I continue this for someone else.
Hello All,
Here's my first "Turnabout Tunnel" story in a while, and I'd like to do something a little different. I've written Part One, and am now completely exhausted. If anyone would like to take a crack at Part Two, let me know by Tuesday.
If no one wants to participate in this two person "round robin," then I'll finish it up after Tuesday. I did have fun writing this part, but thought that this might be fun.
Please send me comments indicating whether you like this idea or not. We could even have multiple endings from several different writers if there's enough interest.
I always like constructive criticism, so let me know what you think of the story as well.
As I always try to mention: feel free to write in this story universe. The rules are very lenient. This is a world with completely random body swaps. Do whatever you want, just leave the body swapping device since it's the whole premise. If you want to learn more background read Mike Harris's FAQ.
Enjoy,
Michael
Arnie's Desperate Measure (Part One)
Arnie Cutner was sick and tired of being at the mercy of others' good graces. He had been hired and fired from numerous low paying jobs over most of the 53 years of his life, and he had all he could take.
The graying and overweight Cutner had been a waiter, fry cook, cab driver, janitor, garbage collector, and doorman, but had lost each of those jobs for one sole reason: he offended people. Unfortunately for Arnie, he tended to always end up offending people with the time, influence, and money to make his life miserable. Arnie, however, generally had no idea that they were offended until it was too late.
For example, as a waiter he always tried to be polite and prompt with his customers' food. One time, however, after taking great care to offer the best possible service to one particularly well-to-do elderly couple, he received no tip whatsoever.
"Ma'am? Sir? Was there a problem with your service?" he had asked as they got up to leave.
"The food was unsatisfactory," the old lady had snapped while adjusting her fur coat.
"Well, Ma'am, I wish you had told me when you got it."
"Look here son...don't bother my wife," the old man ranted. "We didn't like the food, and we don't like your attitude. You don't have the grace to work in a restaurant of this caliber, even when its food is bad!"
"Well, I wouldn't take any money from you two old farts even if you offered it," Arnie had concluded abruptly, rubbing his scraggly face as he said it.
That comment was an example of Arnie's poor ability to deal with criticism, and it got him fired from his waiter post. His most recent job had ended, predictably, the same way.
Arnie thought that he had finally found the job that suited him perfectly. A doorman only had to open a door for people and tip a hat. Occasionally, of course, he had to say, "Good morning," or "Cold day, isn't it?", but mostly he could just keep his big troublemaking mouth shut. The pay was also better than most of his other jobs had been, allowing him to afford his old battered apartment on the other side of New York City. It also helped him pay his assortment of gambling debts.
Arnie actually liked his job. His enjoyment of his job did not transfer over to admiration for most of the tenants of the high rise, wealthy apartment building, however. He could only guess at how much the occupants paid to live in such comfort in the heart of Manhatten. His least favorite people in the entire 50 story building were the penthouse-dwelling McColloughs.
James C. McCollough III was a newspaper tycoon who had been in the business for sixty-plus years and had amassed a fortune. He had been married and divorced five times during those years.
"One of his alimony payments is probably more than I would see in a year," Arnie had often thought.
McCollough was now an octagenarian who had to use a wheelchair on his infrequent trips out of his apartment. Arnie was amazed that someone so old and seemingly so near to death could be so arrogant and unpleasant.
"Doesn't he want to impress God before he dies?" Arnie had asked Langley, the McCollough's tall, African American limo driver. Langley shared Arnie's dislike for Mr. McCollough and had laughed heartily at Arnie's comment.
The two had to be careful to conceal their laughter, however, because of the old man's personal nurse, a large, muscular man named Burt. Burt showed an undying affection for the frail man, constantly trying to make him more comfortable and showing what appeared to be genuine concern for his welfare.
The one time that Burt had heard one of Arnie's comments, he had grabbed Arnie's spindly left arm and said, "Now listen, fat boy. Don't make fun of Mr. McCollough again."
So Arnie didn't make fun of the old geezer again...in front of Burt.
As much as the doorman didn't like Mr. McCollough, there was one person he liked even worse, and that was Mrs. McCollough.
Tiffani McCollough, the former Tiffani Vance, had been a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model just three years before meeting the old man. The newspapers (especially the ones that the old man owned) all reported that it was "love at first sight" for the couple. Arnie, and anyone with any sense, knew of course that it was more a case of "love at first sight of money."
On the rare occasions that Arnie had seen the mismatched couple together, it was almost a pitiful sight. The old, withered man in the wheelchair with a scowl on his face being rolled alongside the young, blonde, full-figured model. (She had put on at least thirty pounds since her modeling days.) She made it a point never to talk to anyone, as if she was "too good" Arnie always said.
"Do you s'pose she's started a list, writin' down what she's goin' to spend all that money on?" Arnie had asked Langley.
"She probably has that memorized," he had answered. "More likely she's watching her calendar, growing more impatient by the day."
"I wonder if she's ever thought of poisoning the old goat."
"Wouldn't make much sense. He can't have more than a year to go before he heads to that big newsroom in the sky."
Langley had overestimated the old man's time left, however, and the news quickly spread among the apartment employees and occupants that his personal physician had given him only a few weeks to live.
"Imagine that," Arnie said as he buttoned an extra button on his overcoat to protect himself from a stiff New York wintry breeze. "Just a few weeks and she's gonna be one rich bitch."
Arnie was speaking to Langley who seemed perturbed and uncomfortable.
"What's wrong, Langley? Don't you want to work for the next Leona Helmsly...the meanest bitch in town?"
Arnie seemed to be staring a hole into the ground.
"What are you lookin' at, man?"
Just then a leather gloved hand tapped Arnie on the shoulder, and he turned around to see Tiffani McCollough herself staring at him venomously. Even with that stare she had a beautiful face, with a perfect complexion and deep blue eyes under long lashes.
"Well, Mr. Doorman, I'd hate for you to ever have to open a door for the next Leona Helmsly. You'll be contacted soon about your job. If I were you I would go ahead and start looking for another."
Smiling wickedly, Tiffani walked away (even while angry she had a sexy walk), opening the door to the building herself.
Within 24 hours Arnie had received notice...he was fired.
The next two weeks had been the most difficult ones in Arnie's life. He had applied for several jobs, but had been turned down repeatedly. He finally found out from one of his potential employers why he had been turned down for one of the jobs. Apparently, Tiffani McCollough wasn't through with her revenge for Arnie's comment. She had hired someone to follow Arnie and quickly convince any employer not to hire him as soon as he left each business.
"Damn, that rich bitch!" he stomped around his messy apartment in a rage. "I'll make her pay!"
As he walked he was barely aware of the newsman on the television early morning news.
"According to sources from the State Department and NASA, the energy clouds from the massive meteor shower from early this fall are still causing strange events all over the world. Apparently, the personality, or mind, transfers are still occurring. Most recently a Philadelphia man traded personalities with a chimpanzee from the San Diego zoo."
By now, Arnie was watching with some interest as the screen split in half, one side showing a man squatting in a cage with his hands held over his head in an apelike fashion, and the other showing a chimpanzee scribbling the man's name in terrible handwriting.
"Scientists say that they have pinpointed many 'stable' clouds near meteorite landing sites and have actually established where some 'energy tunnels' connect to other clouds. According to a source who asked to be unidentified, two such connecting clouds are located a short distance from our city, in New Rochelle and along the Jersey border."
A lightbulb immediately went off in Arnie's head as he listened to the square-jawed newscaster. He remembered being told the exact locations of those two meteorites when he was still driving a cab. He looked back to the TV.
"In other news, 89-year-old newspaper entrepreneur James McCollough was admitted to the hospital tonight after an apparent heart attack. Doctors do not expect him to survive the night."
A brighter light bulb flickered to life in Arnie's head somewhere, this time in the recesses of his brain that were set aside for desperate measures and blurry, improbable plans.
"Hello Langley," Arnie surprised the chauffeur driver, who was taking a midafternoon coffee break in the parking deck beside the apartment building.
"Arnie? What are you doing here? You're wearing your uniform. Did you get rehired?"
"Yeah...I guess Tiffani ain't so mean after all. The owners of the building called me and told me that she insisted I was brought back to my old job," he was surprised at how well he was lying to his old friend.
"Wow. I never expected that," Langley replied.
"Listen, Langley," Arnie became very serious. "The reason I came out here is to deliver this note from the old man's lawyer. He says it has to do with the old man's will. He's almost kicked the bucket you know?"
"Of course I do," Langley couldn't help but smile as he read the note silently. "Says here that I'm supposed to take her to the Jersey border. It's where he wants his ashes scattered. Apparently he insists that she sees that spot before he dies."
"Yeah, I snuck a peek at that note too. Did you see the part about the back road you'll have to take? Apparently the main road has been closed for some reason. Here look at this map."
Arnie spent the next hour explaining how Langley was to get Tiffani to the spot (near a large hole in the ground) by exactly Seven P.M. Arnie had spent the previous three hours traveling to the very spot and finding a back road to the site. Surprisingly, there was a small contingent of scientists, and only a few government officials near the meteorite landing site. A large bush nearby was where he wanted Langley to escort Tiffani. Hopefully she would be concealed and close enough.
"And Langley. Did you read where she was to observe the actual "ash tossin'" site by herself?"
"I did," he answered. "I guess I should get this car around front to pick her up. She should be outside within the next few minutes."
Arnie had also sent a note to Tiffani McCollough. Using some of his unscrupulous sources from some of his many former jobs around town, he had discovered the name of the McCollough's lawyer. The note to Tiffani indicated that as a condition for her to receive the inheritance in the old man's will she would have to visit the site where his ashes would be poured, near New Jersey. A cheap lawyer who had once sued for Arnie in a disability case had provided stationery with the McCollough's attorney's letterhead. (He kept it for personal reasons he said...namely to impress people with fraudulent recommendation letters from this bigshot attorney.)
Keeping his fingers and toes crossed, Arnie watched the door to his old building from across the street. Finally, a couple of minutes later than he had appointed, Tiffani swayed out of the building, all businesslike, and entered the limousine.
Arnie jumped into his waiting cab.
"New Rochelle, please."
Arnie's friend, a former bookie and distant cousin from New Rochelle, greeted him upon his arrival.
"Joey," Arnie said. "Are you sure you understand what I need you to do?"
"Sure," the Italian, wiseguy-wannabe answered. "Youse want me to help you get close to see where that meteor landed. Then youse want me to chloroform you and keep youse tied up and gagged for 24 hours. Then I take youse back to the meteor place."
"At exactly 10 tomorrow night."
"Gotcha," Joey said. "You were always my best customer. Never whelched. And I sure made a mint offa youse."
"Sure," Arnie brushed aside the backhanded compliment. "Now how are we going to get to the meteor site."
"Did I mention that my older brother is a police lieutenant?"
At 6:55 pm, Arnie approached the crater, while Joey and his brother talked about the Knicks game.
Meanwhile, on the Jersey border, Langley had found the going rough. The road that he had been instructed to take was not really a road, more like a collection of potholes. All he could think of was his limousine and the work he would have to put in to wash it.
"I can't believe I have to do this," Tiffani mumbled from the backseat.
Finally, the duo arrived, stopping the car in a clearing surrounded by trees.
"Ma'm, I believe the spot is just beyond that bush over there. It's the only one with green leaves, and that's what the note says."
"Let's get this over with. I'll go over, look at the spot, then you can be my witness at the reading of the will that I did my duty."
She stomped out of the car, slamming the door behind her.
At 6:58 she stepped around the bush.
"STEP BACK MA'AM!" a loud voice boomed through a bullhorn.
"What's this all about?" Tiffani indignantly yelled.
At 6:59 she seemed to lose, then regain, her balance.
Back in New Rochelle, Arnie collapsed at 6:59. Joey ran over as Tiffani looked up at him angrily. Joey quickly chloroformed him.
Arnie had lost consciousness for a millisecond in New Rochelle, but now it was restored on the edge of Jersey. Bright lights were focused at him, and he remembered being near this spot earlier in the day. He turned and ran back toward the clearing that he remembered.
He was immediately aware of many strange physical sensations despite the incessant bullhorn and searching light. Putting off exploring them further, he dashed into the waiting limo.
"Take off, Langley!"
"Yes Ma'am!"
As the limo bounced along the rough non-road, Arnie finally looked down to see the primary source of his current strange feelings. What greeted him was the sight of two well shaped breasts bouncing up and down frantically. He reached up and grabbed them, trying to put an end to the sensation.
His desperate plan was a success so far, and his dizzied mind couldn't believe that he was trying it!
Arnie's Desperate Measure (Part Two)
"Shall I take you to the hospital, Ma'am," Langley asked as the
limousine cruised toward the Manhatten skyline.
"No...you don't gotta do that," the blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman answered from the back seat. Her Brooklyn accent surprised the chauffeur. She normally spoke with the accent of a California, former "Valley Girl," but had tried to polish up her speaking voice and vocabulary to match her new social standing.
Arnie looked through the beautiful, ocean-blue eyes of former swimsuit model, Tiffani McCollough, and thought about the events of the past thirty minutes.
His plan had worked. He had successfully swapped bodies with the eminent heiress of millionaire James C. McCollough III using the mind-swapping energy clouds that he had heard about on TV.
After taking off from the meteorite site in the limousine, there had been some search lights pointing in their direction from the scientific camp nearby. The location, however, was surprisingly sorely lacking in security personnel, instead crowded with scientists and researchers. The backroad had afforded the car a great deal of darkness, and there had been no vehicle positioned to pursue the pair. Apparently, they were in the clear now, and everything was peaceful on the road.
In Arnie's mind, however, everything was far from peaceful. The 53-year-old, gray headed, overweight male New York loudmouth was now a 28-year-old VERY buxom and slightly overweight, but very attractive woman. As the pair rode in silence, Arnie's thoughts whirled from ecstasy over the success of his plan, to complete horror over the physical state that he was now in.
The first thing he had noticed were the extremely large protrusions on his chest. He had always thought that Tiffani had huge breasts, but they seemed even bigger from this angle. What was even stranger was the feel of the large bra binding them upward and close to his body. He looked down at them as a voyeur might gaze through a keyhole at a beautiful woman in a bedroom, still barely comprehending that they now were his. Slowly he reached up to touch them, but then realized that Langley was occasionally glancing into the rearview mirror, and stopped short of making contact with his chest.
The next thing he had noticed was the tight, tingling feeling all over his legs and rear end. It took him a moment to realize that he was feeling panty hose. He immediately decided that he didn't care for them at all.
Sitting in the immense back seat of the limo, Arnie surveyed his body casually. He didn't want Langley to catch him in an all out inspection. He was wearing a navy blue business suit with a jacket that strained while it was buttoned. When he leaned forward, his massive breasts caused the top to pooch out enough to allow him to see his lacy bra underneath the silky shirt that he wore under the coat. He strained to see over his curvy chest and was able to spy navy blue pants completing the ensemble.
"Sexy...I look sexy," he thought and felt a revulsion at the thought of his newfound femininity.
Arnie had never had any aspirations to be a woman. He was very contentin his manhood, having had an active sexual life as a young man and anactive sexually imaginative life as an old one. He considered guys whowanted to be women "queers," and had no desire to even imagine life as a member of the opposite sex. Only desperation had caused him to take this path. Now he wondered if his plan would be worth this.
As the limo sped toward the increasingly towering Manhatten buildings,Arnie thought about the hidden part of his anatomy...the part that most assuredly made him female. He hated to think about the change THERE,but the more he tried not to think of it, the more he thought of it.Concentrating on the space between his legs, Arnie tried to detect a difference in sensation.
Meanwhile, Langley's mind was on the strange commotion that they had apparently caused back on the dirt road. He contemplated those events,pausing to casually check the rear view mirror. He did a double take.
There in the back seat was Mrs. McCollough gazing down at her crotch with a look of fascination. She slowly opened and closed her legs as she looked, then began the process at a faster speed. Langley stared at her, then the road, then at her, until she finally looked up and noticedhis eyes in the mirror. She immediately stopped.
"Hey! How's about keepin' your eyes on the road, Langley!" he snarled,his legs still in the open position. He was in a bad temper anyway because of the different sensations he had received from his experimenting. His midsection felt empty, loose, and very pliable.
"Yes ma'am. Sorry, ma'am!"
Arnie thought to himself, "Gotta be careful. I've gotta pull this off! After I become the heir, or heiress, of the old man's cash, then some money will change banks, and I'll change bodies. Yep...Arnie Cutner's gonna be a rich, ex-doorman. And this Leona-wanna-be here will have been married to wealth for nothin'."
He smiled as he contemplated the success of his plan, not realizing the beauty that he was radiating as he did so.
I Want Power