Space and Time Issue 121 Read Online Free Page A

digital wall-clock reads 2:45. That leaves me forty-five minutes to find Natalie before the final swap and the end of the party. I return my bag to the bouncer and push my way back through the loft, searching for the kitchen.
    I freeze at the threshold.
    Natalie.
    She’s leaning against a counter stocked with liquor bottles, wearing only a black lace bra and panties. She sips a drink and stares out the grimy window. I fixate on the silver stud piercing her belly button, like a tiny star.
    Is this really her, or someone using her body? For a split-second I worry she’ll recognize me, but when I find it unnecessary to suck in my gut I remember my borrowed body and relax.
    “Taking a break?” I ask casually.
    She studies me through blond bangs and her icy blue eyes drift downward, lingering on my tented boxers.
    “It’s more exhausting than I expected.” She swirls her drink, clinking ice cubes.
    She gives me her full attention, unlike her usual aloofness at the office, and I realize I’ll have no better chance with her than tonight, at this moment, in this body. I’m a new man–at least for the next forty minutes.
    I pour myself a Scotch, neat, spilling some as I correct for this new body’s longer reach. Afraid I’ll drop the glass, I cradle it in both hands.
    She nods at the window above the counter. I can barely make out a fire escape through the dirt-streaked glass.
    “I was gonna grab some air,” she says. She pulls a joint from her bra and raises her eyebrows meaningfully.
    I grin. Party rules specifically prohibit drug use while in another person’s body. Her attitude is all the confirmation I need that I’ve found Natalie at last.
    There was so much more to the bookish receptionist than she let on at work. I’d caught a glimpse of her on the Lower East Side late one night, dressed in a red miniskirt with stiletto heels, leaning into the open window of a black Lamborghini to kiss the driver as though she wanted to whole world to see. The driver whispered something and she laughed–a clear and confident laugh. That’s when I understood that Work Natalie was just a façade for the benefit of co-workers and that Real Natalie was just like me, pretending to be someone she wasn’t.
    Natalie climbs up on the counter and tries to open the window but it doesn’t budge. It’s painted shut. I spot a tattoo above her ass: one of those swirly Celtic designs that’s sexy but doesn’t mean anything.
    She turns around and catches me staring.
    “Are those muscles just for show?” She smiles. She hops down and pushes her hair away from her flushed face.
    I clamber up on the counter, more awkwardly than I’d like, and I feel her eyes on my back as I grab the window sash and lift with all my strength. After a strained moment, paint and wood splinter and the window screeches open. A wave of summer heat slaps my face. I wipe dirt from my hands. Natalie claps.
    I peek over my shoulder–no one has spotted us–and I crawl with her out onto the third-story fire escape. My vision takes a moment to adjust to the darkness. The outside air smells of approaching rain.
    “So,” she says, lighting the joint. “Is that your real body?” She takes a deep drag.
    I squint at her through the cloud of smoke. “Does it matter?” Exhaling, she offers me a toke.
    I take a hit and cough, the burning in my throat making me wonder whether this athletic body has ever smoked before. The twinge of guilt I feel evaporates under the relaxing effect of the weed and Natalie’s proximity.
    “Just curious,” she says. “So you’re really into this scene?” She waves the joint around.
    I shrug. “Who doesn’t want to be someone else once in a while?”
    Although I can’t admit it, she’s the only reason I’m here. After hearing too many times that I wasn’t her “type,” I had to do something drastic to prove her wrong. From the way she leans against me, one hand on my forearm, I suspect I’m more her type