Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Bulma in Me ❯ Chapter 1

Chapter one



DING DING!


DING DING DING DING DING!


“Hello!! Paying customer, here!!”


The old woman was here again. This had to be the 4th time this week.


DING DING DING DING!


I was about ready to shove that bell down her throat.


I tucked the stray hairs behind my ears and tightened my apron.


“I’m not even gone 10 minutes…” I muttered to myself.


I plastered my best fake smile onto my face and hurried to the counter.


Grabbing the bell before she could slam her wrinkly old hand down on it again, I tucked it under the counter and nodded to her.


“Can I help you?”

“Yes,” she croaked, “I need salami. I don’t know how much I need. But I need salami.”


Jesus. It wasn’t even Wednesday.


And so it goes. I’d been rushing through my weeks for almost 4 years now. Desperately seeking the Fridays when I could leave my starchy apron at the deli and head home to my one bedroom apartment that I shared with my cat, immersing myself in my books and television. I would stay there, painting and daydreaming until dawn. Sometimes I wouldn’t leave the apartment all weekend.


To the oblivious third party you’d think I was depressed, but I wasn’t. I was bored.


At 23 years old, I had always pictured myself in a loft in New York City. I’d wake up whenever I pleased, not at 5am which was what I was currently doing, and I’d paint. I loved to paint.


I envisioned myself attending gallery openings. I would wear smart, sexy black dresses and carry around a glass of champagne, every now and then stopping at a painting and musing about how exquisite it was. My paintings would sell for thousands upon thousands and I would never have to worry about my electricity being cut off or running out of groceries.


Unfortunately life doesn’t always work out as you plan.


Suffice to say growing up I had never been happy and was often lost in fantasy worlds that I either created or read about. I still remember the first time I watched Dragon Ball Z. I grew up with brothers, so of course it was always on, and one day I actually sat down to watch it. Before I knew it I was hooked. I started reading fan fiction and dreamed about being Bulma Briefs. She was rich, popular, brilliant, and she had that hunky Vegeta. She was everything I wasn’t. I would spend my weekends dreaming about that world, too unhappy with my own to put in much effort.


On graduation day I packed everything I owned into a rusted out Chevy and went to Chicago, practically fleeing from my parents’ suburban home. I wanted to go to New York, but I had yet to make the kind of money it took to live where I wanted to, so Chicago was the next best thing.


I used my savings from jobs I had worked through high school and rented out a studio. I had such high hopes then. I spent most of money on art supplies and canvases, giving literal meaning to the term “starving artist”.


By the end of my first month I had created over a dozen “masterpieces” and was eager to start my career as an artist. I was gaunt by then, having skipped many a meal to support my career, and I didn’t even have a bed, but it was the first time in a long time that I didn’t dream about the DBZ world and my escape from my own.


But, like I said, life doesn’t always work out the way you picture, and after selling only 2 paintings in my first month, each for only 30 dollars, I realized that I needed a real job or I’d starve.


So I found this deli down the street with a “help wanted” sign and decided to work there temporarily until my paintings took off.



It’s been almost 4 years to the day.



I had been a beautiful, talented girl with hope in her eyes. I would dress elaborately in things I found at thrift shops and I wore my long brown hair in curls. I had a light about me. Now I was dowdy; sad faced girl with her hair and in a bun whose eyes only sparkled when she clocked out of work for the day.



I was broken out of my musing by the harsh cough of the bitter woman in front of me. I spent the next couple of minutes trying to decipher exactly how much salami this old woman wanted, then headed to the back to cut it up.


My boss, Sam, was already there, watching baseball on the tiny TV he kept in the back. Sam was a middle aged man who, despite his protruding stomach and terrible breath, had the confidence of a male model.


“Hey Sweetheart, got an order there?” He chuckled at me through his salt and pepper mustache.


“Yeah,” I tried to avoid his eyes. Sam had a history of assuming that everything I said or did was my way of telling him I wanted him. In other words, he was a pervert. “Same lady from yesterday.”

“God that broad goes through a lot of meat…” he rose from his chair, coming up behind me at the meat cutter, “speaking of meat…why don’t you ever let me take you out.” He put his chubby hands on my hips, squeezing lightly.


I elbowed him hard in the stomach.


“Because I’m not interested, Sam.” It was the same routine we’d been going through for 4 years now.

Sam was bent over, holding his big stomach, half chuckling and half gasping.

He recovered and ruffled my hair. “You know, that’s why you don’t have a boyfriend. Too high spirited. You’re lucky I like em that way, otherwise I’d have to fire ya…” He said, as he sat back down with a groan.


I rolled my eyes, trying to concentrate on cutting the salami. The only way Sam would ever fire me was if I were to get a sex change.


DING DING!


“Goddammit!” I swore, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. I looked at Sam, hoping for once he’d give me a break and take care of it.

He glanced at me, nodded in the direction of the front, and lost himself in the baseball game.

I wiped my hands on my apron and stormed into the front.

“Yeah, I hear you, I’m almost done…” I stopped when I saw that the old woman was gone, and in her place was a girl who looked very familiar.


“Hi, are you Katie?” She asked. Then she took off her sunglasses and I gasped.


She looked just like me! She had a small nose, full lips, and big eyes, except that hers were blue where mine were brown, thought it was hard to tell because she had a hat pulled low over her forehead. Her body was slender and she stood eye level with me. In fact, the only other difference I could see was her hair, which was long like mine, but instead of dark brown it was a light, silky blonde.


I stared at her, open mouthed, forgetting what she had asked me.


I blinked. “I’m sorry, what did you ask me?”


She only smiled and tucked her sunglasses into her oversized bag. She was dressed impeccably. It was obvious she had money. It seemed strange that a girl like this would even be in this part of town.


“Are you Katie Chet?”


I nodded, wondering what on earth this strange rich girl could want from me.


She smiled wider, looking more and more like me…a happier me.


“Forgive me, we haven’t been introduced. My name is Beth. A friend of mine bought a painting from you some time ago.”


I nodded again. Still utterly confused but my ears pricked up slightly at the mention of my painting.


“Ok…” I said unsteadily.


“Well I have to say it was gorgeous. I own an art gallery on Lake Shore Drive and I was hoping I could display some of your work. You do have more, don’t you?”


My face went numb.


“Yes! I mean, yeah…I have more.” Was she kidding? I had hundreds!


“Oh wonderful,” she said, reaching into her purse, “here’s my card. I’ll be at the gallery tonight at around 8pm, just doing some last minute adjustments, would you meet me there? And bring your paintings. We can look through them together and determine which to show.”


“Of course!” I grasped her card, almost surprising her, but she regained her composure and smiled.


“Wonderful,” she said, “I’ll see you there tonight then.”


And then she was gone in a flash of designer jeans and blonde hair.


I stood there for a long time after she left; staring at the card she’d given me, somewhat in shock.


I would definitely be at the gallery tonight.


My life was finally about to change.



I didn’t know how right I was.