Cleaner - Part Five

THE ORIGINAL MELISSA

I laughed until my throat got sore. I had to make myself stop. To see my stupid ignorant arrogant boss reduced to the state she was now – standing there in my old fat body, watching me leave.

I hated my body and life as Melissa. She was welcome to it.

All the years I had worked for Topaz, scurrying round while she lounged by the pool reading magazines, I’d felt the envy turn to bitterness and then to hate.

I hated her arrogance, the air of superiority she always carried. I hated the fact her life had reached a point mine never could. I hated the irritation and impatience she had around her trainer when she put on the slightest amount of weight.

Now she’d put on a bit of extra weight. She was every bit as huge as I had ever been.

How surprised that after all that hate and jealousy, she had come to me with a request to swap places? How eagerly had I accepted, pretending to be scared and surprised?

To be honest I had been surprised. Surprised at how foolish and shortsighted she could be and how happily she could give away everything she possessed to me.

I played along. I insisted she pay me for the trouble I was going to, all along not believing that she’d push all the way. Despite my desire for a thinner body, my depression had always drained my resolve to slim. With her pushing me and the hope that she would give it all up spurring me on, I trained harder than I could have believed possible.

And all the time, she loved pretending to be me – loved putting on weight and looking worse and worse each day.

When she asked me if I would have plastic surgery and temporarily assume her life completely, I had to bite my lip to stop myself laughing in her face.

You stupid stupid woman, I thought. Don’t you realise that I’ll never let you take it back from me?

And now I had it. I was the model. I was Topaz. It was my long legs and slender body that languished by the pool. It was her chubby form that bent down on hands and knees to clean.

Every day was a pleasure that outdistanced the last. I gloried in the punishment I gave her, each belittling remark and put-down a thank you for the years I’d suffered under her reign.

And now I was on my way to meet her fans and her friends while she was about to find out just how bad my old home life was. Except her fans and friends were mine now. If she were there she’d be a laughing stock.

I was going to be a queen.

Cleaner - Part Four

I stopped in mid-scrub, bent over, knees cold on the hard marble in the hallway, face less than a foot from the floor.

There was a pair of pale feet in front of me suddenly in expensive pink heels. The skin was delicate and white.
I lifted my head, slowly tracing up the smooth line of her legs. She was close – very close to me. I could smell the scent of the Diabolique, dabbed into the backs of her knees and the scent of her skin itself.

Topaz stood right over me, dressed now in a short flouncy skirt and a sheer, multi-layered, patterned vest top. Her hair was down and divinely “done,” wisps jetting out to the sides. Her face was a picture. 
 

My old face.

My eyes moistened to see her dressed up like that, ready to return to the world.

For the last two years I had withdrawn to the sanctum of my home. I had grown weary of the parties and the glitter and although I had been tempted many times to return to it all, I never had.

To see her now, going in my place, cut me in some small way but made me very proud too. I had created this woman. Now, with absolute confidence, she was ready to assume my former glory.

“The floor’s much better now Melissa,” she said, “You’ve done a good job. Well done.”

I smiled feeling real pride at the compliment. “Thank you Topaz.”

“I was a little hard on you earlier and I should really apologise.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I blurted, still craning up at her.

“No, it does matter,” she said, “You work very hard and I appreciate it.”

I felt a surge of contentment then checked myself. It seemed ludicrous that I should take pride in cleaning well while my cleaner pranced about in my clothes. But I did. I felt proud of myself.

“Now get out the way will you,” said Topaz, her voice cooling again instantly, “You’re blocking the door and Roger’s waiting to drive me to my party.”

I got to my feet, my back creaking and shuffled out of the way, remembered the bucket and scurried back to clear that too. Topaz waited impatiently, arms folded, foot tapping. “I’ll just be a moment miss,” I said.

Then I dropped the scrubber and it splattered drops of water up Topaz’s legs.

She lurched back from shock, arms up. Then the expression of surprise on her face was consumed by her fury. “Look what you did you stupid fat bitch! Look at me! Can’t you do anything right?”

I mumbled several apologies, adrenaline pumping into my bloodstream leaving me wired.

“I’m sorry miss. Let me help dry you off.”

“Don’t – touch me!” She held out her palm to face me. I stepped back. “Fetch a clean towel!”

“Yes miss.”

“Now!”

I scurried to the airing cupboard and returned as fast as I could, wheezing from the exertion.

“Quickly,” snapped Topaz.

I handed her the towel.

She swiped her legs with it briefly then threw it over the top of my bucket. “Be more careful in future idiot!”

“I’m sorry.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Oh, you will be if it happens again.”

She stalked past me. I watched her open the door, leaving it carelessly open, and go out to the waiting car.

All the glory and fame that had been mine was waiting for her. The car would take her to the photographers and celebrities and bright lights and inane conversations. I only wished I were going in her place for a moment. Then I remembered why I left that world in the first place.

Topaz threw me a glance as the door was shut for her. For a second a shiver of what could have been disgust passed over her face before it was replaced by a sneering smile which broke out into a grin.

As the car pulled away she was laughing loud enough for me to hear her through the glass, her head back, slender neck exposed. 

Cleaner - Part Three

Topaz was climbing out of the pool as I approached. She scowled at me as she threw the towel over her shoulder. “Melissa, I thought I told you to scrub the hall floor by hand. I just had Roger check up on you.” (He was the butler) “He said you were using the mop.”

I was taken aback by her tone. It was imperious and patronising. She’d never used it before.

“If you expect to clean for me then you’d better get used to doing it right. I expect that marble to gleam, do you understand me?”

I mumbled “Yes.”

“Do you understand me Melissa?”

I lowered my head. “Yes miss.”

I hadn’t prompted this. Her hostility was purely of her own making. It made me feel subordinate – inferior.

I loved it!

Topaz slipped her feet delicately into her heels and walked gracefully round to the near side of her sun lounger. She looked gorgeous, smooth long legs and slender arms. Her stomach had only a slight roundness to it that accentuated her femininity. She tied her damp hair was into a bun at her crown, then casually and slinked one leg over the other.

I nervously twiddled my fingers, waiting for her to dismiss me.

“As you’re aware Melissa,” she said, “today the two of us will be truly swapping roles. I will be attending a party where I will announce my intention to make a comeback. You will return home to your squalid little house.”

“Yes,” I said, kept off balance by the way she was suddenly taking control of our interactions.

“Obviously it’s important that you don’t break from character at any point.”

“Yes.”

“Is that clear Melissa?”

“Yes miss.”

“Your ‘husband’ hasn’t seen you for several months – that will help matters – but if I hear that you have bungled things up then there’s going to be hell to pay.”

I made a flicker of eye contact but looked away. She was glaring right at my face and I didn’t like to meet her gaze.

“What that means,” said Topaz, the temperature of her voice dropping, “is that if you make any mistakes you might end up living my old life forever.”

I gaped at her. She sounded serious.

It was genius. I loved it!

I hadn’t prompted any of this. She was embellishing the situation with her own ideas. I knew she wasn’t really serious obviously, but it added an enormous amount of spice.

“Is that clear?” she snapped.

“Yes miss.”

“Good.” She uncrossed and recrossed her legs the other way. “Now get out there and scrub that floor. Once it’s done you can go.”

I turned to leave, relieved that I didn’t have to face her anymore.

“And Melissa?”

I looked back.

She picked up a magazine and started scanning it. “Do a good job this time. Your work has been really slack lately.”

I grinned. I couldn’t help it. “This is great!” I said, “You’re really playing the part. You’ll get a healthy bonus at the end of this Melissa.”

She turned her eyes up to me and glared. The muscles in her cheeks hardened. “Don’t presume to speak to me like that cleaner,” she snapped, “I think if you look in the mirror you’ll see who Melissa is and who is Topaz.”

“But I—“

She threw down the magazine and came up to me, grabbing a chunk of hair at the back of my neck. There was a free-standing mirror to my right and she swung me round, my face wincing from the needles of pain in my scalp. “Look!” she said, “Look there in the mirror!”

The reflection showed both of us, my chubby body cowering, face contorted with pain and fear, her athletic form standing over me, her features hard-edged with anger.

“Who’s fat?” she demanded.

“Me,” I whined.

“Who’s ugly?”

“Me.”

“Who’s nothing but a worthless cleaner?”

“Me!”

She threw me forward and I fell to the floor at the foot of the mirror. She came up behind me, dominating the glass, hands on hips. “And who’s beautiful – hmmm? Who’s a rich and famous model? Who owns all this?”

Under my breath I mumbled “You.”

“I can’t hear you Melissa!”

“You do.”

“That’s right.” She folded her arms. “Now I told you not to slip up and give the game away. You just called me Melissa. That’s your first life gone. If it happens a third time then you can say goodbye to ever getting your old life back.”

My knees were stinging from where she threw me down. I wiped my eye with the heel of my hand. “Yes miss. I’m sorry miss.”

“Now get up and get back to work. What do you think I’m paying you for.”

I struggled up, still not used to the extra bulk. I was carrying almost my own body weight again in fat. Any kind of challenging movement like that was difficult.

Topaz took her seat again on the sun lounger, laying back this time, legs crossed, magazine resting on her thighs. She ignored me.

I started to speak but decided not to. It was tempting to blow my last two “lives” here and now and see what she said and did. My face was tingling. But I didn’t. To be honest, I was afraid of her. I didn’t want to make her mad again. So I just backed slowly away and went out to scrub the hall floor on my hands and knees. 

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.”

CLEANER - Part One

WARNING: I will soon be releasing a new and improved version of this story that will be extended and polished. Read on by all means but you may want to wait and get the full experience.



Cleaner 


In which a retired model takes precarious and drastic steps to experience a more... ordinary life.

Once I had eaten the breakfast my cook had made for me, spent an hour or two picking out the clothes I wanted to wear for the day and lounged by the pool for a while, I caught myself looking at my reflection in the wall high mirror in my dressing room. And yawned. Not because I was tired.

I was very beautiful you see. Actually I was gorgeous. Many men had told me so. But this (though very flattering at first of course) was starting to become very boring. I was beginning to realize that the ivory box I had built up around myself kept me in as much as it kept other people out.

What I decided I needed was a return to something a bit more real. There were thousands of real lives out there in the world that I could have lived.

One morning I was scanning through the satellite channels looking for anything to amuse me and I found myself more absorbed in what my cleaner was doing. I started to watch her all the time.

Melissa wasn't that much older than me but she was my opposite in almost every other way. Whereas I had long slim beautiful legs, hers were fat and stocky as much as the rest of her body. My small but elegant breasts were dwarfed by the huge ones that hung from her chest. She wore thick glasses when I could see perfectly. As for her hair, it was a bob with a long fringe, while my luxurious blond hair was forever dropping seductively (and in a way I found utterly irritating) over one eye.

She'd be down on her knees, swabbing, or dusting around me, or Hoovering the floor. She felt uncomfortable doing these things with me watching but I liked to, and I was the boss. It made me feel funny to imagine someone doing something like that for a living. It was so simple.

I lay, imagining what it would be like having such a simple purpose in life - something to occupy my time so completely. It made me want the same thing, curiously. I wanted to live with such purity.

Of course I could have fired her and done my own cleaning, but there would have been no necessity. I didn't want to just do it. I wanted some kind of transformation to occur. I wanted to have to do it.

So one day I went up to her and I stood there, long legs smooth and slim in high heels filling her field of view as she scrubbed, and I asked if she wanted to trade places with me. For the day.

She thought I was joking. As I continued to insist she thought I was crazy. I could see the fear in her eyes that I was setting her up for some kind of practical joke. I reassured her and offered her money to go along with it.

In the end she agreed.

We went up to my dressing room, huge, plush, warm and furry. I knew it was probably bigger than her whole house. I told her to go into the wardrobe, the massive, corridor long wardrobe, and choose anything she could fit into to wear.

She chose a silk, slinky trouser outfit held up by elastic that left her arms bare. It barely fit but made her look almost good. I helped her with her hair and make-up, showing her how to do it.

Then I turned my attention to her clothes.

I disrobed and climbed into them: the shapeless dress that looked sack-like on my slim body, the clunky shoes. I brushed my hair out straight and then I slipped her pebble glasses on, going instantly blind.

It felt so good to undergo this transformation - to become her.

We stood there gawking at each other and then I demanded that she take my place and I hers - that she call me Melissa.

And for the rest of the day, I scurried round doing the cleaning while she watched television and swam in the pool.

She was greatly bemused by the whole thing but I paid her a whole lot of money to keep it to herself. We even hid our escapades from the other servants…

*  *  *

For the following weeks this is how it went.

Whenever she came we switched places, her languishing while I worked. Spending so long as Melissa was therapeutic. It was great to be someone else for a while.

It wasn't enough however.

I started to insist that she spend her days working out on the extensive exercise equipment I had in my mansion. She grumbled at first but seemed to like the idea, as if she'd always wanted to get trim but had never had the willpower before.

I, meanwhile, started grossing out on junk food. Cream, chips, burgers, bacon, chocolate, crisps. And the pounds started adding up. It only took a couple of weeks for my perfect figure to become just average and then start to lean towards plump.

I managed somehow, with constant obsessional effort, to be able to see through Melissa's glasses, my brain making the necessary adjustments. Then the headaches began in the evenings that only went away when Melissa came next morning and I stuck her heavy frames on my nose and got her to put on contacts.

I became Melissa's personal trainer, bawling her out if she didn't do enough exercise. I gave her money for contact lenses.

And all the while I made sure she kept it a secret at home, although they must have noticed her starting to slim. I meanwhile stopped seeing my boring old friends. I only wrote or spoke on the phone. But I kept promising a comeback.

After about six weeks of this I had Melissa tell her husband that I had asked her to accompany me on holiday for three months. Apparently he was put out but the money I offered persuaded him to let his sweetheart leave.

Melissa was getting into this. She loved pretending to be me.

As soon as we left town we switched places. She became me (nobody out there recognized me) and I became her servant and travelling companion. We went to Los Angeles and as she lay on the beach and went swimming in the pool I scurried about fetching her things.

All the while though, I porked out on fatty foods while making sure she exercised.

After the first month I found that I could hardly see now if I removed my glasses. I say "my" because twenty-four hours a day now, I was Melissa. And I was fat. My breasts were becoming enormous, my chin had dissolving into a large fold.

Then the final stage came.

We both had plastic surgery. Working from photographs of our original states, we had the surgeons reconstruct our faces until we looked identical to one another. My eyes were pushed closer together, my nose hooked downwards. My ears were enlarged. We had our hair done, hers now long, straight and blond, mine thick, dark and cut straight in a bob.

After we had recovered she looked beautiful.

She looked exactly like the retired model Topaz.

And I looked like her cleaner.

I stood in my hotel room, staring in the mirror at a face I recognized. It was Melissa's face. I had been transformed completely. I looked exactly like her from the fat legs crammed into high heeled shoes, past the bulging hips and stomach, the enormous breasts, all crammed into a shapeless short sleeved dress; her face with its gaping little eyes and saggy chin, the thick glasses.

I was no longer the woman I had been in any way.

Even our voices, through long and arduous practice had come to resemble the others’.

I was her.

*  *  *

It was then that we returned.

When we got back to the house my butler remarked on how Topaz was back to her real self. He had become a little worried that she had been putting on weight. He was relieved to see she was “back to normal.”

I loved the anonymity. The butler treated me exactly as though I were a lowly servant. I was scum beneath his shoes. He saw me as Melissa.

I was Melissa now.

We had sorted it out while away. Now we were back, she was to take my place completely. I had briefed her on every little detail she needed to know. Anything else she could improvise. I had even told her intricate details about my finances. I wanted her to have complete control.

I wanted to leave my old life behind completely. Not completely obviously. This process was strange - I’ll admit that it was obsessional - but I still had my head glued on. Before we proceeded with the final stages I had insisted that Melissa sign an agreement to keep my private details secret and that she didn’t actually retain rights to anything of mine. I decided that the swap would go on for six months. After that time we would reverse the process. I’d give Melissa a generous bonus to take away with her and I might even write a book about my experiences.

It was going to be a fantastic busman’s holiday, superior to any that had been taken before. I was a different person now. It was so relaxing!

I just didn’t realise that the new Topaz was getting far too used to her new life…

Nicole & the Maid

In which Nicole Kidman takes drastic steps to escape from reporters, enlisting the aid of a hotel cleaner...

Nicole Kidman stormed into her hotel room and threw her purse down in a rage. She was sick sick SICK of reporters dogging her trail at every turn. She glared at her reflection in the mirror, hands on hips. That was the problem – this body and this life! She just wanted to be a normal person for a change! Gorgeous slender arms, narrow shoulders, long legs encased in sheer pantyhose, straight blond hair, perfect face – if she could just leave that all behind then she would be happy. Just a day or two would do!

And she knew how she could do it. It was fantastical – probably impossible; maybe even dangerous – but she didn’t care! She’d had enough of fame for ten lifetimes! She had to get away from it! 


She’d bought the rings quite by accident as part of a much larger auction deal. They had come with instructions as part of an old letter and they seemed to have the power to switch identities between two people. Of course she had known it was rubbish. At the time she'd been so happy with who she was – the money and fame and beauty – that it hadn’t crossed her mind to try them out. Now though, she felt like she would try anything to get away from the trap she was in. 

Nicole went through her things until she found the box and scan-read the letter again. Two people had to put on the rings and then shake hands. The transfer of identities would take place instantly. To change back the process was repeated. How simple was that? It went on to say that memories and personalities would also be exchanged as well as vocal patterns. It would be the perfect disguise. 


She knew it probably wasn’t going to work but she was so angry she would have done anything at that moment and there it was in black and white – it was simple to effect a change back.

She threw down the letter and removed the rings from the box. They were made of plain gold. It crossed her mind how much they were worth but she had made so much money now she would never need to worry about that again.

Moving to the door, Nicole opened it a crack and peeped out. The reporters were gone, thankfully. It was unforgivable that the hotel staff had allowed them to get as far into the building as this. At least they were gone now. She paused. She hadn’t considered who she would get to help her with her little experiment. She stood in the doorway, thinking. Actually, it was going to take some doing finding someone who she would want to exchange with who also would go along with it. She wanted to still be rich obviously and female. A successful author perhaps or a retired businesswoman. She sighed and leaned back against the doorframe. It was getting too complicated. She would never be able to convince someone like that to go along with her plan and she wanted to get away NOW!

The sound of the lift pinging distracted her. A cleaning woman emerged with a trolley and started coming down the corridor towards her. She was in her forties and quite plump with dark hair cut in a bob. She didn’t see Nicole and made her way slowly closer. Nicole narrowed her eyes. How bad would it be to exchange places with a woman like that for one day? She wouldn’t have to get down on her knees and clean toilets if she didn’t want to. She could just cry off sick and go back to his woman’s home. A smile spread across her face. It would be so relaxing! And it wasn’t as if it would last forever.

She called to the woman. “Excuse me!”

“Yes miss?”

“Would you come here please.”

The cleaner looked worried. “Yes miss.” She left the trolley behind at the side of the corridor and waddled toward her. Nicole’s smile broadened. It would be so different! If it worked.

She invited the cleaner in to her rooms and bid her sit down. The woman’s voice was badly formed, her accent quite crass. 

 
“Now,” said Nicole, I am going to make you an offer.”

She explained, much to the older woman’s amazement, what she was proposing. The woman didn’t believe that it was possible but Nicole reassured her. “I’m not sure it’s possible either but it will be fun to see if it does work.” The cleaner still looked doubtful. “Look-- What’s your name?”

“Betty.”

“Look Betty, if we give it a go then we can find out if it works and I’ll tell you what: If it doesn’t work I’ll pay you two hundred pounds. If it does work, I’ll pay you a thousand. Is that fair?”

Betty’s eyes bugged out of her head. “Not a problem.”

Nicole got the rings ready, putting one on her finger and offering the other to Betty. She took the moment to size Betty up. Betty was fat, a round double chin hanging from her face. She had enormous breasts that dwarfed Nicole’s. She was wearing a plain short sleeved cleaner’s uniform. Her legs were bare and stuffed into black sandles.

“Now we shake hands,” said Nicole, “and see what happens.”

She held her hand out forcefully. Betty, obviously a little fearful, offered hers.

They connected and the room exploded with light. Both Nicole and Betty cried out. Neither one of them had expected anything more than a bit of fun.

When Nicole opened her eyes she was sitting on the floor and she almost screamed again when she saw what was in front of her. A pair of enormous breasts stretching the fabric of a red uniform and two thick chunky arms. The hands at the end of the fat arms were still slender but she’d never felt so different! Her bare knees were up in front of her and like the arms, were thickly padded. The fold of fat around her waist made it difficult to even sit like that, creased in the middle.

A few feet away, Nicole saw something that was almost as incredible. Rubbing her head and struggling to her feet was herself! Nicole Kidman! The switch had worked! She was Betty!

“Betty” struggled to her feet as well next to the new Nicole. The new Nicole helped her up. “Are you all right?”

Betty grimaced. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Betty gaped. Her voice was different! “Nicole’s” was cultured and soft. Hers was much more crass and slightly gravelly.

“It really worked!” exclaimed the new Nicole, stretching her slender arms up toward the ceiling. The new Betty held her chubby hands up in front of her and then squeezed the fold of flesh round her middle. Nicole was grinning. “This is amazing! I feel so light!” 

 

“And I feel heavy,” said Betty. She went through to the bathroom to look at her reflection. In the mirror was a huge fat middle aged woman. The gorgeous film star was gone. She had smaller eyes and a fatter nose. The fold of fat around her face completely disguised her neck. “This is fuckin’ unbelievable!” she said and gaped again when she heard the trash coming out of her mouth. She wasn’t the type to speak like that but it had just come out naturally.

Nicole appeared over her shoulder and preened in front of the mirror. She shook her hair out and laughed. “I’m really Nicole Kidman! I’m beautiful! Look at me! She kept touching her face and her chest, absorbed by the transformation.

Betty lumbered through to the lounge with a smile on her face. She couldn’t wait to go out and walk among the people. No one would recognise her. She would be able to go anywhere and not have ignorant yobs following her every move. Fuck, she needed a fag and she realised she’d better get back to work or else Mrs. Gibson would have her guts for garters.

Betty stopped. What was that? She’d just had one of Betty’s thoughts! She didn’t give a fuck about whether the cleaning got done but she had suddenly felt panic that she get back to work in case she got caught slacking. And smoking! She’d quit years before. She didn’t do that now. But it appeared that Betty did and that meant that she wanted one. This was too weird.

Nicole emerged from the direction of the bedroom. She had changed clothes. She was now wearing a lacy dress with leopard spots around the middle. Her hair was tied up. “Sorry,” she said airily, “I had a bit of a root round in there.”

Betty felt a little violated but she made herself put it aside. “I want to go out now and experience what it’s like not to be famous.”

“Well I’m going to stay in here and enjoy myself.”

“I’ll probably only want a couple of hours in this body,” said Betty, “then I’ll come back and we can do the exchange again, all right?” 

Nicole stared past her for a moment. Then very coldly and deliberately, she said, “I don’t know what you mean.” She slinked onto the chez longue. Betty chuckled a gravelly chuckle but the new Nicole just stared at her. “Now if you aren’t going to clean now I’ll ask you to leave.” 

 

 “What are you talkin’ about?”

“I’m talking about you getting you fat ugly face out of my rooms before I call security and have you fired.”

“But you can’t do that,” stammered Betty. “I’m Nicole Kidman, not you!”

“No,” replied Nicole, coldly, “Your name’s Betty. You’re a cleaner. And if you want to go on being a cleaner I suggest you leave now.”

Betty stepped forward. “You can’t do this to me!”

Nicole smiled and lowered her voice. “I’ve done it fatso. If you really think I’ll change back with you now, you’re crazy. Why would I want to be a fat middle aged cleaner when I can be a beautiful movie star?”

The new Betty staggered back and looked down at herself. “You wouldn’t.”

“Exactly. Now please leave.” She reached for the phone. “Or I’ll call security and have you thrown out.”

“But—“

“I mean it!”

Betty gaped at her old body and realised what a terrible mistake she’d made. Of course the cleaner wouldn’t want to go back to her old body. How could she have been so stupid? Now she was stuck looking like this. She turned toward the door. After she walked out there there would be no coming back. She would be Betty Smith forever. Betty’s memories came to her of the fat balding alcoholic husband she had waiting for her at home now and the overbearing boss she had here at the hotel and tears rose into her eyes.

“Goodbye fatso,” said Nicole Kidman. 

 Betty reached for the door handle and stepped out into her new life.