it was and also that the security set-up there would pose no problems.
As he entered the building his landlord shuffled out of his own room. Old Lazarenko was wrapped in a bathroom and clutching the day’s paper. ‘Ey, ah – Blackley!’ ‘Mister Blackley,’ Grant said, rounding on the old man. He shrank away momentarily. ‘Mr Blackley, your rent’s overdue again,’ Lazarenko said, crumpling up the paper between his fingers. ‘End of the week, pops,’ Grant said, hiding his irritation. Here he was on the brink of something fuckin’ huge and the old coot was bleating on about the same old same old. ‘That’s just not good enough, Mr Blackley!’ The old man’s voice shot up, which kind of ruined the effect. Grant stuck his face into old Lazarenko’s, so his beard almost scraped the man’s nose. ‘It’s gonna have to be, isn’t it? I’ve told you, end of the week. Are we gonna have a fuckin’ problem with this?’ The old man paled, shook his head. ‘No, no –just as long as it is the end of the week...’ ‘Didn’t I just say so two times?’ Grant sighed. He set off up the stairs to his apartment. Flies, fuckin’ flies buzzing around him all the time... His mood did not improve when he arrived at his apartment. Brandi was clearly getting ready to go to the mall, putting on her jacket and checking her makeup in the mirror. ‘Where the fuck you think you’re going?’ ‘Just out, see friends.’ She glanced nervously at him. ‘I told you yesterday...’ ‘Ratman’s coming round, talk business,’ Grant said. ‘Well, baby, surely you don’t need me –‘ ‘We’re gonna want somethin’ to eat pretty soon. You want me to have to cook my own food in front of Ratman? That the kind of pussy you think I am?’ Brandi met his glower for a few seconds then looked away. ‘No, Grant.’ Her voice was tiny. ‘I’ll text and say I can’t make it. Can I borrow your phone?’ He remembered she’d been on at him to buy her one, but what did she need a phone for, after all? He fished it out and handed it to her, watched while she sent the message. ‘Good girl.’ He gave her a hug then looked again at her more carefully. ‘Christ, what are you wearing?’ Brandi looked down at her t-shirt, jeans and sneakers. ‘Just clothes.’ ‘You look like a guy. How many times we got to have this conversation? You know the way I like you to dress – something that shows off your legs and tits. Get changed, I bought you enough nice stuff. Ratman’s comin’ in ten minutes.’ Brandi had wriggled into a mini-skirt and low-cut bodice and was just starting the food when the doorbell went. Feeling magnanimous, Grant got the door himself. It was Ratman, as expected. ‘Hey, dude.’ They bumped fists. ‘Come on in.’ ‘Hey, Brandi,’ Ratman said as they sat down. ‘Hey, Ray,’ Brandi said. Ray was Ratman’s real name, but Grant never used it. Ratman was funnier, especially with him being so skinny with a big nose and all... ‘Okay, so here’s the score,’ Grant said, once they both had a beer. ‘Got a tip – shitload of designer drugs in one of the labs on the university campus.’ ‘Why would there be designer drugs on the campus?’ Grant shrugged. ‘Dunno, but my source is A1. I went over there this morning and checked the place out. Tonight we both leave the club an hour early, go over there, rip it off. All the alarms are ancient, should be no trouble to someone like you...’ ‘Wait a damn minute, Grant,’ Ratman said, frowning. ‘I did five years the last time I got caught on a B&E. They catch me doin’ something like this, I’m looking at ten years inside...’ ‘Ratman, the stuff’s worth millions. Ain’t that worth a risk? I’m gonna be there with you, ain’t I?’ Ratman looked away. ‘I don’t want to do any more prison time, Grant. You don’t know what it’s like, all you ever did was a little juvey.’ Grant let his face harden. ‘You don’t think you owe me a favour or two? You know what Solomani would say, he knew I was using ex-cons as door staff?’ He thought Solomani probably wouldn’t give a shit, but he wasn’t about to tell Ratman that. ‘So much for fuckin’ friendship. And you think I don’t know you been keeping your hand in? That jewellers over by the theatre getting ripped off? The pawnshop? Always on your night off from the club, too...’ ‘Jesus, Grant, keep your voice down,’ Ratman said. ‘You blackmailing me into doing this, Grant? That it?’ ‘I’m just lookin’ out for you, man. You’ll thank me when we’re both rich off the back of this thing. So – you in?’ ‘Do I have any choice?’ Grant didn’t bother to answer that one, started drawing a diagram of the building. ‘So, anyway...’
3. ‘Okay, we’re in. You’re up,’ Ratman murmured, stepping back from the lab door even as Grant pushed it open and went inside. The room seemed composed of different planes of shadow, starlight filtering dimly in through the blinds. He went to the centre of the room and moved the beam of his flashlight about carefully. Ratman followed him in but stayed at the door, keeping watch. They had half an hour before the watchman did his next round. So far Ratman had had no difficulty in dealing with the building’s alarm systems, and Grant was feeling confident. That feeling only intensified when his flashlight lit up a tall metallic cabinet with the magic symbols ODM-13 stamped on its front. ‘Found it,’ Grant whispered, going over and looking at the cabinet. Even to his amateur’s eye it didn’t look to be wired up to any alarms. But it did seem to be clamped shut, with a wheel at the top and bottom of the door needing to be unscrewed. He got to it. No alarms went off, no lights came on: this had to be destiny at work, he thought. He grinned and hauled the cabinet open. ‘Fuck.’ The grin turned to a frown. ‘What is it?’ Ratman was still at the door. ‘I dunno.’ Inside the cabinet there were not the boxes of pills or bags of powder he’d been half expecting. Clipped inside it were two large cylinders like fire extinguishers, gaudily marked in green and orange. There was some kind of valve or screw at the top of each. ‘The stuff’s in canisters, or something.’ ‘So grab one and let’s go!’ Ratman’s anxiety was getting on Grant’s nerves. He grabbed one of the cylinders and pulled it from its clips, but found he had seriously underestimated its weight. Even with his immense strength he needed both hands to lift it, let alone carry it at any speed. He grunted and let the end clunk to the lab floor. ‘Keep the fuckin’ noise down, you asshole!’ Ratman hissed. ‘Shut the fuck up. It’s too heavy. I’m gonna see if I can open it up and put the stuff in something lighter...’ Grant set to twisting at the screw which capped the cylinder. His hands were sweaty and the metal smooth, and he could find no purchase to begin with. Then – he bared his teeth triumphantly – the screw slowly began to turn, opening the canister, so – With a shrill hiss something sprayed out of the top of the canister directly into Grant’s face. He grunted in surprise and then yelled as his eyes began to sting. Clumsily he screwed the top down again until the spray ceased, but his skin was beginning to burn now and he was feeling dizzy and his vision was blurred. ‘What the fuck happened?’ Ratman sounded more agitated than ever. ‘Fucker lied to me,’ Grant said thickly, blinking desperately. ‘Fuckin’ acid or something.’ He took a few steps, somewhat unsteadily. ‘You mean there’s no fuckin’ stuff? Oh, fantastic!’ Ratman shook his head. ‘I’m gettin’ out of here.’ ‘Wait! You gotta help me, I – Ratman, give me a fuckin’ hand!’ Grant forced himself to sound threatening, in control. Ratman paused at the door, clearly uncertain. ‘Cops grab me I won’t keep quiet, I promise,’ Grant said. ‘Jesus. Come on,’ Ratman said, coming to help Grant. By the time they were off the campus and felt safe, Grant found his vision had cleared and his dizziness had passed. Thank God for that, he thought. He still felt vaguely nauseous in the pit of his stomach though. ‘Just who was your A1 source, anyway?’ The scorn in Ratman’s voice was like a slap in the face. Normally Grant wouldn’t have stood for it. ‘Some fucker from the club,’ Grant said. ‘I’m gonna bust that asshole up for this.’ Just as soon as he felt 100% again. ‘Jesus, I just realised. We left that stuff all over the floor, they’re gonna know we were there... you kept your gloves on?’ ‘I’m not an idiot,’ Grant said. Ratman nodded. ‘Maybe it’ll be okay then.’ He paused. ‘You feeling all right, man?’ ‘Yeah,’ Grant said. ‘Okay, then. See you at the club,’ Ratman said. ‘See you,’ Grant said, and they parted. So much for God, so much for destiny, he thought. He felt angry, which was familiar enough, but he also felt humiliated and a fool, both of which were new and unpleasant. One thing he was sure of: he was going to be tracking Benny down and showing him exactly what happened to people who fucked with Grant Blackley.
4. ‘So, dude, any joy finding your friend who led you astray?’ Ratman asked. It was a couple of nights later. The break-in at the lab had made the papers but the police – so far – had made no progress and Grant was beginning to relax and forget about the whole thing. He found he’d lost his appetite and wasn’t sleeping too well, but was putting that down to the stress of what had happened. ‘No. Fucker’s done a runner,’ Grant said. The two of them were on the door at the club, surveying the queue. A fairly routine night so far, no heavy action. Maybe that was just as well, the way he was feeling. In truth he hadn’t even attempted to find Benny yet. Part of him – maybe most of him – just wanted to let the whole thing slide and be forgotten. Not that Ratman seemed likely to let that happen, he’d been kind of in Grant’s face about it ever since. If he kept it up, Grant would mess him up. He had to show everyone who the big man was, after all. Karl emerged from the depths of the club and grinned at them. ‘Hey, Grant, rumour is you’re getting a new car. One with a sun roof.’ ‘What the fuck you on about?’ ‘Or maybe fitting solar panels to your apartment?’ Grant stared at him. ‘Somethin’ fuckin’ wrong with you, man.’ Karl sniggered. ‘You mean you haven’t noticed, dude?’ He put a hand to the back of his own head, rubbed it. Grant copied the movement, found to his utter horror a bald spot on the back of his head. Christ! This was what stress could do to a guy! He was only twenty-eight, how could he be going fuckin’ bald? ‘Fuck!’ Ratman joined in with Karl’s sniggering. ‘Hey, you know what they say, Grant – hair today, gone tomorrow...’ ‘Fuck you.’ ‘You know there’s solutions to this kind of problem? Keep calm, no need to wig out,’ Karl said. He rounded on Karl, who flinched, but a wave of weakness rolled over him and he found he could do nothing more. ‘Shut up,’ he eventually said, lamely. ‘Yeah, sure,’ Karl said, obviously astonished not to be dodging punches and clearly realising Grant was not himself. But the smirk on his face did not entirely disappear. Grant went to the men’s room and checked the mirror. The spot was completely hairless and a little bigger than a quarter. He couldn’t believe it had grown so big without him noticing, but the alternative was that it had suddenly appeared almost overnight. Was he sick, or something?
He kept the lowest profile he could manage around the club, given his position there. Every time he saw Karl and Ratman they seemed to be laughing together about something, and he could guess what it was. Why wasn’t he just going over there and busting them up? He never normally backed away from a fight. But he felt so tired, it was like his appetite for life was fading or something... It was a relief to get away and go home to Brandi.
Grant woke not long before noon the next day, as usual. Brandi was still asleep next to him. She was looking sweet, and normally he would have nailed her, whether she was up for it or not, but he found he just couldn’t summon the energy. He rolled over and lay there, eventually heard her wake up. ‘Morning,’ Brandi said. ‘Hey,’ Grant said. ‘Get me some juice or something, will you?’ ‘’M okay.’ He felt her moving around in the bed, then heard her try to stifle a giggle. ‘What’s funny? Get my juice, wilya?’ ‘Sorry. Just – your hair...’ ‘Yeah, yeah. I got a bald spot. Hardy fuckin’ har.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Spot? Spots, more like...’ Grant clambered out of bed and went to the bathroom. Jesus, the bitch was absolutely right! Just to the left of the spot he’d found the night before (which now looked a little bigger), another one had appeared, about the size of a cent. It had appeared in the night. Grant went back and stared at his pillow. It was covered in black hairs. Brandi looked from him to it and back again, clearly not understanding, clearly alarmed. Jesus, they felt the same way. Grant found himself scritching at his beard again, the same way he always did when he was thinking. Except this time a steady stream of hair was tumbling away from where his fingers were at work – he was giving himself another bald patch there, on his jawline. ‘What’s it mean, honey?’ Brandi asked. ‘Dunno,’ Grant said, suddenly deeply concerned.
5. Maybe it was alopecia, or something. He’d heard about that kind of thing. Whatever it was it showed no signs of quitting. His head hair was falling out, his beard was falling out, even his eyebrows and body hair were beginning to go. Well, he thought, desperately looking for an upside to this, bald can be badass. Except he didn’t feel like much of a badass any more. Quite apart from the nervousness his hair loss was causing him, Grant found his lack of energy was persisting and getting worse. It was becoming a bit of an effort to get up and walk around, let alone do his shift at the club that night. Nevertheless, he went to work as usual. It was just his luck that this was one of the nights that Solomani chose to put in an appearance. The little orange bastard seemed to figure out straightaway that Grant had some kind of issue going on, but said nothing. Karl, Ratman and the other security guys also kept their mouths shut, but he could feel their respect and his authority ebbing away along with his strength... ...and, impossible to figure out though it was, his height. Things had seemed indefinably weird all day and night but when he returned home he figured out what it was. Usually he had to duck his head to avoid banging it on the way up the stairs, the building was built for midgets or something. But not tonight. He had a few inches clear headroom at least.
In his apartment he measured himself. He’d been six five since he was eighteen. Tonight, though, he was six foot nothing. And he could see it in the way his clothes were starting to look baggy on him, now he was looking for it. He weighed himself – he’d lost fifteen pounds without even realising it.
Christ, this was impossible! How could it be happening at all? Despite his panic and fear he found he was just too tired to sit up and worry about it. He pulled off his clothes, taking a bit more of his hair with them, and crawled into bed with Brandi.
Another restless night spent on the edge-of-sleep, feeling no real benefit at its end. When Grant drifted back to full wakefulness he found Brandi had already got up. As usual, he looked at his pillow: it was thinly covered with hair, but only because he didn’t have a great deal left. The patches of hair left on his scalp and jaw looked like continents on a world map. And... something new. A splash of red on the pillow – had he had a nosebleed or something? He felt his lip, cheek. Nothing. Then he noticed a small white object on the sheet next to the pillow, picked it up. It was a tooth. Desperately he probed with his tongue, found almost at once a gap on the upper right hand side. It hadn’t even felt loose the night before! Delicately he nudged at the others, felt queasy when they wobbled, ever so slightly, at the touch of his finger. Hair, build, teeth, this couldn’t just be stress. This had to be some kind of disease, or poison... that chemical shit he’d been sprayed with... Jesus! That had to be it! That bastard Benny had set him up for this, and now... abruptly he felt deeply and urgently nauseous and hustled his way to the bathroom, quickly. He puked at length into the bowl, didn’t feel much better afterwards. He was dimly aware of a faint jab of pain in his mouth while bent over and spewing, and, sure enough, discovered the pressure of vomit had been enough to dislodge his lower left canine. Now he had two new gaps in his teeth. Grant showered, noticing but not really caring that he was sluicing away the last of his body-hair. In the mirror he looked pasty, skin loose and almost chalk-white. Under his skin, his muscles were looking like sludge ladled into plastic bags. And... something was happening to his tattoos. They were breaking up, fading away. How could that be? The ink was supposed to be indelible. His guts gurgled and he had to go to the john again, badly. The stink of his own doings was almost enough to set him puking again. He pulled on his robe and stumbled into the main room. ‘Shit, Grant, you look sick,’ Brandi said. She was watching the TV. ‘Shut up,’ Grant mumbled. He peered at her – she was wearing the t-shirt and jeans again. ‘What did I fuckin’ tell you about dressing that way?’ ‘I wanna dress the way I wanna dress,’ Brandi said. ‘You can’t make me always wear the stuff you like...’ ‘The fuck I can’t,’ Grant said, attempting to stand up, but abandoning it. He glowered at her but she met his gaze. Dumb fury mounted inside him. You’ll pay for this when I’m better, bitch, he thought. ‘Get me a doctor, Brandi, I’m really ill,’ he eventually said. ‘It’s probably just flu or something, honey.’ Brandi put her hand on his forehead. ‘Jeez, you feel warm!’ ‘I need a doctor!’ ‘You really want someone doing blood tests after all the shit you put in your system?’ She seemed quite happy to ignore everything he said. ‘This is serious! I – I’m getting smaller,’ Grant said. She laughed in his face. ‘That’s impossible, sweetie.’ ‘I checked last night. I was six foot, not six foot five.’ ‘That’s just not –‘ ‘Get the fucking tape.’ Making it clear she was just humouring him, Brandi checked his height. Her eyebrows shot up. ‘See?’ Grant asked. ‘I’m six foot.’ ‘No you’re not.’ ‘Yes I fucking am!’ ‘No, you’re not six foot. You’re five eleven.’ Another two inches gone... how could this be happening? ‘You believe me now?’ ‘Something really weird’s happening to you,’ Brandi said. ‘It’s like you’re shrivelling away or something.’ ‘Thanks. Get me to a doctor.’ She stood up, briskly. ‘Let’s give it couple of days – maybe you’ll feel better.’ ‘Days? You stupid bitch, don’t you –‘ She slapped his face. She, the bitch, slapped him, Grant Blackley, in the face. ‘Don’t speak to me like that,’ Brandi said, matter-of-factly. Automatically he pulled back his arm to return the compliment but another wave of dizzy nausea struck him and he let it fall. ‘You’re enjoying this,’ he whispered. ‘Always so big and strong. Always such a fucking alpha dog,’ Brandi said. ‘Cook what I want, Brandi. Wear what I want, Brandi. Screw when and how I want, Brandi, and always your fist there if I ever said no... how does it feel now, Grant? Still feeling big and strong –‘ Grant fought to stop himself recoiling from the force of her quiet anger. ‘Brandi, honey... you’re my girl –‘ ‘I’m your fucking pet, or your toy. Or I was.’ ‘When I get better –‘ ‘Maybe you’ll be as a big a bully as before. We’ll see,’ Brandi said. Suddenly she was smiling. ‘I’m going to the mall!’ And there was no way he could stop her.
She still hadn’t returned by the time he had to go to the club. Doing nothing all day had left Grant feeling marginally better and he got dressed, uncomfortably aware of how loose his clothes were on him now and how weak he felt. There had been a number more volcanic emanations from his bowels in the course of his day – it seemed like he was losing weight faster than anything else. He made it down to the club okay and took his usual position at the door. Karl and Ratman weren’t even bothering to make cracks at his expense any more, but he could see knowing looks passing between them. It seemed like another quiet night, thank God. He was doubly thankful, because Solomani turned up, looking neat and slick in yet another new suit. Must be his time for going through the club accounts in detail again – along with all the other funds that got pumped through the place’s finances. ‘Grant, a word, please?’ Solomani asked. ‘Step up to my office.’ Grant could hardly refuse, followed him. He had a sick premonition of what this might be about. ‘You’ve kept this place nice and quiet, on the whole, Grant, and I appreciate that,’ Solomani said when they were alone. ‘Thanks, boss.’ ‘But... surely you realise it’s obvious that you clearly have some kind of problem?’ ‘Boss, I –‘ ‘No-one here is blind. You look sick. Quite apart from anything else, you’ve lost most of your hair. I have to ask: what the hell is up with you?’ ‘I – I don’t know, sir. I know I’m having a few problems right now, but I can still do my job, I promise.’ Solomani looked doubtfully at him. ‘That’s a little hard to believe, Grant.’ ‘Trust me, sir.’ The little man took a deep breath. ‘Very well. You can carry on as normal – for the time being.’ ‘Thanks, boss.’
The guy was some kind of jock who’d had too much to drink but was refusing to admit it, and now he was standing in the middle of the dance floor defying them to drag him off it. Normally Grant wouldn’t have thought twice – on one occasion he’d taken on the entire offensive line of a college team single-handed, grinning all the while – but right now he paused while the guy roared abuse at him. Ratman was with him, and beyond Ratman was a circle of fascinated clubbers, eager to watch the cabaret. Ratman grinned. ‘Problem, boss?’ ‘No problem,’ Grant said, looking at the jock. ‘Want me to step up for this one?’ That impudent, sneering look was back on Ratman’s face, saying: you’ve lost it, you’re through, who the fuck are you, anyway? That was enough to send Grant onto the floor to tackle the jock. ‘C’mon, buddy, party’s over,’ Grant said, hoping this wouldn’t turn into an actual fight. The jock spat and swung at him, but he dodged it. With the guy off-balance he charged him, hoping to get him round the waist and knock him off his feet. But his instincts betrayed him and he realised he just didn’t have enough mass any more. The jock broke his grip easily and hammered a fist into Grant’s stomach. Grant doubled over and knew he was going to puke. Even at the moment the jock’s other fist smashed into the side of his face and sent him to the floor, teeth spattering across it as well. He heaved, feeling his bowels go simultaneously, found he literally couldn’t move beyond those functions. He was dimly aware of Ratman and the others tackling the jock as he lay there. Eventually he became aware of a presence by his side. Solomani was crouching there, shaking his head. ‘Grant, Grant. I don’t know what your problem is, but you’re no use to me at the moment. Don’t bother coming back here until you get yourself straightened out.’ He knew that tone of voice. It was the one that made him realise that being a serious shitkicker was one thing, but being the kind of person who gave orders to serious shitkickers was something wholly different. It was not to be challenged or even really questioned. He nodded and started to clamber to his feet.
6. Finally the sandy-haired man came out of the building. Grant had been waiting under a tree all day, trying to be inconspicuous. So far as he could see it was his one hope of finding out what was happening. He’d barely slept since being fired from the club the night before, had got up first thing to go to the public library and check their medical books. His clothes fit even worse than before, making him think he’d lost at least another couple of inches in height, and his joints were starting to stiffen up and ache. The pain was almost enough to make him cry like a pussy. Almost. There was nothing in any of the medical books about a disease that made the sufferer lose their hair and teeth and physically shrink. He had to find out what had been in that canister, that had been when all this had started. And his only contact was Benny. He’d gone to the science campus and been waiting outside the building ever since. No Benny, but his friend was here. Grant moved quickly to intercept the man despite the pain in his joints. ‘Shcuse me...’ He was finding it difficult to speak clearly with nearly all the teeth gone on one side. Those remaining were wobbling freely in their sockets now. Guy glanced at him, patted his pockets. ‘Sorry, no change.’ ‘No, I need your help. Where’sh Benny?’ Guy stared at him. ‘I know you... you were at that club – the bouncer, right?’ ‘’Shnot important. Where’sh Benny?’ He shrugged. ‘God knows. Nobody’s seen him since... well, we had a break-in in the lab a few nights ago, and as soon as he heard about it Benny disappeared. Said something about the mob coming after him...’ The man looked at Grant again, as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Why do you want him, anyway?’ Benny had known he would come. Grant’s heart sank. He grabbed at the last possible thread of hope. ‘In your lab, that shtuff... ODM-13... what is it?’ ‘How do you know about the organo-dimutron?’ Guy was looking hard at Grant now. The tumblers were clearly clicking into place. ‘Oh my God, Benny told you about it, and you tried to steal it – why? What possible use...?’ ‘Benny said it was worth millionsh – a forchune...’ ‘To the military, or big business, yeah. Organo-dimutron is a mutagen we’ve discovered – so incredibly powerful and dangerous we haven’t risked testing it or even announcing it exists. It affects living things on a molecular level...’ The man looked more closely at him. ‘You’ve been exposed to it, haven’t you? Christ - look, you have to get to a hospital straight away...’ Grant grabbed the man’s shirt front. ‘You have to help me. You. No hospitals.’ The man shrugged him off easily, to Grant’s horror. ‘Don’t be a fool. You have to –‘ His anger flared but all in that moment he realised it had no outlet. His strength had shrivelled, his power was gone... there was no reason for anyone to do what he wanted them to. Absurdly he found himself crying at the unfairness of it, that this should happen to him, Grant Blackley, of all people. What was he supposed to do now? He had no idea. ‘Please help me. Please, please. I’m begging you...’ Grant tried to stop himself sobbing, couldn’t. ‘You need a hospital,’ Guy said.
‘No hoshpital,’ Grant said. Even if he lived it was a short step from there to prison, and he couldn’t face that as he now was. He’d rather die. He turned and shuffled away as quickly as his joints would let him, aware of the man staring after him, apparently uncertain of what to do.
7. ‘Five foot six and a half,’ said Brandi, rolling up the tape measure. She did not sound too concerned. It was that evening. On returning home Grant had taken a shower to try and alleviate his joint pain, but had only succeeded in completing the total loss of his head and facial hair. He looked like someone who’d been having chemo. His tattoos had completely gone as well. His clothes hung on him like an adult’s on a child. Physically, he looked hideous, all his old muscle had seemingly turned into slack rolls of fat which hung off him like the folds of a robe. Any kind of serious movement had him yelping in pain – and yet he had to move, if only to get to the bathroom when one of his bouts of diarrhoea or puking struck him. He still had a couple of teeth left on one side, but none on the other. In the end he had just stripped off and crawled carefully into bed. When Brandi appeared she had looked at him with interest but not much sympathy. In the end she had measured him, more for her own curiosity than any other reason, it seemed. And now she was moving around the room, doing something complex and time-consuming when he just wanted to sleep. ‘Brandi, pleash,’ Grant mumbled. ‘Sorry, baby. But I really think you’re going to die quite soon, and I don’t want to get stuck with answering all the questions about how and why it happened,’ Brandi said. Grant looked up and realised she was packing her bags. ‘You carn go!’ ‘You can’t stop me.’ She smiled. ‘You know, I’ve wanted to leave for months but I know what you’d have done. You’re just not as scary as you used to be, Grant. Now you’re just some big baby that lies in its own shit calling for help.’ Part of him knew she was right. He stifled a moan. ‘Pleash, Brandi... I need help...’ ‘See?’ He found he was sobbing freely again. Brandi ignored him and carried on packing. ‘I’m not taking any of those whore clothes you bought me,’ she said, conversationally enough. ‘Maybe you can find some other dumb bitch to wear them, huh?’ Try as he might, she would not stop, and as she carried her bags into the main room he found himself rolling out of bed and crawling painfully after her, sobbing from the pain and calling her name. Brandi paused at the front door and looked at him, and for a moment there was a trace of doubt on her face, as if she were seeing him just as was then, weak and needing help – but then her face hardened, and Grant could imagine the dozens of memories crowding out whatever sympathy she might have felt. She smiled tightly, muttered something under her breath, picked up her bags and shut the door firmly behind her. Grant lay there and cried himself out.
And soon enough his teeth had gone the way of his hair and he was somehow back in his bed with his body aching and cramping and spasming around him. He found he could weep again soon enough, and that he had plenty of reason to. As Brandi had said, he was not much than a toothless, hairless, squalling incontinent child. He found himself drifting in and out of consciousness even as the room pulsed and faded with light. Oddly, hunger did not seem to be a problem – his body seemed to be devouring itself – and when he dragged himself to the bathroom he drank endless water. He knew he was just postponing the inevitable, that his death could not be far away, and could not understand why it was taking so long to come. In the end he just closed his eyes and abandoned himself to whatever lay next.
8. And then Grant awoke and there was no real pain in his body, and the only complaint coming from his gut was that it had not been fed nearly enough of late. He felt a strange vibrancy, almost a hum of health and energy, throughout his limbs and torso. He felt strange, but also great. He got out of the bed, wrinkling his nose at the stink of the soiled sheets, but marvelling at how easily he could move. Either he was dead, or he had survived! Yes! He, Grant Blackley, had ridden it out. He punched the air with both hands. ‘I’m fuckin’ back!’ he said, and even as he did so he was suddenly aware of the thirty-two small hard new teeth studding his jaws. He’d grown new teeth! He put a hand to his head and felt a fuzz of new hair starting there. There was none on his face or chest, but a little in his armpits. Even better. Still naked, he started cheerfully for the fridge – then realised it was not all good news. The room was wrong. The perspective was all messed up, everything was too far away or high up... it was like a giant version of his apartment... The tape measure was where Brandi had left it. With shaking hands he measured himself. Christ. He was only five foot one. He looked down at himself and saw how small and slim he had become, as well – his arms and legs seemed athletic, rather than muscular, while his chest and stomach had virtually no muscle definition at all. Grant weighed himself on the bathroom scales. Oh, dear God. He was only 105 pounds. He hadn’t weighed so little since in about twenty years. He stared at himself in the mirror and saw two things: firstly, that the new hair he was growing was not the old black, but a very light shade of brown, and that he looked like a kid. An unathletic kid. If anything, his cock and balls seemed to have dwindled even more than the rest of him. They were rather sensitive to the touch so he left them alone. The hair down there showed no signs of growing back either. He munched a bowl of cereal and pondered just what the hell he was going to do now. There was no way Solomani was going to employ a five-foot tall bouncer... and even the idea of asking him was repellent. They’d laughed at him simply for losing his hair... how would they react if they found he’d turned into a child? Grant recalled the eagerness with which they’d capitalised on his weakness. Some fucking friends he’d turned out to have. And Brandi, after all he’d done for her... Still, that didn’t help him. What the hell was he going to do now? It wasn’t even as if he could go out and look for a new job. After eating he tried to get dressed, but it was hopeless. He could practically fit both feet down one leg of his old jeans. He would look utterly ludicrous trying to wear that stuff out on the street... ...not that he wanted anyone to see him, of course. No way. What would they say, what would they do? He didn’t want to find out. In the end, somewhat reluctantly, he just pulled on one of his old t-shirts. It hung almost to his knee and looked more like a dress than anything else – not something he was remotely happy about – but what options did he have? Grant was still thinking about this when there was a knocking at the door. He looked round in alarm, and as he did so someone spoke through the door. ‘C’mon, open up. We know you’re in there. Police.’ Oh, Jesus. It occurred to him that there was no sense in delaying the inevitable and before he could talk himself out of it walked over to the door and opened it. Outside was a uniformed cop and another man in a suit. ‘Yeah,’ Grant said, expecting the bracelets to instantly appear. His voice had risen, which was another shock to his system. The guy in the suit smiled. ‘We’re looking for Grant Blackley. Is he in?’ Grant blinked at them, amazed and appalled. They... didn’t... recognise him. ‘G-grant?’ The detective glanced at the uniformed guy, gave a ‘kids today, huh?’ kind of look. ‘Yeah, Grant. Big guy, six five, dark hair and beard? Lives here?’ ‘He’s out,’ Grant said, forcing a smile onto his face. ‘Mind if we look around?’ the cop said, already coming into the apartment and glancing around. ‘Why not,’ Grant said, smiling nervously. The two men looked in every room, clearly disgusted by the state of the place. Grant drifted after the detective. ‘Why d’you want Grant, anyway?’ ‘He’s been linked to an attempted theft from the university science campus. One of the staff figures there was a link, plus a man matching his description was seen in the area the day before. His former employer gave this as his address.’ The detective sighed. ‘But like you said, seems he’s out.’ They returned to the front door. ‘Look, missy, if he resurfaces, tell him to come see us, okay?’ the detective said. ‘We’re bound to catch up with him sooner or later. It’s not like he’s easy to miss. Come on, Roy.’ Grant closed the door after them, almost unable to believe it. Was he so unrecognisable now? It seemed so, and a good thing for him as well. It was like a fresh start, in so many ways... but a start in what? All his life he’d been bigger, stronger, tougher than anyone else he knew... his muscle had been his weapon of choice in any situation. Now he was without it, what was he going to do? He was sitting contemplating that when something else occurred to him that he’d missed at the time. The cop had called him ‘missy’... not only had he not recognised Grant as himself, he hadn’t even recognised him as male. It was the way he was dressed, that was all. Grant told himself that over and over until he almost started to believe it.
9. There was enough food in the fridge for the time being, and he had no real need to go out. Also there was five hundred bucks stashed at the back of the wardrobe, which nobody else knew about... except it seemed that Brandi had been a bit more perceptive than he’d thought, and taken it with her when she’d gone. He was down to the forty bucks he’d had in his wallet when he’d been fired from the club. He’d think of something. In the meantime he sat and watched TV and tried to get used to his new physicality. It seemed that whatever the ODM-13 had done to him, it wasn’t quite finished yet. When he’d woken that morning, there hadn’t been much more than a fuzz of stubble on his head, but by the time he called it a night it was over an inch long and brushing the top of his ears. Not quite light brown, he accepted – more like dark blonde. The next morning it was twice as long again, reaching most of the way down to his shoulders, and lighter still at the roots. If only that was all he had to worry about, Grant thought. There was absolutely no sign of stubble on his cheeks or jaw, or anywhere else that his beard had previously grown. And on his chest, the centre of his nipples had sprouted into thick studs like pencil erasers. Each now sat in the middle of a wide disc of sensitive, wrinkly skin – wider than it had been before, he was certain. It was so difficult to be certain about things like this... but weren’t his balls smaller, pulled tighter to his body by a scrotum that seemed to be furling up on itself? And while the meat of his cock seemed shorter and narrower, the skin in which it was cloaked seemed looser and fleshier, too. No, no, it couldn’t be happening! It was impossible! He told himself not to cry, with little success. The thought was just too horrible to contemplate. In the end he just sat in front of the TV and gave himself over to it entirely, not thinking about himself or his own life at all. The day dragged by, a whirl of soap operas, game shows and chat shows. At the end of the afternoon he was disturbed by another knock at the door. Startled and nervous, Grant got up, as he did so realising his hair had continued to grow at an incredible rate – he could feel it brushing his shoulders now through the thin fabric of the T-shirt, still his only garment. He went over to the door and opened it. The grizzled face of his landlord peered through the gap at him. ‘I want to talk to Blackley.’ ‘He – Mister Blackley’s gone away,’ Grant said. The high softness of his voice had a connotation now he really didn’t like. ‘Well, he should’ve paid his back rent before he went,’ the old man said. ‘This isn’t a mission building, you know, young lady.’ ‘He’ll pay you when he gets back,’ Grant said, desperately. Lazarenko snorted. ‘He doesn’t get to choose when to pay his rent. I want the money by the end of tomorrow or he’s out on the street.’ ‘He won’t be back by then -!’ ‘Then he’s out on the street anyway. You too,’ Lazarenko said, smiling nastily. ‘You can’t speak to me like that, you old bastard!’ The words burst out of him automatically. The old man colored. ‘Watch your mouth! I’m within my rights to have you both thrown out this evening.’ With sick horror Grant realised that the man was right, and nothing he said or did could intimidate him anymore. His power was gone and he had to remember that. He dropped his eyes. ‘I’m really sorry, sir. I just panicked.’ ‘Mmm, well. I just want the money, from him or you, I don’t care. But by six tomorrow, or you’re both out, understand?’ ‘Yes, sir. I understand,’ Grant said. He closed the door. What the fuck was he going to do? He had no savings, and all his usual routes to quick money were closed to him now he was so puny and soft. He couldn’t go out on the street looking the way he did now. He didn’t even have any clothes. Grant padded back into the centre of the apartment, head bowed, hugging himself... but realised that something felt strange about the hug. Feeling a sick sense of the inevitable he pulled his t-shirt off over his head and looked down at himself. The flesh of his chest was beginning to swell, a small soft dome building up under each sensitive nipple. He had titties. Further down it was even worse. His small, hard balls were held tight against the flesh of his body, while the substance of his cock seemed to be withdrawing into his body – only an inch or two were really left - leaving only the loose folds of thick skin that had once surrounded it hanging loose. He prodded at his crotch and gasped despite himself. It was as sensitive as ever, and seemed to set off some kind of resonant tingling in his new titties. ‘I’m turning into a girl,’ Grant said to his reflection, which looked as horrified and feminine as he did.
10. He didn’t have time to freak out about that. He needed to get money from somewhere, anywhere, or he wouldn’t just be a girl but a homeless girl, with no real clothes and in a rough part of the city. That was enough to start him sweating and panicking again. His friends. His friends would help him out, wouldn’t they? Sure, they’d made fun of his baldness and that kind of stuff, but they’d been buds, hadn’t they? Sure they had. Grant looked around for his phone but couldn’t find it anywhere. Shit. Brandi must have taken it. He’d have to go down to the club in person. Grant went into the bedroom and tried to get dressed in his old gear – the t-shirt was like a tent on him, but that was minor compared to the fact that his shorts wouldn’t stay up and, once he’d finished cinching the waist and rolling up the legs, his jeans looked like clown pants. His old boots and shoes were waaay too big as well. A pair of Brandi’s old shoes had got left behind and, although deeply reluctant, he tried one of them on. It was actually a pretty good fit. Oh, Christ, was he now the same size as Brandi? Going to the club in his old clothes he’d look ridiculous and attract attention to himself. Even if he could get there without major wardrobe malfunction. There was no choice, he thought. He would have to see what else Brandi had left behind when she’d gone. Oh, crap. He remembered now her parting words: she’d just left the stuff he’d bought for her, so no jeans, no t-shirts, nothing... nothing sensible. But he had no choice: it was either now, and briefly, or tomorrow night, and for the foreseeable future after that. With deep distaste he picked up a pair of lacy panties and stepped into them, figuring there was no sense in taking any chances – also that they might disguise the remains of his manhood. (Did that mean he’d rather be thought of as an actual girl than the strange inbetween-thing he currently was?) They settled about his hips quite comfortably. He didn’t need a bra and so he pulled on a dark green halter-top. To finish with he found a blackskirt that finished just above mid-thigh, with about three layers of frilly ruffles on it, and put that on as well. It felt kind of odd around his comparatively narrow hips and backside, but there was no help for that. Grant looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like a girl, there was no denying it. He arranged his hair over his shoulders to try and increase the impression, realised what he was doing and stopped. Just pass muster, he told himself. Thank God it was a warm night. He’d never bothered buying Brandi a coat and it was a long way to walk bare-legged and with just one of his old shirts as a makeshift jacket. For a decade he’d walked these streets with supreme confidence, but everything had changed now. Every alleyway seemed to pose a threat, every passing man a figure wrapped in terrible suspicion. Grant had never been more relieved to arrive at the club. It was very early and there was no queue, but Karl was still lounging around at the door, same as he ever did. Grant realised he’d no idea what he was going to say to him. In the end he just walked up to where the man was. ‘Go straight in, honey,’ Karl said, grinning. ‘Pay at the desk.’ ‘Karl – it – it’s me. Grant,’ Grant said. Karl snorted with laughter. ‘What? You high, girl? This some kind of joke?’ He looked around to see who might be watching to see his reaction, then stared again at Grant’s altered face. ‘Jesus...’ ‘I don’t know how it happened. Some chemicals. But it changed me and I really need –‘ But Karl was already calling into the club. ‘Ray! Get out here now!’ His friends believed him. They would help. Grant let himself relax, and then Ratman emerged from the club, dressing sharper than he had before. ‘Look at this,’ Karl said, grinning as he indicated Grant. ‘So what,’ Ratman said, glancing at him. Then he frowned and looked closer, his face slowly breaking into a huge grin as he did so. ‘Grant!?! That you?’ He burst out laughing. Grant felt his cheeks burning. ‘Quiet, for fuck’s sake.’ ‘This is what that chemical stuff did to you? Man, am I glad I stayed by the door! There but for the grace of God...’ Ratman was still chuckling. ‘You get the full set, Grant?’ Karl stepped forward and grabbed at one of Grant’s tits. Grant slapped his hand away in shock and stepped back. ‘Karl!’ Grant said, hating the note of feeble pleading he heard in his own voice. The two of them were openly grinning at him. ‘So, you want to come into the club, then?’ Ratman asked. ‘Ratman, I need help – my landlord wants the rent, and that bitch Brandi ran off with my dough,’ Grant said. ‘I just need a loan, just for a while...’ ‘Till you come back as a bouncer?’ Karl laughed. ‘Ray,’ Ratman said. He wasn’t laughing. ‘W-what?’ Grant asked. ‘My name’s Ray. You’re the one who started the whole Ratman thing, you – you dumb bitch,’ Ratman said, smiling mirthlessly. ‘Why the fuck should we help you? What did you ever do for us?’ ‘I – I –‘ But before Grant could finish the sentence Ratman had turned and walked back into the club. Karl didn’t speak for a moment. ‘So, you coming in the club or not?’ he eventually asked. ‘Uh – I –‘ ‘Cause Ray doesn’t like it if we just let people hang around out here...’ ‘What – what’s he got to do with it?’ Karl shrugged. ‘Ray’s the boss. Solomani gave him your old job.’ ‘Oh.’ An interesting feeling, this numb bleakness inside, Grant thought. He looked at Karl again. ‘I – just need a little money, Karl...’ ‘You know, you’ve turned into a pretty hot chick,’ Karl said, looking Grant up and down again in a way he really wasn’t comfortable with. ‘How bad do you need the cash?’ ‘More than anything,’ Grant whispered. ‘Come round tomorrow afternoon. You know where I live,’ Karl said. ‘I’m sure we can work something out... if you really want the money that bad.’ Grant felt sick again, something purely psychological this time. He backed away from Karl, turned his back, hurried towards his home, feeling his stomach turning over and over, not because he didn’t know what he was going to do but really because – deep down – he did.
11. Incredibly, Grant still somehow managed to sleep that night – on some level his body was still exerting itself as his transformation approached its conclusion, and he fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. But as soon as he properly awoke, the realities of his situation crashed in on him and a bleak detachment consumed his mind. He sat up, wincing at an odd twinge in his side and hips as he did so. The mass of his hair flopped down over his shoulders, reaching well down his back and tickling his – oh, Christ, his titties had blown up like balloons in the night. The sheer weight of them against his chest was almost impossible to believe. He was huge. They were like porn-star tits. With a dull sense of resignation he pulled the sheet aside and looked at his crotch. He’d still had a little stub of an actual cock left the night before, hiding amongst the folds of flesh, but it had almost totally retreated into his body now, and sat at the top end of... ah, Jesus. His cock had turned into a clit and from somewhere a cunt had opened up. He really was a girl now. Numbly he got out of bed and stood up – but even as he did so he felt a horrendous crunch somewhere in his pelvis and the muscles in his sides and waist cramped agonisingly. He swayed a little, feeling his bones and organs slide into a new arrangement... and then it was over and the pain suddenly receded. Grant clutched at himself and pattered through into the bathroom to confirm his suspicions: his waist had contracted enormously, while his hips had simultaneously widened to accommodate his new anatomy. His ass-cheeks seemed to be filling out as well, giving him a big old booty. There was really no way to tell, from looking at him, that Grant had ever been the mountain of a man he had enjoyed being so much. He was a short, pale, feeble looking chick... and Grant Blackley looked at his new self and sobbed openly for many long minutes. But there was enough of the old Grant left for him to realise his new body had a rack and an ass and legs to die for... and his face wasn’t too bad, weirdly enough. The mane of long blonde hair – which seemed to have stopped growing so fast - made him look utterly different anyway. Karl had been turned on by him last night. That reaction would only be strengthened, the way he looked now. The knowledge repelled him even as he knew it was his best chance to find the money he needed to keep the apartment. Maybe he could just lead Karl on, dupe him into handing over some money... Karl was the type of guy who only ever followed his dick around anyway... in Grant’s desperation it seemed to make a kind of sense, formed the rudiments of a plan. In any case, he had no choice. He ate slowly and sparingly and thought it through while watching soap operas. There seemed to be no other option. Damn it, he’d be willing to even give the guy a kiss if it meant getting some cash... Soon it was after lunch and he knew he had to go round, if he was ever going to. Grant dressed. Scanty black-lace thong. Bra of the same material – though Brandi’s old bras were all a little too small to be comfortable (strange how he just accepted that: it seemed his reservoir of shame was not inexhaustible). Tight top and leather mini. He let his hair hang free and pulled on a pair of leather boots with little heels on them. Still not quite enough to guarantee over-riding Karl’s natural wariness, Grant thought. He hunted around and found some old make-up Brandi had left behind. Clumsily and slowly he pulled out the brightest lipstick he could find and started applying it around his mouth.
Karl’s apartment building was even shittier than Grant’s, which was saying something. Grant made his way up to his friend’s door and hit the buzzer, glanced around nervously as he waited. There were no pockets in his outfit so he’d stuck his keys and cash in a tiny black bag he’d bought Brandi but which she’d never used. The door opened. Karl stood there, wearing a pair of jeans and apparently nothing else. Surprise bloomed on his face as he recognised Grant, followed rapidly by a broad grin. ‘Hi,’ Grant said. ‘You said to come round... that we could maybe...’ ‘Sure thing,’ Karl said, opening the door and stepping back from it to allow Grant in. Grant could feel his eyes rake over him as he went through into the main room. ‘Can I getcha beer?’ Karl asked, heading for the fridge himself. ‘Yeah, why not?’ Grant said automatically. He sat down on one of the chairs, leaned forward. Don’t look too nervous, he told himself. Act casual. Karl returned with a couple of bottles, handed one to Grant. He took a swig of it as Karl flopped onto the sofa, looked at Grant again, apparently in amused disbelief. ‘Still can’t believe it’s really you,’ Karl said, taking a gulp of his own drink. Grant shrugged. ‘Well, it is.’ Karl nodded. ‘So. What’s it like? Being a girl, I mean?’ ‘I – I don’t know. Same as before, except...’ He touched his chest, found himself coloring. ‘Yeah, you got the boobies now,’ Karl said, grinning again. ‘You also got the...?’ He looked knowingly further down. Grant felt his cheeks burning. This wasn’t going at all how he’d imagined it might. He took another big pull from the bottle of beer. ‘So I need a hand,’ he said, trying to sound casual. ‘That old bastard at my place wants rent but Brandi ran off with all my money, the bitch...’ ‘Yeah, you said,’ Karl said. ‘And, you know, I said we could maybe do a deal...’ ‘I just need to borrow some cash. Till I figure out what I’m going to do,’ Grant said. Karl inclined his head. ‘Seems to me like you are not in what you’d call a strong bargaining position.’ ‘What – what’d you mean?’ Grant asked. ‘Well, how’d I know you’d ever be able to pay me back?’ Karl seemed quite relaxed about the whole conversation. ‘It’d be a big risk for me, wouldn’t it? Money for you, and nothing for me but risk.’ ‘Karl – Karl, we’re buds, aren’t we?’ The pleading note was back in Grant’s voice and he hated himself for it. Karl laughed as he finished his beer. Grant found his own bottle was nearly empty, was dimly aware this new body had nothing like the tolerance of his old one and he was going way too fast. ‘We ain’t buds any more, Grant,’ Karl said. ‘I’m not sure we ever were.’ ‘Please, Karl. I need the dough,’ Grant said. ‘You want another beer?’ Grant found that he did, despite everything. ‘Yeah, I suppose.’ Karl sat back on the sofa and smiled. ‘Well, get me one while you’re there, wilya? You know where they are.’ Grant nodded and went through to the kitchen. He pulled another brace of bottles from the refrigerator and opened them before carrying them back through. He held one out to Karl but he did not take it, instead patted the sofa next to him. ‘I – I’m okay on the chair,’ Grant said. ‘Wasn’t asking,’ Karl said, smiling. Grant nodded and sank onto the sofa next to Karl. They both pulled at their drinks then he was aware of Karl setting his down on the floor. Then he felt Karl’s fingers running through his hair. ‘You sure were a big ugly bastard until a few days ago,’ Karl said. Grant felt Karl’s hand leave his hair and slide about his waist. ‘I prefer you the way you are now a lot.’ ‘Karl...’ Grant looked away, tried to dislodge the hand, failed. ‘You know it’s still me. Still Grant.’ Karl pointed to his temple. ‘Stuff up here knows that, faint-like.’ He pointed to the crotch of his jeans, where a sickening bulge was starting to show. ‘Other stuff doesn’t give a shit.’ ‘Karl –‘ But he was taking Grant’s drink from him and pulling him closer. Grant found himself staring into Karl’s face, with one of the man’s hands on his side and the other stroking his bare thigh. And Grant was horrified to discover this new body responding to the sinewy strength of Karl’s, a strange fluttering tension appearing in the pit of his belly and elsewhere. ‘Ain’t gonna force you. Not really,’ Karl said, grinning. ‘You can say “no,” walk out, any time.’ ‘...my money?’ Grant asked. ‘I’ll see you right,’ Karl said. ‘So...’ He moved his face towards Grant’s, and Grant forced himself to stay still and receive the kiss. Karl’s arms were wrapping more closely around him and he found he was reciprocating, sliding onto his back on the sofa with Karl on top of him, pressing down on his tits, which were starting to throb. No, Jesus, this could not be him, not Grant Blackley... One of Karl’s hands found his tit and started to fondle it. Grant heard himself moan, was dimly aware of Karl sliding his hand up under Grant’s top to stroke his breasts more directly. Through his pleasure Grant caught himself thinking: this wasn’t supposed to be how it happened! ‘Aw, shit! Sorry, K!’ The scrawny guy in a pair of shorts and vest who’d just wandered in on them looked on in embarrassment as they tried to disentangle themselves. ‘That’s fine, Ty.’ Karl sounded more disgruntled than anything else. ‘My old buddy Ty. Ty, this is... this is Grace.’ ‘Hiya, Grace,’ Ty said, nodding. ‘...hi,’ Grant said. He sat up, adjusted his clothing. ‘...I’ll leave you guys to it,’ Ty said, making to leave the room. ‘Ah, hell. Don’t worry,’ Karl said, standing up. He looked down at Grant. ‘I was just thinking we should adjourn this to somewhere more intimate, right, Grace?’ Grant swallowed hard as Karl held out his hand. If he went to Karl’s bedroom with him...but if he failed to get the money he needed... and the fire running through his new body... and somewhere deep down the need to know... and his hand was in Karl’s without his consciously being aware of having moved it, though he knew he had. ‘Grace?’ was all he could think of to whisper as Karl led him out of the room. ‘It’s a nice name,’ Karl said, snapping a quick grin over his shoulder. ‘Can’t go on calling you Grant while we’re fuckin’, that’d just be messed up.’ He seemed quite matter-of-fact about it. Karl’s room was small and untidy, a medium-sized bed at its centre. Grant surveyed it and smiled weakly and nervously at its owner, who was still lounging against the door he’d just closed. ‘May’s well make yourself more comfortable ‘fore we get down to it,’ Karl said. His meaning was clear. Grant nodded and sat on the edge of the bed to unzip his boots. He was aware of Karl’s eyes on him all the time. Barefoot now, he stood up and fumbled to unfasten the clasp on his skirt, unzipped it and wriggled it down his legs. He forced himself to glance at Karl, reminded himself of how it had felt to be kissed and held, even if only by a man like him. That helped a little. He pulled his top off over his head and threw it down, stood there in bra and g-string, hoping for some sign of approval from Karl, hating himself for being so weak. ‘An’ the rest,’ Karl said. Grant reached behind him and unhooked his bra. Strange how he’d got used to the feel of it. He turned his back and wriggled it off, covered his breasts with his hands before turning back. Then it occurred to him he was being ridiculous and he let his hands fall to his hips. Karl grinned fiercely. Grant got onto the bed, up on his knees. Forcing a smile onto his face he slid both thumbs into the waistband of his g-string and slid it down over his hips, to his knees. He went down onto his back and kicked his last garment off, lay there looking at Karl, legs slightly apart. He had never felt so totally naked before in his life. Karl did not speak. Abruptly he unfastened and unzipped his jeans and started pulling them off. As Grant had thought he was naked beneath them and the effect Grant’s strip had had on the man was obvious. Karl crawled onto the bed, moving over Grant, face a mask. Grant felt the tip of Karl’s cock brush his belly and let out a little whimper. ‘Don’t hurt me...’ ‘You left it a little late for that,’ Karl said, sounding amused. His mouth came fiercely down onto Grant’s as his hands got back to work on Grant’s breasts. Grant felt the uncontrollable tides surging in his body again and found he was clutching at Karl’s shoulders and back, then his waist and buttocks... and then Karl brusquely jerked Grant’s thighs apart and thrust his cock into him. It’s not me, it’s not me, it’s not me, Grant thought, almost in time with the rhythm of Karl’s thrusts and his own little helpless barks. He tried to abandon the body, abandon the flesh, this was just a business arrangement, but then the power of his climax broke through the flimsy barrier and he couldn’t help but cry out... When it was over he lay on Karl’s bed, a sheet thrown over him, feeling sweat and other fluids drying on his skin. I can’t deny it, he thought. This guy just fucked me. I’m a girl now, whether I like it or not. Karl himself did not seem inclined to linger on the bed with him. Almost at once he got up and started pulling his jeans back on, looking pleased with himself as he did so. ‘Jesus, Grace. I think you missed your vocation in life.’ ‘What?’ Karl spared him a glance. ‘You were a pretty fair shitkicker, but you’re a premium piece of ass.’ He snickered. Grant caught himself on the verge of saying thank-you, made himself stay silent for a moment. Then: ‘Karl... my money?’ ‘Ah yeah. A deal’s a deal,’ Karl said. He pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, slid out a wad of notes and tossed them onto the bed. ‘Any time you get short again, feel free to come round...’ Grant gathered up the money. ‘Karl, this isn’t as much...’ ‘Shoulda made the deal clear beforehand, sweetheart.’ Karl almost seemed to have forgotten that Grant had ever been a man. ‘Karl...!’ Grant sat up, feeling his eyes start to sting, ignoring the spoilt, whining tone in his voice. Karl sniggered. ‘You fuckin’ bastard, you think you can just fuck me and gyp me? You god-damned ass-hole – aahhh!’ He fell back onto the bed clutching his face where Karl had slapped him. ‘You’d better remember who you’re fuckin’ talking to, bitch.’ Karl didn’t actually sound angry. ‘You’re not a bad-ass any more, baby. You’re just a piece of ass. You can’t go givin’ shit to dudes any more less you wanna get knocked about.’ Grant stared at him, then nodded. ‘I – I’m sorry,’ he whispered. Karl put his hand on Grant’s ass, gave it a pat like one might a family pet. He smiled . ’That’s okay,’ he said. ‘Just bear it in mind from now on, okay?’ Grant nodded. ‘Now get the fuck outta my bed. I gotta go out and I ain’t leavin’ you here by yourself.’
12. Grant went back to his apartment, sat curled up under the shower until all the hot water was gone and it was just a blasting icy jet. It didn’t help much. Eventually he became dimly aware of someone pounding on the apartment door and got up, pulling on a thin old robe as he went. Lazarenko glared in at him through the crack in the door. ‘Has Blackley come back?’ Grant shook his head. ‘No. I don’t think he ever will,’ he said. The old man sniffed. ‘Well, then, if that’s so you’ll have to get out of that apartment, young lady.’ ‘Please...’ Grant went over to his discarded purse, pulled out the money Karl had given him. ‘I have a little money... can’t I pay what he owes you? I’ve got nowhere else to go...’ Speaking like this to the old shit made him want to yell and break things, but he forced the old Grant down into the darkest depths of himself. As he turned to face the man he was aware of the old eyes running over his breasts and body. That what you want, you old bastard? Grant thought. Well, if that’s all it takes... if I gave it to fuckin’ Karl of all people, why not you? He handed the money to his landlord and as the old man checked it he ran a hand through his hair, surreptitiously tweaked the front edges of his robe a little further apart. He knew well enough what it took. When Lazarenko turned back to him he paused, momentarily. ‘Well, I don’t know...’ ‘I’d be so grateful, mister,’ Grant said. ‘You wouldn’t want me out on the street, would you?’ ‘It’s a little short, that’s all.’ The old man looked flustered, just a touch. ‘But I suppose...’ His eyes were not on Grant’s face. ‘I’ll make it up, I promise. Any way I can,’ Grant said. ‘Hmm, well. I’ll take this as a down payment – just a down payment, mind,’ Lazarenko said. ‘Oh, thank you!’ Grant forced himself to dart forward and plant a kiss on the old man’s unshaven jowl. ‘Umm, well, yes, whatever.’ His landlord had colored and was almost twitching. ‘What was your name again?’ ‘G-grace. Grace Benson,’ Grant said. ‘Well, Grace,’ the old man said, giving him an awful, crooked smile, ‘I expect I’ll see you soon. For the rest, you understand.’ ‘Oh, sure,’ Grant said, smiling and looking breezy. ‘I’ll look forward to it!’ ‘Me too,’ said the old man, and after a moment handed back a ten. He smiled again and closed the door behind him. Jesus, Grant thought. He would’ve done it as well, if it had meant the difference between keeping the place and losing it. He still might have to. What the hell, he told himself. It wasn’t as though it needed to mean anything. With Karl it had been weird and new but not entirely bad. Karl had seemed satisfied. He’d lost his old power, the weapons of his arms and legs and fists and muscles. But it seemed like maybe he had a new power, a new set of weapons that were slower and slyer but just as effective when it came to getting him what he wanted. That was all he needed to get back on his feet again. Grant Blackley was nothing if not a determined guy, he told himself. Then it occurred to him that he was Grace Benson now, and not really a guy at all.
Back at Karl’s place, a day or two later, banging on the door. He was in fishnets, leather boots and skirt, bustier, hair up, caked in makeup. Karl had made him the offer, after all, but this time he was determined to drive a harder bargain. After a moment the door opened. It was Karl’s roomie Ty, who grinned at the sight of Grant. ‘Hel- lo...’ ‘Hi. Karl in?’ Ty shook his head. ‘Went out early, don’t know where.’ ‘Ah.’ Damn, he really needed the money. Despite everything some of his disappointment must have crept into his face because Ty said, ‘Anything I can help with?’ Grant put his head on one side and looked at Ty anew. His face was kinder than Karl’s, for one thing. ‘Well, I dunno...’ he said, putting a note of playfulness into his voice. ‘Guess I know what you want,’ Ty said, grinning. ‘Wanna come in?’ ‘Sure,’ Grant said, following him into the apartment. ‘Grace, right?’ ‘Yeah.’ Grant took off his jacket and sat down on the sofa. Ty sat down next to him. This was becoming routine for him, Grant thought, this assumption of the role of Grace... he knew how she would talk, behave. It was almost as though she were a real person and he could just sit back and let her take the controls. ‘You and Karl aren’t, you know, exclusive?’ Ty asked, his fingertips stroking Grant’s knee through his stockings. Grant relaxed and let Grace work her wiles. ‘Oh, no,’ Grace said, giggling. ‘You don’t have to worry about nothing like that...’ ‘Oh, good,’ Ty said. He leaned in and kissed Grace on the mouth. She mmmed with pleasure and slid her hands onto him, then broke it off sharply. ‘I’m sorry, sweetie,’ Grace said, looking sadly at him. ‘I’d love to stay and fool around, but I can’t, things being the way they are...’ Ty was clearly already hooked. ’I don’t see what the problem is, honey...’ ‘My rent’s due,’ Grace said, shrugging helplessly. ‘I was hoping Karl would, you know, help me out with some money... if he’s not here...’ ‘Hey, baby, I’d be happy to lend a hand,’ Ty said, stroking her face. ‘But you don’t know me...’ ‘Reckon I know you well enough,’ Ty said, grinning. ‘How much you need?’ ‘Fifty, maybe?’ Ty nodded. ‘Can do, no problem.’ He grinned and leaned in to kiss her again. ‘Baby,’ Grace said, jerking her head aside. ‘Can you just give me the money now, maybe? So I can relax and stop worrying...’ Ty nodded again, clearly fully understanding the situation. ‘Money’s in my room,’ he said. It wasn’t much different from Karl’s. As Ty started to count out bills, Grace smiled at him and started to unzip her skirt.
Ty and Karl had various buddies who knew value when they saw it, and even when all them were busy it was easy enough to find guys in a bar or club who wanted to show off their wallets, like that made any difference. Grant knew that was riskier, though, and that if he carried on like that too long the chances were his body’d turn up in a dumpster somewhere. The logical thing to do would be to cut someone in – Ty or Karl, maybe – for part of the take, in exchange for looking out for Grace’s safety. But he resisted that, because he knew what people like that were called, and what that in turn would make him. Deep down the remains of the old Grant were still resisting what he’d become. That said, he was dimly aware the boundaries between Grant and Grace were sliding... or simply fading away. This was his life – Grace’s life now – no-one was even calling him Grant any more, as far as everyone except Ratman and Karl were concerned Grant had just dropped out of sight. He was really Grace now, in every sense that mattered. He was her.
Late at night, on a weekend, and Grace was walking back home down main street. She was stiff and sore after a rough encounter in the back seat of a Chevy, and the guy had tried to gyp her – might have managed it, too, if he’d been less drunk. She wondered how long it would be before he noticed his wallet was gone – he might be one of the ones she had to look out for in future. Shit, she was tired. Still, had to make money somehow, and she was doing okay, keeping the old bastard in the apartment block happy, eating okay, a little left for herself. Men were such dumb fucks when you really got down to it. None of this was what she’d have chosen for herself, but she was doing okay. Red light at the crosswalk. She paused and looked around. The good people of the town were out and enjoying themselves, drifting between bars and clubs. Well, good luck to them ‘em, all she wanted was her bed – and just the bed. A couple came up to the crosswalk, and Grace realised there was something vaguely familiar about them. She was gorgeous, tall, long red-brown hair, great body, dress that must’ve cost a thousand bucks. The guy was well-dressed too, flash suit – looked to be in good shape, for all that everything about him seemed to yell ‘yuppie asshole’. The woman noticed Grace looking at them and returned her gaze. She looked Grace up and down with a faint smile on her face, almost a look of pity in her eyes. Grace found herself getting angry, he cheeks starting to burn. The man glanced at Grace and whispered something to his partner. They both laughed, just as the light turned green. Grace stayed put as the two of them walked away, tried to fight down the rage that suddenly gripped her... but it was quashed by something even more awful, the realisation that whatever they thought of her, it was probably true. Jesus, what was she? What had she become? And how could she change it? It preyed on her mind all the way home, and did not allow her to sleep until well into the night.
13. None of the fuckin’ men she met had any class, that was the problem. She needed to start moving in better circles. Not much chance of that, though, the way things were. More than ever before she sensed the barrier between herself and the haves of the world, and it burned at her. She was – she was Grace Benson, she told herself, and as good as any of them – as smart, as tough, as ruthless. All she needed was the smallest opportunity to show it. But try as she might Grace couldn’t think of a way to catch that opportunity. So she rubbed along a while longer, out with her men-friends in the afternoons and evenings, sprawled in front of the TV the rest of the time. It was there that she lay when there came a knock at the door. Shit, it was probably that old fart sniffing around her again. She pulled a robe on over her slip, pulled an appropriately friendly look onto her face, and opened it. To Grace’s utter astonishment it was Guy, Benny’s pal, the man from the lab. He flashed a somewhat awkward smile in her direction. ‘Hey.’ ‘Hey,’ Grace echoed. ‘I – ah, I’m looking for Grant Blackley,’ Guy said. ‘Someone told me this was his place.’ Man, he stood out in this shitty building like a visitor from another planet. ‘Kinda,’ Grace said, opening the door. ‘You wanna come in?’ Guy nodded and came into the apartment. Grace kicked herself for not keeping the place tidier. ‘You, ah, want a beer?’ ‘Er, no thanks,’ Guy said, looking around. ‘So, why do you want Grant?’ ‘Well... I know he got sick – just before he disappeared. The cops seem to think he’s left town, but... I don’t think he would’ve been able to,’ Guy said. ‘I know how sick he was.’ ‘That was weeks ago. No-one’s seen him in ages,’ Grace said. ‘Yeah, well, it’s taken me this long to track down his address,’ Guy said. ‘You haven’t seen him in weeks?’ Grace shook her head, starting to think it was maybe an error even as she did so. Guy nodded and sighed. ‘Well, there’s no point me bothering you any further,’ he said. ‘It’s no bother,’ Grace said, even as Guy turned back towards the door. She shot him a quick smile. ‘Why are you looking for Grant, anyway?’ Guy shrugged. ‘I don’t know. What was happening to him was pretty severe, I just – maybe wanted to see if I could help him. Also...’ He laughed, almost harshly. ‘Whatever happened to him’s never happened before... so, you know, it’d have scientific value, if I could look at him...whatever’s left of him...’
‘Aha,’ Grace said. Guy wanting to help Grant she couldn’t really understand but the rest of it made perfect sense to her: the man was just looking out for his own reputation and career.
‘Anyway, I should go,’ Guy said. He started for the door again, in his smart suit, no doubt heading down to his expensive car which he’d use to drive to his nice house... ‘Aw, d’you have to?’ Grace asked. She turned her smile up to full intensity. ‘I, you know, don’t see many people –‘ ‘I’m sorry,’ Guy said, smiling awkwardly. He was seconds away from walking out of her door forever. ‘Guy,’ she said desperately. Guy paused in the doorway, frowned at her. ‘How’d you know my name?’ ‘You said you wanted to see what was left of Grant,’ she said. She held her hands out, looked down at herself. ‘Here it is.’ Guy stared at her, his frown deepening. ‘What?’ ‘The last time you saw Grant,’ Grace said, taking a deep breath and trying to force the emotion from her voice, ‘he came to you outside your lab. He – I was losing my teeth and hair, couldn’t walk properly... I was really bad.’ ‘I... I still can’t believe...’ Guy said, but he was looking at her properly now. Grace sank into one of the chairs. ‘You talked about... I don’t know, some kind of chemical. Orgasmatron or something.’ ‘Grant could have told you that,’ Guy said in a low voice. But he walked over to her, put his hand under her chin and raised her face. ‘Christ. Your coloring’s completely changed, but... there’s still some of your original bone structure left.’ ‘Not enough for most people to recognise, though,’ Grace said, forcing a smile onto her face. Guy stepped back, shaking his head. ‘Your hair grew back? Your teeth?’ ‘Really fuckin’ quick.’ ‘And – and the rest of it?’ Guy raised a vague hand. Grace couldn’t help but smile in earnest. ‘Not sure what you mean... but I’m all girl. Far as I can tell, anyway. Didn’t want to go to a doctor.’ Guy nodded. ‘Well, maybe you should... how’ve you been feeling? Generally, I mean?’ She shrugged. ‘Fine. Good as ever, once the actual change was done...’ ‘This is... this is incredible,’ Guy said. ‘I should be taking notes. You really ought to have some tests, you know... at the lab or something.’ Grace smiled at him. ‘I’d really like to keep this unofficial, doc... you know, the cops are still looking for Grant... if anyone finds out I used to be him, you’d be doing your tests on me while I was in the pen.’ Guy seemed to think about that for a moment. ‘I guess most people would say you’ve already been punished enough for that break-in,’ he said, eventually. ‘Okay, let’s keep this unofficial, for the time being.’ ‘Sounds good to me.’ ‘I need to go and get my notebook, some other stuff,’ Guy said. He checked his watch. ‘Damn it, I have to be at a staff meeting this afternoon.’ He glanced back at Grace. ‘Is it okay if I come back this evening? Do it then?’ ‘Yeah, okay. Only... I lost my job,’ Grace said. ‘For obvious reasons. Kinda been struggling...’ Guy nodded. ‘I’ll pay you for your time,’ he said. No change there then, Grace thought. ‘Okay, it’s a deal,’ she said. ‘Seven?’ Guy broke into a thin smile. ‘Seven,’ he said.
14. Grace was waiting for him by six thirty, wearing the classiest clothes she had – her figure was still pretty blatantly prominent, of course. She’d even made an attempt at cleaning up the apartment. Don’t make this too obvious, she repeated to herself like a mantra. You had to play a big fish on a long line. Or something like that. (She’d never actually been fishing.) When he eventually appeared (ten minutes late, not that Grace was going to make an issue of it), Guy was wearing the same clothes as earlier and looked slightly surprised that she’d dressed up. He wasn’t thinking of this as a date, Grace realised. Well, it wasn’t, strictly speaking. ‘Thought we’d get some food,’ she said, brightly. ‘Er, yeah. Okay,’ Guy said. ‘Where’s good around here?’ ‘Everywhere’s shit,’ she said with a grin, then made a note to cut back on the cursing. He looked uneasy with it. ‘Well, I’ve got the car with me,’ he said, smiling. They drove to a pizza restaurant slightly uptown – a quiet place, thankfully, because it was clear Guy’s first objective was to ask an immense number of questions: how exactly had Grant felt immediately after his exposure to the organo-dimutron? How long before the physical changes had started to appear? How exactly had they progressed? Grace did her best to answer them, but began to feel frustrated. He was being so damn brisk and professional about the whole thing, there was barely any sign he’d even noticed her as a woman. Oh, Jesus, don’t say he was gay... that really would be the crowning indignity of all... ‘Okay, I think we’ve just about covered the physical side,’ Guy said, making a final note. ‘I’d still really love for you to have a proper exam at some point, though. Now... this may not be something you care to discuss...’ ‘Go on,’ Grace said, sipping at her beer. ‘ It’s whether the physical change has been accompanied by any... psychological alterations,’ Guy said. ‘I mean, most obviously, you’re wearing very feminine clothing, and make-up...’ ‘Ah,’ Grace said. Better not let on the real reasons for that, she thought. ‘Well... you know... my old clothes were no good any more... and I thought there was no point trying to pretend to be something I wasn’t any more...’ Guy nodded. ‘A conscious choice. I’m just interested in how much that decision may have been influenced by changes in brain chemistry...’ Grace shrugged and smiled. ‘Can’t help you there, doc.’ ‘It’s okay if you want to call me Guy,’ he said, making another note. ‘To be honest, it’s just a relief to be able to talk to someone about all of this stuff,’ she said. ‘You haven’t told anyone? Friends or family?’ He did not look up. ‘Don’t really have any of either. This has made me realise that,’ Grace said. Damn it, she thought, that was perilously close to being true, and she clamped down on the emotion the fact stirred in her. Don’t go soft, bitch... ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Guy said. ‘It must have been very difficult for you.’ She’d meant to get all tearful at some point in the evening, Grace told herself. Just hadn’t expected it to come so soon or so easy. ‘Guess so,’ she said, dabbing at her eyes. ‘I’m sorry...’ ‘That’s okay,’ Guy said. He waited until she had recovered herself before going on. ‘I really think you should consider getting professional help, Grace. Medical and psychiatric.’ ‘Thought we’d discussed that,’ she said. ‘Anyway... just talking to you’s really great. I feel so much better.’ She put her hand gently on his and smiled at him again. He blinked at her and smiled back, clearly a little surprised. ‘Uh... thank you, Grace.’ ‘You wanted to ask me some more questions about my change?’ she asked. ‘Um... yeah.’ He pulled his hand away, a little reluctantly she thought. ‘Do – do you think of yourself as a woman? Inside, I mean?’ Grace shrugged. ‘Yeah... but I didn’t feel like I had any choice there, either... with the way I was feeling... you know, fantasies and stuff...’ She looked away and did her best to look bashful. ‘Oh,’ Guy said. ‘You mean – sexual fantasies?’ She met his gaze and nodded, paused before answering further. ‘Me and a guy together. You know, being intimate. They were so vivid... so enjoyable...’ And so entirely imaginary, too, but she had to start him thinking about her in that kind of context and this seemed a neat way to do it. ‘Aha,’ Guy said, taking a sip of his own drink and looking slightly ill-at-ease. ‘Oh, God, I’m embarrassing you! Sorry,’ Grace said. She smiled and shrugged. ‘Well, you did ask...’ ‘Yeah,’ Guy agreed. He looked at his notepad and seemed to be thinking of a way to frame the next question. ‘This is a really personal question, and you don’t need to answer it... but do you still have these, uh, feelings?’ ‘Doesn’t everyone? I mean, yeah,’ Grace said. ‘And have you, ah – what I mean to ask is, have you – have you made any attempt –‘ ‘Have I done it with a guy yet?’ ‘Er, basically, yeah.’ ‘Jeez, doc, what kind of girl do you take me for?’ She smiled at him. ‘C’mon, you’ve seen where I live, the kind of circles I used to move in. I don’t want that kind of guy. I want someone nice. Classy.’ Again, she found she was speaking the truth without intending to and it rattled her. ‘Well... I can understand that,’ Guy said. He was definitely thinking of her in that way now, Grace thought. She hoped she was coming across the right way – vulnerable and uncertain, but passionate. Then again his eyes were sliding down off her face more and more, so it was a fair bet that he wasn’t completely paying attention to what she said... He picked up the check and drove her back to her place. A long line, Grace told herself as Guy escorted her up to her apartment door. ‘Hope I answered all your questions okay,’ she said, as she unlocked it. ‘I had a nice evening, regardless.’ ‘Yeah,’ Guy said. ‘Yeah, it was great.’ She turned and leaned against the doorframe. ‘So, doc... are you going to want to see me again?’ Guy shrugged. ‘Well... there may be a few follow-up questions... and I think it’d make sense for someone to keep –‘ ‘That, ah, wasn’t really what I meant,’ Grace said. She took hold of his lapels and pulled him down so she could kiss him, just for a moment or so. As he was standing there looking stunned she pulled out the slip of paper with her new phone number on it that she’d had in her purse all night and pressed it into his hand. ‘Good night, Guy,’ she whispered, stepped back into the apartment and closed the door. Well, she thought, standing with her back to the closed door, listening to the sound of him walking slowly away, that had just about gone according to plan. Now it was just a case of waiting in the expectation of him calling her...
...which he did, less than thirty-six hours later. Sucker, Grace thought triumphantly. She started to idly contemplate what clothes and other new shit she wanted.
15. Guy pulled the car up in front of the building. ‘Here we are.’ ‘Thanks... I had another lovely evening,’ Grace said, running her fingers through her hair. ‘You, ah, wanna come in?’ ‘Why not,’ Guy said, smiling. He took her hand as they went inside. Two weeks and five dates in and she was pretty sure she had him hooked good and proper. Time to start reeling him in. She started to exaggeratedly tiptoe, putting her finger to her lips, as they passed Lazarenko’s door, all the way up to the next floor. ‘What...?’ Guy asked when she started walking normally again. ‘Oh, it’s just my landlord, he’s been giving me a hard time over the rent,’ Grace said, sighing. ‘Don’t get me wrong, he’s a sweet old guy, but I think he owes somebody else...’ Guy frowned. ‘Well, surely that’s his problem, not yours...’ ‘Yeah, but – see, when I was Grant, he cut me some slack, because I helped him out around the place... and since he started thinking I was Grant’s old girlfriend, taking over the lease, he’s gone easy on me – till recently... so I can’t really complain,’ Grace said, thinking fast. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Guy said. ‘Can’t be helped,’ Grace said. She opened the door and let them into her apartment. ‘Coffee?’ ‘Sounds good,’ Guy said, sitting down. The place was really sort of transformed, even if Grace thought so herself. Not exactly spotless, and still not what you’d call nice, but it looked like a single girl’s flat now, rather than a pigsty. A single girl desperately short of cash, of course... ‘How much short are you, anyway? I know that’s kinda personal,’ Guy said. ‘After all those other personal things you started off asking me?’ Grace giggled. ‘You know, honey, I don’t actually have what you’d call an income. I don’t have a job, and I can hardly claim social security...’ ‘Jeez, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Are you just burning through your savings?’ Grace nodded. ‘Been looking for a job, but you know how things are at the moment...’ She carried two cups of coffee over to where he sat. ‘Dammit. If only we could go public about this, the university’d probably be able to give you a support grant, or something...’ Grace sat down next to him, sipped at her coffee. ‘Would the university be okay with you dating a test subject?’ ‘Maybe not.’ He lifted his own cup to his lips, but his eyes were always on her. She leaned back and smiled at him, injecting just a nervous edge into it. Eventually he put the cup down and reached hesitantly for her. He was shy, almost timid, and much gentler than any of the others. In a strange way that made it much harder to shut him out of her mind and feelings, but she did her best. They relocated into the bedroom leaving a trail of clothes behind them, sliding into the bed. He’d brought his own rubbers with him, which astounded her – the old Grant would have mocked and despised something like that, but her feelings were in motion, confused – and then they were together, sliding together, like they were in synch, connected... and that made it something new and unfamiliar... when she came it was stronger, deeper than ever before. She shivered and clutched at him, buried her head against his chest. And then they lay together and Guy whispered, ‘I love you, Grace.’ Something froze inside her, not in a cold way but like the pause button on a DVD – everything seemed to stop. She had thought that one day she would make him say it to her, but not so easily, not like this... ‘I love you too,’ she murmured in response, feeling something leap within her as she did so, maybe something that objected to her saying it so emptily and coldly – because, of course, it was a cold and empty thing for someone like Grace Benson to say. They lay there together a while longer. ‘You’re really not in touch with your family at all?’ Guy asked, after a while. ‘No.’ She shifted against him. ‘Why?’ ‘I thought, I don’t know – I can’t imagine what that’s like. I guess I’m lucky, we’ve always been close.’ ‘That is lucky,’ she whispered. He sighed. ‘My mom’s pretty sick at the moment. Has been for a while. She’s always been kind of the lynchpin. Don’t know what we’d do without her, any of us...’ ‘Sounds like a nice bunch of people you have.’ She fought to keep the resentment from her voice. ‘I always just assume every family’s like that – I thought yours could help you, or you could stay with them...’ Grace couldn’t help but let out a laugh that sounded harsh even to her. ‘That’d be kind of ironic. My parents put me up for adoption...’ ‘Oh, Jesus, baby, I’d no idea...’ And it was the absolute truth, that was the weirdest thing, something she’d never told, would never have dreamed of telling anyone when she’d been Grant. She felt emotions stir and grow within her, huddled closer to him. ‘I never really knew why... thought my mom must’ve been too young, or something. Then my sister tracked me down a couple of years ago. She’s not that much younger than me, and my mom kept her. So I figure she must’ve wanted a girl. I wasn’t good enough... Like I said, ironic, isn’t it?’ She felt his arms close around her, tried to resist but found she couldn’t. ‘Grace, that’s not it,’ Guy said. ‘You can’t know what your mom’s situation was...’ ‘Well, maybe not,’ Grace said, rolling over to face him. ‘But I’ve made it all alone this far. Don’t see any reason to change that now.’ ‘Keep on going it alone, huh?’ Guy’s embrace seemed to slacken a little. ‘Okay. I see.’ ‘Honey, that’s not what I meant. You know that, right?’ Guy nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said.
Well, she thought, the next morning after he’d gone, she couldn’t have done much more to snare him. He seemed to have it pretty bad for her... poor fool, she added automatically. Now she’d even given up the goods to him, which had been a bit of a gamble given she’d no guarantee of his coming up with the cash she wanted. Still... it had been okay. Sex as a girl had stuff to commend it after all, maybe one day she might even consider it just for fun... Damn it, she had to toughen up. Why was she feeling so tired? No, not tired, exactly, just... it was difficult to get it clear in her head. Soft. She was feeling soft, uncertain, sensitive in a way that just wasn’t like her... at least not like the person she’d been. Maybe she really had been transformed in every way and it had taken getting with Guy to make her realise that... No, the idea was bullshit. She was her own person, somebody tougher than that. She was taking the man for whatever she could get, first and foremost. She had to start remembering that, whatever he said, however he acted, however her feelings seemed to be betraying her. She kept that thought in the forefront of her mind for the rest of the day. But then that evening Guy turned up without even calling. He looked even twitchier and more nervous than usual, which was enough to set her worrying too. Jesus, had she scared him off somehow? Had it gotten too heavy too fast? ‘Hey,’ Guy said. ‘Can I come in?’ ‘Oh, sure,’ Grace said. ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘Well...’ Guy was practically pacing up and down on the rug as she sank into a chair. ‘I’ve been thinking about what we talked about last night... the trouble you’re having...’ This sounded more hopeful, but she knew not to sound too eager. ‘Yeah?’ ‘Grace... you know how I feel about you,’ Guy said. ‘I want to help.’ Mentally she was punching the air, but she contrived to look shocked and delighted and disbelieving... ‘Guy... I don’t know what to say...’ She wondered how much she could realistically hope to get out of him. Guy hunkered down in front of her, grinning. ‘You’re okay with that? You don’t think it’s too soon?’ ‘Honey... I’m so grateful! It’s wonderful!’ ‘You’ll really like the place. At least I hope you do. We can always...’ Guy stopped as he realised she was looking at him in confusion. ‘W- what are you talking about, sweetie?’ Grace asked. ‘Well – I was kind of asking you to move in with me,’ Guy said. ‘You mean – permanently?’ ‘Uh, yeah. What did you think I meant?’ he asked. ‘Oh, I... I just thought you were offering to help out, you know, with the rent...’ Guy looked away. ‘Well... if you don’t think you’re ready for something like that...’ His disappointment, and maybe the beginnings of embarrassment and doubt, were obvious. She grabbed his hands and squeezed. ‘It’s just a big idea to take in, honey, that’s all. I need a little time to think about it,’ Grace said. He nodded. ‘Sure.’ They stood up. ‘You want a drink, something to eat?’ Grace asked. Guy shook his head, smiled. ‘I’ll pass, thanks.’ ‘Okay, then.’ She kissed him, put a lot into it, but his response was only half-hearted, uncertain. ‘What’s wrong, sweetie?’ ‘Nothing. I should go,’ Guy said. He smiled. ‘I’ll call you, okay?’ ‘Okay,’ Grace said. She saw him to the door and closed it after him. Suddenly she felt nervous and worried herself, skittish inside. For the first time he was looking uncertain about the whole thing, and – ah, Jesus, with hindsight it was obvious – she’d basically rejected him, to his face. She should’ve said she was locked into the lease, or something, unable to move out... but that wouldn’t have made sense, and he’d have probably insisted on talking to Lazarenko himself, and the whole edifice of deceit would’ve come crashing down on her... It wasn’t as if she felt that attached to this shithole anyway. She looked around the apartment and found she had little real affection for it any more. It was too redolent of the old Grant, and Brandi, and all the other girls that had come before her (and also occasionally while she was out)... She’d never seen Guy’s place, but she’d seen how he dressed, the car he drove – it had to be better than this, didn’t it? Wasn’t this exactly what she’d wanted? To move up in the world, to start moving in a slightly classier circle? A better apartment would be just the start of that. And she’d basically be living there rent-free. She’d be able to stop giving Karl and Ty and their friends rides just for day-to-day money. That would be a real improvement, though of course she’d still have to keep Guy happy. She smiled and thought of herself making him happy in his own bed. Not quite living rent-free, after all, she thought... but it wouldn’t hardly feel like a chore, not with him... Okay. Her mind was settled: she was moving up and moving out. Idly she started to make herself a meal, planning how she was going to break the news to him.
16. Guy didn’t have an apartment, he had a house. Okay, it was a small house, and not new enough to be cool or old enough to have class, but it was a house with its own four walls and a yard at the back... and it was hers to live in, very nearly for free. Thankfully, the next time they met Guy was his old self again, and had looked genuinely absolutely delighted when she’d told him her decision. It was all she could do not to stop him leaving the restaurant then and there to go and help her start packing her things. She made him wait until the weekend – and then she moved out of Lazarenko’s building, leaving the old man a reasonable roll of cash but no forwarding address. Guy admitted to being slightly surprised at how few possessions she had, particularly clothes. ‘It makes sense, though, I suppose,’ he said, watching her unpack at his place. ‘None of my old stuff was any good,’ Grace said. ‘Threw it all in the trash.’ ‘Where did you get all your clothes from, anyway?’ Guy asked. ‘Just stuff an old girlfriend left lying around the place.’ She smiled. ‘Yeah...’ ‘What?’ She could tell he had something on his mind. ‘Well, I mean, do you like it? Dressing that way?’ Grace looked down at herself. As usual, she was wearing a strappy top, miniskirt and high-heels. ‘I don’t know. Don’t you like it?’ She smiled at him. Guy grinned. ‘Well, yeah, but... it’s a bit obvious...’ She put her head on one side. ‘You saying I look trashy?’ She couldn’t figure out why that should upset her so. He raised both hands, a placatory gesture. ‘I’m just saying you can get some new clothes now. Dress how you feel comfortable dressing.’ ‘That’s not important, baby.’ She stepped up to him and put her arms around his neck. ‘I just want you to feel good...’ Because that was part of the deal, wasn’t it? She kept him happy and he kept her... well, he just kept her. Although, if the guy was happy for her to let her end of the deal slide, why not? More fool him. Except, of course, he wasn’t thinking of it in terms of a deal. He was in love, the poor... the poor fella, Grace thought, surprised by her inability to think of him in any harsher terms. Christ, though, he seemed like a decent man – trusting someone like her, taking her into his home. He deserved – Grace was angry to find herself slipping. He deserved whatever he could carve out for himself, same as everyone else in the world. Grant had used his strength to do it, she was using sex, and if Guy couldn’t use his obvious smarts in the same way, that was his look out. So to keep him happy and because it actually was more comfortable, she let him buy her a few long skirts, and blouses, and pairs of pants. The kind of stuff he’d hated to see girls wearing when she was Grant. She stopped wearing make-up, except when they went out together, and he didn’t even comment on that. Grace found the routines of domesticity surprisingly easy to master. Her rudimentary cooking skills started to improve and she accepted that some cleaning and doing of laundry comprised her side of the deal, along with the sex. That was the main thing, the focus, after all. Whether it was dumb or not, she was strict with herself, never refusing him and always initiating sex three nights a week, without fail. She gave him the stuff she knew he wanted but was too embarrassed to own up to: oral, anal, her in teddies, costumes, whatever. And, really, it was getting better between them, not that it had ever really been a disappointment. So it came as a real shock one night when she was wrapping herself around him and he just smiled gently and said, ‘You know, you don’t have to, Grace.’ ‘But I want to, honey, I want you to be happy...’ ‘What’d really make me happy would be for you to relax,’ Guy said, following it up with a kiss. She took that as a sign that he wanted it after all, but clearly it was a sign she’d misread, as he gently resisted her again. ‘Darling, I mean it.’ ‘I... I don’t understand.’ ‘I didn’t ask you to move in because I wanted to have sex all the time... I asked because I love you, and I think we could be really happy together...’ ‘Could be? I thought we were.’ ‘Yeah, but – I just get the feeling you think you have to do all these things to repay me, or something,’ Guy said. ‘But you’ve given me so much, and I don’t have anything to give you back except –‘ ‘You can’t just go through life thinking in terms of getting one thing for another, Grace.’ ‘Well, you’re talking about giving me something for nothing, and that’s dumb...’ ‘Then I’m dumb,’ Guy said, shrugging. ‘But I’d rather have it that way. Grace, I love you. That takes all the price tags off as far as I’m concerned.’ She couldn’t think of anything to say, then buried her face against his shoulder, feeling her body start to shake. ‘Grace, what’s wrong?’ His arms held her gently as she trembled, battling to stay silent. Eventually she had to extricate herself and be apart from him while she recovered herself, told herself again who she really was.
So she started to let the three-times-a-week-without-fail thing fall into abeyance, and Guy seemed happier. But she felt less certain herself, felt like she was drifting into somewhere strange and alien. Yeah, he was giving her something for nothing, so she should’ve been happy, laughed at him as a fool behind his back... but why did that seem so difficult? How could his loving her so truly feel like such a demand upon her? It didn’t make any sense, and yet it did. No matter how many times she told herself she had to toughen up and just live with it, it didn’t seem to get any easier. But life carried on, and was good, until one day when she got home from the mall to find Guy on the sofa, phone on the coffee table in front of him. His face was a blank mask, but there were glittering trails down his cheeks where tears had run. She had a premonition of something terrible approaching. ‘Guy? Honey, what’s wrong?’ ‘My... my uncle called. It’s my mom,’ he said in a voice which sounded kind of dry and husky. ‘Oh, Jesus.’ Grace knew Guy’s mom had been having a particularly tough time of it lately, and that – together with the fact that most of his family lived on the other side of the country – was really the only reason why she hadn’t been taken to meet her yet. ‘She – she got worse –?‘ Guy sank his face into his hands. ‘Uncle Lou said it actually happened pretty quick, in the end...’ He could clearly find no other words to say. ‘Oh, Guy. Oh, baby.’ Grace knew what the situation demanded of her, put down her bags and went over to him. But her movements felt stiff and jerky, like she was a puppet, but being worked by herself... She put her arms around him and was surprised by the ferocity with which he held her back, pressing his head against her side. She made vague ssshing noises and stroked him uncertainly, knowing she should do more, and suddenly realising she had it within her to do so, but that it would mean abandoning any pretence of distance or reserve in this relationship... And she couldn’t do that. Not now, not just like that. She realised the idea terrified her more than anything had, since those dark days in her old apartment as her flesh and bones had warped and shifted around her. But neither could she just continue to pretend, not at a moment like this for him... he deserved more than that, a man like him. He deserved honesty, if anything. ‘Baby...’ Grace found her own voice was breaking, her own eyes were stinging. She pulled away from him, felt another dagger in the heart as he stared at her, uncomprehending. ‘Baby, I’m sorry... I just... I’ve just got to...’ And she turned and ran unsteadily for the door.
17. Grace had thought she’d just been walking aimlessly, lost in her thoughts, and was slightly surprised to find she’d wandered back into her old neighbourhood. It figured. She’d be back here soon enough, after all. No way would Guy want her back after she’d run out on him the first time he really needed her. Well, it looked like she’d get what she deserved in the end, anyway. Some poor slapped about bitch of girlfriend to an asshole like Karl, or maybe even somebody really vicious – like Grant had been, she realised. Christ, it was like the revenge of karma, or something. She sank onto a bench and watched the traffic and people go by. How’d one go about finding a pimp, anyway? The prospect seemed blackly comic, but there was no point hiding from the truth – for all her ideas of using sex as her new weapon of choice, she’d basically gone from being a thug to being a whore. Weapons. Jesus, she’d still been thinking like Grant then – everything a fight, a contest of strength. Maybe Guy had been trying to show her that there was another way after all – not consciously, but still... ‘Hey, honey. Got a light?’ Another woman, looking tired, sank onto the other end of the bench. ‘Oh, sure.’ Grace fished out her lighter, and as she handed it to the woman realised it was Brandi – in jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket. Brandi showed no sign of recognising her. ‘Thanks,’ Brandi said. She looked at Grace, smiled. ‘Jeez, look at you. Cheer up, it might never happen.’ Grace forced herself to smile. ‘Maybe,’ she said. After a pause: ‘It – it’s Brandi, isn’t it?’ ‘Yeah...’ Brandi frowned at her. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t remember...’ ‘It was, like, another life ago,’ Grace said, smiling. ‘My name’s Grace.’ ‘Still doesn’t mean a thing. I got to cut down,’ Brandi said, returning the smile. ‘So – wanna talk about it? Whatever it is?’ ‘It’s about a guy...’ ‘Isn’t it always? I tell you, he can’t have been as bad as some of the assholes I’ve been with,’ Brandi said with a harsh laugh. ‘No, he’s... he’s great. Almost too great,’ Grace said. ‘No such thing. What’s the problem, then?’ ‘Oh, it’s me... I went into it just thinking about me, and that was fine... but he never thought of it that way. And now, it’s like he really loves me... I just feel so fuckin’ guilty...’ Her old self was already starting to resurface, she thought. ‘Sounds like... nothin’ personal, Grace... sounds like it’s not all one way affection,’ Brandi said, looking away. ‘I don’t know. Maybe it isn’t. But I’ve been lying to him all along, so why should he –‘ ‘Listen, sweetheart,’ Brandi said. ‘The past’s done with. Everyone’s done stuff they regret later. So what if you were a bitch to the guy yesterday? Doesn’t mean you have to be a bitch to him today. People can change, you know.’ ‘Yeah,’ Grace said. ‘I guess you’re right.’ ‘And if he really cares about you as much as you say, he’ll understand. You might have to work at it a bit, though.’ Grace looked down at the sidewalk for a moment. It would mean abandoning the last of herself, but that would surely be no great loss to the world. Eventually she looked up at Brandi and smiled. ‘Thanks. Can I ask – Brandi, are you okay? Happy, I mean?’ ‘Getting by,’ Brandi said, shrugging but giving a thin smile. ‘Best any of us can hope for, right?’ ‘I reckon you’re right,’ Grace said. ‘I like your clothes, by the way.’ And she left Brandi staring after her in some confusion as she started back towards home.
18. Grace let herself into the house. There was no sign of Guy in the living room, and no answer to her calls. Could he have gone out? The car was still in the driveway. Oh, God, don’t let him have done anything stupid... She found him in their bedroom, lying on the bed in his clothes. He looked blankly at her as she came in. ‘You came back, then.’ ‘Of course... honey, I’m so, so sorry... I don’t know what to say...’ ‘But you came back,’ he said quietly. ‘Yeah...’ She took a breath. ‘Honey, I really love you, I just never realised how much, or what that really meant before today... And it scared me. I just... I just needed to...’ Guy nodded slowly and a smile came onto his face. ‘And are you okay with that now?’ She walked towards him, slowly, timidly. ‘I don’t think I have any choice. I mean, it’s not like it’s something I can stop myself from doing.’ He laughed, softly. ‘No. The same for me. Not that I’d ever want to.’ Suddenly they were in each others’ arms. Grace found herself saying, over and over, ‘I’m sorry... I’m sorry...’ and maybe it wasn’t just to him, but to Brandi, and Lazarenko, and a thousand other people who deserved at least that much from her. ‘It’s okay,’ Guy whispered, and she recalled how much reason he had to think of himself at the moment, instead of reaching out to her this way. Was that what it meant? Was she really capable of that? She knew she was going to try. ‘I love you,’ she said, and for the first time how he responded did not matter to her in the slightest. It was not said for profit, or as a ploy, or with any thought of its wider implications. She was simply saying it because it was the truth. And that was surely a good place to start.
