Jane hated her new job about as much as she hated her life. Nature hadn't been kind to her, and her employers weren't much better. Her face was on the attractive side of plain, but she never thought much about her face. Jane was very underendowed, and she was convinced that everyone who saw her just looked right past her. She had no friends to speak of, her parents were dead, and she wasn't even particularly close to her roommate, Sandy; she just couldn't afford an apartment of her own. Jane was all alone in the world, and she blamed the whole problem on her flat chest. Not that even Sandy's chest was anything to brag about in particular, but at least she had the chest of a woman.
Normally Jane just kept to herself and brooded, but she'd had a particularly bad week, losing her stenographer job due to cutbacks and because the other girl, she was convinced, was sleeping with the boss. Not that she wouldn't if she could. Attractive people had all the breaks. Sandy was dating a psychologist pretty casually - it was about their third or fourth date - and when he arrived at their apartment to pick her up, Sandy was still in the bathroom primping. She always seemed to be in the bathroom. Sandy was one of those people who could be very attractive with a lot of work - the right makeup, the right clothes - and so she practically monopolized the bathroom. Jane was probably more jealous of people like that than those who were born with it all, because Jane'd put all the work into her looks she could if she thought it would accomplish anything. So somehow it became Jane's duty to small-talk Sandy's date while she took her sweet time in the bathroom. Before long, Jane was ranting about how unfair the world was, how beautiful people got all the breaks. Sandy's guy only sat there and smiled insufferably through it all, obviously entertained. Finally she just got sick of that smirk and clammed up, giving him an opening. He only chuckled, "That's a crock of shit and you know it. Your problem is you."
"I didn't fire myself," she hissed. "I don't make men look the other way."
"Don't you?" he yawned. He was off the clock, she figured. He could be as rude as he liked. But then he surprised her by saying, "I have a job for you. The perfect job. I know a place looking for a receptionist." He handed her a card.
She practically tore his head off when she saw it. BIGGER YOU. That new place that expanded the breasts of the mega-rich, without implants. They had a building outside of town, a plain, unassuming little place. They didn't need to advertise. They did all their business on word of mouth. She got up and started to storm away without a word, but he just laughed, "I told you. Your problem is you. Trust me, you work there, you'll learn to deal with your chest."
"Or end up killing myself," Jane growled. "Is this how you get your laughs? Like they'd ever hire me."
"You miss the point. That's how they get their laughs. All those stuck-up, underendowed rich bitches go in, knowing they're gonna come out supermodels, and who's at the desk but a flat-chested, working class nothing. You go in there knowing that, and the laugh's on them."
Jane only tore up the card and stormed away. She couldn't bear the thought of working at a place like that, where everyone but her came in with little boobs and went out with big ones. But two weeks came and went, and still no job... Sandy was beginning to talk in the politest tones about her finding "a smaller place" if she couldn't afford the rent. Finally, she gathered her courage and drove out to BIGGER YOU. She was very shy about just walking in. There was only the smallest label on the door, about the size of something a family might put on their front door or their mailbox. This was pointless. The job would be filled by now anyway. But if Sandy's ex-boyfriend was right, she was just the kind of girl they were looking for. Jane didn't know if she could bear that, actually... but at this point it was more of question of putting food on the table.
"Oh, that job was filled a week ago," a man in a business suit laughed. "But we can always use another secretary. Our Mr. Forsythe's been grumbling about someone to help with his paperwork. Go on in." The man kept looking to her chest. Obviously Sandy's psychologist friend had nailed it. She shyly headed into Forsythe's office and stammered something about a man up front saying he was looking for an assistant. Unlike the guy out front, Forsythe barely even looked up from his desk as he asked her questions about her typing speed and previous jobs. Jane didn't know which was worse - the snickers or being treated like she was barely there at all. But finally he handed her a letter and told her to type it up. Apparently she'd been hired.
Forsythe ran the business end of things, seeing to finances and so forth. It was the dullest job in the world, and Jane rarely got out of her little corner of the building. The front area, including hers, was carpeted with flowerly wallpaper and basically all done up in classy business style. Through the back doors were the examination rooms and whatever operating room or such they used. Up front in the business area it was just the impersonal Forsythe and a couple other guys, more affable, who interacted with the people who came in for treatment. She never saw much of those clients until two weeks later, when she was promoted to receptionist and put right inside the door. That receptionist had been only a little better endowed than herself, but from what little Jane could see, she hadn't really given much thought to her body. It was obvious to Jane that she'd taken even more ribbing than Jane did, being up front where there were always people going by. No one at the company ever socialized with Jane, not that she encouraged it. But she overheard small talk between Forsythe and one of the others in his office that Louise, the receptionist, had just kind of snapped one day during some particularly nasty taunting from a very rich bitch on her way out, flaunting her new body. The people in the company found that sort of tantrum all very charming, Jane gathered from what she overheard, and they'd never fire her for it - rather they looked forward to those outbursts - but Louise had apparently resigned in a huff at the end of her tantrum. So Jane got her job.
Jane was determined not to let the taunting of the women who passed by get to her. She took to sarcasm as a good defense as they teased the "poor little phone-girl" who'd be stuck like that all her life. They couldn't tell her anything that she hadn't told herself a thousand times. This was a dead-end job and she was going to die alone and flat-chested someday. She rarely saw Forsythe anymore. Stevens, the man she'd first met coming in, was the one who took the women in hand and led them into his office to explain the procedure and the extravagant costs. He always had a nasty joke or two ready about Jane's chest whenever he passed by with a client. Well, like Sandy's ex-boyfriend had said, she'd known coming in exactly what her job would be about. Jane gritted her teeth and bore it. She wasn't going to give any of them the satisfaction of tears or an outburst.
Jane had been the receptionist for about a month when Stevens wandered by one Friday night at ten to five and plopped down a huge document, about fifty pages, and laughed, "Has to be typed up and faxed out by ten tonight. Obviously you won't have other plans. Get typing." Jane almost hissed something about not being a typist anymore, but she could use the overtime. She nodded her consent and then Stevens added insult to injury by plopping the master keys down on her desk and adding, "Lock up when you leave."
Jane typed furiously and just made the deadline. The whole place was dark by the time she finished except for the lamp by her word processor. She'd lost track of the time. Finally she faxed the document, grabbed her purse, and started to leave. She paused and just stood there for a moment in the darkness of the lamp-lit foyer. As big an asshole as Stevens was, he was right about her Friday nights. Her life was useless. She saw no reason not to get back at those jerks by exploring this place a little. She headed toward the back of the business area with wild dreams of all the dirt she was going to dig up, files she'd find exposing their process, taking what she knew to the authorities and shutting this place down. Her picture in the paper, the flat-chested plain-Jane who got the last laugh on her boob-making bosses. But really she was just curious and felt like snooping around. As if her months of secretarial school out of high school had trained her to make sense of whatever gobbleygook was behind the bust-augmentation process.
She paused for a moment as she reached the back door and unlocked it, heading into the white rooms and tiled floors beyond. There seemed to be no windows in these examination rooms and hallways, so she boldly flicked on a central light. She was beginning really to get into her role as snoop. Something exciting was happening to her at last! She looked around the examination rooms at the medical charts and so forth. She unlocked the cabinets and read the files of former patients. The more Jane snooped, the more she entertained her wild fantasies. Not of turning them in, but of bleeding them dry. She knew the costs of the procedure - depending on how much augmentation was desired - started out in the hundreds of thousands range. She knew too how many clients came in with carefully-held briefcases suggesting that they paid in cash. There was probably a reason for that, but like she'd realized, she was hardly in a position to snoop out whatever obscure government regulations they might be violating. She only began to wonder if any of that money was stored back here.
The irony was rather sickening. She might walk out of here with a couple million dollars or more under her arm, financing a luxurious life in Brazil or someplace. If she'd had the money to begin with, she could have been a client here. But if she took the money and ran, there was no question of ever paying for the procedure. She'd have to make herself scarce. It might be years, if ever, before similar places opened up elsewhere. Well, she decided, the money and no boobs was better than no money and no boobs. She hunted around everywhere. Finally she decided that the last place anyone would look for the money was the labs or operating rooms themselves. She headed through the last major set of doors and found herself in a small white room with some equipment and a metal table, with doors branching off to either side into small control rooms. She searched the control room on the left first but found nothing. She was majorly pissed by the time she began opening cabinets in the right room. There was no money here either, and she started swearing. She really had gotten her hopes up. It was only when she realized that she was going to have to put back in order the mess she'd made ransacking that she began to look at the documents. "My god," she gasped to herself. "This stuff's actually readable!" In fact, the procedure was so simple that within an hour she'd read through the whole manual and knew all the contingencies and troubleshooting cold. It all came down to this serum they'd invented. But she needed a mold too. Where...?
She ran out into the central lab room and examined the appartus. It wasn't machinery exactly, but a sort of high-tech metal cabinet. She opened it up and found about a dozen molds of hard plastic in the shape of breasts, ranging from the moderate to the almost ridiculous. She positioned a nice pair against her blouse and examined herself in a mirror. If she could use this pair, she'd have a magnificent but not grotesque chest. It wasn't fair. It really wasn't. She could probably pay for the procedure afterward in no time if she could walk out of here with boobs like these. A girl with big breasts and no scruples could have the world, Jane was convinced. A girl with these didn't need to embezzle. They wouldn't even miss the serum she used, probably. She could just walk out of here and never look back. What was she talking about? She was going on like she could actually do this. And yet... She held tightly to her favorite mold and ran back into to pour over the documents. She spent another half-hour pouring over it all. A child could do this. Was the serum really that expensive to make or were the assholes just keeping the price up to make themselves rich? She didn't care anymore. It was only gradually that she realized how slowly she'd worked herself up to go through with this. If she chickened out now, she'd probably kill herself later.
She took a deep breath and ran back out to the central room. She knew it all by heart now. "Step one," she recited aloud, "strip to the waist." She removed her blouse and threw it to the floor. Then she unstrapped her bra. It wasn't holding a hell of a lot in place, but Jane wore one anyway. "Step two, inject serum into arm." She measured it out carefully, following the dosage for a person of her height and weight, and pressed the needle to her arm. The serum actually burned a little as it went in, but just at the moment she didn't care if that sensation never let up. In fact that burning sensation spread through her veins and began to envelop her until she shuddered a little, but then it subsided. "Step three, sit up on table and press mold to chest." She fitted the plastic mold over her small breasts, realizing even as she did how much of a joke the word "fitted" was. "Step four, click on plastic strap." A flexible piece of plastic fitted on to each side of the mold and strapped around her back, holding the mold in place once she'd adjusted the strap to fit. This mold would have to remain on her for about four hours, the instructions insisted. "Now, sit and wait..." she mused.
Only about two minutes passed before something began to happen. She put her hands to her chest and could feel it getting soft and pliable. It was a creepy sensation, kneading her chest like it were dough, but according to the manual that helped the process along. She still couldn't see exactly how this was going to work. She couldn't get her hands under the mold to knead her chest into the shape. But she watched her small breasts with fascination through the transparent mold and slowly, after about five false alarms, she was convinced that she could see them moving on their own. They were bubbling slightly, starting to percolate as the skin began its slow journey in jumps and starts closer to the plastic of the mold. Even with all she was looking forward to, she was surprised that she wasn't more frightened seeing her body doing this. Even her upper chest was percolating a bit now, and her stomach... But it was most pronounced under the plastic mold. It was as if her whole chest were a piece of clay that was gradually remolding itself to fit the shape pinned against it. Her waist would be thinner, wouldn't it? She still didn't understand exactly. Surely there wasn't enough of her to go around? But the instructions insisted that any female could get any size; it was just a matter of cost and serum. Was her skin stretching? Were air pockets forming underneath? Was she supposed to be getting hungry or thirsty? Was she going to get cravings for milk? Or would her own mammaries be hyper-stimulated to lactate and fill the gap? She had no idea. She only knew that it was working.
The burning sensation of injecting the serum had long subsided, but now she was beginning to get a buzzing in her head. She felt a little dizzy and couldn't concentrate. She was still irrationally holding the mold for the most part, but now she lowered one hand to grab the edge of the table to steady herself. Was this a side-effect of the serum? Or was it something psychological, some defense-mechanism against the sight of her whole chest wildly percolating as her boobs prepared to fill the massive gap? They still weren't really moving inward, just bubbling more and more wildly. Well, it was supposed to take awhile... wasn't it? Yes, it was. Four hours or so, the instructions said. She wasn't sure exactly how much of that was for everything to get into place and how much to stabilize. She was really getting dizzy now. She held onto the table with both hands and her mind began to wander. She was gonna be so fine! Sandy'd drool when she saw her. She'd wear tight T-shirts and show everything off! Maybe she'd be a porn star. The thought of guys drooling when she walked down the street actually made her a little horny, and briefly she was walking down the street, to guys whistling and... No! She had to stay awake. Shit, she was groggy. She couldn't hold the table properly either. Her hands were getting sweaty and this damn metal surface... No, it was almost like the metal itself was pliable, giving under her touch. She preoccupied herself with that sensation for the longest time, kneading the metal of the table as it gave and rippled on her fingers.... No! It wasn't the table! It was her fingers! Even they were getting soft! She looked down and saw her right hand sprawled out on the metal surface, just kinda lying there like putty with fingers splayed out at weird angles. She could barely lift her fingers. She pulled up her left arm - it wasn't so pronounced there - and felt along her right wrist. The softness was spreading past her chest to her whole body. She mustn't think about it. Just a side-effect, as her matter rearranged itself. Her legs were solid enough still. She swung herself forward repeatedly and succeeded on the third attempt, fortunately landing on her feet. Would she even have been able to pull herself to her feet with these useless arms now dangling at her sides?
She looked at herself in the mirror. Except for the bubbling on her chest, and the slow movement on her arms, she looked normal enough. She was wasn't this big, was she? Maybe it was a trick of seeing the mold attached, but through it she could swear that her breasts were, on the average, a little bigger, taking all the percolating into account. She lifted her arms with a supreme effort and kneaded her chest a little, helping the skin and fat toward the mold. "I'm gonna be sho gorgeoush..." she slurred, and the slurring of her speech surprised her. Even her throat felt like it was getting soft. She stared and stared and stared at her reflection trying to put together why she looked so much better. Her tits weren't that much bigger... but somehow her whole body, even with the gooey chest and arms that looked as if they didn't have any proper bones at all, looked more compact, more like a woman's. She wasn't as gangly somehow. "My God..." she gasped. "I'm shorter..."
She had to stop thinking about this. It was no use trying to second-guess this process, wondering if she'd be shorter or her hips really this full when she was done. Her whole body was drastically rearranging itself, matter crushing and molding. This serum was doing so much! Even her bones had to be getting soft. She mustn't second-guess any of this, but just wait for the final result.
And her hips were fuller. Even with her skirt on she was sure of that. She made a half-hearted effort to slip her skirt off, but her fingers were just useless now, bending under the slightest pressure. She closed her eyes. She'd just keep her eyes closed and wait for the final result. But with her eyes closed she got dizzy again. The room was spinning. She stumbled back for the table to lay down. How long had it been? She'd lost all track of time. She flayed her arms wildly onto the table as she fell against it, leaving her arms splaid out on the table as she held herself up with her armpits. She almost fell asleep like that again, until she began to have a sensation of falling. She was getting softer, oozing down from the table. She struggled desperately to get her balance with her feet but her legs were flaying wildly, like they were made of cooked spaghetti. She fell to the floor. There wouldn't be any getting up this time. Not till it was over. Her mind wandered again. She lifted her head to try to see her arm. Had it always been that stubby? She struggled to tilt her head to see toward the mirror. Her whole body was just human-shaped ooze on the floor now. She should be more scared... She really should. But she'd followed all the directions, knew them all cold. She'd read all the contingencies. The oozey feeling came and went, she realized. Her mind was cloudiest when she felt ooziest... or was the ooziness just all in her mind? She could sit up if she really tried. She swung with her chest during one of the periods the percolating was at its low ebb. She had some solid feeling in her arms, very briefly. She swung herself up to a sitting position, and then pulled at the table-legs. She was determined to get back up there. Her armpits were still relatively solid. She clung onto the table and began scrunching up onto it, belly-down. Her legs were getting soft again, but now they were just dangling. Something was sliding off her. It was her skirt. It fell to the floor. She struggled up and swung across the table until only her legs were dangling off the end. When she heard the first "thunk" her mind was too hazy to care. The second one a minute or so later was, she realized, her shoe falling to the floor. Her body was losing cohesiveness again. But she tilted her head down to see that the mold was filling up. This was working!
Her legs were literally dangling off the table now, as the rest of her oozed against its surface. Her legs now had the loose shape of jelly filling her panty hose. She struggled forward to get onto the table completely, for the feeling of those dangling jelly-legs was unnerving. She began falling asleep again, until her face began to mash against the metal surface. She turned her head to the side to get a view of the mirror... What had been Jane was just bubbling, boneless ooze almost pooled on the table. Her arms were still recognizable at her side... or the right one, anyway, for she couldn't see the left on the far side of her body. She still had feeling in her fingers, so it had to be there. The mass of jelly-like stuff that filled her panty hose seemed to be retreating up them. She couldn't feel her toes any longer. Her feet were just shapeless blobs where her legs ended, somewhere at about the knee of her hose. She couldn't feel her left hand for a moment... then she felt something oozey with it. Something was tickling her side, too, something insubstantial like slime or sludge. She realized her hand was tickling her side. She giggled at the sensation... but it came out an incoherent gurgle. Or were her ears melting too? She understood, vaguely, what was happening now as the two pools of ooze linked up, and her left arm melted into the side of her body. She could see it happening with the right arm, as the cylindrical mass trickled its way toward her body. She felt curiously detached now, like she was a little girl again watching two mud puddles slowly grow bigger in the rain until they became one. She mentally rooted the process along, whether from some instinct or to have it all over sooner, she didn't know. A strange euphoria seemed to be setting in...
She felt her legs melting into her abdomen, and saw her panty-hose deflate. They were empty now. She was just a fleshy colored mush in and around the mold, now completely filled. She could feel the bottom of it, feel her ooze burbling against the plastic nipple shape. The strap began to collapse as her back melted away as a recognizable shape. Where was it all going? She felt the matter of her chest compressing, and as her nerve endings were smashed together sensations - even in her groggy state - grew sharper. And now her head was sliding down the table. It was still fairly solid, but it was being oozed toward the mold along with everything else. Her mind drifted again. What was that stuff trailing behind her head, that looked like... Oh, god, it was hair! Her hair was falling out! That wasn't supposed to happen, was it? It must grow back. Unless all the clients had come out with wigs, it must grow back quickly! She found she didn't care. Boobs and a wig beat plain Jane anyday... Or was it the euphoria? It felt so strangely wonderful, just to ooze together and compress. She was groggy, barely awake. This wasn't really happening. She'd fallen asleep during the process. That was all right. They wouldn't be back till Monday. When she opened her eyes again, she wasn't sure what she was seeing. What was that strange pattern? Where was the room? It was the ceiling, she realized. She couldn't feel her head at all, and her neck seemed to be nonexistent. She was a face floating on the surface of the open-end of the mold. Over the course of moments the ordinary background hum of the room grew fainter and fainter, leaving an eerie silence. All she could taste was slime, the ooze that was her... and slowly she couldn't taste even that. She wasn't suffocating, but she wasn't breathing. She was just eyes floating in the filled mold. And then slowly ooze covered the eyes and they sank down in, plunging all into blackness.
She fell asleep gradually, and awoke with a start as she felt something digging in the ooze that was her. It felt so lovely somehow. They were human hands, male hands she thought, digging something out of her. She realized that they were her earrings just before they were finally fished out. She couldn't hear, or see, or taste, or smell... just feel. Mostly she felt the hard plastic of the mold, but she felt air on the surface too. Hands... There was someone here! But her mind was drifting in and out. She had the vague sensation of being carried away somewhere, and then everything started to get chilly. It woke her up a bit, and for the first time she felt genuinely terrified. Dear God, what was going on? What had she done to herself? But slowly her mind drifted out again.
She awoke she knew not how much later to the sensation of being carried, and then it got warmer. She was unceremoniously dumped onto another hard surface, only it wasn't hard exactly. It felt like plastic again, but not the hard plastic that was mostly surrounding her. Soft plastic. Cellophane. The hard plastic of the mold was slowly pulled up and away >from her, and then hands began to knead her again. She felt everything much more than she would have before, even sensitive to the tiny movements of the air. She wasn't oozy, but more substantial. Pliable. The sensation of fingers on her was a mystery for a moment, almost like someone was touching her near her nipples and yet... Yes, it was exactly like that. She was still too confused to understand exactly, but as the hand brushed against her nipples she felt an explosion of sensation - not pleasure exactly... more like ordinary touch amplified ten times. She could dimly make out voices. Stevens' and someone else's. She tried to shout to them, scream to help her, but nothing came out. She had no mouth. How was she hearing? The euphoria was gone and she was just terrified, frightened beyond the ability to think straight or make sense of anything. She couldn't quite make out the words. Something about a total success and wrapping them up. The cellophane came up and covered the rest of her, where the mold had been, as human hands sealed it into place. She was surrounded by cellophane. Then someone picked her up and she moved for awhile as if she were being carried again, and then the hands put her down on a hard surface, and then nothing.
She waited. Time passed. Forever seemed to pass. She didn't sleep exactly anymore, but her mind drifted in and out of varying states of consciousness. A muffled feminine squeal brought her to her senses she knew not how much later, and she was being carried again, almost lovingly. Hands unwrapped her, and the voices grew slightly more audible. Hands pressed her flat against something warm, something nipply but almost flat. She made out words like symbiosis and linkage in a patronizing tone. A female tone continued to prattle on questioningly, and another, even more patronizing voice, replied about sort of oozing into place and amalgamating with her body. Body? What body?
That sensation at the back of her, that flat, nipply, soft, warm, thing, gradually faded away as the flat part of her seeped into place, and then she lost all sensation on that back part of her. Soft, female hands were carressing the front of her, and then a sudden jerk upward left her jiggling for a moment. Slowly a fuzzy light dawned, and she could just barely make out shapes. Her vision continued to come and go, and was never very sharp. She was staring into a mirror. Her body was gorgeous and perfect, her bust fully shaped. Just exactly the shape she'd chosen. Why was her vision so low? She panned up. That wasn't her face! That wasn't her voice giggling with delight as the lips moved.
Oh god, Jane silently screamed as it dawned on her what she had become, how the process worked. The woman's hand pinched her breast tenderly, and squealed with delight as she seemed to feel the pinching. Jane felt it too, not tenderly, but amplified by compacted nerves into a searingly painful pinch. "Oh, god, no!" Jane thought. "This can't be happening! Wake up! Wake up!" The woman turned away from the mirror for a moment, and Jane saw an open panel in the wall of the lab into a secret back room. She dimly made out in the darkness of that room shelves of disembodied, cellophane-covered breasts. Her terror only grew at the sight of what she'd been, and the realization of what she was now. "God, no!" she wanted to scream. "I'm still alive! You don't understand! Please..." But there was no one to hear her.
Her vision was never very good, and continued to go out completely at regular intervals. Somehow she was seeing - when she could - out of the nipples themselves, though they looked completely normal. Her hearing was at its peak now, though things would always be muffled sounding from now on. With practice she could make it out. The woman was asking how durable they were. The doctors assured "Marie" that her new breasts could stand up to almost anything, that they were even more durable than the ordinary kind, and that they'd look like they did now for the whole of Marie's natural life. Marie squealed in delight again. She seemed to be a rich, but dippy woman of about thirty with too much make-up even though her face was - or had been - her best feature. Marie was rather shyly asking something about nipple clamps, and Jane silently screamed.
Marie waved goodbye to the doctors before heading out with Stevens to do the concluding paperwork. Marie boldly strode out into the hall and down to his office topless, and did the paperwork the same way. As Marie looked down to sign everything, Stevens mouthed silently at her breasts, "Goodbye, Jane." And he smiled more insufferably than ever. Only gradually did Jane realize how completely she'd been tricked, from leaving her alone that night to the notes about the process in the back room to the insistence on hiring flat-chested women to all the lies she'd been meant to overhear about how Louise had quit and stormed out... maybe even the psychologist had been one of their front men to lure the right girls in. She cried in whatever secret way breasts could cry. She was now nothing but the only thing she'd lacked before. She'd always felt that men were looking right past her like she wasn't even there; now whenever they looked at Marie, their eyes would go right to Jane.
"My nipples are getting hard!" Marie giggled.
"You'll find they do that from time to time," Stevens added. "We're not quite sure why. At first you may find that they'll lactate a little without warning, but if you just pinch them, they'll stop." Marie pinched her nipples, and they grew soft again as Jane silently screamed out in pain.
Someone shuffled into the room, and Marie turned instinctively. It almost looked like Jane's old roommate Sandy, but Sandy could never fill out a T-shirt like that. All doubt vanished as she recognized even the muffled voice, "I'm sorry for raising such a fuss. It just didn't seem like her."
"She should never have taken a job like this," Stevens replied. "You could see she was miserable all the time. Still, to take off like that without warning was pretty childish. The girl before her did the same thing. You wouldn't believe the turnover we have for secretaries and receptionists."
"You hire the wrong kinda girls," Marie giggled, slipping a T-shirt on. All went black for Jane, and the sound grew even more muffled. She could barely make the voices out by really straining. "They all look so bitter. But I s'pose well endowed girls don't need to be secretaries."
"You're telling me!" Sandy laughed. "Did you see that guy coming in with his daughter? He owns TEN yachts and a slew of estates across the country. And he asked me to go away with him on a world cruise! I kissed the burger joint goodbye, I can tell you."
"You worked at a burger joint?" Marie laughed. "How'd you swing this?"
"Oh, I came here looking for a friend. Like you say, they've got fucked up hiring practices - oh, sorry, Mr. Stevens. They did me at one-tenth the price just because they thought it was so kind that I was worried about her. It took almost all of my college fund, but I'm not gonna need college now," Sandy giggled. "I'm sorry I jumped the gun like that, Mr. Stevens. I didn't mean none of those things I said." Jane could hear her skipping happily out of the room.
"I know, Sandy," Stevens said after her. "I know." Marie felt herself up again after finishing her paperwork, and then drove herself home.
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