She panted loudly, and just as Jimmy was about to askanother question, the phone rang.To his surprise, Mitsuki picked up the phone."Hewwo. It's me honey! I don't sound silly, snookums! What do you mean?NO! You can't do this to me! You have no idea what I have sacrificedfor you!" Jimmy could hear the intelligence creep back into theprofessor's voice, "That whore?!! Well you deserve each other! Go tohell you bastard! You better not be there when I get home!"She slammed down the phone and began to cry. After a couple of seconds,as Jimmy was moving in to comfort her, she gathered her lab coat fromthe floor and flung it around her shoulders."Mr. Johnson, that will be all for today, I have to go home. Familyemergency, you understand." Um, professor, what about - you know." he said, pointing at her newphysique.Mitsuki looked down at herself in amazement and disbelief."Oh, my, GOD! I did it, didn't I? I'm a bimbo slut!" she said, feelingher hair, her boobs, her ass, her lips. "But I would be. She had a degree—even had a minor in business. She could quit, she could accept the fact that she would never be considered a serious artist. She could take her money and run. In fact, that was essentially what she had done, she had packed up a few things, gotten in her car and started to drive. Her label desperately wanted to re-sign her, she had balked, unconvinced that they really cared about her art. She had left that one in limbo. She’d fired her management and furloughed her band. While she still had a contract with her agent and publicist for a few more weeks, she doubted that she would extend it. She had told no one where she was going, she hadn’t really known herself. She had made periodic calls to her mother, often simply leaving a message that she was okay but not giving her location. A little over 2,000 miles later she had taken a detour to a small city with a regional state university in a state which, while south of the Mason-Dixon line, had a decidedly Midwestern.
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