"But there has to be some way to reverse it, doesn't there? Or maybe it'll wear off. Once all this FY-1978 is out of my system."
"It doesn't work that way. The FY-1978 will eventually break down, but the changes to your cells-to your DNA-are permanent."
"But you have to be able to do something. You're a scientist." Tears bubble up in my eyes as much as I don't want them to. In the back of my mind I always knew a cure wouldn't be easy to find, but the opinion of a scientist like Dr. Palmer carries a lot more weight.
"I'm not as good of a scientist as Dr. Nath. Few people are. She was the best in her field." As I begin to sob, Dr. Palmer puts a hand on my shoulder. "I'll do what I can. I know some people who might be able to help. After we get everything together, I'll show them and maybe they can find a way."
"But you still don't think it'll work."
"I have to be honest here, Stacey. I don't know why it worked the first time. It's incredible. Until about two hours ago I would have said it was impossible."
"So what am I supposed to do now?"
She pulls me in closer, to hug me to her body and stroke my hair. After a day of being prodded and poked like a steer going to market, this kind of intimacy feels good. "You have to stay positive. You've been given a second chance. You can start a whole new life. You're young and pretty and you're not dumb either. Find yourself a job. Go back to school. Is there something you always wanted to do before you became a police officer?"
I shake my head. Being a cop was all I ever wanted to do. Ever since I began to play cops and robbers with my toys as a toddler. "I don't want to be anything else."
"Well, you could always try rejoining the police force."
I sniffle but don't say anything. I could try to go back to the academy. Maybe I could make it through and become a beat cop again. In another five or ten years I might even make detective again. That hardly seems fair.
"I'm sure you can think of something. Give it some time. In the meantime try to relax. Get some rest. I'm sure Detective Madigan can help you get through it."
"Maybe." She gives me a couple of minutes to cry myself out before we go down to the cafeteria, where Jake nurses a cup of coffee while he checks something on his phone. The moment he looks up, he winces.
"Didn't go so well, did it?" he asks.
"Let's talk in the car," I say.
***
I give Jake a PG-rated version of Dr. Palmer's examination. "She says with Dr. Nath dead there's probably not much they can do." I look in the mirror to see my face. I'm about as much of a wreck as I was this morning. I run a hand through my hair to try to smooth it down. If I'll see this face for the rest of my life, I ought to try to take care of it. "I'm probably going to be stuck like this forever."
"Jesus," Jake says and takes a puff on his cigarette. "I'm sorry."
"I know." We go a couple of blocks in silence. Finally I say, "Dr. Palmer says I should look on the bright side. I'm getting a second chance and whatnot."
"I guess so." Jake flicks his cigarette out the window. I'm sure he hoped I'd get back to normal too. "Any idea what you want to do?"
"Yeah. I want to kill Artie Luther."
"Steve-"
"Look what he did to me! He took everything away from me: my job, my home, my family." I choke up. The tears start to flow again. There doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it. Maybe it's because I'm too inexperienced to handle all these hormones. "I know things weren't good with Debbie and Maddy before, but now I can't ever see them. Maddy's never going to call me 'Daddy' again. And it's his fault! He took all of that from me."
"That doesn't mean I can let you kill him."
"Jake, please. We've been partners for twenty-five years. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"Yeah, it means I don't want to let you do something stupid."
"It's not stupid!"
"Are you looking in the mirror at yourself? You think you can go up against Lex's thugs like that? What are you going to do, scratch their eyes out?"
I look down at my ropy arms and legs. He's got me there. "Just get me a gun," I say, though it sounds ludicrous in my little songbird voice. "All I want is to put a hole in his head when the time comes. Like he did to me. Is that too much to ask?"
"Yeah, it is too much to ask."
"Then what am I supposed to do? Go learn to bake brownies? Find some husband to take care of me and pump out his babies? Is that what you want?"
"What I want is for you to have some fucking common sense. You're not a cop anymore. You're not Steve Fischer. You're a cute little girl. You should be hanging out at the mall, giggling about boys."
"Is that how you see me? As some empty-headed bimbo?" I reach across the seat to poke him in the chest. "Whatever I look like on the outside, I'm still me on the inside. I'm still the guy who's pulled your ass out of the fire more times than either of us can count. Got it?"
He seizes my hand and begins to bend it back until I hear something pop. Though I don't want to, I whimper; fresh tears come to my eyes. "Stop it!" I shout like a little girl with a boo-boo.
"You see my point? You aren't Steve anymore."
He lets my arm go. I hold it against my chest as if it's broken. It's not; it'll just need a couple of hours to feel better. "I get it. Can't I help you track him down?"
"How are you going to help?"
"I don't know," I whine. "I can do something."
"What you can do is stay home with Tess. I'll feel a lot better if I know you've got someone looking after you."
"I don't need looking after. I'm still an adult."
"You don't have money, a job, a place to live. You don't even have any ID. No one knows Stacey Chance exists except for me, Tess, and Dr. Palmer. For now you are my child."
I sulk for a few minutes. The silence lets both of us cool off a little. I'm sure Jake knows how important it is for me to nab that bastard Luther; he wants to protect me from myself. "I can at least help you go through some of the files. I can still read."
Jake sighs heavily. "All right, you can help with some of the legwork. But when it comes time for the muscle, you're going to be at home with Tess. Deal?"
I reach across the seat with my good arm to shake his hand. "Deal."
Chapter 20
My second night in the Madigan household goes a lot more smoothly than the first. Though I insist I'm fine, Tess tucks me in again. She's changed the sheets, to a set of dark blue ones that won't show any stains. At least she hasn't put garbage bags under the sheets like I'm a bed wetter.
This night I sleep like a baby. When I wake up it's still dark in the room, but the clock says it's almost eleven in the morning. Tess didn't wake me up. She probably wants me to get some rest after how bad I've felt the last couple of days.
Before I go downstairs or even to the bathroom I go over to the vanity. As I start to brush my hair out, to replicate what Tess did, I notice something: the bruise is gone! There's a little bit of a dark circle left, but otherwise my eye looks normal. The arm Jake put into his kung-fu death grip feels normal as well.
There's only one explanation: FY-1978. Dr. Palmer said the drug was still in my system. It probably still is working its magic on my boo-boos. I lean forward until my nose almost touches the mirror to see if anything else is different. Can I still call myself eighteen or am I seventeen now? Maybe even sixteen? I can't see that much of a difference other than with the shiner. I'll have to see if Tess notices anything.
She of course notices that my bruise is gone. "Such a wonderful job with the makeup," she says.
"It's not makeup," I say.
She frowns at this; she does the math like I did. "That's remarkable. I've never seen a bruise heal so quickly."
"Guess I'm a quick healer."
For the moment it seems my period is gone too. It might be lying dormant, but there's no fresh blood on my maxi
pad and my stomach feels just fine as I wolf down the eggs and bacon Tess puts in front of me. She doesn't eat anything herself; she probably ate hours ago when Jake left. I slow down a little when I see the way her lip is curled, a rebuke on the tip of her tongue. I'm supposed to be a young lady now, not a street urchin.
"Are you feeling up to going out?" she asks after I finish breakfast.
"Sure. What about Jake-Mr. Madigan? What's he doing today?"
"He said he's going to work on a case. He promises to be home for dinner."
Jake's the kind of guy who usually keeps his promises too. He's probably going to do a little work on the Lennox Pharmaceuticals case, the kind of work he doesn't want me around for. Maybe lean on a few snitches like the Worm. Someone out there has to know where Artie Luther is holed up. Someone might even know where to find some more FY-1978; if there's any more to be found.
In the meantime there's nothing I can do but get dressed and go shopping with Tess. I'd rather shop for men's clothes, but whatever we get will be better than this stinky old tracksuit or a dead girl's clothes. Tess spreads ads across the table. All of these are for suburban stores: department stores, outlet shops, and supercenters. I stare at the models in their T-shirts and jeans. When I see a girl in sweatpants with "PINK" written on them I remember the thrift store and that nice woman Grace.
"What do you think, dear?" Tess asks.
"Um, actually, this stuff isn't really my style," I say. "I thought maybe we could go to the garment district."
"Of course, dear. Whatever you want," Tess says, though I can see disappointment on her face.
***
The garment district got its name because it used to be populated by textile mills and seamstresses, though most of those have gone in the last fifty years. The garment district doesn't have all the trendy stores like downtown or the suburbs, but it does have plenty of boutiques that charge reasonable prices. At least that's what Tess says as we make our way there.
"When I was a girl it was still a lot of hippies and drugs," she says. "It's been cleaned up a bit since then."
Cleaned up means taken over by the hipsters. They're the ones in the "vintage" clothes with too many piercings and look as if they haven't bathed in a month. I could probably fit right in with them.
We leave the car in a lot so we can get out on foot and explore. I haven't spent a lot of time in this part of town as a cop. I only came a few times on a tip or to find a snitch. Those were always in the dark; in the light the place looks worn and dirty and claustrophobic. The buildings are all squeezed together; most of them date from the 1910s or 20s, back when everyone still believed in progress.
I feel around in my pocket for Grace's business card, but Tess must have taken the card or else it got destroyed by the washer. If there were still phone books we could go look it up. The garment district isn't that big; we'll probably run across it eventually.
The first shop we stop at smells like meat. Old, salty meat. In its past life the store must have been a butcher shop. Now some woman almost Tess's age who dresses like she's still my age runs the place. "My niece needs some new clothes," Tess says. "What do you have that would look good on her?"
The woman's judgment runs contrary to what I want. She shows me a lot of peasant blouses and flowing skirts, the kind of outfits where I'd just need to put some flowers in my hair to look like someone from Woodstock. After the fourth such outfit Tess says, "Thank you so much, dear. We'll think about it."
The next shop features a girl with a pink Mohawk. There's a lot of leather in the place, not all of it clothes to wear in public. Tess and I beat a quick retreat from there. From the way Tess's face has paled, I know she's having second thoughts. We probably should have gone out to the suburbs, to the mall or Wal-Mart.
Then I see the sign for the Second Chances Boutique, which is hand-painted and matches the font on the business card. "Let's try in here," I say to Tess. I hope I don't sound too eager.
The boutique isn't much to look at, just a space about as big as my old apartment with racks of mismatched clothes on the walls and scattered throughout the store. There's a wooden counter with an old brass cash register. Grace sits behind it on a stool and reads a psychology textbook as large as the phone book. She marks her place and then looks up at me.
A smile comes to her face as she recognizes me. "I remember you. The thrift store, right? You were looking around at the men's clothes."
"That was me," I say. My face flushes with embarrassment.
"That outfit looks like it's working out for you."
"It is, thanks."
"And now you've come for more?"
"Yes." I motion with my head to Tess. "My aunt and I are doing some shopping."
"Oh, this is your aunt? It's nice to meet you. My name's Grace Meredith. I run this place, such as it is."
"It's a lovely shop," Tess says, her voice dry. I'm not sure if she just doesn't like Grace or if she's annoyed I kept from her that Grace and I already met.
Grace hops off her stool and then comes around the counter. She takes my arm to show me rows of T-shirts. Most of them are for bands I've never heard of or elections I never voted in. "Everyone nowadays is selling ironic T-shirts, but these are the real deal. See how faded some of these are? That's not because I sit around here washing them for hours like some of these shysters."
I go through the racks, but don't see anything that catches my eye. "Don't you have any plain ones?"
"I should have known. You're not the ironic type, are you?"
"No."
"You're a functional girl."
"That sounds right."
"That's fine with me. I think I got some things that will be up your alley." She shows me another rack of ordinary T-shirts and blouses. I find a few in my size. I try to stick with neutral colors: dark green, dark blue, black, and white. Nothing pink. Maybe I'll be stuck as a girl for the rest of my life, but that doesn't mean I have to dress girly just yet.
There are some jeans too. I pick out a pair of bellbottoms that along with the dark blue T-shirt remind me of Debbie when we first met. All I'd need to do was get my hair feathered and dyed blond like a wanna-be Farah Fawcett. I feel myself edge closer to a breakdown at the thought of Debbie, which always leads me back to Maddy.
Grace pats me on the shoulder to snap me out of my daydreams. "That looks really sharp," she says. "You've got a great sense of style."
"Or lack of style," I say.
"Style is supposed to suit the individual. This look you've got really fits your personality. It's straightforward, no-nonsense-"
"Functional?"
"Right. You don't mess around, do you?"
"Not if I can help it."
Tess joins us and nods in approval. "You look very nice, dear." She insists I buy at least one dress. "You need something for church," she says.
I consent to let Grace show me some dresses fit for church. I settle on a white one with a floral print; the skirt goes down to almost my ankles. "That will do nicely," Tess says. Then she clears her throat and turns to Grace. "She's going to need some?unmentionables as well."
Grace smiles and nods. "I know what you mean. We keep that stuff in the back. And don't worry, they're not vintage."
The panties come in a plastic bag, six to a pack. Without me saying anything, Grace picks out the least lacy ones-functional underwear. I take these without a word. Then I catch her staring at my chest. My face turns warm. Is she checking me out?
She is, but not the way I think. "You look like you're a C-cup," she says. "A thirty-four-C I'd say." She rummages through a rack of bras until she finds a plain white one. "This looks about right. You should go try it on to make sure."
"Oh. Right." I start to feel queasy again, but not from my period. This is just old-fashioned nervousness. I've never put a bra on before. I couldn't even take them off when I was with Debbie. The f
irst couple dates in the backseat of my car, I had to let her take the damned thing off after my fingers couldn't get the knack of it.
I take a deep breath and then go into the little changing room. It's about as big as a phone booth, with barely enough room for me to turn around. Grace guesses right about the size of it; it fits securely to my chest without constricting me. The problem as always is to hook it in the back. I try three times without success. In the mirror I see my face reddening.
There's a knock on the door. "Do you need any help, sweetheart?" Tess asks.
"I'm fine," I squeak. The tears I held back before start to come now. I want my old body back! My nice, simple man's body, where the hardest thing was to tie my necktie. Being a woman is so complicated. Complicated and annoying. I think of what Dr. Palmer said and once more the terrible reality hits me that I might be like this forever.
The hormonal storm passes after a couple of minutes. "Stacey? Are you all right?" Tess calls out. "Are you feeling ill?"
"I'm fine," I mumble. "I'll be out in a minute."
I look myself in the eye and try to stare myself down. I can do this. I've caught hundreds of criminals; I can put on a fucking bra. With renewed determination I reach back. This time I hook it together securely. Then I put my T-shirt on over it.
I make sure to wipe my eyes before I step out. I'm sure Tess and Grace can still see how red they are. "How'd it fit?" Grace asks.
"Great," I say. "Just great."
"We'll need six more in the same size," Tess says.
"Not a problem."
The bill comes to nearly three hundred dollars. I put a hand on my pocket before I realize I don't have any money. I don't have anything, not so much as a bus pass. I remember what Jake said, that I'm no one except to him, Tess, and Dr. Palmer. I'm just a plain young woman in a city with millions of them.
"I'll pay you back," I whisper to Tess.
"Nonsense, dear. It's my treat."
Grace clears her throat. "If you're looking for a job, I could use another hand around here."
"Really?"
"Sure. I can't pay more than minimum wage, but you get a discount on the clothes too."
"We'll have to think it over," Tess says. "I'm not sure Stacey is ready for that yet."
Grace nods. She reaches beneath the cash register for a business card like the one she gave me before. "You can call me anytime. If I don't pick up, just leave a message on the machine."