Arthur/Penny: You can't go home again

Although maybe you can; it's just a matter of deciding what home is.

I did my last bit for CalSports last night. After the Stealth were eliminated from the playoffs, I told George that I wasn't going to sign a new contract to cover the Dragons, and gave two weeks' notice on the scorecasts. He was kind of surprised, but he could also see it's been something I've wanted to do for a while. He threw me a great going-away party last night, and had enough respect for me that he didn't spend a lot of time trying to convince me to stay.

Rick didn't take it quite so well. He couldn't believe I'd make that kind of move without consulting him. On a certain level, he does have a point; if you have a career where an agent makes sense, he needs to be in the loop on your career choices. Still, I said, the fact that he said "consulting" rather than "informing" was part of the reason I didn't. There'd be no point.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means..." We were at a restaurant, and I probably did some awkward thing then - reaching for my glass, deciding I didn't want to use that as a delaying technique for what I had to say, deciding I really was thirsty... "It means that this isn't that kind of career move. It's not about wanting to change jobs because I'm not getting paid enough, or the cheerleader thing made me feel uncomfortable, or I've got another option. I just don't want to do TV sports any more. If I'd consulted you, you'd have tried to talk me out of it, because to do otherwise would be arguing against your own interests."

He said that wasn't completely true; this would be a challenge, but we could work together on the next phase of my career. That's when I told him that I wasn't just quitting this job, but his agency. There were a bunch of reasons; it felt weird to have that kind of working relationship with someone I'd slept with, I wanted to write and his agency was more set up for in front of the camera talent (and media where there was a camera!). Besides, I was going to be leaving California--

"Without telling your boyfriend?"

"Come on, Rick, we haven't been that in... I don't know if we were ever that. We were just convenient and safe; it was easier having someone we could talk to about everything. But you don't need that any more. You've... assimilated, I guess. You like the life you're in. I'm probably all that's keeping you from packing up shop and moving to Los Angeles to take it to the next level. And don't think I don't know about the pretty young things you've been seeing on the side."

"You could..."

"I don't want to! I don't want to live where I have a chance of running into the jerk calling himself Arthur Milligan on the street, let alone at work, even if I'll miss my home town. I don't want to spend years trying to fake knowledge of lacrosse or really concentrate on learning that, or just being a pretty face that reads sports scores. I want to research, and learn, and create."

"And you'll be doing that...?"

"Back in Boston. I've got a friend there, and know some in New York, and... Well, you may be content with what the Inn made you, and figure your time worrying about it is at an end, but I want to know more. I need to know more, and I'm going to have to be near it to do that."

It went downhill after that; I think in a while he'll accept that this is best, but that was pretty much like being fired for him, and nobody likes that.

I do think everyone should try quitting their job at least once in their life, though - the next two weeks can be some of the most enjoyable you can imagine, if you still get along with your co-workers, because none of the annoying crap touches you. You can really look at and think about what you're doing objectively.

And if you're in my position - which you're probably not - there is something quite liberating about selling everything you inherited from the person whose appearance you took. All the bulky exercise equipment, furniture, books, movies (I'm keeping some of the electronics) - gone. I'd sell the car, too, but I figured I'd wait and see how useful it is back in Boston before going that far. I've had Lyn scouting out apartments for me, and I've got a few job interviews lined up. It's going to be exciting.

I am tempted to stay here, but it's not what I want and really need right now. And it will be great to see Lyn regularly again, especially after not having seen her for a year.

-Art/Penny

Arthur/Penny: If you think I'm providing a link, you're nuts.

I should have known this was going to happen, but I didn't. I've got half a mind to fire "Rick", quite honestly, even though he's got a small point when he says that he's only been working as an agent for less than a year and thus couldn't be expected to anticipate this. My initial instinct is to call bullshit, because he's sort of been anticipating this ever since we wound up in these lives, but I probably won't.

It just goes to show how ignorant I can be that I didn't have any idea what was going on until Tuesday. I had decided not to go to bed at all Monday night, since I was going to watch the A's game at 3am (7pm Tokyo time) and getting just three or four hours of sleep is pretty useless. I put in some late-night time on the treadmill before the game started, then got out the laptop so that I could do some re-writing and surfing done while mostly paying attention to the TV.

I wasn't surprised to see Lyn on at the same time. She IMed me first, asking if if I was up late or early. "Late," I typed. "You?"

"Early. Got a lunch shift. I probably wouldn't be up at all, but Matt's watching it at the station and wants to chat with me so it would like we're in the same room."

"Aw. That's sickening."

"Hey, someday you'll meet the right guy and you'll be doing stuff like that too."

"I don't know if I'm ever going to be that much of a girl."

"Hey, a year and a half ago, you couldn't imagine dressing up as a schoolgirl, but you make a damn hot cheerleader!"

I tensed up a little behind my keyboard, but typed that I chickened out.

"Liar! It's on YouTube." Link. Link. Link. Link.

I took a moment to follow the links Lyn sent me, becoming more mortified with each one, especially some of the comments on them. The fact that they appeared to have been typed by illiterates didn't do much to camouflage their crudity.

"Oh my god... I don't know what's worse, that these things exist or that you must have gone looking for them! Please tell me that your secret admirer sent them to you or something!"

"Hey, you can't expect a girl not to be curious after that cliffhanger. But come on, you pulled it off, you were classy. Those people would make comments like that if they found pictures of their mothers online!"

I found that less than reassuring, and changed the subject to stuff like Matt being "the right guy" or why she was still working at Headlights. And the game. I'm afraid I jinxed the A's during the ninth, saying I was about ready to go to bed just before the Red Sox tied it up. Lyn taunted me for that.

I was doing the scorecast the next night, and told George about these clips, saying I'd really appreciate it if the network could lean on Google to take the clips down - that was copyrighted CalSports footage, after all! He said he'd see what he could do. I wound up staying up all night at the studio - the weird hours for the games in Japan meant that instead of just shooting a bit that could be edited into the program for the morning repeats, we stayed up and watched the game, rewriting copy so that we'd be able to just shoot a new bit when the game finally ended at six.

It was a busy weekend - a Saturday game in Edmonton - so I didn't get a chance to see whether the videos were taken down. They were not, and it was almost like George forgot that I'd even wanted that. I came in yesterday to do a scorecast and he was giving me the good news about how ratings for the games were up 40% this weekend. The higher-ups at the network were really pleased, he said, and were probably going to talk to Rick about offering me a full-time contract.

I was a bit sarcastic, I think - something about whether or not they'd be reconfiguring the set so that the audience could see my belly button during the show, or whether cleavage would be enough. That raised some eyebrows, so George took me aside, saying that this was a good thing - maybe some of the people that tuned in to look at me would get into lacrosse, or I'd be able to work on more prominent assignments - this was a good thing!

I said I guess, if you just wanted to call games and read scores. I'd worn the outfit to call attention to the story, and it didn't sound like it was going to lead to more stories, which was what I really wanted to do. George said he could see my enthusiasm for it, but that's not the way it usually worked in television - they tend to do work with the local papers, and the promotion path goes toward more on-screen time.

I did the broadcast, but decided to go in to talk to Rick today. He said he was just about to call; Maxim had contacted him again about getting me for a pictorial. I pointed out that I'd said no the last time, and he said that the stuff on the internet seemed to indicate that I might have loosened up about that.

No, I said, I hadn't, and I would really like him to start talking me up for more creative/reporting work, because I don't know how much more I'm going to want to work for CalSports after my Stealth commitment is up. He says he thinks that would be a big mistake, and I said, yeah, maybe for Nell, but I'm not her, and I'd like to live something resembling my life as much as hers.

-Art/Penny

Arthur/Penny: You have GOT to be kidding me.

I try not to be a total hypocrite about objectifying women. I have, after all, done my share of it in the past; I was, after all, a man. So when I meet a guy and he has a conversation with my chest, I tend to let it go. It is a bit uncomfortable for me, but getting upset about it tends to be counterproductive - not only are you focusing his attention on your breasts even more than it already was, but he's now less at-ease (which can be useful) and sometimes comes away from it thinking of you as a bitch (which is seldom useful). I've learned some tricks about it over the past year (it wasn't a big deal when living Liz's life, because she's a bit flat-chested and I was often standing next to Lyn and her eye-magnets). If you're sitting, stand, or vice versa; it changes the guy's eyeline and most men will realize that they've been impolite and make an effort afterward. Keep a scarf of wrap in your purse or desk draw for days when it's bugging you. That sort of thing.

Similarly, I don't act snippy when some girl is using what she got to her best advantage; I've enjoyed the benefits of that far too much in the past and, to be frank, still do, a little. Twenty-five-plus years of being trained to appreciate the female form doesn't just go away because something else is now supposed to excite you on a chemical level. I may have a little more insight on what a girl is going to get male attention, but I haven't found that makes me appreciate it less.

This is a roundabout way of trying to get you to believe me when I write that I did not resent the idea of spending the week filming bits about the "Spy Girls", the Stealth's dance team, to use as a feature story on the pregame segment of Saturday's game and during the recap programs, along with inserts during the game coverage.

It's been an interesting week. George was technically the producer, and he was good at making sure all the technical stuff was in place, but he gave me a pretty free hand with the interviews, arranged to do some new pick-up stuff based on what the girls said, and I'll be spending a good chunk of tomorrow with him in the editing room. It's a lot like writing a commissioned article, just with a lot of extra steps and different media; it came pretty naturally.

I liked the girls, too; I found out that many of them see this as a stepping-stone to a job with the Raiders or 49ers, or looking for modeling or television work. Some of them are just doing it part-time, because it's something the enjoyed in high school or because their nine to fives make them feel drab or uninteresting. I wound up giving a lot of Drew/Rick's business cards out to the first group, and I sympathized somewhat with the latter; I know what it's like to want something different from the life you're leading.

I was surprised by the intensity of some of them, though. Most of the cheerleaders I knew in high school were pretty cool people, but as Annabeth (not her real name) pointed out, there was likely at least one queen bitch among the cheerleaders I knew, and those were the ones that had ambitions to ride their looks, by and large, so there could be a lot of backbiting going on when I wasn't looking. It's like anything else - you may have been the best at something in school, but then you get fed into a situation where you're not just competing with the lesser lights who happened to live in the same town, but a whole ton of people who were the best around where they were.

Anyway, it was a lot of fun, the closest thing to actual journalism I've done while at CalSports, and sort of makes up for not getting chosen for the Tokyo trip.

Until this morning, when George tells me that one of the other producers had the idea that, since we were doing a theme of highlighting the dance squad this week, wouldn't it be neat if I wore the dance squad's outfit tomorrow? Sure, the camera doesn't point inside the booth that often, but it might be fun during pre and post!

I was not amused, to say the least. It is one thing to not mind when someone is checking you out, or understand the impulse, but asking me to do that is something else altogether. This felt like something I could actually be proud of, and they want me to make my body the focus of it? Not cool.

Still... George and "Rick" (Drew doesn't use his own name much these days) both say it would be good for me to be play up my attractiveness a little, demonstrate I'm a little more willing to use it. So I'll probably dress in the stupid cheerleader costume tomorrow night.

I've got no idea what Nell's father is going to think of this. At least my mother isn't around to see it.

-Art/Penny

Arthur/Penny: Rejected!

Man, am I glad for the team to have a off week right now. February has been ridiculously busy, as even though there were only three games (and no crazy parts of the schedule where the Stealth is playing at home in San Jose one day and then up in Canada the next), I've had to do a lot of anchor work because a good chunk of the rest of the on-air talent is covering spring training for the A's and Giants, or covering basketball and hockey. February and March are a time when the network's staff gets spread pretty thin, so I'm at the desk a lot.

And that's part of why I won't be getting to go to Tokyo. George told me yesterday, saying that since they don't actually broadcast the games, they can only really justify sending a two-person team (talent and camera/sound), and they're opting for one of the people they have who are more closely associated with baseball, who have been around the team during spring training, etc.

I guess that's reasonable, but it's disappointing. Less reasonable was the part that he sort of joked about, that the cameraman would wind up having trouble fitting me and any Japanese people I interviewed or profiled in frame. I actually wouldn't be surprised if this was the actual reason, because it does make sense from a certain aesthetic point of view - I'm a six-foot-tall woman, and there are guys who get uncomfortable being interviewed by me on-camera. I've been there, and I can say from first-hand experience that the male of the species does sometimes respond badly to having to look up to a woman. Heck, I've exploited it at times.

But this really does wind up gnawing at me, because as much as I've come to accept that this is going to be my life from now on, and I like being tall and strong and healthy, I hate being treated like a freak. I already know I am one, but nobody knows it goes deeper than being a sort of tomboy.

If that's not enough, I've been getting rejection letters for my book. I'm not totally surprised; it's my first real attempt to write a novel, and structuring a good mystery turns out to be really hard. Still, it's hard to take, especially having someone else's form as I do. I always used to say that I didn't work on spec much because it's just bad use of one's time to do the thing you get paid for without getting paid when you could be doing a paying gig, and for the most part I believed it. Of course, it's also been so long since I did spec work that I've forgotten just how painfully personal each rejection can be. It sucks being told that you're not good enough, and when you submit to multiple places, you get told again... and again... and again.

I actually cried when I got the first rejection letter, and then had a panic attack over whether that was an Inn thing - had I been female so long that I was starting to react like one? Had becoming a girl changed my body that much, so that I'd react to failure with tears and self-doubt purely because of endocrinology? I don't think so, but how can I know? And now that I have actually cried over that, what's it mean? Does it mean that my sex is asserting these sorts of responses, or would I be crying over it if I were still a man? There seems to be no right answer.

Some of the reasons really wound up bugging me, too. On the one hand, I know I'm not really great at fiction yet, so I should be able to accept being rejected on merit. Still, some of what's in the letters has really bugged me:

* "We have no place for new authors in our mystery imprint's publishing schedule."

* "As much as we like your concept, we do not feel that your name has national visibility."

* "We think the book has real promise; have you considered working with a co-writer?"

* "... a ghost writer?"

A ghost writer... I threw a bit of a tantrum at that; calling Drew and telling him not to send anything to that publisher the next time around. He talked me down from that, reasonably pointing out that it's not a good idea to hold grudges against corporations, but undid a lot of good will by saying that I'd face nothing but frustration if I kept trying to live my old life. Be a sportscaster and spokesperson, he says - you've got the face, voice, and body to be a good one and you'll be happier just going with the flow. Otherwise, you'll drive yourself nuts trying to be something you no longer are.

Suffice it to say, he hasn't been getting any for the last week. In a world where a stripper can win an Oscar, I figure I can write a few mystery novels.

-Art/Penny

Arthur/Penny: Parental (and other) Guidance

I've kind of been waffling about the Maxim pictorial thing, which is annoying Drew a bit. I don't really blame him; I'm not totally in a position to be picky about what I take and don't take, and this would set me up for bigger and better things.

Part of the problem, of course, is that I'm not sure I should be going on to bigger, better, newer things. I've been Penny for three and a half months now, but a part of my brain is still in Liz mode, trying to keep things as steady as possible even though I know that the proper owner of the life I'm living isn't going to take it back.

I am grateful that Louisa and Jessica checked up on Nell. If they really think she's happy with her new life, or at least committed to it, it does let me act with less worry over whether or not I'm letting someone down. Which, of course, is a big-time double-edged sword.

I've talked to a few people about the potential photo shoot. Perhaps the oddest was Nell's father. He was in town for a few days about a week and a half ago, and gave his little girl a call. I got my first hint that Nell and her father had what looks like a good relationship when her - my - cell phone displayed "Daddy" and played a cheery custom ringtone for his call.

I didn't quite know how to respond to that. In my old life, I was estranged from my father, to the point where I honestly figured my next encounter with him would be his funeral. It turns out that things worked out pretty close to the opposite way with Nell - she and her father are fairly close, but she doesn't have much to do with her mother. Weird.

Anyway, we arranged to meet up while he was in town for a convention. Nice enough guy, although I wouldn't be surprised to find that the birthday of his second wife is something like one day earlier than the midway point between his birthday and Nell's, so that no-one can say that she's closer to his daughter's age than his (although, to be fair, many men wouldn't care about that distinction). He seems very proud of what his daughter has been doing.

I mentioned the potential photo shoot to him, and his first response was a joking "well, I guess you've ruined those magazines for me forever", to which Sandy responded by giving me a high-five. After that, though, he said that I shouldn't worry about embarrassing him; he's already made his peace with the idea that total strangers will be looking at his Nelly like that from the volleyball and the TV work.

It was Sandy who said it sounded like I was trying to find a reason not to do it, which I suppose is something close to true, although not for the reason she suspects. So when Lyn called me to celebrate - or, at least, mark - our having spent one year as women, I figured I'd let her try to talk me into it.

She didn't give me the hard sell, but she did ask me if I'd fret so much about playing pro basketball if I'd wound up swapped into someone tall and athletic (that is to say, a tall and athletic man). I mentioned that I suck at the sport, and she said I was missing the point - that are physical forms are a resource, and that we shouldn't be afraid of using them as such just because of the weird way we came by them.

I've also tried calling Cassie in L.A.; I figured that maybe she'll let something slip ("Really? You always hated girls who did that!"). Nothing quite so direct, though. She said she didn't think she would, but that then again, she hadn't turned pro or gone into broadcasting; she liked her anonymity. - or at least, liked having more anonymity than having pictures of her in her underwear printed, downloaded, used as a screensaver or taped to the inside of someone's locker door would provide.

That's a pretty compelling argument, I think. If this is going to be my life, then I think I can live it without that. Drew should just be getting into R.J.'s office right now, so I think it's time to call him with the decision.

-Art (aka Penny)

Arthur/Penny: Not how I'd like to work for them again.

It's three A.M., and I can't sleep. Drew is in the bed and sleeping like a log, but I guess sex just wears him out a little more than it does me. Normally, this would be prime time to do a little work on the novel, but for whatever reason, I can't seem to concentrate on it right now.

Part of it's the busy schedule; there are days when CalSports has me working both a six o'clock and then a ten o'clock show, and after ten they have me hang around as the baseball scores come in, shooting new bits of footage that will be inserted into the ten o'clock show so that it can be run overnight and into the morning. I can't imagine how much this job must suck on the east coast, where you have to do basically the same thing, only the west coast games don't get over until one a.m., Eastern Time.

I'm up to doing that three or four times a week, but it's not always the same days. Plus, I've started doing some of the personal appearances that Nell used to do. Only about half of them actually pay, but I like doing the ones that help out a good cause, and Drew figures that doing talks at schools is good business, too - he figures that it can't hurt to be some kids' first crush, that they'll remember later. When he said that last weekend, I was kind of alarmed; how much later was he talking about?

Well, he says, as "Penny" you're in your mid-twenties and healthy, keeping up her workout habits; you've probably got a good, long chunk of "babe years" ahead of you. It's not impossible that a kid in fifth grade might still make it a priority to tune to ESPN on the nights you're doing SportsCenter when he's in college ten years from now.

Ten years! It's not quite yet one year since I first woke up as Liz, and I'm not even really sure that I'm going to stay Penny long-term, or at least not that long-term. I asked him how he could think in those terms; he just shrugged and said that even if I didn't stay Penelope Lincoln, someone would, and it would be his job to look out for her interests. That kind of took me aback. What about getting back to your old life?

He shrugged. "I like it as R.J. It's a good fit, and California sure beats going back to Michigan for the winter. The original one doesn't figure on being able to extricate himself from Stephen Jeffries's affairs by the time the Inn closes for the season, so I'm figuring on an indefinite stay. 'New Drew' can do what he wants." Oh. "Maybe you should give me one of those new nicknames you're so fond of, like 'Lyn' and 'Penny'. So what do you think... Am I a 'Rich'... or a 'Dick'?" He pulled his body against mine at that, and I could feel the latter's appropriateness.

We got distracted.

It was the next morning, when I was scrambling some eggs in my t-shirt and panties, that he told me he'd been talking with an editor at Maxim about me. I said that was great; I'd really enjoyed doing work for them in the past, even if it was an assignment for them that led me to the Inn. How'd he get them to talk, though; it's not like Penelope has the bibliography they usually look for in a freelancer?

Well, that's the thing, he said - it's not for writing work; it's for a pictorial.

Oh. I really wished I was wearing some pants after he said that. I absently tried to pull my shirt down a little but it just made my nipples stand out. "I don't know, Drew..."

"Hey, it's Maxim, not Playboy. It'll raise your profile, potentially to national attention, and it's not like they'll be showing anything Nell hasn't put on display before. She was a pro beach volleyball player, after all, and their uniform is the bikini."

"Yeah... but..."

"It's not even a formal offer yet; just something he and I are talking about. It's easy work and even though reading the scores pays better than announcing lacrosse, it's not bad to get paid, either."

I told him I'd think about it.

Maybe that's why I'm still awake and typing this, even though it's almost four, now. I go to sleep and time jumps forward to the morning, and he'll be wanting to talk about it again, even though I've still got a few things to figure out before even considering it.

-Art/Penny

Arthur: At least there's only one more week of calling losses

Writing a novel looks kind of easy. You figure out what you want to write about, come up with an outline, and then just do it. Especially when, as I'm trying to do, it's about your current line of work; there's not quite so much research to do. There's still plenty, though - a murder mystery has to be absolutely flawless in its details, or the fans will absolutely crucify you.

So, I've been spending a lot of my free time lately doing research, and feeling like I should be doing more; it seems like each new thing I discover about sports, broadcasting, crime, or any of the other things in the book makes me rewrite . I'm starting to think that if this book winds up three hundred pages long, I'll have written something like fifteen hundred, which is daunting.

Spare time is not something I've had a whole lot of lately, though. I'm doing anchor duty two nights a week, which means being around all evening for cut-ins, and working on writing my material. As much as the novel isn't my forte, apparently neither is voiceover work. George says otherwise, which is nice of him, but I don't know if the way I announce the scores and recap that no, Barry Bonds didn't hit a home run tonight is really noticeably different than what some other guy does.

The other thing is that the last couple of weeks have been away games - L.A. two weeks ago, Chicago last weekend. It was cool to go back to L.A.; I got to see Cassie again. She at least seems really excited by the book, begging to let her proofread it or something. I told her I would, and she thanked me, saying that if I got it published, it would be just about the coolest thing anyone she knows has ever done. Drew kind of gave me an eyebrow after that, since this wouldn't really be something done by someone Cassie knows, although when Cassie caught it, he said that hosting the show was pretty cool, too, wasn't it?

Drew does like coming down to L.A., though. I think he's kind of star-struck by it, having grown up in Michigan, which I'm sure is nice, don't get me wrong... But you come to San Francisco and Los Angeles, and you see things that you remember from movies and TV practically every time you turn a corner. Sometimes you'll see a movie star eating in a restaurant a few seats away, and it's like it's no big deal. He's spending about half the week there, right now, signing a few would-be actors and models to beef up R.J.'s roster.

Cassie teased me about that, but I told her I was cool with it. I was tempted to make a joke about not being used to having one guy doting on me all the time, based on Ray and Stewart, but I figured there was a good chance of her finding that really inappropriate based upon something in Nell's past.

I don't think I'd be too terribly upset if he found some new girl down in L.A., though. I get the feeling that Drew is becoming less and less interested in returning to his "real" life, so if he wants to settle into something, I guess I wouldn't blame him. Do I enjoy going out (and then going back in) with him? Yeah, we have fun, and there's no lying to it. But I won't even begin to kid myself that we're in love, or that I'm looking for anything permanent so long as I look like Nell.

-Art

Arthur: Treading carefully

Sometimes, it seems like trying not to do something is the surest way to do it. I was bound and determined not to wind up with Drew, and yet...

Well, you know how it goes. You've got something in common, you see each other on business... You wind up just spending a lot of time together. Maybe you feel that the whole idea of a relationship is wrong, and something casual is perhaps even worse. But it's tough to resist sometimes.

Plus, after visiting Lyn, I felt a few different things. I was kind of jealous of how she's just living her life without thinking about her next trip to the Inn, or having to worry about being someone else someday. I've got no desire for a lot of the details of her life, but just feeling like you're in control of your life is something I miss.

And, I admit, it also felt good to remind myself how fit I feel. As R.J., Drew's in pretty good shape, too, and a lot of my time is spent around professional athletes. Heck, even what friends of Nell's I meet (I'm going to see Cassie again this weekend) tend to be fitness nuts. It's a reminder that I'm in a pretty good position right now.

So, a couple weeks ago, after I get the good news that "Nell" will be co-anchoring one CalSports's late-night highlight shows a couple times a week, Drew and I go out drinking. We get back to his place. One thing leads to another. And... it's good.

I told him that I don't think this is going to be a big thing - I'm still looking to get my body back, or at least give Nell back hers, and I know he and New Drew are trying to work scheduling out, even if it doesn't seem like it's going to happen until next spring. He says that's fine; it's just nice to have a girl call him "Drew" in bed, although calling her "Arthur" is a bit of a buzzkill. I tell him I used to go by "A.J." as a kid, and he seems to like that.

This could become a great big disaster, but I don't think it will. We're both going into it with our eyes wide open.

-Art

Arthur: I (something) L.A.

I'm starting to get the impression that the Dragons aren't exactly a great team. Part of the job of announcing is to be with the audience, and though I had no idea that San Francisco even had a Major League Lacrosse team a scant two months ago, that are still my home team, and having them fall to Los Angeles is a little more galling than the other losses. It's not like the cities really hate each other; it's just a different culture, although I imagine it looks much the same to east-coasters. The biggest sports rivalry out here is in fact a transplanted east-coast one, between the Giants and the Dodgers; as an A's fan, I don't have the same sort of visceral distaste for the Angels; they're just another team in the division.

We have been playing the "Beat L.A." thing up over the past couple weeks and in promos, though, so I kind of got into it. But the game was only part of the L.A. experience this weekend.

About a week ago, I got a call from one Cassie Lane, saying that she saw the MLL schedule would have me in L.A. over the weekend, and she wondered if R.J. and I would like to meet her and Jim for dinner after the game. I stumble a little, but she gets into "oh please, please please please, it's been almost a year", so I eventually relent. I've always had a weakness for that tone of voice from a girl. Besides, I figured, if it's been a year since she's seen Nell, I probably wouldn't be too badly at a loss at any point.

It did mean calling Drew, but that wasn't too big a deal. As I mentioned last time, he asked me to meet him for lunch when I visited him in R.J.'s office, and I was happy to. I've been missing hanging out with 'Lyn, and it's very nice to have someone you can talk with about everything. I asked how the arrangements for getting back were going, and he said that New Drew was willing to switch back whenever Drew said the word, but Drew was trying to hold off until he knew the whereabouts of the real R.J. I wondered if he was maybe with the real Nell, who I hadn't heard from either. I asked about New Drew, saying he must be anxious to get back to his old life, and Drew said that wasn't the case - that his old life wasn't bad, but the guy just had no desire to go back; he was enjoying the feeling of having a new start.

"Speaking of original lives..."

I sighed. I still haven't talked to Jeremy Boyd, living the life of Arthur Milligan, even though we've been in the same city for a month. I say that I don't want to look at my own face and not like the person behind it, and, besides... Well, you've been a woman.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"It's... uncomfortable to go to a man and ask for something, even if it's just an explanation. It's like admitting that you're less than them, that you're weaker. You know what I mean?"

"Not really. I just always made sure that I didn't ask for something where I didn't know the answer, just like in court. And, besides, a lot of the time the guy only thinks he's in the position of strength."

Mm. I never managed to feel like I was the one in charge where sexuality was involved, so I changed the subject to business. I gave him a rough outline of the mystery story I was thinking about, and he put it in his briefcase to read later. He mentioned a groups people who had contacted him looking to book Nell for speaking engagements - a girls' volleyball camp and some sort of women's group - and it sounds worth doing; the money's almost as good as adding another game to the schedule.

He asks me if I want to have dinner a few days later, and I say that sounds suspiciously like a date. "I admit it," he says, "I find you very attractive. And it's nice to be with someone who is in the same boat as I am. I know the physical aspect might be weird, but we don't have to push that."

"Let's... just have dinner."

We do, and he's good enough not to push for more. Then Cassie calls me, and I call him, and we arrange to meat last night, after the game.

I hadn't actually seen Cassie before, so I was a bit taken aback upon getting to the restaurant to see that she was Japanese-American, "Cassie" being short for Kasumi. She's nearly as tall as I am; she and Nell played volleyball together in college, but instead of turning pro like Nell did, Cassie took an I.T. job, met James Lane, and got married seven months later; Nell was a bridesmaid.

They're nice folks, and though there were a couple times I had to fake knowing something from five or ten years ago, Cassie and Jim mostly talked about the present. She's a riot; I found myself falling in with her much faster than I ever did with Zoe.

Afterwards, Drew and I went to a club - he had made contact with a few people in L.A. and wanted to introduce me to them. I can't remember half of them; there was someone from ESPN, I know, and some guys in publishing. I actually recognized a couple of those - I'd sold an article to the guy from Maxim, for instance. There were just a ton of them, though, and there were drinks being served constantly. I had to give Drew credit; he was taking R.J.'s job pretty seriously.

But, oh, the hobnobbing was exhausting. I was very happy to get back to the hotel and then fly back here today. I'm a little worried, though - this studio is starting to feel like home.

-Art

Arthur: Back home, sort of.

We finally did catch a cab last Friday. I gave the address Nell had written down; the cabbie took us to a place on the Bay. Drew helped me with my luggage while the cab waited; when we got to the door of Nell's condo he said he imagined the neighbors had seen this scene a few times. I said I imagined that was true, and they probably couldn't believe how different this time was.

"Well, good night. Meter's running."

He started walking away. "Hey," I said, "give me a call when you wake up tomorrow morning. I'll show you around the city."

"Sounds like a good idea." He waved goodbye and then pressed the button on the elevator. It opened immediately, leaving me alone in the doorway. I tried two or three different key combinations to open the lock and deadbolt, then dragged Nell's luggage in.

Her condo is a studio, and though it's not small, there's plenty of stuff in it: The plasma television is on a swivel mount so that it can be viewed from either the bed, treadmill, or a love seat. The kitchenette has a floating bar with a couple of stools that must be where she ate her meals, since I couldn't see a table. One door leads out to a small deck; there was a window in that one. Another led to a closet, and the next one I tried led to the bathroom.

After disposing of the bottled waters I drank on the plane, I took the new toothbrush that I'd bought two weeks earlier out of its container and brushed my teeth, studying my new face in the mirror. I'd had a couple days to get used to it, but I was still noticing new things. There's a spot under my jaw that evidently just doesn't tan, for instance. I also need a little practice in dealing with this hair; while I'd let my hair grow to about shoulder length as Liz, the hair I'd inherited from Nell was longer, and I wound up spitting toothpaste onto it when I leaned over the sink. Suddenly, all those girls in college who'd told me that a true friend was one who held her hair back when she had to puke made a lot more sense.

I got it out with a towel and then looked at my watch. Three AM? That couldn't be possible... Oh, right, Eastern time. Winding it back to almost midnight didn't make me less tired, though. I stumbled out of the bathroom and to the bed, dropping shoes, socks, and shorts along the way. I kept the t-shirt on, though - I'd gotten used to wearing a nightshirt to bed as Liz, and although Nell's luggage indicated she was more a "just panties" girl, that wasn't me. I crawled under the covers and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

There was no alarm, but I woke up before seven, local time, anyway. I stretched a little to get the kinks out of my back, and it felt pretty good. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Nell's treadmill and I figured, well, it's early and this would be a pretty good habit to get into. I spent a few minutes getting the TV turned on and around, smiling a little when I saw she had left it tuned to ESPN. I have to admit that the operation of the machine threw me a little; it was split down the middle, had poles on the side with which to work the arms, a strap to wrap around the wrist to measure heart rate, and controls to increase and decrease steepness, resistance, and all sorts of other settings. I just left it as is and started jogging in place.

I didn't stop for about forty-five minutes, by which point I'd only worked up a small sweat. I was kind of surprised; the odometer said I'd run five miles, and I never did that. I had a new admiration for the body I'd inherited as I took my shower; as much as the obvious physical differences between me and Lizhad been impossible to ignore, I'd never really noticed a difference in how I felt, not like I did at that moment. For the first time in months, my breasts weren't my primary focus as I observed my naked body - the overall combination of softness and strength was.

There was nothing edible in the refrigerator or cabinets - two planned weeks away and another two on top of that made sure of it - so I threw on some clothes to find some coffee and bagels. It was a little chilly - cooler than Maine, especially in the mornings and evenings. This wasn't my old neighborhood, but I'd been here before, and after so long in Boston, it was like rediscovering my home town all over again. I ate, and then jogged back to the condo to see what I could learn about Nell beyond what was in the letter.

It was almost one o'clock when Drew called me. I told him I'd be right over, and then headed right out. His new place was a little pricier than mine, with more rooms and a nice view of Telegraph Hill.

We basically spent the day zigzagging the town; I showed him how to get from his home to his office via public transportation, and then from there to the various places listed in his address book and day-planner for the next few weeks. He was hoping that's all that he'd need, and even took a call from New-Drew while we were doing this.

Dinner was at a little jazz bar I knew. He had a little too much to drink and I got him home.

"Why don't you stay? I've already checked - there's a drawer full of stuff for a tall girl in the dresser."

"And just one bed - not even a sofa, just a matching set of recliners."

"I'm sure we could find some way to share."

He smiled charmingly, and I kissed him on the top of the head. "Ah, Drew, Drew, Drew. If I were in your place, I'd want to try my new equipment out for something other than peeing, too, but you'll have to find someone else."

"Why? I am your boyfriend, after all."

"Ah, see, that's why not. Call it a 'New Body's Resolution' - no sleeping with anyone that the last person with this body did, just because she did. That got me in enough trouble already."

"Don't know what you're missing."

Maybe not. But after all the drama with Ray and Stewart, I think I can live with that.

-Art

Arthur/Penelope: No time to get used to it.

People were looking for answers all day yesterday. I wish I'd had more to give them, but I wanted certain ones myself. It looks like I won't get those until I actually track Jeremy down and choke them out of him.

The last thirty-six hours or so were just crazy, though. I didn't sleep at all Wednesday night, waiting to see who I'd become and then reacting to it, and then it seemed as though everyone needed their hand held at some point during the day, and I was elected. I've been writing little bits of this for the past two days and haven't had a chance to post it until finding some Wi-Fi at the SF airport while waiting for a cab to take me "home".

I guess it was sort of logical that people would look to me; there were four of us who had been through this process before, and one slipped out early in the morning, probably returning to his life without much fanfare. That left Jeff, who despite having actually managed to get what he wanted out of the Inn this time, is a 19-year-old kid, and Drew was giving the new person who looked like him (henceforth "new-Drew") a lot of one-on-one time. That left me as the sole person available who wasn't panicking and looked like she might be somehow authoritative. It's weird; I don't look that much older than I did as Liz, but the extra bulk and height seem to make up for it and then some. I haven't had time to measure myself yet, but I've got to be pretty close to six feet tall. I suspect most people were operating on the instinct that the tall woman who stays calm is mommy, and mommy knows everything.

I don't know everything, obviously, but I was able to at least impart what we had discovered: That the changes that the Inn had made to us could be reversed by its own mechanism, but you had to be careful - it seems to work by proximity to where the last person was, not assigned room, and you would have to co-ordinate with the person who would become you sometime in the next week - and as you can see, that's not always reliable.

I must have said that two dozen times yesterday, which is remarkable since there were only thirteen people changed. I won't get into details on everyone, just that it looks like this Paul Miller guy apparently wasn't full of shit like we initially expected; there are folks running around with IDs that say Paul Miller and Ivumi Saito. Also? Dealing with the airlines is a pain in the neck. Drew/R.J. and I got pretty darn hosed buying tickets to get out to SF; we paid through the nose and got charged for the tickets they hadn't used two weeks ago besides. At least we didn't have to deal with a rental car - R.J. had dropped that off at the Portland Jetport; some people here are dealing with two weeks of rental fees for a car that had just been sitting in the parking lot.

With yesterday mostly devoted to other people, that made today the first day of the rest of my life, I guess. It was a beautiful day, at least - the sun was shining when I woke up at ten o'clock and the weather report was saying it might hit ninety degrees, so I put a bikini on under my t-shirt and shorts just in case I wanted to do some beach stuff before leaving Old Orchard Beach. I spent the next hour writing a letter to Liz - fortunately, there's not much to tell in this situation; she knows everyone she's going to meet back in Boston. I also sent a couple text messages while I still had Liz's phone. Then Jeff, Drew, new-Drew and I went to the Oceanside Lodge to sign out.

I should have mentioned this last year, but either the people there know something but keep it under their hats or the thing which keeps people from believing us covers them, too. I suppose I could get away with signing "Elizabeth Lee", but Drew as he is now signing something "Daphne" is a stretch. But they look at it and react normally, and they acted just like everybody else when new-Drew tried to say who he really was: "Yeah, right" followed by them acting like he hadn't just said something strange.

Just as we were walking away from the counter, a stylish young woman entered and asked if she could pick up her keys for the Trading Post. The man at the counter said that check-in time was three o'clock; the woman said she'd wait and took a seat in the lobby. I looked at her over my shoulder, and after we were a few steps away I said that might be Liz.

None of them believed it, and I said they were probably right. She looked kind of like how Lyn described Liz/Marie, but what were the odds? Jeff said I might want to go in and talk to her, just in case.

"Are you kidding? What would seeing me like this do other than make her feel guilty. Might as well let her just get back to her life."

Jeff and new-Drew parted ways from us then; they wanted to get on the 1:05 train to Boston because they'd managed to find a 4:30 flight to Detroit. That left us with a couple hours to kill, so we went back to the beach.

By a stroke of luck, we found the same two guys we'd seen two days ago. They didn't recognize us, of course, but were still looking for a game. Their eyes widened when I doffed my clothes and they saw the AVP logo on my suit, joking that they were glad they hadn't decided to put money on the game.

Not that they would have done badly. I may have inherited Penelope Lincoln's physique, but not any sort of talent as a volleyball player. Barring Wednesday, I hadn't played in a while, and my reactions were all off from the new body anyway. I backed into Drew several times because I expected my strides to be a foot shorter and didn't know my own strength while serving.

Being able to jump up and spike the ball hard into the ground is awesome, though. Even if I missed half the time, I never got tired of it.

Eventually, Drew said we were going to cut the train close and we shook the hands of our new friends and congratulated them on a good game before getting on the train and heading back to Boston.

We got into Boston right on time at 5:30, thinking it might be tight making our flight. Still, I spent a couple minutes looking around the station before I saw who I was looking for. "Lyn! Over here!"

I guess she's not used to responding to that nickname, especially from a strange voice; she didn't look my way at all. I let my long legs carry me across the crowded area and tapped her on the shoulder. That made her look at me. "Do I know you?"

I was expecting that. "Yeah, you do. It's me. Arthur."

She had the look for a second - the look that says this is impossible - but she fought it off and gave me a hug. "I'm sorry," she said, "I've been reading the blog and should have recognized you. And I'm sorry that you're not yourself again, or at least R.J."

"Hey," I said, "don't worry about it. I'll live."

"Good. My god, you're so tall. I think you might be taller than my boyfriend."

"And would you believe she's got heels in her suitcase??"

Lyn laughed at that before asking if she could treat us to dinner. I told her I didn't have time, that our flight left at 6:40, but I just wanted her to know what I looked like now, and make sure she believed me. She thanked me for that and said she wouldn't keep me. I leaned over to give her another hug.

I hope I didn't make her cry again - saying goodbye twice is kind of mean, but it's important that she believe in me. You can't take anything for granted in our lives.

-Art

Arthur: The New New Me

We didn't see anybody check in yesterday, but the veterans all gave each other a knowing look last night, when Trip's friend went into his room and didn't come out when he did. There were a couple other guests with us at the back entrance at the time, and they probably just thought it was a "good job Trip" thing - Jadyn is kind of cute, after all, now that I've had a chance to see the girl he talked about in his entries, if only in passing. I'd make a play for her, given a chance.

Which I won't have.

Jeff, Drew and I had a good last day as Brianna, Daphne, and Liz. It was a fairly sunny day, so we hit the beach. It wasn't quite nice enough to just wear the bikinis, but that seemed more a matter of etiquette than anything - the gauzy matching skirts we were wearing with our blue (me), green (Drew), and red (Jeff) swimwear didn't do a whole lot more than keep the breeze off our butts, but that's something. Drew's also covered Daphne's scar.

Jeff wasn't too sure of it at first; he came out of the Inn wearing a t-shirt. Drew wasn't having much of that - if we were letting it hang out, so was Jeff. He reluctantly removed it and tucked it underneath the strap of his bikini bottom. "I feel so exposed."

Drew smirked. "I bet you've been to the beach without a top before. Trust me on this - ever square inch that swimsuit doesn't cover sends a stronger message that you're not afraid and have nothing to worry about. Guys will want you, but they don't want to blow their chances by ticking you off."

"And where'd you gain that wisdom?" I was a bit skeptical, myself.

"St. Croix."

"On an office assistant's salary?"

"Hey, Daphne had some vacation time I couldn't roll over - we're going to talk about that policy when I'm myself again - and I wasn't anxious to spend the holidays with her family. Fortunately, the 'new Drew' felt the same way, so we booked a vacation at a big, non-cursed resort."

"Good deal."

"I enjoyed it. Now, let's see what's going on."

The answer: Not a whole lot. It was Wednesday, after all, before Memorial Day, but we did find a couple college guys setting up a volleyball net. They waved, Drew waved back, and we started talking. They were both juniors at the University of Maine, up in Orono (which I gather is somewhere near Bangor). They asked if we wanted to play, and we were up for it.

Sure, we said, but the teams were uneven. Drew said to just hold on a second, and started jogging back to the Inn. I could practically hear the guys thinking that they hate it when girls leave but enjoying the view as they walk away. I asked if they were thinking that, and one of them confessed. "Why, are you guys...?"

"Nah," Jeff said, "we just know how guys think."

In a few minutes, Drew came back with Darren. They'd gotten along pretty well the other night, and he seemed happy to let Drew lead him by the hand. Then we just had to choose up sides; it was clear Darren wanted to be with "Daphne", so I played with the guys; Jeff didn't look like he'd be comfortable. And, hey, if I were them, that's the way I'd want it; Drew and Jeff have more to jiggle than I do.

We weren't keeping score, but I think my team probably won most of the time.

We went back to the pier and got some ice cream after that, then spent the rest of the afternoon doing our individual things before meeting up for dinner: I was reading, finishing up a book I didn't figure to take back to California with me. Then, as I said, we saw Jadyn and Trip drive back in with a full truck and retire to his room.

I decided to stay up this time, in part just to gather information, and in part because I was worried about clothes digging into me as I was sleeping. Like Jeff said last year, we did start to feel a little something at around ten o'clock, not really like an itch or a rash, more like electricity in the air. Jeremy (or whoever was calling on his behalf) had been telling the truth about one thing; it was just a bit short of half past two when things really started to happen.

One of the things I'd always wondered about with this place is how it seems to disobey the laws of thermodynamics: After all, matter can neither be created nor destroyed. This place flouts that law, and it's the strangest thing I've ever felt. When you eat, you feel the new weight collecting in your stomach, but this was like a thousand tiny IVs were attached to my body, some penetrating deep, pumping more material into my body that was instantly assimilated, like it was naturally part of me.

You can imagine how excited I was - I was getting bigger! I felt my panties getting tighter, so I quickly threw off my nightshirt and pulled down my underwear. That was a little dizzying, as it was like the floor was pulling away. I could see the muscles in my legs expanding, along with those in my abdomen, and what part of my arms I could see.

And along with my breasts.

At first I thought I was just getting well-defined pecs, or at least hoping as much, but I wasn't feeling anything much happening between my legs. Besides, my nipples were getting even perkier, almost pointing upward. I could feel more weight on my head, too - apparently my hair had grown. I also noted that my skin had gotten a little darker.

Sighing, I opened the door to the bathroom so I could take a look in the mirror. What I saw was nice - this girl was tall and healthy-looking, with a perfect tan, light brown hair, wide brown eyes and perfect teeth. She looked like she spent a lot of time in the gym, but it didn't leave her looking mannish, just strong. She could kick those guys' asses at volleyball, and look good doing it.

Some pounding at my bedroom door interrupted my reverie. I ran back into the bedroom and picked the nightshirt off the floor. Where before it was like a tent that went down past my knees, I felt it clinging to my body and barely hugging my bottom. I grabbed the front and opened the door, quickly transferring that hand to my shirt to make sure that both front and back were covered.

I only had to look up at the man standing there because grabbing the shirt had me hunched forward a little, which was very nice. He was a good-looking guy, aside from the panic in his blue eyes - jet-black hair, a broad hairless chest, a firm jaw, nice lips. He had a nice voice, too, as he said my name like it was a question.

"Yes..." It's tough to tell what your own voice sounds like, but this one didn't sound bad. "Who are you?"

"Drew! I didn't change back, even though it's all my stuff in the room! What the hell's going on?"

"I don't know! Look, just turn around so I can put something on and we'll go see what's up with Jeff."

He complied, and I grabbed the bag marked "Nell Lincoln" and put it on the bed. As expected, it was full of women's clothing that would fit this tall frame. I quickly found a sports bra and matching panties, a t-shirt, and a pair of jean shorts and got into them. I found an envelope with a letter and a wallet, too; I put the letter aside but quickly opened the wallet for a glimpse of the driver's license. That was my new face, all right. I quickly noted that Nell was short for "Penelope" before slipping it in my pocket. "All right," I said, grabbing my key, "let's go."

I tried not to look at the bulge Drew's new equipment was making in Daphne's pajama bottoms as we walked down the hallway to Jeff's room. We seemed to be the only ones still awake, judging from the lack of shocked noises coming from the other rooms. I knocked on Jeff's door and was pleased to see a nineteen-year-old boy open it. His eyes darted between us. "Art?"

I gave a quick wave. "Could be worse," I said.

"Yeah, you could be me. Hi, I'm Drew."

Jeff's eyes bugged. "How...?"

"I don't know! I talked to the guy who was me, and he said everything went well. He even sent video! It was this place's lobby!"

Jeff is a smart kid and made the leap quicker than I did. "He wasn't in the room. You're room's close to the lobby, but what if it's closer to--"

"--mine." Drew looked away from Jeff to me, and then the three of us broke for my room. We dumped the other bag out over my bed. Drew snatched at the wallet that fell out and opened it.

"That's me," he said, "Richard John Hobart of San Francisco, California."

I gave him a pat on the back. "I'm so sorry. But look, that means someone else in this building has turned into you. We just have to talk to him, get things in place."

Drew took a deep breath and let it out. "Right. But in the meantime..." He reached for the letter that had fallen out of the bag. I reached for mine.

To the new Nell:

Arthur says that the MPs will be here soon, so I'll have to write this quickly. If I'd known what he was capable of, I would have just slept with the bastard.

Your new name is Penelope Lincoln, but everyone calls you Nell or Nelly. I played volleyball and lacrosse in college and volleyball as a pro for a little while, at least until I messed up my ankle. You can find all that on the internet. I'm working as an on-air personality for CalSports right now, doing play-by-play and postgame interviews during San Francisco Dragons lacrosse games. If I understand correctly, you should get this before the opener on June 2nd; I don't know how long George (that's my boss, George Wilder) will believe I'm too sick to travel otherwise, especially without some sort of insurance claim filed. I also do some speaking engagements.

Anyway, I was at this place because I didn't sleep with a drunk member of the Raiders public relations department a few months ago. He apologized by giving this reservation he wouldn't be able to use to my agent R.J. (as you might guess from the bags being in the same room, he was more than that). It was at a good time, between the NLL and MLL seasons, so we took it. From what I got out of him on the phone, Arthur thought you might be more agreeable.

I probably shouldn't refer to him as Arthur; he says he was originally this Jeremy Boyd person I've become, until someone reminded him that he'd be considered AWOL for six months as soon as Jeremy reappeared. Hopefully I'll be able to work something out that doesn't involve ten months in the stockade. That doesn't look too likely, though.

Enjoy my life. I think it's a pretty good one, and I hope you and the new R.J. make as good a team as we did. Maybe when I get out of the stockade, we can compare notes.

- The Old Nell

Drew said his letter told a similar story - R.J. has actually become Stephen, the guy who wound up with Jake/Ashlyn's life, after being pulled in by "Arthur Milligan". I must say that it's just fantastic to see what that bastard is doing with my good name.

We've spent that last four hours doing internet research on our new lives. I don't think we know nearly enough to drop into Nell and R.J.'s lives seamlessly, but it'll do.

Now someone's screaming. Time to go act like we know what's going on.

-Art

Arthur: Girls' Day Out

I know we're not at the Trading Post on vacation, per se, but we're still at an Inn on the beach with nothing productive to do. In some ways, it's maddening for the four of us who know what's coming; we just want to go home, and it keeps us from appreciating the fact that, again, we're in a nice spot on the beach with no demands on our time.

Of course, this would be a little easier to appreciate if the sun would come out. Both times we've been up here, it's been overcast even when it isn't actually raining. Since we're just missing the official kick-off to the tourist season - we'll be out of here just before Memorial Day weekend - there's a lot of sitting around and feeling sorry for ourselves going on.

And that's not good. Drew, Jeff and I were sitting in Drew's room, watching the morning edition of SportsCenter, when I decided enough was enoug. "Come on," I said, "let's catch the train up to Portland and do something. Do some shopping, see a movie, look around a little. I hear it's a cool little city."

"I'd like to," Drew said, "but I've got a date. Or, rather, 'Daphne' does." I must have been giving him the same look that Jeff was, because he got a little defensive. "Hey, it's not like that. I was at the Beerfest yesterday, while you two were calling... Uh, anyway, I was over on the pier when this good-looking guy about Daphne's age called out her name. I didn't recognize him, but apparently they met and hit it off last summer, only to have her disappear when... You know. So I vamped my way through the afternoon, called Daph in Vermont, got treated to the strange sound of a James Earl Jones-sounding guy doing the 'like, oh my god, he remembered me? He's so cute!' thing... So I'm setting things up for her."

I was impressed. "That's nice of you."

"Well, I don't know if it'll go anywhere, but she deserves it, right? I know first-hand that her time to meet people was limited, all the hours we had her working. But you guys have a good time."

Jeff had nothing else to do, so at quarter to twelve we got on the train for the fifteen minute ride up to Portland, then take the city bus downtown. It stops right outside a public market, a few steps away from a pretty cool downtown village.

"Village" to me, "big city" to Jeff. Not that it looked like New York or Tokyo to him, but his life has been in a small town and his time as Brianna was spent in the suburbs. I wonder what his reaction would have been had he landed in Boston or someplace bigger. He realized he was gaping, though, and closed his mouth. "So, what are we going to do first?"

"Some shopping, I think. It's going to get nicer this week, and we're going to want some swimsuits when it does."

"What? Are you kidding me? After everything I told you..."

"Yeah. Here's the thing." I found a bench and sat him down. "We've kind of got to find some way to get some good memories out of this."

"Why? We're better off just putting it behind us."

"Well, I don't have that option."

Jeff blushed. "I'm sorry; I know that. But why shouldn't I?"

"Do you think you'll really be able to? I mean, is this the kind of thing you forget?

"See, here's the thing, Jeff. I don't want to think, every time I look at a pretty girl, that underneath it her life actually sucks. That she's stuck in some situation she can't get out of, or that when she has sex it's just a matter of obligation. Do you want to look at every girl you meet and imagine their lives being just like Brianna's?"

"Hell, no."

"Exactly. So let's try to have fun until we change. Now, let's see what's in this "Old Port" the tourist guides are talking about..."

We poked around a little, checking out some little shops. The teenager working in the kite store was kind of into "Brianna", and Jeff awkwardly flirted with him for a few minutes. I don't know how much it helped, but he said it did feel kind of good, just in terms of being a reminder that sometimes guys just like talking to pretty girls without wanting something from them. We did buy swimsuits, too, although by then it was raining pretty good.

We finished our afternoon out with seafood that had probably just been hauled out of the ocean that day. Jeff actually giggled as he watched me eat mine. "I'll bet Ray would be jealous if he saw how muh you were enjoying that."

"Heh. I'm just thinking... We don't get a lot of swordfish out on the west coast, or it's really expensive. I'll miss that, at least."

"So you are going to change? I know you mentioned maybe sitting it out if it looked like there would be 14 people in the Inn one night."

"Yeah... I mean, as shitty a thing as this is for Jeremy to do to me - and he's almost certainly involved somehow; it's just too much of coincidence that both those bags have San Francisco addresses - that doesn't give me the right to act shitty toward Liz. She wants and deserves her family and life back, and I've got a pretty weak claim on it."

"Well, at least you'll be going home. Should make it easier to hunt him down and get some sort of answer."

"Yeah. There is that. Not to mention following the A's is a pain in the ass when their games don't start until 10 o'clock at night."

"Glad to see you've got things in perspective. So... have you read your letter yet?"

"No... I mean, there's two names, and the stuff in those letters is pretty personal. I wouldn't want to read one not intended for me."

"I guess." He looked at the clock. "Almost six o'clock. We should probably be getting back to the station; it would suck to miss the last train and be stuck here overnight if this is the night..."

So we did, and caught back up with Drew. He filled us in on his afternoon, saying it was a real bummer for him.... He's sure that the office is going to lose Daphne for sure; this guy adores her and seems like a good guy. Then he demanded we show him the swimwear. Only, we insisted, if he did the same. He agreed so fast that we probably should have asked for more.

I've got to say... We all look pretty good. I don't know if it'll be quite nice enough to spend today laying on the beach, but tomorrow looks like it could be... If we're still girls, that is.

-Art

Arthur: Well, I guess we learned something today.

The day started amusingly enough, with Drew trying to talk Jeff into wearing a bikini.

"Are you kidding me?" The three of us were at a local spot, happily doing the "calories be damned" thing, and Jeff almost ruined it by nearly spitting his grapefruit juice all over my omelet.

"No. Why? Those baggy clothes don't do that great a job of hiding what a great bod you inherited from Brianna. You should get some use out of it. Let some guy come up and treat you to something. Observe how tongue-tied they get around you, see what feels good. Know what the girl is thinking when you're back looking at them from the outside."

"That's sick."

"What's so sick about it? It's still your body, just rearranged, right? You were the one who was awake when we changed last year and told us it wasn't like your soul was pulled out and deposited somewhere else. You're a woman for the time being--"

"I'm a girl. Not a woman, a girl. Brianna just had her sixteenth birthday last June. She's younger than my sister. Are you certain you want to keep going on about how hot a high-school sophomore looks?"

Drew paused, and extended it by taking a sip of his coffee. "Maybe I shouldn't. But you're only, what, two or three years older than her? If you saw her lying on the beach in a bikini, would you think it was sick?"

"If I knew what I know, yeah."

"What's that?"

"That these tits you think are so awesome? They're fake. They were a birthday present from Brianna's parents." I stopped eating, but Jeff kept going. "That's why Brianna was spending the summer away from home - so that her friends wouldn't realize this wasn't anything but a growth spurt."

The table got very quiet. It took a while before I decided to break the silence. "That," I said, "is fucked up." Drew agreed. "I thought having to work for a complete simpleton who everyone thought was me was bad, but, that..."

"Yeah, it sucked. I mean, I put up more of a fight than Brianna did - there's a guy paying for a bunch of expensive dental work who can attest to that - but... Well, remember how I said I'm not letting anyone go back there? That's why."

"Damn." Drew used his fork to push some scrambled eggs around his plate, but didn't pick any of it up. "Look, Jeff - you live in Michigan, right? And so does Brianna?"

"Uh-huh."

Drew put his purse on the table and started rooting through it. "Here's my card. After we're all changed back, I want you to to make sure whoever winds up as Brianna gets it. I don't practice family law, but I have an old law-school buddy who does. If the new Brianna was an adult before the change, we'll make sure she's legally emancipated. If not, we'll find a way to have your father appointed her legal guardian."

Jeff took the card "Thanks. I... I don't know what to say."

"Don't worry about it. It's a fair price for a little perspective."

It got quiet again, so I decided to lighten the mood a little. "So, you kept your old business cards?"

"Ha! No, not quite... I was working as my own assistant, and when 'Mr. Dawson' wanted more, I tacked an extra box onto the order. It's amazing how much security you can get out of a simple piece of paper with your real name on it."

"I wish I'd had some of those. When even my own sister was calling me Bree... Well, you know I freaked out. When I finally shook it off, I was just going to book a room here and hope for the best."

"Ah, I didn't have that problem. Me and 'Mr. Dawson' were able to come to an arrangement pretty quick." He put down some money to cover the bill and stood. "And with that, I am out of here. I am going to enjoy the beach even if you two aren't."

Jeff and I ate for a bit longer, but soon started heading back to the Inn. I was still a little surprised by some of what Jeff had said.

"You really would have just thrown the dice?"

"Yeah. It was pretty bad. Although there are some things that might be worse."

"I can't imagine."

"Well..." He looked around, making sure we could talk uninterrupted. "The person who became me? She was a seventy-year old grandmother. You'd think turning young would be great, even if you changed sex, right? But her mind was starting to go, and even if her brain turned younger just like the rest of her, I guess once the decay starts..."

"My god." The idea of living another fifty years like that, and subjecting Jeff's family to it...

"Yeah. At first, she was okay, but it got worse. It wasn't until almost the last minute that she decided that was no way to live, and that forcing her life onto someone potentially much younger than herself was even worse."

"How'd you find out all this?"

"It was in the letter."

"You've read your letter?"

We were just outside the Inn at this point. He stopped to get his key. "You haven't? Why not?"

"I don't know. I just haven't. It's... you know, it's not what we do."

"Well, why wouldn't you?"

I had no good answer for that, so we went to my room and opened the closet. I looked at the suitcases and got a sinking feeling in my gut. I hadn't thought they looked familiar, but I hadn't given it much thought. But as I knelt down to look at them, I got a sinking feeling, which threatened to become nausea as I looked at the tag on the first one. "R.J. Hobart"

Jeff scootched down next to me. "Who the hell is R.J. Hobart?"

"I don't know... But I'm going to find out!"

I pulled out my cell phone out of my purse and dialed Jeremy. It was only about seven or eight in California, so it went to voice mail, so he got a bunch of screaming voice mail about wanting to know who the fuck R.J. Hobart was and what the fuck he was doing in our fucking room. I was just hanging up when Jeff told me to ask about Nell Lincoln.

Jeremy got more profanity.

I hung up, and dropped to the bed. Jeff sat next to me and gave me a pat on the back. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know." I took a deep breath and tried to think logically. "Maybe he stayed in a different room. He said room 9 specifically..."

We knocked on doors. We only covered ten rooms, but none of them had "Arthur Milligan's" luggage. A couple people aren't here yet, and one guy just told us to buzz off.

Jeremy has yet to call back, despite repeated calls. There's only ten people in the hotel tonight, so it doesn't look like I'm going to change tonight. Which is good.

I'm not sure if I can handle another new life.

-Arthur