Page 77 of Autumn L.A.W

Suddenly, Victoria felt her body undulating. Beneath her skin, an odd trembling began. It felt as if ripples of ocean waves were crashing against her insides. Something let go, and she felt herself leave her body and flow across the counter into the body of the dry cleaner’s wife.

The same thing must have been happening the other way, because when Victoria looked out of the eyes she had now, her image across the counter cackled and said, “See how you like it, Madam or Mademoiselle. I think I'll see how you live.”

Victoria watched her body sashay toward the front door of the dry-cleaning establishment, but before the woman—in her body—got very far, Victoria called out, “Hey, leave my purse, or I'll sue your pants off.”

The woman threw her head back and laughed. Then she pointed to Victoria and said, “You mean those pants?”

Victoria looked down at her squat body and saw sweatpants with a stain on the thigh that matched another stain on the bottom of her sweatshirt. “Mon Dieu!”

The woman in Victoria's body scanned the parking lot and asked, “Which car is yours?”

It was Victoria's turn to laugh. “I flew here in a helicopter. Good luck getting that off the ground.”

The woman shrugged and said, “That's fine. I know where the Hide-a-Key is for our junk heap that my husband calls a car. I'll just take off in that.”

“Wait!” Victoria called out. “What about your husband?”

The woman snorted and said, “You can have him.”

Victoria glanced over her shoulder in horror. She tried to vault the counter to stop the woman. Something she’d have been able to do easily with her long, lithe legs, but her short legs hit the counter, and a moment later her back hit the floor. She was still behind the counter, gasping for air.

The bell over the door jingled. When Victoria struggled to her feet, she saw the body-thief saunter off to the side of the building, presumably to put Victoria's body into some kind of dilapidated car from the previous century.

Victoria dropped her head and put her hands over her eyes. “I cannot believe this.”

The dry cleaner’s husband came down the aisle and looked at her quizzically. “Where did the customer go, Rosa?”

“What do you mean? I am the customer!”

He chuckled. “Oh, Rosa. You're always joking. But this isn't funny. I'm sure that bitch will sue us for losing her dress.”

“And she would be well within her rights to do so! Where's the bathroom?”

The husband’s brows knit in confusion. “What do you mean? It's where it's always been.” He pointed to the back right-hand corner of the building.

Victoria stomped off to the area he indicated and found a half-bath with just a toilet and sink. But at least there was a mirror. She didn't know whether to be grateful for that item or horrified. When she looked into the mirror, she saw, not her beautiful face and tall athletic body, but the grizzled face of a sixty-something-year-old, dumpy woman with short gray hair and dead-looking eyes staring back at her. She let out an ear-piercing scream.

The husband came running. “Rosa, what's wrong?”

Victoria doubled over in shock. She was breathing hard but didn’t allow her knees to buckle.

“What's wrong?” he asked again. “Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

She shook her head. She doubted he had a car to take her anywhere anymore. “I need to get to the L.A.W.”

He looked surprised and asked, “The law? You want me to take you to the police station?”

“No, imbécile. I need to go to the L.A.W. It's an organization I belong to. It’s usually here on Long Island, but they just moved it to Tennessee.”

“An organization? Why don't I know about this?”

“Because, idiot, I'm not your wife! She switched bodies with me. She ran off with my designer purse, my passport, my phone, my keys to the helicopter, my driver's license, credit cards, everything. In other words, she has committed grand larceny, and she won’t get away with this!”

The man leaned back and folded his arms. “This isn't funny, Rosa. You're not acting like yourself.”

“That's what I'm telling you! I am not myself, or at least I am not Rosa. I am Victoria De La Fontaine. She switched bodies with me. I don't know how she did it, but my friends at the L.A.W—L-period A-period W-period—will be able to help. Now I just need to get to Tennessee, somehow.”

The man threw his hands in the air and stomped off. “I need a cigarette.” After he lit it, he said, “Don't talk to me until you can make sense. I don't have time for your games.”