Crown Vic to a Parallel World

15

A Tall Zebra

I chuckled my way down the street with my black bag of hair-product swinging at my side.  I took a mental minute to review the statistics of my strange morning.  ‘One breakfast, one-hundred-thousand credits, three propositions, two turndowns…and one haircut.’ I thought as I strolled the block-and-a-half to the tailor’s shop.

‘Anticuus Men’s’ is what the block-letter sign read.  I knew that meant ‘Classic Men’s.’  My Shawn reference book told me that while English was the main language the world over, traditional Latin was preferred for formal names on Solum.  That explained names like ‘Anticuus Men’s’ on the shop I stood in front of.

The building was a two-story blue stone building, and the shop appeared to take up both floors.  I paused to admire my new haircut in the glass panel that made up the center of the shop door.  It was strange to see myself with that much hair, but no stranger than the other stuff I’d been through since my arrival on Solum.  I shrugged to myself, opened the white-framed door, and went in.

A bell chimed as I passed through the door and shut it behind me.  A yellow-suited clerk stood at a white podium just inside the door.  He raised a bored face to me, raked me with a disinterested glance, and made an accurate assumption of what I was there for.  “Custom?”  He asked in a bouncy, effeminate voice.  I nodded.  “Upstairs.” He pointed to a staircase at the far end of the shop.  I followed the direction of his pointed finger and waded through racks of intensely colored clothing toward the stairs.

The second floor was a large, bare room.  A light panel ceiling shown on white walls and a plain matte-black floor.  A tall, voluptuous woman who appeared to be in her early thirties, leaned against the front wall and looked out an un-curtained window with a bored and disinterested gaze.  The woman was dressed in a burgundy one-piece body suit that left nothing to the imagination.

She stood with her arms crossed under pendulous breasts and her legs crossed at the ankles.  Her crossed ankles made her entire lower half, from her child-bearing hips to her dainty feet, an exaggerated heart shape.  The woman had a lot of loosely curled red hair that piled up on her head and billowed out toward her shoulders.  Keeping her company near the window was a red hat rack with nothing hanging from it.  On the low, deep windowsill was a black glass tablet and a rolled-up flexible measuring tape.

Either my heavy footsteps or my labored breathing drew her attention but not her gaze.  “Custom?” She asked at the end of a languid sigh.

“Yes.”

“Very well.” She sighed again and, with a languid movement, straightened away from the wall.  She gathered the objects from the windowsill and approached me.  She looked me up and down, then walked around me slowly with disdain twisting her full, round features.  “Did you pick these atrocious clothes?” She asked without bothering to dampen her contempt for my outfit.

“No.”

“Good, I thought I was dealing with a masochist.  Take them off this instant.  Don’t even hang them up.  You will not leave with them.  I will see that they are properly disposed of.”  The voice that she used to direct my actions was deep to the point of being masculine and very demanding.

I dropped my Vis-Vit bag near the head of the stairs, kicked my heels off, removed my shirt, and my pants, and dumped everything in a pile on the floor.  The only thing I retained was my wallet, which I tucked into the waistband of my briefs.

The woman moved to the head of the stairs, giving the pile of clothes a wide berth, and called down in commanding sing-song.  “Attie, our biggest robe and a folding chair.  No-ow.”

The woman let the tablet and tape drop from her hands, but they didn’t fall.  The tape started to measure me on its own while the tablet and stylus recorded what the tape measured.  The woman circled me several more times.  Her arms remained crossed under her breasts.

The clerk from downstairs, ‘Attie’ I assumed, came up with a white folding chair and a white robe.  He set the chair up near the window and hung the robe on the hat rack.  My discarded clothes floated into his now-free hands.  “You may take those away.” The woman said without looking at Attie or the clothes.  Attie took them and retreated without a word or a glance to either of us.

“We need to tone you down.” The woman said as she circled me yet again. “You are entirely too big.  The haircut is a good start.  Vis-Vit does excellent work.”

I was amazed that she could tell where the haircut came from.  I was amazed until I realized she’d seen the bag with the logo of interlocking letter ‘V’s that I’d been carrying.

The woman moved behind me and started to outline her thoughts.  Her soft, long-fingered hands gripped my shoulders.  “We will cling to these and stay close to this strong back.”  Her hands traced down to my waist.  “Dished wedge heels, flats that look like heels.”

She pulled her hands back and moved to my left side to see my profile.  “Flats won’t do anything for this.” Her hand whipped out and slapped my ass hard enough to sting.  “But it doesn’t need much help.”

Her other hand patted my bloated stomach.  “We shall do our best with this as well.”

The woman moved in front of me.  She had her arms crossed under her breasts again.  “Will you put yourself entirely in my hands?”

“Yes.”  I answered without hesitation and felt a little like I was making a pact with a witch.  I realized that I hadn’t left myself much choice in the matter.  I was certain nothing on the racks downstairs was large enough for me and I had no sense of fashion on any world.  If I wanted to try to blend in, I needed her help.  I’d also allowed the woman and her clerk to take my clothes away, so if I wanted to leave the store in anything but my black briefs, I needed her help.

“How many sets of clothes would you like?”

“Enough for two-weeks to start.” I answered.

“Budget?” The woman asked and sounded very much like the word gagged her.

I had to consider that for a moment.  My food and lodging were covered at the hotel.  I had nothing else to spend my money on, and a hundred grand to burn.  Besides all that, with the whole ‘end of the world thing,’ I didn’t know how much longer I was going to live.  I gave the woman an answer I hoped she would like.  “I don’t want to spend more than one thousand…” a scowl bloomed on her face like I’d wasted her time until I finished my statement, “…per outfit…and, no more than twenty-five hundred on something formal.”

Blowing that much money would put a sizable dent in my allowance, but I had ample funds.  I also figured that, since I was there to save the world, if I burned through the hundred grand, I could convince them to give me some more.

The woman’s ripe lips stretched from an unhappy, pursed frown to a broad, seductive smile.  She held her hand out for me to shake.  “Rubicundus,” she purred, “call me Rubi.  It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Church.” I said and shook her hand.  I didn’t bother with either of my last names.  I didn’t see the point.

“Church.”  She repeated.  Rubi drew her hand back and crossed her arms again.  I wondered if she found her breasts too heavy and needed to constantly support them.  “Please…I have what I need.” She nodded toward the chair and hat rack. “The robe is for you.  Be comfortable while I make the selections.  I will need one hour to outfit you suitably to be seen in public.  The rest of the clothes I will send to…?” She inclined her head as a question.

“The Capital Hotel, room 428.” I said and shrugged into their ‘biggest robe’ that was still far too small for me.  I closed it as far as it would close around my fat middle, tied the ends of the sash together, and sat on the folding chair.

“Can I offer you refreshment, Church?”  Rubi asked, her voice full of sacchariny sweetness.  It seemed her hospitality knew no bounds since she found out I was prepared to drop a pile of money.

“I wouldn’t say no to coffee.”

“Attie…” Rubi called from the top of the stairs, “cup…”

“Rubi,” I interrupted, “would you make it a pot please?  Black.”

“Pot,” Rubi corrected in her commanding sing-song, “of black coffee for our guest.  No-ow.”

Rubi turned toward me with a show-offy pirouette that treated me to all the ample curves of her impressively feminine body.  If I was even a little straight, I would have been very distracted by her.  “I should have known a man of your stature would have large appetites.”  Rubi wandered around behind me and kneaded my shoulders.  “Tell me,” she purred in my ear, “are all your appetites large ones?”

I answered the question that I thought she’d asked.  I patted my ample belly. “I do tend to overindulge." I admitted.

Rubi pressed her firm breasts into my upper back. “I meant your carnal desires, Church.  Are they large?  Do you overindulge them as well?  I’ve never met a man of your impressive stature.  I must admit that I find you…compelling.  Perhaps you and I could indulge together.”

It took me a minute to understand what Rubi was alluding to.  When I finally realized, I was stunned.  ‘HOLY SHIT,’ my brain screamed, ‘she’s throwing it at me.’  Being hit on by anyone was a new experience for me and I didn’t know quite how to handle it.

I leaned my head back to look into Rubi’s upside-down face.  She looked soft and warm and inviting and even though I wasn’t attracted to her, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little interested.  She was an objectively beautiful woman and I appreciated her body even though it didn’t spark any passion inside me.

For the very first time in my life, I turned down the romantic advances of another person.  I even led my refusal with an apology to let her down easy.  “I’m sorry,” I said through what I hoped looked like a sympathetic smile, “my appetites don’t include women.”

Rubi squeezed my shoulders and frowned slightly.  “You prefer men.”  She pushed away from me and took the glass tablet from the air.  She leaned against the wall where she’d been when I walked in.  “So do I.  Women are soft and sweet and mutual and that’s nice.  I want exhilaration, aggression.  That takes strength and a healthy amount of arrogance.  For that, you need a man.”

Attie picked that moment to show up with a small tray that held a gold coffee pot, a simple, cafeteria-style, white mug, and a matching saucer.  He set the pot, mug, and saucer on the window sill and left without a word or a glance.  Rubi watched him go and muttered something that I didn’t catch, but that sounded like displeasure.  The mug that Attie had left, floated from the sill, as did the pot.  The pot brimmed the mug and the mug floated to my hands.  I accepted it from the air and drank.  The beverage was very nice blond roast coffee, perfect for the morning.

Without another word to anyone, Rubi lost herself in the tablet, presumably where she worked to select my new outfits and place the orders.  She’d said the process would take a single hour.  I didn’t know where she planned to get custom clothes in just sixty minutes, but I’d just been to a barber and left with more hair on my head than when I’d entered.  After that experience, I presumed anything was possible.

I looked out Rubi’s window to watch colorful people move along the street in front of the shop and drank coffee for what turned out to be an exact hour.  As if cued by the elapsed time, light footsteps on the stairs preceded the arrival of Attie.  He carried a stack of folded clothes with a paper-wrapped pair of shoes on top.

He carried himself and his small burden over to Rubi.  She unwrapped the paper that contained a pair of pink heels and set the startling shoes on the floor.  She flipped through the pile of clothes and found a flamingo pink, short-sleeve, collar-less, button-down shirt, which she sent floating in my direction.

I took the shirt from the air and held it up to inspect.  The shirt was something, an intense expanse of neon fabric with a sheen to it that caught the light.  I removed my robe, returned it to the hat rack, and put the shirt on.  It hugged my shoulders and back, and fell nicely over my front, smoothing my fat middle on the way down.  The un-tucked tail ended below my briefs.  It was the best-fitting shirt I’d ever owned.

After the shirt, came a pastel pink pair of pants.  These were flat-front, hip huggers that flared to accommodate my fat thighs and tapered down to my ankles.  I put them on and started tucking the shirt in.  Rubi stopped me with a sharp word.

“Never.”  She insisted with a disdainful head shake.  “The long shirt helps hide your stomach and tones down your height.”

I untucked the shirt and fastened the pants.  They had a regular zipper fly and an adjustable clasp that would cinch the waist to my body so the pants didn’t need a belt to stay up.  I liked the simplicity of the design and appreciated not needing a belt.  I’d broken too many of the damn things in my life to have any affection for the leather accessory.

I stepped into the pink dished heels and looked for a mirror.  I thought I was complete and ready for inspection, but I was wrong.  One more piece of clothing floated from Attie’s arms into my hands.  It was a long-cut, pastel pink jacket, collar-less with no lapels, and no buttons.  I shrugged into it and smoothed the garment against my body.  It hugged my shoulders and back like the shirt had, and ended about mid-way down my thighs.  The jacket’s length covered the tail of my shirt by several generous inches.

Attie, who now had nothing in his hands, gathered the paper wrapping that had been discarded from my heels and left.  Rubi did something on her tablet and the wall near me became a mirror, or perhaps a screen that displayed what a camera saw.  I didn’t see a camera, but I didn’t know how a wall could become a mirror either.  Rubi moved next to me and explained her work, as much with her soft hands as she did with her voice.

“I tapered everything to your body.  This makes you smaller because your clothes aren’t adding size that isn’t there.  The long jacket and shirt compliment your long hair and pull you down to the rest of us.  The very light colors make you less imposing.  The bright shirt helps you blend with the crowd.  I can’t make you any less than six-feet-four-inches, but I can ground you.  If you can lose some weight, I can do even more.  How do the shoes feel?”

I marched in place a little.  “They feel good.  They remind me of high-tops I had when I was a kid.”

“What do you think of the whole package?”  She asked with a lilting confidence in her voice that said she knew that she’d done a good job.

The image in front of me changed to a split screen that showed me from all sides.  ‘Must be a bunch of cameras hidden around here.’ I reasoned as the images took turns at the forefront of the display. “The clothes do what you say they do.” I said in praise of Rubi’s work. “Thanks, Rubi.  I think I’ll draw less attention now.”

Rubi rubbed my back between my shoulder blades with a flat palm.  “I’m glad you’re pleased.” She purred in my ear. “I’ll have the rest at your hotel by this evening.  You can approve payment once you’ve looked everything over.”

I thanked her a few more times, shook her hand and started for the stairs, pausing just long enough to gather my Vis-Vit bag from the floor.  “Church,” she called after me.  I stopped.  She had her arms under her breasts again.  “If you decide you want a taste of something different, I’m here Tuesday to Saturday and get done at five.”

I couldn’t help but grin.  That was the first time in my life I’d ever been hit on by a stranger.  “Thanks for the compliment.  If my appetite ever changes, I’ll bring it here first.”  I waved, went down the stairs, and out.

*          *          *          *

Back on the street, I waded into the crowd and made slow progress along the block.  I wanted as many people as possible to walk by me so I could gauge their reactions to my new look.  It only took a block for me to realize the clothes worked.  I still drew glances and the occasional startled stare, but not from a distance.

Those that still stared, only did so once they were close enough to be surprised by my height.  It seemed that even a distance of a few feet was enough for me to blend into the crowd.  Most people, if they looked at me at all, did so with a flick their eyes in my direction.  I still stood out, but my new look had helped turn me into nothing more than a tall zebra instead of a giraffe.

With my errands complete, I checked on the time.  It wasn’t quite eleven yet, but I was getting hungry, so I decided to have lunch.  I walked a half-block to the café that Shawn liked.  When I arrived in front of it, I was surprised to see that the establishment didn’t bother with a Latin name.

The glass front of the first floor eatery was stenciled with block capital letters that said ‘CAFÉ.’  In front of the glass, on the sidewalk, were several tables the size of TV trays, each with two chairs gathered to it.  I scrutinized the chairs and decided that their size would have made them perfect for a middle school classroom, but they a bit too small for my oversized frame.  I peered through the glass in the hope that the tables and chairs inside would be for grown-ups.

The inside was more crowded than I liked and the accommodations were just as tiny.  I decided to stick with the unoccupied outdoor seating and folded myself into one of the diminutive chairs and to wait.  A couple minutes went by, and then a couple more.  My hands were restless on the table-top.  The first two fingers of my right hand tapped impatiently.

If it had been the previous day, a cigarette would have been burning between those fingers.  Now they had nothing to do.  It seemed that Shawn had managed to eliminate the physical addiction and the habitual triggers, but a few traces of the twenty-five-year habit remained.  ‘To be expected.’ I thought and looked around idly.

The café door opened for a small boy who carried a menu that looked like a billboard in his hands.  The boy saw me and skidded to a stop.  His mouth opened and his eyes widened in fear.  He turned on his heels and scurried inside, calling after his ‘mama’ as he went.

It took me a second to reason out what had happened.  The conclusion I came to made me mad.  The small boy had seen me in all my massiveness, jammed behind the little table and perched on the tiny chair, and freaked.

My haircut and new clothes had done a lot to tone down my size, but those things could only do so much.  Sitting still outside of the café, my proportions probably matched a circus bear riding a tiny bicycle.  I was tempted to be angry at the kid, but I couldn’t be.  I’d scared a grown man at breakfast.  I should have been surprised if the kid didn’t react the way he did.

I rubbed my face in frustration and wondered if it was possible for me to ever fit in, or if I’d always be an outcast no matter what world I found myself on.  I dropped my hands and found myself eye to eye with a plump, apologetic brunette woman in a white apron.  She was as tall standing as I was sitting down.  The little boy, who was still clutching the billboard menu, peered around from behind her.  “I’m sorry, sir.” The woman said. “My son is ten and small for his age and you’re…uhm…rather robust.  I guess you startled him.”

“It’s fine, ma’am.”  I rested my elbows on the table and my chin on my fists in defeat.  “I’ve been known to startle adults.  I’m harmless though.”

The woman put her hand on her son’s head and gently urged him forward.  “Xar, give the man his menu.”  She used that special tone that only mothers know.  It’s their ‘comfort and persuade’ voice.

I did my best to look non-threatening.  It must have worked because the boy crept out from behind his mother long enough to hand over the menu.  “Thank you, Xar.”  I said as I accepted it.

He smiled like a cherub, and having completed his task, scurried away again.  The woman thanked me for my patience.  “He reminds me a little of my nephew.” I offered just to be saying something. “They’re about the same age.”

I felt a pang of nostalgia when I said it.  I never bothered much with my younger brother or his kid.  I’d spent too much of the last decade drunk.  I guessed I wouldn’t ever see either of them again, no matter how the ‘save Solum’ mission turned out.

“Should I give you a minute?” The woman asked, seemingly unaware that I’d gotten lost in thought.

“No.” I offered the unopened menu to her. “My friend told me your club sandwiches are excellent.  I’d like one of them please, with plain iced-tea and chips.”  My stomach grumbled as I said it and motivated an addition.  “And a grilled cheese sandwich with bacon.”

The woman accepted the menu with a question. “And what will your friend be drinking?” She asked.

“What friend?” I asked.

The woman’s face scrunched up in confusion.  It told me that she was trying to decide if maybe I was dangerous after all.  “The friend you ordered the other meal for.” She prompted with a tilt of her head toward the empty chair opposite me.

The dim bulb that lives in my head lit with understanding.  ‘That’s why they kept asking you about another person when you ordered breakfast at The HALL the first day.  These little people can’t imagine one person eating that much.’  I corrected the woman’s misunderstanding.  “No ma’am.  It’s all for me.”

A hint of embarrassed pink rose in her face.  “Of course.  Thank you, sir.”  She said and retreated inside.

*          *          *          *

I ate the good food that the woman brought and people-watched for the better part of an hour.  The quiet of the street and the warm, pleasant day did wonders for my frayed nerves.  I finished my lunch and felt full and satisfied.

It was strange to finish a meal without immediately lighting a cigarette, but it was so much nicer just to breathe the air.  I wondered if I ever noticed how nice fresh air was before I smoked, then I realized that I’d smoked for so long, I didn’t really remember what air smelled like before.

After lunch, I had nothing to do.  The tasks I’d set for myself were complete.  I ambled aimlessly along the streets until I came to one of the vast parks that made up the next city unit.  I strolled in and lost myself among the trees and the thoughts of my over-stimulated brain.

I thought about all kinds of things.  I thought about the morning and Gitec the breakfast gawker.  I thought about the silly bookend barbers.  I thought of Rubi, my horny new tailor.  Thoughts of Rubi and her incredible skill with her tape measure and tablet reminded me that I’d been neglecting my own magic.

I berated myself for letting so many hours go by without even trying one of my new affinities.  “I’m supposed to be working on my control and I haven’t done a fucking thing.” I scolded myself aloud.  I held onto that thought while I went deeper into the wooded section of the park.  I looked for and found some temporary privacy under the lush foliage of the trees. “This is as good a place as any.” I told myself.

I picked up a rock, tossed it in the air, and caught it with magic.  I held the rock in the air at my eye level and tried to get a sense of what it was like to hold it in my power.  I could actually feel the texture of the rock with my magic, like my mind was holding it in an invisible hand.  I made the rock fly around a little and was in the middle of showing off for myself when the crunch of footsteps told me I wouldn’t be alone much longer.

I released my hold on the rock and it fell to the ground just off the path.  I loitered around, pretending to examine tree leaves like a nature enthusiast until the intruder was out of sight.  I picked the rock back up with my magic and tried to hold onto it without looking at it.  I shut my eyes and the rock clattered on the path.  I tried again and again.  Each time I shut my eyes, the rock fell.

I picked the rock up with my hand and studied it.  “What am I doing wrong?”  I asked it.

I held the rock and shut my eyes.  I couldn’t see it, but my hand still held it.  I thought about that.  “How do I know that I still have it.”  I asked me out loud.

“Because I feel it.” I answered myself.

“What does it feel like?”

“It’s course and gritty.  It has a jagged edge where it was broken.”

“Does that help us?”

I opened my eyes to study the hand that held the rock.  “I don’t know.”

Beyond the rock, and just inside my peripheral vision, was a girl.  She wore a yellow sundress and had long, straight, raven black hair that fell all the way down her back.  She stared at me with dark, curious eyes.  I closed the rock in my hand and shoved the hand in my pocket.  “It’s OK to laugh,” I said as heat poured from my embarrassed red face, “I would if I was you.”

The girl shrieked with merriment and clicked passed me on blue high-heels.  “Oh, like you’ve never talked to a rock.”  I called after her with mock indignance.  She shrieked again and clicked out of sight.

“Gee, Church,” I chided myself when I was alone, “why not invest in a unicycle?  Then you can really blend in.”

I took my hand from my pocket and blamed the rock for embarrassing me.  It didn’t seem to feel that it had any responsibility.  I disagreed.  I tossed it in the air again and caught it with magic again.  I felt it with my mind.  The tactile sensation was almost the same with my power as it had been with my hand.  I could feel texture, weight, shape, everything about the rock except temperature.  My magic did not transmit the temperature of the rock to my mind.

“Huh…” I said aloud when I realized the missing piece, “wonder why.” I didn’t have an answer to that, so I didn’t dwell on it.

I focused on the tactile feeling of holding the rock with my mind and shut my eyes.  I opened them and saw that the rock still hovered. “Makes sense.” I said to the hovering rock. “To keep the thing in the air, I have to focus on what it feels like.  I have to actively hold it with my magic.”

I made the rock do some more aerobatics and wished I had a model airplane or a kite.  “I could have dogfights with myself.”  I mused.  I had the rock fly around behind me and it stayed in the air.  “Alright, rock,” I said to it, “let’s go for a walk.”

I had the rock hover just behind my left shoulder and set out for a stroll.  I didn’t want to keep it in front of me, because I didn’t want to be able to see it.  I also didn’t want a floating rock to be the first thing people noticed when they saw me.  Having it behind me would challenge my skill more, it would be less noticeable, and if I thought anyone did notice, I could just drop it and walk away.

I was still concerned about standing out.  My size was something I couldn’t control.  I could control how I presented myself and I didn’t want to present myself at the center of a swirling cloud of objects like I was the main feature in an infant’s mobile.  I’d seen people use magic and they didn’t seem to be bashful about it, but I hadn’t seen anyone else walking down the street with random objects floating around them.  I left the rock hidden behind my shoulder and had it follow me all through the park.

In the mid-afternoon, I was hungry again.  I was also getting tired of wandering around.  I found a bus stop and boarded a bus back to the hotel.  I’d actually forgotten about the rock until I sat down and it dug into my back.  I had it float around in front of my face and scolded it for the amusement of an elderly man in the opposite seat.  “There you are.  I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”  I opened the flap of my jacket and floated the rock into the inside pocket. “You’re grounded.”  I said to the pocket and let the flap drop closed against my chest.

I shook my head at the old man.  “Kids these days.  Am I right?”

He snickered at my silliness.  “Right.”

I was glad the old man saw the humor.  It humanized him in my eyes.  I let my mind wander over all the different people that I’d met or encountered since I’d arrived on Solum.  They’d all been very kind, easy to accept, easy to laugh.  I found that I liked them.  ‘Generally polite people with decent sense of humor.’ I thought to summarize for myself. ‘I think I will like it here.’

I settled against my seat for the ride to the hotel.