Emilie in the 80s : Chpt 4&5 (Patreon)

Chapter 4

“No, I can’t…”. Pete said, but he realized the phone had gone dead. Pete took a deep breath. He would have to find some way out of it, but in the meantime, getting dressed seemed like a good idea. He was starting to feel ridiculous wearing a nightie. The dresser and closet were full of many things Pete assured himself he would never wear— skirts and dresses, but he found a pair of acid wash jeans that weren’t too bad. He pulled on a t-shirt that said, “Frankie Says Relax” on it, chuckling as he remembered the video. It stretched tightly across his chest, and when he looked in the mirror, he immediately wrapped his arms around his breasts in shock. There was no way he could go out in public with these puppies hanging free, he realized.

Pete went to the dresser, where he looked over the collection of bras he’d sneered at wearing only a moment before— they were all colors: white, flesh, pink and blue. He picked a white one up and looked at it— there was a label inside that read KK. Is that my cup size? He wondered, then corrected himself. I mean her cup size. He preferred to think of this body as belonging to someone else.

Pete’s finger tips tingled as he held the bra. He’d always been a little timid when it came to women— even his wife— and his mind swam with confusion now as he considered putting on a bra, confronted what it meant. But, his chest was heavy and bouncy and prone to sway and jiggle with any and every move he made. He had to wear it, and the longer he held it in his hands thinking about it, the more he blushed and agonized, so he finally slipped the straps up his arms and over his shoulders, then spent ten minutes wrestling with the bra, trying to get the hooks clasped in the back, spinning in circles, bending over, bending back…. Straining until he finally succeeded, finishing off the ordeal by slipping his thumbs under the bra straps and adjusting them on his shoulders.

He felt a strange sense of triumph at having put on his first bra, and he shrugged, lifted his arms, hopped on one foot, pleased with the control and support. Looks like I’m going to be wearing bras until I get back to the future, he thought, adding, “Micheal J. Fox had it easy.”

Pulling the t-shirt back on, Pete found a baggy sweat shirt that at least offered a little more modesty. He could only manage a quick glance in the mirror— seeing himself as a girl was still too weird, but he thought he looked okay, and so he went about looking around the room. He didn’t even know what he was looking for— just something, anything, that might give him some sort of clue as to how to get home.

Chapter Five

“Barf me out,” Fiona said, staring at Pete like he’d grown a second, very gross head. “I mean, BARF ME OUT!”

“What?” Pete said, feeling completely weird talking to a teen-age girl who thought he was a teen-age girl. It felt dishonest to him and even a little pervy, like peeking in the girl’s locker room, to pretend to be a girl. But, what choice did he have?

“That sweatshirt, for one,” Fiona said. “And that rat’s nest on your head. Did you even brush your hair when you got out of bed?”

Pete touched his hair, suddenly self-conscious, and lied, “Yes.”

“Okay. Let me get to work.”

“You know what?” Pete said. “I really don’t feel like hitting the mall.”

Fiona grabbed a brush from off the dresser and smiled like a shark about to pounce on it’s pray.  “Let’s make you bitchin’.” Fiona was like a force of nature. Pete couldn’t seem to say no to her, and soon he found himself completely transformed, with a kerchief tied in his hair, a flouncy sweater with a wide collar that slipped off one shoulder, revealing a bra strap, and all manner of jewelry— earrings, necklaces, bangles on his wrists. He felt like a Christmas tree, smothered in ornaments, and stood, nervously twisting a bracelet, asking “Is this, maybe, too much?”

“Hardly,” Fiona said as she spritzed him with “Opium.”

Pete couched and waved his hands in the air. “Let’s go,” Fiona said, grabbing his wrist. “There are sales to be had! Also, boys.”

“Boys?” Pete squeaked.

“Boys,” Fiona confirmed as she dragged him toward her BMW 325i.

As Pete climbed into the passenger seat, a voice from the back called out, “Bodacious Bod!”

“What?” Pete turned to see a scrawny boy with acne, his gelled hair sticking up. He wore a pair of cheap sunglasses with pink frames and a zebra patterned shirt with the collar turned up.

“Oh, yeah. Mom made me bring Curtis,” Fiona said.

“I prefer to be called The Big C,” he said.

“Ugh!” Fiona said, slipping on her Wayfarer sunglasses and flipping on the radio. Pete was immediately taken back as new wave sound of The Go-Gos filled the car:

Go-Go music really makes us dance

Do the pony, puts us in a trance

Do what you see just give us a chance

That's when we fall in line

'Cause we got the beat

We got the beat

We got the beat

Yeah, we got it

Pete grabbed his seat belt. The first time he tried to pull it across his chest, his hand bumped into his still unfamiliar breast, and he had to push it out and bring it around the new thrust of this chest. Feeling the belt nestle into his cleavage made him squirm.

“You’re hair is like angel hair pasta,” Curtis said, leaning forward so Pete could feel his breath.

“Gross,” Fiona said. “Stop.”

Pete just felt himself blush as he sank into his seat. He really had no idea what to say— was this kid hitting on him? Fiona pulled out, tires screeching, and as the car bounded down the street, he felt weirded out by the way his whole body seemed so much more— jiggly? Than before. His chest wobbled with every pothole and bump in the road.

“I can tell you’re into new wave,” Curt said, sitting forward. “The Go Goes are all right, but I’m more of a Cars man, myself.”

“SO,” Pete finally said, turning to Fiona, hoping if he gave the dweeb the cold shoulder he would stop. “what’s the plan?”

“Shop till we drop!” Fiona said. “Then shop some more!”

Pete forced a smile. In fact, he had always hated malls, preferred to shop at little mom and pop stores. Get in, get out. Once again, he rued his inability to escape from this trip. Shouldn’t he be trying to get home? Doing some sort of research?

They arrived at the mall. Pete struggled with his seatbelt. It was hard to even reach across his abundant chest. Meanwhile, Fiona had gotten out and opened her door, so Curtis bounded out of the back seat on her side, ran around and he yanked Pete’s door open, bowing, “Milady.”

Pete froze, blushing. It was too weird having a guy holding the door for him, coming onto him, even in this dorky and pitiful way. He struggled for words, debating between telling Curtis to knock it off or saying thanks, but Fiona intervened: “What’s your damage?” She said, getting out of the car.

Pete chuckled. He hadn’t heard that phrase in years. What’s your damage. Everyone had though it was so cool. Fiona, to Pete’s relief, made Curtis walk on the other side of her. Pete felt off— his legs seemed too long, his hips too wide, and he could feel his breasts bouncing in the cups of his bra with each step. He did his best to ignore it.

They walked into 12 Oaks, and Pete was once more overcome with a strange feeling of something between nostalgia, deja vu and a flashback. Memories came back to him— the marble floors, the Spencer Gifts… “Oh, my God!” He said, his eyes falling on the glowing, neon sign for Sam Goody. “Sam Goody! I haven’t seen one of those in years!”

He looked over to Fiona, who was looking at him like he was an alien. “Really? Years?” She said.

Pete realized his mistake. “I mean…. Years, like, ironically?”

“Em, you’re scaring me,” Fiona said.

“Can we go in?” Pete said, aching to look through the records and CDs, to just… be in the store, remember what had been popular back then, maybe get some snark from the always arrogant record store clerks.

“Maybe later,” Fiona said, grabbing his hand and yanking him away from the shimmering beauty of Sam Goody. “We need clothes!”

As they walked, Curtis trailing behind, Pete began to notice that the energy at the mall seemed completely different than he remembered. There were roving groups of teen-agers all over the place— that was the same— but Pete couldn’t help but notice that now the eyes of the boys seemed to find and linger on him. In fact, every time he glanced here or there, he seemed to catch some guy looking him over. He swallowed, feeling extra self-aware, skin tingling. The wrongness of his walk came back to him— he felt like his hips were wiggling side to side with each step, and he tried to “man” his walk, fearing the way he was moving was going to encourage the boys, but he couldn’t get the wiggle out of his walk, and his struggle to do so just made him feel more awkward and self-conscious.

As Fiona dragged him toward United Colors of Benneton, he heard the electronic beeps and boops and hyperspace drives of an old school arcade. His head pivoted, and he saw a Joust machine right by the door. He almost pulled away, but he remembered that back in the day not too many girls played video games— as in none, and not wanting to seem weird again he just sighed.

Curtis, had other ideas. “I’m gonna motor on over to the ‘cade,” he said, popping his collar. “Catch you chickies later!”

“One o’clock in the food court,” Fiona shouted after him.

Pete glanced at his red Swatch— that gave them a little over two hours to shop. How am I supposed to survive two hours of this? He wondered and he and Fiona made their way into Benneton, a store he could not remember ever entering in his whole life.  The clothes all seemed too bright, too colorful, but soon Fiona was grabbing shirts and jumpers, skirts and blouses, holding them up to herself and doing different comical “model”poses.

A salesgirl approached them, but Fiona shooed her away, then she shoved a sweatshirt into Pete’s hands and said, “show me what you got.”

Pete held the sweatshirt in his hands, shaking his head. “You do it so good,” he said. “I can’t.”

“Em, you gotta loosen up. Live a little!”

Pete rolled his eyes, but then he held the sweatshirt up to his chest, then thrust a hip out to the side and made a silly “model face.”

Fiona burst out laughing, a laugh that was like champagne bubbles, and Pete couldn’t help but laugh back. The first time Fiona handed him a dress, he froze again, but she badgered him until he was holding the dress up to himself, sticking a leg out while puckering at the mirror. The dress had wide stripes, screamed 80s, and Pete couldn’t help but laugh. “So tacky,” he said.

“Tacky?” Fiona said. “That’s, like, so totally in.”

Pete froze. He had no idea. He felt suddenly worried that Fiona was starting to think something was wrong. She’d brought up things he had no memory of, and gotten a puzzled look on her face at some of the things he’d said. He searched his mind for something to say, something 8os that would seem normal. “Psych!” He said, then laughed.

Fiona laughed. “You almost got me there,” she said.

They flitted from store to store— from Casual Corner to Gadzooks, Contempo Casual to Ups and Downs—  looking at soooo many clothes, posing, laughing… Fiona bought some things for school. Pete completely lost track of time. Fiona was actually funny and cool, and he found himself in a kind of shopping high, eager to see the styles in each new store. He was shocked when Fiona announced it was time to “go to the foodcourt and see dorkenstein.”

“What?” Pete glanced at his Swatch. It was a little after one.

“Come on!” Fiona said. Pete followed her as they hurried through the mall, zig zagging around the other shoppers. His body jiggled and swayed more than ever, and Pete freaked a little at how weird it felt to fun, as well as the fear he was putting on a show for all the boys that seemed to be roving around. He could smell the food court long before they got there— the smell of deep fried everything, and his eyes lit up as they entered the court and he saw a TCBY. “Oh, wow!” He said. “TCBY!” He wanted to say something about how he hadn’t seen one in years, but he was getting better at hiding his out of timeness.

“I thought you didn’t like it?” Fiona said, scanning the court for Curt.

“Not even,” Pete said, as more and more lingo seemed to be coming back to him.

“Even,” Fiona said.

While the main floors of the mall played standard 80s elevator music, the food court featured pop music from the radio, and it was playing an old— new— Berlin song as they waited:

No more words

You’re telling me you love me while your looking away

No more words

Pete started looking around for Curtis, too. He made eye contact with a guy who had tall, black hair and looked a little like a young Robert Downey Jr. The guy smirked and kind of nodded toward Pete, then leaned over and whispered something to his friend. There was a lot in that look, and Pete quickly looked away, brushing his long hair away from his face, acting disinterested.  When he glanced back, the two boys had gotten up, and they were walking across the food court toward Pete and Fiona, nudging each other.

Pete turned away, panicking. He grabbed Fiona’s arm. “We gotta go,” he said.

“What? Why?” Fiona said, pulling her arm free.

“Those boys,” Pete said, glancing toward them. “I think their going to talk to us!”

Fiona looked over. “They’re cute!” She said, waving at them, smiling.

“No! Stop!” Pete said.

“You’re such a spaz sometimes,” Fiona said. “Just be cool.” Then, she whispered, “maybe we can get them to buy us stuff.”

The boys sauntered up to them. “Jaques,” the Robert Downey Jr. look-alike said, pointing to himself. “This is my associate Benji.”

“Like the dog in that movie?” Fiona said.

Benji actually barked. “You make me feel like an animal,” he said, pulling out a switchblade comb, popping it open and running it through his blonde hair. He looked kind of like the lead singer from Duran Duran, Pete noted, and seemed to be trying to play up the similarity, including a dangly earring.

Pete couldn’t stop himself from giggling. Hearing the feminine giggles coming from him, Pete panicked. Stop! Stop! He told himself. You sound like you’re flirting!

“I’m Fiona,” Fiona said, putting her hand on Jaques’ arm. “I prefer cats.”

Jaques smirked. “Radical,” he said.

Benji’s eyes dropped right to Pete’s chest. He couldn’t help but cross his arms over his breasts. “You,” Benji said, “look like someone who’s going to be famous.”

Pete, still overcome with nervous giggles, just shook his head. He had never, of course, been hit on by a guy before. It was so— totally— gross. “I’m not… I mean…”

“You guys want to catch a movie?” Jaques said. “Gremlins is playing. I heard it was tubular.”

“Actually,” Fiona said. “We were just going to get something to eat, but the only thing is…. Money?”

“You don’t have any money?” Benji said.

“We just forgot it,” Fiona said.

Jaques and Benji exchanged a glance. Pete thought they maybe were not into it, were going to walk away, but then Jaques shrugged and said, “we’ll buy you lunch.”

“A knight in shining armor, coming to your emotional rescue,” Benji said.

Pete pleaded with his eyes, but Fiona just smirked and took Jaques’ arm. “We’d love that, wouldn’t we?”

“Yes,” Pete groaned. “That would be bad.”

They ended up ordering from S’barro. Pizza slices. They sat at a table, with Fiona and Jaques on one side and Pete and Benji on the other. Benji kept scooching closer to Pete, their legs and hips touching. Pete scooched away until he was almost falling off his chair. Fiona seemed to have forgotten all about Curtis, and she was laughing away and flirting with Jaques while Pete tried to shrink inside himself. Luckily, Benji seemed content to do all the talking, and he felt his hands to himself even though he kept leaning into Pete, who felt small with the much taller boy pushing at him.

“Maybe we should split up?” Jaques said. “Walk this pizza off?”

“We should go for a walk,” Benji said. “Yeah.”

Pete freaked.  There was no way he wanted to be alone with a boy. “No! I can’t! We have to…um….”

“It’ll be fine…”. Fiona started.

Just then, Curtis came bounding into the picture. “Sis! Sis!” He shouted, coming sliding to a halt. “We need to book! Now!”

“What is your major malfunction?” Fiona said, but even as she said it she saw two burly security guards coming toward them. “Uh, oh!” She said, grabbing what was left of her slice of pizza and shoving it into her mouth. “Sorry!”

Pete was more than happy to join them, silently thanking the time travel Gods for getting him out of that mess. He slipped off his chair and the three of them ran, ignoring the shouts of the security guards, half-heartedly chasing behind. At one point, he thought one of the guards shout, “Daba! Daba!”

Pete slowed and glanced back. Why would he say that? Why did that word sound so… important?

“Come on!” Fiona yelled, pulling him along.

They laughed all the way home, talking about Curtis’ adventures, the boys they’d met. When Fiona dropped Pete off, Curtis had made guns with his hands and pretended to be firing bullets at him. “I’m gonna slay your love,” he said, then blowing on his fingertips.