Aside from being a model, Clara left me a job working at a snack bar on the pier. Since that doesn't involve posing for photos or looking like a girl (more than I already do) I've chosen to spend pretty much all my time here doing that. The hours aren't much and the pay is crap, but I think annoying flirty customers are still better than what I imagine modeling is like. Standing around looking pretty isn't really my thing.
Meanwhile, when I'm not working (which is usually) I'm cooped up in my room sitting on this laptop lurking my old self on Facebook. Whoever he is he hasn't got back to me yet which is weird and annoying and a little scary.
I try to avoid my housemates. I don't know any of them, I don't have anything to say to them, and I'm embarrassed enough walking around like this. I don't want too many people seeing me and thinking I'm Clara, that I like looking this way, that it's who I am. I hole up in my room and I try to eat, but I don't know anything about vegan diets, so I end up eating, like, crackers and fruit and salads. I'm really nervous that eating anything else will make me sick (not that this diet is making me feel like a million bucks.) I'm starting to feel claustrophobic anytime I'm in this room. I'm locked up in here with myself. Or really, with this girl I look like. I sleep a lot. I'm going crazy.
Then one weekend I hear a knock on the door and in barges this woman. It took me a minute before I remember it's Anthony, in Charlotte's body. She asks what the hell exactly was going on with me, ignoring phone calls and e-mails. I've been pretty much off communication with anyone. I forgot this blog even existed. Otherwise I mightve said something.
She basically drags me out of the house and says we're going for a drive. She asks how I am and I mutter "fine" and try to get off the topic. Anth's not really interested in "fine" though because he goes deeper. "I know you're not taking this well. I need you to know where I'm at." Okay, I said, lay it on me.
"I got my dick taken away, same as you," she says. "I wake up in the morning sore as fuck because I'm lugging around a set of tits twice the size of yours and sitting on my ass at an office doing bitch work because guess what... my job? It's to take care of you. Charlotte is a glorified executive assistant. Her one client as an agent was Clara Green, who suddenly decided she wasn't interested in following up on any of the offers she's gotten."
"Yeah, one or two trickle in here and there. They let Charlotte have a chance to handle Clara as a test case, to transition from assistant to full agent. Guess what. It's not going well."
"I'm sorry to hear that, but it's not my problem."
"No, it's not," she admits, "You didn't ask to be Clara, and I didn't ask to be Charlotte. But we're sort of past that right now. There's someone out there, I don't even know who, doing my job, and I don't want him to fuck it up. Have you read this blog? There's half a chance we can go back, and if it works out, I don't want to leave CeeCee in the lurch any more than my real life would."
"So what?" I say, "I doubt the new me could do a worse job than I did, being me."
"That's kind of my point, Zane," she says. "No offense Zane, but there's a good chance that whoever's out there living your life is doing a better job than you. What if they get confident and lock you out? That happens too. You can't fall back into your old habits. Remember when you got fired from driving a delivery truck because you were always getting high on the job? For fuck's sake, dude, don't waste two lives."
I sit there, steaming. I know I have it coming, but I was not up to facing this yes. Maybe ever. I want to say I was happy scraping by living the bare minimum as Clara, but I wasn't. My first paycheck as her was about a hundred and fifty bucks. Suddenly I see the appeal of being paid to look pretty.
We wound up at a coffee place and the mood lightened a bit. "Promise me you'll think about it," she reasoned. "I know you have a hard time accepting charity, so just consider this an opportunity to help yourself and help others."
We get off the topic of my fucked-up life and start comparing notes on girliness. I look like a slop, in a t-shirt and shorts and flip flops. Anthony has taken the time to learn how to dress as a woman, has his hair looking nice, walks really confidently in heels. I have a hard time looking her in the eyes and seeing my old buddy.
"It's amazing what you learn to do when you have to actually leave the house every day," she says with a grin. "You find yourself in the water, you learn to swim quickly."
It wasn't until she dropped me back off at home that I sat down and realized how fucked up our situation really is. He was really in love with his girlfriend, had a great job, stands to lose a lot if the "new" him either fucks u, or decides to steal it all away from him.
I started drafting an e-mail to Clara, asking what exactly I had to do to "be a model."