by Talli Roland
Closing the sash windows and drawing the curtains against the craziness of the village outside, Cissy thought back to the days when she was getting started in the British film industry. Like Marilyn, she’d also done her fair share of rather risqué photo shoots – they’d been some of her most popular work, although she hated to think about it now. She’d laboured hard to put all that behind her, gaining a reputation as a reliable, solid actress. Cissy had never risen to international fame, but she’d earned enough cash to move out of down-at-the-heels Lewisham and across town to a comfortable life in Chelsea. As she got older, though, the roles started fading away, and her agent dropped her.
Finally an up-and-coming chap in Scotland had ‘taken a chance on an aging has-been’, as he’d put it. Shuddering, Cissy remembered the roles he’d got her in D-list soaps. He’d even tried to push her into a care-home reality show, where ten old-age pensioners competed against each other to see who could refrain from taking their medication the longest! Dreadful.
Then, a few months after signing with him, Cissy had been horrified to see The Star had made her its Daily Sparkle Girl – splaying old black and white topless photos across two pages, along with the headline Oldie but Goodie. Even now, she shook with anger just thinking about it. Only one person in recent history knew about those photos: her new agent. Cissy always made a point to fill in her representatives on anything that could be damaging career-wise – after all, they were in this together. But when she’d confronted the agent, he’d just sniggered, saying who knew he could make such a pretty penny off someone so wrinkly? Oh, and by the way, he was declaring bankruptcy and unfortunately wouldn’t be paying what he owed her – ever.
After those photos, Cissy could never find another agent to take her on, at least not as a serious actress. Truth be told, leaving the world of showbiz hadn’t been exactly a hardship; it had become a tacky, soulless affair, and she was happy to see the back of it. Thankfully, she’d had enough money to buy this place on the outskirts of a village so devoid of character the only people left living near her were deaf, blind or both. Fame and fortune didn’t matter anymore, but if she ever came across the crook who’d not only stolen her earnings but also ruined the respectable reputation she’d built, she’d teach him a lesson he’d never forget.
Cissy put on the kettle and took a few deep breaths to calm her beating heart. She’d stay inside, safe and sound, away from the commotion on the high street. In a week or two, all this would surely be over and people would move on to the next phenomenon.
Fans were fickle like that.
*
‘Right, here we go.’
Holding a plastic tube above her chestnut locks, Willow took one last look in the mirror, told herself again it was only hair, and squeezed. A few seconds later, cold liquid seeped onto her scalp.
‘You’re going to be a huge star,’ Jay said from behind her as she massaged the chemical into her locks. Willow shivered, goose flesh covering her arms as his hot breath caressed her ear. Crammed together in the close confines of the loo, Jay’s strong, solid chest was pressed right up against her back.
‘And you’re going to look so hot,’ he crooned. ‘I adore blondes.’
Willow couldn’t help shaking her head at the image of herself as a blonde. She wasn’t cute like Paula or beautiful like Claire – more of a Dove advert kind of girl. After this was over, she wouldn’t be au naturel any longer, that was for sure.
Jay perched on the side of the bathtub then looked at his watch. ‘Twenty more minutes and that should do the trick.’
Twenty minutes! Her scalp felt like a million insects were taking a bite, chewing, then dipping in for more. How was she going to stand it? But Jay leaned forward and put his muscular arms around her, and the itchiness disappeared.
‘You know, Willow,’ he said, meeting her eyes in the mirror, ‘I’ve been looking for someone like you for a very long time.’
Willow’s cheeks flushed and her heart picked up pace. What did he mean, someone like her? As a client? Or as a woman?
‘I’m very lucky to have found you.’ Jay squeezed his arms even tighter around her waist, pressing uncomfortably on all the food she’d eaten earlier. Before she knew what he was doing, he swivelled around to face her and slowly put his lips on hers.
Willow forgot her burning scalp as she leaned into his soft mouth. God, it had been so long since she’d kissed a man, she’d almost forgotten how lovely it was. And Jay’s lips felt so good on hers . . .
They pulled apart at the ding of the timer. That couldn’t be twenty minutes already! She breathed in, embarrassed to see her chest heaving up and down like some kind of sex-starved romance novel heroine.
Jay pecked her again then stood, nearly getting his head tangled up in Betts's mammoth cotton knickers hanging from the shower curtain rail. ‘Right, time’s up. Why don’t you rinse off.’ He manoeuvred her head into the sink and Willow sighed in relief as cold water washed away the bleach from her sore scalp. Jay handed her a towel and she rubbed her hair dry, then lifted her head up and out of the sink.
‘Gorgeous, babe.’ Jay tugged a strand of hair.
Willow’s mouth dropped open at her reflection. Her hair wasn’t even yellow . . . it was practically white and – she lifted a hand to her head – as dry as straw. It didn’t even feel like her hair anymore; it was as if she’d swapped scalps with someone else. Against her rosy complexion, it was simply wrong.
Jay nodded decisively. ‘Now that’s better. Why don’t you blow-dry it and put on some make-up. I’ll head out to grab a few things for your new wardrobe.’ He blew her a kiss. ‘Back in a minute.’
Willow nodded mutely, wondering if he needed his eyesight checked. How could he think this horrible colour was an improvement? Then she remembered Claire’s perfect blonde mane. Well, men did like blondes. Grabbing a hairdryer, she aimed the hot air at her head, grimacing as the strands flew out like cotton wool. Maybe it needed a little bounce, like Marilyn’s? Willow rummaged in a few drawers, found some spare curlers left over from when Paula convinced her to get a perm, and stuck them in.
Right, make-up. Padding across the hallway to her room, she pulled out the MAC stuff she’d used for Matthias’s interview. First things first, the rosy complexion had to go. Choosing a thick foundation, Willow sponged it liberally onto her face. And again. And again, until her skin was as smooth and pale as a newborn baby’s bottom. Hmm. Tilting her head to the side, she peered at the woman in the mirror. Now that the redness was gone, the blonde wasn’t half bad.
What to do next? Willow surveyed the shades in front of her, recalling Paula’s endless string of unwanted advice over the years. Choosing a pearl shadow, she swept the colour over her lids, ran the kohl over the rims of her eyes, then jabbed mascara onto her lashes. A quick sweep of blush, and she was done. After pulling out the curlers, she shook her head and stepped back.
Wow. If Willow hadn’t spent the past hour cloistered in the loo, it would be impossible to believe she was the woman in the mirror. The platinum hair was set perfectly, curling in waves to graze her shoulders. Her eyes looked sexier than ever before and although her face was still a bit too thin to bear much true resemblance, there was no doubt who she was impersonating. Now all she needed was a killer outfit and it would be full steam ahead. But could she really pull this off?
Either way, it was too late to back out now. Straightening up, Willow arranged her face in a confident smile. There.
*
Jay dodged punters on the street, his heart pounding with excitement. With the blonde hair, Willow was almost passable. This whole thing might be easier than he’d anticipated!
He smiled with glee, thinking of the plan he’d cooked up last night after settling down in the pub. Today after Willow’s transformation, he’d get her to say Marilyn had spoken and guided Willow to become more like her. That would make those fans go crazy.
Then tomorrow, after Willow had studied the lyrics to the Marilyn songs he’d gi
ven her, he’d arrange a concert in the square and notify the media the new Marilyn was hitting the stage. It would be Willow’s official ‘coming out’ as an all-singing, all-dancing Marilyn. Well, minus the singing, anyway. Not that it mattered – just the thought of the icon performing again from beyond the grave would send the world into paroxysms of delight.
And finally, the pièce de résistance: the Marilyn Mania Festival, where he’d organise a massive group séance and get Willow to pretend she was channelling Marilyn, then have a few songs, maybe a couple other impersonators from Marilyn’s time . . . and charge a shitload for the tickets. Those nutjobs would pay through the nose.
He’d need to get that Simpson bloke on board to cover costs for all the concert equipment and Willow’s costumes, set up advance ticketing phone lines and internet sites, and take care of all the irritating logistics Jay couldn’t be bothered with. But Jay would make sure he got the lion’s share of the takings, not to mention selling as many advance tickets as possible – and pocketing the cash. Hey, a man had to live, right? Bunny’s money was almost gone, and just a few sales would be enough to keep up the London agent charade. The last thing he needed right now was any doubt on Willow’s part. And when the concert profits rolled in . . . Jay closed his eyes, picturing himself sipping a cocktail in his London penthouse, a cute young thing bouncing on his balls after slamming the door on Davinia. All of this – he made a face as he pushed into the musty charity shop, eyeing the stained lingerie on display – would be worth it.
Quickly, he selected several dresses that could more or less pass for Marilyn’s era, along with a bra big enough to hold rocks from Stonehenge and some knickers he could have camped out under. He really should have done this earlier, but bloody Lordy had taken forever to get out of bed and warm the sausage rolls Jay had needed to fatten up Willow.
Jay grimaced at the thought of the smelly pub. The sooner Willow became Marilyn, the sooner he could get back to the life he deserved.
*
‘I’m back!’ Jay’s deep voice rang up the stairs and Willow gave her hair a final pat, hoping he’d approve of her work. She pasted on a smile, heart beating along in time to his footfalls as he thumped toward her.
‘You look fantastic,’ he said, pulling her into his arms for a kiss. A warm glow stirred inside. She did look pretty good, even if it was miles from the old Willow.
Jay held up a bag stuffed with clothes. ‘I brought over a few outfits for you to try.’ He drew out a large red sheath dress with a belted waist that looked more nineteen-seventies than nineteen-fifties. Willow wrinkled her nose at the musty scent rising from the fabric. Smelled like it was from the seventeenth century.
‘I know it’s not exactly vintage Marilyn,’ Jay said, catching her expression. ‘But it’s close enough for now, until we get some real dough to doll you up.’
‘That’s fine.’ Willow shook out the dress, pleased he wasn’t spending too much. The less he shelled out, the more money she’d get on her first payment. ‘But Jay, this is miles too big!’
‘I know,’ he responded. ‘I did that on purpose. You’re going to fill it out soon, don’t worry, with all the food I’ll buy for you. And in the meantime, here.’ He shoved a handful of lacy garments at her and Willow felt her cheeks flush as she held up a huge bra.
‘Just stuff it with tissue or something,’ Jay said. He picked up a pair of massive knickers. ‘And maybe shove some socks or something into these. You need to get more booty, baby. I’ll leave you to get changed. Come down when you’re ready.’
Willow nodded as he closed the door. Then, she turned to examine the lingerie on her bed. God! She’d need a lot of stuffing to fill out that bra. Trotting to the toilet, she grabbed the loo roll – no, two loo rolls – and made her way back to the bedroom.
‘All right up there?’ Jay’s voice came.
‘I’ll be down in a second!’ Trying not to dislodge the hair or make-up, she carefully tugged her T-shirt up over her head and pulled off her jeans. Then she slipped on the bra, shoving handful after handful of tissue in to fill the gap between her own meagre cleavage and the fabric. She couldn’t even see her toes now!
Might as well get the knickers over with. Willow pulled on the granny pants over her own knickers, holding a fistful of fabric so they didn’t fall down to her ankles. What on earth could she stuff in there? Her gaze fell on a small cushion and she grabbed it from the bed, easing it into her pants and holding her breath it would stay put when she let go. Thankfully, it seemed to fit perfectly. She just looked a little . . . lumpy.
Struggling to get the dress up and over her now-giant bottom, she wiggled boulder boobs into the fabric then reached back to zip it up. Success – although she could barely breathe! She cinched in the belt along her narrow waist and then, almost afraid to look, turned to face the mirror again. The sheath hugged her curves as if it had been made for her, and the red set off her now pale complexion perfectly. The two mounds jutting out from her chest and perky protruding bottom were beyond bizarre, but with her hair, make-up and dress, it all kind of worked.
Willow took a breath – barely – and made her way down the stairs.
‘What do you think?’ she asked Jay, who was sitting on the sofa flipping through a yellowed magazine.
Jay nodded slowly, a grin spreading on his face. He strode over and drew her – or her boob, anyway – up against him. ‘Brilliant, baby. Bloody brilliant.’
Stepping back, he scanned her critically, then touched a lock of her hair. ‘Turn around for me.’
Cheeks flushing under his scrutiny, Willow did a little spin, noticing Jay eyeing her ginormous buttocks.
‘All padding, huh? Well, hopefully not for long.’ Jay produced another bag packed full of Lordy’s finest offerings. ‘Here, get this down you.’
Willow’s stomach turned as she took in the congealed grease coating a sausage roll. She was still over-full from her earlier feeding, and she could barely breathe let alone eat in this tight get-up. ‘Jay, I just . . .’ She stopped as he raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Okay, let me change and I’ll tuck in.’
‘No, no, no.’ Jay wagged his finger. ‘No changing. You need to get used to wearing this all day, every day. You are Marilyn. It’s your brand.’
‘My brand?’
Jay steered her over to the sofa and handed her a greasy piece of fish so fried it felt like rubber. ‘Yes, your brand. Lady Gaga wouldn’t leave home without something crazy on, and it has to be the same for you. Anytime you go out, you need to dress up. Hell, it’s probably best if you wear this whether you leave the house or not. Anyway, you look fantastic now.’ He leaned in toward her, his breath tickling her ear again.
‘Once you finish eating, we’re going to do a walkabout. And you’re going to tell everyone you felt Marilyn’s spirit urging you to transform yourself.’
Willow stared. ‘What?’
‘I know it sounds silly,’ Jay said, taking her hand. ‘But these people are dying to hear that kind of thing.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Willow said slowly. ‘It’s one thing to dress up in all this and play to people who already think I’m Marilyn. But I don’t want to lie.’
An unreadable look flashed into Jay’s eyes, but then his face softened and he pulled her toward him. ‘I understand, baby, I do. But remember, your fans want to hear this.’ He stroked her arm. ‘Look, if you’re not comfortable saying anything, I don’t mind telling people. As your agent, I have to do what’s best for you and your future.’ He paused, brown eyes sad. ‘But if you don’t trust me, maybe it’s best we go our separate ways.’
Willow thought of her father next door . . . and of his pale, anxious face if she had to tell him about the shop. That couldn’t happen – not in a million years. She needed Jay to help her get money, and if Jay thought it best to say she’d been chatting to Marilyn, so be it. ‘Okay.’
‘Brilliant, baby.’ Jay smiled and put an arm around her, drawing her closer. Willow rested her head on his ch
est, breathing in the spicy scent. Jay was an industry professional, she reminded herself. He knew what he was doing.
Pulling back, Jay ran a finger across her cheek. ‘Just put these on’ – he thrust a pair of red pumps at her – ‘and we’ll start off your walkabout next door.’
Willow slipped her feet into the shoes, taking a few experimental steps toward the shop’s entrance. It had been ages since she’d worn high heels and with her massive buttocks, she didn’t need anything else to unbalance her. She flung open the door, flushing as every eye swung in her direction and a collective ‘awwwww’ went up from the packed room. God, she hadn’t realised how busy it was in here.
From behind the register, Betts clapped a hand to her chest. ‘Amazing! You look just like Marilyn now.’
Hardly, Willow thought, trying not to grin – but at least Betts appreciated the new look. Willow scanned the room for her father, spotting him beside a skinny woman in a sari. His eyebrows were raised in surprise.
‘That’s certainly a change,’ he said. ‘But, er, it’s lovely,’ he added, catching Betts’s stern look in his direction.
‘Marilyn communicated her desire that Willow begin altering her appearance to match her inner transformation,’ Jay piped up behind her. ‘Isn’t that right?’
