Body Switches

by Barbara G. Tarn

  Rohit grinned. "I have him wrapped around my finger."

  "Your cock, more likely." She chuckled. "I know what I'm going to write next! A body switch! I'll have you and Kyle as husbands and you'll switch with a straight guy with kids."

  Rohit's eyes widened. "Why would you want to write that kind of story?"

  "Because you and Kyle are a very cute couple and I'd love to imagine you married. And when I write the screenplay version, you can make your comeback – in Hollywood, not Bollywood. They'll give you an Oscar for portraying the gay and the straight – won't you love that?"

  Rohit wobbled his head sideways, but frowned, unconvinced.

  "Why would I want to win an Oscar playing a gay man?" he asked.

  "Playing two roles in one, Rohit," she corrected. "You'll have to behave as both. Although it's a comedy, and I don't think the Academy likes comedies."

  "I don't want to go back to acting," Rohit decided. "And if you write that body switch, I'll write a story where I turn you into something awful."

  "Like what?" she asked, amused. "Elephant dung?"

  "You're mean." He glared at her. "And I'm not gay, I'm bisexual."

  "Thanks to Kyle," she reminded him. "And don't worry, I'll have the other guy do the naughty gay stuff."

  "If Kyle agrees, you can do it, but if we're both against it, don't you dare," he said.

  She sighed. She was probably going to write it anyway. She could win them over once she showed them what she had in mind...

  ***

  Patricia leaned back in her leather chair, grinning, as the door of her posh office closed behind the exiting writer. Another hire that would give her a huge bonus for keeping office costs down.

  As VP of marketing, she had checked and interviewed hundreds of applicants for a position of technical writing, and she'd just hired a brilliant writer for half the normal salary. That was why they paid her big money – to find those opportunities.

  Her phone rang as she basked in the feeling. It was her best friend Deborah to confirm their lunch appointment.

  "You sound very happy today," Deb commented. "Are we celebrating something besides our friendship?"

  "Yes, I found a new writer," Pat announced proudly.

  "Oh, don't tell me! The poor schmuck will work herself to death for a pittance!" Deb laughed.

  "And that's why I earn as much as your husband and get all the benefits myself," Pat replied, beaming.

  "And you work as much as him if not more without anyone supporting you." Deb snorted. "We've already had this conversation, I think!"

  "Yes, it's a matter of choices. Why did you call me, since we're meeting soon?"

  "Oh, yeah, I forgot! Guess who's back in New York?"

  "A hint or two would help, Deb."

  "Mm... spent the last twenty years in LA... with moderate success."

  "Gabrielle? She gave up her acting career?"

  "Not sure. She called to say she was back and 'when can we have a girls' night out?' was the obvious question." The quote mimicked their friend's speech pattern.

  "As if we're still girls!" Pat snorted. "Not until next week or later, unless you invited her to join us today."

  "No, she's jet-lagged. She'll get back to me when she feels better," Deb answered.

  "Good! Anyway, I'll see you later. One o'clock, our usual table."

  She hung up and leaned back. Unlike her, Deborah was married and had dedicated her life to her husband's career, giving him two children now in college. Deb's husband had lost a battle against Pat some five years earlier – they'd given her the promotion he was aiming for – but that hadn't changed her friendship with Deb.

  They went back to college, when they called themselves the Three Female Musketeers – third member being Gabrielle, who spent so many years in Hollywood, they'd almost forgotten what she looked like. Deb's husband had gone to another company since, and Pat and Deb were still best of friends, in spite of having made different choices. But they liked the same lifestyle and had so many friends in common, they were often together, especially now that Deb's kids were off and she had more free time.

  It's so good to be me! Pat thought, stretching into a more comfortable position.

  She had money, she had power, she lived and worked in Manhattan, she had a maid to do the menial tasks of housekeeping, a variety of lovers for her bed and her career was still going upward.

  Of course she wasn't getting any younger, but at fifty-six, she still looked perfectly fit with no help from any plastic surgeon – unlike Gabrielle. She took great care of herself, so she'd look like the perfect manager she was every time she set foot out of the house.

  She didn't care if her employees hated her, or if men slept with her more out of fear of losing their job than because they wanted it. She could have all the men she wanted, and many had helped her in her climb, if only to taste her body. She wasn't a striking beauty, but she wasn't ugly either.

  She smirked. No man could resist her. She had posh friends and exclusive memberships. She vacationed in exotic places with the cream of the crop. If her next meetings went well, she might end up CEO of her own company soon. She could already taste the power and success. And she was more than ready to embrace everything she'd worked so hard for.

  She opened her laptop to check that her meetings in Portland the following week were all confirmed. She'd fly there on Sunday, since her flight landed at 8PM, so she could get a good night's sleep and prepare before the meetings.

  Yes, Pat was very happy with herself.

  ***

  Since Portland was so famous for its witches and pagan meetings, Babs started researching the topic, wondering if she could interview some modern witch to give some magical realism to her body switch. She considered herself a half-witch too, since she collected Tarot decks and runes – although she couldn't really read them.

  She was very extrovert in writing, but very shy in person, so she wasn't sure how she could approach any coven and ask them questions. She checked when the next public rituals would be. She considered signing up for witchcamp, but both Kyle and Rohit told her it was a waste of time and money.

  "Babs, you like to make up stuff! What do you need all that research for?" Kyle asked, exasperated.

  "Hey, you're the journalist, you should know!" she protested. "I've made up stuff for years, but now I like to ground it into reality!"

  "As if you can find someone who can switch bodies in the real world!" Kyle retorted. "It's fantasy, just make it up!"

  "Or forget the whole idea," Rohit added. "I think it's a bad idea anyway. You have your world of Silvery Earth, why don't you go back to that?"

  "I'll have you two as a couple of assassins, then," she said, glaring at him.

  "Why are you so obsessed with us?" Kyle snapped. "You want to get in our bed?"

  "No! No sex, remember?"

  "Then find yourself other muses! You're almost fifty, for Christ's sake, stop behaving like a teenager!"

  Babs pouted and decided to go for a walk. She loved her flatmates, but sometimes they were irritating. Safe, since they were not interested in her body, but still irritating. Kyle was one year older than her and for a brief moment in her life she had considered him as possible life-mate, but things didn't work out between them and they'd remained friends. And Rohit was sweet and cheerful and everything, but sometimes she really wanted to slap him.

  She huffed, walking faster and completely lost in thought. She hadn't really told them they were her muses lately, but Kyle had guessed from the few descriptions in her prose. She knew he was smart, but she felt busted. She imagined him discussing her with Rohit, which made her want to write that body switch even more.

  At least in her stories she could control their behavior, while in reality they were two strangers sharing her roof...

  ***

  Samantha had been following Pat for some time now. From her timeless home she could follow anyone she wished, and her favorite pastime was to watch people of Earth. So
metimes she couldn't refrain from interacting with them, playing tricks on them she thought mostly harmless.

  Whoever had had the dubious honor of meeting her, called her a witch – although someone had considered her a fortune teller – and she didn't really bother correcting them. By their standards, all Silvery Earth's inhabitants were witches or sorcerers, since they all possessed magic powers of some kind, the common feature being immortality.

  Samantha wasn't a vampire, nor a witch. She considered herself a young woman with some powers in a sometimes boring world, therefore she spent most of her waking hours watching Earth and visiting whichever part she wanted by simply wishing herself there.

  She watched Pat board her flight to Portland, and then the mention of Silvery Earth her made her look towards the Pacific Northwest, exactly where Pat was headed. Ah, that Italian writer again.

  Samantha liked the strange trio, but mostly Babs's wild imagination that brought her to write unconventional fantasy tales the writer had decided to set on a secondary world she'd called Silvery Earth. Samantha often wondered what Babs would say if she told her Silvery Earth existed and it wasn't really as she depicted it.

  Now Babs seemed determined to write a body switch, though, leaving her fantasy world for the real world, and Samantha didn't like it.

  Life is stranger than fiction and blah blah blah, but why should a fiction writer play with reality? She should stick to her silly version of Silvery Earth!

  Then her attention went back to Pat who was abusing the cabin attendant with her usual haughtiness, and she frowned.

  "Bitch!" she said, staring at the woman who now talked on her smartphone in the same blunt manner to her secretary.

  Samantha knew by now that Pat was very harsh with people she considered "losers" but became very nice when she talked to her peers or superiors.

  She's so full of herself! Samantha thought. She needs a lesson! And so did Babs, since as soon as she got home, she started working on her body switch – without telling her housemates.

  Samantha narrowed her eyes and switched off the screen where she projected what she saw with her mind's eyes. She took the unicorn cards and shuffled them, thoughtful.

  The first time she'd done it – misinterpreting Marian's wish, but making Johnny very happy – it had been as a gift. The second time she'd done it to teach a lesson to both Ciaran and Harith who couldn't appreciate what they had. Why should she switch Babs and Patricia now? Because they'd be in the same town for a few days and she could do it? Would it help to change them?

  She spread the cards and slowly read them. She'd switched a married woman with a gay young man, then two men – one gay and one straight. Now here she was with two very different women although they were almost the same age and both officially single. They didn't have spouses to be confused by a different behavior. And she really wanted to see their faces when they found themselves in another body – especially Pat.

  Patricia should find herself in a so-called loser's shoes to realize how her life was actually empty. And Babs should learn not to write about things she didn't know – maybe living a body switch would deter her from writing one. Practical and material Pat should try some real magic. As for Babs... showing her what she could become – even if she already considered herself a grumpy old spinster – might make her stay young at heart.

  The unicorns stared back at her in a sort of warning. She snorted.

  "All right, this is the last one, I swear!" she said, gathering the cards. She shuffled them nervously as she pondered.

  Why not? she thought. Who's to stop me?

  Nobody, of course. The unicorn cards had no power over her. And she was bored.

  Samantha sighed and put away the cards, closing the eyes and visualizing both women.

  "So. Be. It."

  The thunderstorm hit Portland when most people were already happily asleep.

  2.

  The sound of an alarm clock startled Babs awake. An alarm clock?! She thought she'd gotten rid of that when she left Italy and her stupid steady day job of twenty-five-plus years!

  The bed felt different, bigger. The light came in from the wrong direction. She opened her eyes, and then widened them with incredulity. She gasped in shock as she realized she wasn't in her room!

  It looked like a hotel room and the smartphone on the bed table repeated its buzzing sound. Babs stared at it in horror – she had no idea what to do to make it stop. She hated smartphones and touchscreens, but the sound was annoying.

  She fumbled with it until she managed to stop it, then got out of bed and rushed to the bathroom. Who the hell was the woman staring back at her from the mirror, aghast?

  She relieved herself, hiding her face in her hands. I'm still sleeping. This is just a dream. She'd never dreamed of being somebody else, though. Even in her wildest daydreams, she was always herself, interacting with real or fictive people in her imagination.

  She went back to the sink and the mirror to wash her face, hoping it would wake her, but nothing changed. She still had the other woman's features. An older woman with a sad and tired face. That wasn't exactly how she saw herself in the future, either. She eyed the beauty-case filled with makeup on the sink, but purposefully ignored it.

  She went back to the room and checked the small trolley. Business clothing for an obviously short stay. She grabbed the clothes that seemed ready to be worn, and quickly dressed.

  Maybe she could call home and ask Kyle to pick her up, since she didn't drive much. She'd never liked driving in the first place – going around Rome by scooter first, bus later. She'd had her driving license at twenty-eight and didn't feel comfortable driving abroad. She wasn't used to American cars, having learned to drive with a stick shift.

  Yes, there were American cars with stick shifts, but she'd still be driving in a foreign country with slightly different rules. One could object that if you can drive in Rome, you can drive anywhere, since traffic in Rome is chaotic and nobody respects the rules. But she didn't like driving in the first place, so even if it was safer in America, compared to where she came from, she still preferred not to do it. Poor Kyle was both hers and Rohit's driver, since Rohit was younger but used to traffic going the other way – perks of India being a former British colony.

  She picked up the phone and started dialing the number, then stopped. Where was she anyway? Was she still in Portland? She saw the room key and grabbed it along with the smartphone she wasn't sure she could use, dropped it into a purse where she glimpsed a wallet, and headed out.

  She found the lobby and exited the building. She felt relieved to realize this body had been staying at a hotel near the airport, a place she was familiar with even if she hadn't gone back to Italy since the move. But she'd flown to Portland before to attend writing workshops on the Oregon coast.

  She checked the time. Kyle was an early riser – he often called his housemates "dormice" – so he was probably already up. But what could she tell him? That she sleepwalked all the way to the airport and turned into a business woman in the process? And where was her body anyway?

  She pursed her lips, frowned at the smartphone, then tried to punch in the number. Hitting the green button, she managed to place the call.

  Their phone was in the living room, next to the couch where Kyle normally sat in the morning with his coffee and newspaper.

  Kyle picked up at the first ring.

  "Hi, it's Babs, you'll never believe what happened to me, but can you pick me up at the airport?" she said quickly. She'd get the hotel shuttle to the terminal.

  "What are you doing at the airport?" Kyle was obviously puzzled.

  "Long story, come and pick me up, please?" she begged.

  He sighed, but said, "Coming."

  Babs exhaled in relief, putting the smartphone back in the purse. She saw the shuttle coming and took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

  ***

  Pat wondered what time it was. She heard noises of water running, as if she had a kitchen
next to her room. But she was in a hotel, not a residence. She rolled over – and almost fell off the bed.

  A single bed! She opened her eyes and sat up with a gasp. Where the hell was she? A small room with the bed, a desk covered with manuscripts, a closed laptop and some drawing implements, a small wardrobe and a bookshelf... much like her teenage room!

  She jumped out of bed, opened the room door and almost bumped into a gorgeous, half-naked young man who was passing by with a mug in his hand.

  "Morning. Babs," he said sleepily without stopping, headed for the living room opening a little further. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, nice buttocks covered by the PJ bottoms...

  Pat gulped, stared at the small kitchenette and saw a door that looked like a bathroom, so she immediately went there and locked the door behind her.

  She took in a deep breath to calm her racing heart. Who the hell was that? He obviously worked out a lot from the shape of his biceps and six-pack! But where on earth was she?

  She went to wash her face, hoping to wake up and find herself back at the hotel, then gaped at the image in the mirror. That wasn't her face! Who the hell was that woman with gray-blue eyes staring back at her?

  Pat cursed under her breath. What time was it? She went back to the bedroom and saw the alarm clock. She was late! Her meeting would start soon and she had no idea of where she was!

  She checked the wardrobe, but there were no business suits, so she put on the least casual items she could find. She'd never met the people she had an appointment with in person, so she was kind of lucky. She'd have to make do with what she had.

  Pat went back to the bathroom, looking for a beauty-case or any other female implement, but this body didn't seem to use any. No makeup except an old pink lipstick and blue nail polish. Damn.

  She pinched her cheeks. This body looked much younger than hers, so maybe she wouldn't need any makeup, after all. She went to the kitchenette and found the coffee machine with some barely warm coffee left, but it was better than nothing. She'd buy another before the meeting – now she needed to figure out where she was so she could call a taxi and go back to the hotel to grab her files.