Golden Gloom - POOR - Part Five

12

Charles

“What the fuck was that?” I blurted out the words, looking round me, seeing I was still in the hotel room, panting with exertion, even though I’d been asleep. And then I saw a girl at the foot of the bed. “Who are you?”

She stared back at me, clutching her bosom, mouth hanging open. She was about the same age as our kids but nothing like them: a slutty little tramp in skimpy night club gear, hair a shower of yellow curls, cleavage straining her boob tube, long legs packed into stiletto heels. She didn’t answer me; just went on staring.

I jumped out of bed. “Who the fuck are you? What are you doing here? Did you break in?”

She shook her head nervously. “Charles, I...”

“Who are you? How the hell did you know my name?”

“It’s me,” she said. “Barbara.”

“Barbara who?”

“Your wife. Barbara. It’s me. I’ve changed.”

I stuck my pointing finger out at her. “Give me a fucking break you stupid tart! How the hell did you get in here? Tell me!”

“Just look!” she cried. “Look in the mirror Charles! Look at yourself!”

“What?”

“Look at your fucking body in the mirror!”

I straightened, glanced toward the bathroom, kept my eye on her, backed toward it. “What is this? Why do I feel so weird? What did you do to me?”

“Look in the mirror Charles,” she said, her voice quavering. “You’ll see. Just look.” She went on pointing past me into the bathroom and I pushed back the door, stepping into the frame, not trusting her but feeling compelled to do it, growing suspicious, knowing that something was wrong with my voice, that I felt different somehow, really fucking different.

And there it was.

In the glass wasn’t my man’s face, my man’s body. There was a kid – about the same age as the tart in the bedroom. I looked at her fearful expression then back into the bathroom mirror, seeing the reflected movement, knowing that this wasn’t an illusion or a dream, knowing exactly what had happened now, even if I had no idea how it could have.

“Is that me?” I said, touching my hard taut features.

The girl who’d come into the reflection behind my right shoulder nodded, still looking shaken. I turned to face her and found her surprisingly close, her soft chest right below my chin, her eyes less than a foot from mine.

“Barbara?”

She nodded.

“Barbara?”

She nodded again.

“This is bent. This is fucking butt-fucked.”

“I know. But listen...”

I went back to the mirror, getting closer. I wasn’t dressed as I had been when I went to sleep. I was in torn jeans with bare feet and chest. I was shorter, though still taller than she was and all my paunch had gone. The hair on my chest and arms was gone. I didn’t have an ounce of fat anywhere, it was all just tight muscle – not like a body builder but like a... like some bad mother-fucker who didn’t take no shit from anyone. My hair was shaved to the skin round the sides and back in a line but the dark hair above it flopped down in longer strands. I didn’t look like a good boy. Not at all.

“What’s wrong with my voice?” I said. It was gritty and harsh, the syllables more pointed than normal.

“You’re in a different body. You’ve got a different voice.”

“No. The words I’m using you stupid cow. I don’t talk like this. I don’t say shit and fuck every third word. What the hell’s going on here?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“What?” I swung to face her and she stepped back, gripping her shoulders.

“I’m sorry Charles. I didn’t think... I wasn’t thinking straight.”

I narrowed my eyes, curling my fingers into fists. “You did this to us? What did you do?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck did you do!?”

I grabbed her by the neck, pinning her against the bathroom door then slammed my palm hard against the wood so that she gasped in fright.

“Charles please!”

“What did you do to me you fucked-up little bitch, eh?”

“I’m sorry Charles. I didn’t mean to. It just happened. The shadows did it. I don’t know what it was. Some kind of magic. Like a ghost or something. But we can change back whenever we want. We can change back, I swear! I just wanted to be young. I wanted you to be young again. It just happened!”

I glared at her helpless expression, curling my lip then tossed her to the side, stomping back through to the bathroom.

I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I wasn’t like this. I didn’t react this way. I was angry and scared but it was this body that was making me aggressive. I tried to calm myself, making a bipod of my arms on the edge of the sink, breathing raggedly again as I had when I’d woken up like this. The girl was on the edge of the bed, silent, just watching me. I ignored her, looking again at this young body.

It felt... strange. But good. I felt healthy; strong. I hadn’t ever looked like this, even when I was younger. It actually felt incredible. I flexed my fingers, watching the veins on my wiry arms, the flexing of my steely biceps.

“Isn’t it amazing?” said the girl.

I didn’t answer her.

“We’re young again. And we can stay like this as long as we want.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I already changed back once.”

“But how long does it last?”

She didn’t reply.

I turned back to face her and left the bathroom. “Do we get stuck like this?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. We can change back into ourselves.”

There were some odorous trainers discarded on the floor that hadn’t been there earlier. I put them on then grabbed the short sleeved shirt that had also appeared, lying over one of the chairs, and put it on, leaving it unbuttoned.

“Charles? What are we going to do?”

I felt in my jeans pocket. There was a crumpled packet of fags. I pulled a less bent one out and shoved it between my lips, lighting it from the Zippo in my other pocket. “I want to go out like this. See what it’s like. Come on.”

She got to her feet. “Okay.”

“But you better be fucking right about us switching back,” I snapped. “If I get stuck like this then I’m gonna fucking twat you!”

A Night Out

 

13

Barbara

I tottered quickly after Charles to keep up as he strode through the hotel lobby, ignoring the suspicious glares of the doorman and receptionists.

“’Ang on hun,” I called. “I ain’t as fast as you in these ‘eels!”

I caught up with him on the curb outside. The night had cooled somewhat but it was still very warm. I took hold of his arm with both hands, liking the feel of his muscles.

“This is frikkin ace,” he said, grinning at me. “I feel like a super hero or something, like I’m light as a feather.”

“I know! Isn’t it great?”

He touched my cheek. “You did good luv. You were right. I wouldn’t’ve chosen to do this – I was such a fuckin pussy - but now I have it’s frikkin supreme!”

I giggled, beaming at him. “What shall we do first?”

“Anything we want, how’s that? Anything we frikkin want!” He pointed. “Let’s start there.”

There was a bar with tables outside and disco lights flashing in the dark interior. Charles strode off again with me hobbling to catch up. The streets were even more crowded now with brightly dressed tourists. The shops and pubs were alive, even with the late hour. It wasn’t like earlier now though. I didn’t feel like I was wearing a costume. This body – these clothes – they just felt comfortable. Normal. My consciousness was altered. I was coasting on a shifted set of perceptions, this dozy feeling of semi-drunkeness, a hyper-charged confidence and willingness to just run with things.

Charles took my hand and dragged me through the bar’s narrow entrance, forcing his way through the crowds toward the bar. The music was pounding out, vibrating so loudly I could feel it under my skin. Normally I’d have hated somewhere like that but not anymore. I loved it. I loved getting swept up in it. Charles was so strong, just forced his way through. I felt so proud of him.

He caught the barman’s eye and ordered four shots; little green things made from apple. He gave me a grin as he paid from a tatty leather wallet he got out his back pocket then we knocked the first one back together, laughed, then knocked back the second. The apple made it delicious but there was a bite too and just a slight blur of inebriation.

I laughed, loving it, as Charles ordered four more, flipping open his wallet to search through it. “Look!” he shouted, only just audible over the music. He held up an ID card with his new face on it. “Tommy Bennett!”

I pulled mine out from my handbag and showed it too. “Lorraine Parker. Pleased to meet you.” We laughed, shaking hands then he pulled me in close and snogged me, gripping my chin in his strong hand, holding me in place as he shoved his probing tongue into my mouth. I lost myself in it, in the swell of the music and the pulsing passion. I’d never felt so good or so light-headed.

The barman put the next four shots down and we knocked them back too, racing one another. Charles ordered four more. I couldn’t help laughing. The drink was starting to hit me, making me feel wonderful – just really relaxed. 

He took me in his arms, face close to mine. There was nothing of Charles in that face: in the eyes, in the set of the mouth; nothing. It was almost like I’d only just met him but I also knew he was my husband.

“You’re my girl Lorraine,” he said. “My girlfriend.”

I felt scared when I giggled, replying, “Tommy. My boyfriend, Tommy Bennett.” I was riding the wave here but it was going so fast and I didn’t know where it would end or if I wanted it to.

“Let’s dance,” he shouted, grabbing my wrist and dragging me through the press of people again before waiting for my reply, and as he pulled me I caught my reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar: a scared and drunken-looking teenage girl with too much flesh showing.

Where was the woman I was meant to be? Where were the glasses and chubby arms?

I felt so drunk suddenly. I didn’t know what was happening to me. But at least I had Tommy with me. He’d keep me safe. He could be a right nasty fucker if he had to be; a real bad boy. That was why I liked him.

It was the reason why I’d shacked up with him last year; why I couldn’t get enough of him.