Sam had long dialogs in her head at work. She knew she'd probably given Coquette the impression that she's the sort who shrinks from strong emotions, that she's overly modest or shy, afraid to cut loose. But that would be wrong. She experienced the world more vividly than most— what was a mild arousal to normal people was shocking, delicious, or painful to her. She felt so much that she had to hold back the tide: only hypersensitives wear gloves.
She was wiping the counter at Starbuck's while Coquette waited at home with a mountain of snacks and the laptop plugged into its charger. Coquette had offered to substitute for her at work, to take her place and call herself a distant cousin. Sam assured her that it doesn't work that way in the modern world.
In fact, Coquette was probably underestimating the amount of paperwork one needed just to get by. She had no driver's license, no birth certificate that anyone would believe, and she predated social security. If she tried to ditch Sam, robbing her of legs, she'd eventually have to get a job and would probably get labeled as an undocumented worker. She'd be caught sooner or later.
It would all end with police and lawyers and would embarrass Samantha to death.
Her phone pa-linked. "I'm boooored. (sad face)." Sam was beginning to regret lending Coquette her old phone. A customer snapped her fingers at her. Botched order.
For the most part, Sam's job left her with too much time to think. Every moment she whipped lattes, a mermaid who had waited ninety years to return to land languished in her apartment, surfing the web and watching NetFlix. She couldn't even open the blinds and let a little sunlight in, for fear that a neighbor might see. Sam's guilt began to gnaw at her.
But the alternative, switching places, would do the same to Sam. Coquette would get an exciting day on the town while Sam has to watch TV. Or swim in the harbor. She shuddered. The thought of going out to sea made it seem too real.
Besides, she didn't really owe Coquette anything. It was her own idea to come stay in Sam's apartment, and that's exactly what she's getting. What did she expect? She can come on land, but she can't get rid of her fishtail. Unless she found somebody else to take it.
An unsettling idea came to mind: Sam could find somebody else to take the tail. Maybe permanently.
No— she wouldn't allow herself to think that way. As much as she wanted to take Coquette by the hand and show her how everything had changed since the 1920s, imprisoning some sucker in an animal's body was too evil to even think about.
Instead, she considered taking the tail herself, purely out of sympathy.
At Starbuck's, she was surrounded by hidden mermaids. They were embedded in the company logo, which had once looked more like an eighteenth century woodcut, but was now so stylized it was hard to recognize. It had two tails, spread wide, inviting sailors to dive on in. The new logo focused on her face.
Somehow, the idea of becoming a two-tailed mermaid wasn't quite as disturbing as the conventional kind— two tails is like two legs, the same basic form as a human being, though perhaps a bit squishier. A single tail, on the other hand, turns you into a worm. An evolutionary reversion that goes back further than frogs. Sam had only experienced that state for five minutes and the sensation couldn't be erased from her mind.
Her phone pa-linked again and she angrily flicked it off before anyone could see what came up on the screen. Coquette had discovered "NSFW" as a search term, but not its intended purpose. She must be really bored.
An hour later, Sam finally relented. Just one day wouldn't be too bad— except that she had work the next day, so maybe only overnight. How much trouble could Coquette get into in one night? She flicked on the phone and typed, "kk, i'll do it. b back in an hour."
A moment later, Coquette responded, "?? Didn't mean you and me," referring to the picture she'd sent.
"not that. the switch. sea change."
"Oh!!!!!!" And then, "You're the darb, babe!"
* * *
When Sam got home, Coquette was sitting in a chair with a blanket around her tail. She cheered.
"Someone'll see you," Sam grumbled.
Coquette gestured at the blanket, which curled in ways human legs couldn't and flopped excitedly. She immediately got down to business— when and for how long and what she would wear. She regretted not measuring her legs the previous day— didn't know if Sam's pants would fit.
"You could just wear a skirt."
"Honey, you all wear pants now. I've seen it."
"I wear skirts." They agreed to order dinner first, over Coquette's insistence that Sam should try eating as a mermaid— everything felt different, even small things.
"I just want to get my head around this first," Sam explained.
So they ordered in and traded advice. Sam told her how to get around in La Jolla, but Coquette wanted to go downtown and see the lights. Coquette suggested calling Andrew over for sex.
"Are you insane? I thought you wanted to keep this a secret."
"A three-person secret, then. Honey, it's your chance! Don't squander it!"
"No." Sam was confident that the experience of being half animal would be adventurous enough.
Once dinner was over, Sam prepared an exact travel route with contingencies, then loaded a purse with maps, transit cards, a little money, and her old phone. She also gave Coquette a lecture on how much more dangerous the streets are than they were in 1927: muggers and rapists and kidnappers. Coquette listened quietly, reminiscing about gangsters and bootleggers and murderers. For her part, Coquette reminded Sam to keep the stone on her at all times, always around her neck, and where she could find some orifices that might otherwise be overlooked. When they were ready, it was well past dusk.
"Should we— I don't know— light a candle or something?"
Coquette raised an eyebrow. "Feeling romantic?"
"Forget it!" To Sam, it seemed to be a major life event and probably warranted ceremony. Her Catholic upbringing asserted itself in unexpected ways.
"You'll want to be naked."
She grimaced. "I guess."
When they were both ready, Coquette unhooked the gemstone from her neck and set it on the floor between them. They both lay on their sides, each facing each other upside down.
"Your move."
Can turn back now, can turn back now, can turn back now, Sam's mind raced. But she didn't want to disappoint Coquette. She took the jewel from the center of the circle and glanced from Coquette's expectant face into its glowing heart. Her field of vision climbed into the red, cloudy translucency, into the center that was moving. She felt a jolt and almost dropped it, but rolled it in her fingers so that the thin gold chain looped around her thumb. She went all liquid inside and tensed, but bent at the waist instead of stretching flat. She wanted to see it happen.
Her skin rippled like troubled water. Under the surface, muscles and bones were rearranging themselves. The waves seemed to be emanating from her crotch, which crawled like a live animal.
Everything grew downward. Her legs got longer, her feet got longer, and her waist became a column with no clear dividing line between the upper skin and lower scales. With her free hand, Sam touched what had been her thigh, but her fingers went right into the changing flesh like clay. She jerked it back. The indentation warped and righted itself. What if her hand was in there when it stopped changing? It'd probably get stuck.
Meanwhile, Coquette was on her back, slapping the floor with a tail that was dividing itself up the middle, turning into flappy, rubbery legs. Once they had bones, she spun them energetically in the air as though she were riding an upside-down exercise bike, kicking enthusiastically.
The transition was over faster than it had seemed before. Even after the iron had cooled and Sam's fins, trout-colored scales, and side freckles were fully formed, she was afraid to touch it, still reeling from the sensation of touching herself while the flesh was clay. Coquette stood over her, hands on her hips like Peter Pan. "Well!" she said. "Looks like you and me are ready for an adventure!"
Sam lay still and examined the tail while Coquette stepped over her and got dressed. It undulated a little, even without her thinking about it. The movements were like breathing: she could stop if she tried hard enough, but its natural state was to swim.
Sam's downstairs neighbor pounded on the ceiling. Coquette glanced at her, then laughed. Sam covered her face. Coquette slipped high-heeled shoes over her silk stockings (Sam's prom clothes) and attempted to walk. She faltered, but only because of the many obstacles in her path.
"Are you sure you want to go out like that?"
"Honey, if you had something sleeker," she started, but recalculated when she saw the look on Sam's face. She kneeled beside her. "Hey." Sam peered down over her own cheeks. "I'm very, very grateful for this," Coquette said. "You have no idea what this means for me." Sam smiled, dimpling those cheeks.