Quickly slips out of Jess and puts on Gem

"You mean you can make sure you see the concert," you snark. "As her."

Jimmy shrugs. "Same difference, dude. I make a better Jessica than..."

You hold up a finger to silence him. Something about Riley's body just commands respect when she wants, and you use all of her inherent charisma to silence him. "Not a chance. You're already wearing her mom and a security guard. Why don't you beat it and return them to normal, leave us girls to get changed, huh?"

"Fine," Jimmy grabs the pens from you. "I'll get out of this guy. Can't really get out of Denise yet, we can't restore her to normal at a concert."

He's got a point. You need to think about restoring people in a way that can at least be explained. If you're going to become Riley Lovelace permanently - and, sliding her perfectly manicured nails around the top of the corset, you can barely contain your interest in doing so - you need to leave no traces of what happened.

"Well then?" Trish has paused undressing, and is looking at Jimmy expectantly. She's still Trish, entirely, and wants her privacy. Oddly, now that you're a woman, you presence doesn't seem to bother her at all. Jimmy rubs his tuft of beard, and shifts the massive frame of the security guard out the door.

"OK, dudes! I'll be back in ten when I've returned this guy to normal and found someone else to be."

Jimmy heads off, and you turn to Trish, a filthy, flirty grin curving over your lips: pure Riley Lovelace. "Let's get you in to someone more comfortable," you pur.

*****

Analytical Engine is a band with rituals. Riley's is to check her makeup, her hair, her costume - make sure everything, from every angle, is perfect. She calculates exactly how much cleavage a crowd can see - just enough to tantalize and drive them wild. Every aspect of the performance is stage-managed, from her image to the set pieces; the band's lead guitarist, a Chinese-American girl called 'Nessa, coordinates the light and pyrotechnics to transform the set into a blur of colors. It's frenetic music combined with precise art to create an unforgettable show. You look in the mirror and stare hard into the eyes of Riley Lovelace. There's no trace of David, no gateway to your true soul. In five minutes you're going on stage, and you're going to rock this place.

"Geesh, this Gemma is tiny, isn't she?" You turn slowly, flicking your long, flowing locks over your shoulder. Behind you, Trish is pulling the mask of Gem's head over her own, the last of her much-larger body vanishing into the reporter. Jessica, meanwhile, is piled up in the corner. You're still waiting for Jimmy to return with the pens.

"I like to think of her as cute," you say, sliding over. Riley's lust for Gemma's naked body clouds your mind, intoxicating you a little. You'd have preferred Gemma to be Jessica, but Trish will do at a snap.

"I can see that," Trish frowns, shaking her head as she reaches for Gemma's clothes, slipping them on. "Is that you, or Riley talking?"

"It's all the same, now," you shrug. You have no intention of leaving this wild, exotic life of the ultimate rock chick. You're adored by millions, comfortably wealthy, and so stunningly attractive you've had photo shoots for major magazines, not just the music press. "I'm Riley Lovelace. And this is my show."

"No. You're David. Wearing a woman as a fucking suit. Don't think you're keeping it that way. Think about what that means, David. It's tantamount to ****."

You're about to answer, Riley's mouth open to reply, when the door opens with a knock. A young Asian woman's head - her hair an elaborate, hair-sprayed birdsnest of vivid red hair - sticks through the door. She's not conventionally attractive, but she's worked at her small face with makeup. A lollipop stick hangs languidly from her red-painted lips. This, your false memories tell you, is Vanessa Zhou, your lead guitarist.

"Hey Riley," she says in a thick Californian twang. "You ready to... oh shit!" Her head pops behind the door again as she glances at the half-dressed Gemma. You're glad she didn't get far enough to see the pile of Jessica in the corner. "Fuck, you guys should leave a 'do not disturb' sign or something."

Trish's cheeks, or rather the sweet Gemma's, flush with embarrassment. Riley, you know, would laugh at this, and you let her best, dirty snicker free into the air.

"We were having an interview, " you say. "Full disclosure."

"Yeah, no shit." You can tell that 'Nessa, while hardly a prude - she usually hooks up with a guy after the show - disapproves. She feels a little protective of Gemma, and has been watching Riley enjoy the game of seduction all tour. It's not that 'Nessa is against any potential relationship. It's just that she knows Riley will drop Gemma and find someone else to tease the moment the tour ends. "Look, get your game-face on. Cassie's already started her pre-gig puke session. We're on in three minutes." Cassie Lewinski, the band's drummer, always throws up before a gig. It's her way of getting rid of the nerves. 'Nessa prefers to smoke a little something, and Riley... Riley just enjoys the sensation.

"It's all right. I've finished my vocal exercises." Riley's double-entendre comes out slow and seductive.

"Oh? Well my fingers are nice and relaxed." 'Nessa Zhou gives as good as she gets, even if she's straight.

Trish, meanwhile, has finished putting on Gemma's clothes, and ruffles her hair, listening to your jibes. A quick glance at her breaks your Riley persona, and you wonder what happened to Jimmy. Is he pretending to be the guitarist? Or has he found someone else? If Cassie always throws up before a gig, it would almost be too easy for him to replace her, you suppose.