November Exclusive - "Deal" - Part 2

As it turns out, Jasper does care about clothes. He cares very much. When Miss Brown offers him the blue gingham romper with the Peter Pan collar, Jasper point-blank refuses to wear it. And so when they return home, Miss Brown carrying him over the threshold, he is still wearing his toddler-sized hospital gown.

“Sure you don’t want me to dress you up?” asks Miss Brown as she releases the squirming Jasper from her arms. “I don’t want you to be cold.”

“Sure,” Jasper replies, and he walks along the hall in his bare feet, wrinkling his nose at the cool tiled floor. He’s not perfectly steady and he holds out his hands nervously. His head feels too big, and his legs feel…not weak, not at all, but uncoordinated, as if he’s been sitting down too long and has lost the blood flow. But he won’t fall over, he won’t give Miss Brown reason to scoop him up again.

He enters the living room. It feels like a house built for a giant, and Jasper understands why. Because everything seems big now, in his current condition. In his severe age-bounce. He looks over at the settee – could he get on it by himself. He pictures himself, clambering, arms and legs splayed, and he frowns. If he fails, falling back, he’ll look incompetent. But even if he succeeds, grabbing onto the couch to pull himself up, he will be behaving in just the same way as he appears. A determined little boy. A precocious toddler. And again he thanks God that none of his ex-wives are here to see him in this condition.

There are toys arranged neatly in one corner of the room. There is a blanket folded on the settee that is obviously designed for the youngest of children, with a design that is garishly bright and no doubt representing a TV show that Jasper has no intention of watching.

“Hungry?” Miss Brown asks brightly. “Is it time for lunch? The age reduction process can leave many clients ravenous.”

Jasper is hungry, but he has other things on his mind. “All the baby stuff,” he says. He points at something hanging in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, a seat decorated with owls that hangs from the doorframe. “I don’t even know what that is.”

Miss Brown laughs. “A door jumper,” she explains. “You won’t need that. You’re already walking by yourself.” She smiles at him. “Such a big boy,” she says sweetly.

Jasper glares at her but otherwise lets the patronizing comment go. “All of the baby gear. Either you have your own baby, or you were expecting my…what you called it, my age bounce, to be extreme. So which is it?” Meaning, Does this happen all the time? Meaning, What kind of cowboy operation are you running here?

“I don’t have a baby of my own,” says Miss Brown matter-of-factly. She rubs her hands together. “To be honest, I’m a little old for having babies.” She smiles. “But I do have a nephew who spends his weekends with me, so that’s why I wanted to bring you home until we fix your age bounce. It’s worked out rather well, because we’ll got all the equipment we’ll need right here in the comfort of my home, instead of having you stay at the clinic where it would feel, well, I suppose it would feel clinical. Better to be at home where you can be comfortable, don’t you think?”

Jasper gives the lightest of shrugs. He wriggles his toes, curling them into the soft carpet. Yes, that feels better, a vague sense of security. The softness helps, and if he were forced to admit, he would acknowledge that the gown is a little drafty. His feet are tingling lightly, but nothing compared to how they felt at the hospital. His biggest source of discomfort, other than being reduced to infancy, is the ache in his teeth and he touches his jaw gingerly.

Miss Brown sits down on the couch and pats the seat beside her. “Want to sit up here, or would you be more comfortable down there on the rug?”

Jasper points at the settee, and then groans as Miss Brown wastes no time picking him up and sitting him down beside her. “There,” she says briskly, plumping a cushion and settling Jasper. “All comfy.”

But there’s comfortable, and then there’s getting too comfortable. He asks the question he somehow forgot to ask back at the clinic. “How long exactly to fix the bounce?”

The woman makes a vague gesture with her hand. “Hard to say.” She folds her hands on her lap.

Jasper tries again. “Okay but give me an idea. Is it days? Weeks?” Longer? “I’ve got things to do.” Like showing up to his next business meeting dressed in more than a nappy.

Miss Brown raises her eyebrows and shakes her head. “Oh! Golly, no, not weeks.” She beams at him. “I expect you’ll be right as rain by tomorrow.”

Jasper feels some of the tension that’s built up in his shoulders dissipate. “Phew. I was thinking…”

“No, no,” says Miss Brown. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.” She puts a hand on his back, the lightest of pats, and Jasper doesn’t shrink away. “Really, I’d be very surprised if you weren’t delighted with the procedure and on your way home by tomorrow morning.”

Jasper exhales. “Good. That’s great.” He nods. “I suppose I can handle a day.” He peers over at the clock sitting on the mantelpiece. “Less than a day.”

Miss Brown strokes his back. “Clever boy,” she says softly. “Reading your numbers.” She smiles. “You see, anyone else would be shocked, they wouldn’t know what to do with you! Looking so small and helpless, but with your grown-up brain. But I know just what to do to make sure you’re nice and comfortable.”

Jasper nods. It is better to be at home than in a hospital. But he looks down at his little body and he wonders if he could handle more than a day or so of being a toddler before he would lose his mind. He imagines for a moment forgetting his adult thoughts, of drooling and babbling and pooping like a real baby, and he shudders.

“You shivering, sweetie?” Miss Brown asks immediately. “I got some comfy pajamas you can wear.” She cuddles him, and again Jasper doesn’t shrink away. The human touch, the sense of security, who wouldn’t welcome that at a time like this? “You wanna wear some comfy, fuzzy jammies instead of that drafty old gown?”

Yes, that sounds good. That sounds perfect. Jasper imagines wearing the soft, warm pajamas. He even imagines sitting on Miss Brown’s lap, of falling asleep as she strokes and pets him. Hell, wouldn’t it be better to just sleep through as much of this nightmare as possible?

But Jasper’s pride, and his stomach, say otherwise.

“Maybe later,” he says. Like at bedtime when people normally wear pajamas. Not in the middle of the day. “I think I’m ready for lunch.” His stomach gurgles, and Miss Brown laughs. “I think you are!”

And despite everything, Joshua manages to laugh as well.

Lunch is simple, and Joshua doesn’t struggle to understand why. Cubes of cheddar, whole-grain crackers, slice grapes.

It’s hardly the kind of lunch he would have had with either of his first two wives, both of whom enjoyed (and routinely demanded) being taken to the best London restaurants. After each divorce, Joshua rebuilt his finances, and entered his most recent marriage insisting that he preferred the simple things in life, like staycation holidays, and homecooked meals.

The third wife, Stacy, lasted even less time than the first two, but while they were married, Stacy never complained about their thrifty lifestyle.

What did she complain about? Joshua wonders as he chews on a grape.

It was never about the money. It was about the attention. Stacy wanted more of him, more of his time.

I just wanted to take care of you, Joshy. You wouldn’t let me be a good wife.

But seriously, who talks that way these days? So Joshua called it quits and looked in the mirror and saw an old divorcee with plenty of money but nothing to show for it.

Perfect food for a toddler to pick up with his fingers, and he is grateful to be spared the embarrassment of trying to use a knife and fork with his clumsy hands and spared the indignity of being spoon-fed like a helpless infant.

Still, he does have to sit in a highchair, the food sitting on a tray in front of him. One of those ‘nephew’ benefits Miss Brown had described earlier, and Joshua wonders what other baby paraphernalia is lurking in the house. Where will he be expected to sleep, for example? A high-sided cot? He sniffs as he thinks of what his first wife said as she watched him leave the house for the last time.

You belong behind bars.

Miss Brown doesn’t eat lunch. She seems content to make herself a mug of tea and then watch Joshua eat. He had turned down the offer of a bib, and Miss Brown makes a point of complimenting Joshua on how tidily he eats.

“We don’t want any messes on your gown, do we,” she says blandly, not sounding as though she expects a reply.

As if she’s really talking to a baby, Joshua thinks morosely. But it’s better to be with her than someone else, someone who doesn’t know the truth. Someone who treated him like an ordinary baby. The thought of being cooed at and gushed over by a simple-minded babysitter makes Joshua screw up his face.

“Is the cheese yucky?” asks Miss Brown.

Joshua shakes head. On the contrary, all the food tastes good to his baby tongue. In truth, when was the last time he had noticed the flavour and texture of his meal so keenly? He favours the right side of his mouth, the left side continuing to ache, but takes pleasure in the meal, a small amount of simple food soon filling him up as Miss Brown chatters on about her nephew (who, if she is to be believed, is the very best of baby boys, good as gold, a veritable ray of sunshine).

Such boring stories, about a baby boy who is learning to crawl, who loves his bouncer, who is eating solid food. Joshua suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. After all, Joshua is eating solids right here and now, he’s walking with ease, and he has none of that infantile desire to sit in that absurd harness by the doorway and bounce.

Of course, it’s not a fair comparison. Joshua isn’t a real baby.

So he continues to eat, letting Miss Brown’s words, about a perfect baby boy who does exactly as he’s told, who just loves cuddles with his auntie, who simply adores being a bouncy baby - go in one ear and out the other.

“Look at you!” Miss Brown exclaims. “Good boy, you made it all gone!”

Joshua feels a rush of pleasure at the praise, until he remembers how he hates being given empty-headed compliments, especially from women.

“Thank you for lunch,” he says coolly. He touches the left side of his face. “Now, you said I could take something for- “

“But you got a little messy,” says Miss Brown, and she doesn’t sound upset, she sounds delighted. She sounds as though they’re playing the most delightful of games. “Look!” she says brightly, you got crumbs all over you.” She giggles, and before Joshua can even think of protesting the woman is wiping at his mouth with a cloth.

“Mmm,” she says, “and your gown is all sticky and crumby, Josh, I’m going to have to change you.” She cleans his hands, puts down the cloth and puts a thoughtful finger to her chin. “Want your jammies now, or you want to wear…hmm…” She continues to tap her chin and then her face brightens. “I could dress you up all warm and cosy, and we could go to the park!”

Joshua looks at Miss Brown with wide-eyed astonishment. What is the woman thinking? Does she really imagine that he would want to be paraded in public?

Clearly, he’s going to have to assert himself before Miss Brown starts treating him as though he’s a mindless infant.

“Pyjamas is fine,” he says, careful with his diction. He keeps his gaze on her, setting his jaw has hard as he can with his chubby face, and it must work because Miss Brown glances down and says softly, “Of course, yes, very sensible. Jammies it is.” She smiles. “We’ll get you all cosy and comfortable.” She glances at her watch. “You could even have a little nap. It’s around about that time. My nephew- “

“I’m not your nephew,” Joshua says sharply, albeit squeakily. He pats the food tray with his palms for emphasis.

“I’m not a real baby.”

Pat.

“I don’t need a nap.”

Pat.

Miss Brown’s face colours the lightest of reds. “I know that, I just- “

“What I need,” Joshua says, on a roll, feeling more like his old self than he’s felt since the procedure, “is something for my teeth.” He points at the left side of his face.

The woman nods. She puts her hands together. “You’re right, I was getting carried away.” She sniffs. “You just look so cute…but you’re right. I’m going to dress you in your jammies, get you all cosy and comfortable, and get you something for your sore teeth.” She gives him a pained look. “I’m sorry your teeth are hurting, honey, you must be miserable.”

Joshua shrugs. “It’s okay.” He’s not about to cry about it, after all.

“So we have a plan then?” Miss Brown asks. She gets ready to lift Joshua out of the highchair. “Jammies and teeth? And maybe a little nap?”

Joshua nods. It seems like a good result to him. No embarrassment in the park, and some relief for his gums. Surely pain medication works quickly on babies, he’ll feel better in no time.

Yes, it’s a good deal. He grins. This is why he’s succeeded in business so many times. This is why he’s made so much money. He’s always known how to strike a deal. Why should today be any different?

He holds his arms out for Miss Brown to take him, and then he gasps in surprise. There’s something wet between his legs, something wet and warm. He pulls his hands back, looks down towards his crotch. He can’t see beyond the plastic tray, and he tries to reach his crotch but again, the tray blocks him.

“I’m wet,” Joshua says, annoyed at this abrupt turn of events, his voice a petulant whine.

For a few seconds of grace, he can’t imagine what’s happening. Did he spill something? He just knows that it’s warm and wet between his legs, a ticklish trick that spreads until his crotch saturated, the disposable nappy soaking up the liquid.

It’s Miss Brown’s soft, knowing smile that solves the mystery, even before she tells him out loud.

Joshua feels his cheeks turn red, heating up with humiliation, as he continues to wet himself. “I can’t stop!” he cries. “It keeps coming out!” Try as he might, yelling in his mind, his body won’t comply and shut down the flow of urine.

Miss Brown reaches for him and pulls hm out of the highchair. “It’s okay, honey,” she says smoothly, sweetly. “It’s just an accident. It’s why you’re wearing a nappy.”

“Buh…but I’m…I’m not a real baby,” whines Joshua, and he freed from the chair, he looks down at himself. The gown covers the worst of it, but as he squirms, there is a fresh feeling of warm wetness as his thighs squish together.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” says Miss Brown. “You’re to young to have any control.” She holds him up so that they’re face to face, and she smiles. “You’re going to be okay, sweetheart. I know exactly how to make you feel better. Going to get you all dry and clean, cosy, and warm, fix your poor teethies, and then you can have that lovely nap. It’s okay, I’ve got you, don’t cry.”

“I…I…I’m not…” Joshua sniffs, before he registers the tears spilling from his eyes and spilling down his hot cheeks.

What would Stacy say, seeing him now? His business partners? He has been reduced to a sniveling, pissing mess. And so when Miss Brown cuddles him close, kissing his face and surrounding him with soft warmth, Joshua doesn’t resist or rebel, instead melting into her arms.

And when she bounces him lightly in her arms and says, “You know what, honey? I don’t think it’s going to take until tomorrow. I think that you’re doing so well, being such a good boy, eating all your lunch and agreeing to get into your jammies and have your nap…I think that you’re doing so well, once you wake up from your nap, you’ll be right as rain.”

Joshua sniffs. “Really?” His voice is muffled against Miss Brown’s shoulder. He can’t seem to remember what ‘right as rain’ means, but he’s certain that it’s a good thing. It’s the thing he’s been asking for since the operation. Since the bad bounce.

Right as rain? The meaning just isn’t clear, but the implication is good. That he’ll get a good deal, he’ll get want he wants.

“Really.” Miss Brown kisses the top of his head. “Now, let’s get you changed into that nappy.”

To be completed...