“Let’s get this over with,” Ernie said, and he started towards his front door. But he hesitated before leaving, realizing that he didn’t just need to look convincing if he was going out to the bar; he also needed to sound convincing. He hadn’t practiced his female voice at all. And even now, after feeding himself a few lines, he had no idea how he sounded. He used his phone to record himself talking. Then he cringed while listening to the playback. He sounded like a guy trying to sound like a girl—while doing a bad job of it.
It was getting late and Ernie was worried M. Maker was going to get frustrated soon. There were only a few hours left before the bars started closing, and Ernie knew it wouldn’t be enough time to really figure out his voice. He watched a few YouTube tutorials, and practised every different inflection he could muster. Finally, he was able to sound somewhat convincing—some loud music and drunken ears would help tremendously.
He looked at the time. It was already midnight. The bars were probably starting to empty out, and M. Maker was probably out in the bushes, watching and waiting anxiously. Ernie stepped outside, feeling the cool night breeze up his little pencil skirt. He could feel that breeze on his bum, which wasn’t well covered by the little pair of panties that he’d hesitantly put on. He tried tugging down the skirt, feeling like it was riding up and exposing his bum. But no amount of pulling made that vulnerable feeling go away. So he just started walking down towards the closest bar: a grungy place on the main highway.
CHAPTER VI
Ernie managed to reach the bar without seeing a single person within fifty feet of him. But even when he was within fifty feet of another person, his heart still started to pound. He knew it was highly unlikely that he would come into contact with someone he knew, but he was still terrified nonetheless. When he reached the door of the bar, his heart rate reached new heights. He tried to take a deep breath, but it felt like his lungs were full of cold fluid. He looked down and saw his bare, shaved legs trembling.
The bar was strangely quiet from outside—though it was a late weekday night, so there was no reason it should have been bumping. Ernie couldn’t help but wonder if there was a group of his friends inside, ready to jump out and scream, ‘Surprise!’ before laughing their asses off. Ernie still had absolutely no idea why someone was giving him money to act like a woman—he hadn’t even really thought about it because he’d been too swept up in the absurdity of it all.
But was it really worth the money? Was he really so desperate that he was risking complete humiliation? No—he wasn’t risking complete humiliation, he was subjecting himself to complete humiliation. What else could this M. Maker possibly want?
Ernie was about to turn away when the front door of the bar swung open. Two drunken men staggered out. One looked up at Ernie and Ernie froze. The man was looking right into his eyes. Ernie was waiting for a smirk to adorn his face, for a finger to go up and to hear the words, ‘Why are you dressed like a lady?’ But instead, the man reached back and stopped the door from closing. He stepped aside and said, “Ma’am.” His friend stepped aside as well. Ernie looked over at the friend for a brief second—just long enough to see that the man was checking him out, taking a good look at Ernie’s backside.
Were the guys just screwing with Ernie? Were they going to burst into laughter as soon as Ernie was through those doors? Probably… But Ernie was committed now. There was no sense in turning back now and not receiving the money from M. Maker. So Ernie went inside and took a seat at the end of the bar. He didn’t hear the men laughing outside but he had a good feeling they were losing it. He tried not to think about it.
The bartender came up. Ernie tried to hide his face as much as he could without being questionable. He looked down and to the side at his phone, as if he was sending a friend a text message. “What can I get you, miss?” the bartender asked casually.
“Just a whiskey, neat,” Ernie said in his best possible feminine voice, which he was now doubting.
“Sure thing,” the bartender said. He turned away to get the drink, and Ernie looked up to see if he was snickering. He wasn’t—he was acting totally normal. Ernie took a sly look around the room and he caught a couple of guys staring his way. But they weren’t snickering either. No one was laughing—they really thought that Ernie was just a chick who had wandered in off the streets for a drink.
The bartender returned with Ernie’s drink. He looked right into her eyes and smiled. “Just getting off work late?” he asked.
Ernie stared into those eyes and realized that it was true: the bartender really couldn’t tell that Ernie wasn’t actually a woman—or he was just doing a phenomenal job of being polite. Ernie forced a smile. “Yeah,” he said softly.
“You’re awfully dolled up for a place like this on a night like tonight,” he said. “Not saying it’s a bad thing—just letting you know that you’re probably going to get some attention from some of the regulars—not sure if that’s what you’re looking for or not.”
Ernie forced a smile. He was still fixated on the bartender’s eyes, trying to figure out if he was truly this oblivious. “I’m just here for a quick drink, and then I’m gone. In fact, I’ll grab the bill now, if I could.”
“Sure thing,” the bartender said. Ernie felt the gazes of many men tickling his body as he rose up his glass and pounded back the whole drink. And then it dawned on him that one of the men in the bar was probably M. Maker. Ernie felt a cold tingle crawl down his spine as he looked back slowly. He scanned the faces in the bar—some looking his way, some pretending to be occupied with other things—and he tried to see if he recognized any of the men. Surely this M. Maker character was someone he knew—surely Ernie was chosen at random to wear skirts and dresses and makeup.
But Ernie didn’t recognize any of the men he could see. He took a fiver out from his wallet and placed it on the bar before the bartender even returned with the bill. It was more than enough to cover the single drink. Ernie got up and started his walk home, doing his best not to make eye contact with anyone on his way out of the dimly lit bar.
He’d satisfied his challenge. He earned his $900.00 and now he could relax for a few weeks before he was strapped for cash again. A few weeks was plenty of time to find new work—though Ernie felt like he’d already looked everywhere. Nowhere was hiring. But he had to keep looking, because he had a feeling this wasn’t the end of M. Maker and his strange requests.
And would Ernie do it again? If Ernie received another strange request with another large sum of money, would he do it? Could he subject himself to more humiliation for easy money? And was it even easy money?
When Ernie got home, he stuffed his feminine disguise into a bag and placed it in the back of his closet. He thought about throwing it out, but he wasn’t sure whether or not he would need it if M. Maker sent him another paid challenge.
CHAPTER VII
Francis didn’t wear a suit often—he never had to wear a suit for work and he wasn’t invited to too many weddings. But apparently he had to wear a suit for the charity dinner, so he had his suit cleaned and pressed.
But even cleaned and pressed, he still felt uncomfortable in the thing. He’d had it custom tailored when he bought it years before, but it always felt baggy on him, as if he was a teenager wearing his father’s suit. He always had to Google ‘How to tie a tie’ whenever he wore the thing, and it always took him at least half an hour to find his dress shoes.
There were a few times while he was getting ready that the thought about skipping the dinner completely. He could call and say that he wasn’t feeling well—but who would he call? He wasn’t given any phone numbers or contact information of any kind. Though he knew he didn’t need to give anyone an excuse—it wasn’t like he was going to a work event or even something that he’d paid for. It was a charity dinner that he was signed up for—so what if he didn’t show up? Yet still, he found himself in his car, heading towards the hotel where the event was being held.
He was a bit late, so he was worr
ied that he wouldn’t find decent parking—but the parking lot was almost empty. There were only six cars in the whole lot. Francis found himself worried that he’d been given the wrong date—or maybe there was no charity event at all. Maybe the guy that came to his door was just trying to lure him out from his house so he could rob the place. Francis felt his gut turn as he tried to remember if all of his doors and windows were locked. He usually left the back door unlocked. How much could someone steal in an hour?
Francis went into the hotel. He went up to the front desk and rang the little bell. It was a minute before anyone came to see him—and Francis found himself wondering how much more someone could steal with an extra minute.
“How can I help you?” the desk attendant asked.
“I was told there was a charity event here tonight. Am I mistaken?”
“You aren’t mistaken. It’s in Boardroom 6.” Boardroom? They didn’t even rent out a ballroom or even an event space—just a boardroom? Francis once again found himself looking back towards his car in the parking lot. It wasn’t too late to head back home and pretend like he never ventured out to that hotel. But he felt bad for the charity—even though he didn’t even know what the charity was for. Was he told what the charity was for, and he’d forgotten? Or did the young man at his door fail to mention what the charity was for?
Francis walked over to Boardroom 6. There was a sign in front of the door: ‘Melville Cancer Foundation Charity Matchmaking’. Francis felt his heart plunge into his stomach. It was a matchmaking event—how pathetic. Francis had always wondered what kind of desperate person goes to a matchmaking event. It seemed so sad—like walking through that door is admitting that you are lonely and desperate and hopeless when it comes to romance.
Francis looked back down the hall and considered leaving one last time. And then he remembered the six cars in the parking lot—maybe one of them belonged to a nice young woman. Maybe he was in the lonely, pathetic, and desperate category. So he bit down on the edge of his tongue and he went into the boardroom.
He was surprised to see that there were about a dozen people in the room, though no one was mingling. Everyone was quietly sipping drinks along the walls. One larger man was helping himself to the spread of cured meats and deli cheeses. A few people in the room made eye contact with Francis, but only for a few seconds before looking away.
There were only three girls in the room. One was larger and she was wearing a black dress that was far too tight on her round body. Her nose was pressed up as if she’d done too much breastfeeding as a child. The second woman in the room freaked Francis out; she had her hair trimmed to a buzz cut and dyed lime green. She wore baggy patchwork clothes, adorned with plenty of pins and badges. On her feet were heavy army boots, which she’d probably picked up at a thrift store. Her nails were obviously painted black, and her nail polish was chipping off on all of her fingers.
The third girl in the room was strangely normal. She had long dark hair and straight-cut bangs. She was wearing a soft-looking grey sweater and a little black skirt, and she had white stockings up to her thighs. She wore dark eyeliner around her eyes, and her lips glistened with a pink lip-gloss. She was cute—to cute to be at a lonely-hearts matchmaking function. Surely she was crazy—some sort of convicted criminal or something. Though she looked gentle and sweet. She looked up at Francis and smiled shyly before looking away. She had a cute smile.
Francis’s heart pounded. He took a deep breath and headed straight for the cooler next to the food table where all the drinks were being kept. He cracked himself a beer and took a long sip, hoping it would help to calm his nerves. He looked up at the clock on the wall and tried to decide how long he was supposed to stay there for. It was probably best to stay for at least an hour… Though what was he going to do in that silent room for an hour? What about forty minutes? Could he get away with just twenty minutes? He took another sip from his beer. Then he was nudged by the large man trying to get at the salami section of the spread.
“Sorry,” Francis said, stepping aside.
“The salami is the best. You should try it,” the man said to Francis. And Francis wondered if the food was the reason the man came—or if he was also a lonely single hoping to find love. If he was a lonely single, he’d forgotten as soon as she saw that large spread.
Francis tried the salami. It was nothing special. Then he found himself looking at the clock again, trying to figure out if any time had passed since he last looked up. Maybe a minute at most…
“Excuse me,” a feminine voice said. Francis turned around and saw the cute dark-haired woman standing behind him. She was looking into his eyes and smiling with that shy smile. “I’m Rebecca,” she said as she held her hand out. “What’s your name?”
Francis cleared his throat. “Francis. Nice to meet you, Rebecca.” He knew it was his cue to say more—to introduce himself properly, or to begin a proper conversation, but he wasn’t sure what to say. He found himself at a complete loss for words. His lips parted as if he had something to say, but nothing came out.
“I really like your suit,” Rebecca said.
“Thanks. It’s—uh—it looks new but it’s not. I don’t wear it very often,” Francis said.
“Well it looks good on you,” she said. She spoke quietly and softly, as if she wasn’t terribly confident with her own voice. She seemed to have a hard time maintaining eye contact. Francis wouldn’t figure out why she was so shy—how could such a cute young woman be so nervous? Surely she knew she was adorable, right? Surely she knew she could have any many she wanted—especially any man in that lonely boardroom.
“I like your hair. It really make your eyes pop,” Francis said, and then he felt stupid for saying it. He was surprised to see her cheeks turning a shade of rose.
“Thank you,” she said.
And once again, Francis’s lips parted as if he had more to say, but no words came out. He must have looked like a complete fool, standing there with his mouth open. How was this cute young woman not running in the other direction? Sure, the other options in the room weren’t much better—there was the large hungry man, and the man who was completely frozen in the corner of the room, pushing his spectacles up every thirty seconds or so like a pimply-faced teenager at his first school dance.
“So what do you do for a living?” she asked, breaking the long, awkward silence.
Francis explained his job and Rebecca listened with that cute smile on her face. Though she looked strangely nervous the whole time, constantly looking around the room. Francis started to become more and more sociable, finally relaxing his shoulders. Maybe it was the booze or maybe he just needed a few minutes to get used to the anxious energy in the room.
Though it hadn’t just been a few minutes. When Francis finally looked up at the clock again, he realized he’d been chatting with Rebecca for over an hour. A few more people had arrived for the little mixer, but Francis hardly even noticed. Even Rebecca was starting to relax, laughing at Francis’s jokes, gently touching his arm when she spoke. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he was fairly certain that she was trying to be flirty.
“I have to work tomorrow morning,” Francis said. “But I’d love it if I could get your number.” His heart was stammering.
Rebecca was silent for a moment. Her gaze turned inward and her lips parted slightly, as if she’d just remembered some terrible news. “Uh, sure, yeah,” she said. “Are you ready?” Francis pulled out his phone and he took down her number. But he felt weird about it. She seemed hesitant. Was their little conversation not going as well as Francis thought? Was the number she gave him even her real number?
Francis was nervous. His hands wanted to tremble but he didn’t let them. He hadn’t been this nervous with a girl since he was in high school. But he liked Rebecca—he liked her a lot. She was so normal but so unique at the same time. She didn’t seem like a psychopath and she didn’t smell like she owned dozens of cats. And her legs were out of this world! Francis couldn’t stop loo
king at them, though he was trying his best so Rebecca wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.
“Well it was a pleasure meeting you,” Francis said. He smiled at her and then he took off, wondering if he would ever see her again.
CHAPTER VIII
Ernie’s stomach turned as he wiped the makeup off of his face. His heart hadn’t stopped pounding since the moment he’d left his basement suite. He still couldn’t believe he’d actually done it—he’d actually gone out, dressed as a woman, and managed to get a man to ask him out on a date. When he’d read the challenge from M. Maker, he assumed he wouldn’t be able to do it—that no man would actually find him truly convincing in conversation, never mind want to ask him on a date. But he had to try—for five grand, how could he not try?
Now, he had more money in his bank account than he’d ever had before in his life—five grand, and his rent and all his other bills were already paid up for the month. Not too shabby for a couple of hours in a hotel boardroom. Ernie was fairly sure that high-class prostitutes didn’t even get paid that kind of money for a few hours.
But now, he was terrified that the man from the hotel boardroom was actually going to call. What was Ernie supposed to say to the guy? ‘Sorry, I’m not actually a woman. I only chatted you up because some mysterious person offered me five grand to do so.’ What did M. Maker want Ernie to say to the guy? If Ernie told the guy to screw off, would affect M. Maker’s future proposals?
Ernie spent the next day casually searching through job listings. There was nothing new—just reposts of old listings, which Ernie had already applied for multiple times. He didn’t bother reapplying now. He obviously wasn’t what they were looking for, and he had more than enough money to survive frugally for a few months. Though he knew he couldn’t live off of M. Maker’s money forever. At some point he was going to need to find work. Each task from M. Maker had been exponentially more intense than the one before it: first it was just running to the street and back, then it was venturing out to the bar for a drink, then it was hitting on a man at a charity matchmaking event. What would be next? Going on an actual date with the guy? Sleeping with him? Maybe this M. Maker was just setting Ernie up for the ultimate humiliation—or worse. Maybe M. Maker was hoping to have Ernie beat up or killed. Some men—maybe even that Francis guy—would be very upset to find out they were romanced by a biological male.
GIRLIFIED: 15 BOOKS MEGA BUNDLE Page 33