Lady of the Rings
by Brandy Dewinter and Ellen Hayes
(All rights reserved)
Chapter 19 - The Dating Game
Build 4
I was in a lot better mood the next morning. In part it was because
the morning came a little later, and the previous night ended a lot
sooner. The evening performances had gone off without a hitch, and after
all the clothes I'd tried on the princess costume was a breeze. Well,
maybe not a breeze; it was still hot and stiff and cumbersome.
The key though, was that I had somehow come to grips with wearing
women's clothes. I had thought the ring forced me to be honest with
myself, and in many respects it had. But seeing myself in a nice outfit,
complete from head to toe, had opened my eyes with data I hadn't posses-
sed before, honest or not. I didn't prefer women's clothes, jeans and a
t-shirt were so much more convenient, but I no longer feared them as
something to be avoided for deep reasons of ingrained taboos. Instead,
they were now analogous to a man's suit and tie. In fact, I decided I
probably hated the tie worse than I hated the skirt so that was a trade-
off. It would take a while before I could accept the heels, though.
Nonetheless, I had finally come to accept the way I looked - not model
gorgeous, but "not bad."
Sarah had arranged another day off for me, at least until that
evening, so all excuses had been moved out of my way. This was the day
I got invited to the targeted office. I dressed that morning in my new
clothes, even adding the combs that were part of my princess costume
instead of pulling my hair into a single rubber band. The combs did a
pretty good job of keeping all that stuff out of my face and I knew they
were more professional looking than my high-schooler's bobbing ponytail.
My fairy godmother had also arranged a ride into town, once again from
Jim.
I walked up behind him with the exaggerated care I still needed
when wearing heels. When I got close, I asked softly, "Ready to go?"
He gave me a quick glance and shook his head, "Sorry, I'm waiting
for . . ."
"Brittany?" he continued, somehow getting my name out around a
cartoon-character dropped jaw. I swear, I think he would still have
been standing there if I hadn't reached out and punched him lightly in
the arm.
"Close your mouth, before a bird builds a nest in there." Now it
was my turn to end my sentence with a smile, something I hadn't done much
lately. It felt good, not because I was making fun of Jim, but because I
was no longer denying myself.
I walked around to my door and started to get in, trying to remember
the lesson in modesty demonstrated by Kim in her even-shorter skirt. I
didn't do as well, but I was in before Jim really had himself moving and
he didn't see too much (I hoped). As always, it was only a few minutes
into town and he was dropping me off at the now-standard street corner.
"When do you want me back?" asked my smitten driver.
"Oh, about 2:00 should be okay," I answered as I carefully got down
from the seat. If I didn't get myself an invitation by the end of the
lunch opportunity, well, I'd just have to think of something else.
My heels forced me to such a slow stroll that I looked quite noncha-
lant, a lie if there ever was one. I knew my appearance was okay, but
there was so much more to being a woman that anything that would show in
a picture. I had learned that when I had to develop a whole new walking
motion the very first day of my transformation. Nonchalance was defi-
nitely inaccurate, but neither was abject fear or sullen denial. What-
ever image I presented, it was better than I had been. I hoped it would
be good enough.
By the time I got to the Brant building it was near enough to noon-
time that I decided I could just window shop until people started appea-
ring. Sitting would have been nice, but standing was at least a little
easier than walking and I was very conscious of the relative fragility of
the materials I was wearing. No dirty or rough park benches in this
outfit. Not surprisingly, since it was one of the closest shops to my
targeted office building, I found myself examining the dark blue dress
that Kim had made me try on that day. Now that I knew a bit more about
women's clothes, I studied it in a new light. The too-tight one was
still out, but the one in the larger size would have been okay. It was a
bit shorter than the skirt I now wore, but not as narrowly cut so it
wouldn't have been too bad to wear. The shoes and jewelry I had on would
even look okay.
This mental exercise almost caused me to miss my chance. I was
looking in the reflection of the glass when I saw a man I felt had to
be one of those on my candidate list. Cochran, if I remembered correc-
tly, the one I felt was a bit lonely.
He was headed my way so I just stood quietly while I tried to get
an image of what he was after. Not food, something simpler. Something .
. to read. A book? No, a newspaper. Where was he headed?
There was a bank of newspaper boxes not too far from where I was
standing and I started strolling toward them as soon as I figured out
where Cochran was headed. The windows of the shops gave enough of a mir-
ror that I could see he was not going to dismiss me with the same quick
glance his colleagues had employed. In fact, he seemed to be spending a
lot of time looking at me as we converged on the dispensers. I had
fumbled a quarter out of my purse about the time I got there, then
stopped as though making a choice among the options. Actually, I was
trying to pick up on which one he was after.
As soon as he started the motion to put his own quarter in one of
the machines, I moved slightly to the side and reached for the same slot.
My hand bumped his and my quarter dropped, to roll out of sight under the
dispenser.
"Oh, da, um, darn," I said with a sigh. I had practiced that sigh
on a million situations since I had been transformed, usually late at
night when I was too tired for anger.
"I'm sorry," he said as I turned to look at him directly for the
first time.
"No, it was my fault," I disagreed.
He insisted, "No, you were here first. Let me get your money back
for you."
"Don't be silly. It was just a quarter. You'll ruin your suit."
"Then let me get you a paper," he offered. At this I nodded,
reading that it was time to offer a bit of an opening.
"Oops," now he had a sheepish grin. "I'm out of quarters. Here,
I'll use the one I have to buy a paper for you."
"I couldn't let you do that," I refused graciously (I hoped). "I
was just going to get it for the intellectual section anyway. You keep
it."
"Intellectual section?" He asked the question I had been fishing
for.
"You know, Garfield, Dilbert, the intellectual section," I let
myself laugh lightly.
His responding laugh had a lot more energy in it. His aura flic-
kered with hints that I was trying desperately to decipher.
"My favorite!" he lied, which in the circumstances was good news.
"We can share."
"No, I don't think so. You have places to go, I'm sure." Now was
the time to play a bit hard to get.
I could see the denial on his mind, then his recognition that he
would seem too eager if he claimed idleness. Instead, he made another
offer that was credible, though still a little white lie to keep the con-
versation going.
"Actually, I was just going to get some lunch. Why don't you join
me? We can get through at least the comics while we eat."
At this point it all caught up to me. The intellectual exercise of
using his aura to guide my responses had occupied enough of my mind that
I had lost sight of the big picture. Here I was manipulating a man to
ask me out! I was actually doing it. For real, not just as a mental
exercise in tactics to get my ring. All of the sudden, I felt sick,
really sick, with weak knees and an upset stomach. In another instant I
felt a fair bit of self-disgust as I realized that on one level my mind
was still analyzing his responses and picking the right amount of time to
hesitate without seeming too eager myself. I had to go through with it
now, but I knew I'd carry more guilt with me than I had expected.
The warm smile I knew was indicated just wouldn't come, but I
nodded. My quietness made it seem a response driven by shyness rather
than distress of the soul, but it worked just the same.
"What are you hungry for?" he asked.
"Whatever you want." Now was the time to be demure, anyway, and it
covered my stiffness as I tried to get my thoughts back in order.
"There's a nice salad bar over here," he offered with a wave of his
arm. I could tell that wouldn't have been his first choice but it soun-
ded good to me. The elephants tromping around in my stomach would have
made a full meal a very bad idea.
Nodding again, I started in the direction he had indicated. I
knew I still couldn't move as briskly as would be expected of most pro-
fessional women, but that was better than falling on my orbiting fanny.
The motion I had learned to take for granted over the last few weeks
intruded back into my consciousness and it seemed almost blatantly
enticing.
Thankfully, he walked beside me and continued the conversation,
"My name is Buck Cochran, can I ask yours?"
"Oh, Brittany, Brittany Janeway," I stammered, still flustered.
This caused him to give out with another of his high-energy laughs.
"Your parents must watch the same sort of shows that mine watch."
Now where did he get that idea? "I don't know what you mean. What
sort of parents name their child Buck?"
"Well, Buck is just a nickname I picked up. Actually, my parents
named me after a character in one of the original Star Trek episodes.
Or, wait a minute. If Janeway is your family name, I may be completely
off base."
"You are, we had the name long before Kate Mulgrew claimed it. I've
been trying to get royalties, but she thinks she's safe over in the Delta
quadrant." The standard response fell easily from my lips. At least it
showed a bit of humor, something that I knew the situation needed but I
was having trouble dredging up.
He smiled at the tired joke, well, tired to me. Of course, he hadn't
heard it before. That gave me a chance to try and catch up with the
hint he'd dropped. He gave me some more time, resurrecting his sheepish
grin.
"I'm sorry, of course you couldn't catch the reference anyway. The
original show was off the air long before you were born, probably even
the second one."
"Ever hear of reruns?" I chided him. It had finally come to me,
not because of the original show, but because of one of the movies that
had carried the key name forward. There was only one Cochran that was
important in the Star Trek universe, at least that I knew about.
The name was so archaic that I knew he had been teased about it as a
child. That image made him seem less threatening and I was finally able
to smile for real.
"Do I have the honor of addressing the inventor of the warp drive,
Zephram Cochran?" I asked with formality defused by my grin.
"Well, not yet," he admitted. "But you got it, all right. However,
if it's all the same to you call me Buck."
"Okay, Buck," I replied, beginning to like this guy. Not as a man-
woman thing, of course. Just a nice guy who wasn't afraid to appear a
little bit ridiculous to someone he just met. I decided not to examine
too closely whether he'd have been so open with someone other than a girl
he thought was pretty. If I ignored that factor, maybe I could get
through this.
By this time we had made it to the salad bar. He put the paper
under one arm and I adjusted the still-unfamiliar shoulder strap on my
purse as we made our way through the line.
The conversation after that stayed light and innocuous. His aura
still guided me, mostly to be quiet and let him do the talking (what a
surprise). He found the comics in the paper as soon as we sat down and
we talked about them. It turned out his sense of humor favored the more
subtle jokes and I found myself having a good time almost in spite of
myself. Before I even had a chance to think about a next step, the
waitress was distributing checks. He intercepted mine before it even hit
the tabletop.
"No, don't do that. I'll pay for my own," I insisted, or tried to
anyway.
"What a coincidence! Your bill is exactly the twenty-five cents I
owe you," Buck lied unabashedly.
It was clear that his sense of propriety demanded that he pay, the
same sense of propriety that would have resulted in me being ignored if I
hadn't dressed as a lady. Old-fashioned was not the same as chauvinist.
I had already learned that in my dismissals the first time I tried to get
invited to the Brant offices.
An invitation! Here we were about to end this, and I hadn't set up
any reason to get invited up to the office! My mind raced into a useless
dither as I tried to find some sort of excuse to go back with him. It
turned out not to be necessary.
"Where are you off to, now?" he asked.
"Oh, just a little window shopping today." At least there was a
little truth in that.
I could see him try to decide if I'd buy a claim that he was free
for the afternoon, and reject it. If he'd have been reading my own aura
he'd have seen hope and despair on the heels of his supposedly-private
thoughts. Then he upped the ante.
"Could I see you again?"
"I, um, don't know. I may not be in town long."
"Are you here on business?"
I nodded, trying to figure out some way to avoid explaining that I
was a circus showgirl. Some respectable woman he'd think that was.
"So, how about dinner tomorrow night?" he kept pushing.
Tomorrow, Thursday, was a travel day for the circus. If I could
figure out a way to catch up, I could even get free that night. It
wasn't as good as following him back to his office, or even another lunch
date for the next day, but it was clear that part of his old-fashioned
manners would require that he set the date. I could decline, but not
counteroffer. At least, not without losing his interest.
I nodded instead, still trying to work out the logistics in my mind.
Buck solved the real problem by asking a normal question I could
turn to my advantage, "Where can I pick you up?"
"I'll be downtown again that day. Why don't I just come up to your
office?"
He nodded, then explained how to get there, saving me from the fatal
error I was going to make of not asking where he worked. I couldn't have
known, if our meeting were as chance as it had seemed.
Buck escorted me from the salad bar and gave a cheerful wave as he
strode briskly back to his building. I smiled in return, watching him
go. He walked right by the little boutique and that blue dress caught my
eye again. It was an obscene amount of money, more than a week's gross
pay, but I knew it was the right thing to do. In a few minutes I had my
purchase and made it back to where Jim was waiting, much poorer, but
satisfied that I had made real progress in my quest.
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