Plus-One With A Vengeance : 12 / 29

[ An Altered Fates Story ]
by Iolanthe Portmanteaux

 

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"Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard.
Do not let the pain make you hate.
Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness.
Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree,
you still believe it to be a beautiful place."
— Kurt Vonnegut

---

 

After seeing Lorelei's name in my father's text message, I expected another sleepless night. Instead, I slept like a log, and didn't wake up until nine o'clock. It was a day of bright, almost intense sunlight. Surprisingly, I felt great!

The business about that name, Lorelei Gight, bothered me, but it bothered me a lot less than I feared it might. Obviously Vivianne had done some checking into my life and background. The night we met, I recalled, she asked me a lot of questions about my family. At the time I wondered why I felt compelled to answer — why I succumbed to Vivianne's air of command. Her questions seemed odd and out of place at the time, but in retrospect they were very forward-looking; it was part of Vivianne's thorough planning. Clearly, I wasn't Viv's first science project. She mentioned others... if I remembered correctly, she told me there were at least two men that she'd turned into women. It was in reaction to their excesses that Viv initially changed Max and me into little girls at first, rather than women closer to our own age. She was trying to teach us something, to give the experience of being someone else, minus one big danger — the lure, the temptation of sex. Or better, of uncontrolled, impulsive sex. I didn't think I'd be making that same mistake as those two.

I didn't intend to remain a woman for the rest of my life, the way that those two men had. Even so, I got the impression that Viv was preparing the groundwork in case I did decide to turn female forever. When the other two men transitioned, or transformed, there must have been some paperwork involved in their change of persona. I mean, everyone's identity needs to be documented. At the very least, we all need a birth certificate. How far ahead has Viv gone in creating for me what spies and undercover cops would call my "legend": At minimum, that meant name, date and place of birth. I doubted that Viv chose the name Lorelei Gight out of thin air. Did I have a cousin Lorelei? Was there an easy way to fabricate documents for a fictitious cousin Lorelei Gight?

Knowing, as I did, that Viv had already poked around in my life, it wasn't a complete bolt from the blue, when my father said that name. Sure, I didn't expect it, but it was more a surprise than a shock.

These considerations led me to a fairly obvious and immediate question: Did Lorelei Gight already exist? Would I be assuming the identity of a person I might actually bump into?

But again, the question was little more than a mild irritation, not a major, nagging issue. I felt confident that a couple of questions to Dad and/or Vivianne would quickly clear things up.

But first, breakfast!

When I ascended the stairs to the kitchen, I was greeted by the pleasant discovery that Max had already washed the pots, pans, and glasses that we'd left the night before: the remnants of our dinner preparations were stacked, racked, and dry or draining. Nice! Less work for me. I pushed some bread into the toaster and set some water on the stove for tea.

Now, who to call first? I gazed slantwise into the toaster, checking whether the bread was beginning to brown. While I waited, I mulled over that other name, Darcy. Viv told me at the time that Darcy had a made-up last name. I scratched my head. It seemed, then, that "Darcy" was a single-use, throwaway name, a one-off, but that Lorelei was chosen with the possibility of permanence. If I opted not to remain Lorelei, no loss, but I'd have a more solid identity as long as I continued to be her.

After I'd poured hot water over my tea, while I was buttering my toast, Melissa called. I put her on speaker so I could finish buttering. I didn't want the toast to cool!

Her pent-up excitement was almost palpable. Her anticipation coursed over the phone like electricity. At the same time, I could feel that she was sitting on her enthusiasm, trying her best to tamp it down.

"Just checking in, no pressure," she said. "Are you ready yet?"

"Melissa, you will be the first to know, I promise."

She sighed. I could hear her deflate, disappointed. "Do you promise?"

"Yes. I swear."

"Can you at least tell me: will it be soon?"

Kicking myself as I said it, I answered truthfully. "Yes, it'll be soon. For sure I'm going to do it, but I'm not ready to pull the trigger yet. And don't ask me what soon means."

Melissa whooped the first time I said soon, then groaned the second time I said it. In the end, she sighed and apologized. Recovering her composure, she assured me, "Okay, okay! No pressure! No pressure! Okay? I just want you to know that I'm here."

"I know you are," I told her. "I appreciate it."

"I'm here day or night. Alright? Day or night. But no pressure!"

"No pressure," I repeated. "Bye for now, Melissa. I'll call you." With that, I broke the connection.

I put the pots, pans, and glasses back into their respective cabinets. I set my breakfast plate and mug in the dishwasher. Then I tried to call my Dad.

After listening to his sailing/golfing message, I said, "Dad? It's, um, Elliot. Could you call me when you get a chance? Thanks."

The clock hadn't moved since I last looked at it. I groaned and drummed my fingers on the kitchen island. Uncomfortable at being at such loose ends, I called Vivianne.

Her line rang five times before it was answered... by Mr Errison!

"Hello, Mr. Errison. This is Elliot Beekman. I was looking for Vivianne. Did I call the wrong number? I thought this was her cell."

"Oh, yes," he replied jovially. "Vivianne is out and about; location unknown. This is her cell phone, but she's left it at home. Whether on purpose or by design, I can't tell."

I laughed, though I wasn't sure whether he was joking. Honestly, he sounded a little tipsy — and so early in the day! "Aren't those two the same, Mr Errison? Purpose and design?"

"Oh, yes, ha! You've got me there! What I mean to say is that old Viv forgot her phone, although I don't know whether to put air-quotes around the word forgot."

"I understand."

"Good. Well, listen, Elliot, I'm sure she'll be glad to speak with you. When she reappears, would you like her to call?"

"Yes, please."

"I'll give her that message. Over and out!"

"Over and out," I repeated, wondering whether I could depend on Mr Errison to pass on the message. I'd have to call back, if I didn't hear from Viv by lunch. Or say, around one? One-thirty?

What to do with myself? I called the property management office, but they didn't need me.

Maybe I could take a look at the all-in-one cooker Max gave me? I might get inspired and use it for tonight's dinner. I pulled it down from the high shelf in the pantry, still nestled in its gold wrapping paper and bits of red ribbon. I set it on the kitchen island and freed it from its festive wrapping. I pulled the top of the box open, and the doorbell rang.

It was Kitty, of all people. "Hi," she said, kissing me on both cheeks. "Sorry to burst in on you, but I think I left my bracelet here last night. Have you seen it? It's a chunky silver chain."

"No, I'm sure I haven't," I replied after a moment's thought. "But come on in, we'll look for it together." Honestly, I didn't remember seeing a chunky silver bracelet at all, on her wrist or off. I gazed back into my memory. To the best of my recollection, her wrists were bare when she arrived last night. Oh, well.

Kitty wandered into the living room, chatting as she did about the great time she and Claus had last night, and how impressed they both were at my cooking. She sat down at one end of the couch and dug her hand along the sides of the cushions and in between the cushions and the back. After working her way halfway down the couch, she pulled out a rather obvious chunky silver bracelet.

"What a relief!" she breathed, smiling.

"Nice," I commented. "I wish all problems were that easy!"

She asked for a drink of water, so we went into the kitchen. "Somebody's birthday?" she asked, toying with the golden wrapping paper.

"No, it's from Christmas," I told her with a laugh, and poked the all-in-one cooker. Kitty frowned, puzzled. "It's a leftover present from Christmas," I explained. "Now that I'm learning to cook, Max thought I might try it out."

"Huh," Kitty said, her focus still on the wrapping paper. Her exploring fingers kept probing, turning the wrapping and looking underneath it. At last, she found the tag: To Amber, From Max. "It's for Amber!" she exclaimed.

"It was for Amber," I contradicted. "Amber left it behind when she disappeared on Christmas Eve."

Kitty looked puzzled. "Disappeared?" she repeated.

"Yes, she slipped away on Christmas Eve. Secretly, silently, stealthily. She left without saying a word. No note, no goodbye, no scene." Kitty was clearly baffled, so I asked her, "Don't you remember? I told you."

"Oh, that!" she replied, waving her hand. "I've talked to Amber, and she has a very different version of events. You have to admit -- that story you told me is pretty far-fetched!"

"I know it sounds crazy, Kitty, but that's what happened."

She stuck her tongue in her cheek, and grinning, challenged me: "You really believe that Amber magically transported all of her things out of her in one night -- on Christmas Eve, of all nights? Did she have help from Santa Claus?"

"It wasn't one night. In the days or weeks before Christmas, Amber secretly moved out all her stuff. She even took away the Christmas presents she'd put under the tree for Max. By the time Christmas Eve arrived, there was nothing of hers left in the house!"

Kitty, smiling, shook her head. "That's not how Amber tells it."

"Kitty, you know how it went. Max had no idea she was leaving. On Christmas Eve she told him, I'll be right back, and she was gone. Max was taken completely by surprise."

"Is that what he told you? That's what Max told you?"

"That's what I saw, Kitty. I was here. Max was mystified. He was devastated. She didn't give the slightest clue or hint. One minute she was here; the next minute she was gone."

"No," Kitty said, shaking her head. "That's not what I heard."

I scoffed and shrugged.

"Do you want to hear Amber's side of the story?" she asked in a challenging tone. "Do you want to know what she says happened?"

"No, I don't. I'm sorry, Kitty, but I don't want to hear it at all. After all the lies and stories she's told about me, I am done with Amber. I don't want to hear anything Amber's got to say." I looked Kitty directly in the face as I spoke. I tried to not be negative. I did my best to keep an even, neutral tone. I didn't want to dump onto Kitty any of the anger and hostility I felt for Amber. That anger, that fire, was building up inside me, and it was moments from bursting out of me. The best way to put a lid on it was for me to stop talking. So I did.

Kitty seemed genuinely confused: both by my insistent sticking to what I'd seen and heard, and by my disinterest in Amber's version.

I like Kitty. I've always liked Kitty. She's my friend, and Max's friend. But she's also Amber's friend. Maybe at some point she'll have to choose between Amber and us, but I saw no need to push her to that point. I wanted to stay friends; I knew that Max did as well. Maybe Kitty has a divided allegiance. Sometimes she's on Amber's side, and sometimes she's on ours? Whatever Kitty's relation to Amber, Max was right: I could live with it. Even so, there were lines that could be drawn.

"Kitty, can I ask you something? When you come here, is it — at least in part — to spy on us for Amber?"

"Spy for Amber..." she scoffed. "It isn't like that. I come here because you guys are my friends."

"I know that," I assured her. "Never mind — I'm sorry I asked."

She gave a little impatient huff. "Look — it's not like I spy — that's not what it's like."

"So, what's it like, then?"

"Amber is concerned about Max. She really cares about him and wants to know what's going on in his life. She wants what's best for him."

I couldn't help it. I laughed out loud. I stopped when I saw the irritation on Kitty's face. I shrugged, but I wasn't going to apologize.

"What I hope," Kitty says, "Is that everyone involved will be able to make peace and move forward with their best lives."

"Amen to that," I replied.

"I have to go," she said after glancing at the clock.

"Don't go away angry," I told her.

"I'm not angry."

"—or offended."

She stopped frowning and gave what seemed a genuine smile. She gave me a kind of half-hug, pressing her cheek against mine.

"Seriously, I have to run, Ell. I'm meeting Nessa for lunch." She glanced again at the clock. "This stupid bracelet is going to make me late. Bye!"

She waved, the chunky bracelet dangling from her hand, and scooted to the front door. I looked down at the kitchen island and saw that she'd taken the gift tag (To Amber, From Max). Struck by a sudden thought, I ran after her and caught her on the walkway out front.

"Kitty! Kitty — hey! Wait a sec!"

She turned.

"Is Amber going to be at this lunch with Nessa?"

Kitty stopped in her tracks. She hesitated, looking me in the face. Then she admitted, "Yes, Amber will be there. Amber wants to get to know Nessa better, so I set it up this little lunch."

I nodded. Then I decided to push a little more. "Did you introduce them to each other?"

She hesitated again, studying my face. Again, she answered. "Yes. Amber was looking forward to the wedding, and she felt left out when Max— when she and Max broke up. So I introduced them. Any other questions?"

"No," I said. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said in an irritated tone. "Happy now?" she asked as she fished her car keys out of her bag. "See? Now I'm spying for you, too!" She blew me a somewhat angry kiss, and made a beeline for her car.

 

---

 

I pushed the gold wrapping paper into the recycling trash, and fished out the instruction manual for the all-in-one cooker. I got lost in reading, when my father called me back. He dove right into the conversation.

"Elliot, son, you have to tell me — what's this about you buying a sailboat?"

"A sailboat?" I repeated, a little thrown off balance. "I'm not buying a sailboat!"

"Oh that's right," he replied, laughing at his own joke. "That was me! Thanks for asking about it!"

"Dad..."

"It's a sailing dinghy," he said. "It's actually made for kids, and I think I got taken for a ride, but hey — I've never sailed. I've got to start somewhere, and slow and small sounds just about my speed. I don't want some skippy little boat that goes flying out from underneath me — and leaves me stranded in the middle of the ocean."

"What do you mean, it's made for kids? Is it really small?"

"No, it's more the shape and all... it's like a bathtub with a sail on it. I don't have to worry about it going too fast, because... well, it can't go fast. But at least it gets me out on the water. Honestly, I might have to hire the kid who sold it to me to show me the ropes."

I let him go on for a bit about the boat, saying uh-huh and asking obvious questions. It was good to hear him, regardless of the topic. Hearing him so happy made me happy as well.

"Moving down here was one of the best decisions I ever made," he enthused. "I love it. Elliot, your old Dad is getting brown as a berry!"

"Great!"

"So... this girl," he said, abruptly changing gears and slowing the conversational pace down considerably. "Who is she?"

"Well, Dad — you tell me first: who is Lorelei?"

"Oh, Lorelei," he groaned apologetically. "I'm sorry I was so flippant. All I can say in my own defense is that I'd had a few. I was a little tipsy."

At least you were tipsy at the right time of day, I thought. Unlike Mr Errison.

"What do you mean flippant?" I asked. "Did something bad happen to her?"

"Oh," he exclaimed softly. "I forgot — you have no idea who she was, do you?"

"No, Dad. Will you tell me?"

He sighed. "Yeah. Well," he said, stalling a bit. "Lorelei. Well, Lorelei — she'd be your cousin. On your mother's side. Do you remember your Uncle Alex and Aunt Peg?"

"I can't say I ever met them."

"No, you wouldn't have." I had the feeling he was gathering his thoughts, looking for the best way to tell the story.

"Alright," he said, after a thoughtful pause. "Probably best place to start is at the beginning. Your uncle Alex, he is/was your mother's brother. They used to get along pretty well, apart from the usual sibling guff they hadn't grown out of, but, you know, nothing bad. Alex's wife Peg, on the other hand — she and your mother got on like gangbusters. They were besties, like teen girls say. BFFs. Inseparable, joined at the hip, always laughing, always fun.

"They both got pregnant around the same time. This was before you. Round about the third month, your mother miscarried. It was sad. Your mother kind of broke down for a while, but the effect on Peg was out of all proportion. She was spooked. To the core. Peg was scared to death. She had the idea that because your mother miscarried, well, then she was going to lose her baby as well. She had this fixed, fatalistic idea, and nobody could talk her out of it. In fact, a month after your mother, Peg miscarried as well.

"Your mom, on the one hand, soon enough got back on the horse, and long about a year later, she was pregnant with you. Peg, on the other hand, was so demoralized... well, to make a long story short, you were already two years old before Peg got pregnant again. Lorelei was born a a month or two after your third birthday. Your mother would know the exact date; I never had a head for birthdays."

After a momentary silence Dad continued, "Lorelei died before she turned one. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. That what's they called it, and that was the end of everything. Alex took a job in Huron, South Dakota. A few years later, he moved again and again and again. Your mother tried to keep in touch, but it was all one-sided. Eventually Alex and Peg fell off the map. No Christmas card, no birthday cards, no nothing. We didn't know whether they were alive or dead."

I took it in. I wondered how much of this was known to Vivianne. "Is that the whole story?" I asked.

"No, unfortunately, there's a little more. After your mother died, I hired an investigator to find Alex."

"And did he?"

"Yes, he did. He gave me Alex's address and phone number. I gave old Alex a call. Told him that his sister had passed away. He thanked me for letting him know, wished me his condolences, and then he told me that he wasn't interested in keeping in touch... after all this time, he said, as though it was *my* fault!

"I asked him about Peggy, and he told me that last he heard, she was living in Omaha." He took a drink of something, then said, "So... I looked her up, I called her up, and she was fine. She sounded happy. She had remarried, had a healthy, happy child by her new husband; didn't say whether the child was a boy or girl. Told me that she wasn't interested in stirring up the past, so I left it at that."

He sighed. "It was pretty unsatisfying, I have to say."

"Okay," I said. It sounded stupid, but I had no other words.

"This is kind of a depressing topic," Dad observed. "So let's leave it aside for now. If you want to know any more, you'll have to come down here."

"Come down to Florida? Why?"

"Because if we're going to talk about sad things, I want to do it out on the water."

"You have to tell me the story out on the water? Dad? Why?"

"Because when you're out there, with nothing but sea and sky, and you and me in a little cockleshell, it's big nature, little us. In that setting, it's easier to keep things in perspective."

"Okay," I said. "I can come down in June or July or after. There's a big wedding coming in May. Max's cousin, Nessa."

"Oh, nice. Weddings are fun. I always like a good wedding. So, hey! Who is that girl in the picture? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called her Lorelei. In my defense, it was after I had a few."

"I know, Dad, you told me. It's fine."

"So... this girl? Who is she?"

"I don't know who she is," I lied. "My friend Kitty sent me the picture — she thought the woman's face resembled mine."

"Oh, Kitty! She's the one with the furniture and all that! I always liked that girl! Something unique about her... She could be a great detective, you know. I always wondered why you didn't go after her."

"The furniture?"

"Yes, she did the whatchamacallit when we sold my house."

"Oh, the staging!"

"Right, right. So how come you never asked her out?"

"She paired up with another guy when we were all still in high school. They're still together."

"Hmmph. Even so. But this girl, the one in the picture, you know — let's call her Lorelei — her face, yeah, she kind of looks like you, but you know who she really looks like? She's the exact image of your mother, back when your mother was a young, red-hot hottie."

"Dad!"

"Sorry, but she was! God rest her soul. But that woman... your mother... oh, Elliot! I loved that woman with every every fiber of my soul!"

"I know, Dad."

"Oh, Elliot — all these emotions! Stirring up the past, making me remember..."

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"No, don't be sorry! It's fine! It's fine. But come down and see me. I don't want to wade into all this deep water over the phone."

"I will, Dad. Once the wedding is out of the way."

"Good. Okay, Elliot, I'm going to hang up this phone, and when I do, the very minute I hang up, I want you to do something. I want you to call your friend Kitty and find out who that girl is. And — just to be on the safe side, make sure she's not your cousin!" He laughed. "Just kidding — I can't imagine how she possibly could be. Elliot, you find that girl, and you never let her go, do you hear me? I mean, of course, unless there's something mean or hard about her. But that face! Don't let her slip through your fingers, son. A woman with a face like that — she must have a beautiful heart. A beautiful heart, Elliot. A heart like yours." He snuffled and coughed. "Now look at me — all maudlin and soft. Jeez. Anyway, don't let her get away. Keep me posted. Goodbye, son."

With that he hung up.

And *that* settled it.

I called Melissa. She picked up on the first ring.

"Melissa," I told her, choking a little on my emotions, "It's go time."

"Go time?" she repeated. "Does that mean— oh! Oh! OH! I'm on my way! I'll be right over!"