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Cousin Amy 06
🕑 Added 2024-02-22 10:24:01 +0000 UTCChapter 06: Lipstick, Lies, and Legal Ties
As the time for their departure approached, Scott found himself in the living room, attempting to balance atop a pair of glossy, black Mary-Jane-style platform pumps. These shoes, with their imposing yet sturdy heels, were not what he had ever envisioned himself strutting down the streets in, especially not to an all-important meeting. Dolled up for a high-stakes day in the big city, Scott was engulfed by a tidal wave of doubts, casting a long shadow over his shaky confidence.
The outfit Jessica had carefully chosen, proclaiming it the perfect blend of chic and professional, was a source of discomfort for Scott. The ensemble - a sleeveless black and white houndstooth-patterned dress paired with a crisp white blouse - oozed an exaggerated femininity that Scott found himself grappling with. The blouse featured voluminous sleeves cinched tight at the wrists, ballooning out towards the shoulders, and was complemented by a neckline embellished with a black ribbon tied into a pussy bow, feeling more like a costume of sophistication rather than an expression of it. The dress, snugly belted at the waist, sculpted a silhouette that Scott was still making peace with. His bare, hairless legs, sheathed in sheer black tights and ending in those formidable heels, created a look that was undeniably sleek but felt as foreign to him as walking on the moon.
The blonde wig, styled to cascade asymmetrically past his elaborately made-up face, provided a constant, ticklish reminder of its presence. His face, laden with foundation, eyeshadow, and the unnerving weight of false lashes, felt like a mask. Every blink sent a tiny, shadowy puppet show flickering across his vision, a surreal reminder of the day’s peculiar nature. Meanwhile, his lips, lacquered with pink lipstick and gloss, seemed to stick with every nervous press.
The entire ensemble, from the towering heels to the confining blouse, marked a bold venture into uncharted fashion territory for Scott. Casting nervous glances at Jessica, he found himself questioning not only the practicality of the outfit but also his capacity to navigate the world in such unfamiliar attire.
(See image 11)
“Ready?” Jessica asked, her voice soft yet carrying an undercurrent of firmness.
“No,” Scott replied, the single word heavy with reluctance.
“You look great, and the sooner we leave, the sooner this will all be over,” Jessica reassured him, her tone both encouraging and pragmatic.
Taking a deep breath, Scott inadvertently inhaled a strong whiff of Amy’s potent perfume, with which he’d been liberally sprayed. The strong lavender scent was another reminder of the role he was about to play. Full of doubts, he finally nodded, agreeing with a resigned, “Fine, let’s just get this over with.”
Jessica’s face lit up with a mix of relief and satisfaction. She stepped forward, picked up the chic, designer purse she had prepared earlier, and handed it to Scott. He looked at it bewildered like it was an unknown object.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, his confusion evident.
With a playful roll of her eyes, Jessica retorted, “You’re supposed to hold it,” her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Ha-ha. Very funny,” Scott replied dryly, matching her sarcasm before curiosity got the better of him. “What’s inside?”
“ID for the meeting. Some makeup essentials in case you need to freshen up your lippy. And the car keys,” Jessica listed off, nonchalantly.
The mention of the car keys sent a fresh wave of panic through Scott. The reminder that he was expected to navigate the journey to London in his girly outfit while driving Amy’s bright yellow Mini Cooper, made his nylon-clad knees wobble. “I don’t feel safe to drive,” he confessed, the practicality of his concerns coming to the forefront. “I can’t move freely in this skirt, and I definitely can’t use the pedals in these heels.”
“We talked about this, Scott. It’s the quickest and easiest way to get there,” Jessica replied, her tone soothing. “If I could drive, I would, but I can’t!”
Scott's worry deepened. “But what if the police stop me?” he fretted, imagining the worst-case scenario.
“Have you ever been stopped before?” Jessica queried, trying to inject some logic into his fear.
“No, but sod's law says today will be the day,” Scott countered, his anxiety undiminished.
“It’s not too late to take the train if you’d prefer,” Jessica offered, though they both knew that option came with its own set of challenges.
The thought of venturing down to the train station to stand amidst the crowd in an outfit that screamed fashion-obsessed office lady was too much for Scott to bear. “Can we take a taxi?” he suggested as a last-ditch effort to avoid driving.
Jessica scoffed lightly, half-amused, half exasperated. “Sure, if you’re paying.”
Scott sighed deeply, the weight of resignation setting in. “Fine, just let’s go then,” he said, his annoyance barely masked.
Sensing his unease, Jessica stepped forward to comfort him once more.
Your dialogue captures the emotional dynamics between Scott and Jessica beautifully, offering a vivid glimpse into Scott's internal conflict and Jessica's supportive nature. Here's a refined version for enhanced readability and emotional impact:
“You look amazing, Babe. Just drive slowly, and everything will be fine,” she soothed, her confidence in him unwavering.
“Thanks, Jess, I just...” Scott paused, searching for the right words as his voice wavered slightly, betraying his nervousness. “I know you believe in me, and I’m trying to believe in myself too. It’s just a lot, stepping outside dressed like this.” He glanced down at his chic dress draped over his altered form, feeling extremely apprehensive at the prospect of being seen.
“You did great yesterday. And you’ll do great again today,” Jessica said with a smile, handing him the purse.
Bolstered slightly by her words, Scott nodded. He accepted the purse and then took Jessica's hand. With his heels clicking assertively against the floor, he allowed himself to be led out the door before common sense could reign, and he changed his mind.
The journey to London was like a roller coaster ride - thrilling yet fraught with moments of sheer panic. Scott, dressed to the nines, manned the wheel of Amy’s little car with a determination that wavered with every clutch pedal misstep. His attempts at smooth gear changes were frequently sabotaged by his towering heels slipping off the pedals. The unfamiliar bulkiness of his feet transformed routine driving into a delicate balancing act, resulting in a few heart-stopping moments where the car jerked and stalled, drawing a symphony of honks and bewildered stares from other drivers. Amid this chaos, Jessica was the epitome of calm, her soothing voice a lighthouse guiding Scott back to a semblance of control, even as onlookers gawked and honked at their erratic dance through traffic.
By the time they arrived at the multistorey car park near the attorney's office, a sense of relief washed over them. Scott, with his nerves frayed, tottered along, demonstrating a level of concentration typically seen in tightrope walkers. Jessica accompanied him for part of the walk, offering silent support until she veered off into a nearby coffee shop, leaving her feminized boyfriend to face the attorney alone. Each wobbly step he took towards the office sent his heart into overdrive, echoing loudly in his ears. Doing his best to block out any curious glances of passersbys, Scott pressed on, fully aware there was no turning back now.
The final leg of the journey was undoubtedly the most nerve-racking. Alone, Scott had never felt so exposed, his outfit seeming to conspire against him. The tights clung to his legs with an unexpected intimacy, the sleeves of his blouse swished around, and his ankles ached. However, the most disconcerting sensation was undoubtedly the jiggle of his new chest, accompanying each carefully placed step - an utterly bizarre sensation amplifying his already heightened state of self-awareness.
Trying to regulate his breathing and maintain some semblance of calm, Scott approached the reception desk, hyperconscious of the slow, deliberate click of his loud, high-heeled shoes on the polished floor. He felt the receptionist’s gaze on him, scrutinizing his approach. Pushing down the fear that she could see through his carefully constructed disguise, Scott mustered a smile, his lips feeling oddly stiff under the layer of pink gloss, and managed a squeaky "good afternoon."
The receptionist mirrored his smile, her response warm yet professional. "Good afternoon. Do you have an appointment?"
“Yes, for two o’clock,” Scott replied, his voice attempting femininity. “My name is Amy Brooks.”
At the mention of the name, the receptionist's demeanour shifted slightly, a flicker of recognition crossing her face. “Ah, yes, Miss Brooks. Mr Peterson will be ready for you shortly. Do you have your identification documents?”
“Yes,” Scott creaked, his fingers awkwardly grappling with the purse slung over his shoulder. The struggle with his slightly extended nails felt like a battle, but eventually, he managed to extract Amy’s passport and birth certificate, handing them over with a nervous flourish.
The receptionist accepted the documents with a polite 'Thank you,' before indicating a row of chairs where he could wait. Scott eked out a response, his voice barely above a whisper. He turned to find a seat as a strand of his wig mischievously flicked across his face, adhering to his glossed lips. His attempt to dislodge it gracefully ended in a clumsy spectacle.
Clomping across the room, Scott reached the chairs, only to fumble with his purse in a dance of awkward gestures, before he managed to smooth out his dress and cautiously sit down. He crossed his legs at mid-thigh, a movement that brought an instant, uncomfortable twinge of pain. Looking up in search of empathy or perhaps a shared moment of humour, he caught the receptionist's eye. She quickly diverted her gaze, leaving Scott with a sinking feeling of being conspicuously out of place.
After a few anxious minutes of twiddling his extended nails and his heavy eyelids fluttering nervously around the room, Scott was ushered into Mr Peterson's office. Upon entering, Mr Peterson, a slightly pudgy man with blonde floppy hair in a centre part, stood up from behind his desk. "Welcome, Miss Brooks. Please make yourself comfortable," he greeted, adjusting his round glasses and gesturing towards one of the comfortable leather chairs opposite his desk.
Scott murmured his thanks, moving towards the chair with a heightened awareness of Mr Peterson’s gaze examining his pantyhosed legs. Emulating the feminine poise he had practised, Scott carefully sat down, crossing his legs more cautiously this time to avoid any further discomfort, and calmly placed his purse next to his right hip.
A brief silence hung in the air, during which Scott managed a forced smile at Mr Peterson before the attorney spoke. “First of all. I want to express how sorry I am for your loss, Miss Brooks,” he said, eliciting a nod from Scott, who recalled Jessica’s advice to speak as little as possible.
“As you’ve probably already ascertained, I’ve been made custodian of your grandmother’s will and will be responsible for carrying out her final wishes. But before we begin, I need you to sign some papers,” Mr Peterson continued.
While nervously fiddling with the hem of his restrictive dress, the mention of signing papers caused Scott’s faux smile to falter. “What am I signing?” he asked, trying his best to maintain his feminine facade.
Mr Peterson smiled kindly. “My apologies, Miss Brooks. I should have been clearer. These papers are to first confirm your identity. My assistant has already made copies of your documents. They just require your signature. Secondly, they are to confirm that you are happy for me to represent you in this matter. You are free, of course, to hire your own attorney if you would prefer.”
Scott paused, his gaze dropping to his legs, encased in sheer black nylon, with pink fingernails resting neatly atop, and the tips of his shiny black heels visible beneath. The stark dissonance between what he saw and what he was accustomed to seeing was jarring. Yet, the desire to swiftly conclude the meeting and leave the office undetected prevailed.
Scott’s delayed response prompted Mr Peterson to inquire if everything was alright. “Oh! Yes!” Scott replied hastily, his voice an octave higher in panic. “Sorry, I was just thinking about Granny and lost my train of thought,” he added, hoping the lie sounded convincing. “Can I borrow a pen?” he asked, nodding towards a pot on Mr Peterson’s desk.
Mr Peterson, understanding, gestured towards the pen pot. “Please,” he said, giving Scott permission.
Leaning forward, Scott selected a pen and pulled the papers closer. “Sign everywhere I've marked with an 'X',” Mr Peterson instructed, leaning back to afford the blonde-haired person opposite him some privacy.
Scott began to meticulously read through the pages of documents, but barely half a minute had passed when he looked up to find Mr Peterson watching him with an amiable smile. Realizing he could be there for hours if he continued at this pace, Scott took a deep, steadying breath. Feeling backed into a corner, he signed six of the ten pages before returning the pen to the pot. Leaning back in the chair, he corrected his posture and tried to project a sense of calmness.
(See image 12)
Mr Peterson collected the papers, giving them a cursory glance before nodding in approval and setting them aside. "Thank you, Miss Brooks," he said, acknowledging Scott's efforts with a polite nod. He then mentioned he would pull up the case on his system, turning his attention to his computer.
During the brief pause that followed, Scott dried the palms of his sweaty hands on his thighs, the sensation of the tights stretched taut over his smooth skin feeling all the more peculiar in his heightened state of nervousness.
After a few moments of silence, filled only by the clicking of Mr Peterson's mouse, the attorney finally spoke, revealing the staggering news that Amy had been left £5 million. The enormity of the figure left Scott momentarily speechless, his mind reeling from the possibilities.
"Uhm... when can I get the money?" Scott managed to squeak out after gathering his thoughts, his attempt at maintaining composure faltering slightly.
"Normally, we would be able to get the wheels moving straight away," Mr Peterson explained with a sympathetic smile. "But due to the delay, it’s going to be a few weeks, possibly a month, I'm afraid."
"Delay?" Scott’s voice rose higher than intended, his unease evident.
Mr Peterson looked at him quizzically. "I assumed you knew," he said, appearing confused. "Due to the investigation into your grandmother's death, we're going to have to wait until the police have cleared the body."
"Oh! Yes. Of course," Scott responded, hastily fabricating an air of awareness he did not truly possess.
Scott shifted uncomfortably. "So, what happens now?" he asked, rolling one of his feet on its high, blocky heel in an attempt to ease the tension in his ankle.
"Well, I've got your signatures, so I can register you as a client and get some of the initial paperwork out of the way. But apart from that, unfortunately, we have no option but to wait. We can schedule another appointment after the funeral and take it from there," Mr Peterson explained, laying out the next steps with a professionalism that did little to ease the crossdressed man's internal turmoil.
Scott offered a strained smile and thanked Mr Peterson for his time. Yet, internally, he was anything but grateful. His mind was a whirlwind of anxiety and second-guessing. What had he done? Signing legal documents as his cousin, he now found himself caught in a waiting game, clinging to the hope that his deception would remain undiscovered, especially if the police became involved. The magnitude of his actions weighed heavily on him as he hoisted himself up onto his tired legs, preparing to leave the office. He was about to teeter back into the world, carrying a burden far heavier than when he had entered.
