It's twenty minutes later. Officer O'Sullivan is still in her car, and you've crept into the side alley behind Baggio's to consider your next move. You still don't have any real idea how this pen works. Do you just fire it and it turns someone into a... thing? What if it doesn't work? And what if it does?
You've decided that the greatest surprise for Jessica – the one she would never expect – is to become one of the staff. Obviously she wants you to roleplay, and you can't think of a better way to do it. So now you're waiting outside for someone to come out into the alley. You're pretty sure you can zap them and grab the costume easily enough: the back door is open, and you can see a small set of stairs, presumably leading up to the owner's apartment. That will buy you enough privacy to make the switch.
There's a noise from the corridor, voices in Italian flying out in a sparky exchange, and you duck behind a dumpster. You hear footsteps, and hold your breath as you prepare to make your move. Your stomach turns, your palms sweat. You take a breath, step out, level the pen, and fire.
For a moment you think nothing's going to happen. Shit; it's not a waiter, it's the hostess – she's got a cigarette in her mouth and was preparing to light it, having stepped outside for a smoke. But then, without a sound, the flesh seems to deflate. It's as though her body and soul has vanished, leaving only her skin and clothes. You pause for a moment in shock as you watch the cigarette cartwheel in the air. Then, realizing what you've just done, you do the only thing you can: grab the bundle of flesh and clothes, and rush up the stairs. Behind you a male voice calls out, light and friendly. You ignore it, slamming the door to the owner's apartment behind you, staring around to make sure you are alone.
It's only when you realize no one else is here that you catch your breath. Thinking quickly, you dart to the bedroom – a standard, traditional, room with a few homely touches, a crucifix over the bed, and a large dresser crammed with beauty products.
“All right,” you say, pulling the clothes away from the costume. “I guess I'm going to be a woman.”
You're not sure how you feel about that, but there's no backing down now. You pick up the costume – it's the only way to think of it – find the opening, and step inside. You've already seen how the Trish costume changed Jessica, but it's even more amazing when it's your own legs replaced by someone else's smooth, olive-toned, long legs. Every inch you don, the more your amazement continues, until you find your new, perfectly manicured hands grasping that long, silky black hair and pulling it back over your own as you don your new face.
For an instant the world goes black as the costume's fit reshapes your visage: then you open your eyes, now a deep shape of hazel, and look in the dresser mirror. Staring back at you, a look of utter surprise on her lips, is a fiery Italian beauty. Her hair is still in a ponytail, her face beautifully made up with bright red lips and dark, smokey eyelids, but she is stark naked. Instinctively you trace your nails around your breasts, stroking down your lean stomach, then reaching up to touch your new cheeks. It's a remarkable face: comparatively large to the rest of the body, timeless and full of character, with large dark eyebrows and round, glorious cheekbones.
“Wow,” you say, your lips instinctively drawling a rich, melodic accent. You laugh, and hear her laugh. “I guess I'm now Italian,” you say, listening to her sparkling voice as you pose in front of the mirror. “Ciao, bella!”
It's at that point you realize the problem. You don't know how to speak Italian. You don't know how to run a restaurant, either. In fact, you don't know anything about your new body. Obviously the costume doesn't turn you into the person, only turns the person into a costume. It's a small point, but a big one.
Does it matter? You're the owner of this place: nobody will question you. You laugh and fall back on her bed, your bed now, stretching out luxuriously. Then there's a knock from the apartment door.
“Angelica?” Someone is calling you. You clear your throat – why, you're not sure – and try answering.
“Uh... yes?”
“Are you all right?” The voice is male and heavily accented. “We heard you rushing up the stairs.”
“I'm fine,” you say, slipping surprisingly easily into your role. “I just forgot to check something, that's all. Go back to work!”
“All right, you're the boss!”
You breathe a sigh of relief as you hear the footsteps fade. Maybe today you'll tell your staff only to speak in English, or that you're going to take a front of house role and only supervise. That's probably the best way to do it; it will give you ample time to spot Jessica. You scramble to the end of the bed, slipping on Angelica's clothes. You have a little difficulty with the bra, but after five minutes you are smoothing the creases of your hostess uniform, and pushing a few errant hairs back in place. You look as she did the moment she stepped out of the restaurant.
You smile at the dresser, taking out a cigarette from the pack in her jacket. You slip it between Angelica's lips and revel in your new identity. An ornate diary sits on the dresser, open at today's date and written in English and you have some time before the restaurant opens: you could find out more about Angelica Baggio for your charade tonight. Alternatively, you could call up one of the waiters and take their form instead. You have to admit though, being Angelica is even better than you imagined... and Jessica would love it.
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