Chameleon in a Candy Store by Anonymous

Author:Anonymous
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books

3

ELLEN

“Are you Rob?” a woman’s voice said.

I looked up from my bagel and shook my head.

“No, sorry.”

If she had been gorgeous I might have been less certain.

“Oh. Sorry,” said the woman, smiling weakly. She sat down at the adjacent table and glared at me as if I had just lied to her. Was I, in fact, Rob?

Her face was a conspiracy of cosmetics, and I could see how her online profile might have attracted some emails, but in daylight she looked like an effigy of a young girl. The door to the café opened behind her and a bald man about my height poked his head inside. When he spotted the woman he paused, and his eyes met mine for a split second. He could have been an older version of me. He withdrew his head and disappeared. At least he wasn’t fat.

My phone rang, and because I didn’t recognize the number, I answered, raising a finger to the woman who sat next to me, signaling that I would be just a moment.

“Hello?”

“Hello, darling sweetie, it’s Ellen.”

It was the features editor of the celebrated Prowess magazine, and her southern accent was even more pronounced now that she was alone in her apartment. She had already described herself as “the editor of a well-known magazine” in her profile, so I knew after only a little research who she was before she called. Her voice was laced with sex from the moment I answered, and within minutes she was describing her body to me.

“I’m lying on my couch in just a T-shirt and panties.”

She paused as I downloaded this mental JPEG.

“And I should warn you that my panties aren’t very fashionable. They have road maps on them. I got them in Italy.”

“Oh, I don’t know, road maps can be useful. All roads lead to Rome, and so forth.”

She giggled delightedly.

“. . . and when in Rome . . .” I caught myself, realizing it was a little too public for this.

“Now stop that. I just don’t want you to be disappointed when you see the real thing.”

When.

As she continued to describe herself, she might have been reading a letter I’d written to a Sexual Santa.

“I have a very nice bottom. I’m always getting compliments for my bottom. My breasts aren’t large, but they’re well proportioned, or at least I think they are, and my nipples stick out a lot; I have to wear padded bras because they poke out through my clothing. And I have no pubic hair. None at all. I had it all lasered. I had to go back three times until . . . well . . . now it just doesn’t grow back anymore.”

I was silent.

If there were other sounds in the world, I was unaware of them as I got up to leave. I had to hide my semi-erection from the waiting woman, who still sat there looking at me accusingly.

I walked over the Brooklyn Bridge to meet her at Quebec Street Alehouse. She turned out to be a lot smaller and prettier than I’d expected.

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