One Saturday Night at Magee’s
by Ellie Dauber

I’m afraid that I screwed up in attaching the .pdf file that was the bulk of Magee’s story #2. I have fixed it. So if you couldn’t read it before please try again. And comment. I did get 8 comments on what was posted, but they were all “Where’s the .pdf?” Still eight comments are eight comments, so here’s the third story. I’d like some comments on this one, also. Just because I only wrote three doesn’t mean that a fourth one might show up, given sufficient feedback.

This is the last of three stories about Magee’s, a neighborhood bar with a most unusual owner. Out of work – and bitter -- Vic Cantrell lets his wife. Betty, drag him into Magee’s for a drink. Only to find an evening far different than they ever expected.

One Saturday Night at Magee’s
by Ellie Dauber

It was a busy night at Magee’s Irish Pub.

Saturday is always a busy night for a bar. People want to be with other people. They can relax because they don't have to go to work the next day. For some, it's the chance to be with friends. Others are doing the preliminaries of meeting and mating. A few just like to drink.

This Saturday, though, it seemed busier than usual. Sally, Simon's main waitress had to do the work of two, since it was the bar's first day without Mandy.

Mandy had been Simon's junior waitress. A short, friendly red-head with the uncanny knack of getting just about every guy in the place to think of her as his kid sister. Her husband, Rick, had come back Wednesday from a three year stint in the Aleutians with the Navy. He wanted something warmer after that. So, following a wild, happy going-away party here at the bar (thrown by Simon, of course), he and Mandy had done just that. They'd moved back to Rick's hometown, San Antonio, where he already had a job as an electronics technician waiting for him.

The problem was that Rick had come back six weeks early, and Simon hadn't had time to hire even a temporary replacement. Sally tried hard, even cut back on her flirting with the customers a little in the interest of time. But she couldn't quite be in three places at once.

Simon had filled in for a while. Then Dr. Fran offered to take over, while Simon helped Matt at the bar. Fran was a doctor, new to the neighborhood, but already well liked. Her office was over in the shopping center a half mile or so from Magee’s.

She admitted a while back that she worked her way through college as a waitress. She didn't say where, but a few of the regulars had a private bet that her boss was a guy named Hefner. She's in her -- well, I won't say how old -- but she still looks damn good. Simon thinks so, too, but that's a whole different story.

Dr. Fran had come in about 8. She knew about Mandy leaving. Heck, she'd been at the going away party. When she saw how busy it was, she asked Sally for a pad and took her own order. After she drank it, she just started on some of the other tables.

With an extra bartender and a substitute waitress in place, things settled down to their usual Saturday night chaos. There was a fairly involved discussion at one section of the bar about the current pennant race, and a few die-hards were even talking about a subway series in New York. A couple feet away, some other folks were arguing about the upcoming Senate race. The two conversations were close enough that a couple of guys seemed to be in both discussions.

The tables were as crowded as the bar. Besides the usual suspects, I spotted some folks just out from the cineplex a block or two away, three guys on their way home from their jobs with a movers, and Vic and Betty Cantrell.

Vick and Betty lived somewhere in the neighborhood. He was a salesman for some big company, but he'd been downsized a couple of months ago and hadn't been able to find a job since. They'd been getting by on savings and odd jobs, so it was something of a surprise to see them in Magees.

*****

"I don't know why I let you drag me here," Vic said. "I can hardly afford to buy myself something to drink. Let alone waste money on you."

"Oh, Vic, come on," Betty said, trying to change the subject. "We haven't gone out in quite a while. I thought it would be a nice change."

"You thought? Oh, that's just swell." He stopped and looked up as Fran came to the table. She was a doctor, worked longer hours than he had. But she still had the time to fix herself up to look pretty. Not like this doudy old lady he was stuck with.

"Hi, Betty, Vic," Fran smiled. "I haven't seen you two in here for a while."

"I --" Vic didn't want to admit that he's lost his job.

"We've been busy," Betty chimed in, trying to save face."

"I can tell her," Vic growled. "We've been kind of busy lately."

"Well, I'm glad to see you again. What'll you two have?"

"A pitcher of Bud, please," Betty said. Fran nodded and walked away.

"A pitcher?" Vic said. "And whos' going to pay for it?"

"I will. Cousin Maggie just sent me the money I loaned her last year when they came to visit, and their car broke down."

"How much?"

"$327.50; you remember. It was some kind of hose that needed replacement. They were on the way home, and they were short of cash."

"If they sent back the money we loaned them, you should told me."

"I just got the check yesterday, Vic. I cashed it this morning and put most of the money in the bank. I just kept out a little to spend on us tonight. I was going to tell you. Honest I was."

"Going to doesn't cut it. You get any more money, you tell me right away."

"That's the other reason that I wanted to come here, Vic. I -- I wanted to ask you something."

"What? Somebody else send us money you didn't tell me about?"

"No, but I know that we do need the money till you can get another job."

"I'm looking. Nobody seems to be hiring right now."

"Mr. Casey is hiring."

"Casey. Who's Casey?"

"Mr. Casey at Alden's Market."

"What does a supermarket need with a salesman?"

"It doesn't. But he does need -- well, Vic, he -- he asked if I'd be interested in working as a cashier. The money isn't very good, but --"

"No!"

"But why? We do need the money."

"I'm the husband; earning the money is my job. You think I'm going to stay home because you can get a job, and I can't?"

"But I'd only take it to help out. And I promise to quit the day you find something."

"You make it sound like you don't expect me to."

"No, please, no, Vic. I'm sure that you'll find something very soon. I just thought --"

"You thought! Who told you you could think? If we have to depend on you and your thinking to keep us going, we'll be in the poor house inside of six months."

"But we need the money."

"I'll tell you what we need, you stupid cow." He raised his hand as if to hit her. He never did, but it was satisfying to him to watch her cower as if he would.

Only this time, when he raised his hand, someone grabbed his wrist and held it. Vic turned to see who it was.

"What you need is to come into the back room with me," Simon said. You are disturbing my friends here in the bar." He said it softly, but there was an undertone that made it clear to both Vic and Betty that this was an order, not a request.

The couple stood. Fran was just bringing the beer. Simon turned to her and said, "Thank you, Fran, but the Cantrells are just leaving. Please give the pitcher back to Matt."

Fran turned and headed back to the bar. Simon motioned towards the hallway to his back room. "Over you please, Betty, Vic." Again, it seemed like an order that they felt compelled to obey. They followed Simon to the back room. He had a desk against one wall. He offered Betty the chair near it, sat down on a crate, and motioned for Vic to do the same.

"Now, what was all of that commotion about?" Simon said.

"None of your damned business," Vic answered.

"Everything that goes on in my establishment is my business. Especially when it disrupts the mood of my friends."

"I -- I asked Vic if I could get a job," Betty said. "I'm afraid that he didn't like the idea."

"He should," Simon said. "He's been out of work for quite a while, and I doubt that his unemployment checks cover all your expenses."

Vic lept to his feet. "That's it, Betty! What have you been doing; spreading out our dirty linen for the whole world to see? I told you I didn't want anybody to know."

"She did not tell me, Vic. I like to know what's happening in the lives of my friends, and I counted you among that group until tonight. I make it a point to know."

"Stupid woman still had no business talking." He sat down giving Betty a scowl that meant there would be trouble later.

"I was just -- I was just trying to help," Betty said, and she began to cry.

"Of all the stupid," Vic said. "Stop crying, you dumb woman." Betty looked up at Vic and just began to cry harder. Vic raised his hand again, and she shuddered. She tried, but her crying didn't stop.

Simon rose to his feet. "You have gravely harmed this woman; broken her --"

"I never hit her!"

"Not her body, perhaps, but you have broken her spirit. She has lost her free will and is dependent on you for the emotional support you are unwilling to give."

"She's my wife. She's supposed to take care of me."

"Marriage is a partnership. Each must help the other bear the troubles life may cast at them."

During this exchange, Betty had continued to just sit in the chair staring wide-eyed at the two men. Now she began to sob, softly at first. Then the crying grew fiercer until her entire body seemed to be shedding the pain. Simon looked at her for a moment, and then turned to Vic.

Vic glared at Simon. "What am I supposed to do," he said. "You're the one who made her cry like that."

"Then, I should be the one who comforts her," Simon said. He turned and gently helped Betty to stand. Then he put his arms around her, letting her head fall onto his shoulder. He hugged her carefully, muttering some words that she couldn't begin to understand in her ear.

A strange, somehow comforting warmth seemed to spread through Betty's body. She still felt the hurt of Vic's words, but more and more it was as if those were memories of a story, not of her own life. She turned her head to look at Vic. For some reason she didn’t understand, he seemed older than she remembered.

Vic stared in disbelief. Betty seemed to be getting younger. The grey was disappearing from her hair, the lines from her face. In a few moments, they were gone. She seemed a little thinner now, looking like she had in her mid-twenties. There was an odd expression on her face, too, as if she wasn't upset anymore and didn't know why. He wanted to move closer for a better look, but his body refused to move.

Betty got even younger. She looked the way she had when she and Vic had met in college. Damn, he'd forgotten how beautiful she had been. Why the hell had she let herself go like she had? She must have known how much he disliked her looking like she had been.

As Vic watched, Betty continued to grow younger. Now she looked as if she were in her teens. She was smaller, too. Her head was resting on Simon's chest, rather than his shoulder. There were some freckles on her face now, and a curious expression. She didn't seem to know who he was. Her clothes, strangely enough, continued to fit, shrinking even as her body did. Her bra adjusted as her breasts grew smaller. The heels on her shoes became smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing as the shoes became a pair of flat sandals.

Betty felt her body relax as it continued to shrink. Something had been bothering her, but she couldn't remember what. Maybe that man there, whoever he was. He seemed familiar, but she wasn't really sure.

By now, Betty was no more than twelve; her womanly curves diminishing; her breasts now gradually disappearing back into her chest. Her body became more angular. Her now unnecessary brassiere changed under her blouse to a girl's t-shirt. Her panty hose thickened into a pair of "Little Miss" tights. She still held herself close to Simon's body, though her once supple arms were now scarely able to reach all the way behind him.

Simon reached down and picked up the now eight year old girl. She continued to hold him, now hugging him around the neck. Her hair was now arranging itself into two pigtails. Somehow, they had little pink ribbons tied into bows at the end.

The process continued for a minute or so more. Betty's body plumped a bit as some of her baby fat returned. She blinked her eyes, and then closed them. She was now a five year old sleeping peacefully in Simon's arms.

Suddenly, Vic realized that he could move again. "Great," he said. "Now I've got a kid to worry about instead of a wife."

"It would seem so," Simon said. "And at her young age, you will have to take care of her instead of demanding that she take care of you."

"But I don't know anything about taking care of young kids. That's a mother's job."

Simon smiled. He had hoped that would be the man's reaction. "I'm sure that you can make the necessary adjustment."

Vic took another step then found that he was trapped within some sort of circle of light that had formed around him. Simon shifted Betty, freeing his one arm. He said something in a strange language and began to gesture with his free hand. As he did, a something formed in his hand, a shimmer like the air over a concrete road in the hot sun. Simon stopped speaking and held his hand traight out. The something pulsed an electric green and flew from his hand toward Vic. It passed through the wall of light that held him prisoner, hit him in the chest, and then sank down into his body.

Vic clutched at his chest not knowing what to expect.

He felt the whatever-it-was was a warmth inside him, a warmth that seemed to grow outward, flowing to all parts of his body. He took his hands away from his chest and looked at them. They seemed to be growing smaller. His fingers were getting longer and slimmer. As he stared, he noticed that his nails also seemed to be growing.

He looked up. The room was growing bigger. No, he realized suddenly, he was shrinking. He shuddered, expecting to repeat what Betty had just gone through. He wasn't ready to be a five-year old again. But the process stopped after a few seconds. He was only perhaps a foot smaller than he had been. He looked down at his body now. He was much slimmer than he had been. He had never been a Schwarzenegger, but now he looked like a damned scarecrow. His arms were like pipe cleaners sticking out of the sleeves of his sport shirt. Somehow, though, his clothes did still fit him.

As he stared at his arms, he realized that he had lost his body hair -- at least what he could see. His arms were hairless and pale. Then they began to grow a bit more rounded, as if a layer of fat was forming beneath them.

He saw two small mounds growing out from his chest. Breasts! They couldn't be. But they were. He touched them, feeling the sensitive nipples through his shirt. They grew and grew, pushing out his shirt so that he could actually see his bare stomach.

He shook his head in disbelief. Something bushed against his neck then moved down onto his back. A hand shot up. Hair! His hair had grown down onto his shoulders.

He felt a constricting at his waist. He looked down to see the beer belly that he'd nurtured during his unemployment shrink away. His waist grew thin enough that he could see his boxer shorts in the space between his stomach and his pants.

The pants should have fallen as his waist shrank. They did slide down some, but were stopped as his hips expanded and his butt firmed and rounded. The pants legs became narrower, but then they seemed to fill in as his legs grew round and curvy.

Vic realized that he was becoming a female. He panicked and reached down into his shorts for his penis. It was there but much smaller. And shrinking more even as he tried to hold onto it. His other hand reached down for his balls. They were gone. He could somehow feel them moving up into his body, becoming part of a woman's sexuality. The empty sack grew tighter. It shrank down against his crotch, separating as an opening formed in the middle to become his vaginal lips. He felt the nub that his penis had become slip down into the opening to become his clitoris.

He was a woman.

Now his saw his clothing change. His sneakers turned a pale pink. His pants turned into jeans of a matching color and a feminine cut, tight against his new crotch and accenting his lush hips and rounded ass. His sport shirt also turned pink. Scalloped sleeves formed. The neckline grew until the curve at the top of his new breasts could be seen. He felt some sort of movement on those breasts and realized that he was now wearing a bra. He couldn't see it happen, but his boxers had also transformed into a pair of lacy panties.

"You should know what you are now, Vickie," Simon said. The air shimmered in front of him and became a sort of mirror. He saw a pretty young woman, perhaps 25 though probably younger. Her blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail that went halfway down her back. Her make-up -- make-up! When had that happened? -- was subtle, eyeliner and mascara to give a doelike quality to her eyes, a bit of rouge on her cheeks and a pale pink lipstick. Her eyebrows were arched slits; her lips rather full. She looked nothing at all like Vic Cantrell.

"What did you ---" Vic stopped. She didn't sound like Vic either. Her voice was a pleasant contralto, rather than his beery baritone.

"You said that a child needed a mother to take care of her," Simon said. "Since you're her only relative in this new life of hers, I gave you the job."

"And if I don't want it?"

"You don't have the choice. Vic and Betty Cantrell no longer exist. You remember who you were, but Betty doesn't. As far as she's concerned, she's Betsy Carver, and you're her Mommy."

"Yeah, right."

"As I said, you have no choice. Tell me your names."

"I'm Vickie Carver. No, I mean Vickie Carver. Carver. Carver. And that's my daughter, my daughter -- damn you, Simon! -- my daughter, Betsy."

"That's right. You know who you were, and given time, you'll know what you were. But he's gone, and I'm the only one that you can talk to about him. You'll find that you also have a very strong sense, almost a compulsion, of obligation to little Betsy here. You want to be the best mother possible to her."

"And how do I do that? I don't know the first thing about being a woman, let alone a mother. And how do we live if I don't have a job? At least as Vic, I was still on unemployment."

"You'll find that the knowledge is there. Being a woman is a lot like being a man. Do your job, try not to hurt anyone, love, laugh; it's all the same. The specifics for make-up and dresses and heels you'll find that you also have."

"Now," he continued. "As far as a job; have you ever waited tables?"

"No, but it doesn't look that hard."

"It isn't. Sally can show you the ropes in no time, especially with Fran helping tonight."

"What!"

"You need a job. I need a waitress. Fran -- Dr. Fran cannot give up her practice just to help me take care of my customers."

"If you were so hard up, why couldn't you have hired me as Vic? Then I wouldn't be in this new body."

"Vic was one type of person that I'm allowed to discriminate in my hiring practices, a rotten human being and a wife-beater."

"I never hit her."

"A blow to the spirit can do more damage and take longer to heal than one to the mind. You excelled in such blows. But now the damage is gone, and there are no scars because there is no memory of her former life."

"You mean she thinks she's a little girl."

"She is a little girl. Her child's mind had no place for the memories of an adult, so they have left her mind." Simon paused. "Left her mind for your own."

Suddenly, Vic's mind was filled with images of the past: Betty growing up, going to college, meeting him. He remembered their courtship, seeing it now from her point of view. He felt the love grow within her and felt the joy when he asked her to marry him.

Then came the terror. Vic had not handled married life very well. He became frustrated at his life at home, the limitations of having to support two people on a single salary. At work, the promotions and recognition he sought never came fast enough. And he took out all of that on Betty.

He had never raised a hand to her. But he had belittled and berated her at every opportunity and for things that were hardly her fault. She was a good wife, and she loved him. She -- oh, Lord -- she blamed herself for what he was doing to her. She lost what drive she had had and settled for a mediocrity and self-loathing that she did not deserve. Most horrible of all was the number of times that she had thought, not of saving herself by leaving him, but of punishing herself one last time by suicide.

The shock of what Vic, now Vickie, remembered was too much. She sank down into a chair and began to sob.

Vickie's crying was not loud, but it was enough. The small child awoke and squirmed in Simon's arms. "Mommy," she said. Simon gently put her down. Betsy ran over to the person she now knew as her mother. "Don't cry, Mommy," she said, hugging the transformed man.

Simon smiled. "It's all right, Betsy. Your Mommy's crying because she's happy."

"Who are you, Mr.?"

"My name is Simon, and I've just given your Mommy as job as my new waitress. Isn't that right, Vickie?"

Vic – Vickie -- looked up. "You mean it, Simon. You'll give me that chance after what I did?"

"Vickie, you didn't do anything. The person who did those things is buried within you, imprisoned by his own remorse for what he now realizes he had unknowingly done."
Betsy yawned deeply and let go of her mother. She climbed up onto Simon's empty chair, curled up, and tried to fall asleep. "Now, as to the little one," Simon said. "I have a cot in my store room where she can sleep for now. You're welcome to it as well after we close."

"I have a place."

"No, the Cantrells had a place. They're gone. If you wish, I can arrange for you to take over their lease."

"No. Somehow I get the feeling that if I'm starting over, I should start clean."

"I agree. I also happen to know that there's a small apartment available in Joe Lander's building. I'll pay the first month's rent, and you can pay me back out of your wages. I also suggest that you talk to his wife. She's a lovely lady, who's always happy to babysit a small child, especially since their own granddaughters live out on the West Coast. You should have no trouble arranging for her to watch Betsy when you're working here."

"Thank you, Simon. I really don't deserve your kindness."

"Perhaps not, but Betsy does. I'll give you a few minutes to settle her in the cot. You can put your suitcase there as well."

"Suitcase?" Vickie looked down to see a large brown suitcase on the floor next to her. A woman's purse -- her purse, she somehow knew -- was atop the suitcase.

"Certainly. You'll need toiletries and a change of clothes for yourself and Betsy for tomorrow. The rest of your luggage is in a locker at the bus station. Matt, my bartender, can go down with you to get it tomorrow morning. The locker key is in your purse."

Vickie leaned over and kissed Simon on the cheek. She surprised herself by doing so, but somehow it had seemed the right thing to do. She picked up Betsy, who was almost asleep in the chair, and followed Simon to the storeroom and on to her new life.