Sweat beaded on Saul’s forehead. Being summoned to a meeting with the executives seldom meant good news. After thirty-seven years in the business, one would think he’d be used to it, but he’d never managed to shake the sense of impending doom he felt before every meeting. His fingers closed around the small cylindrical container in his pocket and resisted the urge. Xanax would dull the panic, but he needed to remain sharp when meeting with those piranhas.
* * *
Zorn reminded him of a bullfrog on Botox. His closed mouth, thin-lipped smile stretched impossibly wide across a face much too smooth for a man his size. He overflowed his chair like Jabba the Hutt crammed into an Armani suit. Saul half expected a long tongue to zip out of his mouth and snatch up a fly.
I’m that fly, he thought with a shiver.
His partner, Tang, was no less intimidating in spite of his slight frame. His hollow cheekbones and gaunt jawline displayed the lines of his skull beneath his taut grey skin. His dark eyes spoke no compassion, only cruelty.
“First of all,” Zorn began, “We’d like to congratulate you on the best rated season in history. You’ve really outdone yourself with this new leading man you’ve cast. Half the viewers love him, and half the viewers despise him, but nobody can stop watching him. He’s caused riots, violence between viewers and even some deaths. It has been…” Zorn paused to wet his lips and Saul shuddered. “Utterly delicious,” he finished. Tang nodded in agreement.
“Th-thank you,” Saul stammered.
Zorn silenced him with a wave of his pudgy hand. “Save it. I wasn’t finished.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched, testing the seams of his already-stressed jacket. “That said, we will not be renewing the show when the last season finishes.”
“What? Why? I don’t understand. You just said this was the most exciting season in history!”
“Exactly. The show has reached a plateau. It has nowhere to go but down from here. We are currently in negotiations to launch a new reality show elsewhere with a new cast. We are considering that Russian actor for the lead role.”
“The one from my show? But he’s practically an extra! The only thing that even put him on the map was his relationship with our leading man. The one I cast personally. My guy is a star. He’s the reason the show is number one worldwide.”
“We aren’t disputing that fact, Mr. Levinstein. You brought us a winner when you cast him, and believe me, we had our doubts in his abilities. His acting is dreadful and he’s come dangerously close to revealing our secret on numerous occasions with all his rambling about ratings. He really needs to watch his tongue. You are aware, of course, what will happen if viewers learn our show isn’t real.”
Tang’s eyes sparkled like chips of obsidian and the corners of his mouth twitched with a hint of a smile at his partner’s implication.
Saul stared at his shoes. If the viewing public discovered their secret, the only option was immediate cancellation. Not of just the show, but everything. Every damn thing.
“I understand, sir,” Saul said. “I promise I will have a word with him. There will be no more slips of the tongue.”
“No, there will not be. The next will be his last.”
“What if I promise you someone even better next time? Would you renew us for another eight seasons?” Saul knew he was grasping at straws, but straws were all he had left to salvage his career… his very life.
“Of course. But we know for a fact that you can’t. You will never find a candidate to top the one currently in office. In fact, we’re willing to bet on it “
“Then place your bets. I will deliver to you the most dysfunctional presidential candidate the world has ever seen. The current star will look ordinary by comparison. If not, then I will retire from the reality show business forever and you can take the show in a new direction with the cast of your choice. Do we have a wager, gentlemen?”
“I do enjoy a gamble, Mr. Levinstein,” Tang said, “Even one I am confident I will win. What say you, Mr. Zorn?”
Zorn nodded. “It’s a bet. Eight new seasons against your directing career. But if you lose,” he waggled a bulbous finger in Saul’s direction, “You will retire not only from the reality show business, but show business altogether. You will never direct anything again. Not movies, not game shows, not even fucking traffic! Got it?”
“Got it.” Saul knew the consequences of disobedience. But he’d had a long and prosperous career. It was worth the risk if he could make this last shot count, and he had a plan.
* * *
After Saul left the boardroom, Tang scratched his chin, loosening the taut skin before sliding his face over the back of his head. Zorn followed suit, removing his human mask to reveal the reptilian head beneath.
Zorn stretched his jaw. “Damn, these things make me sweat. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to them.”
Tang regarded his partner, translucent eyelids blinking sideways over vertical pupils. “The Russian, Zorn? Where the hell did you come up with that one? We both know the guy is only an extra, and will never be more than that.”
“I have no intention of using him. But we’re only halfway through our biggest eight season run in history and it wouldn’t do for our star director to panic and blow the whistle on the whole operation. We can’t change directors halfway through without risking ratings. He has chemistry with the leading man, and lord knows that guy needs someone who can rein him in.”
“And when he loses the bet, then what?”
“We cancel and move location. I already have scouts on several possible planets. We’ll observe while this show runs its course and choose the one with the most unstable population.”
“Who do you think he’ll come up with?” Tang asked.
“I’m thinking he’s got nothing. But I’m curious to see how it plays out. Maybe our friend Saul will surprise us.”
“Do you think this planet would even survive another eight seasons?”
“Not likely. We’ve depleted this rock. When we vaporize it we’ll be doing it a kindness.”
“Not that it matters. He will never find anyone to top our current leading man.”
* * *
Walking to his car, Saul pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and placed a call.
“Saul Levinstein, Central Casting here. I have the opportunity of a lifetime for one of your guys. Who do you have currently on death row?”
After more than two years of development and procrastination, WPaD’s next anthology, the Tinfoil Tribune, has reached the final stages of publication. An anthology in the form of a parodical tabloid is something we have never before attempted, hence the extended production time. At this time, I still have a mountain of work remaining in formatting and adding the final polish once our brilliant artist, Jason Kemp of Tenkara Studios, has worked his magic. It’s a tabloid themed collection of stories inspired by esteemed publications such as the Weekly World News, complete with hilarious faux advertisements and other items inserted in between the stories. Our writers have truly outdone themselves, with a plethora of outrageous tales featuring everything from Bigfoot to conspiracy theories and everything in between. There’s more, but I’ve already said too much. We’ll have to wait for the book, which is scheduled for release this summer.
In the meantime, I’ll share one of my contributions:
THE FALL OF MAN
When it all began, nobody could possibly have known that a porn star would change the world forever.
They didn’t want the technology to fall into the wrong hands. The wrong hands, of course, being mostly of the male persuasion. It was a stroke of luck that the scientist who made the discovery happened to be a woman. The scientist in question was one Dr. Beatrice Seadie, or Bea, as she preferred to be called.
Bea began her career with the most altruistic of motives. Like many scientists, she sought to change the world for the better, but she had little vision of what that would entail. Fresh out of university and employed by a government-controlled research firm, she obediently followed instructions and shared findings with her superiors.
Until one day, she stumbled upon something outstanding while working on an unrelated project. She chose that day to distance herself from her employer. The government wanted to develop teleportation, which was frightening enough when one considered the possible uses for the technology.
But that was nothing.
Teleportation was small potatoes compared to what Bea found. And she would not let it fall into the hands of the powerful men who controlled the world.
The teleporter was for the most part, a failure. Bea managed to disassemble simple inanimate objects at a molecular level and then reassemble them in an alternate location. But it only worked with solid objects with a basic chemical composition: minerals, metals, and the like. Anything with moving parts, or synthetics such as plastic, failed to teleport.
The first trials with live subjects yielded unusual results. The test subject, a mouse, did not teleport. At first, it seemed unchanged by the process. After a few days of observation, it became clear that the mouse was dying. It would not eat or drink. It sat in its cage, unmoving. The lights were on, so to speak, but nobody was home. The mouse died of dehydration eight days later.
Bea didn’t yet know what she had discovered, but she did know that she no longer wanted to work for her current employer.
* * *
Inspired by the mouse, Bea took her work in a different direction in the privacy of her basement laboratory. She strove to accomplish what medical science and hypnosis had tried and failed to. Her work focused on the elimination of unwanted components of the subject’s personality: addictions, phobias, compulsions. If the attempt at teleportation had removed whatever consciousness resided in a little mouse brain, what if the process could be refined to only remove select parts? She continued her work, one painstaking step at a time, and five years later, she was ready for human trials.
Volunteers were easy to find; there was always someone in need of a few dollars. Certainly some might have condemned the ethics of her use of homeless addicts for experimentation, but from a scientific standpoint, it was a necessary evil. The first attempts failed. The subjects ended up like the mouse. Just a blank slate. Although they never used drugs again, which could be considered a success.
The solution came to her following a heavy rainstorm. She took a break from the lab to relieve frustration with some mundane yard work. The sidewalk near her front porch drained poorly, always leaving a puddle at the base of the stairs. She swept the water furiously to keep it from leaking into the foundation, but it kept running back down into the low spot and re-forming the puddle. No matter how many times she swept it away, some ran back. The water needed someplace else to drain, and the empty spot needed to be filled.
Drain and fill.
Holy shit! That was it!
The next trial involved two subjects. One a heroin addict, and one a smoker, both of whom desired to kick their habits. After the trial, both subjects still had their minds intact. The addict no longer craved heroin. The smoker, sadly, was in for a nasty bout of detox. The silver lining was, he no longer craved cigarettes. And of course, each was in the other’s body.
Bea had discovered a way to transport a person’s mind into another body. Everything that made the individual who they were – the soul, as it were – could be removed from one body and placed into another body of their (or Bea’s) choice.
The next step was to find out if the process was reversible, and what, if any, side-effects there were. After numerous trials, it appeared reversal did indeed work, and none of the subjects suffered any ill effects.
However, Bea made some interesting observations in her continuing work with addicts. She kept contact with the subjects to see how they adjusted to their new lives. In more than eighty percent of all addict swaps, the addicts relapsed to their habits. Their physically addicted bodies healed under the care of their new owners; relapse rate for the bodies was nearly zero. The only exceptions were in two cases in which the new owner of the addict’s body had a past history of drug abuse. But, the minds of the addicts, free from addiction in new bodies, appeared unsatisfied with sober life and began using again, some almost immediately. The only ones who remained sober were those truly committed to freeing themselves from addiction. It reinforced what Bea had always suspected; that addiction ran much deeper than mere physical dependency. She wished she could share her findings with someone who was in the business of studying addiction, but of course that was impossible to do without revealing her secret.
She decided to shelve her work with addicts and proceed in a different direction. A pair of willing participants, it seemed, was the key to success. She had the proverbial billion-dollar idea. The question was, what to do with it? The possibilities were limitless. She considered selling it to the highest bidder, but shuddered at the thought of who would be bidding on it. No, it was best to keep the technology safe from the many evil people who had access to large sums of money; to keep it a well-guarded secret. But how to use it? And with whom could she share it?
A close friend provided the answer. Andy was a childhood friend, whom Bea trusted implicitly. Andy, whose full name was Andrea, also happened to be transgender. Andy had opted to live her life in the body in which she was born, in spite of how wrong it felt. Her career as a schoolteacher would suffer and her deeply religious parents would disown her if she were to live as a male. Andy was miserable living a lie, but put on a brave face for the sake of everyone else. Bea’s heart ached for her friend, but it was Andy’s decision to make. Andy was the first person Bea told of her discovery. Her friend was skeptical at first, but after watching the videos from previous trials and observing some swaps first-hand, Andy was convinced. The body-swap with a male was Andy’s idea.
“Are you crazy?” Bea said.
“You have faith that it works?” Andy said.
“Absolutely,” Bea said. “I know that it works, with no adverse effects, based on my trials and what you yourself have seen. But do you have any idea what you’re asking? Do you understand what it would involve? Your family, your career. All of those things belong to this body, to Andrea. If you switch into someone else’s body, all those things become hers – his. And whatever life he had, will become yours.”
“It just so happens, I have the perfect candidate,” Andy said.
As it turned out, Andy had a cousin who had the same problem. Ralph desired to be a woman, and was one of the few people who knew Andy’s secret. It was a bonus that they shared the same genetics, the same family, and even the same profession. Ralph was also a teacher. Andy approached Ralph with the proposal and of course Ralph was skeptical, until shown irrefutable proof that what they were offering was the real deal. After that, he was all in.
Andy and Ralph were the first of many success stories. No one in their family was the wiser, and they were nearby to coach each other on the finer details of their lives.
With Andy and Ralph’s assistance, Bea found more transgender candidates wanting to swap bodies and lives. They did their best to match each male and female pair according to common interests, careers, and location, but for some it was enough to have the body they wanted. Starting a new life in a new place appealed to them.
Bea had to admit, it felt good to help people in a way no one else could. But it wasn’t what she had intended. Certainly there would be plenty of people interested in swapping for different reasons: a whiter skin; a better financial situation, but finding a willing partner to swap wasn’t likely, since wealthy white folks didn’t tend to want to trade their lives.
She couldn’t help but feel that her work was meant for something else. Something bigger.
* * *
The young woman seated across from her oozed sex appeal in spite of, or perhaps because of, her conservative attire. She might have been a librarian, or perhaps a teacher, if said teacher’s specialty was punishing naughty men. As it turned out, Bea’s first impression of the woman wasn’t far from the mark.
“How did you hear about me and my alleged work?” Bea asked. “And I say alleged, because I am not confirming that said work even exists. It sounds preposterous, if you ask me.”
The woman tucked a stray wisp of blonde hair back into her messy bun and peered at Bea over the rims of her glasses. Her ample bust strained against the buttons of her blouse.
“Really? You’re going to give me that song and dance? Fair enough. I have friends in plenty of, shall we say, ‘underground’ circles. That, and of course there are the rumors circulating around the Internet. You know, it’s only a matter of time before the wrong people find out about this.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Of course not. Just a word of caution. I happen to know of some very powerful men who could do a lot of damage with your ‘alleged’ technology. I am here to hopefully help you prevent that from happening.”
“Go on. I’m listening.”
“My name is Leslie Ann Goolio. You might know me by my professional name, Brandi Buxton.”
Bea paused to think a moment. She had heard that name before, but where? And then it dawned on her. “You’re THE Brandi Buxton? From…”
“Correct. I am Brandi Buxton, star of more than six hundred adult films.”
Bea wasn’t a connoisseur of pornography, but one didn’t have to be to know who Brandi was. She had made headlines back in the nineties, when she celebrated her eighteenth birthday. That in itself wasn’t scandalous, but the fact that she was already a well-established name in adult entertainment with four years worth of films to her credit. She had starred in her first pornographic film at age fourteen.
Brandi explained to Bea that she had saved a large portion of her porn money to spend on education. She had attended night school while making movies during the day. She had a law degree and a Masters in economics. But she wanted credentials from a prestigious university like Harvard, and there was no way, no matter how smart or wealthy she was, that she could get into an ivy league school with her background. She wanted to swap into the body of a man who already had those credentials. She already had the knowledge, just not the credibility.
Brandi had the ideal candidate: J. Bartholomew Sutton II, the son of a prominent Boston judge by the same name. With a Harvard law degree and all the right connections, the younger Sutton was on the fast track to a career in law, government, or maybe even the presidency. But Bart had no interest in politics or any of the other high society snobbery that was his life. He was interested in fashion and art, and sex with men. He dreamed of being a woman, but the closest he could come to that dream was cross-dressing in private and role-playing with prostitutes. A mutual friend introduced him to Brandi. When she offered to swap her body with him, he salivated at the idea. The prospect of being an adult film star excited him, and he was willing to pay any price for the opportunity.
Bart set up a research foundation in Bea’s name and padded it with a generous donation to further her work, and then joyously stepped into Brandi’s life in Los Angeles. Brandi began a new life in Boston as Bart. For Brandi, sexuality had always been fluid: a by-product of the adult film industry, or perhaps what had attracted her to porn to begin with. She was comfortable in any skin, be it female or male. She adapted easily to her new role, and with the help of Bart’s father, landed a job in a prestigious law firm.
* * *
Bea expected to see great things from Brandi, but didn’t expect to see her in person again quite so soon. A couple of years after the swap, Brandi, aka Bart, arrived at Bea’s house, accompanied by a stunning young woman.
“So nice to see you again, Bart.” Bea smiled at Bart’s guest and led the pair into her office. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything? Coffee?” Bart and the woman shook their heads.
“I’m afraid this isn’t a social call,” Bart said. He nodded toward his companion. “My friend here is in some trouble, and I think your ‘special service’ might be the best solution.”
“Go on.”
“This is Michelle. She is…was… engaged to a friend of mine. You know…” Bart gave Bea a knowing wink. “Old school pals since childhood, attended Harvard together.”
“Was?”
Tears trickled down Michelle’s cheeks. “Tommy was my soul mate. He was my everything. And now he’s…he’s…” her voice hitched. “I don’t know what we’re doing here, Bart. What’s the point? Nothing will bring Tommy back.”
Bart placed a reassuring hand on the woman’s arm. “No, but maybe there’s a chance to save your life, and get some justice for Tommy.”
“From what I gather, this Tommy fellow is dead,” Bea said. “I’m so sorry for your loss. How can I help?”
“I was a resident at Mass General when I met Tommy,” Michelle began, “He came into the ER one night during my shift with a broken ankle. A drunken stunt gone wrong. He tried to leap down an entire flight of stairs on a dare from his buddies. His friends dumped him off at the ER entrance and fled to avoid a DUI. I kept him company for a while since he was alone, and offered to call his family to pick him up. He begged me not to call his parents. He said his father was very ill – stage 4 cancer – and he didn’t want his mother to see him in that condition. She was already overwhelmed, and her health was fragile. He was an adult, so I didn’t push the issue. I offered to give him a ride after my shift. I took him for coffee, then let him sleep it off on my couch. I know, I know… it was a risk bringing home a strange guy, not to mention professionally unethical, but we just hit it off. I wanted to meet the sober version of him to see if he was still just as sweet as the drunk version. Turned out he was even sweeter, and I fell hard.
We’d been dating for nearly two years before he finally introduced me to his family. I was a bit bothered but hey, I got it. With his father’s death and all…you know. Anyway, he invited me to dinner at their house, and I swore he enjoyed the way his brother and sister’s jaws dropped at the sight of me. But they were all very nice and polite, and his mother especially went out of her way to make me feel welcome.
A few months ago he popped the question, and of course I said yes. Tommy announced our engagement at one of his family’s high-society parties. Everyone congratulated us. His mother gushed about ‘another doctor in the family’.
It was late, after the party. Everyone had gone to bed, or so I thought. Tommy was snoring away with a few drinks under his belt. I couldn’t sleep, so I went down to the kitchen to find some chamomile tea. It was there that I ran into Tommy’s brother Kenneth. He invited me to join him for a drink in the parlor. Said he wanted to talk to me. All I really wanted was to go to bed, but I also wanted to make a good impression on Tommy’s family. I wanted them to like me. I was so stupid to think a bunch of rich white assholes would ever accept me into their family.” Michelle paused, her face in her hands. She sniffled and wiped her eyes before continuing.
“I made the cup of tea and then went into the other room, where Kenneth waited. He had already poured two glasses of brandy. I didn’t want the drink, but didn’t want to be rude, so I took it and drank it. He poured another one before I could refuse. He told me how much he loved his brother, how he would do anything for him. He wanted Tommy to be happy, but he also needed to look out for him, to make sure he didn’t screw up his life. I didn’t like the direction the conversation was going, but I tried to be polite.
And then he said, ‘How much?’
I felt confused. I didn’t understand the question. I said, ‘Pardon me?’
He said, ‘How much will it take for you to walk away?’ He pulled a checkbook out of his jacket. ‘Name your price. What will it take for my family to be rid of you? To save us the embarrassment of a wedding that would never happen if my father was still alive. Our father never would have let Tommy marry a nigger!’
I needed to leave. All I could think of was getting away from that horrible man, getting back to Tommy, but when I stood up, my knees buckled and my head swam, and that was when I realized I had been drugged. I slumped back onto the couch and fought to keep my eyes open.
Kenneth stood over me. His face was twisted with the kind of hate that told me everything I needed to know about the man.
He climbed on top of me and put his hands around my throat. I tried to scream, but he squeezed it off and I felt myself losing consciousness. He forced himself between my legs and pulled up my nightgown. I fought him, but my arms felt limp and weak. And then I heard a click and felt the cold steel of a gun barrel pressed against my cheek.
He said, ‘At least I’m gonna find out what my brother sees in you. Only thing you’re good for.’
He raped me.
When he climaxed, I took advantage of those few seconds of vulnerability and mustered all the strength I had, and snatched the gun out of his hand. I figured I if I was going to die I might as well go down fighting. At that moment someone tackled him and pulled him off of me. The gun went off.
The next thing I heard was a scream. Their sister Meredith had heard the gunshot and come running. She started screaming at me, ‘What have you done? What have you done to my brother?’
I thought, ‘Oh my god, I shot Kenneth!’
And then she turned to Kenneth, who stood in front of us, very much alive, and she said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll back you up. I saw it all. The fucking whore shot Tommy in front of both of us! That ghetto-rat is gonna fry, we’ll make sure of it.’ And then I couldn’t believe my ears when that little teenage bitch said, ‘It’s better this way anyways. Now we only have to split the money two ways when the old bat croaks.’
I was so confused. I hadn’t shot anyone. Kenneth was fine. What the hell was she talking about? I needed Tommy. He would be able to clear things up. I felt weak and wobbly, but tried to stand to go upstairs to wake up Tommy, and that was when I saw the body on the floor.
It was him. My Tommy was lying there in a pool of blood and that was when I realized the gun was still in my hand. He had woken and come looking for me and seen what his brother was doing. He died trying to save me.”
Michelle sobbed into her hands and Bart embraced her. Bea placed a box of tissues nearby and waited for her to continue.
“The rest was mostly a blur. Someone must have called the police, because I woke up on a cold, hard cot in a jail cell. I don’t know how long I slept. I just remember crying and crying, drifting in and out for days. I couldn’t eat. Eventually I managed to drink some water, but nobody came to check on me. No doctor came to check on my physical or mental state. No rape kit was done, even though I knew what the proper procedure should have been. I mean, I’m a physician, and I’ve done countless examinations of assault victims. But I was in no state of mind to ask for help, and none was offered. I didn’t care about anything. All I knew was that Tommy was dead and I had no reason to live.
Finally after, I don’t know how many days, they told me my lawyer was there to see me. Which was odd, because I didn’t have a lawyer. I hadn’t thought to ask for one. They led me into the little room and to my surprise, there was Tommy’s best friend Bart sitting at the table. He had heard about what happened and had volunteered to defend me. I don’t know why. Bart should hate me like everyone else does. But he didn’t believe them. He wanted to hear my side of it. It’s weird, because we haven’t known each other very long, but I’ve always felt like I could tell Bart anything. He was different from all of Tommy’s friends. Different from Tommy, even.”
Michelle cast a tearful glance in Bart’s direction. Bart reached over and squeezed her arm, encouraging her to continue.
“Bart paid my bail and got me out that day. I have been charged with second-degree murder. I pled not guilty, but there’s a good chance I will lose the trial, even with Bart as my lawyer. Kenneth and Meredith are going to testify. They’ve told everyone that they witnessed me shooting Tommy in cold blood because he caught me cheating with Kenneth. They’re making me out to be some kind of gold digger. Kenneth has told the press that he won’t rest until I’m rotting behind bars. It’s pretty much guaranteed I’ll be going to jail. Even if I don’t, my career is over. My life is over.”
“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Bea said, “What are you going to do?”
“Oh, that part is simple. I’m going to kill myself.”
“That may not be necessary,” Bart said. “Will you excuse us for a moment, Michelle? I need to have a word with Bea in private.”
Bea retrieved a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and handed it to Michelle. “We won’t be long. Promise me there will be no suicide until we return.” Bea winked at her. Michelle nodded and gave her a tearful smile.
The two left the office and sat at the kitchen table.
“I know what you’re going to ask, Bart,” Bea said, “And while I agree with you that this woman has every reason to want to escape her life, where would we find a volunteer to take her place? Nobody is going to want to enter a body that is headed for jail. It wouldn’t be fair to do that to someone.”
“I think the most fitting candidate would be the rapist himself.”
“Bart, are you insane? We’ve never done an involuntary before. We don’t even know what could happen!”
“There’s one way to find out. The one who matters is voluntary. Do we really care what happens to the other subject? He’ll never be punished for what he did. How many other women is he going to victimize? You know as well as I do that guys like this don’t just do it once. How many has he already hurt? She is suicidal, Bea. I have no doubt that she is going to off herself. Even if by some miracle she wins the trial, and trust me, she won’t. She is a woman of color up against filthy rich white liars. The truth isn’t going to mean shit at that trial. Bea, this is huge! This is what your work can do! You have the ability to save an innocent life, and punish the one who destroyed it.”
“But you’re talking about kidnapping!”
Bart waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll take care of everything. I have a few people who owe me some favors. All you need to do is work your magic when I get him here. In the meantime, is it all right if Michelle stays with you? It’s been a constant battle hiding her from the press, and given that I’m her attorney who is about to drop her as a client, I’m not exactly incognito.”
“Of course, she’s more than welcome. I have plenty of room here. As long as she promises no suicide on the premises.”
* * *
As promised, Bart produced Kenneth in the dark of night, bound and blindfolded in the back of a panel van. After the swap, a drugged and very confused Kenneth awoke in a public park. When the situation became clear, hysteria ensued, and he (now she) was arrested and placed in a psychiatric facility for her own protection. Michelle had apparently had a psychotic break, they said. Why else would she be ranting about being a man trapped in a woman’s body and claiming to be the brother of her alleged victim?
Bart contacted his law firm to let them know he would no longer be representing Ms Collins, and that he was revoking the bail he had posted for her because she had violated the terms of her recognizance by leaving the city.
The date of the trial arrived. On Bart’s instruction, Michelle had liquidated all of her assets before the swap and donated the funds to Bea’s research foundation. She wouldn’t need the money, since Kenneth had plenty. The body in which Kenneth was trapped had not a penny to its name. The public defender assigned to the case tried to push for an insanity plea, but the defendant refused and continued to maintain her innocence.
The jury’s decision was unanimous: Guilty. In Michelle’s body, Kenneth was sentenced to fifteen years in prison. Had he been tried as a wealthy white man, he might have gotten off with time served and probation, but as a penniless black woman, he received no mercy from the court. As an added surprise, it turned out Michelle was pregnant by her rapist. Kenneth got to experience the miracle of childbirth firsthand from behind bars. The baby boy, to whom Kenneth was now both mother and father, was placed into foster care to await adoption.
Michelle visited the prison once. It was surreal, seeing herself behind the glass partition, dressed in orange. However, she had never seen herself behave the way the woman on the other side of the glass did: ranting, screaming obscenities, beating on the glass until the guards came and removed her. They didn’t even have a chance to pick up the phone and talk before the visit was over.
Michelle had one small piece of unfinished business. She enlisted the help of Bart and Bea once more. Another generous donation to Bea; another unwilling subject delivered in the dark of night.
* * *
Vernon Plotz was admitted to hospital vomiting blood and complaining of severe abdominal pain. Being homeless, he hadn’t consulted a doctor even though he had been in pain for years. He used heroin to dull the pain, but eventually even the heroin didn’t help. Doctors found a tumor the size of a football growing inside his abdomen and the cancer had spread throughout his body. It was untreatable. The doctor discharged him with three months to live and a prescription for morphine, but didn’t suggest he quit heroin. Outside the hospital, a finely dressed young man caught up with him and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. He agreed to swap bodies with the man in exchange for ten thousand dollars. Clearly the man was insane, but ten grand would keep Vern nice and high until either the dope or the cancer killed him off.
What a surprise it was when Vern found himself inside the other guy’s body, just like he’d promised! He gazed at his reflection in awe. He was young, handsome, and cancer-free! What a sucker that guy was! That rich dumbass had just traded a Porsche for an Edsel. Well, no backsies. Vern took his cash and ran in case the idiot changed his mind.
The first thing Vern did was call his dealer and buy himself a monster-sized party to celebrate his new body and his new lease on life. The second thing he did was overdose.
Kenneth’s tragic death rocked the high-society world. Who would ever have suspected he had a drug problem? It must have been too much for him: his father’s death, his brother’s murder, the trial… Poor, brave Kenneth, they said. He had battled those demons all alone.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city, a homeless man wandered the streets screaming, ranting crazy things about being a wealthy female. He was arrested for his own safety and placed in the psychiatric wing of a hospital, where he died a week later from a combination of advanced cancer and heroin withdrawal.
* * *
“Medical school? But Meredith, you’ve always hated school!”
Meredith kissed her mother on the cheek. “Let’s just say, I’ve turned over a new leaf. I’ve been such a spoiled brat, now I want to do something meaningful with my life. I want to do something that would have made Daddy and my brothers proud.”
“I swear, I don’t even know you anymore, Meredith. It’s like you’ve grown up overnight.” Meredith’s mother dabbed at her eyes. “But they would all be so proud of you, my dear. God rest their souls. I guess I’ll have another doctor in the family after all.”
* * *
A year after Kenneth’s unfortunate death, Bart and Meredith married, uniting two of the most prominent families in Boston. They located Kenneth and Michelle’s son and adopted him. Later that year, Bart ran for Governor of Massachusetts and won. Three years later, he ran for president.
Did Michelle know Bart’s secret? Bea never asked, but as far as she knew Michelle was unaware that her husband had once been the infamous Brandi Buxton. Did it even matter? They were happy: a handsome power couple using their resources to change the world for the better.
* * *
And so it came to pass that a porn star became the first female president of the United States, unbeknownst to the citizens who had voted for (and against) her.
By the time Bart became president, most of Congress and the Senate had been replaced with women: the poor; the intelligent but downtrodden; the minorities; all disguised as wealthy white men. Over time, the left and right ran out of reasons to argue. Issues that had once sparked furious debate became civil discussions that ended in compromise. Meetings with other international leaders went smoothly; when problems arose, one might say that those individuals soon changed their way of thinking.
Women with unwanted pregnancies who were unable to face either choice were offered a third option. Men known for their outspoken conservative views – reverends, politicians, and others – were blessed with the opportunity to experience the joys of pregnancy and childbirth.
Bea embarked on a new mission to preserve brilliant minds trapped in failing bodies, beginning with an aging Supreme Court Justice the world wasn’t ready to lose yet. Bea found a healthy body for her in a suicidal young woman, broken by emotional trauma. The girl donated her body to the worthy cause and slipped away peacefully in place of the elder woman.
Bea found new hope for her technology. Perhaps the future Stephen Hawkings of the world could be saved and great minds could live on indefinitely.
On the surface it appeared nothing had changed. Men still ran the world. But as the old saying goes, behind every great man is a great woman.
DysFictional 