The Body Shop
copyright 1999

I stretched out lazily and pulled the motel sheets around my nude body. It was too early to get up. Too early to think. Too early to face my screwed-up life, my hopeless love, and what waited outside the doors of Bardo's Fishkill Motel, Warren Indiana.

My bedmate groaned at my movement and snuggled up against me. I looked at his nude form. He was so sexy: handsome face, muscular body...and young enough to be my son.

Now wide-awake, I slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom. I looked at my naked body in the mirror. Slim and sexy, even for my forty-five years. But why was that a surprise? The best nose job money could buy. Perfect implants covered up all signs of sagging. Bright white, capped teeth. The best dye job any exclusive salon could give. Skinny, liposuctioned legs and stomach. I was sexy, but I wasn't real..

And yet even with all the artificial beauty aids, nothing could really halt the march of time. I was middle-aged. My joints hurt more and more frequently. The expensive facial creams could do little about the crow's-feet around my eyes. My ankles were thick, my bottom was big. If I didn't look old now, it wouldn't be long.

That's why the man currently asleep in the other room seemed so out of place. At only twenty-three, Chris was still a kid. And yet, for the past two days, he made me feel like a kid as well. I wasn't some middle-aged hag. I wasn't even a sexy older lady. I was a girl, a young woman. When our bodies met, it wasn't like two people of ridiculously different ages. It was the melding of two young lovers.

Why did life have to be so cruel? Why did this young buck have to stumble into my life now? Why couldn't I be his age? Why couldn't he have been born fifty years ago? I could have married him, instead of, instead of...

The tears came, I couldn't stop them. I wept softly so as not to wake Chris. It was the same every time I though of my husband. If I were to say his name, you'd instantly recognize him. He was a rich industrialist, a millionaire jet-setter. And I was his third trophy wife.

When I married him I tried to tell myself it was for love. It wasn't to recapture the fame I had once known as a young model. No, I wanted him, I loved him. I think I might actually have believed it.

But after the marriage, no amount of self-delusion or denial could convince me. That's when the beatings started. The behind closed doors slaps and cracks with his knuckles. The loosened teeth. The black eyes, covered up with stylish sunglasses. The bruised ribs. The screaming and cursing. To the world I lived the life of a princess. Only I knew the nasty truth.

Why didn't I leave him? I wanted to, and he certainly didn't love me. We hadn't made love since our honeymoon (well I hadn't. He certainly kept busy). But things weren't that simple. I was his third wife, and people in the public eye didn't leave their third wives. And my husband wasn't one to let anyone disobey his wishes.

As his wife, I was his personal punching bag. But if I were to leave him...well, he was powerful and made it perfectly clear what would happen. Brakes could fail. Random lunatics could empty a gun into the restaurant I was eating in. An accident could splash me with battery acid. A gang of rapists could break into my house. None of it could ever be tied to him. And if he should find that I had taken up with another man...

I lived a miserable existence, trying to forget the life I lived through whatever means I could. Charity work, public appearances, booze...anything to dull the pain. I guess that's why I discovered the internet. In a chat-room I could be whoever the hell I wanted to be. Most people exaggerate themselves through the anonymity of the internet. I did the opposite. I made myself seem as normal as possible. Just a forty-five year old, divorced secretary.

That's where I met Chris. He was a young school teacher from southern Missouri, perpetually broke, non-snobbish, and wonderful. Everything my husband wasn't. We had started out as friends, but soon we were flirting. Before long, I was pouring at my heart to him over the phone lines. How miserable I was, how I was unloved, how I hurt. While Chris couldn't convince me to leave my husband, he did manage to convince me to agree to a romantic weekend. Just me and Chris.

Chris had selected Warren, Indiana as our meeting spot. It seemed logical, halfway between his home in Missouri and mine in New York (I had no idea that he had more in mind than distance when he selected this town). For two whole days I had been his. I enjoyed the love of a man who cared about me. Who I cared about. Now was our last day together. Tomorrow I had to go back.

I heard Chris get up, so I quickly washed my face and put on a smile. "Claire," he said lovingly, as he wrapped his powerful arms around my from behind and kissed my neck. I wished the moment could go on forever...just him and me, and no one else in the world.

I turned to face him. He held me close, and kissed me. I knew we were about to make love for the umpteenth time this weekend. Much to my surprise he pulled away and held me at arm's length.

"You've been crying again," he said sadly. I was shocked, I didn't think he'd known about the few times I had shed tears in the john the past couple of days. I couldn't look at him.

"It's because of him," said Chris contemptuously. "Claire, leave him. This is killing you and it's starting to kill me."

"You know the risks, Chris. It's not that simple." I had tried to downplay my danger, but Chris had wheedled it out of me.

Chris grabbed me by my bare arms and held me so hard it hurt. My husband had done that many times, but with Chris it was different. He wasn't about to scream profanity into my face. It was more like he was too afraid to let me go.

"Claire, I love you. I want to marry you."

I sat down on the bed. No...it couldn't get more complicated...he couldn't mean that. "Chris, do you know what you are saying?"

"Yes, and don't give me any crap about passion or that I'll meet someone. I want you. It won't be easy but we can make it."

"Chris..." I began.

He interrupted. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't feel the same way."

"I can't do that. I...I want to marry you too. God, do I want that. But..."

"But nothing! Fuck your asshole husband. Marry me, come back to Missouri. I'll protect you. I could drop that son of a bitch. And if wants to get rough, my dad has a shotgun I can borrow..."

I held my face in his. "My innocent, hot-blooded young man. It's not that simple. He'd hire every private investigator in the world. He'd track us down in a week. With armed men. He's not coming alone, you'd be outnumbered."

Chris wasn't to be denied. "I'm not crazy about Missouri. We'll run off...Alaska, Canada, Mexico....the world's wide."

"He'd find us. It would take longer, but he'd find us. He'd take me back, and fix it where I couldn't walk for a month. And he wouldn't stop there. He'd frame you for drug possession or something. You'd get send up the river and never teach again. And that would be after he had his goons work you over. You'd be lucky if you got away with broken legs and a couple of missing fingers."

Chris kept up his bravado, but I could tell that my scenario really shook him. He loved teaching, and he played the guitar so missing fingers would be an even worse fate than for most people. I wish I could say I had been exaggerating about what my husband would do.

"So what do we do?" shouted Chris, angrily. "Just forget about what we have together?"

I held him and gently kissed him. "Chris, it wouldn't work out. I'm older than your mother. Would you really want to bring me home for Thanksgiving? I'm getting old, you've worn me out this weekend. I couldn't keep up with you. You'd start to get sick of me wanting to stay at home and relax most nights. And you told me you want children some day. That's not really safe at my age. And when you're thirty-eight, do you really want to be married to a sixty-year old? You want to grow old with someone, not have to take care of someone who is old. I'll probably die twenty years before you do."

Chris buried his face in his hands, emotionally spent. We were in love, but he could see the logic of what I said. Much as we loved each other, that love probably wouldn't stand society's condemnation and the discrepancy in our physical ages.

"OK," he said eventually. "Maybe I'm not the guy for you. But one thing's for certain: you can't go on living like you do. He'll kill you. If not physically, emotionally."

"Chris, it can't be helped. Let's not let it ruin our last day together." I placed my hands on his shoulders. He grabbed me and we made love.

I dozed a bit afterwards. When I awoke, I found Chris laying in bed next to me, staring at me intently. I smiled at him, but the serious look never left his face.

"Claire," he said. "I need to ask you some questions."

"OK," I mumbled.

"I'm serious. Pay attention." His tone of voice was desperate. I sat up.

"Claire, I want you to answer me honestly. Please. Don't sugar-coat your answers, don't spare my feelings. Please. No matter what, answer from the heart."

I nodded, wondering where he was going with this.

"Do you love me?" I replied in the affirmative.

"If you were nineteen and unmarried, would you marry me?"

"Yes Chris, I would."

"I want you do be honest. Pretend this isn't a hypothetical question. Pretend you are younger than me and I just popped the question. What do you say?"

I placed my eyes right in front of him. "I say yes!"

He smiled, briefly. "If you could leave your husband safely, would you?" "Well, duh!"

"What if leaving him meant giving up everything you owned, all your money, possessions, clothes, everything?"

"I'd give it all up to escape."

"What if it meant giving up your identity? All your family, friends, everything you know and ever have known? Would you take on a new ID?"

"I don't have any family. None of my friends are real. I have nothing keeping me there."

"Would you give up your physical appearance? Could you live as someone totally different, maybe even someone less attractive?"

"Chris, be serious..."

"Would you?"

"If it meant being someone who wasn't married to him, yes, I would."

"Have you been honest with me? Totally? Please tell me."

"Yes," I replied, and it was the truth. But what of it? I couldn't escape. God, did I wish I could take over someone else's ID, but why dream the impossible?

Chris seemed strangely jovial. "Get dressed. Let's hit the town."

"Chris..." I complained. I had hoped that our last day together would just be spent snuggling in bed, not poking around this pathetic little burg.

He was already half dressed. "C'mon. Meet you in my car." He pulled on his shirt and was out the door.

By the time I had gotten into my heels and sun dress, he was already outside. He had attached jumper cables to his battery and some guy in a pickup was jumping his engine. I smiled at Chris' '85 Buick. It was a far cry from the limos I was used to. I smiled sadly. I'd rather ride in Chris' car any day.

Eventually they got the motor running and we drove off. "So where to?" I asked, glancing around at the gas stations and fast food restaurants that composed the town's main strip. "Are we going to see the Grout Museum? Or the six-legged steer?"

"Har, har. Just trust me, OK?" I trusted him.

We drove to what passed for the warehouse district and drove around in circles for about a half hour, as Chris grumbled and consulted a hand-drawn map. Finally, we pulled up in front of a grimy looking building. The sign out front simply said 'The Body Shop.' I couldn't imagine why he had taken me to a garage.

"Don't say I never take you anywhere." He hopped out and I followed.

Inside, we came to a small, clinically clean waiting room. Two chairs and a table, nothing more. A sign on the wall said "Ring buzzer for service."

Chris pressed the button. Soon, a woman came through the only other door to the room. She was dressed in a white lab coat. She looked to be in her early thirties, with short black hair and large, horn-rimmed glasses. She was rather pretty.

"Hello," she said. "I'm Dr. Cambiar. May I help you?"

"Hey," said Chris. "My name's Chris ______, and this is Claire _____. We spoke on the phone."

"Ah, yes, Chris and Claire." She consulted her clipboard. "Ms. _____, please have a seat and fill out this form. Chris, please come with me."

"What..." I started to ask, but they had already vanished into the depths of the tiny building. I sat down and filled out the form.

It was a very detailed questionnaire about the state of my health. It didn't take me long to fill it out, I had been blessed with good health all my life. Eventually Chris and the doctor returned.

"Please follow me," the doctor said, pleasantly.

"Wait a second," I interjected. "What's going on here?"

Chris came over to me and put his hands on my shoulders. "Claire, please go with the doctor and do what she asks. Things are going be strange for a little bit, but I promise everything is going to be OK. If you get scared, just remember that I love you and that you can trust me." With that, he kissed me. I was a little embarrassed, what would the doctor think of me kissing such a young guy? She didn't seem shocked.

Still not knowing what to expect, I followed the doctor through the door. We passed through a hall, just as austerely decorated at the waiting room. We entered another room. This one was an exercise in sparseness, all that was there was a large chair. The floor was tiled and the walls were white. It was a little disturbing, most doctors' offices I had been it had made at least some attempt at hominess.

Next to the chair was another woman in a lab coat. I was a little shocked, she couldn't have been older than sixteen. She had short brown hair and a pretty smile. I figured I was just underestimating her age, she was probably a pre-med college student.

"This is Carolina," said Dr. Cambiar. "She'll help you get settled." With that she left, closing the door behind her.

Carolina was sweet, but closed-mouthed. She skillfully avoided all my questions as she took my temperature and blood pressure. Finally she instructed me to disrobe.

I balked. "Just what is going on here?" I demanded.

"Please, Ms. _____. Like your boyfriend said, you'll just have to trust us."

That made me a little nervous; how many people had Chris told about our relationship? That could be dangerous. Still, they were a medical clinic and I supposed they could be relied on to keep quiet. I removed my clothes. Carolina picked them up and instructed me to sit back in the chair. I complied.

Suddenly, I received a horrible shock: metal bands shot from the legs of the chair and clamped around my ankles. Similar bands clutched my wrists. From the sides, two metal bars shot out and held my head in place.

"Carolina!" I shouted. "Carolina! What's going on?" My only response was the sound of the door closing. I was alone.

I began to panic. The metal bands, while not painful, were certainly tight and prevented me from moving. Just what kind of a nut ball place was this? I wasn't going to stick around and find out. I began to scream for Chris, but to no avail. Then a horrible thought hit me. Chris had brought me here. Had he arranged this? What about all that talk about a new identity, a new physical appearance? My God, what if he had set me up for plastic surgery? He must have had some kind of misguided illusions that that could change me enough to have a new life! Oh God, and what kind of plastic surgeon takes patients against their will?

This was a nightmare. I had little time to reflect, however. The wall in front of me separated to reveal a small alcove. My chair began to move forward, propelled by unseen mechanisms. Soon the contents of the alcove were revealed to me. There was nothing but a large mirror, and below it, some sort of makeup table. I studied my naked, frightened reflection in the mirror. I was afraid to find out what would happen next.

A low humming sounded from above me. I tried to look, but the clamps kept me looking straight ahead. Looking into the mirror, I located the source of the noise. It was a large metal claw that had descended from the ceiling and was moving slowly towards my head.

The claw stopped and clamped shut, a good fistful of my hair caught in its grip. I began to whimper. Why did I ever come here? Chris had been so sweet, then he sets me up for something like this.

Without warning the claw suddenly retracted. There was a sharp pain in my scalp. I screamed in horror. The machine had scalped me! My reflection in the mirror was spear bald, it must have yanked all my hair out by the roots! It would take months to grow back! What would my husband say? What would people think?

I began to calm down, and think. Something wasn't right. You could yank out one hair at a time, but all of them at once? It was impossible, you'd end up yanking away a good chuck of flesh as well. But I couldn't see even a drop of blood in the mirror. Looking closely, I couldn't even see any stubble, any indication that I had ever had hair. What's more, I had only felt a brief pain, nothing like you'd feel having all your hair pulled out. It was almost like I had been bald to begin with and the claw had yanked off my wig.

My thoughts were cut short. From behind the chair, two small, jointed claws appeared. The ends clipped themselves to my eyebrows. I let out a squeak as the claws retreated, taking my eyebrows with them. Again, nothing was left, no scar, no stubble, no stray hair. Only smooth skin.

I started to hyperventilate. I struggled helplessly against the bonds. I wanted to go home. Away from this crazy town, these crazy doctors, and my apparently crazy lover.

Another claw appeared, this one extending from a long mechanical arm that appeared under the mirror. It began to slowly advance towards my face. Where was it heading? I had no hair left to pull out. Unless it was going for my lashes. I felt sick at the thought.

The truth, however, was much worse. It clamped itself on to my nose. I closed my eyes, praying what I was expecting was wrong. There was a quick yank and I heard the claw retract.

I couldn't open my eyes. I had to have been mistaken. Hair was one thing, but a nose...I tried to wiggle it, but there was no response. It was like it was numb, as if it had somehow fallen asleep.

I didn't want to look. I didn't want to see the gaping hole, the bones that my nostrils once lead to. I'd look like Dr. Phibes. Why had they done this? I opened my eyes.

For a second I thought I was seeing things. My nose was gone all right, but there was no hole in its place. There was only skin, as if my nose had never existed. In spite of my mounting fear, I grew curious. This was no normal surgery.

I heard the electrical humming that indicated the approach of the claw. This time, it was the claws that had taken my eyebrows. They slithered, like two jointed, mechanical snakes, around the side of my head and clasped my ears. With one yank, my head continued its transformation into a bowling ball.

Due to the clamp that held my head in place, I couldn't see the area where my ears had been. I assumed they were covered with skin as well. I could no longer feel them, but strangely enough, I could hear. At first it was just the sound of my own panicked breathing, but a few shouts assured my that my auditory capacity was somehow undamaged.

The same claw reappeared. "No!" I screamed. "Stop it! I'm going to call the cops! I'll sue!" It was silly, now that I think about it. I was in no position to make demands, there was no way I could call the police. I guess it was just the rich girl in me, always used to others having to do what she asked.

The clamp clasped my lips, holding my mouth shut. A tear rolled down my cheek. I didn't want to see what I'd look like with no lips. I felt the claw yank.

When I looked in the mirror I knew that I was dreaming. I had to have been hallucinating. It just couldn't be. My lips were gone, but SO WAS THE REST OF MY MOUTH! My eyes were the only feature left in my face. Everything else was featureless flesh.

There was a hiss, and the clamps holding my head retracted. I observed my reflection with both horror and awe. No hair, no ears, no nose, no mouth. What had happened to the gorgeous, albeit aging, face that I was used to? What was this featureless alien face that stared back at me? More importantly, what else was in store for me? Would I get my face back? Would I lose my eyes? Or other body parts?

I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I no longer could feel my lips, tongue, or throat; it was as if I had just got back from the dentist and was shot full of Novocain. Then a horrible thought hit me. How was I breathing?

The answer was, I wasn't. No nose, no mouth, no way to displace oxygen. And yet I was still alive. More tears ran down my face. Chris...why?

The chair I was in began to recline, soon I was flat on my back. I noticed something descending from the ceiling. Only it wasn't the claw this time. It was a small metal tube attached to the end of a prehensile, metal pole. I assumed it was being operated by remote control.

The tube positioned itself next to my thigh. By craning my neck I had a good view of what was happening. I impotently tried to struggle as a beam of light shot out of the end of the tube. It was a laser. But what could...?

The laser beam began to move slowly towards my leg. I tried to yell as it began to cut into my skin. Smoke rose out of the incision, a long black line began to extend from the left side of my left leg to the right. There was a stinging sensation, but no real pain. When the laser reached the area between my legs, I could no longer feel my left leg. It had be severed. I tried to flex it but there was no response. I lie there helplessly as my right leg went the way of the first.

I felt strangely calm. My face and legs were gone, and yet I lived. There had to be some sort of reason for all this (though I'd be damned if I could think of it). I seemed to be in no physical danger. My real peril came from the fact that they might not put me back together again.

The laser swerved back to my body and began to cut just above my hips. Soon my pelvis had been cut away. I looked wistfully at the hairy crown above my vagina. Would it ever me mine again? If not, what would happen to it?

Slice. The laser divided me below my ribs, taking away my stomach. It still lay there, unmoving, unbreathing, and unattached. I wondered it if was dead, or if it was just somehow suspended in a state of non-life. Maybe it was still attached, I deluded myself. True, I could clearly see the cut that separated it from my chest, but maybe it wasn't as deep as I thought. But if that were the case, then why couldn't I feel it or move it?

Slice. A new cut and I was gone below the shoulders. My artificially inflated boobs were as distant from me as someone else's.

The laser changed directions. It took of my right arm, circled over the top of my bald head, and snipped of the left one. A final cut just below my jaw (or what was my jaw when I had a mouth) took my shoulders and neck.

I had never been so helpless, not even during my husband's most savage beatings. I stared at my limp, lifeless body. I felt like a coma patient, so helpless and immobile. I could blink my eyelids and move my eyes, but that was all.

I saw the metal bands around my ex-arms and legs retract, then felt the clamps around my head return. There was a far off series of beeps and the table-like chair I had been resting on began to descend into the floor until it was out of my line of sight. My head was held in the same position by the clamps. I could see my reflection in the mirror across the room. A flesh-colored orb from which two frightened eyes started out, held in the air by a metal clamp. A pair of eyes in a skull. The tears flowed freely now.

Again I thought back to what Chris had asked me. A new ID? Someone less attractive? True, my husband would never recognize me in this state, but what kind of life would this be? Why would Chris want a mouthless head as a companion?

By lowering my eyes to their limits, I could see the table return from whatever subterranean recess it had disappeared to. My body had vanished to parts unknown. What was happing to my poor anatomy? Why wasn't it with me where it belonged?

Was this the rest of my life? Being a brain? What would Chris do with me? Carry me around with him? Set me on an end table at home? How could he think I would enjoy this, or did he even care?

The clamp situated me back on the table, but did not retract. Looking forward, I could see a new opening in the wall under the mirror and above the table. The claw was returning, but this time something was clasped in its grip. Something large.

It was a pair of human shoulders, advancing neck first. Where the head should have been, there was a flat line of what appeared to be skin. The shoulders had no arms attached, and ended just where the chest would have started.

I felt a jolt as the mysterious neck contacted with my head. Then the claw retracted, without the shoulders. Much to my surprise, they were now attached. I could easily shrug them and feel the table under them.

The only problem was that they weren't mine! They were a female's, of more or less my skin tone, but they definitely belonged to another woman. They were broader than mine, and of a slightly different shape. You can't replace someone's body parts and have them not notice.

The claw retracted, this time with a human chest in its apparently powerful grip. As it came closer, I examined the area that should have held the guts. All that was there was the same untanned skin that had covered my new neck.

When the chest had been attached, I examined it with very real interest. This was by no means mine. The breasts were at least two cup sizes smaller; whoever had had these before me obviously wasn't interested in implants. My old nipples had been dark brown, these were more reddish. Despite of everything, I was a bit annoyed. Why did they replace my large, painfully gotten breasts with smaller ones?

A stomach followed the chest. The differences were pronounced: an 'outie' belly button instead of an 'innie,' slightly plump instead of the flat, liposuctioned stomach I had had, but at the same time I felt it was stronger, more muscular. Another thing I could tell was that I was now taller than I had been.

A new pelvis was attached. The hips were larger, the pubic hair a slightly lighter shade. Next, one after the other, came two legs. They were ganglier and less shapely than my old ones, and longer as well.

I realized that only the head clamps were holding me down, if I tried I probably could have freed myself. But since I was 'only' missing my arms and face, I figured I ought to wait to be complete.

Lastly, arms were attached. Muscular, with rough palms and scarred hands. They must have belonged to some farmer's wife or a factory worker. Obviously they had never known a weekly manicure.

I expected a new face to follow, but much to my shock the head clamp retracted. I sat up experimentally and walked to the mirror.

Two massively weird sensations were assaulting me. The first was being able to closely examine my smooth face. I ran my new hand over the skin where my nose, mouth, and ears were. It had sensation, I could feel my touch. But it was so strange...you get to a point in your life where you get used to having a nose. When it's gone all of a sudden it's not easy to get used to.

Still, I figured that the doctors probably wouldn't leave me like this, I'd at least have some sort of face in the end. I turned my attention to my new body.

It was tall and gangly, small breasted and tough. It was the body of...well, a normal woman. Someone who didn't spend all her days worried about what she looked like, someone who had to work hard, physically hard, to make a living. Someone not like me. I began to wonder who this new body had belonged to and what had become of her. Or was this someone else's body? Had it been somehow manufactured? Or was it my old body that had been changed?

Before I could reflect more on this, the bed retracted back to an upright chair position and I heard a voice over some sort of intercom. "Ms. _____, please return to your seat. Your new face is ready."

New face. Repressing a shudder, I returned to the chair. I momentarily contemplated refusing, but what could I have done? I couldn't very well go through life like this. I'd take what they gave me and demand my body back later.

The claw replaced my ears (too big), my nose, (too long), my mouth (with slightly bucked teeth), and my hair and eyebrows (reddish instead of dark; longer than it had been before). Then it was finished.

I examined my new face. It was bizarre, only my eyes were the same. It was like looking at someone else's face on a TV monitor. I looked like that girl who was always chasing Jughead in the Archie comics. What was her name, Ethel?

No, this had to go. There was no way I was going to be an ugly duckling for the rest of my life. I was pretty when I came here and I'd leave pretty as well. What right did they have to change me into...

Into someone else. Someone else. I was no longer Claire, I was someone else. I no longer was a rich socialite, I was an average working girl. I no longer had an abusive husband, there was no way he could track me down now, he'd never recognize me. I never again would have to live constantly flinching in advance from the punches I knew were inevitable.

There was something else, something so obvious that it hadn't registered. My new body was younger. Much younger. Say, maybe nineteen. No longer middle-aged. I was younger than Chris.

I began to explore my body with new found interest. Critically, as if from someone else's point of view. I knew, even with the age reduction, that I was less attractive, but was I really ugly? I was no swimsuit model, but ugly? No, plain was more the word. Just a plain, average girl. Just a normal Jane Doe. I wouldn't turn heads, but I wasn't repulsive. A guy could fall for someone like me, if I was sweet. In fact, a guy had fallen for me. A young man who was now older than me.

Chris' questions hadn't been rhetorical. I was now unmarried and of his generation. Our forbidden love was no longer forbidden. Of course, like he said, I'd have to give up everything. No more fame, no more ritzy life...hell, I'd probably have to get some kind of low-paying job! I'd be less attractive, no longer would I turn heads.

But what did it matter? The huge, insurmountable wall that had separated me from a life with Chris had vanished. I felt like a convict serving life, who was unexpectedly released. Money, fame, looks? Who cared? I was safe! I was in love!

The door to the room opened and Carolina returned. "So, Ms. ____, how are you feeling? Everything OK?"

"I feel great!" I shouted, then reeled when I realized I didn't recognize my own voice. This would take a lot of getting used to.

Carolina handed me a hospital robe which I changed into. "I expect this came as a great shock to you. Do you have any questions?"

"Of course! For starters, how is this possible?"

"Trade secret. We started this business about five years ago. Most of our medical equipment is stored in the warehouses on either side of this building, and underground. We change locations about twice a year to avoid detection."

"But where do you get the body parts from?" I asked, suddenly afraid. I remembered where Dr. Frankenstein had gotten his parts from, and was a little repulsed at the thought.

"Why from other women, just like you. Women who want a new life. We give new IDs to people would can't escape their old existence."

"So who did this body belong to?"

"Several people. We obviously can't transplant a whole body, someone might recognize it. The best we can do is to try to match similar pieces. That's why we couldn't get you anything prettier, you obviously needed to be the same age as Chris."

"Believe me, I'm fine with this body. So how did he find out about you?"

"We advertise on the internet as a relocation service. After many rigorous interviews and background checks we assured ourselves that you deserved a change, so we told Chris the truth about what we do. He didn't want to tell you, he was afraid you'd think he was crazy."

That made since, I probably would have refused to come here if I had known what was in store. "So," I asked, "what happens now?"

"That depends on you. You can try this body for thirty days. If you don't want it, we'll give you your old one back. If you decide to keep it, we'll give your body parts to others. We can give you a new birth certificate, with that you can get new credit cards, driver's license, all that."

So I was free. I was safe. "How can I thank you?"

"Well, quite frankly, with cash. This isn't a cheap service for us to perform. Since you won't be Ms. ____ again, would you mind maxing out your charge cards and emptying your checking account? It's not like you'll be able to use them again."

What the hell? They were right, the money didn't belong to the new me and my credit history was no longer important. You couldn't really put a price on a new life anyway. I agreed.

"One more thing," said Carolina. "What would you like you're new name to be?"

"Could I keep 'Claire' for simplicity's sake?"

"Certainly. And for your last name?"

"It doesn't matter. Chris proposed to me today, and I'm holding him to it. With any luck my last name will be his shortly."

Carolina smiled told me she was going to go find some clothes in my size. I called her back. "Carolina, do you really think this will work out? I mean, it might be hard for me to adjust to."

She smiled sweetly. "You'll adjust just fine. I did."

I was taken aback. "You mean, you...."

"That's right. Five years ago my name was Bert."

I watched as her shapely, feminine figure left the room. Well, if 'she' could adjust, then so could I.

My thoughts were interrupted when Chris entered the room. He was wearing a suit and carrying a bouquet of flowers. "Claire..." he said, awkwardly.

"Oh Chris..." I rushed to his arms.

A few years later:

Chris and I sat in the gazebo in front of the small apartment complex in the tiny Missouri town near the Arkansas border. Nothing much changed here, nothing much caused a stir. A few years back a local school teacher caused a bit of a hubbub by coming back from a short trip with a young wife. It was unexpected, but when he explained he had been romancing her over the internet for a while, the country folk accepted the explanation.

I sipped my iced tea and listened dreamily to my husband strumming his guitar. I thought back to a few years ago. Hadn't I once been an older woman? Wasn't I once married to some rich prick? It seemed more like a dream than anything. It was like I had been born in this small town.

Outside news rarely mattered here. Occasionally I'd see an item of interest in the paper: the strange disappearance of a wealthy socialite. Her husband's well publicized search for her. A fire that had gutted a couple of warehouses in Indiana; no injuries, but authorities expected arson. Why else would the owners leave town with no forwarding address?

Chris put down his guitar and wrapped his arm around me. It was a bit of a stretch, I was more than seven months pregnant. It wouldn't be easy on his salary from teaching and mine as a secretary, but we'd manage. We worried little about money. What's money when you are in love?

The sun set over the Ozark hills. Later I'd tell him the news the doctor had given me earlier. Twins. It would be a shock, but he'd be as happy as I was. After all, nothing could ever stand in the way of our life together.



Author's note: The places mentioned in this story are real. Warren, Indiana exists, as do The Grout Museum (Waterloo, Iowa), Bardo's Fishkill Motel (New York State), and the six-legged steer (Kansas). I'm afraid I've misplaced The Body Shop's current address.