Butterscotch -35- Valentine (Patreon)

I stopped at the door to my room and took in the changes. No, they hadn’t had time to repaint it but my walls had always been a neutral shade of off-white. But they had removed some of my posters and added several carved and painted, woven bamboo screens, flat pieces of colorful art that made the room look completely different.

One of the larger screens showed a red-haired princess, complete with gown and tiara, in an open carriage being pulled by a unicorn. In the background, a castle sat on a hill above a lake or sea. Two other smaller screens showed the same girl with the thigh-length red locks looking at the sea over a castle wall, or combing the unicorn’s mane in a wooded glade. The other new art mostly showed nature scenes that seemed to match the world of the lake and wood.

I know I gasped and may have squealed. “Where did she get all these pieces? And in only a few hours?” We both knew I meant Marjorie.

“From an installation in Hollywood. She knows the artists. Each of these is handmade but it’s kind of an assembly line with student interns doing most of the work.”

I stepped up close to the—paintings? The screens had a mesh of about a half-inch between the wider, flatter, horizontal strips and an inch or more between the narrow vertical ones. Except some places, they had been carved away to show the neutral wall color behind, or the opening filled with a more solid piece of bamboo. Thankfully, the face of the princess did not look like me, but was more anime-cute, like Disney’s Ariel.

Still, I stammered, “I—she—but! This must have cost thousands! I can’t accept this from her!”

“You don’t have to, I did,” Mom said. “So I get to keep it when my princess moves out. You like it?”

Okay, I saw her grin. I nodded. “You were right, I love it.”

The rest of the changes in the room were less extreme. New bedding in girlier colors. Lamps that surrounded the mirror on my dresser. A trifold standing mirror five feet tall that I realized must have been in that longest Amazon box. And all the clothes and other items had been put away and the empty boxes removed.

I opened the closet to check, and just as I expected, all of my male clothes had disappeared. I felt an odd charge at having this confirmed, as if since I’ll have no choice but to dress in the feminine clothes Marjorie has provided, it’s not my fault. And yet, I know that if I insisted that Mom help me restore my wardrobe, she would do it—just like I know she’s watching me to see how I react.

I take a look at what is there, the dresses that I had seen before, gifts from Marjorie, but there are new items, too. Two in particular catch my eye. One is a sleeveless, strapless mini made of faded-blue stretch denim, and I’d bet that somewhere in my new stuff would be the bra I would need to wear with it.

The other was a poofy, beach dress of white and yellow fabric with gold threads running through it. Contrasting with the skimpy denim mini, the beach dress had an ankle-length skirt, long sleeves, and even a built-in hoodie. The sleeves in particular had a feature I had never seen, a variable length controlled by an adjustable strap on the arm. The missing cover-up I would need tomorrow; Marjie had bought one for me after all.

There were two new pairs of shoes too. One was a pair of suede sneaker boots that appeared to have a hidden high heel and the other was a pair of sandals with a platform heel totaling about five inches. This last made me suspicious, “Has Marjorie some way of listening in when she isn’t around?” I asked Mom. “Shoes like these came up in talking tonight and here they are.”

“Honey,” said Mom. “You’re dating a guy who’s a foot taller than you. High heels of various types occurred to both Marjorie and me. Though the idea of high heel sneaker boots caught me by surprise.”

“Okay,” I said. But I still wouldn’t put it past Marjorie to have bugged me somehow. In more than one way. I checked the drawers of my dresser, too, and discovered more of my Davey things had disappeared, replaced with Kissy appropriate items, like bras, panties, and other things I didn’t quite recognize.

I yawned. “It’s all very nice, Mom,” I said, “but a little overwhelming.”

She nodded. “Marjorie is a bit like a force of nature. I did rein her in a little but it was hard to do.”

“I’m surprised that the two of you got along so well.”

“Well, we didn’t all the time,” Mom explained. “But when I made her understand that helping you be yourself was really what we both wanted, things went more smoothly. Oh, she wanted to put her bid in for a date with you Sunday afternoon, to get another makeover, I think.”

“Mmph-mm,” I said. “I’ll think about it.” Another yawn caught me by surprise.

“You’d better get to bed, sweetie,” Mom warned me. “Don’t forget to take off your makeup. Marjorie left you some new cleaning supplies in the bathroom.”

“Nuh?” I said sleepily.

Laughing a bit, Mom helped me wash my face and gt undressed. “Do you want to take your corset off? Or just loosen it up a bit?”

Odd as it sounds, I’d forgotten completely about having the thing on. “I can sleep in it?”

“If it fits well,” Mom said. “I’ve done it often enough—saves time getting ready in the morning.”

I must have agreed because Mom loosed the laces, allowing me to expand an inch or two. After choosing a flowered nightgown from three Marjorie had left for me, I crawled in between my new pink sheets under my embroidered coverlet and was soon asleep.

*

I know I had several dreams that night, in some of which I participated in my own life all over again but this time as Kissy. Some things came out much different. Instead of a bit part in the senior class play, I had the lead role in a musical apparently based on the life of Amelia Earhart. I have no idea where that came from.

And especially not the next dream that made even less sense.

* * *

I sat at a old-fashion desk, doing my own nails, in a sleazy little office. I wore an emerald green dress, very form-fitting, with a bit of flounce at the hem and a fake skirt just at my hips. The kind of dress you might see in a movie about the forties or fifties. I knew I looked good in it, too.

The monstrous phone sitting on the desk rang, a horrible noise like strangling a herd of musical cats. I said a bad word. No, not that one—the other one. I put the cap back on the polish so it wouldn’t dry out then carefully picked the phone up. Not the whole thing, just the bone-shaped part you listen and talk to. I had to be careful because my long nails weren’t dry and they were a beautiful shade of true red. It would be a shame to mess them up.

“Valentine Detective Agency,” I said into the phone, smiling because people can hear a smile. “How may I help you?” I waved my other had around in the air to dry my nails faster.

“Hey, doll,” said Detective Sergeant Rory Beeson. “I wanna buy you a steak dinner.”

I giggled. “That would be nice,” I said. “But you wanna talk to Sam right now?”

“You got it, doll. If I can talk to Sam now, we’ll be eatin’ filet at Morton’s Friday night.”

I almost strangled on another giggle. Morton’s is expensive. “We’re both in luck,” I said. “Sam just walked in.”

Marjorie stood just inside the room, looking pained that I had told someone she was there. She wore a tailored suit, pin-striped pants and jacket, cut to fit her female shape with a cute Trilby hat on top of her blond hair. She mouthed, “Beeson?” at me and I nodded. Rolling her eyes, she came to the desk and took the phone, heisting her round butt onto my desk. “Yeah?” She said with that cautious insolence that private eyes learn to use when dealing with the cops.

I noticed that her nails, cut shorter than mine, had that elegant French style with the white tips. It looked lovely, but Sam prefers mine long and red and sharp. I waved them at her, still trying to get them dry, and she gave me a thumbs up. Then she put a fingernail to her lips and pointed at me. I took her meaning and got out my compact mirror to apply lipstick while she watched. The color gleamed crimson, Sam’s favorite color.

“You still tryna seduce my receptionist, sarge?” Sam asked the phone. “Yeah?” She looked at me and winked. “A steak dinner at Morton’s just might do it.”

I turned as red as my hair. I looked down so Sam couldn’t see my smile. They talked business about the Gower case but I had gotten distracted by my own cleavage. When had I grown breasts as big as my mother’s? From my angle, I could see bits of the lace of my bra. I needed to put some powder on my girls, I decided, my freckles there were a bit too evident. Sam had gotten me the perfect powder for the job, it would soften the outline of my spots but not change their butterscotch color.

*

The scene dissolved into a restaurant. The maitre d’ held a chair out for me and I murmured my thanks as Sergeant Beeson seated his long, lean body opposite. I wore a clingy silk dress in a shade of blue like the sky after a spring rain. I didn’t look at the menu, but Rory asked if I wanted my steak rare and I agreed. He was wearing the sort of suit he couldn’t possibly afford on a police detective salary but he looked very handsome in it.

*

The scenery changed again, a hotel lobby. Rory was getting us a room. I must have been standing in a draft because I shivered in my silk dress. Sam came up behind me and put a fur stole over my shoulders. She kissed me on the neck and whispered in my ear. “Remember, darling, if he does anything you don’t like—I’ll kill him.”