Even semi-asleep, Jane sensed something was different. The bed felt unfamiliar, softer, and it smelled like perfume. The
scent burned her nose.
As she drifted closer to complete wakefulness, she realized there was no traffic noise rumbling through the open window. No trucks roaring down the freeway or angry motorists on the verge of morning rush hour road rage blaring their horns. It was peaceful. Serene.
What the heck? Was the freeway shut down?
She blinked and opened her eyes and immediately realized why she didn’t hear the traffic and why the bed felt different. This wasn’t her bed or her bedroom. Where the hell was she?
Her heart immediately shifting into triple-pace as panic wound its way around her insides and clamped down tight, she sat up and looked around the room. It was a fancy place. All the furniture matched. The bed, a massive dark wood piece of furniture with a gorgeous brocade canopy gathered at four ceiling-height posts, sat positioned in the middle of one wall. The window, dressed in curtains to match the canopy, was directly opposite.
She ran across the room, not completely unaware of how soft the carpet felt under her bare feet, and pulled the curtain aside. She stared into a lush green lawn full of mature trees. No clues there.
Turning slowly, she scanned the room again for a sign of where she was. Why would anyone kidnap her and bring her to a place like this? It made absolutely no sense.
She ran to the door and gripped the knob, fully expecting it to be locked. It turned without a problem.
Why would someone kidnap her and put her in an unlocked room? Had to be the dumbest kidnappers in history. She opened the door just enough to poke her head out and took a peek. There wasn’t an armed guard standing in the hallway.
Weird. Gotta do some more investigating but I need to take care of one minor problem first.
Feeling like her bladder was about ready to burst, she spun around, pushing the door closed as she turned. But as she took a step forward, something caught, yanking her backward.
Her nightgown was trapped in the door. She opened it, pulled the filmy material free, closed it again and…nightgown?…and freaked out!
Someone had changed her clothes? Where were her sweats and T-shirt?
Exactly how far down had they undressed her? Surely they hadn’t stripped her nude, had they?
How embarrassing. I wasn’t wearing my good underwear last night. She untied the lace at her throat and peered straight down. Yikes! She had no underwear or bra on. Sheesh, with boobs like that I don’t need a bra… Wait a minute! Oh God!
“There is a boob fairy!” she said to the air before looking down to admire her new breasts again. “I was expecting you about ten years ago, but I suppose it’s better late than never.” Those had to be at least thirty-four Cs or maybe Ds. She’d never seen anything that large up close and personal. Up until now she’d been blessed with barely-there thirty-two As. Someone kidnapped her, gave her plastic surgery and then brought her to this fancy place to recover? Funny, she didn’t feel a twinge of pain. Her friend Janice got a boob job and moaned about the pain for months. Wimp.
Yippee! What rich fairy godmother did she have to thank for this? Or was it one of those reality shows? Was there a hidden camera in the room somewhere? She nervously glanced around, eyeing artwork on the wall with suspicion. Maybe it was hidden behind that busy floral print over there… It’s too ugly to be there for any other reason. She walked over to get a better look.
Didn’t seem to be any peepholes for tiny camera lenses. No, the reality show idea was losing credibility quickly.
The fairy godmother theory was too—at least a real human fairy godmother—since it couldn’t be legal to perform plastic surgery on someone without their knowledge or consent.
That left her with no logical explanations. This was getting stranger by the second.
Now, hardly able to catch her breath, thanks to equal doses of confusion and panic, as well as a spasming bladder, Jane ran across the room and tried a door that looked like it might lead to a bathroom.
As she found herself in the middle of a well-stocked, walk-in closet, she realized her bladder wasn’t the only part of her in an uproar. Her empty stomach was clenching and unclenching and she was about to retch.
Luckily, the second door she tried led to a bathroom. She dashed inside, grabbed an empty trash can to catch anything coming up, yanked up her nightgown and sat on the toilet to catch anything going down. And settled in for the long haul. When she finally had herself collected, she stood up and looked into the mirror to see if anything else had been surgically altered…
…and nearly fell over.
