Cleaner - Part Two

I put the mop and bucket away and walked back across to where I’d left my shoes.

They formed an inverted reflection in the marble floor at the foot of the wall mirror that stood next to the cloakroom and I caught a glimpse of myself lumbering towards them as I got close.

It wasn’t long since the bandages from the plastic surgery had been removed and it startled me seeing this other woman – this fat woman. I moved closer, touching my face and watching the mirror woman doing the same. Melissa’s face, the fold of soft skin hanging from her chin making her face round, her thick glasses, doubling the size of her eyes beyond them – these were mine now. It was my face. Even my hand and my arm were such a complete contrast to my old form, bulging and round. In the kink of my elbow the doughy flesh pressed outward, seeming even chubbier than it was.

My dress was a new one I picked up abroad. It was grey and straight, stopping high enough to reveal my chunky calves and knees, leaving my arms bare and displaying some of my monstrous cleavage. Through the fabric I gripped the bulge of my stomach and squeezed it in. It was months since I started this little experiment, to assume the guise and daily working persona of my cleaner, but every SINGLE time I had cause to look down at myself or see myself in a mirror or window, it startled the hell out of me.

I was Topaz. As a model there was a time when I was on the cover of at least one glossy magazine every month. I had been voted Vogue top model of the year twice running. I was the “face” of a perfume called Diabolique. I was the perfect embodiment of beauty and the poster girl of anorexics everywhere. But looking into the mirror, I could see that I wasn’t Topaz anymore. If there was a slim supermodel behind this face she was covered in rivers of fat. Not even the face was hers anymore with its slightly hooked nose and close-set eyes.

Fingerprints and dental records were the only thing that said who I really was beneath it all now. Even my past wasn’t purely mine anymore. I had given it to my cleaner. While we’d been away I had drilled stories into Melissa’s head, filling her mind with anecdotes that only I could have known and getting her to fill my mind up too. I wanted our disguises to be perfect. I wanted that because the next stage was for both of us to step out into the light of day for all to see. There couldn’t be any slip-ups.

So in almost every way I wasn’t Topaz anymore. She was.

I was Melissa. The cleaner. The fat one.

It scared me actually – to look at that face gaping back at me. I knew Melissa would never cheat me – the fortune I had offered her to switch temporarily would hold her in check – but it made me a little edgy to think that if something happened to her, people might not believe who I really was.

It was a delicious feeling. I grinned. I’d never had a high like this or felt so alive.

I looked down at my chubby bare feet, pulling my dress clear. I’d painted the toenails pink to match my fingernails. Another shiver of shock to look at them and think they were mine but a shimmer of delight too. 

I tried to push them into my heels. It was a strain. I had to hook my fingers into the backs to act as a shoehorn and that was a further strain. I wheezed, trying to crease this fat body.

Finally they were in and I took another glance at myself.

Melissa.

Me.

I straightened my bob, trying not to be too surprised as I always was when I saw straight dark brown where it had once been wavey blond, then turned and walked into the depths of the house looking for my “boss.”