This should be an interesting weekend. Kat called and wants to talk to me in person, she says it's important but wouldn't elaborate. I'm not sure whether this will be a good meeting or not. So I'm going to be all on-edge until Sunday afternoon now.
That probably won't help me enjoy Saturday night. Jaci is planning... OMG! I'm already thinking of her as Jaci. Oh, this is so... I don't know... I guess it's true how the Inn's curse seems to prevent everyone from believing that things aren't as they seem. I'm definitely going to have a difficult time enjoying 'Jaci's' party tomorrow night. I'll just have to remind myself that I cannot drink my worries away anymore. The last thing I need is some guy taking advantage of my self-imposed alcoholic mood enhancement and reintroducing me to the male anatomy.
Maybe I should just stay at home, lock the doors, kill the lights and turn off my phone.
I think I could use a drink right now.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Trip / Kat - Roast beef
I can't sleep. Rather ironic for a narcoleptic.
I guess I've been ignoring this blog a bit longer than I should... nothing much to write about:
Working outside in the cold rain without a jacket is still not a good thing to do, I caught a cold. It was bad enough that Mom insisted I go to the doctor. That shouldn't have been a big deal, but when they decided that it was about time for 'my' annual check-up, and that they could fit me in - well, that's a different story. It's not really as bad as I'd first thought it would be, still... it was no picnic... and not something that I really want to talk about in detail - I felt so embarrassed... still do, I guess. I'm not so sure that it's something I'd ever get used to.
Jaci's kinda' stopped talking to me again. But not anything bad - this time it's due to the fact that she's picked up a second job working at the convenience-store / gas-station a couple towns over, in Finley. She wakes up early for that job, then heads to Shady Acres - after that, she usually just crashes. I can't blame her, I'd be beat too.
As you already know, Jessica and Louisa are road-tripping to find out more about the Inn - I'm pleased that they want to stop by and visit with us up here. It's not every day that I can talk to someone who would believe my story... well, other than Jaci... and Frank... and Dorris. Anyhow, I'm all giddy about it. It's a bummer that they're delayed now. I know Jaci was planning on taking the day off to visit with them, but I don't know if she'll be able to join us now. I guess we'll figure it out after their car problems are all sorted-out. I just hope that their car problems don't come with weird, life-changing side-effects like my last car problem did.
Okay, think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts.
Hmmmm...
Well... I should probably go to the kitchen and slice some potatoes, onion, and carrots for the roast we're going to have for supper tonight. It'll be one less thing for me to have to deal with tomorrow... today... whenever.
Roast beef... that reminds me - have any of you ever seen what happens when a cow gets hit by lightning? It's not pretty. And, no, that's not where tonight's roast came from.
So much for happy thoughts. I must be losing my mind. God, periods suck.
I guess I've been ignoring this blog a bit longer than I should... nothing much to write about:
Working outside in the cold rain without a jacket is still not a good thing to do, I caught a cold. It was bad enough that Mom insisted I go to the doctor. That shouldn't have been a big deal, but when they decided that it was about time for 'my' annual check-up, and that they could fit me in - well, that's a different story. It's not really as bad as I'd first thought it would be, still... it was no picnic... and not something that I really want to talk about in detail - I felt so embarrassed... still do, I guess. I'm not so sure that it's something I'd ever get used to.
Jaci's kinda' stopped talking to me again. But not anything bad - this time it's due to the fact that she's picked up a second job working at the convenience-store / gas-station a couple towns over, in Finley. She wakes up early for that job, then heads to Shady Acres - after that, she usually just crashes. I can't blame her, I'd be beat too.
As you already know, Jessica and Louisa are road-tripping to find out more about the Inn - I'm pleased that they want to stop by and visit with us up here. It's not every day that I can talk to someone who would believe my story... well, other than Jaci... and Frank... and Dorris. Anyhow, I'm all giddy about it. It's a bummer that they're delayed now. I know Jaci was planning on taking the day off to visit with them, but I don't know if she'll be able to join us now. I guess we'll figure it out after their car problems are all sorted-out. I just hope that their car problems don't come with weird, life-changing side-effects like my last car problem did.
Okay, think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts.
Hmmmm...
Well... I should probably go to the kitchen and slice some potatoes, onion, and carrots for the roast we're going to have for supper tonight. It'll be one less thing for me to have to deal with tomorrow... today... whenever.
Roast beef... that reminds me - have any of you ever seen what happens when a cow gets hit by lightning? It's not pretty. And, no, that's not where tonight's roast came from.
So much for happy thoughts. I must be losing my mind. God, periods suck.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Jessica--Stopping in Texas
Intellectually, I know my Mom really isn’t my Mom. I was turned into the duplicate of her ten-year-old daughter and was forced to live Jessica’s life. Things were difficult for both of us in the early days of my transformation. She couldn’t understand why I had gone through such a massive personality change basically overnight and I resented being treated as a child. It wasn’t her fault I was living a life I didn’t want to live, but I tended to take my frustrations out on her. What can I say? I was…childish.
My new mother had the patience of a saint and she loved me unconditionally. Eventually I started thinking of this person who took care of me, who fed, clothed and cared for my well being, as more than just the person who told me to eat my vegetables and clean my room.
A couple of years later, when whatever ‘magic’ that kept her from believing I was someone other than her daughter finally went away, and I was able to convince her I wasn’t really Jessica; her reaction was harsh. She grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me, demanding to know what I had done to her daughter. I told her my story. About how I was really a male Police detective and how a case took me to an Inn in Maine. The same Inn her daughter had visited with friends on a summer vacation. How the curse turned me into her little girl, and how I became trapped when my original body was killed in the line of duty.
She said she couldn’t stand looking at me. She said I was a reminder of what she had lost.
I ran away from home. I had the life experience of a forty year old cop so I knew living on the street was not a safe place for a little girl, but I had no place to go; I just knew I couldn’t stay there in my Mom’s house any longer.
I didn’t even make three days. Everyone notices a little girl on her own. Ironically the local cops nabbed me. My Mom was waiting for me at the police station; her eyes red from crying and worry. She hugged me. With tears in her eyes she says I thought I had lost you.
Softly, so as to not be overheard by any officers I say to her that I am not really her daughter. I’m really not Jessica.
It doesn’t matter to her. She tells me that even though I might not be Jessica, for the last two years I had been her daughter, and she had loved me all that time. Knowing the truth didn’t change how she felt about me.
From that day on I’ve thought of her as my Mom.
Louisa and I were sitting in a small café in the city of Tyler Texas when my Mom called.
“Hi Mom.”
“Hi sweetie. I hadn’t heard from you lately.”
The truth is I haven’t called her in the last week. I had been putting off our conversation. “You know how it is; Louisa and I have been busy with our road trip. We are in Tyler Texas having enchiladas and sweet iced tea. The enchiladas taste great, but they are a little greasy. ”
There was a moment of silence. I could sense her disapproval through the phone lines.
“Shouldn’t this trip be done? Shouldn’t you be in California? Are you going to be late for the start of classes?”
I was hoping to have a little small talk before we had this conversation. Oh well.
“Yeah. About that…” I imagined pulling off a band aid as quickly as I could, in theory saving some pain. I went with the conversational equivalent and talked as quickly as I could.
“I’ve decided to start classes at mid-semester. I’m taking the first semester off. This road trip has become important to me, and I think it is going to take us a few more weeks. Please don’t be mad.”
She was mad.
“I don’t know what has gotten in to you lately!” Mom let me have it through the phone. “Every since you started hanging out with these ‘people’ who say they have also been cursed—“
“They are cursed Mom. You just don’t believe it because of the magic.” I stated.
“That is so convenient for them isn’t it? How can you know if they are lying?” She asked.
“I know Mom, I can tell.”
The conversation went downhill. She wanted me to get to school, and I wanted to wait and finish the road trip. We got to screaming at each other. I had been reduced to a teenage girl arguing with her mother on the phone, and was acting the part like a natural. My Mom had the ability to bring that out of me.
I slam the phone on the table when we are done.
“She drives me crazy. She doesn’t listen to me. I try to tell her I had talked to my student advisor, and had already made arraignments with the school to start at mid-semester, but she keeps saying ‘what if you lose you scholarship?’ over and over. Urg!”
“She’s just worried about you.” Louisa tells me.
We were sitting in a booth in the small café. Our waitress came over and refilled my diet coke.
“I know. I just wish she would trust me more.”
“I don’t think it is because she doesn’t trust you. I think it has a lot to do with the fact she has already lost one daughter to circumstances beyond her control. All this conversation about the Inn probably makes her remember what she has been through. It probably makes her nervous.”
I sighed. Louisa was right. “I’ll give her a call later and try to patch things up—but I am still finishing this trip.”
Louisa nods, “Well we have a problem. The mechanic called while you were talking to your mom.”
I was having a bad day. First I have a blow up with my Mom, and now I could see by the expression on Louisa’s face she was going to give me bad news. My car had started making a funny noise just outside of Tyler. Just as we crossed the city limits the car died altogether. It was bad. Smoke started pouring out from under the hood.
“The engine has major issues. It’s going to take days. Repairs are going to be expensive too.”
“Fuck!” The car had been a High School graduation gift. It was a used car, a 2002 Ford Mustang. I hadn’t been driving it for that long, but I had already bonded with it. I love that car. Worse, expensive repairs were not in my budget; especially since I was on an extended road trip and not currently making any money.
“Don’t worry about the repairs. I’ll pay for that; but we are stuck in the area for a while.” Louisa states.
“Oh, I don’t know about making you pay.” I don’t know what else we could do, but it didn’t seem like the right thing to do.
“Don’t worry about it. I could not have hired someone to give me the kind of help you have given me to find Marie. Let me do this for you.”
Our waitress came over and sat a piece of pie in front of me. “Here you go honey; you looked like you needed it.” She was right.
We decided to rent a car and continue on to Dallas and come back a few days later. In Dallas we were going to drop in on Stephen Jefferies, the guy who took over Jake’s life.
You can’t tell where Dallas starts and where it’s surrounding cities end. Maybe that’s why the people here call it the metroplex, because it was like one monster city. We find “Jakes” company in the city of Addison, not Dallas. Apparently Addison supported many technical businesses, and a computer animation company fit right in there.
‘J&S Motion Graphics’ was a fairly impressive company. It was a stylish building with hip furniture and art. An attractive receptionist sat behind a front desk, she gave us a pleasant smile as we walked up.
“Welcome to J&S Motion Graphics. What can I do for you today?” She had a pleasant Texas twang to her voice.
“We are here to see Jake Mathews.” Louisa tells her.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but I think he will want to see us. We are from the Trading Post Inn.”
“Have a seat. I’ll see if he is available.”
We find a place to sit, and Louisa looks around. “He set this entire business up in a year? No wonder our Ashlyn was so upset about what the new Jake was accomplishing with her old life. This is impressive.”
“Yes, it is.” I agreed. “She did get depressed about her old life after she did research of how ‘Jake’ was doing didn’t she.” I agreed.
“It is easy to understand. I think anyone would be upset to see some living your life better than you could—“
It was then that Jake Mathews walked in. He wasn’t what I expected. I’ve read the blog from the beginning, and my mental impression of Jake was of a common guy, a tad short and a bit over-weight. This Jake was a hair short at five foot nine, but he was in great shape, and sporting a designer suit and haircut. He looked good. He seemed mildly surprised to see us.
“I was expecting someone else when you said you were from the Trading Post Inn.”
“Ashlyn didn’t make this trip.” Louisa assumed he was referring to Ashlyn. “She has moved on with her life.”
He gives us a calculated look over. “Good for Red.”
“You didn’t give her much of a choice.” I was trying to not be antagonistic, but Ashlyn is a friend, and I had taken an instant dislike to this man.
He looks at his watch. “I’m a busy man. Why are you here?”
“Consider it an exchange of information. We are trying to learn as much about the Inn as possible. Maybe you have questions as well. We were hoping for a conversation.” Louisa says.
He hesitates, but agrees to talk with us. “Let’s go back to my office. We can have a little privacy there.”
His office was even more posh than the front entrance. It was all wood, glass and brass. It screamed high dollar.
“You’ve done incredibly well in less than a year. This company is very impressive.” I say to him.
“We put out a good product. Our on staff artists do good things.” He replies briskly. He takes a seat behind his desk, and motions for us to have a set across from him.
“I assume you have both been to the Inn?” He asks.
We both nod yes.
“Going to that Inn was the best thing that ever happened to me in 30 years.” He leaned back in his chair.
“So other than Art and Ashlyn, have you met anyone else from the Inn?” I asked him.
He took a moment to answer. “No. You guys are the first.” He answers. I got the impression he was lying.
“Red wanted her body back. Would it have been as easy as going back to the Inn for a second time?”
“Are you changing your mind? Are you going to offer Jake his body back?” I was surprised.
“Oh no. I’m very happy where I am right now.” His face expressed a smirk. “I’m thinking about the future. Sooner or later this body will get old too. I wanted to know if I could go to the Inn a second time. Pick up a younger model.”
He turned my stomach. Poor Ashlyn, a monster was living her old life.
“That wouldn’t be ethical.” Louisa states.
‘Jake’ shakes his head in annoyance. “Sure, you say that now, but I wonder what you would say in fifty years from now. Imagine being old and sick, possibly dying. You tell me you wouldn’t revisit the Inn and live another lifetime? Yeah, right.”
It took a ton of self control, but I kept the conversation civil. I wanted to learn things from this man more than I wanted to give him a piece of my mind. We talked for another ten minutes, but it became apparent we weren’t going to learn much.
It was time for plan B.
“You know, it might be a good idea for us to exchange information from time to time. Maybe I should give you my contact information.”
He brought out a day planner and wrote our information into it.
“I also have some pages on the Inn I would be willing to share with you. You could make copies.” I flashed a fairly thick folder in front of him. He was interested.
I handed him the pages and he started to call the receptionist in to take the pages and make copies.
“Are you comfortable with her seeing this stuff? I just think the fewer people who know about the Inn the better.”
He hesitated; I could tell he was uncomfortable with the idea of leaving us in his office alone.
“We could wait out front. I think this meeting is about done. Do you have anything else to ask Louisa?”
She nodded no.
We all headed out. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice I had purposely forgotten my purse.
We take our seats again in reception, and the moment ‘Jake” walked away I whispered to Louisa “Ask for directions to the hotel. Get her to google it. Be very confused.”
Louisa didn’t waste any time. Very quickly the two of them were in a deep discussion about the local highways.
“Omigosh!” I jump up. “I left my purse. I’ll just go get it.” The receptionist offered to go get it for me, but I was halfway down the hall.
I knew there were about sixty pieces of paper in the folder I had given Jake. I was hoping it would take a few minutes to copy all that. I walk into his office and close the door behind me. I grab my purse and pull out my cell phone. You gotta love these cell phones these days. My favorite non-phone feature? The camera. I grab the day planner and as quickly as I could took pictures of as many pages as I felt comfortable. I focused on the contact information pages.
A few minutes later I rejoin Louisa in the reception area. They were still discussing the best way to get to the hotel.
Not too much later ‘Jake’ returned with my folder and we shook hands and said our goodbyes.
“If you learn anything else, please share it with me.” He says as we leave.
“I’m all about exchanging information.” I tell him.
As we walk to the car, Louisa stopped me. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t believe him when he said he hadn’t met anyone else from the Inn. I got a copy of his address book. If he does know someone else from the Inn, maybe we will get lucky and he had their contact information.”
Louisa shakes her head in disbelief. “You are so cunning.”
“I prefer sneaky.” I couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel and start going through the names I photographed.
Jessica
My new mother had the patience of a saint and she loved me unconditionally. Eventually I started thinking of this person who took care of me, who fed, clothed and cared for my well being, as more than just the person who told me to eat my vegetables and clean my room.
A couple of years later, when whatever ‘magic’ that kept her from believing I was someone other than her daughter finally went away, and I was able to convince her I wasn’t really Jessica; her reaction was harsh. She grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me, demanding to know what I had done to her daughter. I told her my story. About how I was really a male Police detective and how a case took me to an Inn in Maine. The same Inn her daughter had visited with friends on a summer vacation. How the curse turned me into her little girl, and how I became trapped when my original body was killed in the line of duty.
She said she couldn’t stand looking at me. She said I was a reminder of what she had lost.
I ran away from home. I had the life experience of a forty year old cop so I knew living on the street was not a safe place for a little girl, but I had no place to go; I just knew I couldn’t stay there in my Mom’s house any longer.
I didn’t even make three days. Everyone notices a little girl on her own. Ironically the local cops nabbed me. My Mom was waiting for me at the police station; her eyes red from crying and worry. She hugged me. With tears in her eyes she says I thought I had lost you.
Softly, so as to not be overheard by any officers I say to her that I am not really her daughter. I’m really not Jessica.
It doesn’t matter to her. She tells me that even though I might not be Jessica, for the last two years I had been her daughter, and she had loved me all that time. Knowing the truth didn’t change how she felt about me.
From that day on I’ve thought of her as my Mom.
Louisa and I were sitting in a small café in the city of Tyler Texas when my Mom called.
“Hi Mom.”
“Hi sweetie. I hadn’t heard from you lately.”
The truth is I haven’t called her in the last week. I had been putting off our conversation. “You know how it is; Louisa and I have been busy with our road trip. We are in Tyler Texas having enchiladas and sweet iced tea. The enchiladas taste great, but they are a little greasy. ”
There was a moment of silence. I could sense her disapproval through the phone lines.
“Shouldn’t this trip be done? Shouldn’t you be in California? Are you going to be late for the start of classes?”
I was hoping to have a little small talk before we had this conversation. Oh well.
“Yeah. About that…” I imagined pulling off a band aid as quickly as I could, in theory saving some pain. I went with the conversational equivalent and talked as quickly as I could.
“I’ve decided to start classes at mid-semester. I’m taking the first semester off. This road trip has become important to me, and I think it is going to take us a few more weeks. Please don’t be mad.”
She was mad.
“I don’t know what has gotten in to you lately!” Mom let me have it through the phone. “Every since you started hanging out with these ‘people’ who say they have also been cursed—“
“They are cursed Mom. You just don’t believe it because of the magic.” I stated.
“That is so convenient for them isn’t it? How can you know if they are lying?” She asked.
“I know Mom, I can tell.”
The conversation went downhill. She wanted me to get to school, and I wanted to wait and finish the road trip. We got to screaming at each other. I had been reduced to a teenage girl arguing with her mother on the phone, and was acting the part like a natural. My Mom had the ability to bring that out of me.
I slam the phone on the table when we are done.
“She drives me crazy. She doesn’t listen to me. I try to tell her I had talked to my student advisor, and had already made arraignments with the school to start at mid-semester, but she keeps saying ‘what if you lose you scholarship?’ over and over. Urg!”
“She’s just worried about you.” Louisa tells me.
We were sitting in a booth in the small café. Our waitress came over and refilled my diet coke.
“I know. I just wish she would trust me more.”
“I don’t think it is because she doesn’t trust you. I think it has a lot to do with the fact she has already lost one daughter to circumstances beyond her control. All this conversation about the Inn probably makes her remember what she has been through. It probably makes her nervous.”
I sighed. Louisa was right. “I’ll give her a call later and try to patch things up—but I am still finishing this trip.”
Louisa nods, “Well we have a problem. The mechanic called while you were talking to your mom.”
I was having a bad day. First I have a blow up with my Mom, and now I could see by the expression on Louisa’s face she was going to give me bad news. My car had started making a funny noise just outside of Tyler. Just as we crossed the city limits the car died altogether. It was bad. Smoke started pouring out from under the hood.
“The engine has major issues. It’s going to take days. Repairs are going to be expensive too.”
“Fuck!” The car had been a High School graduation gift. It was a used car, a 2002 Ford Mustang. I hadn’t been driving it for that long, but I had already bonded with it. I love that car. Worse, expensive repairs were not in my budget; especially since I was on an extended road trip and not currently making any money.
“Don’t worry about the repairs. I’ll pay for that; but we are stuck in the area for a while.” Louisa states.
“Oh, I don’t know about making you pay.” I don’t know what else we could do, but it didn’t seem like the right thing to do.
“Don’t worry about it. I could not have hired someone to give me the kind of help you have given me to find Marie. Let me do this for you.”
Our waitress came over and sat a piece of pie in front of me. “Here you go honey; you looked like you needed it.” She was right.
We decided to rent a car and continue on to Dallas and come back a few days later. In Dallas we were going to drop in on Stephen Jefferies, the guy who took over Jake’s life.
You can’t tell where Dallas starts and where it’s surrounding cities end. Maybe that’s why the people here call it the metroplex, because it was like one monster city. We find “Jakes” company in the city of Addison, not Dallas. Apparently Addison supported many technical businesses, and a computer animation company fit right in there.
‘J&S Motion Graphics’ was a fairly impressive company. It was a stylish building with hip furniture and art. An attractive receptionist sat behind a front desk, she gave us a pleasant smile as we walked up.
“Welcome to J&S Motion Graphics. What can I do for you today?” She had a pleasant Texas twang to her voice.
“We are here to see Jake Mathews.” Louisa tells her.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but I think he will want to see us. We are from the Trading Post Inn.”
“Have a seat. I’ll see if he is available.”
We find a place to sit, and Louisa looks around. “He set this entire business up in a year? No wonder our Ashlyn was so upset about what the new Jake was accomplishing with her old life. This is impressive.”
“Yes, it is.” I agreed. “She did get depressed about her old life after she did research of how ‘Jake’ was doing didn’t she.” I agreed.
“It is easy to understand. I think anyone would be upset to see some living your life better than you could—“
It was then that Jake Mathews walked in. He wasn’t what I expected. I’ve read the blog from the beginning, and my mental impression of Jake was of a common guy, a tad short and a bit over-weight. This Jake was a hair short at five foot nine, but he was in great shape, and sporting a designer suit and haircut. He looked good. He seemed mildly surprised to see us.
“I was expecting someone else when you said you were from the Trading Post Inn.”
“Ashlyn didn’t make this trip.” Louisa assumed he was referring to Ashlyn. “She has moved on with her life.”
He gives us a calculated look over. “Good for Red.”
“You didn’t give her much of a choice.” I was trying to not be antagonistic, but Ashlyn is a friend, and I had taken an instant dislike to this man.
He looks at his watch. “I’m a busy man. Why are you here?”
“Consider it an exchange of information. We are trying to learn as much about the Inn as possible. Maybe you have questions as well. We were hoping for a conversation.” Louisa says.
He hesitates, but agrees to talk with us. “Let’s go back to my office. We can have a little privacy there.”
His office was even more posh than the front entrance. It was all wood, glass and brass. It screamed high dollar.
“You’ve done incredibly well in less than a year. This company is very impressive.” I say to him.
“We put out a good product. Our on staff artists do good things.” He replies briskly. He takes a seat behind his desk, and motions for us to have a set across from him.
“I assume you have both been to the Inn?” He asks.
We both nod yes.
“Going to that Inn was the best thing that ever happened to me in 30 years.” He leaned back in his chair.
“So other than Art and Ashlyn, have you met anyone else from the Inn?” I asked him.
He took a moment to answer. “No. You guys are the first.” He answers. I got the impression he was lying.
“Red wanted her body back. Would it have been as easy as going back to the Inn for a second time?”
“Are you changing your mind? Are you going to offer Jake his body back?” I was surprised.
“Oh no. I’m very happy where I am right now.” His face expressed a smirk. “I’m thinking about the future. Sooner or later this body will get old too. I wanted to know if I could go to the Inn a second time. Pick up a younger model.”
He turned my stomach. Poor Ashlyn, a monster was living her old life.
“That wouldn’t be ethical.” Louisa states.
‘Jake’ shakes his head in annoyance. “Sure, you say that now, but I wonder what you would say in fifty years from now. Imagine being old and sick, possibly dying. You tell me you wouldn’t revisit the Inn and live another lifetime? Yeah, right.”
It took a ton of self control, but I kept the conversation civil. I wanted to learn things from this man more than I wanted to give him a piece of my mind. We talked for another ten minutes, but it became apparent we weren’t going to learn much.
It was time for plan B.
“You know, it might be a good idea for us to exchange information from time to time. Maybe I should give you my contact information.”
He brought out a day planner and wrote our information into it.
“I also have some pages on the Inn I would be willing to share with you. You could make copies.” I flashed a fairly thick folder in front of him. He was interested.
I handed him the pages and he started to call the receptionist in to take the pages and make copies.
“Are you comfortable with her seeing this stuff? I just think the fewer people who know about the Inn the better.”
He hesitated; I could tell he was uncomfortable with the idea of leaving us in his office alone.
“We could wait out front. I think this meeting is about done. Do you have anything else to ask Louisa?”
She nodded no.
We all headed out. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice I had purposely forgotten my purse.
We take our seats again in reception, and the moment ‘Jake” walked away I whispered to Louisa “Ask for directions to the hotel. Get her to google it. Be very confused.”
Louisa didn’t waste any time. Very quickly the two of them were in a deep discussion about the local highways.
“Omigosh!” I jump up. “I left my purse. I’ll just go get it.” The receptionist offered to go get it for me, but I was halfway down the hall.
I knew there were about sixty pieces of paper in the folder I had given Jake. I was hoping it would take a few minutes to copy all that. I walk into his office and close the door behind me. I grab my purse and pull out my cell phone. You gotta love these cell phones these days. My favorite non-phone feature? The camera. I grab the day planner and as quickly as I could took pictures of as many pages as I felt comfortable. I focused on the contact information pages.
A few minutes later I rejoin Louisa in the reception area. They were still discussing the best way to get to the hotel.
Not too much later ‘Jake’ returned with my folder and we shook hands and said our goodbyes.
“If you learn anything else, please share it with me.” He says as we leave.
“I’m all about exchanging information.” I tell him.
As we walk to the car, Louisa stopped me. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t believe him when he said he hadn’t met anyone else from the Inn. I got a copy of his address book. If he does know someone else from the Inn, maybe we will get lucky and he had their contact information.”
Louisa shakes her head in disbelief. “You are so cunning.”
“I prefer sneaky.” I couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel and start going through the names I photographed.
Jessica
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Ashlyn--A reply to Darren
Darren/Jaime wrote this:
A year later he can’t wait to jump into bed and blow a guy! What the hell is this! Jake; whoever you are, you really want to be a chick? What about your family… your life? All it takes is a year to convince yourself that “I more or less like who I am now.” It sounded like you had a good life so why do you need a “fresh start”? Do you just give up? You’ve got to keep fighting and tell yourself you’ll get through this! Despite the despair I’ve felt I’ve kept myself going by knowing that I’ll get my life back. I’m certain of it.
Dude, I hope you get your old life back. No one should have their lives stolen from them.
But that’s not going to happen for me. I’m going to be Ashlyn for the rest of my life. Do I want to be a chick? It doesn’t matter—I am a chick. There is no choice for me. I decided that instead of clinging to flase hope that maybe Stephen would do the right thing and give me my life back; I would instead move forward with my life. Sure, it's the life of a woman--but after a while I decided that wasn't such a bad thing. Today--probably because I am on an emotional high because of my relationship with Matt--I'm happy to be a woman.
I was amused by what Art wrote in his comment to your post about forcing Jeremy back to the Inn. When I first found out that Stephen wasn’t going to give me my life back I swear I sat around and day dreamed scenarios in which I forced him back to the Inn. My favorite idea involved borrowing some thug help from Jean-Michel and kidnapping “Jake” and tying him to a bed. I had even imagined Stephen would be changed into some wanted criminal and as he awoke to his new life I would say, “You better start running now, I’ve already called the police.” The idea still appeals to me.
Sometimes when I am hanging with Art, Jessica or Louisa, and I show up in a little skirt and a top that shows a ton of cleavage, I notice the raised eyebrows on their face. I think I know what they are thinking: “Dude you sure have adapted fast.” And that’s okay, I did adapt quickly. I had a pretty decent life as Jake, but I was really lacking in the personal relationships department. Sure I had a cool job, but it forced me to work alone in my apartment for days at a time—worse, meeting people and making friends as Jake was always a struggle for me. Most of my friends were people I talked to online. I had even become friends with Art online. I had never met him in person until we met at the Trading Post Inn. I know it’s shallow, but it is so easy to make friends as Ashlyn. Not to sound vain—which I am—but being attractive has it’s bonuses. I love the attention being Ashlyn brings—everyone wants to know me and spend time with me. I love it, and I think it has made it easy to adapt to my new life.
Right now you are relatively new to being cursed and being female. Everything is scary and awkward and you are going to bed every night praying you’ll wake up as your old self. But after a while slipping on a pair of panties isn’t such a big deal—or wearing a bra—or having a period. It goes from being an “ohmigod” moment to just being a part of life. I have an appointment with my gynecologist next week—it will be my first time. When Ashlyn’s first appointment came up I cancelled it. I couldn’t imagine going. This time I am a little nervous, but I am going—it’s just a part of being a woman. Besides, I need a new prescription for my birth control—which is also just a part of being a woman.
I know it seems impossible to you right now—but given enough time, you too will adjust to being Jaime. There is nothing wrong with adapting—what’s the alternative? Living like a hermit for the rest of your life?
Ashlyn
A year later he can’t wait to jump into bed and blow a guy! What the hell is this! Jake; whoever you are, you really want to be a chick? What about your family… your life? All it takes is a year to convince yourself that “I more or less like who I am now.” It sounded like you had a good life so why do you need a “fresh start”? Do you just give up? You’ve got to keep fighting and tell yourself you’ll get through this! Despite the despair I’ve felt I’ve kept myself going by knowing that I’ll get my life back. I’m certain of it.
Dude, I hope you get your old life back. No one should have their lives stolen from them.
But that’s not going to happen for me. I’m going to be Ashlyn for the rest of my life. Do I want to be a chick? It doesn’t matter—I am a chick. There is no choice for me. I decided that instead of clinging to flase hope that maybe Stephen would do the right thing and give me my life back; I would instead move forward with my life. Sure, it's the life of a woman--but after a while I decided that wasn't such a bad thing. Today--probably because I am on an emotional high because of my relationship with Matt--I'm happy to be a woman.
I was amused by what Art wrote in his comment to your post about forcing Jeremy back to the Inn. When I first found out that Stephen wasn’t going to give me my life back I swear I sat around and day dreamed scenarios in which I forced him back to the Inn. My favorite idea involved borrowing some thug help from Jean-Michel and kidnapping “Jake” and tying him to a bed. I had even imagined Stephen would be changed into some wanted criminal and as he awoke to his new life I would say, “You better start running now, I’ve already called the police.” The idea still appeals to me.
Sometimes when I am hanging with Art, Jessica or Louisa, and I show up in a little skirt and a top that shows a ton of cleavage, I notice the raised eyebrows on their face. I think I know what they are thinking: “Dude you sure have adapted fast.” And that’s okay, I did adapt quickly. I had a pretty decent life as Jake, but I was really lacking in the personal relationships department. Sure I had a cool job, but it forced me to work alone in my apartment for days at a time—worse, meeting people and making friends as Jake was always a struggle for me. Most of my friends were people I talked to online. I had even become friends with Art online. I had never met him in person until we met at the Trading Post Inn. I know it’s shallow, but it is so easy to make friends as Ashlyn. Not to sound vain—which I am—but being attractive has it’s bonuses. I love the attention being Ashlyn brings—everyone wants to know me and spend time with me. I love it, and I think it has made it easy to adapt to my new life.
Right now you are relatively new to being cursed and being female. Everything is scary and awkward and you are going to bed every night praying you’ll wake up as your old self. But after a while slipping on a pair of panties isn’t such a big deal—or wearing a bra—or having a period. It goes from being an “ohmigod” moment to just being a part of life. I have an appointment with my gynecologist next week—it will be my first time. When Ashlyn’s first appointment came up I cancelled it. I couldn’t imagine going. This time I am a little nervous, but I am going—it’s just a part of being a woman. Besides, I need a new prescription for my birth control—which is also just a part of being a woman.
I know it seems impossible to you right now—but given enough time, you too will adjust to being Jaime. There is nothing wrong with adapting—what’s the alternative? Living like a hermit for the rest of your life?
Ashlyn
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Trip / Kat - Twisted
After getting back from Nicole's little road-trip adventure, I was feeling a bit uncomfortable about things from my current point-of-view.
Nicole has always been a looker - she's one of those girls who is always making the boys' heads turn. Even though she's quite a bit younger than I was - she had that effect on me - HAD, that effect - even when I tried to think of her in a sexual manner, I found it very difficult to feel turned-on. I don't know if it's because I'm getting used to looking at my own naked female body, or if it has something to do with my being someone else now. Maybe it's the fact that I've tried to condition myself with shame and guilt every time I started to feel aroused when looking at my own naked body... my cousin's naked body.
I didn't put much thought into the issue - I mean, I'm still wary of any intimate contact... I just don't see this as being my body.
But then... I caught a glimpse of Bill after he lost his trunks in the lake. The feeling was a bit different, but much the same as I remember it... I had to have turned a thousand shades of red when I realized that Bill caught me staring. He seemed to be a gentleman about it, and he never said a word about it... though I'm pretty sure it helped ease his flirting along. Every time he brushed against me, or grabbed my hand to help me up, or put his hand in the small of my back... My God, I thought I was going to melt! I was so damn confused... and scared, I wanted to go home and hide - but it felt so nice, too, that I didn't want it to end.
I had to know, was this just some residual feeling that I had from when Kat and Bill dated... or was this all me... well, the new me, anyhow.
So, my cousin Anna and I went clubbing - and that seemed to confirm that I am still much more interested in members of the opposite sex. Just that now, that means men. I'm not really sure I'm too happy with that... even though my body seems quite eager.
Although, I'm fairly curious as to what sex might feel like from this perspective - I'm certainly in NO hurry to act on anything and find out for real - that's for sure.
I guess I no-longer have any idea what that makes my sexual orientation now... besides twisted.
Nicole has always been a looker - she's one of those girls who is always making the boys' heads turn. Even though she's quite a bit younger than I was - she had that effect on me - HAD, that effect - even when I tried to think of her in a sexual manner, I found it very difficult to feel turned-on. I don't know if it's because I'm getting used to looking at my own naked female body, or if it has something to do with my being someone else now. Maybe it's the fact that I've tried to condition myself with shame and guilt every time I started to feel aroused when looking at my own naked body... my cousin's naked body.
I didn't put much thought into the issue - I mean, I'm still wary of any intimate contact... I just don't see this as being my body.
But then... I caught a glimpse of Bill after he lost his trunks in the lake. The feeling was a bit different, but much the same as I remember it... I had to have turned a thousand shades of red when I realized that Bill caught me staring. He seemed to be a gentleman about it, and he never said a word about it... though I'm pretty sure it helped ease his flirting along. Every time he brushed against me, or grabbed my hand to help me up, or put his hand in the small of my back... My God, I thought I was going to melt! I was so damn confused... and scared, I wanted to go home and hide - but it felt so nice, too, that I didn't want it to end.
I had to know, was this just some residual feeling that I had from when Kat and Bill dated... or was this all me... well, the new me, anyhow.
So, my cousin Anna and I went clubbing - and that seemed to confirm that I am still much more interested in members of the opposite sex. Just that now, that means men. I'm not really sure I'm too happy with that... even though my body seems quite eager.
Although, I'm fairly curious as to what sex might feel like from this perspective - I'm certainly in NO hurry to act on anything and find out for real - that's for sure.
I guess I no-longer have any idea what that makes my sexual orientation now... besides twisted.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Louisa/"Marie": Home, such as it is
Jo-Jo/Jane: Missing in action
New Orleans is still a work in progress after two years, sad to say. Ashlyn said that one of the people from her group had wound up there, but he/she seems to have disappeared even more thoroughly than the rest. Josiah Johnson was a professional basketball player nearing the end of his career when he came to the inn; he had left with the identity of a college student named Jane Collins. Pretty much par for the course for that group, especially the fact that he/she stopped posting to the blog soon after the transformation.
What wasn't normal was that he had apparently deleted his posts when he stopped. Nobody realized this at first; we had stopped for the night and were looking to do some research, to brush up on our knowledge of "Jo-Jo"/Jane before knocking on his door, only to find that all his posts were gone. Ashlyn happened to be online at the time and Jessica sent her a message about this, and she said she would look into it. A few minutes later, she said she couldn't find any trace of the messages - with a couple of side comments about how he had always kept a backup for work but never thought to do so for this - and didn't like it. She was trying to find a way in Blogger to keep messages from being deleted from now on, or at least only deleted by someone with admin right like herself or Arthur, because she didn't like the idea of their history being rewritten or papered over like that.
This sent Jessica into full-on Nancy Drew mode (although she has resisted every effort for me to make that nickname stick; besides, she will say in teen-girl-iest voice, Veronica Mars is way cooler). We spent our first day in New Orleans on the Tulane campus, with Jess pretending to be everything from a high-schooler on a campus visit to a friend of Jane's from "home" trying to find her. We eventually found out she dropped out after her first semester.
We weren't sure what that meant, at first. I supposed that it might be like this for a lot of transformees - you wind up in someone else's life, go along with it for a few months, and then decide that the way it's set up just isn't for you. Jane had been a communications major and Josiah an athlete, and while Arthur has been getting a first-hand look at how the two can go together, maybe that wasn't something Josiah was looking to investigate.
Jess wasn't so sure. "There's something going on here. I thought it was just a cursed inn, but when you throw people into the mix... Look at what Jeremy Boyd did to Art and Nell, that bogus FBI agent, Ashlyn's stalker... People use this thing, and Josiah Johnson could be in trouble."
The Other Josiah Johnson
The person who became Josiah Johnson was also in New Orleans; the original had had some business interests there - investments in two or three restaurants. After an embarrassing attempt to play in the NBA after the curse - the new Johnson was released by three different teams before calling it quits, he relocated down here, in part to be close to the original Johnson, in case he needed help living the life.
Before the change, he'd been a waiter in Lewiston, Maine; he kind of liked being a part-owner of a couple places. He's also extremely good-looking; I haven't felt this attracted to someone since I was a much younger woman. I guess it showed; Jessica was smirking at me the whole time.
Still, he didn't seem interested in me; he's probably acquired a girlfriend by now, anyway - a handsome former pro athlete in his mid-thirties with a little money stashed away is going to just trip over them. It took me a little off-guard, though, I must admit - in my old life, I was past that sort of fire. I had settled down, and my body had changed the way it does for women of a certain age. That men would look at me like that is strange; that I would find myself looking at them the same way seemed even more shocking.
He seemed to be a nice guy. He's shifted a lot of the investments he inherited from the original Josiah to New Orleans, saying that he fell in love with the city on first sight. Besides, it's not as if he actually earned the money his predecessor had left him with, so if he loses his shirt - well, easy come, easy go.
It didn't take long for Jessica to ask about the original Josiah, and he looked a bit nervous for a minute. "Jo doesn't want anybody following her. She's... She's trying to start from scratch."
Jessica looked skeptical. "She didn't want her life back?"
"She did, but... Look, she wasn't doing well in school, and then I was embarrassing her on the court, and I was screwing up things with the ex-wife. It was a bad situation either way you looked at it."
I remarked that the best thing to do in that situation was probably to cut all ties, but he shook his head.
"Maybe it would be, but... They had a kid, about three years old now. Anyway, since I'm paying a bunch of child support, I've got a say in who gets hired as a nanny. That was Jo's idea, not mine, but I guess it's working out. When I saw her on a visit in February, she said she didn't want to switch back - she likes being with her little boy too much."
Ah. Well, Jess asks, where are they...?
Josiah says he could tell us or we could probably find out on our own, but she wants to be left alone. If every other lead we have runs dry, call him back, but doesn't Jo deserve her privacy?
I guess she does, and Jess agrees reluctantly. I don't think she's completely ruled out foul play, but she seems to believe Josiah's story can be true.
Baton Rouge
As it was with Jessica, the first place we stopped in my home town was the cemetery. I felt very strange standing at Frank's grave. I missed him, certainly, but I didn't feel the great emptiness in my heart that I had when I came to visit him just a few months earlier. I told him I wish we had gone to the inn together, a year earlier, so that we could have this second youth and adventure together. Of course, with our luck, we probably would have wound up brother and sister (and the wrong ones, at that!), and Frank would have felt terrible about someone else inheriting his cancer.
Jessica had stood with me at first, but retreated after a few minutes to give me some privacy. She asked if I was okay when I came back to the car.
"I'm not sure. This trip, that man back in New Orleans... I'm starting to feel young again, like I don't belong with him. I'm not sure I like it."
"Yeah, I know. Let's see what we can do about making things right for you."
The school year had started, so we spent the day wandering around the city. I showed Jess some of my favorite places, told her how the neighborhoods had changed, and the like. It's kind of fun to be a tourist in your home town. We had an early dinner at a place Frank and I had always gone on special occasions. I did find, much like on our previous stop, that this body isn't really adapted to Cajun cuisine; it seemed to stick in my chest more than it ever had before I changed.
The new Louisa wasn't home afterwards, so we checked ourselves into a hotel and waited for the next day. We repeated this a few times, and I cursed the fact that I had never invested in a cell phone or an answering machine. Jessica was surprised by that, but what can I say; we were old and set in our ways and they always seemed like luxuries.
Yesterday, we finally stopped by the school. Jess made a few comments about how she couldn't seem to get away from those places. It's not the greatest neighborhood, so we had to get past a guard with a story about how I was Jessica's aunt and her parents had died and we were moving into the area and wanted to look around before we decided on public or private schools. It got us in, and we headed to the library.
Seeing yourself is shocking. I don't know how twins manage to take it in stride, because seeing someone who looked just like I did - or I was supposed to - made me almost faint. Not a bad thing, all in all, since it drew her over to us.
She asked if she could help. Well, I said, maybe I can help her. My name is legally Marie Desjardins, but before I stayed in room nine of the Trading Post Inn...
It's amazing how pleased she was to meet me - she shook my hand, said it was an honor, complimented my taste in music and clothes, and told me all my friends were wonderful. Some of the other people in her group had gotten into terrible situations, but I appeared to be living a good life.
I told her she seemed to be doing fairly well by it; she seemed cheerful and had a sparkle in her eye. I was afraid I hadn't been like that for a couple years before my visit. "Well," she said, "I suppose it's because..." A student walked up, and we agreed to talk after school.
We went to a different restaurant after she finished work. "This is going to sound strange," she said as we we waited for salads, "but I was a man before, and it had never felt right. I ran across the Trading Post Inn blog while looking for something else, but once I found it, and then found it was a real place and tracked down a phone number..."
Jessica couldn't believe it. "You did this on purpose? Are you crazy? Aside from not knowing how things would turn out, you're looking at a life of lying to everybody you meet unless you choose to burden them with this at some moment that is life-changing for another reason. And, you left someone else with all your problems!"
She got defensive. "I was living a lie anyway! You have no idea--"
"Ladies!" The two lowered their voices and looked at me. "I think you'll find..." I stopped, and made a gesture to indicate I didn't know her real name.
"Dylan."
"Right. I think you'll find, Dylan, that Jessica and I have some idea of how it feels not to have the body you think you should."
She looked suitably chastised. "Yes, ma'am."
"I don't think you need to call me ma'am."
"Sorry, it's just that I was taught to respect my elders, and I know you..."
The look on Jessica's face became a different kind of horror. "Dylan... How old are you? Not your physical age, but how long have you lived?"
"Twenty-eight years next February."
"My God... Dylan, we have to make reservations for next spring. If I stay there, then you stay in the same room, and then I stay there again..."
"No."
Jessica couldn't believe it. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
"I've been reading the blog - I know it didn't work out for Arthur Milligan and Drew Dawson. Besides..."
"Besides what?"
"It's easy for me to be a mature widow. This life is straightforward. I'm not sure that becoming Marie, dealing with men... I'm not sure that's right for me. I didn't get the chance to grow up learning how like you did, Jessica. This... this is right for me."
Now it was my turn to act astonished. "But you doubled your age overnight. You've missed so much..."
"It's worth it."
Dinner was quiet after that. We gave her our phone numbers and email addresses in case she changed her mind, and then headed back to the hotel. While I drove (her car, but I know the streets of this city), she asked if I was okay.
"I don't know. Unless she comes to her senses, I'm going to live another whole lifetime. If I meet Frank again in Heaven, will it be as Louisa or Marie? Will I find another Frank? And how can I live with myself knowing that Dylan has done... this."
"You just start over, live the best life you can."
"But, just putting Frank in the past like that... I know you don't like to talk about your old life, Jess, but is there someone like Frank for Conrad Mancini?"
I was parking the car as I said it, and she just sat there for a moment after I killed the engine. "You're right," she said, "I don't like talking about my old life." Then she got out of the car.
I guess you really can't go home again. I think I'll be glad to leave this place behind for a while. The next stop is Dallas, to check on what Stephen Jeffries is making of Ashlyn's former life. And then, after that, we'll probably be heading straight across the country to get Jessica to school; it must be just about time for her to start classes.
-Louisa
New Orleans is still a work in progress after two years, sad to say. Ashlyn said that one of the people from her group had wound up there, but he/she seems to have disappeared even more thoroughly than the rest. Josiah Johnson was a professional basketball player nearing the end of his career when he came to the inn; he had left with the identity of a college student named Jane Collins. Pretty much par for the course for that group, especially the fact that he/she stopped posting to the blog soon after the transformation.
What wasn't normal was that he had apparently deleted his posts when he stopped. Nobody realized this at first; we had stopped for the night and were looking to do some research, to brush up on our knowledge of "Jo-Jo"/Jane before knocking on his door, only to find that all his posts were gone. Ashlyn happened to be online at the time and Jessica sent her a message about this, and she said she would look into it. A few minutes later, she said she couldn't find any trace of the messages - with a couple of side comments about how he had always kept a backup for work but never thought to do so for this - and didn't like it. She was trying to find a way in Blogger to keep messages from being deleted from now on, or at least only deleted by someone with admin right like herself or Arthur, because she didn't like the idea of their history being rewritten or papered over like that.
This sent Jessica into full-on Nancy Drew mode (although she has resisted every effort for me to make that nickname stick; besides, she will say in teen-girl-iest voice, Veronica Mars is way cooler). We spent our first day in New Orleans on the Tulane campus, with Jess pretending to be everything from a high-schooler on a campus visit to a friend of Jane's from "home" trying to find her. We eventually found out she dropped out after her first semester.
We weren't sure what that meant, at first. I supposed that it might be like this for a lot of transformees - you wind up in someone else's life, go along with it for a few months, and then decide that the way it's set up just isn't for you. Jane had been a communications major and Josiah an athlete, and while Arthur has been getting a first-hand look at how the two can go together, maybe that wasn't something Josiah was looking to investigate.
Jess wasn't so sure. "There's something going on here. I thought it was just a cursed inn, but when you throw people into the mix... Look at what Jeremy Boyd did to Art and Nell, that bogus FBI agent, Ashlyn's stalker... People use this thing, and Josiah Johnson could be in trouble."
The Other Josiah Johnson
The person who became Josiah Johnson was also in New Orleans; the original had had some business interests there - investments in two or three restaurants. After an embarrassing attempt to play in the NBA after the curse - the new Johnson was released by three different teams before calling it quits, he relocated down here, in part to be close to the original Johnson, in case he needed help living the life.
Before the change, he'd been a waiter in Lewiston, Maine; he kind of liked being a part-owner of a couple places. He's also extremely good-looking; I haven't felt this attracted to someone since I was a much younger woman. I guess it showed; Jessica was smirking at me the whole time.
Still, he didn't seem interested in me; he's probably acquired a girlfriend by now, anyway - a handsome former pro athlete in his mid-thirties with a little money stashed away is going to just trip over them. It took me a little off-guard, though, I must admit - in my old life, I was past that sort of fire. I had settled down, and my body had changed the way it does for women of a certain age. That men would look at me like that is strange; that I would find myself looking at them the same way seemed even more shocking.
He seemed to be a nice guy. He's shifted a lot of the investments he inherited from the original Josiah to New Orleans, saying that he fell in love with the city on first sight. Besides, it's not as if he actually earned the money his predecessor had left him with, so if he loses his shirt - well, easy come, easy go.
It didn't take long for Jessica to ask about the original Josiah, and he looked a bit nervous for a minute. "Jo doesn't want anybody following her. She's... She's trying to start from scratch."
Jessica looked skeptical. "She didn't want her life back?"
"She did, but... Look, she wasn't doing well in school, and then I was embarrassing her on the court, and I was screwing up things with the ex-wife. It was a bad situation either way you looked at it."
I remarked that the best thing to do in that situation was probably to cut all ties, but he shook his head.
"Maybe it would be, but... They had a kid, about three years old now. Anyway, since I'm paying a bunch of child support, I've got a say in who gets hired as a nanny. That was Jo's idea, not mine, but I guess it's working out. When I saw her on a visit in February, she said she didn't want to switch back - she likes being with her little boy too much."
Ah. Well, Jess asks, where are they...?
Josiah says he could tell us or we could probably find out on our own, but she wants to be left alone. If every other lead we have runs dry, call him back, but doesn't Jo deserve her privacy?
I guess she does, and Jess agrees reluctantly. I don't think she's completely ruled out foul play, but she seems to believe Josiah's story can be true.
Baton Rouge
As it was with Jessica, the first place we stopped in my home town was the cemetery. I felt very strange standing at Frank's grave. I missed him, certainly, but I didn't feel the great emptiness in my heart that I had when I came to visit him just a few months earlier. I told him I wish we had gone to the inn together, a year earlier, so that we could have this second youth and adventure together. Of course, with our luck, we probably would have wound up brother and sister (and the wrong ones, at that!), and Frank would have felt terrible about someone else inheriting his cancer.
Jessica had stood with me at first, but retreated after a few minutes to give me some privacy. She asked if I was okay when I came back to the car.
"I'm not sure. This trip, that man back in New Orleans... I'm starting to feel young again, like I don't belong with him. I'm not sure I like it."
"Yeah, I know. Let's see what we can do about making things right for you."
The school year had started, so we spent the day wandering around the city. I showed Jess some of my favorite places, told her how the neighborhoods had changed, and the like. It's kind of fun to be a tourist in your home town. We had an early dinner at a place Frank and I had always gone on special occasions. I did find, much like on our previous stop, that this body isn't really adapted to Cajun cuisine; it seemed to stick in my chest more than it ever had before I changed.
The new Louisa wasn't home afterwards, so we checked ourselves into a hotel and waited for the next day. We repeated this a few times, and I cursed the fact that I had never invested in a cell phone or an answering machine. Jessica was surprised by that, but what can I say; we were old and set in our ways and they always seemed like luxuries.
Yesterday, we finally stopped by the school. Jess made a few comments about how she couldn't seem to get away from those places. It's not the greatest neighborhood, so we had to get past a guard with a story about how I was Jessica's aunt and her parents had died and we were moving into the area and wanted to look around before we decided on public or private schools. It got us in, and we headed to the library.
Seeing yourself is shocking. I don't know how twins manage to take it in stride, because seeing someone who looked just like I did - or I was supposed to - made me almost faint. Not a bad thing, all in all, since it drew her over to us.
She asked if she could help. Well, I said, maybe I can help her. My name is legally Marie Desjardins, but before I stayed in room nine of the Trading Post Inn...
It's amazing how pleased she was to meet me - she shook my hand, said it was an honor, complimented my taste in music and clothes, and told me all my friends were wonderful. Some of the other people in her group had gotten into terrible situations, but I appeared to be living a good life.
I told her she seemed to be doing fairly well by it; she seemed cheerful and had a sparkle in her eye. I was afraid I hadn't been like that for a couple years before my visit. "Well," she said, "I suppose it's because..." A student walked up, and we agreed to talk after school.
We went to a different restaurant after she finished work. "This is going to sound strange," she said as we we waited for salads, "but I was a man before, and it had never felt right. I ran across the Trading Post Inn blog while looking for something else, but once I found it, and then found it was a real place and tracked down a phone number..."
Jessica couldn't believe it. "You did this on purpose? Are you crazy? Aside from not knowing how things would turn out, you're looking at a life of lying to everybody you meet unless you choose to burden them with this at some moment that is life-changing for another reason. And, you left someone else with all your problems!"
She got defensive. "I was living a lie anyway! You have no idea--"
"Ladies!" The two lowered their voices and looked at me. "I think you'll find..." I stopped, and made a gesture to indicate I didn't know her real name.
"Dylan."
"Right. I think you'll find, Dylan, that Jessica and I have some idea of how it feels not to have the body you think you should."
She looked suitably chastised. "Yes, ma'am."
"I don't think you need to call me ma'am."
"Sorry, it's just that I was taught to respect my elders, and I know you..."
The look on Jessica's face became a different kind of horror. "Dylan... How old are you? Not your physical age, but how long have you lived?"
"Twenty-eight years next February."
"My God... Dylan, we have to make reservations for next spring. If I stay there, then you stay in the same room, and then I stay there again..."
"No."
Jessica couldn't believe it. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
"I've been reading the blog - I know it didn't work out for Arthur Milligan and Drew Dawson. Besides..."
"Besides what?"
"It's easy for me to be a mature widow. This life is straightforward. I'm not sure that becoming Marie, dealing with men... I'm not sure that's right for me. I didn't get the chance to grow up learning how like you did, Jessica. This... this is right for me."
Now it was my turn to act astonished. "But you doubled your age overnight. You've missed so much..."
"It's worth it."
Dinner was quiet after that. We gave her our phone numbers and email addresses in case she changed her mind, and then headed back to the hotel. While I drove (her car, but I know the streets of this city), she asked if I was okay.
"I don't know. Unless she comes to her senses, I'm going to live another whole lifetime. If I meet Frank again in Heaven, will it be as Louisa or Marie? Will I find another Frank? And how can I live with myself knowing that Dylan has done... this."
"You just start over, live the best life you can."
"But, just putting Frank in the past like that... I know you don't like to talk about your old life, Jess, but is there someone like Frank for Conrad Mancini?"
I was parking the car as I said it, and she just sat there for a moment after I killed the engine. "You're right," she said, "I don't like talking about my old life." Then she got out of the car.
I guess you really can't go home again. I think I'll be glad to leave this place behind for a while. The next stop is Dallas, to check on what Stephen Jeffries is making of Ashlyn's former life. And then, after that, we'll probably be heading straight across the country to get Jessica to school; it must be just about time for her to start classes.
-Louisa
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Ashlyn--One year later
If you’ve been reading this blog since it was started, you might have realized that a year has passed since I’ve was first turned into Ashlyn. I think back on those first few days, and I remember being horrified and afraid. I also thought my life was over, I couldn’t imagine living my life as the attractive, busty redhead in the mirror.
God, what a difference a year makes. I been thinking about my life lately because I knew the anniversary of becoming a victim of the Inn had passed and I have come to a shocking conclusion: I more or less like who I am now. Oh sure, I’m not too proud that my work involves wearing a tight tank top and shorts—but for the most part I am happy. I have friends, family, and an ongoing relationship with Matt—all these things make me happy.
The one good thing about being changed into another person? It’s a fresh start. I might have picked up a few bills and my college degree is gone—but this experience has shown me that I had significant gaps in my old life as Jake: I worked all the damn time and my personal life suffered. As Ashlyn I have the opposite problem, but I think with time I can find a better balance.
So a week ago I decided to give Art a call and make note of our one year anniversary. I was a little hesitant because he had recently confronted Jeremy about stealing his life, and I thought a call about the anniversary might prove to be a painful reminder of what he had lost. I finally decided to make the call—if I hadn’t called the anniversary was still going to happen; at least by reaching out I was reminding him that he was not alone.
“Lynn?” Art must have seen my number on the caller ID.
“Hi Art. Did I call at a bad time?” I ask.
“No, this is great. I just finished my workout.”
“Ugh. I haven’t worked out in a couple of days. I need a little gym time myself.”
“So what’s up?” Art asked.
“Well… we haven’t talked in a while. I thought we should catch up.” I didn’t want to jump right into the fact that our anniversary had come up—but Art is too smart.
“Oh? And the fact that we lost our old lives a year ago has nothing to do with it?”
“Well, maybe.” I admitted.
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to call you too.” He admitted as well.
“How are you doing?” I didn’t actually say the words ‘how are you doing now that you know you are not getting your old life back’—but Art understood the question.
I could hear Art sighing over the phone. “I’m okay. It was a little rough after I confronted Jeremy.”
“I remember when I talked to Stephen (the guy who is now Jake). It was hard.” I tell him.
“No offense Lynn, but it didn’t seem that difficult for you. You really took to playing the role of Ashlyn.” There was a little bitterness in the way he said it.
I decided to not to let it bother me. “So have you thought about what you are going to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you plan to stay Penny or are you going to take another trip to the Inn?” I persisted.
“I’m staying as Penny—for now. I don’t know if I have a choice; going back to the Inn and getting some random life seems like a really bad idea.”
I could tell he—she?—was upset, so I was careful asking my next question. “So, would you prefer I call you Penny or Art?”
“Let’s stick to Art when it’s just us, okay? It would be nice to hear my real name from time to time. Tell me about you and Matt. How is that going?” He was taking the focus of the conversation off of himself.
“I have big news.” I say—and I tell him a little story:
I don’t take as many gigs from the radio station these days, my work as a Headlight’s girl keeps me busy enough—but ever so often a job sounds like fun. The ‘End of Summer Bash’ was one of those gigs that sounded like it would be more fun than work. The job was pretty much like all the jobs I’ve done for the radio station—be eye candy and talk to people. Only that night, because it was a ‘summer’ theme, I had to do it in a tiny green bikini. Wearing next to nothing in public really isn’t a problem for me—I still suffer from a need to be the center of attention.
I was also able to score some free tickets for Matt and few of his friends. I was a little hesitant about having Matt there—after all, what I was really doing is being paid to flirt—but Matt has been to Headlight’s a few times now, and gets the fact that I have to pretend to flirt.
The bash was a blast. Like every other gig I worked for the radio station, about halfway through the party the guy in charge of the promotion girls told us to ‘go and have fun, enjoy the party’. So I found Matt in the crowd and dragged him to the dance floor.
“You haven’t been bored?” I asked him.
“I’m having a great time.” He grins. He points to a group of guys wearing Red Sox jerseys, which were standing off to one side of the room. “I bet some of those guys I would get lucky with the red head in the green bikini.”
I closed the distance between us, pressing my body into his. I liked being close to him—and he smelled nice. “Oh, you think you are getting lucky, huh?”
“I’m hoping.” He leans down and kisses me.
I wrap my arms around his neck and return the kiss. I put a little something extra into it in case Matt’s new friends were watching.
We dance, we drink, and we hang out with Matt’s friends—by midnight I was slightly drunk and Matt had me laughing so hard I nearly peed myself. He does this thing where he tells dirty jokes in a ‘Donald Duck’ voice and it really gets me giggling—of course being drunk helps.
Eventually, it was time to go. I slipped a t-shirt and shorts over the bikini and Matt and I took a cab home—or at least most of the way home. When we got to the Charles River near MIT, Matt asked the driver to pull over. “It’s a beautiful night. Let’s walk the rest of the way home.”
So we walked along the river.
I wasn’t born a girl; or even like Jessica, I wasn’t raised as a girl—so I don’t think I necessarily react like a real woman would in every situation. For example, I don’t get mushy over flowers. Every so often Matt brings me flowers—I appreciate his thoughtfulness, but that is about it. So I found myself surprised that I was being affected by the romantic setting of walking home by the river. It was a full moon, and there were still boats on the river—it was a beautiful scene. We stopped and watched the river for a while. Matt stood behind me, close, with his arms wrapped around me. He starts kissing me on the neck and then gently spins me around—finding my lips. We stay like that for a while.
He breaks off the kiss but he keeps his face close to mine; his eyes were locked in on my eyes.
“I love you Ash.”
We had been dating for about half a year now. The ‘relationship’ has been fun and lighthearted, and there has been lots of sex—but neither of us had used the L word yet. I was stunned. It was like his words were a physical thing and they hit me with enough force to take my breath away. I felt light headed and dizzy. I just stared at him for a moment. He smiled back.
To be honest, when I said the words I didn’t know how I felt. I was overwhelmed and a little drunk; but when I said “I love you too.” It felt so right. I couldn’t remember the last time I was so happy.
We kiss again, and this time I broke off the kiss. “Take me home. Make love to me.”
We didn’t waste any time getting home. As soon as we stepped in the door Matt pulls the t-shirt off me and hungrily kissed me. I ended up being pressed against the wall, my bikini top finding its way to the floor. He was flicking one of my nipples with his tongue when I decided I wanted to do something special for him.
“Whoa. Slow down.” I say to him. “I want you to take a shower.” I touch his crotch through his pants. “I want you to take special care and wash this thing well.” I give him a look—I hope it looked seductive. “I have something special in mind. Something you’ve been wanting for a while.”
He practically ran to the bathroom.
I took the opportunity to slip off the bikini bottoms. I stay over at Matt’s place fairly often, so I had some clothes there—including some lingerie. I put slipped on a black baby doll top and no panties. I touched up my makeup and redid my hair then climbed on top of the bed a waited—I’m glad I didn’t have to wait long, I might have lost my nerve. Matt appeared in the doorway, still slightly wet from his shower, a towel wrapped around him.
“You look beautiful.” He says to me.
“You look beautiful too.” I still catch myself checking out other women, but in the last year I’ve grown to appreciate the male form—and Matt had a great form. He’s all washboard abs, broad chest and shoulders. I give him a smile. “Lose the towel and come to bed.”
To me, sex is a lot like a couple dancing. It can be passionate and physical like dancing. You are holding someone close, and you are trying to communicate things to your partner with your body. Also like couple dancing, someone leads and someone follows. Generally the woman follows the man’s lead—and I’ve grown to accept that—more than accept—sometimes I like being the submissive one in bed. I don’t think that makes me a weak person. I think it makes me brave that I can trust my lover.
But other times I still like to lead. This was one of those times.
“Lie back on the bed.” I tell him.
I was sitting next to him on the bed, and I leaned over and started kissing his chest.
Slowly, I started moving down.
Matt has been trying to convince me to give him a blowjob for a couple of months now. I hadn’t intended to give into him any time soon—but when he told me he loved me, he made me so incredibly happy—so happy I wanted to do something special for him. I decided if he was freshly showered, maybe—maybe—I could give my lover oral sex.
I ran my tongue down his shaft and he groaned in pleasure.
“Tell me when you are close.” I say to him.
I lean forward, sliding his dick between my lips. I do my best—it was my first blowjob on the giving end. Matt didn’t seem to notice that I was a novice. He was making all sorts of happy sounds. Soon he announced “Oh baby, I’m close.”
I quickly spat him out and physically climbed on top of him—lowering myself on his member. We both gasped as he entered me. I raise and lower myself once or twice—and that’s all it took. He groans in pleasure.
“That was incredible.” He tells me.
I lean down a kiss him. “As soon as you are ready—your girl has needs.”
“I see what I can do.” He says.
We make love again a little later. This time it was me crying out in pleasure.
“The next morning he suggested we move in together.” I tell Art. “I told him I would think about it.”
“Wow.” Art sounded a little stunned by my story.
“Yeah. Moving in together is the first step to a whole sequence of events and decisions. The next logical step is getting engaged. Then there is marriage…and then kids. I have a hard time seeing myself as someone’s wife—or mother. Oh my god! I can’t possibly give birth.”
I think Art sensed I was going off the deep end. “Hey, I think it is great that you and Matt are doing so well; but I think you are jumping the gun on worry about everything else. Take it slow—things will work themselves out.”
“I know—it just this is all new to me.” I say.
There is a moment of awkward silence and I could sense Art was a little uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. I decided to change the subject again.
“So, tell me about this Maxim photo shoot.”
Art groaned, but we talked about it anyway. We talked for the next hour, catching up on everything. It was good to talk.
--Ashlyn
God, what a difference a year makes. I been thinking about my life lately because I knew the anniversary of becoming a victim of the Inn had passed and I have come to a shocking conclusion: I more or less like who I am now. Oh sure, I’m not too proud that my work involves wearing a tight tank top and shorts—but for the most part I am happy. I have friends, family, and an ongoing relationship with Matt—all these things make me happy.
The one good thing about being changed into another person? It’s a fresh start. I might have picked up a few bills and my college degree is gone—but this experience has shown me that I had significant gaps in my old life as Jake: I worked all the damn time and my personal life suffered. As Ashlyn I have the opposite problem, but I think with time I can find a better balance.
So a week ago I decided to give Art a call and make note of our one year anniversary. I was a little hesitant because he had recently confronted Jeremy about stealing his life, and I thought a call about the anniversary might prove to be a painful reminder of what he had lost. I finally decided to make the call—if I hadn’t called the anniversary was still going to happen; at least by reaching out I was reminding him that he was not alone.
“Lynn?” Art must have seen my number on the caller ID.
“Hi Art. Did I call at a bad time?” I ask.
“No, this is great. I just finished my workout.”
“Ugh. I haven’t worked out in a couple of days. I need a little gym time myself.”
“So what’s up?” Art asked.
“Well… we haven’t talked in a while. I thought we should catch up.” I didn’t want to jump right into the fact that our anniversary had come up—but Art is too smart.
“Oh? And the fact that we lost our old lives a year ago has nothing to do with it?”
“Well, maybe.” I admitted.
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to call you too.” He admitted as well.
“How are you doing?” I didn’t actually say the words ‘how are you doing now that you know you are not getting your old life back’—but Art understood the question.
I could hear Art sighing over the phone. “I’m okay. It was a little rough after I confronted Jeremy.”
“I remember when I talked to Stephen (the guy who is now Jake). It was hard.” I tell him.
“No offense Lynn, but it didn’t seem that difficult for you. You really took to playing the role of Ashlyn.” There was a little bitterness in the way he said it.
I decided to not to let it bother me. “So have you thought about what you are going to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you plan to stay Penny or are you going to take another trip to the Inn?” I persisted.
“I’m staying as Penny—for now. I don’t know if I have a choice; going back to the Inn and getting some random life seems like a really bad idea.”
I could tell he—she?—was upset, so I was careful asking my next question. “So, would you prefer I call you Penny or Art?”
“Let’s stick to Art when it’s just us, okay? It would be nice to hear my real name from time to time. Tell me about you and Matt. How is that going?” He was taking the focus of the conversation off of himself.
“I have big news.” I say—and I tell him a little story:
I don’t take as many gigs from the radio station these days, my work as a Headlight’s girl keeps me busy enough—but ever so often a job sounds like fun. The ‘End of Summer Bash’ was one of those gigs that sounded like it would be more fun than work. The job was pretty much like all the jobs I’ve done for the radio station—be eye candy and talk to people. Only that night, because it was a ‘summer’ theme, I had to do it in a tiny green bikini. Wearing next to nothing in public really isn’t a problem for me—I still suffer from a need to be the center of attention.
I was also able to score some free tickets for Matt and few of his friends. I was a little hesitant about having Matt there—after all, what I was really doing is being paid to flirt—but Matt has been to Headlight’s a few times now, and gets the fact that I have to pretend to flirt.
The bash was a blast. Like every other gig I worked for the radio station, about halfway through the party the guy in charge of the promotion girls told us to ‘go and have fun, enjoy the party’. So I found Matt in the crowd and dragged him to the dance floor.
“You haven’t been bored?” I asked him.
“I’m having a great time.” He grins. He points to a group of guys wearing Red Sox jerseys, which were standing off to one side of the room. “I bet some of those guys I would get lucky with the red head in the green bikini.”
I closed the distance between us, pressing my body into his. I liked being close to him—and he smelled nice. “Oh, you think you are getting lucky, huh?”
“I’m hoping.” He leans down and kisses me.
I wrap my arms around his neck and return the kiss. I put a little something extra into it in case Matt’s new friends were watching.
We dance, we drink, and we hang out with Matt’s friends—by midnight I was slightly drunk and Matt had me laughing so hard I nearly peed myself. He does this thing where he tells dirty jokes in a ‘Donald Duck’ voice and it really gets me giggling—of course being drunk helps.
Eventually, it was time to go. I slipped a t-shirt and shorts over the bikini and Matt and I took a cab home—or at least most of the way home. When we got to the Charles River near MIT, Matt asked the driver to pull over. “It’s a beautiful night. Let’s walk the rest of the way home.”
So we walked along the river.
I wasn’t born a girl; or even like Jessica, I wasn’t raised as a girl—so I don’t think I necessarily react like a real woman would in every situation. For example, I don’t get mushy over flowers. Every so often Matt brings me flowers—I appreciate his thoughtfulness, but that is about it. So I found myself surprised that I was being affected by the romantic setting of walking home by the river. It was a full moon, and there were still boats on the river—it was a beautiful scene. We stopped and watched the river for a while. Matt stood behind me, close, with his arms wrapped around me. He starts kissing me on the neck and then gently spins me around—finding my lips. We stay like that for a while.
He breaks off the kiss but he keeps his face close to mine; his eyes were locked in on my eyes.
“I love you Ash.”
We had been dating for about half a year now. The ‘relationship’ has been fun and lighthearted, and there has been lots of sex—but neither of us had used the L word yet. I was stunned. It was like his words were a physical thing and they hit me with enough force to take my breath away. I felt light headed and dizzy. I just stared at him for a moment. He smiled back.
To be honest, when I said the words I didn’t know how I felt. I was overwhelmed and a little drunk; but when I said “I love you too.” It felt so right. I couldn’t remember the last time I was so happy.
We kiss again, and this time I broke off the kiss. “Take me home. Make love to me.”
We didn’t waste any time getting home. As soon as we stepped in the door Matt pulls the t-shirt off me and hungrily kissed me. I ended up being pressed against the wall, my bikini top finding its way to the floor. He was flicking one of my nipples with his tongue when I decided I wanted to do something special for him.
“Whoa. Slow down.” I say to him. “I want you to take a shower.” I touch his crotch through his pants. “I want you to take special care and wash this thing well.” I give him a look—I hope it looked seductive. “I have something special in mind. Something you’ve been wanting for a while.”
He practically ran to the bathroom.
I took the opportunity to slip off the bikini bottoms. I stay over at Matt’s place fairly often, so I had some clothes there—including some lingerie. I put slipped on a black baby doll top and no panties. I touched up my makeup and redid my hair then climbed on top of the bed a waited—I’m glad I didn’t have to wait long, I might have lost my nerve. Matt appeared in the doorway, still slightly wet from his shower, a towel wrapped around him.
“You look beautiful.” He says to me.
“You look beautiful too.” I still catch myself checking out other women, but in the last year I’ve grown to appreciate the male form—and Matt had a great form. He’s all washboard abs, broad chest and shoulders. I give him a smile. “Lose the towel and come to bed.”
To me, sex is a lot like a couple dancing. It can be passionate and physical like dancing. You are holding someone close, and you are trying to communicate things to your partner with your body. Also like couple dancing, someone leads and someone follows. Generally the woman follows the man’s lead—and I’ve grown to accept that—more than accept—sometimes I like being the submissive one in bed. I don’t think that makes me a weak person. I think it makes me brave that I can trust my lover.
But other times I still like to lead. This was one of those times.
“Lie back on the bed.” I tell him.
I was sitting next to him on the bed, and I leaned over and started kissing his chest.
Slowly, I started moving down.
Matt has been trying to convince me to give him a blowjob for a couple of months now. I hadn’t intended to give into him any time soon—but when he told me he loved me, he made me so incredibly happy—so happy I wanted to do something special for him. I decided if he was freshly showered, maybe—maybe—I could give my lover oral sex.
I ran my tongue down his shaft and he groaned in pleasure.
“Tell me when you are close.” I say to him.
I lean forward, sliding his dick between my lips. I do my best—it was my first blowjob on the giving end. Matt didn’t seem to notice that I was a novice. He was making all sorts of happy sounds. Soon he announced “Oh baby, I’m close.”
I quickly spat him out and physically climbed on top of him—lowering myself on his member. We both gasped as he entered me. I raise and lower myself once or twice—and that’s all it took. He groans in pleasure.
“That was incredible.” He tells me.
I lean down a kiss him. “As soon as you are ready—your girl has needs.”
“I see what I can do.” He says.
We make love again a little later. This time it was me crying out in pleasure.
“The next morning he suggested we move in together.” I tell Art. “I told him I would think about it.”
“Wow.” Art sounded a little stunned by my story.
“Yeah. Moving in together is the first step to a whole sequence of events and decisions. The next logical step is getting engaged. Then there is marriage…and then kids. I have a hard time seeing myself as someone’s wife—or mother. Oh my god! I can’t possibly give birth.”
I think Art sensed I was going off the deep end. “Hey, I think it is great that you and Matt are doing so well; but I think you are jumping the gun on worry about everything else. Take it slow—things will work themselves out.”
“I know—it just this is all new to me.” I say.
There is a moment of awkward silence and I could sense Art was a little uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. I decided to change the subject again.
“So, tell me about this Maxim photo shoot.”
Art groaned, but we talked about it anyway. We talked for the next hour, catching up on everything. It was good to talk.
--Ashlyn
Trip / Kat - Far Away
A few weeks ago, Nicole, one of Kat's classmates, stopped by to chat after hearing about my recent trip to the hospital. While we were chatting about that and other recent goings-on, she picked-up on my being a bit disinterested from the local news/gossip. She mentioned how it seemed that since Jaci & I... Jaci & Kat returned from our adventure "out East", that we've both changed... that it's almost as if we're new people. Her observation shook me a bit - I mean, that's not supposed to happen... people aren't supposed to be able to tell that there was a change, right?
I just shrugged my shoulders and told her that I was thinking the same thing... that I felt different and that I was having a bit of a tough time trying to decide who I was, who I wanted to be, and what it was that I wanted to do with my life. I conveniently left out all the weird stuff and just how much of a change I've been... and still am going through. She nodded her head and a moment of silence passed as she seemed to ponder on something.
I wasn't quite sure if I'd passed or failed some test of hers, or what thoughts her mind was processing - but I didn't have long to wait. Seconds later, she came out with what was likely the reason she stopped by in the first place - to invite me along as a replacement fourth person on an Canada/Alaska adventure with her, her brother Bill and her boyfriend Greg. As I understood it, Bill and his girlfriend were having some "issues". The idea of joining them was something that felt very much outside of my comfort level. If I was myself, I'd have jumped at the chance to go - but being in this non-outdoorsy body, on what should be a double-date type of adventure, with a guy that "I" have a history with (Kat and Bill dated a few years back)... I didn't have a good feeling about it. I'm still getting used to this new reality, and this body...
I told Nicole that I would have to see if dad could spare being without me for a month - knowing full-well that he'd veto the idea. Harvest time is fast approaching, we have to ready the equipment and bins... that and the idea of Kat being so far away and in the company of boys... there's no way he's going to go for it.
I was wrong.
I got back last night. I'm not sure if I found any answers to who I am, or what my future holds... save one thing. I'm pretty sure that my partner-preference is still hetero... just that I'm on the other side of the fence in this body.
I just shrugged my shoulders and told her that I was thinking the same thing... that I felt different and that I was having a bit of a tough time trying to decide who I was, who I wanted to be, and what it was that I wanted to do with my life. I conveniently left out all the weird stuff and just how much of a change I've been... and still am going through. She nodded her head and a moment of silence passed as she seemed to ponder on something.
I wasn't quite sure if I'd passed or failed some test of hers, or what thoughts her mind was processing - but I didn't have long to wait. Seconds later, she came out with what was likely the reason she stopped by in the first place - to invite me along as a replacement fourth person on an Canada/Alaska adventure with her, her brother Bill and her boyfriend Greg. As I understood it, Bill and his girlfriend were having some "issues". The idea of joining them was something that felt very much outside of my comfort level. If I was myself, I'd have jumped at the chance to go - but being in this non-outdoorsy body, on what should be a double-date type of adventure, with a guy that "I" have a history with (Kat and Bill dated a few years back)... I didn't have a good feeling about it. I'm still getting used to this new reality, and this body...
I told Nicole that I would have to see if dad could spare being without me for a month - knowing full-well that he'd veto the idea. Harvest time is fast approaching, we have to ready the equipment and bins... that and the idea of Kat being so far away and in the company of boys... there's no way he's going to go for it.
I was wrong.
I got back last night. I'm not sure if I found any answers to who I am, or what my future holds... save one thing. I'm pretty sure that my partner-preference is still hetero... just that I'm on the other side of the fence in this body.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Arthur/Penny: Parental (and other) Guidance
I've kind of been waffling about the Maxim pictorial thing, which is annoying Drew a bit. I don't really blame him; I'm not totally in a position to be picky about what I take and don't take, and this would set me up for bigger and better things.
Part of the problem, of course, is that I'm not sure I should be going on to bigger, better, newer things. I've been Penny for three and a half months now, but a part of my brain is still in Liz mode, trying to keep things as steady as possible even though I know that the proper owner of the life I'm living isn't going to take it back.
I am grateful that Louisa and Jessica checked up on Nell. If they really think she's happy with her new life, or at least committed to it, it does let me act with less worry over whether or not I'm letting someone down. Which, of course, is a big-time double-edged sword.
I've talked to a few people about the potential photo shoot. Perhaps the oddest was Nell's father. He was in town for a few days about a week and a half ago, and gave his little girl a call. I got my first hint that Nell and her father had what looks like a good relationship when her - my - cell phone displayed "Daddy" and played a cheery custom ringtone for his call.
I didn't quite know how to respond to that. In my old life, I was estranged from my father, to the point where I honestly figured my next encounter with him would be his funeral. It turns out that things worked out pretty close to the opposite way with Nell - she and her father are fairly close, but she doesn't have much to do with her mother. Weird.
Anyway, we arranged to meet up while he was in town for a convention. Nice enough guy, although I wouldn't be surprised to find that the birthday of his second wife is something like one day earlier than the midway point between his birthday and Nell's, so that no-one can say that she's closer to his daughter's age than his (although, to be fair, many men wouldn't care about that distinction). He seems very proud of what his daughter has been doing.
I mentioned the potential photo shoot to him, and his first response was a joking "well, I guess you've ruined those magazines for me forever", to which Sandy responded by giving me a high-five. After that, though, he said that I shouldn't worry about embarrassing him; he's already made his peace with the idea that total strangers will be looking at his Nelly like that from the volleyball and the TV work.
It was Sandy who said it sounded like I was trying to find a reason not to do it, which I suppose is something close to true, although not for the reason she suspects. So when Lyn called me to celebrate - or, at least, mark - our having spent one year as women, I figured I'd let her try to talk me into it.
She didn't give me the hard sell, but she did ask me if I'd fret so much about playing pro basketball if I'd wound up swapped into someone tall and athletic (that is to say, a tall and athletic man). I mentioned that I suck at the sport, and she said I was missing the point - that are physical forms are a resource, and that we shouldn't be afraid of using them as such just because of the weird way we came by them.
I've also tried calling Cassie in L.A.; I figured that maybe she'll let something slip ("Really? You always hated girls who did that!"). Nothing quite so direct, though. She said she didn't think she would, but that then again, she hadn't turned pro or gone into broadcasting; she liked her anonymity. - or at least, liked having more anonymity than having pictures of her in her underwear printed, downloaded, used as a screensaver or taped to the inside of someone's locker door would provide.
That's a pretty compelling argument, I think. If this is going to be my life, then I think I can live it without that. Drew should just be getting into R.J.'s office right now, so I think it's time to call him with the decision.
-Art (aka Penny)
Part of the problem, of course, is that I'm not sure I should be going on to bigger, better, newer things. I've been Penny for three and a half months now, but a part of my brain is still in Liz mode, trying to keep things as steady as possible even though I know that the proper owner of the life I'm living isn't going to take it back.
I am grateful that Louisa and Jessica checked up on Nell. If they really think she's happy with her new life, or at least committed to it, it does let me act with less worry over whether or not I'm letting someone down. Which, of course, is a big-time double-edged sword.
I've talked to a few people about the potential photo shoot. Perhaps the oddest was Nell's father. He was in town for a few days about a week and a half ago, and gave his little girl a call. I got my first hint that Nell and her father had what looks like a good relationship when her - my - cell phone displayed "Daddy" and played a cheery custom ringtone for his call.
I didn't quite know how to respond to that. In my old life, I was estranged from my father, to the point where I honestly figured my next encounter with him would be his funeral. It turns out that things worked out pretty close to the opposite way with Nell - she and her father are fairly close, but she doesn't have much to do with her mother. Weird.
Anyway, we arranged to meet up while he was in town for a convention. Nice enough guy, although I wouldn't be surprised to find that the birthday of his second wife is something like one day earlier than the midway point between his birthday and Nell's, so that no-one can say that she's closer to his daughter's age than his (although, to be fair, many men wouldn't care about that distinction). He seems very proud of what his daughter has been doing.
I mentioned the potential photo shoot to him, and his first response was a joking "well, I guess you've ruined those magazines for me forever", to which Sandy responded by giving me a high-five. After that, though, he said that I shouldn't worry about embarrassing him; he's already made his peace with the idea that total strangers will be looking at his Nelly like that from the volleyball and the TV work.
It was Sandy who said it sounded like I was trying to find a reason not to do it, which I suppose is something close to true, although not for the reason she suspects. So when Lyn called me to celebrate - or, at least, mark - our having spent one year as women, I figured I'd let her try to talk me into it.
She didn't give me the hard sell, but she did ask me if I'd fret so much about playing pro basketball if I'd wound up swapped into someone tall and athletic (that is to say, a tall and athletic man). I mentioned that I suck at the sport, and she said I was missing the point - that are physical forms are a resource, and that we shouldn't be afraid of using them as such just because of the weird way we came by them.
I've also tried calling Cassie in L.A.; I figured that maybe she'll let something slip ("Really? You always hated girls who did that!"). Nothing quite so direct, though. She said she didn't think she would, but that then again, she hadn't turned pro or gone into broadcasting; she liked her anonymity. - or at least, liked having more anonymity than having pictures of her in her underwear printed, downloaded, used as a screensaver or taped to the inside of someone's locker door would provide.
That's a pretty compelling argument, I think. If this is going to be my life, then I think I can live it without that. Drew should just be getting into R.J.'s office right now, so I think it's time to call him with the decision.
-Art (aka Penny)
Monday, September 03, 2007
Louisa/"Marie": Nashville
I was glad to stay in Nashville for the holiday weekend; the next logical destination for us is my home state of Louisiana, and I found that I was not anxious to be there during the ceremonies marking the second anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. I had family in New Orleans - a few cousins - but I can't visit them as I am. Arthur had sent us a request to check in on the former occupant of his/her body, and it seemed like as good an idea as any for a diversion.
Finding "Jeremy Boyd" wasn't difficult - Arthur had sent us the address on the letter from a few weeks ago. Both Jessica and I felt a bit awkward about the approach, though. If you don't know anything about the Trading Post Inn's curse, but do know Jeremy Boyd's history, what would you think of two young women from out of town looking for him, especially considering he had disappeared for pretty much Daisy's entire pregnancy? It would, naturally, look suspicious.
We tried to think of a logical story all the way from Washington to Nashville, which wouldn't contradict anything Nell had said about the time Jeremy was "away", but to no avail. We wound up just knocking on the door and feeling the disapproving gaze of Jeremy's father when we asked about his son.
"He get one of you in trouble?"
"No!" we both shouted. "We just want to talk to Jeremy because..."
Jessica looked at me to finish the sentence, and for a split second I resolved to pay her back for that later. "Because, well, we're... reporters. We're working on a story about soldiers leaving the armed forces during these troubled times, and why. One of our other subjects said that Jeremy had an interesting story."
He looked at us - especially Jessica, whose shorts and t-shirt did not scream professionalism - skeptically. "You two are reporters?"
"Well, I am. Jessie here's an intern."
He grunted, and then waited for something. He was probably expecting a business card, but since I had none to offer, we just sweated it out a little. "Germy's moved in with his girl. I'll get you the address." He wrote it down, and chuckled. "If you find out what his story is, come back and share it with me."
Daisy's house wasn't far away from the Boyd residence, but the neighborhood did get a little rougher. I could see Jessica tense up behind the wheel of her car. "I don't know what's worse," she said, "driving through a bad neighborhood knowing that you're a target because you're a cop, or knowing you're a target because you're this."
I shrugged. "I've lived in worse."
"And I've patrolled worse, but that was a long time ago."
Finding Daisy's & "Jeremy's" address ended that conversation. We locked the car and knocked on the door. He must have been walking by at the time, because the door opened as far as the chain would allow on the first knock.
"Can I help you?"
"Maybe... Nell."
The man's eyes grew wide. "Who are you? Because if you're here to 'fix' it..."
"I wish I could," I said. "No, we're just other people who have stayed in the inn. In fact, I think you and I stayed in the same room, about a month apart. There was you, then Elizabeth Lee, who was really Arthur Milligan, then Marie Desjardins who was really Elizabeth Lee, then me."
"Who's stuck as Marie Desjardins?"
"You got it."
"And her?"
"Jessica Brooks. I was... well, I had another name, a long time ago."
"My god... You must have been..."
"It was weird. I'd rather not talk about it."
"Of course. I'm sorry, I'm being rude. Would you like to come in?"
"Are you sure Daisy won't mind?"
He looked a little embarrassed. "She's used to Jeremy having other female 'friends'."
So, we felt a little guilty as we entered the apartment. It was small, just a bedroom, bathroom, and living room with a kitchenette. Diasy walked out of the bedroom as we entered. Her bedroom; I noticed blankets neatly folded on the sofa. She looked a little frazzled, which just got worse when she saw us. "I don't believe we've met."
I gave her the story about us being reporters. She seemed to believe it, and Nell/Jeremy picked it up quick. "They want to ask me a few questions for this story they're doing on..."
"People leaving the service."
"Well, if he's not going to tell me, he sure ain't tellin' you."
"There's still interesting questions about how he's been treated and such."
Daisy warmed to that subject quickly enough, rattling off what she'd seen for five minutes before asking if I was going to write anything down. I froze for a moment, but Jessica pulled her notebook out of her purse and handed it to me. "Good thing they sent the intern with you, huh?"
I allowed that it was, and idly wrote down some of what Daisy was saying. After she exhausted the subject, I asked if we could steal Jeremy for a bit.
"Oh, shore - there's still a bunch he won't talk about with me, ah know."
We left and drove downtown for a bit; he took a pickup so that he could run some errands after. "So," he said when we got to the agreed-on coffee shop, "what can I tell you?"
"Well," Jessica started, "I thought there wasn't going to be much, because we've got most of your story from Arthur..."
He blushed girlishly, or maybe I'm just trying to see that. "An 'Arthur' in my body. Good lord."
"Well, technically, you're in your body. It just happens to look like Jeremy Boyd and Arthur's just happens to look like yours."
"I guess that's true."
"Anyway, we thought this was just a courtesy call, but... Have you been approached by anyone? Besides us?"
"What do you mean?"
"Near as we can tell, the inn has been swapping people for something like eighty years. There's got to be someone or something behind it, and even if it's just running on its own... Well, I think some people are using it. A friend of mine's got a stalker who knows her secret, a couple people in New York who were changed into foreign nationals are having trouble with immigration... It's been harder to find the original Jessica than it really should be, even considering I started at the apparent age of ten."
He looked at me, and I shrugged. "She's the detective; I'm hoping she can help me find some people."
"Oh. Right. I forget, just because I stayed about the same age... Anyway, nothing out of the ordinary here... Except for me, I guess."
"Okay. Well, I guess we'll let you go. Although--"
"Although what?"
"Well," I said, "we're just supposed to tell you that if you want your real life back, Arthur's willing."
"Oh." He sat back down. "Look, I can't say I'm not tempted, but I don't think it would be right. I mean, nobody asks to get in this situation, but there's only one right way to handle it. Just because I got into it in an unconventional way doesn't mean I should duck it."
Jessica nodded. "You're making a good man, Nell."
"Thanks. Look... I don't know if you two have any plans for Labor Day, but Daisy's family is having a barbecue, and if you guys want to come..."
"Talk you up a bit?"
He laughed. "Sure, that'd be great. Also, it's the first big family thing I'll have to deal with, and if I could avoid being totally alone..."
"Well..."
"We'd be glad to." I was kind of surprised Jessica was so eager, but didn't question it at the time. Later, she'd mention that she'd gotten a call from her mother while I was in the shower that morning, and so was feeling kind of homesick.
The barbecue wasn't bad; I actually had a pretty good time. Jessica grew up in the nice part of the city the first time and then in a New England suburb the second, but I kind of felt at home, even if everybody was white. (I know, I am too, but it still takes me a bit by surprise.)
"Jeremy" was glad to have us there, and we did say nice things about him when we could. I think things will get a little easier for him.
We left at around five, saying we wanted to get a good night's sleep before heading south tomorrow. He shook our hands and said to tell Art to try and make the most of his old life. We thanked him, and said it would probably be all right; from reading his entries, he seems to enjoy being Penny more than being Liz.
"Penny? He's going by Penny? I spend my entire life trying to avoid 'Penny Lincoln' - it's practically a porn-star name - and he..." He looks skyward and shakes his head. "Well, I guess it's his life now. Still, Penny..."
We leave him ranting and head back to our hotel, but I can't get settled. Tennessee was nice, but Louisiana is home, and I don't know what we'll find there.
-Louisa
Finding "Jeremy Boyd" wasn't difficult - Arthur had sent us the address on the letter from a few weeks ago. Both Jessica and I felt a bit awkward about the approach, though. If you don't know anything about the Trading Post Inn's curse, but do know Jeremy Boyd's history, what would you think of two young women from out of town looking for him, especially considering he had disappeared for pretty much Daisy's entire pregnancy? It would, naturally, look suspicious.
We tried to think of a logical story all the way from Washington to Nashville, which wouldn't contradict anything Nell had said about the time Jeremy was "away", but to no avail. We wound up just knocking on the door and feeling the disapproving gaze of Jeremy's father when we asked about his son.
"He get one of you in trouble?"
"No!" we both shouted. "We just want to talk to Jeremy because..."
Jessica looked at me to finish the sentence, and for a split second I resolved to pay her back for that later. "Because, well, we're... reporters. We're working on a story about soldiers leaving the armed forces during these troubled times, and why. One of our other subjects said that Jeremy had an interesting story."
He looked at us - especially Jessica, whose shorts and t-shirt did not scream professionalism - skeptically. "You two are reporters?"
"Well, I am. Jessie here's an intern."
He grunted, and then waited for something. He was probably expecting a business card, but since I had none to offer, we just sweated it out a little. "Germy's moved in with his girl. I'll get you the address." He wrote it down, and chuckled. "If you find out what his story is, come back and share it with me."
Daisy's house wasn't far away from the Boyd residence, but the neighborhood did get a little rougher. I could see Jessica tense up behind the wheel of her car. "I don't know what's worse," she said, "driving through a bad neighborhood knowing that you're a target because you're a cop, or knowing you're a target because you're this."
I shrugged. "I've lived in worse."
"And I've patrolled worse, but that was a long time ago."
Finding Daisy's & "Jeremy's" address ended that conversation. We locked the car and knocked on the door. He must have been walking by at the time, because the door opened as far as the chain would allow on the first knock.
"Can I help you?"
"Maybe... Nell."
The man's eyes grew wide. "Who are you? Because if you're here to 'fix' it..."
"I wish I could," I said. "No, we're just other people who have stayed in the inn. In fact, I think you and I stayed in the same room, about a month apart. There was you, then Elizabeth Lee, who was really Arthur Milligan, then Marie Desjardins who was really Elizabeth Lee, then me."
"Who's stuck as Marie Desjardins?"
"You got it."
"And her?"
"Jessica Brooks. I was... well, I had another name, a long time ago."
"My god... You must have been..."
"It was weird. I'd rather not talk about it."
"Of course. I'm sorry, I'm being rude. Would you like to come in?"
"Are you sure Daisy won't mind?"
He looked a little embarrassed. "She's used to Jeremy having other female 'friends'."
So, we felt a little guilty as we entered the apartment. It was small, just a bedroom, bathroom, and living room with a kitchenette. Diasy walked out of the bedroom as we entered. Her bedroom; I noticed blankets neatly folded on the sofa. She looked a little frazzled, which just got worse when she saw us. "I don't believe we've met."
I gave her the story about us being reporters. She seemed to believe it, and Nell/Jeremy picked it up quick. "They want to ask me a few questions for this story they're doing on..."
"People leaving the service."
"Well, if he's not going to tell me, he sure ain't tellin' you."
"There's still interesting questions about how he's been treated and such."
Daisy warmed to that subject quickly enough, rattling off what she'd seen for five minutes before asking if I was going to write anything down. I froze for a moment, but Jessica pulled her notebook out of her purse and handed it to me. "Good thing they sent the intern with you, huh?"
I allowed that it was, and idly wrote down some of what Daisy was saying. After she exhausted the subject, I asked if we could steal Jeremy for a bit.
"Oh, shore - there's still a bunch he won't talk about with me, ah know."
We left and drove downtown for a bit; he took a pickup so that he could run some errands after. "So," he said when we got to the agreed-on coffee shop, "what can I tell you?"
"Well," Jessica started, "I thought there wasn't going to be much, because we've got most of your story from Arthur..."
He blushed girlishly, or maybe I'm just trying to see that. "An 'Arthur' in my body. Good lord."
"Well, technically, you're in your body. It just happens to look like Jeremy Boyd and Arthur's just happens to look like yours."
"I guess that's true."
"Anyway, we thought this was just a courtesy call, but... Have you been approached by anyone? Besides us?"
"What do you mean?"
"Near as we can tell, the inn has been swapping people for something like eighty years. There's got to be someone or something behind it, and even if it's just running on its own... Well, I think some people are using it. A friend of mine's got a stalker who knows her secret, a couple people in New York who were changed into foreign nationals are having trouble with immigration... It's been harder to find the original Jessica than it really should be, even considering I started at the apparent age of ten."
He looked at me, and I shrugged. "She's the detective; I'm hoping she can help me find some people."
"Oh. Right. I forget, just because I stayed about the same age... Anyway, nothing out of the ordinary here... Except for me, I guess."
"Okay. Well, I guess we'll let you go. Although--"
"Although what?"
"Well," I said, "we're just supposed to tell you that if you want your real life back, Arthur's willing."
"Oh." He sat back down. "Look, I can't say I'm not tempted, but I don't think it would be right. I mean, nobody asks to get in this situation, but there's only one right way to handle it. Just because I got into it in an unconventional way doesn't mean I should duck it."
Jessica nodded. "You're making a good man, Nell."
"Thanks. Look... I don't know if you two have any plans for Labor Day, but Daisy's family is having a barbecue, and if you guys want to come..."
"Talk you up a bit?"
He laughed. "Sure, that'd be great. Also, it's the first big family thing I'll have to deal with, and if I could avoid being totally alone..."
"Well..."
"We'd be glad to." I was kind of surprised Jessica was so eager, but didn't question it at the time. Later, she'd mention that she'd gotten a call from her mother while I was in the shower that morning, and so was feeling kind of homesick.
The barbecue wasn't bad; I actually had a pretty good time. Jessica grew up in the nice part of the city the first time and then in a New England suburb the second, but I kind of felt at home, even if everybody was white. (I know, I am too, but it still takes me a bit by surprise.)
"Jeremy" was glad to have us there, and we did say nice things about him when we could. I think things will get a little easier for him.
We left at around five, saying we wanted to get a good night's sleep before heading south tomorrow. He shook our hands and said to tell Art to try and make the most of his old life. We thanked him, and said it would probably be all right; from reading his entries, he seems to enjoy being Penny more than being Liz.
"Penny? He's going by Penny? I spend my entire life trying to avoid 'Penny Lincoln' - it's practically a porn-star name - and he..." He looks skyward and shakes his head. "Well, I guess it's his life now. Still, Penny..."
We leave him ranting and head back to our hotel, but I can't get settled. Tennessee was nice, but Louisiana is home, and I don't know what we'll find there.
-Louisa
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Louisa/"Marie" - Road Trip: Washington
I'm sure the other people reading this are wondering why it took so long to get from Baltimore to Washington; after all, Jessica wasn't anxious to tarry last Tuesday. Well, suffice it to say, we did tarry for almost a week afterward. Our past holds a strange gravitational pull, I guess. I'll let Jessica decide how much she wants to share, if anything; even the parts I was privy to aren't quite my beans to spill.
The logical next stop was Washington. There was only one name on the page in Jessica's notebook for our nation's capital, but she'd left several pages for making notes. Aside from meeting the new Dex Langan, we intended to spend a fair amount of time in the Library of Congress and other academic sites to see what information we could dig up about the inn and the people it transformed.
But first, we met a friend of Jessica's. Roy was a year ahead of her, and I gather had dated one of her friends on the softball team. He seemed like a nice young boy, and handsome to boot. We had dinner the first night, and he helped us get access to the Georgetown University library.
It's interesting to watch the two of them together. My initial instinct is to say that Jessica acts differently around people who don't know her secret, but I don't really think she does; I think I just expect her to. She's still kind of sarcastic, whip-smart, wiser than her apparent years and more laid back than you'd expect knowing the truth. She and Roy trade comments about looking good without much in the way of sexual tension. I can't imagine how she manages it, but when I asked her about it in the hotel, she just shrugged and said it's been eight years and she grew up a second time; talk to Ashlyn if you want to hear about things being weird.
It took us a couple days to get hold of the new Dex; the FBI keeps him busy. That concerned Jessica, as you might imagine; as we waited for him at a café, it was pretty clear that his mind was on how the person who had become Conrad Mancini had not been up to the pressures and challenges of police work. She knew, from the general impressions Jake/Ashlyn and Arthur had related, that Dex was a fairly new agent, but still...
Ashlyn had described Dex as a joker, but that was the original Dex. The one we met wasn't like that. He had a twinkle in his eye, but he didn't really make jokes. It wasn't long before we realized what what was amusing him.
Before the inn did its magic, Dex had been Vera Lane. She had been a woman in her early forties, and he - if that's the proper pronoun - happily admitted to having been a con artist. "They've got me working on wire fraud right now. Can you believe it? I'm investigating identity theft!"
I guessed it was ironic. He at least seemed well-matched to his work. I had a hard time really warming to him - the idea that this crook was now part of a major law-enforcement agency seemed wrong. Was he able to just casually switch sides? It's odd... I believe in redemption, and the ability to become a better person. But it should be hard. Still, knowing someone in the FBI could be useful.
Or not. As soon as we left the café, Jessica was writing furiously in her notebook. I asked her what it was about, and she growled that Vera/Dex was dirty.
"What do you mean?"
"Look, I never worked in IA, but I was on the job for a while, and it hasn't been so long that I've forgotten everything. There's two kinds of dirty cops: The kind that skim for themselves, and the kind that are working for someone. Vera seems like the type to skim, but that's not the vibe I get."
"So, who do you think he's working for?"
"I don't know. But it's not like this sort of influence is unprecedented - I think someone in the INS was paid off to make Mark's and Vinessa's life difficult. Having someone in the FBI must be useful."
I'm not sure about that, but it's a scary thought.
Anyway, time to head to bed. Jessica's got the first shift driving tomorrow, as we head out to Nashville, where we're looking to contact Penelope Lincoln on Arthur's behalf.
-Louisa
The logical next stop was Washington. There was only one name on the page in Jessica's notebook for our nation's capital, but she'd left several pages for making notes. Aside from meeting the new Dex Langan, we intended to spend a fair amount of time in the Library of Congress and other academic sites to see what information we could dig up about the inn and the people it transformed.
But first, we met a friend of Jessica's. Roy was a year ahead of her, and I gather had dated one of her friends on the softball team. He seemed like a nice young boy, and handsome to boot. We had dinner the first night, and he helped us get access to the Georgetown University library.
It's interesting to watch the two of them together. My initial instinct is to say that Jessica acts differently around people who don't know her secret, but I don't really think she does; I think I just expect her to. She's still kind of sarcastic, whip-smart, wiser than her apparent years and more laid back than you'd expect knowing the truth. She and Roy trade comments about looking good without much in the way of sexual tension. I can't imagine how she manages it, but when I asked her about it in the hotel, she just shrugged and said it's been eight years and she grew up a second time; talk to Ashlyn if you want to hear about things being weird.
It took us a couple days to get hold of the new Dex; the FBI keeps him busy. That concerned Jessica, as you might imagine; as we waited for him at a café, it was pretty clear that his mind was on how the person who had become Conrad Mancini had not been up to the pressures and challenges of police work. She knew, from the general impressions Jake/Ashlyn and Arthur had related, that Dex was a fairly new agent, but still...
Ashlyn had described Dex as a joker, but that was the original Dex. The one we met wasn't like that. He had a twinkle in his eye, but he didn't really make jokes. It wasn't long before we realized what what was amusing him.
Before the inn did its magic, Dex had been Vera Lane. She had been a woman in her early forties, and he - if that's the proper pronoun - happily admitted to having been a con artist. "They've got me working on wire fraud right now. Can you believe it? I'm investigating identity theft!"
I guessed it was ironic. He at least seemed well-matched to his work. I had a hard time really warming to him - the idea that this crook was now part of a major law-enforcement agency seemed wrong. Was he able to just casually switch sides? It's odd... I believe in redemption, and the ability to become a better person. But it should be hard. Still, knowing someone in the FBI could be useful.
Or not. As soon as we left the café, Jessica was writing furiously in her notebook. I asked her what it was about, and she growled that Vera/Dex was dirty.
"What do you mean?"
"Look, I never worked in IA, but I was on the job for a while, and it hasn't been so long that I've forgotten everything. There's two kinds of dirty cops: The kind that skim for themselves, and the kind that are working for someone. Vera seems like the type to skim, but that's not the vibe I get."
"So, who do you think he's working for?"
"I don't know. But it's not like this sort of influence is unprecedented - I think someone in the INS was paid off to make Mark's and Vinessa's life difficult. Having someone in the FBI must be useful."
I'm not sure about that, but it's a scary thought.
Anyway, time to head to bed. Jessica's got the first shift driving tomorrow, as we head out to Nashville, where we're looking to contact Penelope Lincoln on Arthur's behalf.
-Louisa
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Arthur/Penny: Not how I'd like to work for them again.
It's three A.M., and I can't sleep. Drew is in the bed and sleeping like a log, but I guess sex just wears him out a little more than it does me. Normally, this would be prime time to do a little work on the novel, but for whatever reason, I can't seem to concentrate on it right now.
Part of it's the busy schedule; there are days when CalSports has me working both a six o'clock and then a ten o'clock show, and after ten they have me hang around as the baseball scores come in, shooting new bits of footage that will be inserted into the ten o'clock show so that it can be run overnight and into the morning. I can't imagine how much this job must suck on the east coast, where you have to do basically the same thing, only the west coast games don't get over until one a.m., Eastern Time.
I'm up to doing that three or four times a week, but it's not always the same days. Plus, I've started doing some of the personal appearances that Nell used to do. Only about half of them actually pay, but I like doing the ones that help out a good cause, and Drew figures that doing talks at schools is good business, too - he figures that it can't hurt to be some kids' first crush, that they'll remember later. When he said that last weekend, I was kind of alarmed; how much later was he talking about?
Well, he says, as "Penny" you're in your mid-twenties and healthy, keeping up her workout habits; you've probably got a good, long chunk of "babe years" ahead of you. It's not impossible that a kid in fifth grade might still make it a priority to tune to ESPN on the nights you're doing SportsCenter when he's in college ten years from now.
Ten years! It's not quite yet one year since I first woke up as Liz, and I'm not even really sure that I'm going to stay Penny long-term, or at least not that long-term. I asked him how he could think in those terms; he just shrugged and said that even if I didn't stay Penelope Lincoln, someone would, and it would be his job to look out for her interests. That kind of took me aback. What about getting back to your old life?
He shrugged. "I like it as R.J. It's a good fit, and California sure beats going back to Michigan for the winter. The original one doesn't figure on being able to extricate himself from Stephen Jeffries's affairs by the time the Inn closes for the season, so I'm figuring on an indefinite stay. 'New Drew' can do what he wants." Oh. "Maybe you should give me one of those new nicknames you're so fond of, like 'Lyn' and 'Penny'. So what do you think... Am I a 'Rich'... or a 'Dick'?" He pulled his body against mine at that, and I could feel the latter's appropriateness.
We got distracted.
It was the next morning, when I was scrambling some eggs in my t-shirt and panties, that he told me he'd been talking with an editor at Maxim about me. I said that was great; I'd really enjoyed doing work for them in the past, even if it was an assignment for them that led me to the Inn. How'd he get them to talk, though; it's not like Penelope has the bibliography they usually look for in a freelancer?
Well, that's the thing, he said - it's not for writing work; it's for a pictorial.
Oh. I really wished I was wearing some pants after he said that. I absently tried to pull my shirt down a little but it just made my nipples stand out. "I don't know, Drew..."
"Hey, it's Maxim, not Playboy. It'll raise your profile, potentially to national attention, and it's not like they'll be showing anything Nell hasn't put on display before. She was a pro beach volleyball player, after all, and their uniform is the bikini."
"Yeah... but..."
"It's not even a formal offer yet; just something he and I are talking about. It's easy work and even though reading the scores pays better than announcing lacrosse, it's not bad to get paid, either."
I told him I'd think about it.
Maybe that's why I'm still awake and typing this, even though it's almost four, now. I go to sleep and time jumps forward to the morning, and he'll be wanting to talk about it again, even though I've still got a few things to figure out before even considering it.
-Art/Penny
Part of it's the busy schedule; there are days when CalSports has me working both a six o'clock and then a ten o'clock show, and after ten they have me hang around as the baseball scores come in, shooting new bits of footage that will be inserted into the ten o'clock show so that it can be run overnight and into the morning. I can't imagine how much this job must suck on the east coast, where you have to do basically the same thing, only the west coast games don't get over until one a.m., Eastern Time.
I'm up to doing that three or four times a week, but it's not always the same days. Plus, I've started doing some of the personal appearances that Nell used to do. Only about half of them actually pay, but I like doing the ones that help out a good cause, and Drew figures that doing talks at schools is good business, too - he figures that it can't hurt to be some kids' first crush, that they'll remember later. When he said that last weekend, I was kind of alarmed; how much later was he talking about?
Well, he says, as "Penny" you're in your mid-twenties and healthy, keeping up her workout habits; you've probably got a good, long chunk of "babe years" ahead of you. It's not impossible that a kid in fifth grade might still make it a priority to tune to ESPN on the nights you're doing SportsCenter when he's in college ten years from now.
Ten years! It's not quite yet one year since I first woke up as Liz, and I'm not even really sure that I'm going to stay Penny long-term, or at least not that long-term. I asked him how he could think in those terms; he just shrugged and said that even if I didn't stay Penelope Lincoln, someone would, and it would be his job to look out for her interests. That kind of took me aback. What about getting back to your old life?
He shrugged. "I like it as R.J. It's a good fit, and California sure beats going back to Michigan for the winter. The original one doesn't figure on being able to extricate himself from Stephen Jeffries's affairs by the time the Inn closes for the season, so I'm figuring on an indefinite stay. 'New Drew' can do what he wants." Oh. "Maybe you should give me one of those new nicknames you're so fond of, like 'Lyn' and 'Penny'. So what do you think... Am I a 'Rich'... or a 'Dick'?" He pulled his body against mine at that, and I could feel the latter's appropriateness.
We got distracted.
It was the next morning, when I was scrambling some eggs in my t-shirt and panties, that he told me he'd been talking with an editor at Maxim about me. I said that was great; I'd really enjoyed doing work for them in the past, even if it was an assignment for them that led me to the Inn. How'd he get them to talk, though; it's not like Penelope has the bibliography they usually look for in a freelancer?
Well, that's the thing, he said - it's not for writing work; it's for a pictorial.
Oh. I really wished I was wearing some pants after he said that. I absently tried to pull my shirt down a little but it just made my nipples stand out. "I don't know, Drew..."
"Hey, it's Maxim, not Playboy. It'll raise your profile, potentially to national attention, and it's not like they'll be showing anything Nell hasn't put on display before. She was a pro beach volleyball player, after all, and their uniform is the bikini."
"Yeah... but..."
"It's not even a formal offer yet; just something he and I are talking about. It's easy work and even though reading the scores pays better than announcing lacrosse, it's not bad to get paid, either."
I told him I'd think about it.
Maybe that's why I'm still awake and typing this, even though it's almost four, now. I go to sleep and time jumps forward to the morning, and he'll be wanting to talk about it again, even though I've still got a few things to figure out before even considering it.
-Art/Penny
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Jessica: Baltimore
We were on the road when Louisa asked if we should stop in Baltimore. I knew this was coming, we had talked about it before, and I told her then I didn’t care to stop. She was determined to change my mind and brought it up again as we were driving down i95.
“It just seems wrong to drive through.” She says.
“There’s nothing there for me anymore. I’ve moved on from my old life.” I tell her.
Washington, DC is only an hour and a half further than Baltimore, so it made sense to me that we drive through Baltimore and continue on to Washington.
Louisa was persistent. “Well even if you have moved on, we might still want to talk to whoever became you. Isn’t our plan to talk to as many victims of the Inn as possible?”
She was curious, and I can understand that. She’s been trying to get me to open up about my past life for days as we spent time on the road. I’ve been side stepping her questions, not because I am trying to be mysterious or keep a secret; it’s just too hard to talk about my past.
“There’s nothing new to learn!” I say forcibly. “Don’t you think I had already made contact with whoever took over my life?” I snapped at her and I instantly regretted it; I always worry I come off as the petulant teenager when I have angry outbursts.
A couple of hours later fate conspired against me. Between the need for gas, a bathroom and dinner, we had to stop in Baltimore.
“How about pasta?” I ask Louisa, “I know a restaurant in Little Italy if it is still in business...”
She gives me a sideways glance. “If it is still in business… so you haven’t been here in a while?”
I groan, realizing she wasn’t going to give up trying to dig into my past. I decided to come clean.
“Alright, I give. Let’s stay in Baltimore tonight, and tomorrow I’ll take you to see the old me.”
We decide to put the trip to Little Italy off until the following day and get right to a hotel; we were both looking forward to a shower.
The next morning Louisa was excited about meeting the old me. We had found a little café near the hotel for dinner the night before, and we were revisiting it for breakfast. Louisa was having coffee and a blueberry muffin; I decided to get a short stack of pancakes.
“So after all these years, is the idea of meeting yourself still strange?”
“You are going to be so disappointed.” I said taking a bite of pancake. “I thought I was doing the smart thing by showing you rather than telling you, but now that I’ve had a shower and a good night’s sleep, I’m beginning to have second thoughts.”
“Oh, you can’t change your mind now.” She says.
“I doubt you would quit digging if I don’t do this.”
“So are we going over right after breakfast?” She asks.
“I just want to stop at a florist first. I’d like to get some flowers.”
30 minutes later I parked the car near the main gate of cemetery.
Louisa is smart, she figured out why we were there quickly. “The person who became you is dead?” She was shocked.
I nodded. It had been over seven years since my old life came to an end but it still hurt like hell. My throat was tight as I fought back tears.
We get out of the car and I walk through the cemetery, heading toward a particular grave. Louisa quietly walked beside me.
“So you know I was a Police Detective on a missing person’s case when I stayed at the Trading Post Inn.”
Louisa nods. “You were looking for a man who was tricked by his wife into staying at the Inn and became a young woman.”
“Yeah, he became Stormy Myers, a stripper. Also his wife rigged it so someone of her choosing became her husband. Because of this I realized very quickly that the Inn could be manipulated, and if you set things up just right, you could get your life back.”
“Okay.” She said, following my thinking.
“Unfortunately, I was a ten year old girl. I had very limited resources before I convinced my mom I wasn’t who she thought I was. Worse, a 30 year old accountant named Bill Danvers took over my life. Everyone who goes through the curse has an adjustment period, but Bill Danvers…”
We had reached the grave and stood in silence for a moment. I laid the flowers I brought on the grave.
“Bill Danvers,” I continued, “Was thrilled to be a Police Detective. We exchanged several letters. In his letters he went on and on about how exciting it was to live my life. I guess the grass is always greener; I always thought real detective work wasn’t like anything in movies or television. I always thought real detective work took lots of patience.”
I pulled a few weeds from the ground and tossed them aside.
“Bill kept promising me he was going to make arrangements with the Inn, but he kept coming up with excuses for not getting it done. In my letters to him, I stressed that my work was dangerous, that it wasn’t a game; but he wouldn’t listen.”
I turned and looked Louisa in the eyes. I wanted her to understand how important my next words were.
“It wasn’t just my life he was playing with. I had a partner; he and the rest of my squad counted on me to know my job and have their backs. Bill didn’t understand that. One day he and my partner Mike were doing a standard door to door canvas of a neighborhood, interviewing people, looking for possible witness to a homicide that happened in a nearby park. Something went horribly wrong and both Bill and Mike ended up dead. I only know the details that were in the paper, but I can imagine what really happened; Bill didn’t have the training, the knowledge it took to do my job. It got them killed.”
“I’m so sorry Jessica.” Louisa tells me.
“It was a long time ago.”
“Thanks for sharing this with me.” She read the tombstone. “Conrad Mancini. That’s a nice name.”
The epitaph on the tombstone read “Friend, Brother, Police Officer and a man we could count on.” It made me sick to think that Bill Danvers made that not true.
Jessica
“It just seems wrong to drive through.” She says.
“There’s nothing there for me anymore. I’ve moved on from my old life.” I tell her.
Washington, DC is only an hour and a half further than Baltimore, so it made sense to me that we drive through Baltimore and continue on to Washington.
Louisa was persistent. “Well even if you have moved on, we might still want to talk to whoever became you. Isn’t our plan to talk to as many victims of the Inn as possible?”
She was curious, and I can understand that. She’s been trying to get me to open up about my past life for days as we spent time on the road. I’ve been side stepping her questions, not because I am trying to be mysterious or keep a secret; it’s just too hard to talk about my past.
“There’s nothing new to learn!” I say forcibly. “Don’t you think I had already made contact with whoever took over my life?” I snapped at her and I instantly regretted it; I always worry I come off as the petulant teenager when I have angry outbursts.
A couple of hours later fate conspired against me. Between the need for gas, a bathroom and dinner, we had to stop in Baltimore.
“How about pasta?” I ask Louisa, “I know a restaurant in Little Italy if it is still in business...”
She gives me a sideways glance. “If it is still in business… so you haven’t been here in a while?”
I groan, realizing she wasn’t going to give up trying to dig into my past. I decided to come clean.
“Alright, I give. Let’s stay in Baltimore tonight, and tomorrow I’ll take you to see the old me.”
We decide to put the trip to Little Italy off until the following day and get right to a hotel; we were both looking forward to a shower.
The next morning Louisa was excited about meeting the old me. We had found a little café near the hotel for dinner the night before, and we were revisiting it for breakfast. Louisa was having coffee and a blueberry muffin; I decided to get a short stack of pancakes.
“So after all these years, is the idea of meeting yourself still strange?”
“You are going to be so disappointed.” I said taking a bite of pancake. “I thought I was doing the smart thing by showing you rather than telling you, but now that I’ve had a shower and a good night’s sleep, I’m beginning to have second thoughts.”
“Oh, you can’t change your mind now.” She says.
“I doubt you would quit digging if I don’t do this.”
“So are we going over right after breakfast?” She asks.
“I just want to stop at a florist first. I’d like to get some flowers.”
30 minutes later I parked the car near the main gate of cemetery.
Louisa is smart, she figured out why we were there quickly. “The person who became you is dead?” She was shocked.
I nodded. It had been over seven years since my old life came to an end but it still hurt like hell. My throat was tight as I fought back tears.
We get out of the car and I walk through the cemetery, heading toward a particular grave. Louisa quietly walked beside me.
“So you know I was a Police Detective on a missing person’s case when I stayed at the Trading Post Inn.”
Louisa nods. “You were looking for a man who was tricked by his wife into staying at the Inn and became a young woman.”
“Yeah, he became Stormy Myers, a stripper. Also his wife rigged it so someone of her choosing became her husband. Because of this I realized very quickly that the Inn could be manipulated, and if you set things up just right, you could get your life back.”
“Okay.” She said, following my thinking.
“Unfortunately, I was a ten year old girl. I had very limited resources before I convinced my mom I wasn’t who she thought I was. Worse, a 30 year old accountant named Bill Danvers took over my life. Everyone who goes through the curse has an adjustment period, but Bill Danvers…”
We had reached the grave and stood in silence for a moment. I laid the flowers I brought on the grave.
“Bill Danvers,” I continued, “Was thrilled to be a Police Detective. We exchanged several letters. In his letters he went on and on about how exciting it was to live my life. I guess the grass is always greener; I always thought real detective work wasn’t like anything in movies or television. I always thought real detective work took lots of patience.”
I pulled a few weeds from the ground and tossed them aside.
“Bill kept promising me he was going to make arrangements with the Inn, but he kept coming up with excuses for not getting it done. In my letters to him, I stressed that my work was dangerous, that it wasn’t a game; but he wouldn’t listen.”
I turned and looked Louisa in the eyes. I wanted her to understand how important my next words were.
“It wasn’t just my life he was playing with. I had a partner; he and the rest of my squad counted on me to know my job and have their backs. Bill didn’t understand that. One day he and my partner Mike were doing a standard door to door canvas of a neighborhood, interviewing people, looking for possible witness to a homicide that happened in a nearby park. Something went horribly wrong and both Bill and Mike ended up dead. I only know the details that were in the paper, but I can imagine what really happened; Bill didn’t have the training, the knowledge it took to do my job. It got them killed.”
“I’m so sorry Jessica.” Louisa tells me.
“It was a long time ago.”
“Thanks for sharing this with me.” She read the tombstone. “Conrad Mancini. That’s a nice name.”
The epitaph on the tombstone read “Friend, Brother, Police Officer and a man we could count on.” It made me sick to think that Bill Danvers made that not true.
Jessica
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Louisa/"Marie" - Road Trip: Day Two in New York
Darren/Jaime and New Vinny
Jessica had email when she checked yesterday morning (after I was finished using the computer to report on Friday's activities); it was from Darren, who seemed eager to meet us. He left a cell phone number, Jessica called, and then it was back into the city.
We had a late breakfast, and it was kind of a relief to see someone who had been changed by the inn who looks as uncomfortable in his or her new skin as I feel. I don't mean that as an insult, Darren - I'm not taking pleasure in your discomfort. It's just, one meets someone like Mark/Ginessa or even Ashlyn, and while on the one hand it's good to know that feeling strange won't last forever, on the other, one has to fear losing who he or she is.
Jaime's a pretty girl, and Darren is very self-conscious about it. She's another blonde, although she's got a little more meat on her bones than Vinessa has as Nicoleta. She's got nice clothes, too - even the simple cami and shorts Darren wore to meet us had designer labels. She's fairly pretty, and probably would have been extremely attractive if Darren had worn some makeup. I think, though, that not doing so was deliberate - coming to meet us was a chance to not have to play the part of Jaime.
We talked for a while; I didn't know anything about the inn that he hasn't already read here, or spoken to Arthur about. He did seem very relieved to find out that there are other transformees right here in New York; I can't say I blame him - the first time I met Jean-Michel, I felt the same way. We gave him contact information for Mark/Ginessa and Vinessa/Nicoleta, although I don't think he's really prepared for what meeting Mark might be like.
Still, I think it might do them all a little good to meet up; Darren and Vinessa share the same sense of desperation about them, and even with the language barrier, having someone to share with couldn't hurt. Maybe Darren can even use some of Jaime's connections - either at the paper or with her family - to do a little digging on Vinessa's behalf.
We opted against playing tourist for the rest of the afternoon, instead opting to take the train back to Long Island to see if knocking on Vinny DeSantis's door would yield us anything, and it did.
Nothing pleasant, though. When we got to his place, one of his roommates opened the door, and there was a smell that came out of the apartment. I nearly gagged, and gave Jessica a slightly accusing look. "Hey, I grew out of that a long, long time ago." The guy gave us at least a twice-over, and then called for Vinny.
The man was hung over, and I get the feeling that "new" Vinny wasn't particularly different from "old" Vinny, and if so, well, I kind of hope he was learning something from his experience as Sarah Hansen.
I get the feeling he may have had quite the lesson - when we showed "new" Vinny a picture of Sarah, asking if they were in contact, he said maybe that had been in contact, if you get his meaning - he and a group of his friends met her and a group of hers at a concert back during spring break, and they'd been drinking fairly heavily. Both Jessica and I disapproved of the talk of multiple partners that night, although he didn't know if he and that girl were one of the pairings.
We tried to get him to come talk to us someplace that was a little more private (and sanitary), but he didn't seem to get the message. Toward the end, I began to suspect that he wasn't quite so hung over as he appeared - he was able to deflect any questions we had about who he was before his trip to the inn. Truth be told, he never actually admitted to having been someone other than Vinny DeSantis. Afterward, I asked Jessica if maybe he really thought he was and had always been Vinny, but she said she doubted it. Sure, there had been times when she thought her previous life was something she'd just made up in her head, but it took her a couple years to get to that point.
It looks like we've found all we're going to find in New York. It seems like sort of a bust to me, but Jessica doesn't quite agree. There's something funny about Mark & Vinessa's sudden visa troubles, she thinks, and funny things like that are seldom coincidences.
Anyway, it's time to put this machine away and get back on the road. Jessica originally hails from Baltimore, so I imagine we'll be stopping there on the way to Washington, D.C.
-Louisa
Jessica had email when she checked yesterday morning (after I was finished using the computer to report on Friday's activities); it was from Darren, who seemed eager to meet us. He left a cell phone number, Jessica called, and then it was back into the city.
We had a late breakfast, and it was kind of a relief to see someone who had been changed by the inn who looks as uncomfortable in his or her new skin as I feel. I don't mean that as an insult, Darren - I'm not taking pleasure in your discomfort. It's just, one meets someone like Mark/Ginessa or even Ashlyn, and while on the one hand it's good to know that feeling strange won't last forever, on the other, one has to fear losing who he or she is.
Jaime's a pretty girl, and Darren is very self-conscious about it. She's another blonde, although she's got a little more meat on her bones than Vinessa has as Nicoleta. She's got nice clothes, too - even the simple cami and shorts Darren wore to meet us had designer labels. She's fairly pretty, and probably would have been extremely attractive if Darren had worn some makeup. I think, though, that not doing so was deliberate - coming to meet us was a chance to not have to play the part of Jaime.
We talked for a while; I didn't know anything about the inn that he hasn't already read here, or spoken to Arthur about. He did seem very relieved to find out that there are other transformees right here in New York; I can't say I blame him - the first time I met Jean-Michel, I felt the same way. We gave him contact information for Mark/Ginessa and Vinessa/Nicoleta, although I don't think he's really prepared for what meeting Mark might be like.
Still, I think it might do them all a little good to meet up; Darren and Vinessa share the same sense of desperation about them, and even with the language barrier, having someone to share with couldn't hurt. Maybe Darren can even use some of Jaime's connections - either at the paper or with her family - to do a little digging on Vinessa's behalf.
We opted against playing tourist for the rest of the afternoon, instead opting to take the train back to Long Island to see if knocking on Vinny DeSantis's door would yield us anything, and it did.
Nothing pleasant, though. When we got to his place, one of his roommates opened the door, and there was a smell that came out of the apartment. I nearly gagged, and gave Jessica a slightly accusing look. "Hey, I grew out of that a long, long time ago." The guy gave us at least a twice-over, and then called for Vinny.
The man was hung over, and I get the feeling that "new" Vinny wasn't particularly different from "old" Vinny, and if so, well, I kind of hope he was learning something from his experience as Sarah Hansen.
I get the feeling he may have had quite the lesson - when we showed "new" Vinny a picture of Sarah, asking if they were in contact, he said maybe that had been in contact, if you get his meaning - he and a group of his friends met her and a group of hers at a concert back during spring break, and they'd been drinking fairly heavily. Both Jessica and I disapproved of the talk of multiple partners that night, although he didn't know if he and that girl were one of the pairings.
We tried to get him to come talk to us someplace that was a little more private (and sanitary), but he didn't seem to get the message. Toward the end, I began to suspect that he wasn't quite so hung over as he appeared - he was able to deflect any questions we had about who he was before his trip to the inn. Truth be told, he never actually admitted to having been someone other than Vinny DeSantis. Afterward, I asked Jessica if maybe he really thought he was and had always been Vinny, but she said she doubted it. Sure, there had been times when she thought her previous life was something she'd just made up in her head, but it took her a couple years to get to that point.
It looks like we've found all we're going to find in New York. It seems like sort of a bust to me, but Jessica doesn't quite agree. There's something funny about Mark & Vinessa's sudden visa troubles, she thinks, and funny things like that are seldom coincidences.
Anyway, it's time to put this machine away and get back on the road. Jessica originally hails from Baltimore, so I imagine we'll be stopping there on the way to Washington, D.C.
-Louisa
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Louisa/"Marie" - Road Trip: Day One in New York (and getting there)
Meeting Her
There were a number of reasons why Jessica and I knew we had to stop in New York on our cross-country jaunt, but it wound up being first simply based upon proximity.
We had to get out of Boston first, of course. By now, you've probably read Ashlyn's description of my meeting Jessica, which covers everything important. I must admit, I wasn't entirely sure what to make of her. I've worked in a high school library for years, so even though I never had any children of my own, teenagers aren't a great mystery to me. Jessica looks like a certain group of them on the surface - the high-achievers who handle a course load of subjects that most of their parents would cringe at while somehow playing a sport each season and participating in another extracurricular activity or two... And having time to talk about the latest movies and music and having lives worth gossiping about.
I've met a lot of those kids (as you might expect, they tend to hang around the library more), but Jessica is different. She's got neither the apparent belief that she can conquer the world or the insecurity that many of those teens have. She looks like them, with the too-tight jeans and clever t-shirt, but there's a disconcerting maturity and wisdom to her. When she acts like a typical teenager - like shouting "Road Trip!" when Ashlyn suggested that she could help me search for the real Marie, it's like she's imitating her apparent peers, although maybe she's just got an acute awareness of what kind of freedom from expectations she has.
I had only expected to get some pointers or a cell phone number that I could use to ask her for help, so the idea of us traveling across the country to where she's been accepted to college in Pasadena was sort of overwhelming. It was to her mother, too - she insisted on meeting me, which seemed eminently reasonable.
The two of them have a strange relationship. "Jessica" (she hasn't told any of us the name she was born with, yet) has actually lived longer than her adopted mother, and they more like best friends than parent and child sometimes. They got out a map and plotted a route that should get us to California in time for her to start classes, even figuring in a couple of weeks for unscheduled stops. When Jessica went to move some things into her car from her mother's, though, the older woman touched my hand to signal she wanted to speak with me alone for a moment.
You have to understand, she said, I don't really believe you are who you say you are. Not you, not this Ashlyn girl... I don't feel it like I do with Jess. But she does, and I hope the two of you can find what you're looking for. After eight years, there's no way I can get my original Jessie back, but if you can find out she's okay, and safe... And make sure that the girl I've got stays safe too...
I may not have had children, but I've had friends who went into crisis about their teenagers, or had trouble letting go. I've never seen it be easy.
The Drive
Jessica drove the first leg of the trip, while I handled the map. That wasn't really necessary, as it's a trip she's made a few times before, as evidenced by her knowing exactly where to find a new classic rock station on the radio dial when the one she'd been listening to faded out. After a while we ran out of things to chat about, and I started listening to a book on tape somewhere around Hartford.
Initially, we drove around the city, figuring it would be easier to find an inexpensive motel out on Long Island than in the city. One of the people from Arthur and Ashlyn's group came from the area, too, and we thought we might have some luck interviewing his "successor". We didn't, yesterday, but we did at least find a place to stay that was near a Long Island Railroad station. After a few hours in the car, it was nice to stretch out on the beds for a couple minutes.
Jessica has all of our stops planned in a notebook, with four pairs of names written on the page for "New York": Darren Bridger/Jamie Connor - recent, but potentially well-connected, might be worth a courtesy visit at least; Mark Lange/Ginessa Lopez - Blue collar guy, Peruvian immigrant actress; Vinessa Lopez/Nicoleta Fidatov - Ginessa's cousin, also from Peru; and ????/Vinny DeSantis. Mostly from "Ashlyn" and Arthur's group, or connected somehow.
Vinessa/Nicoleta
I have never been to such a large place; before staying at the inn, I was not much of a traveler. Baton Rouge is home, and New Orleans, Boston, and Montreal are big cities themselves, but New York is somehow bigger than all of them put together. I just stared out the window of the train, gawking, as we entered the city, and then even more as we actually stepped outside the station and the buildings seemed to go on forever. I confess I'd been guilty of taking the word "skyscrapers" for granted, not understanding how literally true it was.
Jessica just sort of stood aside grinning. "It is amazing, isn't it? Pity it's full of Yankee fans."
I laughed. "As far as I'm concerned, it's just full of yankees." Then I thought of something. "So, you've gone a little native, being in New England for eight years?"
"As a lifelong Orioles fan, I can hate the Yankees just as well as anybody from Boston. Although, yeah, I have sort of started pulling for the Sox. It's easier when your hometown team is so inept. I still hate the Patriots, though. Of course, I still like the Colts, too." He let me gawk a little more, until I got sick of being shoved past, and then suggested we start looking for our fellow transformees.
The easiest name to track down had been Jaime Connor; from reading the blog we knew Darren was in Tribeca, so all we needed was the phone book. Calling his/her home phone number didn't do us much good during the day. We thought about calling the newspaper, but thought better of it. We'd sent an email to the address Ashlyn had before leaving (the one registered with Blogger), but gotten no reply.
Next up was "Nicoleta Fidatov". She, at least, was listed in the phone book, although when we called the number we were told it had been disconnected. We still had an address, though, and it wasn't much trouble to take the subway there.
Nicoleta's place was sort of on the border between a good and a bad nieghborhood, a third-story walk-up. Jessica could see a light underneath the door, so started banging. "Vinessa, we'd like to talk with you."
The door opened a crack. "How... you know that name?"
"We've been to the inn too," I said.
"Come in. Habla espanol?"
We shook our heads. I said I was afraid not.
"Ah, well." She undid the latch and indicated a couple of chairs. She's pretty in that blonde, eastern European way - a very strong jaw, but kind of skinny, though I'm sure many men would find her body perfect. "You want to sit down?"
We sat. "Your English is very good," I said. "Ashlyn gave the impression you barely spoke."
She shrugged. "I had to. I can't go home. The... new me and new Mark... were married, are again... It's very confusing."
"So... you have contact with them?"
She shook her head. "No, they live in Peru now. Her... my.. visa expired, and he followed her." She started to cry. "Now they want to deport me, but I can't go to Ukraine!"
I moved to sit next to her. "Hey, don't worry... I'm sure there's something you can do."
"I do everything! The man says... The man at INS says Nicoleta did everything, and I do everything, but someone above him... Says someone has it out for us."
Jessica took her glasses off to clean them for a second. "Us?"
Mark/Ginessa
Vinessa had laughed, and asked to use my phone. She dialed a number from memory and asked about clubbing.
I'm still not used to this body; I was quite frankly shocked to find that I was almost the same size as Nicoleta. Sure, her clothes were a little tight on my new bottom and not quite so tight up top, but these things are kind of one size fits all. I felt slightly scandalized looking at myself in the mirror, but also a little impressed; it has been a while since I've tried to dress sexily, but I remember what it was like to be a young woman trying to impress the field.
Putting on club clothes just made Jessica look even younger, and we weren't terribly surprised when the bouncer shook his head at her (Nicoleta knew him, and Vinessa had inherited the relationship). "We can only let so much slide, Nic. You know how it is."
Jessica had sort of been expecting this. "I hate being under twenty-one!" she grumbled, and said she was off to see a movie. Vinessa and I went inside.
Vinessa wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as I was; she may not speak the language that well and may have grown up on another continent, but she was young and single and knows the game. We hung around and danced a little for about an hour before we heard someone call "Nic!"
Ashlyn had described Mark as being "blue collar", but that would hardly be the word I'd use to describe the person who moved across the crowded room like she was wading in shallow water. She was petite, wearing a painted-on dress with a plunging neckline and four-inch heels. She grabbed Vinessa by the hands and air-kissed her cheek. "How are you? It's been weeks?"
"Better, maybe. This is--" She gave me an enquiring look.
"Louisa."
"Nice to meet you, Louisa. How do you know Nic?"
"We've stayed at the same inn, although nearly a year apart. It's nice to meet you, Mark."
She looked surprised, but quickly gave me a hug. "Oh, god, it's so good to meet you! Who were you before?"
"Well, the way I figure it, I'm still Louisa Torrence, even if my passport does say 'Marie Desjardins' now."
"I know what you mean... It's just like that with me!" From the way she touched her chest, with a palm resting on her breast in such a way as to flash a rather large diamond ring, I was beginning to doubt it.
She noticed me staring at the ring, and blushed. "I know, isn't it crazy? But I'm sure Nic--"
"Vinessa."
"Of course. Vinessa. I'm sorry." She turned toward me to say that she doesn't have many opportunities to use real names, so referring to Vinessa as Nicoleta is sort of habit. "Anyway, I'm sure Vinessa has told you about the INS trying to deport us. Fortunately, I had just auditioned for a play, and while the producer didn't think I was right for THAT part... Probably because I didn't have any of Ginny's training... Well, I couldn't let them send me 'back' to Peru. No offense, Vinessa."
I don't understand Spanish, but I suspect Vinessa said something about Peru being glad to let her stay here.
At about ten-thirty, my phone rang; Jessica's movie was done. I told 'Mark' and Vinessa this, and Vinessa was only too glad to get out, although Mark looked a little disappointed.
To be fair, though, she didn't sulk. We met Jessica at one of the million or so pizza places that line the streets in New York, and the former guys got on like a house on fire. Within about ten minutes they were arguing about sports, and Mark seemed to practically glow when (s)he bit into a folded-over slice.
"Mmm... That is so. Fucking. Good. Don't tell my husband, though - he is not keen on the idea of me gaining weight."
More proof that Jessica used to be a guy - she apparently did not inventory Mark's jewelry without prompting, or only registered the big old ring as a sparkly thing. Or she subconsciously couldn't believe it. "Husband? You've only been a woman, what, less than a year?"
"Just about... But circumstances... Well, you know. There was some sort of SNAFU at INS and I was looking at deportation. You do what you've got to do. It's not always so bad."
We talked a bit more, but Jessica just seemed sort of stunned. I asked if they had any contact with the original Ginessa and Nicoleta, and they said no. Vinessa looked particularly pained by that, and I felt for her - she came to look for her cousin almost a year ago, still hasn't found her, but has to put up with another person taking her face and name, while the real Ginessa could be anyone, anywhere.
We took our leave of them, after a quick stop back at Vinessa's for me to change clothes. Then it was back to the train and the hotel.
There were a number of reasons why Jessica and I knew we had to stop in New York on our cross-country jaunt, but it wound up being first simply based upon proximity.
We had to get out of Boston first, of course. By now, you've probably read Ashlyn's description of my meeting Jessica, which covers everything important. I must admit, I wasn't entirely sure what to make of her. I've worked in a high school library for years, so even though I never had any children of my own, teenagers aren't a great mystery to me. Jessica looks like a certain group of them on the surface - the high-achievers who handle a course load of subjects that most of their parents would cringe at while somehow playing a sport each season and participating in another extracurricular activity or two... And having time to talk about the latest movies and music and having lives worth gossiping about.
I've met a lot of those kids (as you might expect, they tend to hang around the library more), but Jessica is different. She's got neither the apparent belief that she can conquer the world or the insecurity that many of those teens have. She looks like them, with the too-tight jeans and clever t-shirt, but there's a disconcerting maturity and wisdom to her. When she acts like a typical teenager - like shouting "Road Trip!" when Ashlyn suggested that she could help me search for the real Marie, it's like she's imitating her apparent peers, although maybe she's just got an acute awareness of what kind of freedom from expectations she has.
I had only expected to get some pointers or a cell phone number that I could use to ask her for help, so the idea of us traveling across the country to where she's been accepted to college in Pasadena was sort of overwhelming. It was to her mother, too - she insisted on meeting me, which seemed eminently reasonable.
The two of them have a strange relationship. "Jessica" (she hasn't told any of us the name she was born with, yet) has actually lived longer than her adopted mother, and they more like best friends than parent and child sometimes. They got out a map and plotted a route that should get us to California in time for her to start classes, even figuring in a couple of weeks for unscheduled stops. When Jessica went to move some things into her car from her mother's, though, the older woman touched my hand to signal she wanted to speak with me alone for a moment.
You have to understand, she said, I don't really believe you are who you say you are. Not you, not this Ashlyn girl... I don't feel it like I do with Jess. But she does, and I hope the two of you can find what you're looking for. After eight years, there's no way I can get my original Jessie back, but if you can find out she's okay, and safe... And make sure that the girl I've got stays safe too...
I may not have had children, but I've had friends who went into crisis about their teenagers, or had trouble letting go. I've never seen it be easy.
The Drive
Jessica drove the first leg of the trip, while I handled the map. That wasn't really necessary, as it's a trip she's made a few times before, as evidenced by her knowing exactly where to find a new classic rock station on the radio dial when the one she'd been listening to faded out. After a while we ran out of things to chat about, and I started listening to a book on tape somewhere around Hartford.
Initially, we drove around the city, figuring it would be easier to find an inexpensive motel out on Long Island than in the city. One of the people from Arthur and Ashlyn's group came from the area, too, and we thought we might have some luck interviewing his "successor". We didn't, yesterday, but we did at least find a place to stay that was near a Long Island Railroad station. After a few hours in the car, it was nice to stretch out on the beds for a couple minutes.
Jessica has all of our stops planned in a notebook, with four pairs of names written on the page for "New York": Darren Bridger/Jamie Connor - recent, but potentially well-connected, might be worth a courtesy visit at least; Mark Lange/Ginessa Lopez - Blue collar guy, Peruvian immigrant actress; Vinessa Lopez/Nicoleta Fidatov - Ginessa's cousin, also from Peru; and ????/Vinny DeSantis. Mostly from "Ashlyn" and Arthur's group, or connected somehow.
Vinessa/Nicoleta
I have never been to such a large place; before staying at the inn, I was not much of a traveler. Baton Rouge is home, and New Orleans, Boston, and Montreal are big cities themselves, but New York is somehow bigger than all of them put together. I just stared out the window of the train, gawking, as we entered the city, and then even more as we actually stepped outside the station and the buildings seemed to go on forever. I confess I'd been guilty of taking the word "skyscrapers" for granted, not understanding how literally true it was.
Jessica just sort of stood aside grinning. "It is amazing, isn't it? Pity it's full of Yankee fans."
I laughed. "As far as I'm concerned, it's just full of yankees." Then I thought of something. "So, you've gone a little native, being in New England for eight years?"
"As a lifelong Orioles fan, I can hate the Yankees just as well as anybody from Boston. Although, yeah, I have sort of started pulling for the Sox. It's easier when your hometown team is so inept. I still hate the Patriots, though. Of course, I still like the Colts, too." He let me gawk a little more, until I got sick of being shoved past, and then suggested we start looking for our fellow transformees.
The easiest name to track down had been Jaime Connor; from reading the blog we knew Darren was in Tribeca, so all we needed was the phone book. Calling his/her home phone number didn't do us much good during the day. We thought about calling the newspaper, but thought better of it. We'd sent an email to the address Ashlyn had before leaving (the one registered with Blogger), but gotten no reply.
Next up was "Nicoleta Fidatov". She, at least, was listed in the phone book, although when we called the number we were told it had been disconnected. We still had an address, though, and it wasn't much trouble to take the subway there.
Nicoleta's place was sort of on the border between a good and a bad nieghborhood, a third-story walk-up. Jessica could see a light underneath the door, so started banging. "Vinessa, we'd like to talk with you."
The door opened a crack. "How... you know that name?"
"We've been to the inn too," I said.
"Come in. Habla espanol?"
We shook our heads. I said I was afraid not.
"Ah, well." She undid the latch and indicated a couple of chairs. She's pretty in that blonde, eastern European way - a very strong jaw, but kind of skinny, though I'm sure many men would find her body perfect. "You want to sit down?"
We sat. "Your English is very good," I said. "Ashlyn gave the impression you barely spoke."
She shrugged. "I had to. I can't go home. The... new me and new Mark... were married, are again... It's very confusing."
"So... you have contact with them?"
She shook her head. "No, they live in Peru now. Her... my.. visa expired, and he followed her." She started to cry. "Now they want to deport me, but I can't go to Ukraine!"
I moved to sit next to her. "Hey, don't worry... I'm sure there's something you can do."
"I do everything! The man says... The man at INS says Nicoleta did everything, and I do everything, but someone above him... Says someone has it out for us."
Jessica took her glasses off to clean them for a second. "Us?"
Mark/Ginessa
Vinessa had laughed, and asked to use my phone. She dialed a number from memory and asked about clubbing.
I'm still not used to this body; I was quite frankly shocked to find that I was almost the same size as Nicoleta. Sure, her clothes were a little tight on my new bottom and not quite so tight up top, but these things are kind of one size fits all. I felt slightly scandalized looking at myself in the mirror, but also a little impressed; it has been a while since I've tried to dress sexily, but I remember what it was like to be a young woman trying to impress the field.
Putting on club clothes just made Jessica look even younger, and we weren't terribly surprised when the bouncer shook his head at her (Nicoleta knew him, and Vinessa had inherited the relationship). "We can only let so much slide, Nic. You know how it is."
Jessica had sort of been expecting this. "I hate being under twenty-one!" she grumbled, and said she was off to see a movie. Vinessa and I went inside.
Vinessa wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as I was; she may not speak the language that well and may have grown up on another continent, but she was young and single and knows the game. We hung around and danced a little for about an hour before we heard someone call "Nic!"
Ashlyn had described Mark as being "blue collar", but that would hardly be the word I'd use to describe the person who moved across the crowded room like she was wading in shallow water. She was petite, wearing a painted-on dress with a plunging neckline and four-inch heels. She grabbed Vinessa by the hands and air-kissed her cheek. "How are you? It's been weeks?"
"Better, maybe. This is--" She gave me an enquiring look.
"Louisa."
"Nice to meet you, Louisa. How do you know Nic?"
"We've stayed at the same inn, although nearly a year apart. It's nice to meet you, Mark."
She looked surprised, but quickly gave me a hug. "Oh, god, it's so good to meet you! Who were you before?"
"Well, the way I figure it, I'm still Louisa Torrence, even if my passport does say 'Marie Desjardins' now."
"I know what you mean... It's just like that with me!" From the way she touched her chest, with a palm resting on her breast in such a way as to flash a rather large diamond ring, I was beginning to doubt it.
She noticed me staring at the ring, and blushed. "I know, isn't it crazy? But I'm sure Nic--"
"Vinessa."
"Of course. Vinessa. I'm sorry." She turned toward me to say that she doesn't have many opportunities to use real names, so referring to Vinessa as Nicoleta is sort of habit. "Anyway, I'm sure Vinessa has told you about the INS trying to deport us. Fortunately, I had just auditioned for a play, and while the producer didn't think I was right for THAT part... Probably because I didn't have any of Ginny's training... Well, I couldn't let them send me 'back' to Peru. No offense, Vinessa."
I don't understand Spanish, but I suspect Vinessa said something about Peru being glad to let her stay here.
At about ten-thirty, my phone rang; Jessica's movie was done. I told 'Mark' and Vinessa this, and Vinessa was only too glad to get out, although Mark looked a little disappointed.
To be fair, though, she didn't sulk. We met Jessica at one of the million or so pizza places that line the streets in New York, and the former guys got on like a house on fire. Within about ten minutes they were arguing about sports, and Mark seemed to practically glow when (s)he bit into a folded-over slice.
"Mmm... That is so. Fucking. Good. Don't tell my husband, though - he is not keen on the idea of me gaining weight."
More proof that Jessica used to be a guy - she apparently did not inventory Mark's jewelry without prompting, or only registered the big old ring as a sparkly thing. Or she subconsciously couldn't believe it. "Husband? You've only been a woman, what, less than a year?"
"Just about... But circumstances... Well, you know. There was some sort of SNAFU at INS and I was looking at deportation. You do what you've got to do. It's not always so bad."
We talked a bit more, but Jessica just seemed sort of stunned. I asked if they had any contact with the original Ginessa and Nicoleta, and they said no. Vinessa looked particularly pained by that, and I felt for her - she came to look for her cousin almost a year ago, still hasn't found her, but has to put up with another person taking her face and name, while the real Ginessa could be anyone, anywhere.
We took our leave of them, after a quick stop back at Vinessa's for me to change clothes. Then it was back to the train and the hotel.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Arthur: Penny
At least the Dragons' last game was a win. Sure, it wasn't a whole lot of fun to interview a team that's going home, as opposed to the championship weekend in Rochester, but I figure there's a non-trivial difference in attitude between a team that goes 3-9 and ends on a loss and one that goes 4-8 and ends on a win.
The whole thing made for a kind of strange Saturday evening afterward, doing a wrap party with the rest of the CalSports crew. After all, even though we travel with the team and sort of root for them during the broadcast, our success as broadcasters can be considered separately from that of the team on the field, and I guess we did alright by that regard.
Seems kind of unimportant, though. I got a letter from Penelope yesterday.
Well, not from "Penelope", but from "Jeremy Boyd".
The postmark and return address were from Nashville; not a place I'd necessarily be thrilled with settling down, but then again, there's no kid there who will call me Daddy (or Mommy, as the case may be).
I sat there kind of stunned, after reading it. I'm almost in the same position as 'Lyn after Stephen had told her he was keeping her old life, although I was pretty darn close - Nell had just given me her life, like the original Ashlyn had given Jake hers, and it certainly looked like Jeremy intended to keep mine.
After a few minutes, though, I wasn't just stunned any more - I was kind of jolted. I had to do something.
I went to the closet and pulled out the set of four-inch heels I'd initially thought were totally superfluous for a girl as tall as Nell. I did my make-up, combed out my hair, and painted my nails. I found a matching skirt and jacket in the closet and unbuttoned a couple of buttons on the blouse that went with it. Then I hit the road.
When I got to the Raiders' business offices, I didn't waste any time. I asked the receptionist where Arthur Milligan's office was and then walked there like I owned the place. She called him, of course; Nell's a bit recognizable, and it's not as if a member of the media coming to talk with one of the team's public relations people was odd, especially once the pre-season had started. I walked into the office and forcefully shut the door behind me.
It was kind of difficult to keep my exposed knees from knocking, or otherwise appearing nervous. That's why the shoes, and the power suit, and everything. Tall girls intimidate a lot of guys, and a woman who stands six-foot four in heels while he's sitting down? Should be enough to cancel out the jitters I was feeling. It was slight overkill, as it turns out. It's been almost a full year since the last time I looked in my own face, and it was weird, but also easier than I'd been expecting. A year of seeing other faces in the mirror, of knowing other people that this had happened to, of changing a second time... It's left me better able to accept that faces and lives can be exchanged, and that this guy with my name isn't me.
He looked up at me with a smirk. "What took you so long?"
I crossed my arms. "If I'd come earlier, I might have wound up playing your game. I might have actually slept with you because you had something I wanted badly. I might actually have thought that by giving you something that Nell wouldn't, you'd have actually given me my life back. Because that's how it was going to go, wasn't it? And I might have been desperate enough to go for it, even though the end result would have been you snickering about how completely you'd taken my life and manhood."
"And you came here just to tell me that?"
"No." I slapped a copy of Nell's letter down on his desk in front of him, spinning it to face him under a manicured fingernail. "I came to tell you to read this. I came here to make sure you know that the woman you tricked into dealing with your shit knows more about being a man than you ever did."
I leaned forward, letting him get a whiff of perfume and lining up those open buttons up with his eyes so that he had the choice of looking me in the eye or looking at my cleavage. He didn't disappoint. "Oh, and Germy?" He looked up, just a few inches away from my face. I came in a little closer, to whisper in his ear. "No matter what that Inn does to my body, what clothes I wear, and who I fuck... Which will never, ever be you... I'm still more of a man than you're likely to ever be."
And I left, driving from the parking lot straight to the CalSports studios. I was on last night, after all.
The show went well, although people watching it may have noticed me slightly stammering at the end: "That's the Ten O'Clock Report. For all of us here at CalSports, I'm...I'm Penny Lincoln. Good night."
George caught it, at least. "I thought you hated being called 'Penny'?"
It actually felt a little good to hear him say that. "I'm trying something new," I said. "It's time."
-Art/"Penny"
The whole thing made for a kind of strange Saturday evening afterward, doing a wrap party with the rest of the CalSports crew. After all, even though we travel with the team and sort of root for them during the broadcast, our success as broadcasters can be considered separately from that of the team on the field, and I guess we did alright by that regard.
Seems kind of unimportant, though. I got a letter from Penelope yesterday.
Well, not from "Penelope", but from "Jeremy Boyd".
Dear Nell,
It seems strange to write those two words like that, but I'm not sure what else to call you. I hope you are well, and not finding my life too much of a drag. I would have written sooner, but as you might imagine, things were strange. Still are, I guess, but they're a type of strange I can deal with.
When R.J. and I woke up as Jeremy Boyd and Stephen Jeffries, we were both kind of in trouble. Between the time the inn closed down for the winter and when we changed, there were nearly eight months where these people simply fell off the map. Stephen, as a corporate VP who enjoyed a bit of a lavish lifestyle, managed to run up bills even while absent that took a bit of sorting out, and was actually named in a lawsuit that R.J. says is groundless, but managed to gain traction by the very fact of his absence.
For me, the situation was a little more cut and dried: Jeremy Boyd's leave ended something like a week after he changed into Arthur Milligan, so when I awoke in his body, I was facing a desertion charge. Fortunately, the Army is practical about such matters; they figure that there isn't a lot to be gained from chasing, court-martialling, and then imprisoning people who just walk away. They don't make a big deal about it, because otherwise, especially in times like today, they might lose enough people that they'd have to start doing something about it. But if you turn yourself in, you wind up with a couple of weeks in the stockade and then a dishonorable discharge, which was just about the best case scenario. I don't think I'd have backed down if the Army had decided to ship me out, but I know I wouldn't have had the necessary skills to survive very long.
I wound up back in Jeremy's hometown, still weirded out by my body, feeling vaguely ashamed even though I hadn't abandoned anything. I was set to buy a bus ticket west to confront you and "Arthur" - and I mean, not even letting my bags leave the station - but Jeremy's father met me there, gave me a serious look, and said that I should go see Daisy.
Diasy Wright had been something less than Jeremy's girlfriend; really, just someone he knew form high school that he slept with between others. The last time was just before he left for the Trading Post Inn; this time she got pregnant.
Jeremy's son - my son... He's beautiful. You can probably tell from looking in my stuff that I was never a huge girly-girl, but I've always liked kids (I used to love doing summer camps and speeches at schools). It was a difficult pregnancy for Daisy, and she doesn't have much money to begin with...
What can I say, the kid needs a dad, and I'm pretty damn certain I can do a better job than the person who actually fathered him.
So I'm Jeremy Boyd now. I've always liked a challenge, and being a better Jeremy than the man who was born to it seems like it will be a great one. I'll miss my old life, but you seem to be doing okay with it, if what I read on the internet about getting anchor work is true.
Enjoy being Penelope... Or at least find someone who will should you decide to go back to the inn.
Sincerely,
"Jeremy"
The postmark and return address were from Nashville; not a place I'd necessarily be thrilled with settling down, but then again, there's no kid there who will call me Daddy (or Mommy, as the case may be).
I sat there kind of stunned, after reading it. I'm almost in the same position as 'Lyn after Stephen had told her he was keeping her old life, although I was pretty darn close - Nell had just given me her life, like the original Ashlyn had given Jake hers, and it certainly looked like Jeremy intended to keep mine.
After a few minutes, though, I wasn't just stunned any more - I was kind of jolted. I had to do something.
I went to the closet and pulled out the set of four-inch heels I'd initially thought were totally superfluous for a girl as tall as Nell. I did my make-up, combed out my hair, and painted my nails. I found a matching skirt and jacket in the closet and unbuttoned a couple of buttons on the blouse that went with it. Then I hit the road.
When I got to the Raiders' business offices, I didn't waste any time. I asked the receptionist where Arthur Milligan's office was and then walked there like I owned the place. She called him, of course; Nell's a bit recognizable, and it's not as if a member of the media coming to talk with one of the team's public relations people was odd, especially once the pre-season had started. I walked into the office and forcefully shut the door behind me.
It was kind of difficult to keep my exposed knees from knocking, or otherwise appearing nervous. That's why the shoes, and the power suit, and everything. Tall girls intimidate a lot of guys, and a woman who stands six-foot four in heels while he's sitting down? Should be enough to cancel out the jitters I was feeling. It was slight overkill, as it turns out. It's been almost a full year since the last time I looked in my own face, and it was weird, but also easier than I'd been expecting. A year of seeing other faces in the mirror, of knowing other people that this had happened to, of changing a second time... It's left me better able to accept that faces and lives can be exchanged, and that this guy with my name isn't me.
He looked up at me with a smirk. "What took you so long?"
I crossed my arms. "If I'd come earlier, I might have wound up playing your game. I might have actually slept with you because you had something I wanted badly. I might actually have thought that by giving you something that Nell wouldn't, you'd have actually given me my life back. Because that's how it was going to go, wasn't it? And I might have been desperate enough to go for it, even though the end result would have been you snickering about how completely you'd taken my life and manhood."
"And you came here just to tell me that?"
"No." I slapped a copy of Nell's letter down on his desk in front of him, spinning it to face him under a manicured fingernail. "I came to tell you to read this. I came here to make sure you know that the woman you tricked into dealing with your shit knows more about being a man than you ever did."
I leaned forward, letting him get a whiff of perfume and lining up those open buttons up with his eyes so that he had the choice of looking me in the eye or looking at my cleavage. He didn't disappoint. "Oh, and Germy?" He looked up, just a few inches away from my face. I came in a little closer, to whisper in his ear. "No matter what that Inn does to my body, what clothes I wear, and who I fuck... Which will never, ever be you... I'm still more of a man than you're likely to ever be."
And I left, driving from the parking lot straight to the CalSports studios. I was on last night, after all.
The show went well, although people watching it may have noticed me slightly stammering at the end: "That's the Ten O'Clock Report. For all of us here at CalSports, I'm...I'm Penny Lincoln. Good night."
George caught it, at least. "I thought you hated being called 'Penny'?"
It actually felt a little good to hear him say that. "I'm trying something new," I said. "It's time."
-Art/"Penny"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)