Becoming Bethany

by Heidi-Jo McGillicuddy's

   

Lisa opened the car door for me. My purse tucked under one arm, I put a protective hand underneath my skirt to keep it smooth as I lowered myself to the car seat. As Britney Spears can tell you, getting in and out of a car can be an awkward moment for a girl.

I placed my purse in my lap. The cute little double-buttoned cuffs of my three-quarter sleeved white blouse slid up towards my elbow as I reached back for the seat belt. I then pulled it across my newly developed chest as Lisa closed the car door for me.

As she walked around to the drivers side, I glanced furtively around to see if anybody had chanced to spot me. I'd walked out the front door in broad daylight wearing this white blouse and dark blue pencil skirt, feeling as though the world was staring at my shaved legs in these tan pantyhose I was wearing. I stepped down to the street, my foot landing on a three-inch stiletto heel--all the more reminder that I needed to take small, quick steps over to Lisa's car in this satin-lined, knee length skirt.

As Lisa got in behind the wheel, she was beaming. "You were perfect, sweetie!" she gushed.

"I guess," I said, looking up at the small mirror on the inside of my visor at the brunette wig that framed my made-up face.

"Not 'I guess'," she scolded as she pulled out into the street. "Come on. Do you feel pretty or don't you?"

"I feel prettier," I said.

"Hmpf," she said. "Well, don't worry. If you don't feel pretty now, you will."

"Where are we going?" I asked.

But Lisa only smiled angelically.

Sitting in the passenger seat of a car in a skirt was…different. I was careful to make sure my skirt was pulled down to my knees, but my heels left my feet awkwardly angled. I couldn't just slip them off, either; they had a strap that buckled around my ankle.

"When are you going to tell me where we're going?" I asked, checking the tiny-faced woman's watch around my wrist.

"I made a nail appointment for you, sweetie," she said. "O.K.?"

"To get them painted?"

She smiled and shook her head. "I could have painted them at home for you," she said. "This way, you're getting the full, professional treatment. You love how Ahn does my nails, don't you?" She extended one of her hands, holding the wheel with the other hand. "And you always talk about how much you love my nails."

I did love her nails. The white tips extended well past the tip of her fingers, and the rest of her nails were a flawless shiny pink. But I had one concern.

"Just like yours?" I asked.

Lisa nodded. "I told Ahn specifically. Exactly like mine."

"You mean long," I said. "With the--"

"Acrylic tips," she answered. "Yes, sweetie. You'll love them!"

"Well, it's not that I won't love them," I said.

She frowned. "What?" she asked.

"Well, will I be able to take them off eventually?"

Lisa did nod her head. A little. "If you really want them off, they'll come off."

"Well, I can't show up for work with nails like that."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Well," I said, brushing a stray hair away from my face, "They might think I was queer or something."

"Why would they think you were queer?" she asked. "First of all, you're engaged to me. How un-queer is that?"

"Well, but I don't want people to know."

"You don't want people to know what? That you like long, beautiful nails?"

"That I like having long, beautiful nails."

"Aha!" Lisa cried.

"What?"

"You admitted it!" she said. "That you like having long beautiful nails! And you don't even have them yet!"

"Well, I'm sure I will," I said. "That's not my point."

"Well, what is your point, sweetie? Because if you like having them, who not have them? Why hide the fact that you like them in the first place?"

"I don't want the people at work to know," I said.

She nodded. "The people at you job," she said. "I see."

I absently smoothed the front of my skirt in my lap.

"Did you tell them about how you marched as a Southern Belle the other week?" Lisa asked.

"No."

"Why not? Were you ashamed of that?"

I wasn't sure. I said nothing.

"See, if you were gay, you'd probably dress up as a motorcycle leather guy or something. Not as a southern belle. I mean really," she sighed, "it makes no sense."

"Well," I said, "I just don't want to have to explain it to people."

She reached over and patted my thigh through my skirt. "You don't have to explain a thing if you don't want to, sweetie," she said.

"I know," I said. Suddenly I felt her little fingers sneak under my skirt. Lisa's French manicure gently raked along my pantyhose-covered thigh. I shuddered.

"I can't wait till you have nails like mine, sweetie," she said as she pulled into a strip mall and began to look for a parking space.

"What's the name of the place?" I asked.

"Hot Nails," she said, giggling. I looked around and was able to spot the sign fairly easy--it indeed read "Hot Nails" in bold, yet feminine cursive lettering against a pink background. The signs in the window advertised "WAXING" "ACRYLICS" "TANNING BEDS" "BODYWRAPS" and the store inside looked well-lit with plenty of reflective surfaces. Lisa found a parking spot, turned off the engine, and practically jumped out of the car.

I had unbuckled my safety belt and was just reaching for the handle to open the door for myself when Lisa was suddenly already there to pull it open for me. I stared up at her, blushing, my purse still in my lap. "Allow me, ma'am," she said.

"Oh, stop," I murmured, conscious that I suddenly probably shouldn't speak to her in my normal conversational tone. Nonetheless, I managed to swivel in my passenger seat, stick one leg, then another, out of the car door, before taking Lisa's hand and letting her pull me up onto my heels. "How did I do?" I asked, trying to speak in a more feminine manner.

"Simply marvelous," she replied, giggling and closing the car door. "Now remember--back arched, shoulders back."

I remembered. Adjusting my purse strap, I took a deep breath and stepped in the general direction of Hot Nails.

My shoes tapped across the pavement with a distinctive click; the satin lining of my pencil skirt slid deliciously against my pantyhose. I stuck my "chest" out as best I could and relaxed my wrists near the waistband of my skirt, my elbows bent. As I walked, I realized that I was essentially completely free of any male aspect of my being, save for the driver's license that was somewhere in this purse I was carrying. The sensation of being tethered to this handbag for any and all immediate needs had already begun to seep into my subconscious mind; this skirt had pockets, but Lisa had frowned upon actually slipping anything into them, inferring that a young lady with any type of visible skirt bulge was not just unstylish, but unseemly.

I could hear Lisa clicking along next to me. "You're doing wonderful, sweetie," she was saying as we got to the end of the parking aisle. There were two lanes running parallel to the strip mall for cars to get through; there weren't a lot of cars and they weren't driving fast, but I hesitated, not wanting to race against a car with stiletto heels strapped to my feet, waiting for a big enough break in traffic.

"Go ahead, sweetie," Lisa said, "That car's stopping."

I was trying to not look directly at whoever might be behind the wheel of any of these vehicles, but I glanced over and saw that a red Lexus had indeed braked for us. I held on to my purse and skittered across the street as quickly as I could in my pumps, remembering to make small steps, with Lisa right behind me. With a delicious shifting of my skirt lining, I stepped up onto the sidewalk and caught my breath.

I heard a bell tingling, and looked over to see an older woman coming out of Hot Nails. When she saw Lisa and I approach the door, she stopped and held it for us. As I walked past her, she looked at me and suddenly smiled. "Thank you," I whispered.

"Thank you," Lisa said.

"You're welcome," the woman replied as we entered the salon, the bell tingling as she let it swing closed.

"Hi, Lisa!" a small, Asian woman greeted us. She came out from behind the little podium with a big smile on her face. She winked at me. "How are you two this morning?"

"We're fine, Ahn," Lisa said. "We had an appointment?" I nervously looked down at the narrow-banded watch on my hairless wrist. The salon was narrow and deep, with several tables set up on one side, and a line of comfortable-looking chairs along the opposite walls. There were probably at least a half-dozen women in here, either getting their nails done, soaking their feet in the comfortable-looking chairs, or waiting up here near the front of the store reading a women's magazine.

Ahn nodded and motioned us over to the waiting area. "I'll be right with you," she was saying. "Five minutes," she said.

"Thank you, Ahn," Lisa was calling, as I retreated to one of the chairs in the waiting area. I felt incredibly conspicuous, as though on display for all of these genuine women, but amazingly, although several of them had casually glanced at us when we entered the salon, none of them were paying any attention to us now.

I carefully smoothed my skirt and sat, sliding my purse strap off of my arm. After a moment's consideration, I crossed one knee over my other knee. Lisa smiled in approval, and I reached over for the nearest magazine, taking a moment to register once again the cute little cuffs on the three-quarter length sleeve of my soft blouse.

It was a back issue of Redbook magazine, and I began to idly flip through it, my attention finally focusing on an article about Teri Hatcher, when I heard the front door tingle and a commotion blow into the salon.

"Ohmigod, Lisa!" a woman exclaimed. I looked up and saw a girl dashing over to us, wearing the same work uniform that Lisa always wore, her heels clicking loudly.

"Hi, Carrie," I said quietly.

"Lisa," she announced, "you are so lucky! I can't believe it!"

"I know!" Lisa replied.

Before I knew what was happening, Carrie was leaning down, putting her arms on my shoulders and pressing her cheek into mine, making a kissing sound into my ear. Or, at least that's how it felt. Then she stepped back, and I hoped my wig hadn't been knocked crooked. "You look gorgeous!" she told me.

"Thank you," I said, smiling at her in spite of myself, and taking a moment to notice how uncharacteristically sedate she looked in her regal work attire.

She was wearing the jacket and the high-necked blouse, the collar carefully crafted into a pre-formed ascot-like crepe tie that, in fact, didn't tie at all. Rather, it only appeared to loop around the neck and drape gracefully down the front of the blouse; it was actually sewn to look that way. As I mentioned, the blouse actually buttoned all the way up the back below a covered placket, with two tiny pearl-like buttons at the very top--at the back of the neck. Identical little buttons closed the delicate cuffs around Carrie's wrists, and I could see her shoulderpads through the cream-colored semi-sheer material of the blouse. Her skirt was the same cream color as the blouse, and Carrie was also wearing cream-colored pumps. I found it odd seeing her all dressed up, anyway--I was used to her hanging out with Lisa wearing tank tops and jeans.

"I love those shoes," I said to Carrie, trying to speak from the back of my throat and sound hopefully not just higher-pitched in tone, but more lilting in my speech pattern.

Carrie looked down, put her hands on her hips, then looked at me and said, "I love your shoes too, darling!" The she giggled. "Lisa, have you named her yet?"

"Not yet," Lisa admitted, nudging me. Behind Carrie, Ahn was motioning for me to come over to one of the little nail tables.

I uncrossed my legs and stood. Lisa grabbed my wrist and pulled me down to her. "And try to think of a name for yourself," she said into my ear.

I nodded, clutching my purse, and carefully walking over to where Ahn was standing. "Is this your first manicure?" she asked.

"Yes," I said quietly as I arranged my skirt and sat down on the low-backed swivel chair, putting my purse on the floor next to me.
"You would like French tips like Lisa?" she asked. "With acrylics?"

I hesitated. Lisa said I'd be able to take these off if I wanted. She didn't say whether or not it would be easy…I had to work tomorrow night, and I had seen the prices on the wall near the front podium. Still…I inhaled, feeling my breast forms rise and fall underneath my soft blouse, and felt suddenly (and perhaps literally) intoxicated by the distinct aroma being made by all of the various nail polishes and beauty concoctions. And I nodded at Ahn.

I rolled forward slightly in the swivel chair and placed my hands on Ahn's table. As she studied my fingers, I looked down at myself.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Just a second," I said. I could feel that one of my bra straps had been slowly inching further and further down my shoulder and was probably about to hang loose; I furtively reached into my open-collared blouse and pulled it back up. Then I straightened the collar of the blouse, looking down to make sure that the backward buttoning buttons came up between my "breasts" in a reasonably straight line. Then I fluffed my hair over my collar for good measure, leaned forward, and crossed my legs at my ankles, enjoying the feel of the thin layer of nylon on my calves and the way my heels helped prop my feet forward. Then I quickly tried to tug my three-quarter length sleeves back towards my elbows, although the double-buttoned cuffs prevented them from actually moving above my elbows. Then I extended my hairless arms towards Ahn and placed my fingers on the table before her.

"I'm ready," I said.

TO BE CONTINUED

  

  

  

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