Special FX -24- After Midnight (Patreon)

There I sat, almost boneless, when the bus rattled to a halt, the shuddering vibration nearly throwing me to the floor. At first, I had no idea where I was or how I got there, being more concerned about not falling out of the seat. I’d been having a strange dream, very surreal, in which I had played the part of Ultradoll, a super-villainess obsessed with karaoke.

“You okay?” the bus driver asked. “This is Levering and Veterans, about as close as I get to your address.” He got out of his seat and took a step down the center aisle toward me, where I huddled under a heavy leather jacket with wool sleeves.

“I’m…I—” I stammered. “I guess I fell asleep. Where did I get this coat?”

He grinned at me—a big guy with red hair and a short, neatly trimmed beard. “From the RTA labels on it, I’d say that’s my coat. You were shivering by the time we got to Wilshire.”

“Oh,” I said. I didn’t want to return the coat because my face and legs were cold, and I vaguely remembered I was glued into the skimpy Ultradoll costume. No, wait, had that been only in the dream?

The bus driver started laughing. “You’re an actress, right?”

“Uh, yeah? Oh, you picked me up outside of Melrose Film…. Yeah….” I didn’t tell him that, though. Being an actress was new to me, but I’d been an actor for a long time—an amateur actor but now a professional actress. It’s nice to be recognized for your profession, but actress is kind of an old-fashioned word.

He nodded. “You must be pretty good in comedies,” he offered. “You got the confused-but-cute look down pat.”

I blushed, feeling the heat in my face. I didn’t know how to respond to that.

He peered past me, looking out on the darkened street to a standalone bus kiosk under a greenish street lamp, and I suddenly realized that it was raining out there! It never rains in LA except when it does, and mid-May is one of the times it often does. Especially at night.

I focussed back on the bus driver. His name tag read Dan P., And he was still grinning. “I can’t let you keep the jacket, but it’s raining and—what?—a two or three block walk to your apartment?”

“M-more like six,” I stammered.

A week ago, I wouldn’t have thought anything about walking in this neighborhood after dark, even with it raining. But things were different since that damned magic camera had transformed me into a busty ingenue.

“Long blocks,” he said, nodding. “Anyway, I’m always ahead of schedule on these dog watch runs, and at two, I’m supposed to take ‘er to the barn.”

I nodded, still confused. “What time is it?”

“About 12:50,” he said. “You oughtn’t to be catching busses this late, miss. Should have had someone come get you.”

“I—c-cooden! My phone g-got locked up in wardrobe!”

He pointed a stern finger and leaned over me. “Plan better next time.”

“Yessir,” I agreed meekly. A big guy, he could have been scary but came across as more of a teddy bear uncle. I giggled, picturing him in such a costume.

He grinned even wider. “I’m serious, but okay,” he stood up straighter. “I can’t let you keep the jacket, but I’ve got a poncho you can wear against the rain. I can lock up the bus and take ten minutes to walk you home. That okay with you?”

“S-sure and the-thanks!” My teeth were beginning to chatter. He would probably never have made such an offer to my former self. Then again, as noted above, if I’d still been a guy, I would probably not have thought a thing about it. Nor would I have been glued into a glorified spandex and spangles swimsuit!

He returned to the driver’s seat to start locking the bus up. “What’s your name, honey?” he asked.

I still wasn’t too sure about the random endearments that came my way now. Everyone seemed to think they were entitled to call me honey, babe, or sweetie. “Hallelujah Jones,” I told him, “but just call me Hallie.”

He laughed. “Seriously, Hallelujah? That’s great!”

“My Dad said anyone named Jones needed an unusual first or middle name. My first name is B-Billie!” Actually, it was William, but I didn’t have to tell anyone that.

Dang, he opened the bus door, and it got even colder inside. How cold was it outside? “Well,” he said, grinning again. “I don’t have that problem. My last name is Puczyrowbelas.”

“P-pooch-a-rolfski?” I tried. “How do you spell that?”

He laughed. “Everybody else spells it W-R-O-N-G.” It took me a moment to realize he had just spelled out ‘wrong.’ I got the giggles again. “Just call me Dan or Pooch. Everyone does.”

“Oh, good,” I laughed. “Cause I’m never going to be able to say, “Poochyaboffly!”

I gave him his wonderfully warm jacket back, immediately shivering in the cold, but he handed me an orange plastic poncho in exchange, and I shrugged my way into that. The diamond-shaped boob window was embarrassing, and I wanted to cover it up.

Dan was sniffing of the jacket. “Smells like flowers,” he commented.

I giggled again, blushing. I sincerely doubted that it smelled like anything more than a girl who had been trapped in a costume for at least nine hours!

“Let’s do this,” he said. He climbed down to the sidewalk and offered an arm to help me down, which I was grateful for since I was still wearing my high heels.

He had an umbrella, too, and held it to keep the rain out of my face as we walked along. I glanced across Veterans Road at the cemetery that looked as spooky as only a graveyard can look after midnight in the rain.

He saw where I was looking and laughed again. “I picked you up at Evergreen Mortuary on Santa Monica and brought you to Soldiers’ Field. I guess you could say it was a grave errand.”

I giggled nervously and clutched at his arm. It was a bit weird, but I’m a girl now, so it’s all right. I think.

“You’ve got an interesting name,” I said, “but I’ll never be able to say it.”

“It’s Lithuanian. It means ’Son of a Beast’ or something like that.”

I laughed. “Are you putting me on?”

He grinned. “Even my Mom just calls me Pooch.”

More giggles; practice makes perfect. “My Mom calls me Billie. That’s my real first name, but I use Hallelujah, or just Hallie, as my—professional—name. Huh?” Still more giggles. Did a professional name have to work harder than an amateur name?

Now I couldn’t stop giggling. Pooch must think I’m the Queen of Ditz! Judging by the width of his grin, he did!

When we reached the steps of Lowering Heights, I realized I didn’t have my key to the front door! “Ay, caramba!” I said. “No key!”

Dan didn’t look perturbed. “Is there a call button for an intercom?” he asked.

“Yeah, but it often doesn’t work, especially if it’s raining.” But I stepped up to the panel of buttons to make the attempt. No joy, just like I figured.

But while I did that, Pooch pulled out his cell phone. “Anybody up there I can call?” he asked.

I gave him Jack’s number, and soon we were talking to my roommate on the handy speaker phone.

“Where the hell are you?” Jack demanded.

And just like that, I burst into tears! Who knew that would happen? “D-downstairs,” I blubbered.

Pooch juggled his phone and the umbrella while getting us out of the direct drizzle that was still going on, and we sheltered in the slight overhang next to the door. His arm went around my waist, and I kinda sorta leaned on his chest.

What am I doing, I wondered. But it felt nice, and I was able to stop crying just as Jack appeared through the glass doors, hurrying down the stairs in his sock feet.

He slammed the door open and drew Pooch and me inside. “Is she all right?” he asked, sounding frantic. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay,” I said, “just cold and wet.” And crying again! Yikes!

Dan responded, “She’s so exhausted. She’s been acting drunk for the last half hour after falling asleep on my bus. Can you take her upstairs to bed?”

I wasn’t sure I liked how that sounded, and I swear the two guys exchanged a look over my head, like… I dunno, pure shared guyness, I guess.

“Ja-ack!” I whined, like I had more things to be upset about than what was happening right then.

Pooch passed me over, and Jack’s arm went around my waist replacing his. I sniffled and felt my lips trembling. “Take better care of your girlfriend,” Pooch scolded. “I got to get back to my bus.”

I finger-waved goodbye to Pooch as he trotted off into the rain, calling out, “Thank you!”

Jack added his thanks, “Yeah, man. Thanks for rescuing my girlfriend.”

He gave me a squeeze and a grin, the Jerk!

I could have punched him, but I really was cold, wet, tired and miserable.

“Ja-ack!” I whined again.