The Limo Stream

Craig had never been in a limousine before.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. Not the artificial pine scent of an air freshener dangling from a rear-view mirror, or the stale combination of coffee and fast food that lingered in the upholstery of an ordinary car. This was something altogether different. Expensive leather, polished wood, a faint trace of citrus and some sophisticated fragrance that Craig suspected cost more per bottle than he used to spend on groceries in a week. The interior was spacious enough for a small gathering, with deep, comfortable seats upholstered in beige leather, glossy panels reflecting the light, and discreet strips of lighting running along the ceiling. A divider separated the passenger compartment from the driver, and a chilled bottle of champagne rested in a silver bucket beside a row of crystal glasses. Everything was immaculate. Everything had been designed to make the occupant feel important.

Craig settled into the seat and tried not to look impressed.

The short red skirt rode higher on his thighs than he would have preferred when he sat down, and the knee-high boots made crossing his legs feel like a carefully calculated manoeuvre. His blonde hair, still arranged in Gerald's elaborate updo, had survived the journey from the office to the elevator and the elevator to the waiting limousine. Gold hoops gleamed beside his jaw, and a quick glance at his reflection in the darkened window confirmed that his lipstick remained pristine.

He should have felt ridiculous.

More than that, he should have been unsettled. He was being driven to an unfamiliar destination by a man he'd never met, dressed in an outfit he would once have considered completely inappropriate for a business meeting. A sensible person would have been asking questions, checking the address, perhaps wondering whether agreeing to brunch with a group of corporate investors he'd never met was an excellent way to end up in trouble.

Instead, Craig felt strangely comfortable.

The limousine glided through traffic with barely a tremor. Sunlight filtered through the tinted windows, turning passing buildings into indistinct shapes. The soft leather supported his back, the quiet hum of the engine settled into the background, and the whole arrangement felt so natural that Craig almost forgot how absurd it was.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a calm little voice insisted that everything was fine. The day was going as it should. He was exactly where he belonged, on his way to meet important people who were eager to see him.

Craig frowned at the window.

That was not a conclusion he should be reaching.

He'd spent the last several days watching reality reshape itself around him, and now even his own instincts seemed determined to tell him that everything was perfectly normal. Perhaps the champagne had already affected him, despite the fact that he hadn't touched it. Or perhaps this was just another part of the changes.

The thought was unpleasant enough that he decided to put it aside. There was no point in worrying about something he couldn't control. Not when he had more immediate problems to deal with.

Craig reached for his clutch and pulled out his phone. His streaming obligations weren't going to take care of themselves.

The moment the screen lit up, his fingers moved with an effortless familiarity that made him pause. A few swipes, a tap, another swipe. He opened the camera, checked the framing and adjusted the angle until the light fell across his face just right. His thumb moved through the streaming app's interface without hesitation, navigating menus he would once have struggled to understand.

Craig didn't remember learning any of this. He simply knew how to do it. The knowledge was there, ready and waiting, like a well-worn path through a forest he had never visited. Before he had time to question it, Craig was smiling at the camera, holding the phone at arm's length.

"Hey, guys!"

His voice came out brighter than he expected, light and animated, the sort of voice someone might use to greet a room full of friends.

"Guess what? My new besties are taking me out to brunch, and they're doing it in style!"

He angled the phone to capture the leather seats, the polished wood and the little silver champagne bucket.

"That's right, babes. I'm in the back of a limousine!"

Craig gave the camera a delighted little grin.

"I've never been in one of these before, but look at this place! It's like a tiny luxury hotel on wheels. I could get used to this."

Could I?

The thought surfaced somewhere behind the performance, but his smile never faltered. He turned the phone back towards himself, tilting his head so that the light caught his earrings.

"And I hope you don't mind, but I changed my look a little."

He gave his hair a playful little pat.

"Like my hair? Isn't it deeeee-lish?"

The final word stretched into several syllables, accompanied by a teasing flick of his tongue against the letter l. Craig watched himself do it on the screen. What the hell was that? He wanted to stop. Instead, he laughed.

"Oh my God, I'm obsessed. Gerald absolutely worked his magic this morning. The hair, the makeup, the whole thing! Tell me I don't look like I should be arriving at some glamorous event with photographers waiting outside."

He leaned a little closer to the camera, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

"Actually, don't tell me. I already know I look fabulous."

Craig winked. The gesture was so practised that it made his skin crawl. And yet he couldn't deny that the delivery was excellent. The camera angle was flattering. His expression was perfectly timed. He knew instinctively when to pause, when to smile, when to let the audience have a moment to appreciate the transformation. Somewhere in his altered mind, a little performer seemed to understand exactly how to hold people's attention.

"Anyway, I'll let you know how brunch goes. Apparently, these lovely people have some exciting things to talk to me about, and I'm not going to spoil the surprise before I know what it is."

He gave another smile, this one softer and more intimate.

"But you know I'll tell you everything. You guys are my favourite."

Craig knew he should stop there. The update was done. He had fulfilled his obligation. He could end the stream, put away his phone and spend the rest of the journey preparing himself for the meeting. Instead, he adjusted his skirt and crossed his legs more deliberately, letting the camera catch the line of his boots.

"And between us?" His voice dropped another notch. "I'm kind of loving this whole mysterious, chauffeured-to-brunch thing. It's giving very important person. Very expensive taste. Very much someone who deserves to be spoiled."

He smiled at his own reflection on the screen.

"Don't worry, though. I'll try not to let it go to my head."

The joke was accompanied by another wink. Inside, Craig wanted to fling his phone through the window. He was flirting with an audience of strangers. He was playing up the outfit, the limousine, the attention. He was turning an uncomfortable situation into entertainment and inviting people to watch. He could practically hear Frank's voice if his best friend were sitting beside him, making some sarcastic remark about Craig becoming a celebrity.

His thumb hovered over the screen, ready to end the stream. For a few seconds, he couldn't quite make himself press the button. Something was happening beneath the embarrassment, something he didn't want to examine too closely. Holding the phone, looking directly into the lens and speaking as though the world were waiting to hear what he had to say gave him an unfamiliar sense of command. He chose the words. He controlled the framing. He decided what his viewers saw and what remained outside the picture.

For the duration of the stream, Craig wasn't the man being shuffled from one divine appointment to another. He was the person holding the camera. The audience wanted to hear from him. They were waiting for him to smile, to speak, to let them into his day. Their attention belonged to him, at least for as long as the recording lasted.

It felt good.

Not the clothes, necessarily. Not the performance, and certainly not the fact that something inside him seemed to know how to do all of this without being taught.

The attention.

The control.

The simple sensation of being the one who decided what happened next. Craig's thumb finally tapped the screen.

"Love you, babes. I'll see you soon!"

The stream ended. For a moment, he stared at his phone. Then he lowered it into his lap. His smile disappeared.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered.

He had just spent several minutes performing like a social media celebrity, and some part of him had enjoyed it. Not merely endured it or accepted it as a necessary task. Enjoyed it. He wanted to find a way to blame the magic, and perhaps the magic was responsible. It had certainly given him the skills, the confidence and the strange instincts that had carried him through the performance.

But the enjoyment had been real.

Craig pressed his lips together, suddenly conscious of the lipstick. He would deal with that later. A soft mechanical whir interrupted his thoughts.

The partition between the front and back of the limousine lowered several inches, revealing the upper portion of the driver's seat. The driver was a broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed beard and dark sunglasses. He glanced at Craig in the rear-view mirror.

"You're Craig, right?"

Craig straightened.

"Yeah..."

"Thought so."

The driver sounded pleased with himself.

"I'm a big fan. My wife, too. She and I love your stuff."

Craig looked at the man, uncertain how to respond.

"Oh. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. On date nights, we put your videos on before bed. Really gets us in the mood, if you know what I mean."

Craig's mind went completely blank.

"I... uh..."

The driver chuckled, apparently taking his inability to respond as bashfulness rather than horror.

"Anyway, it's an honour to be your driver today. There's champagne back there if you'd like a drink. Otherwise, we should arrive in about ten minutes."

"Thanks," Craig managed.

"Anytime."

The driver reached for his phone. Craig watched in disbelief as the man angled it towards the rear compartment and took a selfie with Craig in the background. The flash briefly illuminated the leather seats. The driver examined the result, apparently satisfied.

"For the wife, you know. To set the mood tonight." He said it as though the explanation should have been obvious. "Like I was saying."

The partition rolled back into place. Craig sat motionless. Then he slowly turned towards the window.

Outside, the city continued going about its business. Cars passed. Pedestrians waited at intersections. A cyclist wove between parked vehicles. Somewhere, people were buying coffee, complaining about work and planning what to have for dinner.

Normal people.

Normal lives.

Craig envied them with an intensity that caught him off guard.

He glanced at the champagne bottle. It would be easy to open it. Easy to pour a glass, then another, and let the alcohol blur the edges of his thoughts until he no longer cared what he'd become or what his driver thought of him. Perhaps a little champagne would make the remainder of the morning bearable.

But he was meeting the company's investors. He couldn't show up drunk. The idea of arriving at an expensive restaurant, stumbling in high heels with lipstick smeared across his face, filled him with a different sort of dread. He'd worked too hard to get himself into this position, absurd as it was, to sabotage the opportunity before he'd even sat down at the table.

No. He needed to be sharp. He needed to be wily. He needed to stop reacting to every ridiculous thing the gods did to him and start thinking about what he could get out of it.

The distinction mattered.

Eros and the three sisters were powerful. They could change his life, rewrite his habits, alter his appearance and make entire rooms of people believe that the impossible was perfectly ordinary. Craig had learned that he couldn't beat them by simply refusing to cooperate. Resistance had brought him misery, and even when he reluctantly played along, the changes kept coming.

But perhaps there was another way.

Money.

Influence.

Status.

Those were things Craig understood, or at least thought he did. He had watched wealthy people get away with things that would have ruined an ordinary person's life. He'd seen how the rules bent for those with enough money to hire the right lawyers, buy the right properties and make the right people return their calls.

The rich lived by a different set of rules.

Maybe that was the escape route he'd been looking for.

If he could climb high enough in the company, earn enough money and build enough influence, perhaps he could make himself independent of the gods' expectations. He could pay off his debts, leave the streaming world behind, buy a home somewhere far away and construct a life on his own terms.

He could wear men's clothes again without worrying that someone would decide his wardrobe needed improvement. He could stop worrying about the next magical surprise. He could make his own decisions without feeling that every preference, every instinct and every moment of enjoyment might be evidence that the gods were winning.

It was a fragile plan.

Craig knew that.

The gods could change reality in ways that wealth might not touch. No amount of money could guarantee that Eros wouldn't interfere again, and he had no idea whether a higher salary would actually give him any more freedom than he already possessed.

Still, a plan was better than surrender.

The limousine turned onto a broad avenue lined with mature trees and expensive buildings. Craig watched the neighbourhood change, the shops giving way to elegant hotels and restaurants with polished windows and doormen waiting on the pavement. His reflection looked back at him from the glass.

Blonde hair.

Red lipstick.

Gold earrings.

The unmistakable appearance of someone who belonged in a limousine.

Craig looked away. He didn't have to like the person in the window. He didn't have to embrace the changes or pretend that any of this was what he'd wanted. He only had to be smart enough to use the situation to his advantage. Play along when necessary. Smile when expected. Let the investors see what they wanted to see. Make himself valuable enough that he could eventually choose what happened next. Then, when he had the money and power to protect himself, he could start making his own rules.

Craig glanced once more at the champagne bottle, then deliberately turned his attention back to his phone.

No distractions.

Ten minutes to prepare for brunch.

A lifetime to figure out how to get himself free.