Part 2: A Sleuth and a Slave
I talked to Rob just before lunch, in our advanced math class. I wanted to get all the details straight in my mind. The key to the case seemed to be the flowers in the hospital. Whoever left them had to have done so when I went out to my car to get Janey’s books. Since Rob shot Janey in the first place, he was my number one suspect. As I went back over the events that morning, it seemed clearer and clearer that I had arrived at Janey’s hospital room a lot earlier than everyone else. What took them so long?
“It took me longer to get to the hospital because I had to pick up Cindy,” Rob said, when I tried to ask him nonchalantly. “She was getting her transcript from City Hall. I picked her up. So I didn’t bring any flowers, though I guess I should have, huh? Is she really okay with me?”
“Yeah, she’s fine,” I said. “But some weird things are happening and I can’t tell you all the details.”
“Like you guys trying to get voted best-dressed?” he laughed. When I frowned at him he became serious. “Yeah okay, I know what you mean about weird.”
“You do?” I asked. “Like what?”
“Nothing. Hey, did you hear Mr. Lopez decided we’re going to do a musical this year? We’ll be singing and dancing. You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown.”
He was obviously trying to change the subject. I wasn’t sure, but he seemed nervous or agitated about something. As I stared at his handsome face, I suddenly found myself wondering if his father was as rich as everyone says he is. I mean, selling electronics doesn’t make someone super rich, but they did have a nice house and Rob’s car was new and had cool leather seats. I realized I was getting sidetracked and tried to concentrate.
“Rob, please be honest with me.” My voice took on a tone that I don’t normally use, and for some reason it made my eyes feel prickly, as if I might start crying. But I held it back. “Why did you shoot Janey? It’s important that you tell me.”
The bell was about to ring, and we both knew it. I probably should have picked a better time to be so direct. He turned away. “I told you, it was an accident! I never meant to hit her!” Brett Walters looked up from the math problem he was trying to concentrate on and glanced at us for a second.
I wondered about what Rob said... Two years ago, three years ago, I would have believed him. But now we were all so grown up, and he hung out with people I didn’t even know. What was he hiding?
Jane Ann and Patrick verified that Rob had picked Cindy up at City Hall. They rode to the hospital in his car, and I couldn’t imagine that both of them would lie to me. Some people seem so preoccupied with other things (volleyball tournaments, for example) that it’s hard to suspect them of anything. Still, I couldn’t let anyone out of my sight.
That included Toby. I had to keep my feelings for him in check. Everyone was guilty until I could prove their alibis. Though really, I couldn’t imagine my crush as some sort of enslaving pervert! Staring at Janey’s butt is one thing, brainwashing her is quite another! Of course I knew that it could be several people working together, too. That’s how a lot of detective novels fool the reader. One person commits half the murders then another does the other half. So the clues get all jumbled up in the reader’s head. I’ve never successfully guessed the murderer in an Agatha Christie novel!
Anyway, after lunch the oppurtunity to interview Toby arose, and I struck. His friends were doing something in the hallway with a skateboard someone brought to school, so I quickly ran over to his table and sat down next to him. He was pretty surprised to see me, but he tried to play it cool.
“What’s up, Mouse?”
Something strange happened next that might be hard for me to explain clearly. It took me a few seconds to get everything straight in my head. I felt like my life was out of sync or something, because sitting next to him, I suddenly felt no signs of the crush I had carried with me for the past two years! What’s going on? I thought. This is weird. Looking at Toby, and his greasy leather jacket and the chain hanging out of his pocket, he seemed so... lower class.
With a mental start that I tried to hide, I realized it was that stupid “Teen Princess” thing effecting me again. I am not a princess, I told myself. I’m not I’m not I’m not! Still I had these dumb little fantasies in my head. Like, what if my real dad was secretly royalty, and had to go into hiding or something? It seemed sort of plausible in a stupid way. Anyway, no matter how I tried to consider it, Toby now seemed so unattractively poor. I felt ashamed that my emotions were so easily manipulated, but how could I help feeling the way I felt? It’s like how I used to love My Little Pony but now I think it’s ridiculous. I can’t help feeling this way.
Is it so easy to change who a person is?
I wanted to get the interview over as soon as possible. “What did you do after Rob shot Janey?” I stammered.
“Huh?” he grunted. The question definitely took him by surprise.
“On Sunday. When everyone went to the hospital, where were you?”
“What are you, playing cop?” he laughed.
“No, it’s just that I’m trying to figure where everyone was, and when. I drove Janey’s books to the hospital. Rob picked Cindy up at City Hall. Patrick and Jane Ann were with them, and Eddie and those freshman girls were supposedly in his car following them. You didn’t, for example, go buy a bunch of flowers?”
“Yeah, right. It’s none of your business what I do with my time. So Janey got a bunch of flowers from a secret admirer. What’s the big deal?”
I pounced. “How did you know about that?”
“I didn’t. I saw them in her room because as a matter of fact I happened to stop by, and besides, you just mentioned them. I think your Miss Marple novels are going to your head. Tell me, what do you really want to know?”
I actually tried to cover my mouth with my hands to stop the words from coming out. But he had phrased it as a command and after a day of “keep your eyes on your own paper, read silently until the bell, pass your papers to the front, etc.” I just didn’t have the energy to fight it, and I blurted out immediately:
“Who’s sending Janey neon pink notes.”
He smiled. I couldn’t study his reactions in detail because I felt such a sense of relief at getting the secret off my chest that I sighed and for a moment was able to relax. I hadn’t realized how burdensome it had been, but now I definitely felt much better. The problem was, did Toby know I had to struggle not to obey commands? In fact, as far as the mystery pervert was concerned, did he (or she) know I was even effected at all? Janey was the intended target—I had only become involved due to a stupid accident.
I realized Toby was talking. I had to get away from him before he ordered me to do something else, whether intentionally or not. If he was guilty then I didn’t want him to know I was under Cupid’s power, too. If he was innocent, well, I still didn’t want someone like him ordering me around!
“Love letters, that’s funny. Maybe you should do a handwriting analysis, or dust the paper for fingerprints? Or maybe do a chemical check for perfume, especially if they’re pink. Maybe Janey’s involved in a lesbian love triangle?”
Men. They must think about lesbians every waking moment. That, or breasts, anyway. I stood and started walking away to finish my lunch and collect my thoughts.
“By the way,” he said. “I wouldn’t trust that cheerleader friend of yours or her boyfriend. Is City Hall really open on Sundays?”
After the last bell I changed into my gym clothes, just to prove to myself I was still in control of my life. It wasn’t easy and to be honest I couldn’t see how I’d ever put up with this stuff. I shoved my dress into my locker then looked everywhere for Janey. I finally found her (I saw her dress out of the corner of my eye) staring into the school parking lot from the window in Coach Nelson’s tiny office. Coach Nelson wasn’t in. When I walked between her and the window she smiled, but continued staring at the cars outside.
“Hi Keiko!”
“What are you doing?”
“Looking out,” she said matter-of-factly.
“For what?”
“Oh, nothing really.”
“Well come on, let’s go.”
“Yes sir!” she chirped, winking at me. She seemed to really be getting into this “perfect slave” mindset. It scared me. At least she wasn’t responding with “yes, master” and walking along stiffly with her arms outstretched like a zombie. Things were already out of hand as it was. I needed to step up the investigation. I knew she couldn’t help herself, but still I was a little disgusted with her.
“Have you been doing everything anyone asks you to all day?”
“Of course!” she said. “It’s so nice, and it makes me feel so good.”
I knew what she meant more than I wanted her to realize. “Can’t you see that’s wrong? Doesn’t it piss you off?”
She shrugged. “I know it should, but no. I like it! Like duh, I’m a slave, Keiko.”
“We are in deep shit,” I whispered to myself.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I decided we should go to the hospital first, then afterwards stop by the mall so Janey could finally get her car. As I drove I thought about what Toby had said to me. Did Rob really pick Cindy up at City Hall on Sunday? Patrick and his girlfriend confirmed that, but thinking about it I felt sure that Toby was right, that public buildings were closed on the weekends. I was almost sure they were. However the library was open on Sunday, definitely. Still... the more I thought about it, the more I was sure that someone was lying.
I guess I need to explain that the school had determined years ago that all class transcripts had to be officially stamped from the city. The story I always heard was that some seniors got a bunch of school stationery from the office and sent their own transcripts with straight A grades to some colleges a while back, so Washington High was being more careful these days. I remembered that I myself was scheduled to pick up my transcript this week. As if I don’t have enough to worry about, I have to market myself to the colleges I’ve chosen, too!
At the hospital, we found the same battle axe nurse who stopped me in the hall on Sunday. It took her a moment to recognize Janey, but when she did her sour face became sunny and kind.
“Well, don’t you look different! All beautiful, like a bridesmaid or an angel!”
She treated Janey with such compassion and kindness, asking how she felt, patting her on the head, etc., that I changed my opinion about her. She was a good nurse once a person made it past her gruff exterior. Finally we got around to business, and she located the visitors’ log and I greedily scanned the names, Janey peering over my shoulder.
“Can we have a copy of this?” she asked. “It’s really important.”
As I remembered, my name was first on the list. But on the line just below mine was a sloppy signature that I could barely make out. It appeared to read “Johnny Johnson.” I sighed. An obviously fake name. Wonderful. Whoever this was, they had brought the flowers, at least. After Johnny Johnson came Rob and Cindy and a bunch of other drama club members. Toby’s name was near the end of the log, so he had stopped by after all. Then Janey’s parents and some other names that were probably relatives. And Mr. Lopez. About fourteen people. Just to make sure we’d have to go over the list carefully.
“Can you tell us anything about this person?” I asked, pointing to Johnny Johnson. “Do you remember I went out to my car to get Janey’s books? That’s when he—or I guess it could be a she—must have come. It is important.”
The nurse frowned. “Some fella I think, but I can’t remember much more. Brought some flowers.”
“Yes!” I exclaimed excitedly. “Did he have black hair, brown? Was he short or tall? Was he a really old man? Did he have a leather jacket?”
“Sorry,” the nurse said. “I can’t remember what he looked like. He had so many flowers I could barely see him. There are a lot of patients in this ward and I can’t keep track of all the visitors.”
Well, I supposed we were making a little progress, at least.
After picking up Janey’s car at the mall (and resisting the urge to check up on some sales recently advertised on TV) we returned to the suburbs, Janey in the lead. When she began speeding faster and cutting her stops short, I realized why she was in such a hurry. She wanted to see if there was another note in her mailbox! I don’t usually speed, but in this case I decided it was necessary.
Her mailbox had completely slipped my mind! We probably should have been staking it out instead of searching for clues at the hospital. Would there be another note, and if so what would it say? Don’t be so curious, I told myself. Suddenly I realized a clever way to beat this “Johnson” character at his own game. Janey had to do whatever anyone said, right? So I could just order her not to read the next note. Easy as apple pie. This pervert had definitely chosen the wrong girls to screw with!
I pulled into Janey’s driveway a second after she did, as she was running across the yard to the mailbox. Quickly I rolled down my window and yelled at her.
“Don’t read it!” I shouted. “Don’t read any pink notes!”
But when I stepped out of my car she was already opening her mailbox and reaching inside. What’s the matter with her? I thought. Why isn’t she stopping? “Stop!” I yelled. “That’s an order!” But it was too late. Though it was just after five o’clock and there was plenty of daylight left, as her hand emerged with the bundle of mail—including another neon pink index card—it was like a flare in the night. We both were blinded.
She dropped all but the card and stood, slightly hunched over, slack-jawed, staring at the card. Before I could help myself I was standing next to her, breathing heavily with excitement. Though I was transfixed, my mind seemed a great deal less muddled than the last few times, and my palm didn’t tingle at all this time. The effects of Cupid’s poison were weakening. I felt a hopeful feeling. Still, I was unable to tear my eyes away from the crisp, pure pink.
At first I was confused, but then I realized why I couldn’t read the words on the card: Janey was holding it upside down. I don’t think she noticed, and I didn’t feel like telling her. At least, not while I was focusing on the beautiful pink... After a few minutes, I was able to read what it said. Like before, I experienced a mild deja vu.
YOU’LL TELL NO ONE ABOUT MY NOTES.YOUR BODY, YOUR WHOLE PURPOSE, IS TO PLEASURE MEN.
I peeked through the curtains down into Janey’s yard. A newspaper, part of a philosophy-by-mail course, and a magazine about Chris Callaway threatened to blow pass the hedge and into her driveway. The sun was setting.
“You left the mail out in the grass.”
“I’ll get it tomorrow,” Janey said. “Or Mom will get it.” We were in her bedroom. She was holding a plate of warmed-up leftover meatloaf and mashed potatoes in her lap, but had only eaten half. I had put mine on her bed because my stomach felt queasy. The mashed potatoes were from a mix and the texture was different from what my mom made. It was flakey and sort of pasty like soggy Grape Nuts. I closed the curtains and sat back down, with my back against her bed.
“It just makes good sense,” she said, chewing a bite of meatloaf. I looked at her.
“Pleasuring men, I mean,” she said, swallowing. She put her plate down on the carpet and stood up. She twirled and I saw a spot of gravy had gotten on her lace. She stared at her white arms, then looked down at her body. Maybe it was just the angle at which I was sitting, but her eyes seemed really bright.
“I mean, Keiko, we’ve got boobs. We’re smooth and beautiful. We’re women, we’ve got... you know. We can do things. Lots of things. Have you ever thought of all the things we can do, Keiko? We can do so many things. For men. We can do things even when we’re not doing things.”
She walked to her window and pulled the curtains apart, then leaned almost obscenely against the glass. Her right hand clasped her butt and I saw her breasts were partly flattened against the window. The dark window was like a portal threatening to swallow her up. I knew the things she was saying were crazy, but that didn’t stop some weaker part of my mind from agreeing.
“I need to go now,” I mumbled. I started to get up.
“Not yet! I have an idea.” She turned to me and smiled. There was something in her face that I didn’t like. Something in the way she was looking at me. “Bring me that Dr. Pepper!” she suddenly ordered.
I turned to look at the can on her dresser, the one I had commanded her to get from the kitchen yesterday. I wanted to bring it to her. She had ordered me and my fingers itched to retrieve it. I could have it in my right hand by taking one step to the dresser, and then pass it to my left hand while taking two steps to the window and Janey would have it. I closed my eyes, trying to think of anything but the dark red can.
“Keiko,” Janey said sweetly, and a bit sarcastically, “Would you please be so kind as to fetch me that Dr. Pepper from the top of my dresser?”
I couldn’t resist. It’s just a stupid can of soda, I thought. Screw it. I had it in my hand and was one step toward the window before I even opened my eyes. I gave it to Janey. She laughed as she opened it, and I felt a twinge of satisfaction. She looked outside.
“I wonder if he’s in there,” Janey said. She handed me the can.
“Who?”
“My neighbor,” she said. “You remember, Mr. Beergut.” I looked at her neighbor’s house and felt a bit of a prickle on the back of my neck as I realized he might be able to see us. The lights in the room across from Janey’s bedroom were off, but the first floor ones were on.
“Drink the Dr. Pepper,” Janey suddenly said. I turned the can around and raised it to my lips, intending to take only a sip.
“Drink it, drink it all now,” Janey whispered loudly. Instinctively I poured it into my mouth. What am I doing? I thought. It was warm, room-temperature and too sweet and burned my throat as I gulped it down. I choked as I swallowed some air but still kept chugging it. It was fizzing in my mouth and I felt it dribbing down my chin. “Faster!” I grasped the can in both hands and raised the bottom, crushing my nose, my heart pounding, as I tried to open my throat and pour it directly into my stomach. A thin stream of the cola was warm on my neck as it ran down into the collar of my gym shirt.
At last the can emptied and I tried to swallow properly, but my mouth was still too full and more Dr. Pepper cascaded down my chin. I gasped for air as I dropped the can onto the carpet, wheezing like some old woman. My shirt was soaked. Janey was grinning and all I could feel was disappointment at failing to drink it all.
“What’s wrong with you?” I gurgled, nearly gagging. My tongue and especially my throat felt like they had been burned by acid. My neck was all sticky and my shirt was glued to my boobs.
“Keiko, you really are beautiful.”
“What?” I almost shouted. But there was something about her eyes...
My heart felt like it was on some kind of twisted ferris wheel, going up and down at the same time. I was standing too close to Janey but there was nothing I could do except lick the Dr. Pepper from my chin and drip onto the carpet and shiver as her glance washed over me.
She nodded at the window. “Just think about how happy he’ll be to see two beautiful women, actresses, performing just for him...” She reached out a single finger and lightly poked my right boob, in the tiny wrinkle just above where the wet fabric of my shirt met my bra cup. I took a sharp breath and felt the damp shirt constrict my lungs. I realized what she meant, and shuddered, disgusted.
But also intrigued. I forced myself to shudder again, but it was just token resistance. Janey cupped my right breast fully in her palm and the wetness in my shirt made her hand feel warmer than it probably was. My stupid nipples started getting hard, especially the right one, and I realized that I could not get the thought of Janey’s peeping tom neighbor out of my head. Janey and I were probably perfectly framed in her window. Unconciously I turned a few degrees, so my chest would be more visible to the neighboring house. Fight it, I thought. You’re stronger than some ancient St. Valentine’s Day magic. But part of me wasn’t sure if I was, and my nipples were awfully hard. Janey squeezed my breast and I made some kind of strange sound in my throat.
“I love the little hairs on your forehead,” she whispered.
She licked her lips and leaned against me. I felt her lips brush against my forehead, just below my bangs. It felt really good for some reason. I guess I should explain that I have kind of a light down or something on my forehead, like soft peach fuzz—but the hairs are really tiny and thin and not at all disgusting. They’re invisible unless a bright light hits my head from the side. Anyway, I’m short and the top of my head comes up to Janey’s nose, so it was really easy for her to kiss my forehead. It was about a minute before she stopped and looked at me.
She peeled the neck of my shirt away from my shoulders and the tops of my boobs. My right one felt suddenly cool as she removed her hand and slowly drew my shirt out from my shorts. All this time I had been looking sideways into the darkness between her house and the neighbor’s, but I turned and looked into her eyes. They were wide, focused and determined. And bright. The air rising from the space between my chest and gym shirt was warm, damp, and smelled of Dr. Pepper. There were light brown droplets in my cleavage.
“This isn’t you,” I said. “Janey, think about what you’re doing.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
She grasped my shirt firmly. I raised my arms complacently, blinking as she lifted it over my head. Was her neighbor watching us? Was he getting hard? Was this his fantasy? Two high school girls fondling each other at their bedroom window? As disgusting as it was, it was also... exciting. Before I could stop myself, with both hands I pressed my palms up against Janey’s chest. Awkwardly I felt her, my thumbs slipping into her cleavage.
I had never felt another girl’s boobs before. As if! And yes it did disgust me, but it was also interesting to feel boobs on someone else as kind of a comparison. Her chest felt more “fatty” than mine, probably because her breasts were a bit bigger. Janey’s arms crisscrossed mine and we both held each other’s chests. I felt myself warming below, growing flush and wet. I sighed in someone else’s voice that was perfectly, clearly, recognizable as mine. I couldn’t fight it anymore.
“Janey...” I said. It was just a word.
She kissed me. It was soft and quick. I hadn’t had a boyfriend for more than two years and I had forgotten how it felt. Her hands were sliding away from my bra, which I felt like I could wriggle out of. What would it be like to see two young actresses, bare-chested, embracing at their window in a moment of soft passion? I closed my eyes and opened my mouth and she kissed me deeply. I had Dr. Pepper breath and she had meatloaf breath and I was excited and aroused and tingly, her dress had fallen away from her pale shoulders like some kind of flower petals in the moonlight, and we caressed each other because it felt good and right and most of all because we were giving a peeping tom, a man, the most exciting night of his life.
I woke up not trusting my own feelings. It was two hours before my alarm was set to ring. I sat up in my bed and became dizzy and then nauseated as I thought about the things Janey and I had done in her bedroom. I had enjoyed doing... lesbian things. Girl girl stuff. Blech! I looked at my hands, hands that had explored my best friend’s body. They looked the same. I felt my lips. They were the same, too. But I was different. All because Janey had wanted to indirectly “pleasure” her stupid fat neighbor. It was even more ridiculous the more I thought of it. We didn’t even have proof that he had... “came.”
It was Thursday. Things were going too far. I needed to talk to my mom and stepfather about these things, but I knew there was no way I could mention the notes. I felt restless in bed, confused about my life and one step away from the funny farm.
I decided to make my parents breakfast in bed.
I put on one of the robes I rarely wore and padded down to the kitchen. I’m not a grand master chef, but I can handle making breakfasts. While I worked on the eggs and bacon, I felt my sluggish mind slip into gear. In mystery stories the culprit is always the last person you suspect. “Johnson” was probably Toby or Rob, but I couldn’t leave out anyone. I knew for sure I was innocent, and Janey hadn’t delivered the flowers to herself. There were any number of suspects, including a few that I was just starting to consider. But somehow I suspected “Johnson” was connected to the Washington High drama club.
For example, Mr. Lopez. He told us on Friday that the reason he was missing Sunday’s drama club meeting was so he could pick up a special order of champagne for himself and his wife. It was supposedly their anniversary. I wondered if there was some way I could prove it. When you work with a director on a tight schedule in charge of dozens of inexperienced actors and actresses you really get to know his mannerisms and what his face can and can’t do. The way he had looked at me out of the corner of his eye when I asked him about Season of Cupid wasn’t quite right. And there was something else. That old guy who was hanging around the gym, supposedly supervising us. He hadn’t done a thing to stop Rob from shooting the first arrow into the ceiling or the second at Janey. Who was he? I had never seen him before. In fact, as I thought more about Sunday morning, he might have been the one to leave the prop storage closet unlocked, too. I added him to my mental list.
Of course I had to be missing something. Something was nagging me in the back of my mind about the notes themselves, but I couldn’t get a grasp on it. However, in a bit of ingenuity I had stolen the most recent note from Janey before leaving her house, after our... encounter. So I could inspect it in depth. The notes were the biggest clues we had, and I hadn’t really focused on them yet! (Well, maybe because I couldn’t focus on them properly, I was so “in love” with their pink color.)
I finished brewing the coffee and the trays were ready. It was just before six o’clock, which was when I figured my mom and stepfather usually woke up. I balanced a tray in each arm and carefully manuevered myself upstairs. I sat my mother’s cereal down on the carpet and knocked on the door. There were a few mumbles from inside.
“Breakfast in bed!” I said. I opened the door and they were rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. My mother looked at the clock on their nightstand then gave me a sleepy smile.
“None-chan, what’s this all about?”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d make you guys breakfast.”
My stepfather’s hairy chest was half-hidden by the sheets. His arm was around my mother and I thought about how lucky she was to have him. “This is for you...” He sat up as I placed the heavy tray over his lap. I almost forgot about my mother’s food as I allowed my hand to rest on his arm. His forearms were really big! I shook my head as I remembered he was my stepfather. What was I doing? I hurried outside to get my mom’s tray.
“Hey this is great!” my stepfather said. “You even put sugar on the toast like in fancy restaurants.”
I smiled as I reentered their bedroom. I placed my mother’s tray over her lap. She was frowning. I didn’t realize why until I saw the trays next to each other. What had I been thinking about? My stepfather’s plates were overflowing with eggs and bacon and toast. All I had made my mother was a bowl of cereal, which was probably soggy... At least I had made her coffee, too.
“I don’t think this is very funny,” she said.
I ran out of their room, crying.
I had only my yellow dress left and it was my least favorite. I had to get the others cleaned as soon as possible. Or better yet, go shopping. Until then I decided to wear one of my nicer, longer skirts and my really expensive black blouse with the off-center collar.
I couldn’t concentrate on getting ready for school. All I could think about was the latest note, and how it was effecting me.
YOU’LL TELL NO ONE ABOUT MY NOTES.YOUR BODY, YOUR WHOLE PURPOSE, IS TO PLEASURE MEN.
My concious mind knew it was bullshit, but unconciously, like if I sort of let my mind drift, “pleasuring men” didn’t seem wrong. I guess if you think about it, it’s not really sexist bullshit out of some men’s magazine. Men are built to pleasure women, too. We are opposites, after all. There are two sides to the coin—at least that’s what I rationalized; but I hadn’t really thought that way before.
I had to stop myself from being brainwashed like this. How long was this going to last? Shouldn’t the effects of that gunk have worn off by now? Putting on dresses and makeup all the time was one thing, but being compelled to follow orders, and now stuff involving sex, was much more serious. I didn’t want to turn into some bimbo airhead!
I guess I should mention that I’m not the most sexually experienced girl. Even though I am a senior, I’m still a virgin technically. It’s not that I’m a prude, but I just never wanted to have sex badly enough with the few guys I dated. They were cute, mostly, but it just seemed to me that sex was something I could look forward to when I was more mature. I thought Janey was the same way, but we never really talked about this stuff in depth, probably because it’s embarassing. Last night, what we had done with our hands and mouths... I supposed it counted as sex but I wasn’t really sure.
Of course like all girls there have been times (okay, many times) when I wished my fantasy lover would appear and take me in his arms... Maybe I’m naive to have always thought of sex the way it was explained in health class, as an act of passion and sharing between a man and a woman. Now this stupid latest note was making me think of sex as just something I could do for a guy, to make him happy.
Something bothered me. I had explicitly ordered Janey not to read yesterday’s note! But she had anyway. I couldn’t forget that. I thought I had found a loophole, because she was a “perfect slave.” Why hadn’t she obeyed me? Now I thought I understood. One of the notes had stated that she would read all of the following ones. Maybe commands weren’t strong enough to contradict what was written on the notes.
“None-chan! Can I come in?”
It was my mother. If only I could tell her what was really going on, but I didn’t dare. How would she react if she knew I was having... erotic thoughts about my stepfather!?
There was still an hour before I had to leave for school. I opened the door, and I think Mom had one of those “mother” moments and knew the best thing to do was give me a hug. We sat on my bed and I tried to explain what was happening in vague terms, how I wasn’t sure who I was anymore, how Janey and I were going to be separating for college, and a million other things on my mind. Of course I couldn’t tell her directly about the notes. She combed my hair with her hands.
“It’s going to be okay,” she said. “Believe me, everyone in your class is going through the same things. It’s a stressful time, but I’ve watched you grow into a really strong and capable young woman. I mean it. Your grades are fine, you’ve got great friends.”
“I’ve got one best friend. The others I’m not so sure about. I don’t even know Rob anymore.”
She laughed. “Oh, Rob will be Rob. I think you know you’ve got plenty of friends. Yesterday before you came home I saw your cheerleader friend outside. I told her you were probably at Janey’s.”
“Cindy?” I asked. That was puzzling. Maybe she was looking for Rob? I wondered if she knew that he hung out here sometimes after school. I hoped she hadn’t seen Janey and I through the window last night! If she had, the whole school would know and I would have to find the nearest cliff and throw myself off of it!
“Everyone worries about graduation,” Mom continued. “But you’ll never lose contact with good friends. I still meet my high school friends every now and then. You’ll still keep in touch with Janey, even if you’re a thousand miles apart.”
“But we’re turning into different people,” I mumbled. My eyes were watering. Why do I always start crying all the time?
“You’ve still got the play to do. That will be fun.”
“Yeah, but we’re doing You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown. It’s a musical and I suck at singing. It’s just that, I feel like I don’t have any control over my life.”
“None-chan, you worry too much. Worrying never helped anybody. Things are going to work out fine. You’ll see. I’m proud of you. Now you’d better start getting ready. You’ve got to go to City Hall today to get the stamped paper with your grades. I’ll write you a note.” She patted me on the head, and walked to the door. “Don’t worry,” she said.
I decided not to, and felt a little better already.
There are a lot of boys at George Washington High School.
I noticed them getting off buses and pulling up in their cars and walking by the school sign and waiting in the hallways for the first bell to ring and... I remember reading in our science textbook that the population of Earth is about 52% female, 48% male. So us females outnumber the males. But that’s still a lot of men! I had never really thought about it before, maybe because I always found English more interesting than science.
Right away I found myself in trouble. I opened the door for some cute, shorter freshman guys like it was the most natural thing in the world. But I’m a senior! I dropped the door handle like it was the wrong end of a hot skillet when I realized what I was doing. Even though my mom had told me not to, I started worrying. Then of course that upset me because I really didn’t want to let her down.
Get a grip, Keiko, I thought. You are not a slave and your purpose on this planet is not pleasuring men!
I tried to fight it, honestly I did. But my mind was swarmed by sexual thoughts about practically every guy I saw. I saw a bulge in Tommy Jackson’s bluejeans and I thought about ways I could get my hands on it... I swerved at the last minute when I realized I was walking too close to some chubby kid whose name I forget, maybe with the unconcious intention of brushing my breasts against his arm... I put my pen back in my pen case when I saw a doodle on my English notebook looked like a penis...
Homeroom wasn’t even halfway finished, and I was thinking, maybe even acting, like... a slut! How could I concentrate on solving this mystery and breaking Cupid’s curse or whatever it was when all I could think about was putting some football player’s dick in my mouth?
I had to be smarter than the notes. The answer must be moderation, I thought. Wearing dresses, for example, had allowed me to concentrate yesterday and the day before without being bothered too much that I was supposed to be a teen princess, of all stupid things. The most recent note had reprogrammed part of my unconciousness to want to “pleasure men”—granted—but that didn’t necessarily have to equal sexual pleasure. That was the loophole I had to concentrate on. If I just went out of my way to help a few men here and there, like opening doors... maybe I could get through the day without grabbing some guy’s hands and shoving them onto my boobs. Besides, I was already planning on leaving early, right after lunch. I had to go to City Hall, but more importantly I needed to do some more sleuthing, and get to Janey’s mailbox. I had an idea how to toss a huge monkey wrench into “Johnson’s” plans.
If I was feeling eager to please around all the guys at school, I shuddered to think what Janey was going through. But did she even care? Probably not, because the way the notes were screwing with her mind she couldn’t even fight back. Every time I thought about her I remembered how we had grappled and twisted against the window... I couldn’t blame her for what she had done to me. That wasn’t the Janey I knew.
As it happened, I rescued her just in the nick of time.
There were two pieces of news floating through the hallways when I left homeroom. First, Rob and Cindy had broken up the night before after having quite a fight in the school parking lot. Second, Janey had exposed herself (according to the gossip from Kelly) to half the football team in the boy’s locker room before the first bell. I found her in the hallway outside her homeroom, making out with some junior guy who always wears a sweatshirt, surrounded by a surprised and horrified group of senior girls. It was really disgusting. I grabbed her arm and yanked her away from the boy and whispered in her ear as I dragged her through the crowd.
“Don’t say anything and follow me.” Thank god she had to do what I said. We passed one of the nosy assistant principals just rounding the corner. Another few seconds and Janey and whatshisname would have had detention for sure.
I crammed the two of us into an empty stall in the third floor girls’ bathroom and pondered the situation. No one else was on the third floor, so we had some privacy. I knocked the toilet seat down with my foot and sat her on it. Her dress was so wide that it almost completely hid the toilet bowl. What can I do? I thought. I needed a pair of handcuffs; I had to keep her from running out and trying to sleep with as many guys as possible.
Poor Janey. I realized I hadn’t even had a real, honest conversation with her since all this began. I honestly believe that a requirement for “best friends” status is the ability to participate in interesting conversations about all kinds of topics. Sometimes Janey and I talked about the weirdest things, and a bystander would probably think we were on acid or something. Granted, recently Janey was fixated on crazy schemes to make Rob dump Cindy and whisk her away in a whirlwind romance, but I guess I had had foolish ideas about Toby, too. Though I never considered using blackmail or voodoo or astrology on him those two months when he was going out with that exchange student... And now Rob and Cindy had broken up on their own... or had they? Something told me that it had to be related to our predicament in some way. Rob was available. And here was my best friend ready and willing to do anything for any male.
Poor Janey. I couldn’t tell her, “don’t pleasure men,” because the commands on the note would supercede anything I ordered her to do. And I couldn’t tell her to go home for the day because I needed her to be here at school for my plan with her mailbox to work. Could she stay in the third floor girls’ bathroom all day? Well, there was only one way to find out.
“Okay, you can talk now,” I said.
“Keiko!” she whined. “What are you doing? I have to get back to that guy I was with!”
She pulled me into an embrace, resting her chin heavily on my shoulder. She was really wearing too much perfume. At first I thought she was going to try a repeat of the terrible things we had done last night, but she only wanted to hug me. I felt her chest pushing into mine—something I never would have really noticed before yesterday.
“It’s important to me,” she murmurred, sounding on the verge of tears. “It’s my purpose to make men happy. Our purpose. We’re in this together, I thought. I know you want to do it, too. Keiko, it’s why we have our bodies and, and.. and, you know, it’s what we were made for. It’s so simple and basic and you don’t understand it!”
I understood it all too well. It was simple. And a seductive philosophy, too, if one could call it that. But I knew I wouldn’t have thought so two days ago. And there was no way I was going to sacrifice my... “sexuality” or whatever you call it, like that.
“You’re wasting your time trying to find out who’s behind all this,” she said.
“No!” I said, hugging her tighter. “We are in this together but we will not be turned into slaves!”
She pushed me away. “Let me go,” she said. “Open the door and let me go fuck whoever I want!” I released her and opened the stall door before I knew what I was doing. It felt good to let her go, but I knew it wasn’t right. “Don’t tell me not to go,” she added.
Which was precisely what I was about to do. My lips suddenly felt rubbery, but two could play this game. “Tell me to tell you not to go!” I said. Commands within commands within... Janey halted in front of the sinks and mirror.
“Tell me not to go,” her reflection pleaded at me. I happily obeyed.
With Janey safely sitting in the fourth stall of the third floor restroom, I attacked a day at Washington High as the “ready to please” Keiko, not the “sexually sensible” Keiko that I hoped would soon reappear. Having new thoughts in my head and what I guess was a new personality didn’t worry me as much as it should have, but I made sure always to think conciously about what I was doing. Basically, I acted like I was the same old Mouse that everyone knew and loved, not the new Mouse who somewhere deep down inside craved to use her body in the way Mother Nature intended. (Once again I should point out that I am a really good actress and it’s a shame that I haven’t been utilized more in the past plays.)
I hoped the only difference anyone noted was that I was extremely helpful. If a guy dropped a pencil, I picked it up. That only happened twice, but I was there to get it each time. I volunteered to push the VCR back to the AV Room for Mr. Sanderson. I passed out papers, collected notebooks, raised my hand (except in English, because I didn’t really care about pleasing Mrs. Richards), complimented guys, and smiled at everything that had a dick hanging between its legs. You’d be surprised how a smile brightens someone’s day.
It totally worked. All the nickel and dime stuff kept me from throwing myself on someone.
As the lunch bell rang, I went to the payphone. The book of yellow pages on the chain was missing quite a few pages, but all of the liquor store numbers were still intact. I dialed them in more or less alphabetical order.
“Hello, this is Mrs. Lopez. My husband James picked up some champagne from your store on Sunday and I’d like to order the same vintage for my literary club meeting next month. Oh, you don’t? Well, sorry to bother you. Yes, it must have been another store. Thanks. Bye.”
It was a gamble, but one that paid off in less than ten minutes and only $3.25 in quarters. None of the shops knew what I was talking about, until I called Gernhardt’s Liquors. The guy on the phone said he’d be happy to get an order of Alain Thienot for me, and how many bottles would I be needing? I pretended to get confused and offered to call back after taking a head count of the club members.
So I had at least proved Mr. Lopez’s alibi. Though it didn’t necessarily make him innocent. I was thinking more and more that, whoever “Johnson” was, he was simply taking advantage of the mishap with Cupid’s bow and arrow. I still suspected Rob, but unless he had been secretly training in archery there’s no way he could have accurately targetted Janey from all the way across the gym! A more likely scenario was that someone who knew what those arrows were capable of was taking advantage of the accident... but who else except Mr. Lopez would know, how would they know, and how could they have acted so quickly?
I bought four chicken sandwiches from the snack bar, went upstairs, and gave two to Janey. We ate them silently in the bathroom stall. (It was my first time to eat in a school bathroom, let alone any bathroom, and it was definitely gross.) Janey couldn’t say anything because she was under strict orders to stay sitting on the toilet until the final bell, without speaking or trying to get anyone’s attention.
“Janey, I’m trying,” I said. “Really, I’m doing the best I can.” I didn’t know what to say to her.
I decided to talk to Cindy before cashing in my mother’s “get out of school free” card.
When we were kids, I went to Cindy’s tenth birthday party, which her parents threw at some fancy restaurant that I’ve never been to since. And she came over to my house once to copy some biology notes in the eighth grade. But otherwise we’ve just kind of been friends at school. Like I said before, sometimes we’re close when she isn’t being a bitch, but with cheerleading practice and those huge boobs I guess she doesn’t have time to keep any really close friends. She has her clique but I doubt any two of them are as close as Janey and I.
The cafeteria seemed quieter than usual. At first I couldn’t find Cindy or Rob. Neither were sitting at the popular seniors’ table. I scanned the faces and finally found Rob off by himself at a table in the corner where a group of freshman usually sat. I guess when they broke up, Cindy got custody of the lunch table. A tray lay on the table where Cindy usually sat. Where was she?
Toby was also missing. His friends were at their usual spot but he was gone. He sometimes finshed his lunch early (I watched him often enough to know) and went to the gym to stand behind the bleachers, but always in a group with his friends. Every now and then when the cafeteria serves stringbean and gravy casserole he doesn’t eat anything; he goes to the computer room instead. But today’s lunch was some kind of cheese pasta. I wondered where he was. The thought of he and Cindy in a closet somewhere making out popped into my head. I almost laughed at the image but then I felt slightly miserable as I realized it should make me jealous, not giggly.
I walked to the table in the far corner. Rob nodded slowly at me.
“Hey,” I said, sitting down next to him. He looked like a kicked puppy. His outer shell of charming arrogance was gone and in a strange way without it he was no longer handsome. My heart went out to him and I felt responsible in some way. But he and Cindy had dated almost as long as the class couple, Brett and Flash, and had had some stormy times before, so there was no reason to believe they couldn’t patch up whatever argument had caused today’s break-up.
“I heard about the split.”
“Yeah,” he said, sighing. “I really fucked up.”
Guys always beat themselves up over women. They shouldn’t have to. Especially guys like Rob, who are good-looking and dress nicely. Rob could probably support three material girls like Cindy on his father’s allowance.
“Where is she?” I asked.
He glanced over at the popular seniors’ table.
“Who cares? Where’s Janey? I haven’t seen her all day.”
“She went home,” I lied.
I leaned closer to him and began massaging his shoulders. I’m not a masseuse or anything, but I could see he was tense even before I touched him. He jerked a bit but let me squeeze his shoulders and rub the back of his neck. His deltoids or whatever you call them were thick with muscle. How do guys get muscle like that?
“Hey, thanks Mouse!”
“My mom said Cindy stopped by our house yesterday. Any idea why?”
“Well, maybe because you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? At least that’s the way she put it. Let’s not talk about her, okay?”
Why should Cindy care if I was asking questions about the accident with Cupid’s bow and arrow? Unless she had something to hide... Even though I couldn’t imagine her being smart enough to be behind all this, mentally I tried to thread her in and around the suspects and scenarios I was considering. Rob was rolling his head around and seemed to be enjoying my massage, inexpert through it was. I leaned closer to him and reached down between his legs to rub my palm against his crotch. He was warm and definitely not underequipped. I squeezed his bulge gently and he yelped and jumped up out of his chair.
“Mouse??” he said. “What the fuck?”
I realized what I had done and backed away from the table slowly. “Sorry!” I half screamed, half gurgled. He looked at me with a mix of puzzlement, his head cocked to the side, before I turned and fled for the hallway. My face was probably as red as a freshly-waxed fire engine reflecting a burning warehouse.
I ran right smack into Toby. Something crunched in his leather jacket and he dropped his large denim bag as we fell. I grunted as my butt hit the floor hard. Standing, he took a pair of broken glasses from an inner pocket. I jumped up and watched him warily, smoothing my skirt, and wiping my hands where I had touched his jacket.
“Oh my god I’m so sorry,” I apologized. He didn’t say anything, only looked up and down the empty hallway. He put some books back into his bag.
“I was looking for you a little while ago,” I said.
“Where’s Janey?” he asked, his lips pursed. It seemed everyone wanted to know where she was. He slid the broken glasses back into his jacket with a shrug of his left shoulder and a jerk of his elbow and for just a second I remembered how cool I used to think he was. Stop judging people by how much money they have, I ordered myself silently. It didn’t help. Still, there was nothing to stop me from imagining him as a rogue prince, outlawed from his kingdom but heir to a fortune...
I blinked and tried to return to reality. He had asked me a question.
“She went home,” I finally stammered.
“She’s not there,” he said.
“What? How do you know?”
“Maybe I called and no one answered.” He leaned back against the row of lockers and I heard a click as a door that had been hanging ajar closed. He stared at me directly. I looked away, having never been able to hold a gaze when someone does that.
He’s the one, I thought. I didn’t have any proof, but just the way he was looking at me was sending shivers up and down my spine. That smug rebel attitude. He was so masculine. It was almost like he expected me to fall to my knees in front of him and unzip his pants, just because I was female. I shuddered. Just thinking about it made my legs twitch with uncertainty.
But the spell was broken as he pushed past me rudely and walked down the hallway. It was only then that I realized we were in front of Janey’s locker. One of these lockers had clicked shut. Had Toby been searching through Janey’s things?
The streets and people and even the way light bounces off of buildings all look different when you get out of school early. I drove immediately to the mall, which was nearly deserted. I had until four o’clock to get to City Hall to pick up my transcript. Until then I had time to investigate something that Toby had mentioned earlier: the index cards the notes were printed on. Everyone gets their school stuff at either the stationery store or Fleece’s; if I found neon pink index cards for sale I could type a fake note, put it in Janey’s mailbox, and de-brainwash her!
But first, a bit of genius. Sunglasses. It was so obvious in hindsight. I grabbed a pair of cheap “Surf’s Up, Dude!” yellow-mirrored glasses at the novelty gifts store and glanced around the mall. All the colors were darker and a bit yellowish. Perfect! I took the card I had stolen from Janey’s room out of my purse and glanced at it.
YOU’LL TELL NO ONE ABOUT MY NOTES.YOUR BODY, YOUR WHOLE PURPOSE, IS TO PLEASURE MEN.
I could still see the paper was pink, but through the glasses it was darker, a more normal shade, maybe even a light burgundy. It didn’t effect me at all! The glasses shielded my optic nerve or whatever, so I could read the card like it was a normal piece of paper. The typeface was easily legible. I licked my finger and touched my arm, making a psss! sound. “Keiko, you are just too damn hot,” I said.
I bravely walked past the “Teen Princess” shirt in Fleece’s young ladies department. No effect whatsoever. I arrived at the school supplies and stationery aisle, and crouched down so I couldn’t see the items in the other aisles. Then I raised the sunglasses.
Nothing. No sign of neon pink.
Back in the mall proper, I walked to the stationery store. It’s more expensive than Fleece’s Department Store, but it also has a better selection. I did the same experiment and immediately a small dot to my right burst into brilliance. It was only a dot, but it filled my brain with fog. I had to concentrate to lower the glasses back over my eyes. It was difficult because I honestly didn’t want to, but the pink spot was small and far away so I managed. Imagine you’ve fallen in love with the most beautiful, wonderful, perfect person you know. Would you want to avoid being with them?
Protected by the glasses, I walked to the cards. There were three packs hanging on the shelf.
New “Glow In The Dark”* Neon-Brite Pink 3x5 Index Notes Patented neon-lamination process! Standard, Non-ruled 4 cards per package. (*Cards may not glow in the dark)
They were on sale for $1.39 each. I grabbed all three packs and hurried to the sales counter. The middle-aged clerk looked like either her romance novel or the store’s muzak was about to put her to sleep.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I’d like to buy these, and I was wondering if you’ve sold any other packs of the same kind recently?”
She shrugged indifferently.
“Well...” I stammered. “Could you check in your computer system or something? It’s for a school project. I’m learning about economics.”
“Well then shouldn’t you be at school?” she asked, her voice gravelly. She cleared her throat, and I wondered if she had talked to anyone all day.
“Not when I’m working on a project,” I smiled. Actually, the sunglasses probably made me look younger than I was. I know most seniors would look older wearing them, but I’m just too short and my face is too round, like an onion.
She sighed and scanned in the three packages of Neon-Brite index cards, then typed a few keys on the keyboard. “At the beginning of the month we had four in stock, but somebody bought one last week and then we only had three. Then you bought three and now we have zero. Is that enough information to go home and write your paper on the U.S. economy?”
“Yes!” I said.
The only real typewriter that I’ve ever seen is the one in the corner of the school library. Before we got the computer room, Washington High used to teach typing, but now that’s combined with home economics and thankfully it’s an elective, so “hunt-and-peck” typists like myself never have to learn where our fingers are supposed to go.
Sneaking back into school was easy. I waited until the seventh period bell rang and when the hallways were at their fullest I simply joined the crowd. If anyone noticed me I just planned to say I forgot my purse or something equally stupid. Of course I had to take off the sunglasses.
The library was mostly empty. Some students were still coming out from the adjoining study hall and in a moment of weakness I brushed my breasts against Danny Sampson’s chest while turning sideways to squeeze through the door. It felt great to inhale as my blouse bumped his T-shirt, pushing myself against and across him with a short exclamation of friction, even if a wiser part of me knew that it wasn’t really me behaving this way. His chest was warm. He smiled at me and of course I grinned back at him even though I felt like grimacing and even kicking myself. But I didn’t want him to get the wrong message. It’s not his fault I’m like this, I thought. No one was using the tables. The typewriter in the corner was sitting, alone, with its beige dust cover protecting it like always.
I sat down and pulled the dust cover aside, then put my sunglasses back on. It was time to put an end to the mystery pervert’s plans. There were no more magic arrows left and the effects of Cupid’s poison were diminishing. If I could erase the programming currently altering our minds, he (or she) would have no way to re-enslave Janey and me.
“Here goes nothing,” I said.
I opened one of the Neon-Brite packages. The cards were stiff, but their paper was the same weight as the cards that had appeared in Janey’s mailbox. As the wrapper indicated, there were four thick cards per pack. Janey had received three cards so far. There are probably a million places to buy index cards in the city, but I had a hunch that “Johnson” only had one more card left. I held one of the new ones next to Wednesday’s “you’ll tell no one about my notes your body your whole purpose is to pleasure men” card that I had taken from Janey’s room. They were identical.
I have seen typewriters being used on TV (in Murder, She Wrote, especially) so I was able to figure it out. It was pretty old so it wasn’t an electric model. I slid the new card into the machine and rolled it into place. The card bent but didn’t fold, though if the paper had been a bit stiffer it might have. But it was difficult to position properly. I had to take it out and put it back in the typewriter two more times before I had it lined up so that whatever I typed would be centered as close as possible to the middle of the card. Finally I was satisfied and I typed two simple lines:
YOU ARE BACK TO NORMAL.DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER NOTES FROM ME.
I rolled my note up out of the drum and straightened it in my hands. As I did so, I suddenly located the nagging thought about the cards I hadn’t been able to remember earlier. How could I have forgotten? Some sort of flakey non-shiny glitter-type substance had been glued to the back of the first card at the hospital. But the subsequent cards were smooth and normal. Why? It had to be important. Now that I had the sunglasses I could investigate the cards more closely.
But first, I had a weak moment.
I took off the glasses and raised the cards before me. They glowed warmly in their importance, sending pulses of color into my brain like fuzzy waves of beauty. I turned the “pleasure men” card around so that only my most recent message was... transmitting, so to speak. One card for each eye, the left written with my own instructions. I knew my pupils were dialating. My nipples hardened and my heart accelerated. I tried to read my message, but I didn’t want to... I just wanted to absorb the pink color.
It was difficult for me to believe that I had been working with such beautiful things and I had been treating them like simple pieces of paper! The effects of the poison were definitely fading—my palm no longer tingled at all—but I still felt like simply moving my hands could direct the neon pink bath as it washed over me, that I could focus it like a spotlight on my neck, my boobs, and if I wanted to, my hips and the warm spot between my legs that my clenched thighs grew weary of protecting...
I was sweating and damp when I put the sunglasses back on. But I didn’t feel like I was back to normal, and that scared me very, very much. I still wanted to “please” men. I still felt like I had to obey. If the poison’s effects were fading, was there any hope of ever counteracting the previous notes?
Before sneaking back out of school, I went to the journalism room and used the newspaper staff’s photocopier. I blew up the type on both the card from Johnson and the one I had just made, to 400% of their normal size (the highest the photocopier would allow). The typeface and small pits in the right leg of the A’s were exactly the same. There was no doubt. As I had suspected, the notes were being typed on Washington High’s library typewriter. It had to be a student or someone with access to the school.
I approached Janey’s mailbox with a mixture of hesitation and anticipation. There was either one of the pink cards already inside or there wasn’t—and if there was I had to trade it for my fake one.
The problem was that I wanted to read the next note.
Or maybe “want” isn’t quite right, but I felt a certainty in my mind that sooner or later I was going to read it. It was almost a given, like something in the back of your mind that you just can’t shake; for example, a plan to go swimming you made during breakfast that you stubbornly stick to all day even when the weather turns chilly and overcast. I’ve got to be strong, I told myself. At last I put on the sunglasses, pushing them close to my head, and forced myself to squint through them. Even with the protection of the glasses, I didn’t want to risk falling under the spell of a new note.
I felt around inside the mailbox and immediately found another card, leaning against a newspaper. I whipped it out of the mailbox and into my purse, replacing it with the index card I had typed in the school library.
“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” I told myself.
I drove to City Hall. After studying the building guide in the main corridor, I located City Documents and Records. It was on the third floor. I don’t know what I had expected, but the room I arrived at reminded me of the waiting room in the Department of Motor Vehicles when I had gotten my license almost two years ago. It was large, crowded with all sorts of people looking like they’d rather be someplace else, and a machine near the door mechanically gave out numbered slips of paper so we could sit on the hard blue chairs and not have to stand in line. My number was 937 and the LED readout above the clerks’ counter read 914.
“Mom’s back is still bothering her,” a woman told another woman who looked like her sister. Two kids sat between them, kicking the chairs in front of them and playing with a fast food burger box.
“You don’t say. That’s awful.”
The room was noticably warmer than the hallway just outside. I took off my sunglasses and squeezed into the row behind the women and the two kids. At the counter, four clerks occupied the six available windows, however all but one of them were doing paperwork of some kind, with “Please go to the next available window, thank you” signs in front of them. A large gruff man pounded the counter. “I need the carbons for the insurance company!” The clerk gazed past him at the clock on the opposite wall. It was 2:45.
I tried to shut it all out. I sat down between a businessman reading a magazine and an old man snoring. The businessman was handsome, probably rich, and part of me longed to lean my head against his shoulder and do wonderful, thrilling things to him... for him. Of course I resisted. I put the slip of paper on my knee and resigned myself to wait.
What was Toby looking for in Janey’s locker? He was rapidly becoming my number one suspect, but I couldn’t forget Cindy taking offense to me asking questions about the accident.
The thing I couldn’t get out of my head was the fact that I had rubbed Rob’s penis through his bluejeans! How could I have allowed myself to let a simple massage get out of control? The worst part was the look on his face, the look of shock and surprise. Talk about pathetically poor timing! Way to go Keiko, touching a guy’s dick right after he broke up with his girlfriend. I could have crawled into a hole and died.
I didn’t know what I was thinking anymore. In a few minutes the last bell would ring at Washington High and Janey would be free to leave the bathroom stall I had trapped her in all day. I had a feeling I couldn’t hold her away from the wealth of guys the school had to offer, but I also hoped she would be drawn home to her mailbox to read the latest note. The poison was still strong inside her, so my trick might work.
Was she the lucky one, or was I? She couldn’t fight back and probably didn’t want to. I just had a taste of what she was going through, and I didn’t like it. But for her, she didn’t even have to worry about not liking it. It’s like how I hate the taste of capuccino-flavored ice cream more than any other kind, but the texture as I swallow it is so luxurious that I sometimes order it from Big Bob’s Ice Cream at the mall, just for how it feels when I swallow a large piece.
I felt like I had done a million things today, and my back kind of hurt. I unbuttoned the first two buttons on my blouse. I really like the off-center collar style, even though it’s not really meant to be worn unbuttoned like a normal blouse. But it was hot in the room, and maybe if I gave the businessman something to look at I wouldn’t suddenly... massage him, or worse. Just a hint of cleavage and a small peek at my bra.
Five minutes later, the number above the counter changed, 915 was called, and it was someone else’s turn at the counter. I was going to have a long wait. Too bad I hadn’t brought my Agatha Christie novel or a magazine like the man next to me.
I needed something to read. I opened my purse and pulled out the recent note from Janey’s mailbox. Wait, what am I doing? I thought. But it was too late and to tell the truth I’m not sure I wanted to stop myself. The note glowed beautifully and tinted my thoughts fuzzy and indistinct. It was like a drug. I sighed in mild frustration. Was I this stupid? This weak? The answer seemed to be yes. As I sat on the uncomfortable blue chairs, I resigned myself to the card’s arousing brightness. My eyes lost focus and I gently squeezed my breasts with my free hand, pulling my blouse down further.
What new command was going to slip into my brain?
Gradually I became aware that the focus of every man in the room should be on me. Yes, I knew it was bullshit, but I had never really realized that there is a spotlight on all of us—especially females—all of our lives. Our bodies, the way we dress, etc. Shakespeare was right, and as an actress and a woman I could appreciate it. My audience surrounded me every day.
My concious mind felt like it was swimming in cotton candy, but I was able to read the newest note.
YOU KNOW WHAT MEN WANT.YOUR BODY IS AN ADVERTISEMENT FOR SEX.
A twinge of anger allowed me to cram the note back into my purse, which I dropped to the floor.
I looked down at my boobs. Only the bottom three buttons of my blouse were buttoned, my bra was easily visible covering the small curve of my breasts. I wanted to offer them to the man in the suit next to me, wrap my legs widely around the back of his chair and sink onto him slowly and luxuriously.
Just thinking about it made my nipples harder and harder. I slowly pulled my blouse a bit lower and saw their lumps through the shiny slope of my bra. As I watched they grew bigger and even more swollen. Their tightness both hurt and excited me. I looked at the man next to me and he still hadn’t noticed. No one had.
A bead of sweat rolled down between my cleavage. I stretched and thrust my chest out between my arms, groaning softly in spite of myself. Crossing my arms I was able to surreptitiously slide a finger between my bra and boobs to touch my left nipple. It was as hard as a pencil eraser, and big! Touching it was like touching a warm finger! What’s happening to me? I thought. They’ve never been this big before. I continued to feel myself, amazed and frightened and excited, and just plain in shock at how senstive my chest was. My breasts were a bit slick because I was sweating. With a shock I saw that the colored area around my nipple, the aureole, was expanding on both boobs! They’re growing, I thought. What the fuck?
I pulled my hands away from myself and watched slowly. The aureole was really getting wider! As I watched in horrified fascination, it crept out from my bra. It must have been two or three inches wide, covering most of my breast. And my nipples were like oblong chestnuts! Is this what the note meant about being an “advertisement for sex?” Super nipples? I know guys like big boobs but big nipples?
I felt like crying. How could this happen? How could that gunk from the arrow be effecting my body, too?
“They called your number,” the businessman said. With a start I looked up at him and saw his eyes focused on my chest. I turned toward him and he continued to stare at my exposed cleavage. I didn’t know whether to button up my shirt or pull my bra up over my breasts and let him see everything. I glanced quickly at the man’s crotch and was unable to tell if he had an erection or not.
“Are you okay?” he asked my breasts.
Part of me wanted to ask him if he liked my chest. Instead, rational thought won the day. I buttoned my shirt and stood. Then I gave a half scream and covered my chest with my right arm. With my blouse buttoned my nipples were obviously erect and huge, as if I had stuffed a huge half-melted marble into each cup of my bra! A dozen people turned to look at me as, still covering my bursting nipples, I retrieved my purse and walked to the counter.
“How may I help you?” the clerk asked. He barely even glanced at me.
“Keiko Tanaka,” I said with a stutter. “I have an appointment to pick up my transcript for Washington High. I’m a graduating senior.”
I showed him my driver’s license and social security card, and then he disappeared for a few minutes before finally returning with an official-looking paper. I scanned it. My name was at the top and in tiny type was listed every class I had ever taken and the grades I had received. Straight A’s in English, of course.
“There you are. Copies have been sent to, let’s see... Pomona, Oberlin, and Wesleyan. Have a nice day.”
“I definitely will,” I said, intending to do nothing less. I almost ran for the door, but turned around quickly when I remembered something I had to ask. “Is this building open on Sundays?”
“No,” he answered, with a shake of his head, as if it was the stupidest question he had heard all day.
As I left Documents and Records, I heard someone behind me say, “Did you see that Asian girl? Totally nipped out.”
What was happening to me? Ignoring the elevators, I entered the stairwell and unbuttoned my blouse as fast as my fingers could fly, opened it, and pulled up my bra. It was as if the tips of my boobs had exploded! The nipples were huge and round and each aureole looked bumpy and angry. They looked... motherly. I cupped my new chest in my hands and experimentally squeezed myself. They were much more sensitive, and touching them sent a pleasant thrill through me. I leaned against the stairway’s metal bannister and gently groped myself with my eyes closed. The longer I touched myself, the better it felt. And believe it or not, my nipples hardened even more. They were fleshy thumbs stuck to my chest.
Just a few minutes, then I’ll stop, I told myself.
My underwear was getting wet and my whole body felt like it was one giant female muscle of potential. I put a hand under my skirt while the other continued to play with my nipples. In the back of my mind I was already wondering how I would hide this new growth from the world, if I even could. I had so many clues but I still didn’t know who Johnson was. Without another source of Cupid’s poison I didn’t know if I could counteract the programming inside Janey and me. If I could put all the clues together and confront Johnson, would I even have any fight left in me?
I came on my hand, breathing huskily. The stairwell smelled of warm apples being washed in a duffel bag. I composed myself as best I could.
Before I left the building, I saw the old man who had been babysitting us in the gym when the accident happened. He entered one of the elevators in the lobby, stared at me for a few seconds, then the doors closed and he rose into the recesses of the building.
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