Chapter 4 - Plans

Neither of them slept.

They tried.

At 11:40 Thursday night, Michael lay awake staring at the ceiling while Michelle scrolled endlessly beside him, the blue light from her phone reflecting across the dark bedroom.

Every few minutes one of them would sigh.

Or shift.

Or almost say something.

Then stop.

Jennifer Russo sat between them invisibly now.

Real enough to destroy sleep.

At 12:13 a.m., Michael finally rolled onto his side.

“This is insane.”

Michelle didn’t look up from her phone.

“Yes.”

“You submitted me to your company as a woman.”

“You already mentioned that.”

“And somehow she got an interview immediately.”

Michelle finally lowered the phone slightly.

“That part is still bothering you most?”

Michael laughed quietly into the darkness.

“Yes.”

That answer lingered heavily between them.

Because it bothered Michelle too.

Not morally.

Professionally.

The résumé hadn’t changed much.

The experience hadn’t changed.

Only the presentation.

The tone.

The name.

Jennifer Russo.

Michelle rolled onto her back again staring upward.

“She got more interest in twelve hours than you’ve had in two years.”

Michael closed his eyes.

“Please stop saying ‘she.’”

Michelle was quiet for a second.

Then:

“You know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, he did.

That was the problem.

—

At 1:22 a.m., Michelle was still awake.

Michael could hear her typing quietly beside him now.

Emails.

Searches.

Shopping tabs.

Planning.

That unsettled him almost as much as the interview itself.

“You’re enjoying this,” he muttered into the darkness.

Michelle looked over immediately.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“I’m trying to solve a problem.”

“At one in the morning?”

Michelle hesitated.

Then sighed.

“You want the truth?”

Michael turned toward her.

“This is the first time in months you’ve sounded hopeful about anything.”

That silenced him.

Because it was true.

Terrifyingly true.

Michael sat up slowly against the headboard.

“What if somebody recognizes me?”

“They won’t.”

“What if I can’t pull it off?”

Michelle stared at him thoughtfully for a long moment.

Then quietly:

“You’d be surprised.”

Michael frowned.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Michelle looked away too quickly.

Nothing about that made him feel better.

—

Friday morning felt strange from the moment it began.

Michelle was energized.

Not cheerful exactly.

Focused.

Like she’d already mentally committed to the plan while Michael still felt trapped somewhere between humiliation and panic.

At breakfast she opened her laptop immediately.

Michael watched nervously from across the kitchen island.

“What are you doing?”

“Planning.”

“That word should concern me.”

“It’s helping.”

Michael rubbed both hands over his face.

“There is absolutely no way I pass as a woman.”

Michelle barely looked up.

“You’d be surprised.”

“There’s that sentence again.”

She clicked through several tabs calmly.

Hair.

Clothing.

Makeup.

Shoes.

Michael looked increasingly alarmed.

“Michelle.”

“What?”

“This feels very elaborate.”

She finally closed the laptop halfway and looked at him carefully.

“That’s because it has to be.”

Michael leaned back heavily in the chair.

“You cannot honestly believe this might work.”

Michelle hesitated.

Then:

“I didn’t yesterday.”

“And now?”

She held his gaze evenly.

“Now I think Jennifer has a real shot at getting hired.”

Jennifer.

Not you.

Not Michael.

Jennifer.

Michael stood and walked toward the sink anxiously.

“This is insane.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it is.”

Michelle watched him quietly for a second.

Then finally said:

“I already talked to my mom.”

Michael turned slowly.

“…What?”

“She’s helping tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“At the salon.”

Michael stared blankly.

“What salon?”

Michelle blinked once.

“Her salon.”

Michael looked horrified.

“You involved Kathy?”

“She owns one of the best salons in Bergen County.”

“That is not the issue!”

Michelle stood now too, speaking more carefully.

“Michael, if this is going to work, you need professional help.”

“I’m not going to a salon.”

“Yes you are.”

“No, Michelle, seriously.”

“She already rearranged appointments.”

Michael stared at her.

“You planned all this without asking me?”

“You were spiraling.”

“I am spiraling now.”

Michelle crossed her arms.

“She’s overseeing everything personally.”

That sentence somehow made it worse.

Michael paced toward the living room.

“What exactly does ‘everything’ mean?”

Michelle hesitated just slightly too long.

Michael stopped immediately.

“…Michelle.”

“She just wants Jennifer to look polished.”

“What does that involve?”

Another pause.

Then carefully:

“Hair.”

Michael nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

“Brows.”

“Michelle.”

“Possibly extensions.”

“No.”

“She thinks lighter color would soften your features.”

“Absolutely not.”

Michelle winced slightly.

“Maybe lashes.”

Michael stared at her in open horror now.

“Lashes?”

“She owns a luxury beauty salon, Michael. Of course lashes.”

“This has become psychological warfare.”

Michelle actually laughed softly for the first time in days.

Unfortunately, that made everything feel even more real.

—

At 1:40 that afternoon, Michelle appeared upstairs carrying a measuring tape.

Michael immediately backed away.

“No.”

“We need sizes.”

“No we don’t.”

“Yes we do.”

“I hate how calm you are about this.”

Michelle sighed.

“Michael, stand still.”

He reluctantly obeyed.

The entire experience felt bizarrely intimate.

Shoulders.

Chest.

Waist.

Hips.

Inseam.

Michelle wrote numbers carefully into her phone while occasionally muttering things like:

“Hm.”

“Actually not bad.”

“Oh thank God.”

Michael looked deeply unsettled.

“What does ‘not bad’ mean?”

Michelle ignored him.

Then she stepped back thoughtfully studying him.

Not flirtatiously.

Critically.

Like an architect evaluating dimensions.

That realization made his stomach flip.

“I cannot believe this is my life.”

Michelle tilted her head slightly.

“You know what’s strange?”

“What?”

“You actually have good proportions for this.”

Michael looked physically offended.

“That may be the worst sentence anyone has ever said to me.”

Michelle smirked despite herself.

Then grabbed her purse.

“Where are you going?”

“Shopping.”

Michael stared at her in disbelief.

“For what?”

Michelle looked at him evenly.

“For Jennifer.”