Chapter 20

Stepping out of the glass doors of Happy Happy Nails, Calvin stopped on the rain-drenched sidewalk and held out his left hand, happy the rain both came and went while he was inside.

Splaying his fingers, he tilted his hands side-to-side to catch the mid-morning sunlight. The glossy topcoat of his fresh manicure gleamed, reflecting the daylight off the smooth oval acrylics. The color was a soft, pastel lilac, a light purple that he had to admit, purely from an objective, aesthetic standpoint, complimented the honey tone of his skin flawlessly.

The technician, a quiet older Asian woman of an unknown origin, he wasn’t so great with telling them apart, who had cooed over Clara's delicate cuticles, had done a spectacular job. The jagged, chipped mess that had triggered his perfectionist rage was gone, replaced by an elegant set of nails that any young woman would be thrilled to show off.

‘They really are pretty.’ Cal thought, his pouty dyed lips pressing together into a tight line. He admired the slope of the oval tips, running the thumb of his opposite hand over the hardened, smooth gel. It was a beautiful hand. A sexy, well-manicured hand that belonged wrapped around a champagne flute on the deck of a yacht, or wrapped around his dick.

They were his hands though and the image of his hand wrapped around his dick caused a heavy sigh to push past his lips, his chest rising…his breasts rising and falling against the fabric of his blouse. "I just wish to God they weren't my hands." He dropped his arm to his side, the sudden weight of his current reality crashing back down on him. The sheer absurdity of his situation was enough to make him want to scream. He was Calvin David Bennent. He was standing here in glossy white, round-toe, five-inch heels with a one-inch hidden platform and hadn't even considered them as he walked. ‘Is this getting normal for me?!’ He thought panic was starting to rise just in time for his new phone to start chiming.

He reached into his cheap, synthetic tanned brown leather purse, a motion that was becoming disturbingly natural and pulled out the prepaid phone. It was Ahuva Bahyeet. Shaking his head he tried to center himself, needing to be Clara not a panic stricken man pretending to be a young woman of a heritage that was not his own.

"I believe in manicures..." He started to say the mantra, finishing it in his mind as he clicked the answer on the phone on the third ring.

"Hello! This is Clara," he chirped into the phone, pitching his voice into that breathy, chipper tone and forcing a smile to his face, recalling telling his employees to smile when talking on the phone, so that the customers could hear it.

"Hi, Clara? Oh, good, I caught you." The voice on the other end was soft and a little hesitant. "It's, um, Lauren? Lauren Brooks, from the front desk? I don't know if you remember me..."

Calvin rolled his eyes. He knew exactly who she was. Though her full name had eluded him. 'Of course I remember you, your husband is a deadbeat jailbird and you have a kid that is too pretty to be a boy, or whatever that is supposed to mean.' he thought.

"Of course I remember you, Lauren! It's so nice to hear from you." He responded with false chipperness.

"Oh! Good. Sorry, I'm actually covering the back office phones right now because we had a wave of call-outs this morning, but extra hours is extra pay, right?" Lauren explained, sounding relieved that she hadn't been forgotten. "Anyway, Mrs. Long got your message about being willing to work extra hours. “We had a corporate luncheon or so I think it was in the Ahava Ballroom this morning, and it ran incredibly late. There's a wedding reception booked in there tonight and the kitchen staff are panicking, but I’m not sure if they are ever calm."

Listening to the friendly girl go on, Calvin looked down at his freshly manicured, pastel lilac nails. His jaw tightening as she continued on.

"Mrs. Long said she heard your message about wanting extra hours and wanted to know if you could come in right now?" Lauren asked, her tone almost apologetic. "She just needs an extra set of hands to help flip the room and get the carpets vacuumed, to get the room ready before the decorators get in there. I know it's your day off..."

If he said no, he lost the brownie points he desperately needed with his operations manager. If he said yes, he was going to be taking one bus to a connection then heading in but if they had called earlier in would have been so much easier and faster not to mention he was not looking forward to hauling heavy garbage bags and pushing vacuums around the hotel’s largest ballroom with his new manicure nails.

‘I will fucking buy that yacht,’ he reminded himself. "I can absolutely come in," He said brightly. "I'll head to the bus stop right now!"

"Oh, you're a lifesaver, Clara. Seriously, Mrs. Long is stressing out. Just clock in and head straight to the Ahava Ballroom when you get here. See you soon!" The line clicked dead. Lowering the phone he turned his wrist and stared at the blank screen, before his gaze drifted down to his outfit.

The plunging neckline of the white blouse that barely contained his breasts, a scandalously short pleated black skirt and white five-inch platform stilettos. He knew his opinion on the outfit if he saw Moriah or even Ana wearing it. To get to that locker room, and change he was going to have to walk down the street to the bus stop and wait then ride back closer to his shitty apartment before repeating it all and that was before walking in the front door into and through the main lobby, past the front desk Then… through the employee corridors dressed like he was ready to go on a date.

‘I believe in overdressing, I believe in pink, I believe in primping at leisure.’ Part of the mantra went through his mind. "God dammit," he hissed in something closer to his normal voice, pivoting on the stilettos and marching toward the bus stop.

The bus ride was like a visit to hell. Pure, unadulterated humiliation. Being called in during the mid-day rush, there wasn't a single open seat. Leaving Calvin forced to stand, clinging to the overhead railing with trying to keep the a creeper teen boy from looking up his all to short pleated skirt All while he raged about how none of the men were decent enough to offer a lady their seat, only for him to then be angry at himself for putting himself in that category..

His five-inch heels, while surprisingly manageable for him or at least on flat pavement, were a death trap on a moving vehicle. He had to lock his knees and squeeze his thighs together just to stay upright, hyper-aware of the eyes of at least three different men glued to his exposed legs and the prominent swell of his cleavage spilling out of the unbuttoned blouse. Every time the bus hit a pothole, his breasts bounced heavily in his bra, drawing even more unwanted attention.

‘I’m a man. I’m a respected leader of the community,’ he chanted in his head, staring dead-eyed at a faded advertisement for car insurance above the window. ‘When this is over, I’m donating to a few political groups so long as they promise to fire whoever is in charge of fixing pot holes at the city transit authority. I don't care that I don't employ them. I will find a way.’

By the time he finally stepped off the bus a block away from the Ahuva Bahyeet, his nerves were frayed, not to mention, positive an accidental bump that put a man’s hand in contact with his skirted rear had been no accident.

The hotel… his hotel loomed ahead, its elegant, timeless facade a testament to his own business acumen. He had agonized over the exterior lighting. He had chosen the exact shade of the awnings. And now, he was about to sneak through its front doors looking like a strumpet. Insulting himself like that only made him think of the hot redheaded freckled girl, Candy he had hired and failed to fuck before it all blew up in his face.

Taking a deep breath, Calvin went through the opening glass front doors. The blast of the lobby's air conditioning hit his bare, hairless legs, sending a shiver up his spine. The space was beautiful, bustling with well-dressed guests and the quiet hum of luxury. His heels hit the polished marble floor. ‘This is why girls wear nylons.. Should I start wearing them?’ The thought was oddly erotic to him but the sound of his own footsteps pulled much more of his attention.

Click-clack. Click-clack.

The sound echoed off the high ceilings, impossibly loud to his paranoid ears. He kept his head down, the curtain of his dark hair falling forward to shield his face, mincing as fast as the platforms would allow toward the hallway that led to the employee locker rooms, but he was caught before he could make it to the relative safety.

"Clara!"

Halting, Calvin's less than broad shoulders stiffened. He slowly turned his head to see Lauren Brooks waving at him from behind the front desk. She gave him a bright, easy smile. He picked upon how her eyes darted over his outfit before she offered a discreet thumbs-up.

Feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. He managed a stiff wave in return, his mind screaming at the indignity of one of one of his own receptionists approving of him looking like this way, before he turned and practically fled down the corridor.

He was ten feet from the safety of the locker room door when a familiar, authoritative voice cut through him. "Miss Bent." Calvin squeezed his eyes shut. ‘No. Please, no.’

He pivoted on the glossy white stilettos to find Bethany Long stepping out of an adjoining office. The tall blonde stopped him dead in his tracks, her icy blue eyes dropping from his face, down the plunging neckline of the blouse, past the tiny pleated skirt, all the way to the five-inch platform heels. If looks could kill, Calvin would be dead on the carpet.

Bethany’s lips pursed so tightly they practically disappeared. He had been in public now for a bit as Clara and even in this outfit. Not just at the nail salon, the walk or on the bus but in front of his wife… ex- wife and Sydney and at the dmv. Yet still he was mortified, the urge to cross his arms over his chest to hide his cleavage from his own employee wasn't one he could resist.

"Mrs. Long," Calvin squeaked out, his practiced feminine voice trembling slightly. "I came as soon as Lauren called."

"I see that," Bethany said, her voice dropping into a dangerously polite register. She took a slow step forward. "I appreciate your willingness to step up, Clara. Truly, I do. I’m sorry that I interrupted your day off. You look nice, did I interrupt something?"

Cocking his head slightly to the side he didn't realize how feminine the movement was as he yelled in his head. ‘Yes you bitch, my entire life is being interrupted.’ While his thoughts were not so friendly his words were much more calm. "I…was just getting my nails done but…I'm just heading to the locker room to change into my uniform right now," Calvin stammered, his nails digging into the cheap leather of his purse.

"See that you do, and thank you for coming in. It is appreciated and will be remembered." Bethany replied, her gaze lingering disapprovingly. The absolute gall of the woman. Calvin’s inner monologue erupted into a fiery, venomous rant about firing her on the spot, about reminding her exactly whose name was on the deed to this building.

Instead, Clara Diane Bent tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear, lowered her long lashes, and nodded meekly. "Yes, ma'am. Just happy to help."

Beth nodded, a small but sincere smile on her face as she turned on her heel and marched away, leaving Calvin standing in the hallway, his face burning with a mixture of shame and seething rage.

The burning fire inside of him kept him moving through the shift, it wasn’t difficult, but it was a great deal of work. It was odd to him that his work shoes, the three inch high heels were so much easier on his feet. It still ended with him sitting on the floor in the cramped shower back at the apartment rubbing his feet as the hot water washed over him. “This is my life… not for long but at the same time it's already way too long and it's not over… its fucking not over. We should have hired a private investigator.”