Confidence Trick

(A Fitness Class short)

by Lynda Shermer

Sarah's Stiletto fitness class at the center ended. I was awarded certificates, one for Tim, and one for Karen. Somewhere on YouTube is a recording of our final recital. Of course, in it, I'm almost unrecognizable. It garnered some nice comments and likes at the time, and then pretty much dropped from sight.

There have been some changes since then; I moved in with Julie (she had the better furniture and view of the two of us).

I put my foot down over the concept of the pole dance class, though. Things were getting too busy.

Other than the change in living arrangements, the biggest changes were at work. We'd started as a small materials handling firm, specializing in inventory control systems, all the way from handheld barcode scanners to big automated warehouses. Then we'd been acquired by a bigger corporation. They had their corporate headquarters in Pennsylvania. They'd continued the office in Chicago, albeit at a smaller scale, but rather than making everyone move to Philadelphia, they introduced "Work From Home".

"Work From Home" was actually an ideal situation in tech circles before it became necessitated by the Coronavirus disaster. Audio conference calls were the rule before Zoom (unless you had the bucks to set up Cisco gear, and a VERY high bandwidth connection.) Our company had adopted Work From Home to save office costs and retain critical personnel, given the geographically diverse nature of our workforce.

It meant no more commute. Hurrah! More time at home with my girlfriend. But it also meant we both had to carve out workspaces for ourselves in our one bedroom apartment. Boo!

Still, that seemed ideal, what with a boss now in Philadelphia, and team members in Detroit, Tupelo, Jersey City, San Francisco, Salt Lake City, and Los Angeles. But then I discovered a problem: somehow, I had lost the ability to stand before a group of people and give a presentation.

It wasn't shyness. I'd had body issues most of my life, but I'd overcome them in Sarah's stiletto fitness class; so much so that I was now sharing a one bedroom apartment with my serious girlfriend, Julie, after all. But in giving presentations, people tended not to take me seriously; my voice was too high, and with the starts and stops, and ers and ums, people didn't seem to feel it was authoritative, and argued with me critiquing my style instead of the technical details. Actually, I'd previously seldom had to stand up and formally present to an audience, as I deal mostly with technical concerns. So much so, in fact, that my problem came as a surprise to me.

And it was worse when I couldn't gauge the reactions of my audience while I was talking to them, as in an audio conference.

Exacerbating things just now was a big presentation I'd been assigned which pitched an automated parts warehouse project like we'd done before, but for a Japanese corporation. I'd done the report on the project, and that report now turned into the formal presentation to the potential client. A lot was on the line, and supposedly, this presentation was crucial to the deal. The pressure, of course, didn't help my performance any.

I first tried my presentation over an audio link to my workgroup. But (under orders) they attacked it so much that it threw me off base and things got worse in the question and answer period. They'd been instructed to see if I got rattled. And did I ever.

I then tried giving my presentation with Julie as an audience, when she sat behind the camera. Two problems there: in that case, I was too informal and gave a continual stream of comments, observations, asides, and in-jokes aimed at her, and, while we worked at the same company, and even on the same floor of the same office originally, we were not in the same department. (Indeed, that was the entire basis of our original relationship. She eventually admitted to me that she'd thought I looked "interesting" when walking past my cubicle to the copy room, so, hearing I'd been told to get more exercise, she'd schemed the fitness class enrollment as a way to be the only woman I knew in a room for an hour each week.) She would not always available when I had to make a presentation; she had her own work to do.

I thought my asides and observations were funny, but let's face it; Will Rogers, I was not. Still, I liked that we could talk that way, and didn't want to change my behavior if I could help it.

Maybe I should give the presentation to a cardboard audience?

No good; I tried it, it flopped, according to those that listened to the recording.

With music as a background to distract me, or recorded crowd noises?

Nope and Nope; I tried both, and both were no better. And then I tried music again, but different types; Ambient, classical, pop, folk, instrumental, and techno; no genre of music helped appreciably.

---

 

I was lying in bed, worrying about it, when Julie asked, "Well, when was the last time you remember feeling confident and bold?"

"I can't remember a time. Well, except... No, that doesn't apply..."

"What?"

"Well, back in class."

"When you were at university?"

"Umm, no; When we were in Sarah's class," I mumbled.

"In Stiletto Fitness?"

"Yes, Ok? I eventually came to feel confident in class. In fact, apart from the fact that the shoes sometimes hurt my feet, I felt comfortable, confident, and somehow, powerful. Silly, isn't it?"

"No; Not really. Why do you think Dominatrix's wear those boots. Hmmm, that gives me an idea for your halloween costume this year..."

"Don't you dare!"

"More immediately, why don't you check the box in your closet and see if anything in it helps."

"What box?"

"The box on the shelf, where the wardrobe that made up Karen is..."

"oh; that box. I suppose it's worth a try."

I hadn't looked in that box since we put it away after the wrap party. Frankly, in some ways, it scared me. Occasionally, briefly, I'd felt like a different person. And I'd pretty much been OK with it. In fact, mostly, I'd enjoyed it.

In the morning, after getting ready for work (or at least as ready as "Work From Home" required of me), I dragged "that box" down from the shelf. It had gathered a little dust, but the lid fit well, and the interior was dust free and dry.

In the bottom, under various things that weren't germane (such as the disks of our practices and the final perfomance) were Karen's pumps and her low boots.

I looked at them, remembering times in class.

"Memories, huh?" Julie had suddenly appeared behind me, unobserved.

"Whatever gets this presentation done."

"So you're going to just wear the shoes?" She sounded a little sorry at the observation.

"That should be all that's needed," I replied.

But of course in reality it wasn't that simple. The first problem is that wearing my regular socks, the shoes didn't fit. Had my feet spread? Was I using thicker socks? No clue.

So either I was going to have to get those abbreviated things women wear under pants, go barefoot in the shoes, or put on my tights again.

Julie said she didn't wear those things (Trouser Socks or knee highs, she told me they were called) nor have any, when I asked. And barefoot, my feet sweated and stuck to the shoes (I was later to find that there were even more abbreviated nylon things called footies, but we didn't have any of those, either).

So I donned my tights again. Of course, those only really fit properly with the right underwear. And looking back in the box for the tights, I had run across my wrap skirt...

Really, all that went together.

When I had all that on, Julie looked me over, and said "Karen! Where have you been?"

"No, only Karen from the waist down."

"Pity..."

I grabbed my printed notes for the presentation, pushed my chair under my desk, and proceeded to give the presentation while pacing back and forth. Meantime, Julie was on her machine in her workspace, listening to and recording my performance.

When I finished, she came in and played it back to me.

Better, although I still showed a lot of the meta-linguistical um, er, and ahs that I was trying to eliminate.

Additional, there was a fairly regular clicking on the recording.

"What's that noise, there?" I asked.

"That's your heels on our hardwood floors..."

"Oh. I'll have to remember to put down a rug."

"Yes, although I kind of like it...", she said, wistfully.

So, better. Not perfect, but maybe practice would improve it.

So, my heart in my mouth, I gave the presentation live at that week's audio conference meeting (with rug in place.)

Afterwards, my boss said that it was good, but I still seemed a little tentative. For the final meeting, we had to be decisive and certain.

Once I hung up, Julie, from her perch at our the dining table where she had observed all this, said, "You know what this means; drastic measures are called for."

I begged off; the next day, I gave my presentation again (with the boots, instead of the pumps, this time), and had Julie record it again; but we agreed it was no better than the last time, so practice (and the change of shoes) wasn't cutting it.

"You know what this means," she told me.

"I have to give the presentation. There will be questions afterwards which I will have to answer."

"You can give the presentation; just, not, you know, you. It's time to let Karen have a go. It's an audio link, no one will see. I'll even not peek if you insist."

If I was going to do this, it seemed I'd have to commit seriously to it. I called my aesthetician, Amanda, and made an appointment.

---

 

Waxing, eyebrow threading, nails, and a pedicure. Karen's hair was a wig. I had it checked and shampooed, but it wasn't going to need a trim, at least.

While she worked, Amanda kept up a stream of conversation; After our class had ended, Julie had started coming to her salon, and Amanda wanted to know how she was doing, and more significantly, how we were doing. But after assurances that things were well, she probed a bit further.

"I know Julie and Karen practiced together, and had class together. You two ever do anything else as a couple?

"Sure, we live together," I replied, puzzled.

"No, Julie and Karen, not Julie and Tim."

"Well, we went out to dinner a couple of times, and did some shopping..."

"So, nothing special? Well, never mind."

"Well, there was that one night I slept over on her couch." I wasn't going to discuss the other time that Julie and Karen slept together, even though it seemed to be the sort of thing Amanda was looking for; some things are private, even in the salon.

"That's sounds promising."

"It doesn't have to be promising; she and I live together; we sleep in the same bed."

"I know. Look, if you say anything about this, I'll deny it; I'm breaking the unwritten code of the salon here, but occasionally, talking, Julie will look a little wistful. I get the distinct impression she misses Karen. And you're Karen."

"Well, I'm all that's real about Karen, I suppose."

"I'm certain Julie's still really into you, from how she talks about the two of you and the little things she mentions forgiving you."

What did that mean? I decided I'd prefer not to go there.

Amanda continued, "But in any relationship, sometimes you'll wonder about a 'what-if', and I get the feeling her 'what-if' is Karen. In a way, you're kind of unique; her other is the same person, physically, as her everyday. The two of you can get that romance without straying from home. You're doing all the prep work right now, you should take advantage of it, is all I'm saying."

"Amanda! That's really shocking! Umm, how do you suppose that would work?"

"Up to you; I never said anything."

We finished putting Karen together, as I'd brought a change of clothes. As this was not a dance recital, I'd prepared with normal to formal office clothes for Karen, including a suit borrowed from Julie, as we were roughly the same size.

---

 

Back at home, all ready, I started in on the presentation again. This time, Julie pronounced me perfect. She'd fed me questions from the cards I'd prepared, and I neatly fielded every one.

In the post mortem, she gave me 11 out of 10, and fortunately we'd recorded the audio. I sent the audio to my boss attached to an email. (And made sure it was only the audio.)

Then I set the table, and started dishing up the Chinese food I'd been keeping warm in the oven.

When I sat down, Julie, looking puzzled, asked, "Aren't you going to change?"

In response, I opened the top two buttons of my blouse. "Oh, I think this suit isn't too formal to eat in. What do you think?", and crossed my legs under my skirt, at the knees, taking care to keep my calves together.

Julie looked a bit nonplussed, but sat down to eat.

Afterwards, we both stood, and I cleared the plates. Having done that, I crossed to her, set my glasses on the table, and, removing my hair ornament, let my hair down, as I swung my head.

It was such a stereotyped move. I'd practiced it. (We'd covered the whipping of hair in class, and as I said, I'd passed. I'd been marked down as exceptional, in fact.); I even managed to keep my hair from getting stuck to my lipstick, for once.

"Tim...", she started.

"Oh, let's leave him out of it, tonight, shall we?", and proceeded to grasp her by the elbows and kiss her soundly.

I knew she was tasting my lipgloss (raspberry, applied over my lipstick); as I held her close, she must be smelling the herbal shampoo my wig had been washed with, my deodorant, and my perfume, all scents selected to blend together. The final note should be my scented face powder and the baby powder scent from under my perfume.

"It's not fair," she moaned.

"What's not fair?", I said, nuzzling her neck with my lips.

"You shouldn't be this good at seduction...", she said, melting in my arms.

"I've had the very best teacher," I informed her, as I nibbled on her earlobe, which I knew she particularly enjoyed, toying with the back of her earring with my tongue.

---

 

Tim and Julie slept together regularly, but this was somehow different. I'd slept over at Julie's apartment as Karen twice, before we'd moved in together, as I've said, and even shared her bed that way, once. Tonight was a more intimate experience for both of us. I learned some things that Karen responded differently to than Tim, which was going to be food for thought for a long time, especially as, with the presentation recorded, Karen only had one more scheduled appearance, to take questions, and after that, she probably would just end up in the box in my closet again.

Pity, that.

Of course, it didn't go that way.

---

 

The next day, after the presentation audio and the question session, my boss called me back on my cellphone. I took the call with my legs demurely crossed, in my desk chair, distracted by the feeling of my pantyhose covered legs rubbing against each other.

"Tim, everyone loved the presentation, and your answers were spot on. You were perfect, timing and everything. No glitches there."

"But?"

"Well, there's a lot of local team spirit at the client's office. They are strongly pushing to hire locally and do the work there. Personally, I think your presentation adequately covers the follies of that, but we have to put that argument to them in the strongest terms."

"My research shows that, clearly. So I guess we can't just send the presentation? When have you scheduled the audio conference for? I'm ready."

"You certainly seem to be, but that's the hitch. The board decided they want you to go over there and give the details in person, and deal with any questions. They still remember that time you barged in there with that Lego thing you built to prove we'd laid the automated vehicle guideways out all wrong. It impressed them. The company is willing to give you a vacation, afterwards, there or anywhere else, we think it's that crucial."

"Over there?"

"Osaka. I think they have the remnants of a world's fair there, if you want to see that."

---

 

So the idea was I'd fly to japan, have a couple of days to get over jet lag, and then brief their company executives (who fortunately all spoke perfect English as my Japanese was limited to a few words I'd picked up in thrillers and anime), and convince them.

I was off the hook; I was to give the presentation before living, breathing people!

So we held a yet another run through, this time live (with me dressed for the office as Tim, of course) with people who still worked at corporate headquarters.

---

 

It was a disaster; worst yet. It seemed that in giving the presentation over and over again, I'd burned out on the material. I'd rushed through parts, mumbled others. In working from home, I even seemed to have lost some of my people skills, never that good at the best of times.

At home, I recounted the latest to Julie, who was suitably horrified, and hugged me to comfort me.

And then she said, "Why don't you show me, right now."

So I grabbed my note cards and stood in front of the whiteboard. As I started to talk, Julie stopped me.

"No, not like that. As Karen."

I was perplexed. Surely a disastrous presentation was a disastrous presentation, no matter how I was dressed.

But I agreed; I got out all the fixings, and put everything on. Julie did my makeup, making me look particularly nice.

And then I walked back in front of the whiteboard and started again. I worked through the whole thing, and when I was done, Julie stood up and applauded.

She said I'd done it perfectly, timing and everything. None of the asides I normally did when presenting to her.

And then she surprised me; she'd recorded the whole thing and queued it up for playback

It was perfect.

But no one but me and Julie (and Amanda; I'd told her why I was doing this, of course, while she worked on me) knew that Karen, not me, was giving the presentation when it worked. And now it was going to have to be live. And the very least of the problems with that was that Karen didn't have a passport!

---

 

In bed, I reiterated all this to Julie.

"But that doesn't do us any good; Karen can't present before this audience. Heck, I'd bet she can't leave the continent. She has no ID to even get into the airport.", I pointed out, as I was dropping off to sleep.

"It's impossible," I finished.

"Well, it seems unlikely, I'll admit," Julie admitted.

Later, in the middle of the night:
"Tim! Wake up."

"Wha...", I drowsily replied.

"This could work, if everything breaks just right..."

"You're dreaming; go back to sleep."

"No, really. We just need to be sure that your presentation only reaches home in audio form, and that no one refers to your gender in a way that can't be put down to translation error! Listen! We pitch it as, for reasons of protection against industrial espionage, we can only allow heavily encrypted feeds. We specify encryption that would be challenging at video bandwidth, and I'm there in part for data security (which gives me an excuse to sabotage any video links.) Further, we say that our "key man" insurance insists no photos or name badges, lest your contract be sniped by a competitor."

"They'll never go for that, and how can we impose those conditions and not seem weird to our company?"

"We claim these are standard corporate practices, these days."

"We can't back that up, and Jack talked about the negotiations he's done for this, and a big deal he closed last year there. He's going to smell a rat. Besides, I have serious doubts we can get Karen there in the first place. She has no passport, no ID, and I think those breast forms look weird on an X-ray scanner, even in checked luggage..."

"What makes you think that?"

"Something I read."

"Well, the beauty industry is worldwide; I'm pretty sure we can get nails, hair and boobs in Japan with some shopping."

"There are some translation difficulties I wouldn't look forward to."

---

 

Over the course of the next week, I expressed my doubts about doing the presentation in Osaka no less than three times, at varying ever increasing levels of the corporate structure. Finally, the company president, Jack, called me in; he still had an office in our old building; "Is it that you are afraid of long plane trips?"

I said no, I just didn't see why it had to be me. It seemed to me that it was out of scale with my importance here.

"The Japanese put a heavy emphasis on face to face meetings, and on competence. You're the guy that did the work, you can answer all their questions quickly. It really has to be you," he assured me.

"If they put so much emphasis on personal interaction, is the fact that I won't drink going to be a problem for them, or that I won't visit those kind of raunchy clubs that were in 'Lost in Translation'? Could my basic stodgy nature cost us the deal?"

"No, I actually have the same issues, myself, and went there for the preliminary talks with no problems, and did a deal with these guys last year, almost as big. One odd thing came up with the company president when he invited me to an odd social club, but I begged off and it was like it never happened, made no difference."

What had the company president suggested? But I didn't learn, then.

"Tim, we're desperate, here. If there's any way you can do this..."

"Well, I'm really uncomfortable with this much riding on my non-technical skills."

"Tell you what; I hear you and Julie Simons are together. Talk it over with her and I'll see if we can send her, too, to back you up."

---

 

At home that evening, I discussed it with Julie.

"Now they're talking about sending you with me."

"Well, that would make it easier to keep you away from those Geishas."

"Actually, that's a misconception, you have to build up a relationship for quite awhile before anything happens. They're mostly decorative."

"Now whose been researching?"

"I wanted to find out the protocols of big deals in Japan; the western representations are practically drunken orgies of celebration, and I wouldn't enjoy that and didn't want to insult my hosts."

"Ah, you'd pass up a drunken orgy for me? That sweet! Anyway, it turns out there is more of a culture of this there then I knew from earlier reading. I've even started noting some addresses in Osaka that I found on Google; we can start by emailing them ahead of time."

"Now, you're starting to scare me. If this goes wrong, I could be the one thing that blows this deal."

"If this goes right, Karen could be the one thing that makes this deal."

"That's just too much pressure on a figment of anyone imagination."

"You want a repeat of the other night? Imagination in bundles, but that was no figment in bed with me. That was real. Confidentially, our instructor, Sarah, wondered about Karen; you were too real, she figured you must have done this before..."

"Hand to my heart, never. Let me point out to Jack the downside once more and see if he's serious."

---

 

In the end, Jack was so serious, not only did he throw in a all-expenses paid 2 week vacation in Japan for both of us, not counting against our vacation days, he threw in enough of a bonus for a down payment on a new car.

When I accepted, I gave the board a audio copy of the presentation I'd done at home as Karen, to put their minds at ease. This was going to be tough enough without anxious calls from home. Let them wonder how I'd improved so much in 6 hours...

And with that, against my better judgement, operation Victoria was on. (What, you thought I'd name it "Tootsie"?)

---

 

We flew in to Osaka from O'Hare on a non-stop flight. Clearing customs proved to be a breeze. The flight took 16 ¼ hours, and there was even an Uber waiting as we exited the terminal with our luggage.

My first surprise was that rather than a western style hotel, Julie had booked us into the local equivalent of a bed & breakfast.

"We're going to be here for weeks; this was much more affordable. Besides, do you want to visit Japan and not get a feel for the culture? I should hope not!"

---

 

The second surprise was the hair place Julie had found. She had dealt with them through email; they were very fluent in English, and said they dealt with customers like me all the time.

But they didn't bring out a wig for Karen; instead, they started in to washing what hair I had and coloring and highlighting it, before starting in on my extensions.

Extensions? I looked at Julie.

"What? It turns out these will be easier to care for and cheaper in the end. We won't have to just waste them, like we would a wig, before the return flight, because they'll be ready to come out before that." she explained, reasonably enough.

But at the next place, things went sideways on me, again. There, after the waxed me, they started spreading adhesive, but they spread it all over my newly smooth chest, not merely where I was used to. My startled noises (that stuff was cold) attracted Julie's attention.

She explained that they'd just started using a new breastplate design instead of the old style prosthetics, and were offering an introductory price that was very reasonable

Finally, they had me pull on layers of tights, sandwiched some foam padding between them, and then pantyhose.

Julie looked on, with a smirk. "See? Now you have fine, wide, child-bearing hips! Make good wife!"

Clearly, I'd left her alone too much during the planning phase of the trip.

The specialty work being out of the way, I then dressed in some clothing we'd carried in Julie's suitcase, and went to a nail salon, where I had a pedicure and manicure with acrylic nails to all four appendages. Which was an odd experience, I'd had no idea that they did that to toenails, too. "The rest, I can figure, but the toenails?" I asked Julie.

"You should be as consistent as possible to reinforce your self image. Besides, there are beaches here; you might want to show them off," was her reply.

And while we'd been discussing that, they'd started in on my fingers, revealing to me that I was to receive nails longer than I'd ever borne before, colored a subtle matte light blue. I surrendered to Julie's plan entirely at that point, and didn't even question the choice, which made her look smug.

Finally, we went to some clothing shops. We were looking for a business suit. The one's Julie set aside had a blouse with a lower neckline than I was used to, but I guess that's what the breastplate was for.

I tried it on; I'd had cleavage before, by shading my chest, but now I had noticeable cleavage. Really noticeable. And really dimensional, too.

---

 

At the end, walking back to the B&B so Julie could see if I'd forgotten how to move in heels, or if the hip pads were hard to move in, I asked, "Ok, what was all that about?"

"What, the hair? This will look better and be more secure."

"Yes, the hair, to start with. My hair will be this color for our full vacation!"

"And the extensions will last that long too, if you want them to," she informed me, happily, "You'll have a chance to experience life with longer hair," was her answer. I was beginning to see an agenda here.

"So will the nails, if you're wondering," she added, preempting any comment I might be about to make.

---

 

The next day was the last of the days we'd allowed for adjustment and getting over jetlag. We just did tourist things around the Osaka area. Of course, part of the idea is that I did them as Karen, in her newly completed form, in a sundress.

The night before the presentation, we did a dress rehearsal, which was perfection itself.

And then, Julie bade me good night, and spread some covers out on the tatami mats by the door to our room

"I don't want you to lose your edge. Tonight you get the bed, and sleep as Karen," she informed me, firmly.

I groused about it, but she held her ground.

---

 

The morning of the presentation dawned clear, warm, sunny, and not windy, fortunately enough for our skirts, which, following local fashion, were on the short side.

We again had an Uber, this time to corporate headquarters. There, they prepared photo badges for us, sans names, color coded red to inform anyone that saw them that we were vistors.

Upstairs, we were ushered into a conference room with a large table. The directors all stood, and we made our bows. Then the company president led me to the end away from the windows, with the white board and all the media gear around it.

Julie took up her position at the production switcher, checking things over, and I saw her nod and give me the ok to start

After the president introduced me, I gave a formal bow to the board of directors, and launched into the presentation, writing my name on the white board, and pacing in front of it, making diagrams as needed. Fortunately, the room was cold, so I didn't work up as much of a sweat as I normally do (which would have been a giveaway, with the breastplate).

There were many questions. I answered them as quickly and concisely as possible, mentioning that these were exactly the techniques the company I was with had pioneered and perfected over the last decade. In the end, my sense of the room was that they agreed with me that we should do the work.

---

 

After the presentation, Julie gave me an all clear sign when all the feeds were definitely cold. I breathed a sigh of relief. The CEO expressed his thanks, mentioning that is was in no small way due to someone from my company undetaking this trip. And for a woman to be confident enough to do it counted for a lot in the decision! I felt myself turn red; I'd also seen where his male gaze had been centered while he talked to me; I excused myself to get a bottle of water.

At the food table, the company president, Satashi-san, took me aside. At least his eyes stayed properly on my face.

"I dont't know that you'll have all the words; this note is for you. If it were not for your efforts, this deal would not have gone through. Thank you for all your extraordinary work on this proposal; the merger of our companies will be strong and resolve a number of issues, and you will not find us ungrateful."

The idea that our companies were to merge was news to me, and explained why people had kept reiterating that this had been all important.

I handed the note to Julie, as she was now in the role of my assistant.

"I'm happy merely pursuing technical solutions, sir."

"That is as your chairman told me. He sends his thanks, also."

The two of them had been discussing me? Uh oh...

"He said you were a most unique, and a most modest man, and I concur and told him so. Again, many thanks. Perhaps when you get to Tokyo, I can show both of you the sight," He bowed to me and then departed. As did we, this time choosing to take a train back to our lodgings.

---

 

As we walked to the station and discussed how the presentation had gone:

"Julie? Satashi-san called me a modest man. Is that some translation problem, do you think?", I asked her.

"No, my dear; you've been rumbled. Look at the note he gave you."

I took it back from Julie.

It was folded over; inside, it read, "From one Otokonoko to another, again, my eternal thanks. I hope to talk to you and your girlfriend at more length, some day. In the meantime, you must go to Akihabara on your travels, before going home. Next trip, perhaps I can show it to you both."

"That's in Tokyo, where we'll be next week. Also, Satashi-san recommended a Geisha transformation place for gaijin in Kyoto he says is a lot of fun. Won't we be in Kyoto end of this week?", she asked me.

"He knew all along..."

"Yes, but he seems to have kept all the secrets."

"I should have known; he was the only one not staring down my cleavage..."
I said, just as we passed through the entrance to the station, together.

"Tomorrow, let's go shopping and at least get you a good pair of walking shoes. Those office heels will ruin your feet," said the woman who was the only reason I knew how to walk in heels in the first place.

She continued, head down over her smartphone, "And I think I even found a good swimsuit for you."

It did take her several seconds to notice I'd stopped dead in my tracks as she continued on...

---

 

That night in the hotel, "Where did you put the solvent for this breast plate?" I asked her from the bathroom, cleaning off my makeup and getting ready for bed.

"I'm not sure which bottle it was, it didn't come with any at the store. How do you write "solvent" in katakana, again?"

Uh oh...