by Doctor MC
I’d been pacing the sidewalk for about ten minutes when six young women got out of a car. They were in costume, of course. Leading the pack were twin blue-eyed breasty brunettes, each dressed like a vampire.
A brunette (who was dressed like Paula Sarin) asked, “Almira? Elvira? You sure this’ll work? What if we get caught?”
The vampire twin in black shook her hair. “Anybody gives us any shit, let Elvira and me handle it.”
The vampire twin in red added, “Look, the girl running this party is a stripper, so you think she’s gonna call the cops on party crashers? Anybody asks, just say you’re good friends with ‘Sunset.’ That’s her stage name.”
The black-dressed twin turned around to eye her minions. “The secret of party-crashing is never act nervous. Smile, ladies—booze and boys await.” The twins herded their minions toward the party.
Right then, I got the idea that maybe Natasha and Harold had already arrived, and had gone inside. I didn’t think so, but better to check and get rid of that possibility, rather than waste time outside when my friend Natasha was inside.
I walked up the walkway to the front door of the two-story brick house, to discover the brunette vampire twins arguing with a buxom young red-haired woman. The redhead was dressed like Jessica Rabbit.
The redhead was saying, “I don’t know any of you. So you need to turn around and leave.”
The red-dressed twin said, “But we’re not here because we’re friends of yours. We’re here ... uh, we’re here...”
The black-dressed twin pointed at me. “We’re here with him.” She turned her head to gaze into my eyes, giving me a sultry look that said Go along with this, and I promise you delights.
I said, “Rhonda, the vampires’ names are Almira and Elvira. They’re party-crashers. I heard them talking.”
The black-dressed twin glared at me, then said, “I had no idea they let faggots come to this party.”
For some reason, this made Rhonda (the redhead) throw back her head and laugh.
Ignoring the six trespassers, Rhonda turned to smile at me. “Thanks for the help, but I don’t know you either.”
I said, “I’m Marvin. I’m here with Natasha Ludmenkov and her friend, um, Helen. I’m wondering if they’re inside.”
The red-dressed brunette twin muttered, “Great. She’s throwing a party for Russian spies.”
Rhonda said, “They haven’t walked through this door in the last twenty minutes, this I’m sure of.”
Just then, an old man came hurrying across the lawn from the two-story house next door. He looked angry. He walked past Almira and Elvira and their crew, directly to Rhonda. He said, “I need to talk to you. Right now.”
As I turned around to walk toward the curb, I heard Rhonda say, “You got me, Mr. Carver. I’m listening.”
As I walked down the walkway, I heard the old man say, “Not out here, girl. I can’t hear myself think in this racket! Come talk to me in my yard, where at least I can put distance between me and the noise.”
When I got back to curbside, Natasha and Harold were just getting out of a late-model car. I took one look at Harold—excuse me, Helen—and one thought ran through my mind:
Holy shit.
****
Natasha was dressed in a tight-fitting black jumpsuit, and wore a red-haired long wig; in her hand was a black-plastic gun. Given this little bit of costume and her Russian accent, Natasha made a very believable Black Widow.
But Natasha earned only a glance from me. I was staring at Harold. Or to be more accurate, staring at Harold’s long blond hair. “Is—is that a wig?”
Harold’s face had an expression I couldn’t read. “Are you losing your memory? I’ve had this hair for as long as you’ve been the biggest guy in the school.”
“Oh, of course. Right,” I said. Now I looked at every part of Harold, not just his girlish hair. I thought, I can’t believe I’m looking at a boy, much less a boy who terrorized me twelve days ago.
Harold noticed me looking him over. “I’m supposed to be Something-Girl. But I’m not into comic books.”
“You’re Ultragirl. The slutty, evil-universe counterpart to Supergirl.”
“Helen” gestured to below “her” waist. “This explains the garters and stockings.”
I said, “And the red platform high-heel boots. And the eye shadow. And the, um, lipstick.” I turned my eyes to Natasha. “Jeez, why didn’t you also put cantaloupes in his bra?”
Natasha ignored my jab. “Does you likink Helenka’s finkernails, Marvin? I do find finkernail woman who is doink good to sculptink in the long finkernails.”
My voice was loaded with irony: “Sure, Harold’s fingernails look great.”
Natasha slapped my arm. “Nyet! No is ‘Harold.’ Tonight, is Helen!”
“Helen” looked at me and sighed again. “And everyone will think that’s who I am. Because the hair’s real. And because you-know-what turns out to be easy to hide.”
“Sucks to be you, buddy,” I said.
Harold/Helen asked me, “So what do you think, about how I look?” Harold was looking at me intently; I knew what he was really asking.
I looked him over, then said, “Well, if you went over to Ewert Grant, you couldn’t win Prom Queen there. Your hands and feet are a little too big for a girl your height; your wrists and ankles are a little too thick. Compared to normal girls, your head and ears are a little too big, and there’s something ‘off’ about your knees and elbows. You have something at your throat that maybe might be a small Adam’s apple. And of course, your tits are small. On the other hand, with that hair and that face, you could model magazine covers. And I can’t see one hair on your face, chest, arms, or legs.”
“Helen” said, “You’re driving me nuts with all this ‘on the one hand, on the other hand’ crap. What’s your bottom line?”
“Bottom line? Even with your clothes on, someone can tell you’re a guy, if he-she looks really hard. Still, if you ever do go to Ewert Grant sometime, expect the girls to all be jealous of you, and the guys to all hit on you.”
Harold looked away. “Yeah, that’s what I think too. But fuck, magazine covers?”
Natasha grabbed both of our arms. “Party is in house, not is here. We must there is need goink. Now darlink, by party, you is the boy or the girl? And what is the name of you by party?”
Harold said, “At the party, I’m a girl. If there’s a girl’s bathroom, that’s what I use. And at the party, my name is Helen.” I couldn’t read Harold’s expression.
Natasha pressed, “And if is someone sayink, ‘Hey, Harold’? Or if is someone sayink, ‘Was the name of you Harold’?”
Harold replied, “If someone says, ‘Hey, Harold,’ I don’t react. If they ask me if I used to be called Harold, I say no.” I couldn’t read Harold’s expression.
Natasha threw her arms around Ultragirl, kissed her blond lover, and said, “Lyubimyi, you is to me so good! I ask, ‘You is do dressink like girl and actink like girl,’ then you do it! I is lucky, you to findink! Spasibo, spasibo balshoye!”
That hug and kiss put a smile on Harold’s face. Then “Helen” looked at Natasha and me, saying, “If I fool everyone, it could be kind of fun.” Then Natasha took the hand of “Helen,” and they headed toward the party.
****
Just as Natasha and “Helen” reached the front door, Rhonda the party hostess was walking across her front lawn. Rhonda was saying, “I promise, Mr. Carver, I won’t let my friends get too noisy. But sheesh, Mr. Carver, you do know it’s Saturday night, right?”
Rhonda then noticed us and turned around. Smiling, she said, “Natasha, I’ve been waiting for you. And who are your friends?”
Natasha pulled “Ultragirl” forward. “This is Helen. I and she is lovink.”
I expected Rhonda to freak out at this, or at least paste on a plastic smile. Instead she screamed, “How wonderful!” Then Rhonda gave Natasha and “Helen” each big hugs.
Rhonda then sa
id to Natasha, “Lesbian, you? I never suspected for a second.”
“This is ‘comink out’ to both Helen and me. This is to us new both.”
Rhonda turned her attention to Harold-as-Helen. “You must be so nervous, if this is your first time out as a lesbian.”
“Yeah, a little. Okay, I’m jumpy as a cat.”
The big-breasted redhead smiled with reassurance. “You’ll find plenty of company here. Gay men, other lesbians and, after two in the morning, you’ll meet performers from LAS BOYS. Plus I’ve got amateur cross-dressers inside right now. And rumor says”—Rhonda lowered her voice—“there’s even a transsexual around somewhere.”
For some reason, that speech made Natasha snort.
Rhonda continued, “Natasha will be good for you, Helen.”
“Oh? Why’s that?” Harold asked.
“Listen, Natasha’s father owns Nimfo Club, and after I came out of name-change court, I called him and said I wanted to throw a party on Saturday night. But strippers never get Saturday night off! But Natasha talked to Yuri, and five minutes later, I got Saturday night off!”
“But not was Saturday you did wantink,” Natasha replied. She shrugged. “Papa did sayink, ‘Not this Saturday! Schedule was postink.’ But he did sayink yes to Saturday after. If I have sugar tongue as Rhonda say, then this party was last Saturday, not tonight.”
Rhonda smiled at Natasha. “You’re still my hero.” Then Rhonda turned to look at me. “Your friend ‘Captain America,’ I’ve already sort-of met him.”
I said, “Those party crashers, I guess they left.”
“Hope so,” Rhonda said. “Two of them were Grade-A wicked bitches.” Then Rhonda looked at Natasha. “Does Captain America have a name?”
“Oh, sorry. Rober—Rhonda, this is Marvin Harper. He with us, Plato Smith is attendink.”
I added, “But all three of us graduate in less than two weeks.”
“Pleased to meet you, Marvin,” Rhonda said. Then she reached out her hand to shake mine.
As I shook her hand, I took a breath. I got ready to say Let’s just be friends. But when I shook her hand—
—nothing happened. Her eyes didn’t change expression, and she didn’t pledge her eternal service. Instead, she gave me a practiced smile, and soon pulled her hand back. I wondered, Why isn’t she a touch-slave now?
She asked me, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I certainly wasn’t about to share my real thoughts. Instead, I said, “I was wondering, What’s such a big deal about name-change court? That’s the whole reason for the party, right? What was your name before? Bertha? Zelda? Henrietta?”
She gave me a cold look. “ ‘Sunset’ suits me better than the name I was born with. And ‘Rhonda’ suits me best of all, because I chose it.”
I threw up my hands. “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend.”
Why wasn’t Rhonda my touch-slave? This was bugging me. Fatima had told me that only certain people wouldn’t be affected by my magic pheromones and magic touch, and this redhead wasn’t on the list—yet she was no more fawning over me than Natasha or Harold were.
Behind me, I heard a couple’s steps coming up the walkway. Behind me, a man’s voice said, “Good evening, Rob—whoops, Rhonda. Jessica Rabbit is a good costume for you.”
“Tim!” Rhonda exclaimed.
****
I stepped off the walkway onto grass, so that the guy behind me could move up. Rhonda was grinning as her purple opera gloves wrapped around the newcomer’s back, crushing him in a heartfelt hug.
The newcomer was in his twenties, and dressed like an Arab sultan or sheik. (Remind me to ask Fatima what the difference is.) Standing next to him was a big-breasted blonde who was dressed like a stewardess for Barbie Airlines. The blonde’s face looked familiar.
When Tim noticed Rhonda noticing his costume, he said, “Like it? Ashley picked it out. She told me that since I have a harem, I should dress the part.” He laughed. “Rhonda, let me present my date for tonight. This is Susan, my receptionist. Susan, this is Rhonda, the dancer I helped out a month ago.”
Rhonda shook her head. “Tim Hanson pulled me out of major trouble a month ago, he didn’t just ‘help’ me.”
As the buxom blonde and the buxom redhead shook hands, the blonde said, “Please, call me ‘Susie.’ It’s friendlier.”
I then realized why the blonde looked familiar. To the sultan, I said, “You’re Tim Hanson, the Ford dealer.” To his date, I added, “And you’re the ‘damsel in distress’ in his ‘No Cheat Guarantee’ commercials.”
Rhonda slapped Tim’s arm. “So are you planning to add Susie to your harem?” Rhonda explained to Natasha, Harold, and me, “The other three women in those commercials? The other three hot women? They live with Tim. And he has a fourth women in his house who also gives him sex, even though she doesn’t star in his commercials.”
Tim shrugged. “You mean Jeanette? I haven’t figured out a part for her.”
“Well?” Rhonda teased. “Is Susie a one-time date, or is she harem-bound?”
“Tonight is strictly platonic, Rhonda,” Tim said. “All of my ... housemates are working stripper hours, and I didn’t want to come here alone.”
But Susie ruined Tim’s saintly impression by giving everyone a saucy smile. “Like he says, strictly platonic. We won’t do anything that Bill Clinton thinks is sex.”
“Helen” said to Tim, “Isn’t this kind of, you know, against the law or something? You dating your receptionist, with maybe a blowjob? She could sue you for that.”
“Don’t worry,” said the Barbie-stewardess, “this isn’t inappropriate behavior at all. Because Mr. Hanson hasn’t asked me to join his harem.”
Harold/Helen said to Tim, with poisonous sweetness, “You’re lucky, sir—you’ve found a friend. Captain America here also thinks that harems are wonderful.”
But before Tim defended himself to “Helen,” it was Susie who spoke up: “I love your hair. Is your blond color natural?”
“Helen” glanced at Natasha in panic. When Natasha didn’t rescue “her,” “Helen” replied, “Thanks. Yeah, it—it’s my natural color.” Harold shot me a look: Do something, distract her!
Natasha said, “The earrinks of her is pretty, yes? Helenka?”
“Um, sure.” Harold/Helen gave Susie an unpracticed smile and said, “I like your earrings. The pink goes good with your costume.”
Natasha said to Susie, “I is the costume of you likink. It is very fem—femi—girly.”
“It’s very pink,” Harold agreed.
Susie laughed. “Yeah, if the Abzug Society saw me in this, they’d kick me out in a heartbeat.” Then Susie laughed again. “That is, if I hadn’t already quit.”
Then things got even stranger than they had been.
****
Tim looked at us from Plato Smith and said, “We haven’t been introduced. You know I’m Tim Hanson—what are your names?”
Natasha said, “I am the Black Widow, the secret self of who is Natasha Romanova. She is Ultragirl, the secret self of who is Kara Zor-El. And he is Captain America—”
“—whose secret identity,” I said, “is either Steve Rogers or Bucky Barnes, take your pick.”
Tim looked surprised by our answer. I’m guessing that he hadn’t realized that Harold was playing a DC character mixed in with the two Marvels.
Tim said, “What I meant was, what are your real names?”
Natasha replied regally, “I am Natasha. Is all zat you is need knowink.”
“Ultragirl” said, “I’m, uh, Helen.”
I said, “I’m Marvin Harper.” Then I reached out to shake Tim’s hand. As I was pushing out my hand, I noticed that Tim had a very confused look on his face. What’s he confused for? I wondered.
I’d already planned my strategy for this party: If I was introduced to a couple, I would always shake the man’s hand first. Because as soon as I touched the woman’s hand, she would say I am yours, and then I would say L
et’s just be friends, and then she wouldn’t be my touch-slave anymore. But in those few seconds, what else could happen? If the guy weren’t already my friend, things could get unpleasant. And Reader, even though I know I can win every fight now, I still try to avoid fights. But if I’ve already told the man Let’s just be friends, he’ll act cool about his woman’s momentary lapse into sex-slavery.
So that was my plan, and I thought it was a good plan. That is, until I shook Tim Hanson’s hand. That’s when I realized that he, like Rhonda, was totally unaffected by me touching him.
The stewardess chirped, “You look confused about something. Can I help? I’m Susie Cooper, by the way.” She stuck out her hand.
I said, “No, I’m not confused. Um, why do you think that? Uh, pleased to meet you, I’m Marvin Harper.” But there was no avoiding it, so I reached out and shook her hand.
Absolutely nothing happened. Her eyes didn’t change, and she didn’t declare herself for me.
I started scaring myself then, wondering if my wishes had been canceled. Till I realized that if this were so, I wouldn’t still be 6′8″ and super-muscular.
Which made me feel better. But still, I couldn’t explain why Rhonda, Tim, and Susie didn’t magically react to my touch.
“Those two men, they sure look confused about something,” Rhonda remarked to Natasha, “Helen,” and Susie.
****
A few seconds later, Natasha, Harold/Helen, and I were walking into Rhonda’s noisy house, along with Tim and Susie. I was distracted, trying to figure out why my touch-slave power had stopped working. Maybe my Captain America gloves were interfering?
I was casually looking around, noticing that this old house’s living room was smaller than my parent’s living room. Not looking where I was going, I almost ran into a young couple.
“Oh, it’s you, the tattletale,” a woman’s voice sneered.
I looked at the people in front of me. Mere inches away were the pale blue eyes and dark brown hair of the black-dressed vampire twin.