Away for the Weekend

The weekend begins better than it means to proceed

Gabriela and Lucinda’s competition is being run by The City of Angels College of Fashion and Design. The founder and president of the college, Taffeta Mackenzie, was once one of the most famous and highly paid models on the international scene. When it was time to step elegantly off the runway and away from the camera, not only did she start her own studio – the iconic Madagascar – she also decided to use her connections and contacts to open a school, which is now one of the most successful design schools in the country. Tonight’s dinner is for the finalists to meet her and some of her senior staff, but it is also for her to meet them. She didn’t get to be where she is today by letting anyone else control things – not even fate. Which means that, though it may not be strictly ethical, Taffeta will only hand over first prize to someone she is behind two hundred percent. This is not a business that runs on sentiment.

“I’m so nervous,” Lucinda is saying as she and Gabriela near the entrance of the most upmarket of the hotel’s restaurants. She tugs at her skirt and pats her hair. “Do you think she’ll know that I come from the boonies?”

“She knows where you come from, Luce. She’s seen your application.” Gabriela stops and puts an arm around her. “Stop worrying. You look terrific.”

“But Taffeta Mackenzie…” Lucinda takes a deep breath. “I mean … she’s practically a legend. What if she doesn’t like us?”

“Oh, please…” Their reflections shimmer in the immaculate glass doors. What’s not to like? “We’re finalists. That means she already likes us.” Gabriela winks. “We just have to make sure that she likes us the best.” The doors open silently as they reach them. “Look straight ahead and smile like you’re filled with inner serenity,” Gabriela orders, and they glide through.

At a table in the farthest corner of the room they see Taffeta (unmistakable in a floral-print, stretch-satin dress that only she could have designed), her colleagues (simply but elegantly turned out) and the other finalists – Nicki, Isla, Hattie and Paulette – all of them, as Gabriela predicted, dressed to seriously injure if not actually kill (but in an oh-so-last-week kind of way).

“Oh my God!” Lucinda squeezes Gabriela’s hand as if she were the last drop of toothpaste in the tube. “We’re late. Everybody’s here already. Taffeta will think we’re unreliable. Now what do we do?”

“We’re not late.” Gabriela wouldn’t think twice about keeping the President waiting while she gets her hair right, but she’d rather go bald than be late for Taffeta Mackenzie. “They’re all early.” Hoping to score points and make her and Lucinda look bad. “Didn’t I tell you we can’t even blink around them? They’re like hungry lions. Show any sign of weakness and you’re dinner.”

“Oh, no…” moans Lucinda. “I don’t know if I’m up to this. Those girls are way more sophisticated than I—”

“You have nothing to worry about.” Gabriela straightens her shoulders and raises her chin. “You’re with me.”

As if Gabriela’s movements have sent a signal across the room, Taffeta glances at the watch on her wrist and then looks over at the door. Eight on the dot. Ignoring the fact that Nicki is talking to her, she waves, her smile of approval moving from Lucinda to Gabriela and settling on her like a laser.

“Oh my God!” breathes Lucinda. “Look at Taffeta’s face. She’s happy to see us!”

Gabriela returns Taffeta’s smile. “What did I tell you?” Her lips barely move as she talks. “Come on, let’s show the competition how to schmooze.”

Lucinda beside her, Gabriela moves slowly towards the table, confident and cool, all the while hearing the presenter’s voice in her head: And now here comes Gabriela Menz, wearing a dress she designed and made herself – a simple silk sheath in tropical fruit over matching lace leggings with a beaded, spider-web scarf and pearl-grey wedges.

Taffeta rises to greet them. “I’m Taffeta Mackenzie. Lucinda Abbot, right?” She extends her hand. “And you must be Gabriela Menz.” Her eyes move down the simple silk sheath in tropical fruit. “I recognize your style.”

Though the other contestants keep smiling, glances move between them like fleas between dogs, suddenly aware that if Taffeta Mackenzie has a favourite, it isn’t one of them.

Taffeta introduces her colleagues – her deputy, the Dean of Students, the head of Admissions, the Careers Advisor. “And I believe you girls have already met?” She gestures vaguely at the others, as if she’s already forgotten their names.

“Yeah, we came from the airport together,” says Nicki.

Hattie and Isla nod.

Paulette, whose smile looks as if a stiff wind would crack it, says, “Wow, that’s an awesome dress, Gabriela.” She wrinkles her nose. “But, you know, it looks kind of familiar. Would I have seen it somewhere?”

Gabriela has no trouble recognizing a challenge when she hears one. So it’s going to be like that, is it? “Well, I don’t know…” Her smile could only be sweeter if it were carved out of sugar. “Do you watch a lot of old movies?”

“Old movies? You mean like from the nineties or something?”

“No, older.” Gabriela lets the scarf fall off her shoulder. “I got the idea for this dress from this movie I watched that was made in the thirties. It was in black and white! Can you believe it? No colour! Anyway, the woman who ends up ruining her life, she had this incredible negligee.”

Hattie gives an embarrassed laugh, though not, of course, for herself. “Isn’t that just like copying?”

“I didn’t copy it,” says Gabriela. “I was inspired. I changed everything about it – the length, the material, the fall of the skirt – all I kept was its essence.”

Taffeta touches her shoulder. “That’s the kind of creativity I like to see. That’s what real art is all about.” She removes her Hermes Birkin from the chair beside hers. “Why don’t you sit next to me?”

Gabriela’s night goes on from there, rising as effortlessly and brightly as a helium balloon. She can’t remember ever enjoying herself more. It’s like every fantasy she’s ever had come true. Gabriela loves her friends – her friends are great – but though they like to shop and wear clothes as much as the next girl, they do have other interests. They don’t look at the shell of a tortoise and think: wow, that pattern would look great on a coat. They don’t look at a dress in a movie or in a store window and think: drop the neckline, make it longer, add ties and only wear it with ankle boots. She’s never been with so many people with the same interests – and with the same passion. They talk; they laugh; they share thoughts and ideas on everything from tatted collars and tailored skirts to strapless bras and open-toed shoes. Taffeta has a million stories about Hollywood, LA and the fashion industry, and drops celebrity names the way a waiter roller skating on ice drops dishes. Even Nicki, Paulette, Hattie and Isla warm up as the night goes on. Still guarded but not as prickly, they no longer want to push Gabriela down the nearest laundry chute; they just want to be her.

By the time Taffeta says that they’d all better get their beauty sleep since they have a big day tomorrow, the restaurant is almost empty.

“That was awesome,” Lucinda whispers as she and Gabriela follow the others out. “That was totally awesome. And Taffeta really, really likes you.”

Gabriela, too happy to speak, just smiles. This is so definitely her lucky day.

But, as things will turn out, tomorrow not so much.

The dinner for the Tomorrow’s Writers Today group is being held in one of the hotel’s smaller function rooms on the main floor. There are five categories in the competition – fiction, non-fiction, journalism, poetry and drama – and four contestants shortlisted in each category. Tonight’s event brings together all the contestants for the first time, as well as representatives from the corporate sponsors, all dressed like the President attending a summit and wearing the same kind of all-purpose smiles.

Beth and Delila are ten minutes early, but already there are people sitting at all four tables. They stop in the doorway for a few seconds so that Beth, who of course is sorry she couldn’t reply immediately, can answer the text her mother sent her while they were coming downstairs.

“Shoosh, man, will you look at them?” Delila sees no need to whisper. “I feel like I’m in court, there are so many suits.”

Beth, having assured her mother that she’ll double-check about nuts, looks up. Delila’s right about the suits. Indeed, the only people – male or female, judge, student or waiter – who aren’t wearing one are Delila (who is wearing a turquoise, orange, light green and yellow tunic over orange cotton trousers) and Beth (who is wearing her new grey dress).

But the sight of all these suits doesn’t make Beth think that she’s in court. It makes her think that the other contestants are all here for their college interviews – with Harvard, Princeton or Yale. And, from the look of them, that they’re bound to get their first choices.

“You think I should go back and change?” whispers Beth. She doesn’t want to stand out. Ooh, who’s the girl who didn’t dress for dinner? “Maybe I’m too casual.”

“Too casual?” Delila gives her a you-really-take-the-last-piece-of-cake look out of the corner of her eyes. “You look like a pilgrim. All you need’s a white handkerchief on your head.”

“I have a skirt and blazer my mom got me for my grandmother’s funeral.” That might be better. It almost looks like a suit. “I cou—”

“Listen,” says Delila. “You have got to stop worrying like you do. It’s not really conducive to your mental health – or mine.” She shakes her head. “Man, I’m surprised you ever leave the house in case an air conditioner lands on your head.”

It’s falling pianos that Beth usually worries about.

“Here’s the rule,” Delila tells her. “You don’t worry about nothing until it happens. After you break your leg – that’s when you start worrying about how you’re going to climb Mount Everest on crutches. Not before.”

“I can’t help it if I have a sensitive nature.”

“Sensitive nature, my Aunt Winnie’s goitre,” says Delila, eloquent as only a poet can be. “What you have is a sensitive mother.”

Beth’s phone makes the grunting sound that means it’s getting another message from her sensitive mother.

“And as for that instrument of torture…” Delila glares at the small, black rectangle in her room-mate’s hand. If Delila had magical powers, Beth would be holding a handful of ash. “You don’t want to be rude, do you? Sitting there texting your mom in the middle of supper.”

The last thing Beth wants is to be rude.

“Right,” says Delila. “So put it on vibrate and put it away.”

Born to take orders, Beth does as she’s told.

They’ve been seated at table 4, with Professor Cybelline Gryck, a leading authority on the Norse sagas. Professor Gryck is the chief organizer of both the competition and the weekend.

At the sight of the group at table 4, Beth’s temperature drops and her stomach clenches tighter than a miser’s fist around a nugget of gold. “I’m getting a bad feeling,” she whispers to Delila. One of the reasons for this bad feeling is Professor Gryck herself, of course. She is a tall, large-boned woman whose stern and rather formal appearance intimidates Beth, suggesting as it does that she’d take off points if you forgot to cross a “t” or dot an “i”. Another reason is the three girls with her, all of whom, even from across the room, exude the confidence of dictators. Forget the interviews, they all look as if they’re already at Harvard and are attending a sorority mixer. They certainly don’t look as if they go to high schools – not like the one that Beth attends anyway.

Delila continues to pull her forward. “You have a bad feeling? So what else is new? The stars come out at night?”

Professor Gryck and the girls are in earnest conversation – nodding and gesticulating and no doubt reinventing postmodern literary theory – but, as if they’re not just brilliant but psychic as well, all four heads turn to look at Beth and Delila while they are still several yards away. Professor Gryck waves graciously, but the girls look Beth up and down with smiles as thin as piano wire and noses pointed towards the ceiling – as if they can tell that her mother is a cleaner; that Beth has never read Proust; that she has deodorizers in her shoes.

If she were alone, Beth would probably apologize and excuse herself to go the ladies’ room, to deep breathe and try to think of a few really clever things to say before she returned to the table. (Either that or simply sob and throw up.) But she is not alone, of course. She is with Delila Greaves. Delila doesn’t care how thin the smiles are or how high the noses. Henry VIII couldn’t intimidate Delila. As her grandfather Johnson would say, those girls are going to be just as dead as Delila when the time comes, so what’s to be so arrogant about? She gives them a big you-can-have-the-leftovers grin. She repeats everybody’s name in her let’s-make-sure-they-hear-me-in-Bel-Air voice – Esmeralda … Aricely … Jayne – asks them where they’re from and what they write, and shakes their hands as if she’s glad to meet them. Somehow, when they’re ready to take their seats, Beth is sitting between Delila and Professor Gryck.

Beth doesn’t want to sit next to Professor Gryck, who makes her feel even more nervous than people in authority usually do. She’d rather take her chances with Jayne, the playwright, Aricely the poet, or Esmeralda the non-fiction writer. She’s going to have to go to the restroom. And very quickly. She pushes back her chair, and knocks her fork to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Beth mumbles to no one in particular, and bends down to retrieve it at the same moment as Professor Gryck. “I’m so sorry.” There doesn’t seem to be any blood on the professor, but she touches her own forehead just to make sure. “I really am sorry. I—”

“So you’re Beth Beeby,” says Professor Gryck. “I was hoping I’d bump into you – though not, perhaps, literally.” Even her smile looks serious. “I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your story.”

The phone in Beth’s pocket starts to vibrate as the bad feeling starts to go away. “You did?”

“Immensely. I couldn’t help thinking of Don Delillo. Would he happen to be an influence?”

And that’s how the evening begins. They talk about writers they admire, novels they love, poems that have inspired them, their favourite books when they were children. Beth’s love of writing being greater than her fear of failure or falling short, she manages to hold her own against Aricely, Esmeralda and Jayne, all of whom seem to have swallowed whole libraries and committed them to memory. The only person who mentions names that Beth has never heard of is Delila, but that’s all right because none of the others have heard of the names she mentions either.

“Diane di Prima?” says Aricely. “John Trudell? Are you sure they’re poets?”

“Sure as I am that you’re sitting there telling me that they aren’t,” says Delila.

It happens that Professor Gryck, too, suffers from allergies and agrees that if there is even the slightest chance that Beth’s meal has been contaminated with nuts it should be sent back. When Beth has a sneezing fit (probably because of something the napkins were washed in), Professor Gryck asks the waiter to bring her paper napkins from the bar. When Beth feels a twinge over her right eye, Professor Gryck fishes a box of painkillers from her bag.

After the meal, Professor Gryck gives a welcoming speech and introduces the men who have come on behalf of the sponsors – a company that makes sports clothes, a soda company and a company that has made cheap hamburgers more globally accessible than water. “There was a time,” says Professor Gryck, “when international corporations wanted to teach the world to sing, but now they’re far more interested in getting it to read and write.” Everyone claps.

By the time the evening ends, Beth has enjoyed herself so much that it isn’t until they’re walking to the elevators that she remembers Lillian Beeby, sitting at home thinking of things that might be going wrong.

“I’d better call my mother.” Beth slows down to get out her phone. “Tell her what a good time I had.”

“What did I say?” says Delila. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

But this, unfortunately, isn’t quite true.

It’s late. In many parts of the world, this is the hour when people who are out go home, and people who are at home go to bed. But not in Los Angeles, of course. Here, the night is bright not with a million stars but a million lights, most of them in colours never seen on a rainbow, the streets busy and the roads busier. Which means that there are plenty of heads to turn as the candy-apple-red sports car weaves almost miraculously through traffic at a speed that should (but doesn’t) have several patrol cars behind it, sirens screaming. Not only is it a vintage model rarely seen even in Hollywood, but although it isn’t raining its wipers sweep back and forth (because no one knows how to turn them off) and something that once grew in someone’s front yard is caught in the grill.

As eye-catching as the car are its occupants. A young man dressed rather like a CIA agent in pre-revolution Havana in a white linen suit, Panama hat and dark glasses despite the hour, sits rigidly in the passenger seat, his legs stretched out in the “braking” position; his hands gripping the dashboard like bryozoans glued to the side of a rock. Driving (for lack of a better word) is a young woman wearing farmer’s overalls and a feather boa that keeps slapping her companion in the face. He is handsome in what an artist might describe as a classical way; her ethereal beauty is oddly heightened by her bright blue hair and the silver stud shaped like a star in her nose. Both of them are talking at once, but they aren’t having a conversation. The young man is praying rather fervently and the young woman is singing a song of welcome to California – loudly but off-key. The car makes a sudden, heart-halting turn onto Sunset Boulevard.

“Hallelujah!” cries Remedios. “We’re almost there! Was that an awesome ride, or what?”

“Awesome isn’t really the way I’d describe it,” says Otto. Frightening. Terrifying. Perilous. Undoubtedly largely illegal. “It was even worse than the plane.”

And considerably longer.

Remedios isn’t listening to Otto. She has already learned how to turn his voice into background noise – like the sounds of traffic and aircraft overhead and the constant twenty-first-century electronic hum. Not listening to Otto makes everything so much easier. She looks around with a happy smile. “I know it’s been a few years and everything, but I can’t believe how much this place has changed since the last time I was here.” The last time Remedios was here was over two hundred years ago. There were no lights or cars or sprawling communities or freeways then, of course. The floodplain was still covered with woods; the woods were filled with bears and deer; and the chapel was about to be built on the plaza. The fact that so much has changed in the intervening years is one of the reasons it’s taken them so long to get from the airport to the hotel. That and nearly being hit by a bus, the incident at the gas station, and then that woman getting so hysterical over a few uprooted weeds. “I can’t wait to see the sights,” she says.

Otto can. Even this brief an acquaintance with the city has made him think that several other places where he was very unhappy may not have been so bad after all. Otto, who has yet to let go of the dashboard, says, “I want to go home.”

“And where would that be?” Remedios squints through the windscreen, looking for the hotel. It should be coming up on the right. Or possibly the left.

“Jeremiah, Remedios. Where do you think?”

“But we just got here. We haven’t even checked in yet.”

“And we’re not going to,” says Otto. “I don’t know how I let you convince me that this was a reasonable idea. I should have stopped you right from the start. I insist that we leave. Immediately.”

“But why?”

“Why?” His voice is almost the same pitch as the screech of brakes behind them as Remedios makes a last-second turn into the driveway of The Hotel Xanadu on what seems to be only part of one wheel. “You’re asking me why?”

“Yes, I am. We are allowed to go away for the weekend. Especially on business.” They slip into the line of cars waiting to be parked. “This is one of the most exciting places in the world, Otto.” Unlike Jeremiah where the most exciting thing to happen in the last year was when the mailbox outside the post office was struck by lightning. She gives him a playful nudge. It’s like poking a brick wall. “We’re going to have fun!”

“No, we’re not. We’re going to get into trouble, that’s what we’re going to do. Gargantuan trouble.” Trouble, undoubtedly, of Biblical proportions. “This is going to be a disaster, Remedios, and you know it. We’re not supposed to meddle like this. The rules are very clear about that.”

Remedios makes her mouth very small. Rules are for fools. “There are precedents.”

“Yes, but most of those precedents were set by you.” Otto makes his mouth very hard. “And in any case, my understanding is that those were matters of global importance. These girls’ problems aren’t in the same league at all.” Though it’s likely that they will be after Remedios is through with them.

“There are no small problems, only small angels,” parrots Remedios.

“Remedios, that’s not the point. The point is that it’s not up to us to decide who wins or loses these contests. That’s not part of our brief.”

Remedios groans. She doesn’t have time for this. By now, both girls have long finished eating, and soon they’ll be going back to their rooms. This is her chance – possibly the only one she’ll get – to do what she’s really come to do. “It’ll be fine. I told you. The chances are they’ll both win without my help.”

“Then there’s no reason for us to be here, is there?”

She groans again. “Yes, Otto, there is. In ca—”

“No, Remedios, not in case they don’t win.” He shakes his head. “That’s interfering. That’s precisely what I’m supposed to be here to prevent.”

“If you spent any time in the girls’ toilets, Otto, and heard poor Beth sobbing and vomiting you’d be more sympathetic.”

“Remedios, please.” What a thought! “And in any case, I’m certain you’ve never heard Gabriela crying or being sick.”

“Of course not. It’s different for Gabriela. Gabriela’s problem is that everything’s too easy for her. She needs to really have to push—” Remedios breaks off as she accidentally honks the horn and squirts water on the windscreen.

Several people look over. Otto flinches. It’s a miracle he has any nerves left.

“Then what you should be doing is guiding them to a better mental state, not fixing the competitions,” he says.

Suffering seraphim, how is she supposed to accomplish anything with Mr No-you-can’t around? No wonder she’s had to resort to deceit. Her voice takes on a tone of regret. “I knew I should never have told you.”

“Oh, no, telling me your plan is the only thing you’ve done right so far.” He lifts his sunglasses so she can see the look of stern disapproval he’s giving her. “You had to tell me. And I have to stop you. This isn’t as bad as what you pulled in Haiti, Constantinople, Tenochtitlan, medieval Cologne and all those other places, Remedios, but I still can’t allow it.” Before she knows what’s happening, he reaches over and snatches the keys from the ignition and holds them outside his door. “I’m not discussing this any more. I’ve made up my mind. We’re going back to Jeremiah.”

Not if she can help it. The time has come for even more deceit. She has no choice. “I am just trying to help the girls, Otto. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”

“Not like this.”

She gives a sigh of defeat. “Isn’t there anything I can say to persuade you?”

“No. No, there is not.” Unused to victory, he feels almost sorry for her. “I blame myself. I shouldn’t have let it get this far.”

She shakes her head. Sadly. “No, you were right. It’s all my fault. It’s just that I really feel for them. Especially poor Beth.”

“I know. Beth does have a hard time.” He has to resist the urge to pat her knee. “But we have to go by the book.”

“Okay. From now on, we go by the book.” She sighs again. “So what do you want to do?”

“I want to go back to Jeremiah and forget the whole thing. Put it behind us.”

“You know, you look really tired.” Remedios’ voice is gentle, her smile full of concern. “It was probably that flight. And that was my fault, too.”

He’s not used to her being nice to him, it makes him feel generous towards her. “I’ll be fine. I just need a little time to recuperate.”

“Hey, I have an idea.” Remedios sounds as if she’s surprised herself. “It’s already late. Why don’t we stay here for the night?” She gives him another concerned smile. “Then we can make an early start in the morning.”

He lifts the glasses again to peer at her. “This isn’t one of your tricks, is it?”

“Otto! I wouldn’t trick you.”

“Yes, you would. I have been warned, you know.”

“OK, OK. So maybe in the past I’ve been a little flexible with the truth now and then. But I’m not messing with your head now. It’s been a stressful trip. And it is very tiring dealing with a body. And we do have a very nice suite booked.”

He is tired. And it has definitely been a stressful trip. “All right, but you’re not going off on your own. I want to know where you are every second. Every fraction of a second.”

“It’ll be like we’re handcuffed together.” Remedios lifts herself out of the car as the valet approaches. She points to Otto. “He has the keys.”

If the desk clerk thinks there is anything unusual about the couple booked into the El Dorado Suite, she doesn’t show it. She is courteous and friendly. She hopes they enjoy their stay. She hopes everything is to their satisfaction. She asks three times if they’re sure they don’t need help with their bags. She hands back Remedios’ platinum credit card with a smile. “If there’s anything I or anyone else on the staff can do for you, Ms Mendoza, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Remedios says she won’t.

“Maybe we should have asked for help,” Otto grumbles as they make their way to the elevators. “I don’t know why you brought so much luggage.”

“So we look like tourists, of course. You can’t come to a joint like this without luggage.” She takes a step back as the elevator doors open and people get out.

Otto steps inside, but when he turns around she is still in the foyer.

“Remedios!”

“I left my wallet at the desk!” She makes a what-can-you-do? gesture. “I’ll just go and get it. I’ll be right behind you.”

“You’d better be,” says Otto as the doors slide together. “I’ll be counting the minutes.”

As Otto’s elevator starts to ascend, the descending elevator suddenly stops on the seventh floor. Remedios looks down the hallway. There are quite a few people coming towards the elevators. And among them, of course, are Beth, talking to her mother and not really looking where she’s going, and Gabriela, glancing at her reflection in a mirror she’s passing.

By the time the girls reach Remedios, the second elevator has finally arrived and its doors are about to open. Although she’s been waiting there the longest, Remedios is the last to get in, taking a place between Gabriela and Beth, both of whom are absorbed in themselves. As the doors silently shut, she allows herself a small but self-satisfied smile.

The truth is Remedios never planned to fix the competitions. That was simply something she told Otto to distract him from what she really intended. She would have made a good conman. Which shell is the pea under? That one? That one? Why, no, it’s under here!

What she always intended was to put Beth in Gabriela’s body, and Gabriela in Beth’s. She doesn’t give a feather whether or not the girls win or lose their competitions. What she wants is for them to look at the world and themselves from a different point of view.

The elevator rises very slowly, but only one of its passengers notices. Timing is everything. She could make the switch and have them realize what happened in a matter of seconds, but for it to do them any good they have to be kept isolated. She doesn’t want them joining forces or making a fuss. And she especially doesn’t want them joining forces or making a fuss when Otto’s around. The last thing she needs is for him to discover what she’s really up to. It’s better if the girls don’t realize what’s happened until they wake up in the morning – by which time Remedios and Otto will have gone from the hotel, and he won’t have any idea of what they’ve left behind.

On the top floor, Otto has finally given up trying to unlock their suite with the electronic key and, with a glance over his shoulder to make certain no one is watching, simply wills the door to open itself. And as the second elevator stops on Beth’s floor, Remedios lightly touches both her and Gabriela, and simply wills them to swap.

Being an angel definitely has many advantages over being a magician.