“No rat poison in this, right?” Cynthia raised an eyebrow.

“No, it’s just a cookie.”

She nodded, then took a bite. Her eyes widened. “Oh, this is very good.”

Corey snorted and looked away, but heat rushed to his cheeks all the same.

“Of course it’s good,” he said, folding his arms. “I know what I’m doing. This is my passion.”

Cynthia sat the plate down on the counter and asked, “Do you eat all of these yourself? I always assumed that you–Clarissa–had a roommate or something that you shared your baking with.”

“I donate a lot of it to local church sales and whatnot. None of my friends know about this, and they never can.”

“Mhm.” She took another cookie. “As long as you live up to your end of the bargain, there’s no fear of that happening. I think we’ve got this competition in the bag.”

Corey threw his oven mitts on the counter. “I don’t know. Yeah, I have experience and know all the ‘rules,’ so there’s no way I could embarrass myself, at least. But I go to the competition every year to taste the things people bring, and the winners are always people who stand out because they’ve got some unique secret recipe. Without something like that, I don’t think I could even be a finalist.”

“So pick one. You talk about your favorite recipes all the time.”

Corey clutched the counter firmly and replied, “I just lie about those. That’s all recipes I find online. People are always pointing it out in the comments. It’s fine because Clarissa is just a character, but I’ve always been afraid to try anything that’s purely my own creation. If it doesn’t turn out good, that’s proof that I’m not actually good at this. And I have to be good at something; there’s not much pride in being a code drone for a big corporation.”

Cynthia nodded, wiping away a splotch of flour so she could lean against the counter.

“I get that. Bartending isn’t just a job for me. I love the process of mixing and making drinks. It’s a good creative outlet. Anyway, I’ve done a lot of experimenting with recipes, so I’m sure we’ll be able to figure something out in time.”

“...You’d help me do that?”

“Yeah? I mean… I need to be sure that you’ll win, don’t I? It does me no good to go through all this effort and let you flounder and fail.” She stepped away from him. “To be clear, I’m not going to mommy your ass. You’ll have to put in the hard work.”

The next week passed in a blur. Corey rushed through his work, doing a subpar job that his boss was sure to take notice of, while using all his free time to experiment with different spices and ratios of ingredients. He was feeling bloated from snacking on his own goods, but Cynthia only had a few opportunities to stop by and give feedback.

Every time she stepped inside the apartment, Cynthia looked disgusted at the state of things. Corey pretended not to notice at first, but it was getting annoying to deal with her blatant disrespect. He took a few hours to pick up some discarded clothes to placate her. Quickly, though, it became clear that he would need to vacuum and sweep the floor, and by Sunday he made the decision to open the windows to finally let some air circulate through.

“Oh, you cleaned up,” Cynthia noted when she arrived.

“Yeah, so?”

He had hated every moment of it. If Corey had a girlfriend, then he wouldn’t have had to clean his own apartment like a loser. He needed Cynthia’s help, though, even if he was only in this situation because of her, so he couldn’t risk scaring her away with a messy place. The fact that he’d actually felt pretty good after it was all said and done was just a bonus.

Turning his attention to the spices on the counter, Corey said, “Cinnamon is too obvious. Everyone uses cinnamon, which means that nobody actually uses cinnamon. Instant disqualifier.”

“Sure, sure. Hey, what are you going to wear?”

“What?”

Cynthia gestured at him. “Your Clarissa E. Claire disguise. It’s fine as a costume, but people are gonna look at you weird if you go out like that. You said you don’t have any shoes, either. I’m guessing you’ve never shaved your legs before, so you’re going to have to do that or wear pants; a long skirt would work too.”

“I–”

“The wig is fine on video, but you need a wig cap if you’re going to wear it outside. Not going to hold up otherwise. You might need to do some research on makeup, too.”

“I know how to do makeup!”

“Actually, put the outfit on and let me see what we need to fix.”

Corey obeyed, grumbling just loud enough for her to hear him even from his bedroom as he got dressed. Doing makeup was relaxing and helped him calm down. By the time he was ready to be seen, frustration had given way to nerves. Fans complimented Clarissa on her outfit and makeup all the time, had even been hounding him to get a second dress to show off, but this would be the first time he’d seen a real, in-person reaction.

“Hm, it’s alright, I guess.”

Soul crushing.

“What’s wrong with it?” he demanded, folding his arms.

“Well, the dress is going to stand out. Nobody dresses like this even when going to an event. Your arm hair is a lot more obvious off-camera, too. I think the best option is waxing. It’ll hurt, but it’ll be fast and way more effective than shaving. Can you walk in heels?”

“You know damn well that I can’t.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to help.”

“This is all your fault!”

Cynthia huffed and clenched her hands into fists, but took a deep breath. “What’s your shoe size?”

“Nine.”

“Okay… That means you're about an eleven or twelve, possibly an eleven wide? We’ll have to order something online, unless you want to drive an hour to get somewhere that has larger sizes you can try on.”

“Hard pass.” Corey grabbed the folds of his dress tightly. “This is hopeless, you know.”

“No, it’s not. You’re not the first guy to crossdress.”

“Definitely the worst at it, though.”

“You’re actually doing pretty good. It took me a long time to believe that you were really Clarissa E. Claire just because you’ve put a lot of work into your voice. You act way more feminine than anyone does in real life, but I believe you could be a twentieth-century housewife, and I believe that you can make for a convincing woman. The hicks that live around here aren’t that smart.”

Corey snorted. “Yeah, that’s true.”

They shared a grin, but Cynthia quickly dropped it.

With significantly less warmth in her voice, she said, “Anyway, I have to go. I’ll pick up some toiletries when I get my next paycheck. Until then, look at some dresses online. Heels will make you look more feminine even though you’re already kind of tall for a woman. See if there are any wedges in your size that you like.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“For not just exposing me to my friends. You’re still a monster, but none of them would have done anything with the truth but use it as an excuse to make my life miserable.”

“...Yeah. Sure. I’ll see you around.”

***

Carefully measuring the oil, Corey explained, “It’s way more important to be thorough than to be fast. That’s the main reason everything comes out of the oven looking so good. You don’t have to use camera tricks or dump a boatload of powdered sugar over it if you’re careful enough during preparations.”

“You really take this stuff seriously.” Cynthia had her phone out but seemed to have forgotten it. “Maybe it’s the bartender in me, but I’m happy just to just get it done good enough. A drink only lasts a few minutes if you drink it right, after all. No reason to be obsessive.”

“But you’d take your time if the best mixologist in the world was judging you, right? That’s how I try to think about it. If this were my only shot to impress the world’s foremost expert on baking, what would I do?”

“That sounds exhausting.”

Corey sat the mixing bowl down. “It has been since we started working on this recipe, but normally I only actually have to bake once or twice a week.”

“Well, while we’re waiting on the oven,” Cynthia said, turning back to her phone, “why don’t I order us some wine so we can relax?”

“...Wine? Drink wine? Together?”

“You don’t drink?”

Shaking his head, Corey said, “No, I do. I’m just surprised you want to.”

“Well, I have the night off because my boss sucks and hates me, so I don’t have to be anywhere.”

There were a few unread notifications on Corey’s phone from his friends asking if he’d hang out with them at the bar that night. He’d been spending so much time on the recipe that he’d barely exchanged a single message with them. Corey’s gut told him ignoring his friends for long enough would cause them to forget about him entirely.

“Yeah, I’d love to stay in and relax a bit.”

“Cool. White or Rosé?”

Cynthia sprawled out on the couch with her phone while Corey finished prepping the turnovers. The wine arrived before they were even in the oven and, in lieu of wine glasses, Corey and Cynthia just rinsed out the dust of some old chipped mugs in the pantry. Making herself at home, Cynthia took off her shoes and pulled her feet on the couch, leaning against the armrest. Corey sat awkwardly next to her with his legs pressed together like he was on a cramped park bench.

“I’m honestly super impressed by your work ethic,” Cynthia admitted. “I like a clean home and a well-made meal, but I still shove off my problems to future me whenever I don’t feel like putting in the effort. You really don’t take shortcuts with your sweets. Why not work at a bakery or something?”

“Profit motive. Shops want to be able to sell the lowest-quality product they can get away with–cheap ingredients, fast ovens, et cetera. Nobody buys a dozen donuts and actually expects them to be something you’d get at a real restaurant, but there’s no reason why pastries can’t be that good all the time with a little bit of passion.”

“I’m sure there are five star donut shops out there somewhere you could work at.”

“Maybe, but I… don’t want my passion to be commodified. Sponsors are one thing, but having to answer to a manager or customers would take something away from the whole process. I wouldn’t be as happy.”

“Hmm.” Cynthia stretched out her legs until they were in Corey’s lap, causing his breath to hitch in his throat. “I can see that. In art class, I just turned in whatever the teacher asked for, but some people really struggled with not getting to do what they wanted.”

It took a few minutes, but Corey was able to relax and let his shoulders drop. Cynthia was… not what he expected. All he’d known about her in school was what his friends told him. After that, there hadn’t been anything to suggest they’d been wrong about her. Holding his secret ransom certainly hadn’t done anything to change his mind. He was grateful that he got to see more of her, though. It was easier for him to feel comfortable around a girl than a bunch of guys.

***

Corey chewed on his nails while Cynthia took out the beauty products she’d bought and spread them out over the counter.

“I don’t know about this.”

“You just do your thing and let me do mine. We’ll have you mistaken for an honest woman in no time. First, you’re going to need to take a bath and put some shorts on. I need to look up how to actually use wax strips.”

With a groan, Corey made his way to the bathroom and locked the door behind him. His breathing was ragged, his heart pounding as he stripped down to his boxers. There was a woman in the other room, and he was taking his clothes off. It felt wrong, improper, sacreligious even. He was disrespecting Cynthia somehow.

Once he was done and dressed, Corey came back into the living room where Cynthia had set up her mini-salon. Small boxes had fallen to the ground, and tools Corey only recognized from TV were scattered about. He sat on the couch and tried to make himself look small. Cynthia read the back of the box one more time, her brow furrowed while she muttered quietly to herself.

“Okay, this is going to hurt, so don’t scream. I really don’t want to have to explain to the cops what’s going on here.”

The next few hours were spent holding back tears and shrieks. Each leg took strip after strip of wax and never seemed to get any closer to being finished. He needed a break just to breath while his legs throbbed. They were so red, anyone would think he had a sunburn.

The arm and facial hair weren’t any easier, and something still had to be done about his eyebrows. Corey had never felt less like a man than right now. It was nothing to do with having all his hair removed and everything to do with being on the verge of ugly tears in front of an attractive woman.

“Alright, get dressed. Let’s see if this plan actually comes together.”

Corey needed a few minutes to wash the tears from his face before even pulling the new dress from the closet. He had secretly been trying on the new heels every day to practice walking around in them, so they were already a little broken in. It was difficult applying makeup with a shaky hand.

Finally, he stepped back out into the living room where Cynthia was waiting.

“How does it look?” he asked skyly, twisting his skirt a little to make it sway.

Cynthia just gawked. Corey had no idea what to say. The moment stretched on for long enough that he started to fidget and look around the room for anything to save him.

“Fuck. I thought you were someone else for a moment.”

He blushed even harder.

Clearing her throat, Cynthia continued, “Yeah, I mean… keep doing your voice practice, but honestly, I don’t think there’s any danger of anyone figuring out who you really are.” Corey nodded, still not looking her in the eye. “Anyway, you can change back out of it. I’m convinced.”

“Yeah… I’ll go do that.”

It was good to be back in shorts, but it was weird sitting on the couch with hairless legs. He couldn’t keep his hands off of them, running fingers over the smooth skin. The cheap fabric of the old couch felt so weird now.

Cynthia plopped down next to Corey, shaking him from his trance.

“Do you know what recipe you want to use?”

“I’m torn between the lemon bars and French crullers.”

“Oh, both of those were good. I think I like the lemon bars better, though.”

“I was actually leaning toward the crullers.”

“No matter what you choose, I’m feeling pretty confident that we’ll win.” She shrunk a little. “I guess I have to believe that no matter what.”

“Do you want to have dinner?”

“Huh?”

Corey shrugged. “It’s getting a little late. You’ve spent a lot of money on me, so I think it’s only fair to buy you dinner in return.”

She seemed to weigh the question before asking, “Does TGI Fridays deliver this far out?”

When the meal and a new bottle of wine finally arrived, Corey and Cynthia stretched out on the couch to eat. She shared stories of unruly customers at the bar while he spread gossip about his entitled workers. They laughed together in a way that Corey hadn’t been able to laugh since leaving college.

Cynthia was a good friend. She was still a woman, but she was at least as much a person as she was a girl. It was sad that she couldn’t stay in town for longer. With enough time, this friendship could bloom into something wonderful.

***

Sunlight felt great. Corey didn’t get out of the house enough even before he became a hermit to perfect his soon-to-be award-winning recipe. While he had more than enough ingredients for his experiments, though, the fridge was running out of things to actually eat. Target was the closest thing to a decent grocery store that the town had, so he was headed there.

Corey was smart enough to wear pants instead of shorts, despite it being pretty warm out, but he couldn’t stop himself from feeling the soft skin around his cheeks. People were seeing him fresh-faced as a preteen boy for the first time since high school. It made him feel… less invisible.

While he was trying to decide between the cheaper soup and the more nutritional soup, someone slapped him on the back and nearly made him drop both cans.

“The fuck have you been, Corey?” Jackson asked.

Oh, yeah. Jackson was a manager here.

“I’ve just been busy at work.”

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in. We all work hard, but only some of us actually get paid good money for it. Hey, how do you get a promotion in a remote job anyway if you can’t get under the boss’ table for–?” He made a jerkoff motion with his hand.

“Fuck off. I’m not gay.”

“Whoa. Nobody said anything about being gay. But you do what you gotta for the job, right?”

Corey snorted and put the more expensive can of soup back on the shelf.

Jackson glanced around to make sure they were alone before placing an arm around Corey’s shoulders and leaning in. “So, I heard a really strange thing the other day. About you, believe it or not.” Corey’s chest tightened, and Jackson continued, “People have been saying that you’re hanging around Cynthia Torres. From the bar.”

His mouth was dry, but Corey managed to gurgle out, “That bitch?”

“Yeah, that bitch. Someone saw you two together in the park, and someone else says that she’s been stopping by your apartment building.”

“I run into her now and again in town, but I don’t know what she’s doing around my apartment building. Maybe she has a boyfriend there or something.”

Jackson seemed to regard the sweat running down Corey’s forehead for a moment before grinning. “Yeah, probably something stupid like that. I’d hate to be that guy, though. A woman who doesn’t know her place is only really interested in weak-willed men who will follow her every order like a sick puppy. It takes a big man to keep someone like her in her place.”

“Y-Yeah. Look, Jackson, I gotta go. I have a business meeting this afternoon.”

“Sure, buddy. Don’t let them boss you around too much, though. The last thing you want is to be somebody’s bitch.”

Corey had to get out of that entire section of the store before he could actually breathe again. It took a few minutes before he could stand up straight without shaking. He decided to cut the shopping trip short and just pay for what he’d already gotten, resigning to order the rest online later. Delivery fees were a small price to pay for getting the fuck out of there.

It was difficult not to cry on the walk home. Who did Jackson think he was? That was entirely uncalled for! Who even cared if he was spending time with Cynthia? Jackson didn’t have dibs. He didn’t even want to date her; he just hated the idea of Corey having something that he himself didn’t. Jackson had always been a little bitch, even in high school.

If his friends found out that he’d helped Cynthia skip town, blackmail or no, he might not have friends for very long.

She wasn’t using him.

She was using him, but she wasn’t lying about being his friend.

She couldn’t be.

***

The smell of smoke lingered while Corey paced aimlessly around the scratched wooden coffee table. He’d had three cups of coffee already and was currently chewing on his knuckle. His thoughts were a Jenga tower. What was he going to say?

Soon enough, the executioner was knocking on his door. Corey invited Cynthia inside, but she didn’t seem to notice the state of disarray his emotions were in. Had she been seeing him at all or just looking in his direction this entire time?

“Alright, I only have about an hour before I have to head to work. How are things coming along?”

Corey took a deep breath, looking away so she wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes, and gestured at the kitchenette. “I finished the crullers, but… It doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s… They’re burnt. I measured them wrong. Just… Just shit. All of them. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.”

“Hey, Corey, don’t–”

He sniffed, and that seemed to get through to her. Cynthia took a step back and eyed him warily. Her face cycled through a lot of expressions that alway seemed to come back to total uncertainty.

“What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“You know exactly what happened!” He slammed his fist on the counter, and she jumped. “You’ve only been using me to escape this shithole of a town for the entire time we’ve been working together! You don’t care about me. There’s certainly no reward for helping you like there would be for a real girlfriend.”

Corey was seething. Cynthia had fallen back against the wall with wide eyes, but over a few moments, her expression darkened. She swelled up and stepped toward him.

“I can’t believe that, after everything, you still think that you’re entitled to some kind of reward for any of this. You aren’t helping me of your own free will, but even if you were, nobody owes you sex for your help, asshole. I’m doing this to get away from your shitty friends whom you’ve never stood up against or contradicted. Even if I haven’t seen you do what they do, you’re complicit in your silence.” She took a deep breath. “And you know what? Yeah, I am taking advantage of you, because you’re just as scummy as the rest of them, and we are not friends!”

When Corey stepped forward, she flinched. All he did was grab his checkbook off the counter and flip it open to a blank check. Of course she’d pretend to be afraid he was going to hit her, though!

“Here. Five thousand dollars, in full. You can take the money and leave right now, and I’ll just keep the prize money for myself. I will gladly take the gamble just to be free of your narcissistic manipulation. Maybe in the city, you can find a different gullible loser to be your sugar daddy instead.”

“Narcissistic–?!” Her face was red, practically about to explode. “How dare you? You don’t know anything about me! How do you even have that much money to give away?”

“You’re not the only one trying to escape this shithole!”

There was a long silence for a moment while both of them caught their breath. Cynthia seemed to deflate, then opened her mouth to say something, but Corey cut her off.

“I work hard. I spend all day working for a faceless company that wouldn’t even be inconvenienced if I died, and after that, I still find time to do what I love. People like me do the thankless hard work of actually getting through the day and not coasting by on other people’s hard work. I can’t do a half-assed job and then jiggle my tits to get a larger tip from people who actually keep this country running.”

He waited for Cynthia to say something, to shout at him so he could keep going. Even better, she could admit that he was right and ask for his forgiveness; this could still go away if she was just honest with him. Instead, she walked up to the counter, grabbed the check, and yanked open the front door.

“Good luck with the competition,” she sneered, “and thank you for reminding me that men will never see me as anything but a threat or a prize.”

The door slammed shut behind her.

QuillRabbit

The response to this has been very overwhelming! I'm glad people enjoy it, despite it being darker than a lot of what I've been writing recently. Hopefully this chapter did not disappoint.

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