If I Were Beautiful (If I Were... #1)

by Devon Hartford

  “Hey, Phil,” I said, all friendly.

  “Hey.” He smiled. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  Like removing my bra? I don’t think so. “Tell me, Phil. What’s it like being the night manager here?”

  “It pays the bills.” He shrugged, blushing. Something told me Phil wasn’t used to supermodels flirting with him. That didn’t stop him from leaning over the counter while his eyes tried to burn a hole through my sports bra.

  “That’s great, that’s great.” I nodded earnestly, skimming my fingernail on the counter top lazily. Suggestively. Sexually.

  “And I get to meet people like you.” He smiled, his thin lips pulling back over crooked nicotine stained teeth. The smell of stale cigarettes on his rank breath was like a punch in the face.

  “Like me?” I said coquettishly, hiding my disgust and trying not to gag.

  “Yeah,” he nodded, trying not to drool.

  “What do you mean ‘like me,’ Phil?”

  “You know what I mean,” he snorted. Translation: People like you are women I want to eye-fuck, grope, or fondle whether they give me permission or not.

  “I guess I do.” I smirked, “Phil, I was just wondering…” I looked up at him with hooded eyes.

  “Yeah?” He swallowed hard, ready to jump out of his pants and into mine.

  “Is cornering female employees so you can cop a feel part of your job description?” A smug smile spread across my face.

  He winced, blinked several times, stood up straight and cleared his throat.

  I glared knives at him. “I saw what you did to Natalie. I’m sure Doug Wallace wouldn’t be too happy to hear about it. Or Stacy Lewis at corporate.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Who are you? And how do you know Doug? Or Stacy?”

  “I’m your worst nightmare, Phil.”

  “I’m sorry,” he grumbled angrily, shaking his head, “but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I scowled sourly. “I’m sure you don’t. But you make damn sure you keep your hands to yourself, Phil. If you want to keep this job and pay your bills, that is. You do want that, don’t you, Phil?”

  “Miss, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You need to leave my store.”

  “Your store?” I laughed. It was my store. I’d worked here for almost five years. “You own the place?”

  “Now you listen,” he growled in a low voice, furious. “I don’t know who you think you are—” I wasn’t entirely sure myself at the moment, but I knew I wasn’t a pervy dicknose like him. “—but I don’t appreciate you coming in here and making false accusations about—”

  “Please, Phil. I saw you. Should I go ask Natalie if she was comfortable with the way you tried to pin her against the register with your dick?”

  His eyes were wide and he squirmed with fright. His mouth wiggled defiantly, but no words came out.

  I tapped the countertop of the booth with my fingernails. “If you can manage to keep your hands and your dick to yourself, Phil, you won’t have any problems. If you don’t,” I pointed at him, “I promise you, I will get you fired for sexual harassment.” I smiled a friendly smile. “And don’t stare at my ass when I walk out of here.” I turned and waltzed toward the exit door. Halfway there, I spun around and winked at him. He stared right at me, mouth hanging open. “Remember, Phil. Eyes up and hands to yourself.”

  Outside, I strolled across the parking lot with a victorious grin on my face.

  Chapter 13

  “You will never believe what happened at work tonight,” I blurted over my iPhone to Chelsea. Because I was driving, this was a voice call. Whenever drama happened, I would always call her without a second thought to vent. She always did the same.

  “Slow down, Jane! What’s wrong?”

  I was driving my Hyundai up Santa Monica Boulevard, heading toward my apartment, screaming at my phone. “Men! I’m telling you, they’re all dogs!”

  “What happened? And why haven’t you called me all week? I was worried about you. And why does your voice sound strange?”

  Whoops. I forgot about that. In fact, I hadn’t really thought about it at all, but my voice was different. Not a lot. Maybe huskier than it used to be, but it wasn’t my voice. “Oh, I was really sick.” I faked several coughs. “Still getting over it.” Cough, cough.

  “Are you at work?”

  “No, I mean yeah. I’m on my break.”

  “Why aren’t you on FaceTime?” We almost always used FaceTime. Not using it stood out as strange. In fact, the only time I didn’t use it with her was while driving. I suddenly realized, if I hadn’t been driving when I’d called her just now, I probably would’ve FaceTimed her and she would’ve seen me looking like someone else. Wow, that was a close call. I needed to be more careful.

  I took a deep breath, “Oh, uh, I am at work. You know, uh, I didn’t want to use up my data.” It was the worst explanation ever. I had unlimited data. I hope she didn’t call me on it.

  “Anyway, what happened?”

  “Okay, so this—” I was all set to tell her about what Phil Berger the pervy new night manager had done to Natalie. But then I realized I couldn’t tell the story without revealing that I’d lost my job and wasn’t the night manager anymore. So I slightly adjusted the truth and made it sound like Phil Berger was just some pervy customer who cornered Natalie in one of the aisles while she was stocking shelves. I was lying through my teeth to my sister, but that didn’t change what had happened to Natalie.

  When I finished my story, Chelsea said, “What an ass. Did you call the cops on him?”

  Whoops. If your boss harassed you, you called HR. If a random customer harassed you, you called the police. I needed to adjust my story!

  I said, “No, uh, he didn’t actually grope her. Just scared her. Good thing I was there to chase him out of the store before he could do anything serious.” More lies. “But I’ve got my eye out for him if he ever comes in again.”

  “Did you get any video of him on the security cameras? Maybe you can turn that over to the cops.”

  “Oh, uh… we did, but, uh… he was wearing a hat and sunglasses and you can’t see his face in the video.” I cringed. Lies, lies, lies!

  “Good for you, Jay. Those girls are lucky to have you as their manager.”

  I grimaced to myself. “Yeah. Totally.” It pained me that I couldn’t explain what happened to my sister. I never held things back from her.

  Suddenly, a car horn blared right beside my window.

  Chelsea asked, “Is someone honking at you? I thought you said you were at work.”

  “What? No. I mean, yeah. I’m standing outside in the parking lot. By the street. There’s a lot of traffic.” I cringed again, disgusted with my lying self.

  “Gotcha. Oh, hey, did you ever talk to Mom and Dad? Dad called me this afternoon and asked why you hadn’t called them back. I think he’s worried something happened to you.”

  Something had happened all right. I wasn’t their daughter anymore! Not on the outside. But that counted for everything. If they saw me, Mom and Dad would never believe I was Jane. Never. If I was in their shoes, I wouldn’t either. Funny how you only realized the importance of your particular appearance after it transformed without warning. I was quickly realizing your face was your fingerprint and every single person who knew you was checking it like a bar bouncer checks IDs. Unlike bouncers who might get to know you over time, your friends and loved ones checked your face every time they saw you. Every single time. If they didn’t recognize you, you didn’t get their trust. You were a complete outsider and not to be trusted until proven trustworthy.

  I said to Chelsea, “No, I’m fine. Did you tell Dad anything?”

  “I just said you were probably busy working. But you should call them soon.”

  “I will.” Mom and Dad both had day jobs, so I rarely talked to them during the week. Working was a perfectly plausible explanation. “Anyway, my break is almost over so I should proba
bly go.”

  “Sure. Oh, hey, I have some good news.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m flying down early for a meeting with a new client. I assume you have room for me to crash?”

  “When?”

  “Two weeks. Is that okay?”

  Oh no. How was I going to explain looking like a supermodel to my sister? I wasn’t ready to deal with this! My top priority was finding a job, not trying to convince my family I wasn’t a scam artist!

  “Jay? You still there?”

  “Yeah! Of course! You’re always welcome at my apartment, Chelsea!” I ground my teeth together, wanting all of this to go away.

  “I can’t wait to see you.”

  “Me too!” I lied.

  What the fricka-frack was I going to do in two weeks?

  <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

  At home, my keys jingled in the lock outside my apartment door. For some reason, I couldn’t get it open. Why was this taking so long? Surely not because I kinda sorta maybe wanted Brodie to come out and flirt with me. No, I hated that guy. It was just the stupid lock misbehaving.

  “Jane? Is that you?” My other neighbor Mrs. Wiser stuck her head out of her apartment. I’d met her the day I moved in and had known her for years. She was 82 and had lived by herself since her husband died seven years ago. We talked all the time and often had dinner together, what with us both being single gals.

  “Hey, Mrs. Wiser,” I smiled, happy to see a familiar face.

  “Oh! You’re not Jane. Sorry, dear. I thought you were someone else.” She turned to go back into her apartment.

  My heart sank once again. So much for a familiar face. She didn’t know the new me. Something told me she would never believe I was me, no matter how I tried to tell her. She’d probably think I was trying to scam her too.

  She suddenly stopped and lifted the glasses dangling from a beaded chain around her neck and peered at me. “Are you Chelsea?”

  “No,” I sighed. Over the years, Mrs. Wiser had spent plenty of time talking to Chelsea. She knew how Chelsea spoke and I didn’t think she’d believe I was her. She was very sharp for her age. Better for me to be someone else. But who? Since Brodie knew me as Chelsea, Mrs. Wiser may as well too. I didn’t want to risk having them calling me different names in front of each other, so I needed to be a different Chelsea. “Um… I’m Chelsea and Jane’s cousin. But my name is Chelsea too.”

  “Another Chelsea?” She laughed. “How strange.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing.” She winked, “I may be old, but I don’t know everything. Last time I checked, I don’t think I even knew the half of it.”

  “I don’t even know a quarter of it,” I giggled, happy to be talking to someone who knew me without them treating me like a complete stranger.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Chelsea Number Two. I have to ask, how did you know my name?”

  Whoops. I told you she was sharp. “Oh, uh…”

  “Did Jane tell you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How is she, by the way? I haven’t seen her in almost a week. Is she all right?”

  Not even slightly. I laughed nervously, “Yeah. She’s fine. She’s… on vacation.” In my best British accent I added, “Holiday, as we Brits like to say.” As usual, I was hiding my anxiety with humor.

  “Oh really? Where did she go?”

  Great. “Um, Jane went on a road trip.”

  “How come she didn’t take her car? It’s still parked in her carport.” Sharp as ever.

  Yes, I sucked at lying. Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive. “Um, she took mine. I’m using hers. Mine has, uh… better gas mileage.”

  “Oh, that’s nice of you, Chelsea. I’m sure Jane really appreciates the savings. Gas is so expensive these days.”

  “Sure is,” I smiled. Now I was dying to get out of this conversation because I didn’t think I could lie my way through the rest of it without Mrs. Wiser catching on.

  “You aren’t hungry, are you, dear? I was just about to put dinner in the microwave.”

  “Thanks. I just ate. Maybe next time?”

  She waved a hand. “Sure, sure. You probably have plans anyway. It is Friday night. I’m sure a pretty young woman like you has plenty of boyfriends.”

  I laughed nervously. Not yet, but that Brodie is sure trying. “Nice meeting you, Mrs…” I offered my hand, acting like I’d already forgotten her name. I was also hoping she’d forget I already knew it.

  “Wiser.” She shook it. “You really do look a lot like Jane’s sister, you know.”

  “You think so?”

  She lifted her glasses again, examining my face. “Very much so.” She lowered them and clucked, “Too cute. Well, have fun tonight with whatever his name is. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she laughed and tugged my elbow. “In other words, use a condom.”

  “Mrs. Wiser!” I giggled.

  “And don’t be afraid to carry your own. We ladies need to take care of ourselves. Can’t depend on the men to do it for us. Am I right?” Same old Mrs. Wiser.

  “You are.”

  “Nice to meet you, Chelsea Number Two.” She laughed and smiled before shuffling into her apartment.

  I went inside mine and closed the door.

  At least someone I knew was treating me like they sort of knew me.

  Maybe I needed to start telling everybody I was my own cousin.

  <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

  I ate dinner alone, sitting on my couch while Casablanca played on the TV, wondering what I was going to do about a job. I couldn’t go back to the 95 Cent Store. How was I going to convince Doug Wallace and Maria and Natalie and corporate that I was me? I mean, without sounding insane?

  Picking up my final paycheck would be bad enough. What was I going to do? Show Doug Wallace my ID and insist I was Jane Johnson? Fat chance. He’d never give me my check.

  Maybe I could get corporate to mail it to me. That way I could deposit it at the ATM without the hassle of ID. But how long would it take for corporate to mail it? Would I get it in time to pay rent?

  Who knew.

  I shook my head. If my rent was late, Petrak would be pissed. He hated late rent payments. He hated them even more when your front door looked like it had been run over by a tractor. Stupid Brodie and his stupid chair. And speaking of stupid jerks who were too hot for their own good, when was he going to fix my fricking door?

  DING DONG!

  I nearly screamed.

  But it was just my doorbell.

  Probably Mrs. Wiser. Or maybe Brodie. Unless it was Petrak? I hoped it wasn’t Petrak. I didn’t want to do anymore impromptu lying tonight. Had Petrak met my sister? I couldn’t remember. Should I just tell him I was my cousin Chelsea, like I was everyone else? Whatever I told him, I needed to tell him something. If he kept seeing supermodel me coming and going, and no plain Jane, he would ask questions.

  I got up to peek through my peephole. Normally, I always had to stand on my tiptoes to see through it. Now I had to lean down. There were some advantages to being a 5’9” supermodel.

  When I saw who was outside, I almost had a heart attack as adrenalin flooded my body with liquid panic.

  George Sweet stood outside.

  George knew my sister ten times better than Mrs. Wiser did.

  George knew me a thousand times better than he did my sister.

  George also knew I didn’t have a cousin named Chelsea.

  George would be instantly suspicious.

  He would know something was wrong.

  Shit!

  He would know!

  What was I going to do?

  I wasn’t ready for more pretending I wasn’t me, especially not with George, and I couldn’t think of a suitable lie under all this pressure!

  DING DONG!

  I squealed.

  “Jane? Is that you? Are you home?”

  My mind raced. I hadn’t called George in days. That was
n’t normal for us. I’m sure he was worried about me. Should I pretend I wasn’t here? I could always text him that I was fine. Or should I open this door and tell him the truth? I’d have to tell someone eventually, wouldn’t I?

  Maybe George was the best person to tell.

  He might actually believe me.

  George was a big conspiracy theory believer. Alien abductions, UFOs hidden away in government hangers, Area 51, Roswell, all that stuff. He also believed in ghosts, ball lightning, and every other kind of paranormal activity. If anyone was going to believe me, it would be George.

  I hoped.

  Should I just tell him?

  Unless I planned on cutting all ties with everyone I knew and forging a new life as a woman with no past, I had to tell someone. George was really the perfect person to start with. I had no interest in being some wandering vagabond or heroic loner. No, I needed my friends and family. I knew that fact like I knew my own name.

  Was it Jane or was it Chelsea?

  Ha, ha.

  But not funny.

  “Jane?”

  Now or never…

  I took a deep breath and opened my door slowly, wincing in anticipation of his reaction.

  George frowned. “Oh, uhhh, hi, Chel—” He did this little head shake, probably realizing I wasn’t Chelsea. “Um… is Jane here?”

  I hated this. “Yes. I mean no. You can come in and wait for her if you want.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Jane’s cousin.” I didn’t want to tell him the truth with the door wide open. Mrs. Wiser or Brodie might overhear. “Come in. Jane’ll be here soon.”

  “I don’t remember Jane mentioning any cousins.”

  I grunted, “Will you just come inside, George?”

  “How do you know my name?”