A Change of Heart

Houdini pressed her lips against Mr. McCoy's while the band played a slow number in the Starlite Room. She knew Marx would say she'd rushed it. He signaled their mission was over by heading for the exit.

Mr. McCoy's lips brushed her earlobe.

“Ya wanna get outta here, sweetheart?”

Houdini discreetly wiped his saliva from her chin and gave a coquettish smile.

“I'm off to the little girls' room.” she winked.

In the bathroom, she pressed the gold button until she found sloe eyes and high cheekbones. She didn't miss how she used to look; eyes too far apart and an ugly bump on her nose, the family curse. This was the upside to having her face blown off.

Houdini and her partner had been dispatched to a wellness check in the suburbs. They expected a routine call - dead body, some paperwork. No one would've guessed Granny was inside, hopped up on Roubideaux, and packing heat.

Roubideaux. How novel. The octogenarian either had a time machine or a black market hookup. Houdini had forgotten that even with all the technology at their fingertips, some people still preferred getting fucked up the old-fashioned way. It was a scathing reminder.

Although the mod face hadn't improved Houdini's love life, it proved indispensable in her work as a private investigator. As part of her generous severance package, she could have any face in the catalog without spending a single credit.

Houdini wished for a button to kill the taste of Mr. McCoy's onion breath. An occupational hazard, which she learned from an old movie, even prostitutes didn't abide. High heels in her purse, she jumped off the fire escape.

“You rushed it.” Marx said, as the car door slammed closed.

“You think Mrs. McCoy will think that?” she scoffed.

“Don't you always say, 'Let it happen naturally.'?”

Houdini scrolled the pictures Marx had loaded onto the holoscreen in the dashboard and stopped abruptly.

“He's eating my face. Looks natural to me.”

Marx conceded with a tilt of his head and drove on.

Disclosing a mod heart at a job interview was foolhardy. By law, Houdini could've eliminated Marx as a candidate. But her bias worked in his favor. He too had left the force after a call went south. His chest was blown wide open. He died on the table. She hired him on the spot.

Mr. Lee's had become their after hours tradition. The coffee and donuts were outstanding. But what Houdini loved most was that they were alone.

After he brought their order, Mr. Lee disappeared into the wallpaper. He was unfazed by Marx's deviation.

“Green tea?” Houdini smirked, “What's that about?”

Marx flipped through the news on the table's holoscreen.

“I don't know.” he shrugged, “Just felt like something different.”

Houdini suppressed a smile. Coffee, he'd once said, was his life blood. She tried not to get her hopes up. A big gulp of coffee couldn't drown the butterflies in her stomach.

Marx skipped his jelly donut. Houdini felt a pang of guilt. The night he was so nauseous he'd had to pull over, she panicked and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Maybe the donut set off your allergy?”

With his head between his knees, Marx's voice was muffled.

“There's no shellfish in donuts.”

“Well, who knows what's in food these days.”

Houdini sounded shrill, like her mother, recounting the documentary about the cell-cultured meat scandal. Though the details were blurry she embellished without taking a breath. It was all the same to Marx, who was sweating through his crisp shirt.

They said nausea was a short term side effect. For mod hackers they were incredibly customer service oriented, always patient and friendly. Perhaps, it was because Houdini had sent so many Mrs. McCoys their way.

Houdini had decided against the app that would've turned him into a lovesick puppy. This app, a gentle nudge, looked promising.

“What do you got there?” Marx asked.

Houdini almost jumped out of her skin. She'd been contemplating pressing the button for the highest setting when he'd returned from the restroom, silent as a phantom. Some PI she was.

“Um, nothing.”she said, slipping the device into her purse.

Marx raised one perfect eyebrow.

“It's a pedometer.” she said sheepishly.

“A pedometer? Isn't that a bit analog?” he chuckled.

“Says the last man driving a hybrid.” Houdini raised her chin and tried to keep a straight face, “I'm watching my figure.”

Marx pointed at her empty plate. She'd inhaled three honey-glazed out of nervousness.

“Maybe lay off the donuts?” he teased.

“So you think I'm fat?”

Marx grinned. His loosened tie made him even more attractive.

“I think you're just fine, Rosie.”

Rosie. The butterflies seemed aware he'd never called her by her first name before.

Houdini waited in the car while Marx went into the convenience store. She kept reliving the moment she had stumbled. His hand lingered on her elbow far longer than necessary.

This time, when Marx returned, Houdini saw him coming. In his hand a bouquet of flowers. She clutched her trembling knees. The heady scent of the lilies mingled with the smell of simulated fruit as Marx vigorously chewed.

“I've been eating Rolaids like candy.”

Heartburn. Another side effect.

They weren't far down the moonlit road when Houdini pulled the bouquet into her arms, jubilant as a pageant queen.

“I love lilies.” she said.

“Yeah?” Marx gave her a sidewards glance, “Stella does too. She'll probably say I've softened out.”

There was a faint smile on his kissable lips.

“I just feel like brightening her day.”

The radiant lilies in her arms grew cold and distant.

When Houdini made her decision the sun was a slender wedge on the rim of the sky. Four hundred and eighty-eight credits was quite reasonable for the purchase and installation of a brand new mod heart. The discount was a token of appreciation for all those referrals.

Houdini hoped Mr. Lee's coffee and donuts would still taste the same.

~ZK