Chapter 1: Introduction
Words, to me, carry a certain magic.
From a very young age, there were many precious times when stories swept me into another world so wondrous that I was only left with a longing for more. But this love for crafting narratives that stirred souls was only half of what drew me to words. Words could also shape my perception of myself. And as a kid who never quite fit into any expected mold, I found solace in them.
The labyrinth of corridors at the Oakland Herald office held countless tales and more than one secret.
Each room and hallway had witnessed thousands of stories, edited them, killed them, and breathed life into them anew. I was especially aware of this when I walked down these corridors, the echoes of my footsteps a comforting reminder that the world's most beautiful stories awaited me here.
But today was no ordinary day.
"Candice!" A husky, familiar voice snapped me out of my thoughts as a small, middle-aged woman with a mop of curly, grey hair jogged towards me.
"Gail!" I exclaimed, surprised, but certainly not displeased to see her. Gail was my favorite editor at the Herald, often throwing unbelievably intriguing and intricate stories my way. Her enthusiastic and bright demeanor made even the most demanding investigations a little easier.
"You're late!" she remarked with feigned anger, quickening her pace towards her office, prompting me to hastily follow.
Gail's office, where her eclectic personality took physical form, was comfortably cluttered. Various knick-knacks filled every corner, and despite its size, the room seemed infinitely cozy. Once I had settled into one of the two plush chairs facing her desk, she leaned back into her creaking chair and contemplated me for a moment. Her eyes danced with excitement, which instantly piqued my curiosity.
Gail's stories had a penchant for being remarkably surprising and, well, a little out there. Without breaking eye contact, Gail placed her hands behind her head, interlocking her fingers.
"Candice, my dear, I have a challenge for you," she announced with a glint in her eye.
I sat back in the plush chair, resting my notebook on my knee, ready to jot down the details of what would surely turn out to be an unconventional assignment.
Her enigmatic smile held a hint of mischievousness, revealing nothing about the challenge she hinted at. I couldn't help but mirror her expression, my curiosity growing as my anticipation started kicking in.
I've come to learn that Gail's unconventional assignments almost always led to the greatest stories.
"Ah, your face is absolutely priceless!" she exclaimed, breaking out in laughter. "Alright, alright. I'll give you a little teaser."
Gail shifted her focus from me and rummaged through a desk drawer, pulling out a large yellow envelope — the kind I knew oh too well meant a pile of confidential documents within. She slowly slid the envelope across the desk in my direction, her elusive grin returning.
With a final knowing look, she nodded at the yellow package, gesturing for me to look inside. I picked up the envelope and carefully poured its contents onto the desk: dozens of photographs and articles lay scattered across the wooden surface, like pieces of a puzzle waiting to reveal the bigger picture.
My eyes scanned the headlines, each more sensational than the last, and the photographs: the sultry smiles, skimpy outfits, low-cut tops, and plunging necklines.
They were from a newly opened strip club called "La Vie En Rose." A chill trickled down my spine, settling into the pit of my stomach. At first, it was difficult to discern anything of particular note from the pictures of the various strippers contained within the envelope, clearly there to draw attention more than anything else, as I read the headlines, however, the puzzle pieces starting settling into place.
For a club that had only opened recently, their revenue was remarkably high. Generally, the amount of money generated by a strip club wouldn't be public information, but it seemed that someone had leaked the figures from their last month of operation, and the numbers were staggering. Beyond that, the envelope also contained various photos of the club owner's personal residence: A mansion, a Ferrari, a map of the property displaying multiple acres of land in Southern California, and an infinity pool. This man wasn't just "living in comfort," he was putting those who were merely "comfortable" to shame.
I couldn't help but question the source of these exorbitant revelries. Was it possible the dancers at La Vie En Rose were pulling in so much money for the club to generate such extraordinary profits? My gut instinct said otherwise.
As I continued to pore over the documents, pondering the possibilities, a series of knocks on Gail's door interrupted my train of thought. She called out for the person to come in.
The door creaked open, and the faint sound of soft, slow footsteps on the old wooden flooring filled the air. I continued shuffling through the documents in anticipation of who was joining us.
Gail must've sensed my curiosity. "Candice, I'd like you to meet our newest hire, Melody. She's got quite a knack for finding odd tidbits of information that somehow always seem to be right on the money. She's a sort of investigative researcher," Gail said confidently, gesturing toward the newcomer.
"Melody will be joining us on this new venture," Gail added with a playful grin.
Melody continued her elegant saunter toward us, pausing at the edge of Gail's desk. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five or twenty-six years old, petite but curvaceous, like a porcelain doll graced with almond-shaped, cerulean eyes, and a cascade of chestnut hair that complemented her fair skin.
As she smiled, her rosy lips parted to display a row of bright, straight teeth that beamed sincerity. Though Melody had an air of reserved elegance about her, a hidden spark in her gaze informed me that secrets and stories lived behind her beautiful blue eyes.
Melody's presence only intensified my curiosity, and I instantly found myself drawn to her. The subtle way she carried herself left me wanting to know more.
There was a magnetic energy about her, and I wondered how this delicately poised woman could possibly help us unravel a story like this one.
Gail, noticing my curiosity, seemed to have anticipated it and began elaborating. "Melody is somewhat of a mystery here. She showed up a few weeks back with a wealth of knowledge on the city's underworld, specifically concerning black-market dealings in Oakland.
She dropped off an envelope containing every detail we needed, gave her name, and told us if we wanted more, she'd be happy to sell it." Gail continued, "She has an uncanny ability to peel back layers that most people would never even think to question. And with that, she's managed to provide us with information that exposes what might be the most intriguing underworld we've ever seen."
Melody leaned casually against the edge of Gail's desk, her eyes bouncing between the article headlines and my stunned expression.
Gail, always theatrical in her introductions, studied my expression with a self-important grin.
"Candice, Melody laid the ground work for this story. Every photo you see, every tidbit of information there in that envelope, she obtained," Gail said, her voice steady and encouraging. "But, to get the rest of this scoop, we need you." I was left momentarily speechless. "Candice, there's a reason I've chosen you," Gail said, her voice growing softer, leaning in, as if to share a secret. "I need someone smart, someone who keeps a low profile, who won't be missed if they disappear for a bit or recognized if they show up somewhere, someone who can go undercover for long enough to truly dive into the darkest corners." Leaning back, she added with confidence, "That's you."
The words hung in the air for a moment, reverberating off the aged walls around us.
I was still for a time, watching as Gail and Melody waited for my response.
The thought of going undercover terrified and intrigued me in equal measure. There was a strong allure to the idea of disappearing into the shadows long enough to uncover a story that would rock the world if given the chance. It was as exhilarating as it was intimidating. Still, I couldn't help the bubbling excitement that seemed to erupt in my chest, threatening to burst with every second I considered the opportunity.
Before I knew it, a grin spread wide across my face.
I looked from Gail to Melody, fully aware of the weight of the decision I was about to make. "Count me in," I said with conviction.
Gail beamed with pride and satisfaction. She knew my hesitation was merely a cautious mind assessing the situation. And now that I was on board, she seemed more at ease.
Melody straightened up and revealed an even deeper smile, her blue eyes sparkling with anticipation and warmth. "Alright, so here's the deal, Candice" she began, "We need someone on the inside of this club, someone who can learn more about that place than just what the numbers say. And you fit that bill perfectly."
The two women watched me as I absorbed the gravity of their proposal, and I shivered involuntarily at the thought of becoming a regular stripper at one of the most scandalous clubs in Oakland. My hands shook a little as I looked up at my boss and Melody, but my resolve was unwavering; this investigation needed to happen, and I would be the one to make it possible.
Gail seemed to notice my hesitation, and leaned further forward, her hands reaching out to hold mine. "Candice, this story could change the world. It could mean finally putting an end to a place where women might be taken advantage of; to fight the patriarchy hiding in plain sight. A six-month stint could expose the dark underbelly that feeds on vulnerable young women. I wouldn't send you if I didn't believe it."
Something about her words resonated in me.
They were firm and bold, something I could stand behind. Slowly, my initial shock wore off, and I took a deep breath. I nodded silently in agreement: I would undertake this challenge if it meant advocating for women's rights and exposing the sinister forces lurking within La Vie En Rose.
"In order to go undercover effectively, however, you're going to need a new identity" Melody said.
Her voice, smooth and gentle, brought the room back to full attention. "Candice, meet Candi," she added with a slight smile.
Gail opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a manila folder that read "Candi" before handing it to me.
I hesitated for a brief second, but I took it with mild intrigue.
Opening the cover, I discovered various documents detailing my upcoming transformation: a Social Security card, driver's license, birth certificate—just about every legal piece of identification an alternate persona might require. As Melody had suggested, the woman captured in these documents was entirely different from me. Where Candice was conservative and reserved, Candi seemed outgoing and extravagant.
Our identities, it seemed, had been carefully crafted to create a near-perfect dichotomy. My mind swirled, dizzied by the metamorphosis soon to come.
Gail offered more insight. "We've got the perfect place for your makeover," she boasted, holding up an appointment card with the details of my transformation scrawled across it in elegant handwriting: Mademoiselle's House of Beauty.
"It's one of the best salons in town, catering to clients who demand perfection and discretion in equal measure," Melody explained, the allure in her voice hinting that she and Mademoiselle's House of Beauty shared a clandestine history.
"Now, if we're going to transform Candice into Candi" — Melody's gaze settled on me for a brief moment — "we need to focus on several aspects: hair, makeup, and wardrobe." Gail smiled mischievously as she spoke.
"Candi needs a whole new look, and this salon has a reputation for creating jaw-dropping transformations."
Melody nodded in agreement. "Mademoiselle herself will be handling your case, Candice. She's got her own line of cosmetics and haircare products, made from her unique blend of botanical extracts and exotic ingredients—perfect for creating a stripper-friendly image that doesn't scream 'fake'." As Melody continued to explain, I became lost in thought.
I had agreed to this assignment on the basis of the quality of the story it was likely to produce, but to live a life so different from my own, even for only 6 months, seemed a monumental task.
Melody and Gail insisted that I hold on to the folder before leaving Gail's office, the latter of the two giving me the day off in order to prepare for my appointment tomorrow. As I sat in my apartment later that evening, I perused the details of "Candi's" life. The document read as follows. "Candi Koal, born on the 12th of November 2000, and originally from Beverly Hills, California," I murmured as I scanned her Social Security card. That put her age at 24, significantly younger than my 30 but given the job and my youthful appearance I suppose that should have been expected. I continued reading, "Candi Koal, Hair color: Platinum blonde, eye color: Blue. Height: 5'4", weight 130lbs." A far cry from my 5'9", and more than a 30-pound difference in weight between us, not to mention the difference in hair and eye color. I glanced at the picture of myself taped inside the front cover of the folder and sighed. How was I going to pull this off? What sort of techniques did this salon use? Before I could continue contemplating the physical aspects of my assignment I got to the end of the first page of the document. There sat a few paragraphs detailing Candi's backstory.
"Candi Koal, a former party girl, is no stranger to the spotlight. After losing both her parents in a tragic boating accident at 16 years old, she fell into a life of hedonism and excess. Never one for academics, she dropped out of highschool soon after the death of her parents and moved to long beach.
It was there that she developed a wild reputation in its extravagant nightlife scene, one she got by doing small gigs here and there, modeling for underground magazines and dancing at some of the more lenient clubs in town.
Quickly realizing how well her looks served her, she decided to put them to use and make what was once just a safety net into a career."
Granted, La Vie En Rose wasn't her first foray into this line of work. I turned the page, and continuing to read, was informed that Candi had built up quite the repertoire at other local strip clubs—dabbling in private dancing lessons on the side.
Further down there sat a description of Candi's general disposition, her personality traits.
"Candi is, in short, a bimbo.
She is bubbly, ditzy, and oozing sex appeal. She loves the attention of men and basks in it, believing herself to be the epitome of femininity. Her sexuality is always on full display; she's never without high heels, bright red lipstick, or a dress that shows off her curves.
She's charming but not intelligent, sweet but self-absorbed. She's flighty and prone to saying things that are provocative without thinking, relying on her looks rather than her words to get what she wants from people.
She loves to be the center of attention, always seeking validation and praise from those around her."
As I closed the folder, a heavy weight settled upon my shoulders. The journey I had agreed to embark on would not only require a physical transformation but a complete overhaul of my character. I found myself questioning whether I was truly capable of pulling off this extensive ruse.
The next morning, I got ready for my appointment. Dressing in a plain white t shirt and grey sweatpants, as instructed by Melody and Gail, I drove to the salon.
The sun had barely risen, its warm rays illuminating the quiet and seemingly emptiness of the city. I drove down the familiar streets of Oakland, a sense of calm filling me as I headed towards my appointment—almost as if a mysterious force was leading me along my path.
The salon, Mademoiselle's House of Beauty, waited quietly in a discrete section of the Arts District of downtown Oakland.
I parked my car in front of the establishment and admired the architectural details—black and white striped awning, wrought iron filigree, floor-to-ceiling windows.
An iridescent sign boasting an old-fashioned cursive "M" hung above the entrance, adding a touch of classic charm to the daring aesthetics of this part of the city.
As I walked through the glass doors, I was greeted by an elegantly dressed woman with raven hair and chiseled cheekbones. "Bonjour, mademoiselle. Welcome. May I zee your card?" Shr asked with a heavy French accept.
Hesitantly, I handed her the garish pink card bearing the name "Candi" that Melody had presented me with.
"Ah, yez, Candi, you're 'ere for ze special treatment, no?" She said with a grin.
"But of course, zat vould be ze only reason one vould come 'ere to zis magnificent establishment, no?"
The woman gracefully took the card from my hands and examined it, her eyes scanning the name before placing it on the marble counter. She motioned for me to follow her, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of anxiety mixed with excitement as I walked behind her shadow, deeper into the salon's luxurious interior.
We made our way through the salon, which was nothing short of breathtaking.
I marveled at the elaborate chandeliers, ornate vases, and antique furnishings. In each corner, a stunning silk gown seemed artfully draped over a mannequin. The walls were home to portraits of women wearing glamorous makeup and designer dresses, which exuded an envious air of confidence.
As we entered a room full of various hair cutting stations, areas for getting pedicures or manicures, and a spa area as well, I began to slow down, preparing to stop and get my appointment started. To my surprise however, the Madam kept moving.
"Vat are you slowing down for? Ze special treatment room iz zis way" she said, motioning at a door at the end of the room with a bold sign reading "PERMITTED PERSONNEL ONLY." I followed her and with a soft click, the door swung open, revealing something out of a sci-fi film.
It was a sterile room with stainless steel from wall to wall. In it there sat only two furnishings, a large computer control panel reminiscent of something akin to that which would have been used in the Manhattan Project, and a cylindrical tube with sliding glass doors acting as its entrance.
"What the hell is this?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. The Madam flashed a cryptic smile and spoke with a hushed tone, "Ze secret to our success, mademoiselle. You will see." The Madam paused for a moment and then continued speaking. "'ere at zis ezstablishmen' ve do many zings, but ve specialize in metamorphozis, creating new identities for zose who vant a new life. Ve don't ask vy, we zimply do" the Madam explained, a faint glint in her eye as she revealed the technology that made this transformation possible.
"Nou, come," she instructed, gesturing towards the silver capsule, "ze preparation process for ze transformation is 'alf ze battle. Zuhl not be long."
With a deep breath, I obliged. Sliding open the glass door, I stepped into the sleek and silent cylindrical chamber. The interior was impeccably clean and lined with black leather. My reflection gleamed back from the polished walls as my heart raced in anticipation.
I slid the door closed, and it whooshed shut with a vacuum-sealed echo as an icy chill filled the air to prep my skin.
The Madam's face appeared on a screen, her eyes squinted, examining me as if through the digital divide. I watched as the Madam examined the card prepared by Melody and then typed furiously on her keyboard.
"Relaxation is key," she said calmly.
"Let the procedure begin."
The Madam's voice echoed in the chamber as she pressed a button. There was a bright flash of green light, blinding me as it filled the chamber. At the same time I felt a strange tingling all over my body and my clothes seemed to melt away. Before I even had time to process what was happening, I heard the Madam's voice again. "Okay ve are done!" She exclaimed, clapping her hands.
Confused, I looked at my reflection within the interior of the chamber walls, and I was shocked.
My entire appearance had significantly changed. The lush brunette curls that had often decorated my shoulders were now a bright shade of platinum blonde, cascading down my back in loose waves.
My once-fair skin now glowed with a dewy radiance, and the green eyes I'd inherited from my mother had transformed into striking blue orbs, just like 'Candi' was supposed to have. But that wasn't all. I was shorter now, much shorter.
The 5'9" height I had always known was now magically reduced to a slim 5'4", as if my body had been expertly compressed.
My hips had gained a curvier shape while my waist grew slender; it felt like I had been meticulously tailored and fine-tuned into an entirely new form. As I scanned my body I noticed one last change. My breasts were definitely fake.
Where my modest C-cups once existed were now G cups, round and firm, more artificial than natural. My new figure was like a walking billboard of wealth that screamed 'bimbo,' just like Candi was meant to be.
The transformation inside the cylindrical chamber shook me to my core, and I couldn't help but recoil at my appearance. As if sensing my discomfort the Madam spoke through the intercom, "It iz zee price you pay for a new identity.
Don't vorry, mademoiselle, zee shock vill fade. In no time at all, you vill fully be Candi."
The chamber door slid open with a quiet hiss, and the Madam handed me a silky robe, assuring me that I would grow to love my new form. She then led me to a private dressing room to change out of my now-tattered clothes and into an ensemble more befitting Candi.
I slipped on a shimmering silver cocktail dress, its bodice studded with tiny rhinestones that reflected and scattered the soft light around me. My new figure filled it out in ways I had never imagined, accentuating the curves that now belonged to me.
Feeling both strange and curious, I stepped out of the dressing room and into a room full of mirrors, each with lights so bright they illuminated even the smallest detail. The Madam clapped her hands together with glee as she looked me up and down, eyes glistening with approval.
"Parfait!" she exclaimed, gesturing towards a plush velvet chair. "Now, for zee makeup."
I hesitated, my confidence wavering with every step I took closer to the pedestal adorned with an array of makeup brushes and vials of richly pigmented lipsticks. I could sense that once the colorful pots and tools were applied to my face, there would be no turning back; Candice would fade away into the depths of my memory as Candi surfaced and emerged into existence.
The Madam stood next to me, smiling warmly. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows arched as she prepared to work on my makeup. "Trust me, chère," she whispered. "In zis world, sometimes you must embrace ze change you never thought possible." She spun me around so that I was facing the mirror, and began to work her magic.
I watched as her hands skillfully darted from one tool to another, the pads of her fingers dabbing and smearing an array of soft colors upon my eyelids and cheeks.
The Madam's eyes were alight with expertise, and as I relinquished myself to her gentle ministrations, I felt a tender sense of warmth bloom from within. There was, I realized, something almost therapeutic in being the passive subject of another's touch, in entrusting someone else with molding my appearance. As if to heighten this feeling, her hands trailed along my neck, their movements lulling me into a blissful peace.
My face began to change under her skillful manipulations.
The vibrant contours of my cheekbones sharpened and deepened. My eyes, previously invisible in their natural state, gained a mesmerizing allure behind the veil she conjured with clever use of contour kohl and highlighter. Next, she applied a silky foundation to my neck and chest, her nurturing touch creating a luminous glow on my now seemingly airbrushed skin.
She smiled and gently turned the chair so I could face her, her slender fingers guiding my jawline upwards with a motherly pride.
"Candi, mon cheri, you are a true work of art," she proclaimed, tracing my upper lip with a sable lip brush. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to become lost in the orchestration of strokes and swipes, reveling in this intimate display of artistic prowess.
With a few final flicks of the Madam's wrist, my metamorphosis into Candi was complete.
A mirror was angled before me, revealing the ultimate culmination of the process. Candi stared back with her platinum waves cascading over her shoulders, full breasts straining against the confines of her shimmering dress, and a smoky eye makeup look reminiscent of a modern-day Brigitte Bardot.
The transformation felt so overwhelming. I didn't know how to wrap my head around or process what had happened, so I simply spoke automatically. "Thank y-" I was shocked at the sound of my own voice.
It was softer, higher in pitch—almost a sultry whisper, with every intonation dripping seduction and sex appeal. A shiver ran down my spine, the alien sound of this new voice foreign yet thrillingly alluring.
"Now, aren't you a vision, Candi?" The Madam's eyes sparkled, a soft smile playing upon her lips as she observed her handiwork.
"Zat voice is comme il faut, non? It is important for a woman like you, Candi." I swallowed hard, attempting to adapt to this new persona that was now my reality.
"Zees, chère, is your final step before embarking on zee new chapter of your life as Candi," the Madam continued.
She handed me a small box, no larger than the size of my hand, and encouraged me to open it. Curiously, I lifted the lid, revealing a sleek pair of silver stiletto heels.
They glittered beguilingly in the soft glow of the salon's chandelier.
"Zese, mademoiselle, are your wings to fly," the Madam said with a knowing smile. "In zee world of La Vie En Rose, as Candi, you vill need zem." I stared at the shimmering heels for a moment longer. As I stood up, contemplating how I would even walk in the heels that I currently held in my hand, I noticed something that I'd been too distracted to discover earlier. I was standing on my tip toes, naturally. As I attempted to lower my heels to the ground a sharp pain shot through my leg. Seeing my wince, the Madam took notice of my pain. "Ah zee you must only vear heelz now, so your heelz never touch ze ground, even barefoot" she explained.
I was flabbergasted by this new information. How was I to navigate the world with my heels always off the ground, and what precisely did she mean by my legs were now "made for" it?
"Zees 'elps maintain your zexy, mysterious aura, and, of course, enables you to perform your new job's duties effortlessly."
My stomach lurched at the Madam's words as I tried to reconcile how this would impact my daily life. I swallowed hard, but the knot in my throat only grew tighter.
Ignoring my widened eyes, the Madam continued. "Remember, mademoiselle: Your body knows what to do. Embrace zees change and all will come naturally."
As if to prove her point, she motioned to the heels in my hand. Reluctantly, I put them on. Shockingly, the Madam was correct. Due to the fact that my heels were now arched naturally, I actually felt more comfortable in heels than I had barefoot.
The feeling was so peculiar and foreign that it was difficult to fully wrap my head around this unexpected development.
As the Madam noticed the intrigue and wonder slowly emerging within me, she smiled encouragingly before continuing. "Now Candi, let me introduce you to a family friend I think will be very valuable to your new career." She motioned for me to follow her as I obediently did so, being completely entranced by this wildly different person who I was becoming.