Away for the Weekend

And so the day begins

“This is the first chance I’ve had. It’s been like a sled dog race since we got here – all go-go-go,” Lucinda is saying into her phone as she steps into the hall. “We’re on our way downstairs. The car’s picking us up— Of course it’s a limo… This is Hollywood, remember?” Her laughter bounces down the corridor of identical doors. “Oh, it’s awesome. Totally awesome. I wish you were here. You would die! Really. You can’t even imagine. It makes Maine look like it’s on another planet. You know, the poor-cousin planet…” Lucinda is talking to her best friend back home. “I know… I know, but I really lucked out. My room-mate’s the best. She’s like a fashion genius. It’s awesome. I’d be more nervous than a moose in hunting season if I didn’t have her… I mean, you should see the other contestants. Man, they are sooo scary…”

Lucinda sashays down the hall in a polka-dot skirt that, to the eyes of some, is little more than a ruffle.

Normally, Lucinda’s comments about the other contestants would strike as much terror in Beth’s heart as a madman with a chainsaw, but she has more to worry about than them at the moment. She’s learning how to walk. Teetering on heels like chopsticks, Beth grasps the door frame and looks both ways before following. She wanted to wear the trainers she found at the bottom of Gabriela’s bag of shoes (brought in case they played tennis), but Lucinda wouldn’t let her. Lucinda said that she gets how edgy and original Gabriela is, but, to be really honest?, even she would look like a hick in them. Apparently, it’s better to risk permanent spinal damage than look like a hick.

Beth shuts the door behind her and takes a few tentative steps. Every time she moves, something swings or jingles (earrings, bracelets, the chotskys hanging off her shoes and bag and pinned into her hair). Lucinda walks as if she’s crossing a carpet of rose petals being thrown by smiling admirers; Beth walks as if she’s in a typhoon and she’s crossing a carpet of JELL-O. Right foot, left foot … right foot, left foot … She doesn’t actually hold on to the wall, but she stays close to it – just in case. She gives a silent prayer of thanks when they finally get into the elevator.

Lucinda loses her signal. Finding herself in a phone-free zone, she says, “I meant that, Gab. I am just so glad you’re my roomie. I really would feel like I was from another planet if it wasn’t for you.”

You may not think that for much longer, thinks Beth. And takes a deep breath as the doors open and they step from the elevator.

There are four girls across the lobby – a blonde, a redhead, a brunette and one with champagne-pink hair – all pretty, all dressed from the kind of magazine that Beth never reads. Indeed, they are so perfectly turned out that they might be mannequins lined up by the front window like palm trees on an oasis. They have obviously been waiting for them, because Beth has barely tottered out of the elevator when they suddenly come to life, smiling and waving. “Gabriela! Lucinda! Over here!”

Lucinda waves back. Beth can’t risk a wave – she’ll fall over.

The girls are carrying on as if she and Lucinda are their new best friends, but Beth sees the look in their eyes as they cross the room: they’re being scored.

“Lucinda!” shrieks the redhead. “What an awesome outfit! Nobody’d ever think you come from the backwoods of Maine!”

So at least that’s one mystery solved; her room-mate’s name is Lucinda.

Lucinda tightens her smile and returns the gush. “And what about you, Isla? You look fantabulous!” But under her breath mutters, “For someone who comes from a major urban area teeming with vice and violence.”

For the first time this morning, Beth feels like laughing, but it’s a feeling that passes quickly as the blonde’s eyes clamp on her like handcuffs. “Good Lord, Gabriela!” Her voice is sweet enough to cause toothache. “What absolutely amazing pants.” And her smile could freeze rock. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were wearing pyjamas.”

“They’re trousers.” Beth avoids even a glance at Lucinda, though she knows that Lucinda is glancing at her. Lucinda tried to talk her out of wearing the spare pyjama bottoms – the only article of clothing Gabriela owns that comes below the knees (no one will ever accuse her of looking like a Pilgrim) – but Beth wouldn’t be talked. The shoes are bad enough; she can’t stagger around on them and spend the day worrying that every time she climbs a staircase some guy is looking up her skirt as well.

“Well, they sure look like pyjamas,” says the blonde. “My Mom had a pair like that in pearl grey.”

“They’re silk,” chimes in Lucinda. “Pure silk.”

“So were my Mom’s.”

“I suppose it’s not a bad look, even if people might think you just got out of bed and didn’t have time to dress,” muses the brunette, her eyes on Beth’s legs. “Were they inspired by an old movie, too?”

“At least you’re not inspired by the sixties,” says Isla, “or you’d be wearing bell-bottoms.”

Lucinda’s laugh flops between them like a dying fish.

“And … oh my God!” The girl with the champagne-pink hair and the nose ring leans towards Beth. “Can I believe my wondering eyes? You’re not wearing any make-up! Not a drop!”

Amazingly enough, considering that she’s almost paralyzed with tension, Beth can hear Lucinda’s words to her friend on the phone. I’d be more nervous than a moose in hunting season if I didn’t have her… Man, they are sooo scary… Now she understands what Lucinda meant. She’s only known these girls a few minutes and already they’re annoying her. She smiles so they can’t possibly know just how much. “It’s this really subtle, natural look,” says Beth. “It’s all the rage in Europe. Heavy make-up’s considered so passé.”

Hattie pretends to yawn. “And no make-up’s considered so primitive here.”

“Practically Neanderthal,” murmurs Isla.

“Oh, you are so funny, Gab!” Lucinda laughs again, turning to the others. “Don’t you think she’s just hilarious?”

“That’s a joke?” says Nicki. “That make-up’s passé?”

“Well, I don’t know about hilarious, but you’re pretty brave – or insane,” says Isla. “I mean, it is daylight.”

“The only person who sees me without make-up is my mother,” says Hattie.

Paulette smiles like a movie star who just became the face of a billion-dollar ad campaign. “I wonder what Taffeta’s going to think,” she croons. “I mean, you saw how she does her face. No one’s told her make-up’s passé.”

“Oh my God, Taffeta!” gasps Lucinda. “Isn’t she just awesome? She was even more impressive than I expected.”

This, at last, is something they can all agree on. Taffeta is definitely awesome. Remember her winter collection? Remember what she wore to the Academy Awards? Remember when she was invited to the White House? Remember the dress she made for that royal wedding? Taffeta proves to be the doorway to other conversations – conversations that have nothing to do with Beth, her naked face or her pyjamas. It gives Beth the small comfort of something for which she can be grateful.

She has no idea what they’re talking about. Clothes. Fashion. Names she’s never heard of. Things she’s never heard of, either. Colour cues … princess seams … basque waist … placket … back yoke … ringspun fabric … trend boards… But she acts as though she does know. She owes loyal Lucinda that much. When she hears a word she recognizes – “shoe” or “hemline” – she perks up like a dog who’s heard her name. When they laugh, Beth laughs. When they fizz with agreement, she fizzes. When they roll their eyes and groan and sigh because they’ve spotted someone wearing some outrage against fashion or good dress sense, she rolls and groans and sighs too. But, of course, she has nothing to say, so she says nothing and smiles like a doll.

Everybody looks at them. The men and boys look twice. And not (as you might think) because they can’t believe that these girls can stand there, their heels holding them six inches off the ground and their spines pitched forward, wearing so little that it’s a miracle they’re all not blue and shivering from the air conditioning. They smile at them; they wink. Yesterday, when Beth walked through this lobby she was virtually invisible – bumped into and shoved; hit with someone’s golf clubs; trodden on by someone else. But today she is one of the fashionistas, under a spotlight; attracting appreciative smiles, good mornings and hellos. When Lucinda accidentally whacks someone with her bag, the other person apologizes. When Nicki drops her phone, two guys stop to pick it up. The manager passes them with a nod, “You young ladies have a nice day.” Beth fidgets and tries not to notice. It’s like being under constant surveillance. No wonder they spend so much time getting dressed.

Losing the thread of the conversation again, Beth glances towards the entrance to the restaurant. Is Gabriela in there right now? Even if she could get away from her group and hobble all the way to the other side of the lobby before the car comes, she wouldn’t. How could she ever stop herself from bursting into tears in front of Professor Gryck and everyone else? But still she keeps glancing over towards the room where she should be. And that’s when she finally notices the guy standing just outside the restaurant entrance. There’s something peculiar about him. Besides the fact that he looks as if he’s just stepped out of a Graham Greene novel. Something not right. It’s undoubtedly because of her state of agitation that she thinks so, but he looks faintly luminous. She squints. He really does, as if he’s lit from behind. And even though he’s wearing sunglasses, Beth suddenly realizes that he’s standing there because he’s watching her. She couldn’t feel his gaze more surely if it had weight and force. Why is he watching her? He could be some Hollywood type, of course. A director. Or an agent. Or a talent scout. It could be that. He’s thinking of discovering Gabriela. But he hasn’t moved a muscle in minutes; he just stands there like a pillar of light. Maybe he’s not a Hollywood type. Maybe he’s just a regular, run-of-the-mill pervert. Maybe that’s why he’s watching her. Can he see her underwear through the silk? She moves her bag to her outside hip.

Nicki says something that makes the others laugh, and although she actually has no idea what it is Nicki said, Beth laughs, too.

Or is it her breasts? Beth’s not used to having breasts. Not like these. And if she were, she’d cover them up more than is possible with any of the clothes Gabriela’s brought with her. There isn’t even a sweater or a jacket in case it gets cold. All Beth could find was a sparkly, tissuey scarf that she’s wrapped round her neck, but it doesn’t so much cover her breasts as hang off them like an epiphyte from a cliff. She turns slightly, trying to shift them from his field of vision.

She wishes the limo would come. Lucinda keeps giving her what’s-wrong-with-you? frowns and Paulette keeps looking over, scrutinizing her, as if there’s something different about Gabriela’s appearance but she can’t put her finger on what. Nicki, Hattie and Isla have all stopped talking long enough to comment on how quiet she is. You weren’t like this last night. Besides wanting to get away from Mr Peculiar, Beth really would like to sit down. Her muscles are beginning to ache. And her back. She can see the reflection of the man in the hat and the white suit, ghost-like in the window. But she doesn’t see the car.

“What I’m really looking forward to is Madagascar,” says Hattie. “I can’t wait to go there.”

The others agree. Cool… Mega… Awesome… Fabulous…

Madagascar. Unlike famous designers, models, celebrities and terms belonging exclusively to the industry of fashion, Madagascar is actually something with which Beth is familiar. “Wow, Madagascar,” she says, grateful to be distracted from the man in the suit. “I’d love to go there. Did you know that they have six different species of baobab? And there are ninety-nine species of lemur that are only found there. It’s like a lost world.”

If Beth were paying attention, which she isn’t, she might at this moment fully understand the expression “the silence is deafening”. Her five companions stare at her with varying degrees of incomprehension. Paulette, Hattie, Isla and Nicki’s mouths all form Os of surprise. Surprise and sudden understanding. Something has changed; they see weakness where they saw none before. Last night, Gabriela was the obvious leader; today she’s not. Today she’s barely part of the group. Lucinda’s incomprehension is tinged with fear. She doesn’t doubt Gabriela for a second – geniuses can be really weird, everybody knows that – but she sees the sharks circling in the water. If Gabriela goes down, Lucinda goes with her. Beth, however, notices none of this.

Nicki takes it upon herself to speak for the group. “You what?”

“Madagascar,” Beth repeats. “It’s—”

“A joke,” Lucinda cuts in. “Isn’t it, Gab?” She turns to the others. “You know… Madagascar, the country…? Madagascar, Taffeta’s fashion house…?”

“Another joke?” says Paulette. “Maybe you should be a stand-up comic and not a designer.”

“Look!” yells Lucinda. “There’s the car.”

Thanking God for the Industrial Revolution and Henry Ford, Beth follows the others outside, and so doesn’t see who comes out of the restaurant just then.

Gabriela tried to get away from Delila so she could talk to Beth – oh, how she tried – but Delila, it seems, combines the physique of a quarterback with the dogged determination of one.

As soon as they got to the elevator, Gabriela remembered something she needed that she’d left in the room.

“Silly old me,” she said to Delila. “You go ahead and I’ll catch up.”

Delila refused. “You’re not leaving me alone with the weird sisters, not even for five minutes,” said Delila. “I’m coming with you.”

When they were almost at the entrance to the restaurant, Gabriela decided that she had to use the ladies’ room.

“I’ll only be a minute. You go on in.”

Although Delila’s arms weren’t folded in front of her and she wasn’t making her there-are-no-stupid-children-in-my-family face, she sounded as if she were. “I thought you used the facilities before we left the room.”

“I did. But I have to use them again. You know, it’s nerves.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Delila. “I have nerves, too.”

When they finally made it into the restaurant, Gabriela just wanted to pop into the store in the lobby to get a bottle of water for what promised to be a gruelling morning ahead. “You order for me,” said Gabriela. “Fruit cup and the largest cappuccino they have. I’ll be right back.”

“What’s the big rush?” Delila thinks that Beth may be having a mini-breakdown. She’s definitely the type. When the woman next door (who is also definitely the type) had her breakdown, she was just going out for a loaf of bread one minute and naked in Rite Aid the next. Nothing like that’s happening on her watch. “You can get it on the way out.”

Gabriela sips her coffee with a sigh. She has only been Beth Beeby for an hour or so, but she’s already really tired of it. It’s like being a frog or a spider. Or dust. Something no one notices unless it gets in their way or lands on their lunch. Gabriela isn’t used to being ignored. She’s used to being noticed and admired. If she drops something, someone else picks it up. If she’s lugging a lot of stuff down the street, someone will offer to carry it for her. Today she could stagger through the lobby carrying three small children and a German shepherd and no one would so much as step out of her way.

And not only is she stuck behind the invisible shield that is Beth Beeby’s body, she is stuck with the geeks. On what should be the most exciting weekend of her life, she’s stuck with girls who eat like wolverines and talk like teachers. She takes another sip and lets loose another sigh. If this is the way the rest of her life is going to be, Gabriela will never see eighteen. It isn’t worth it.

Delila calls Jayne, Esmeralda and Aricely “the weird sisters”, but Gabriela has already started to think of them as the Bad, the Boring and the Major Pain in the Neck. Which makes Delila the Good.

Jayne is controlling. I sit there… Put that in the middle… Wouldn’t it make more sense to order a pot of tea for all of us…? Aricely assumes that everyone enjoys the sound of her voice as much as she does. Did you know that Mozart…? I read this article about Wordsworth… When we went to Paris… Esmeralda is always right. No, that was Martha Gellhorn… No, it wasn’t in Philadelphia… That’s not blue, it’s aquamarine… All three of them have more opinions than the Supreme Court. If they weren’t so irritating, they could put a hyperactive insomniac to sleep.

And that’s the other thing. They don’t talk about normal, real-life things like clothes and boys; they talk about school things like books and plays. They don’t see movies; they watch films. They don’t listen to bands; they listen to orchestras. They go to plays, not pop concerts or basketball games.

Gabriela has nothing to say. She thought she did, but she was wrong.

“When you say musical,” Jayne said to Gabriela when she tried to get into their conversation on Broadway theatre, “can I assume that you don’t mean opera?”

“I’m talking about the classic existential novel of self-delusion and subjectivity,” Esmeralda informed her with a smile as thin as tulle when she mistakenly thought they were discussing something she knew. “Not a TV ad for underwear.”

And now, her eyes on Gabriela’s fruit salad, Aricely says, “I can’t help it, but that reminds me of the time we went to Costa Rica. Costa Rica is just so amazing. You should see the flora and fauna – I wrote six poems just about the birds. But what I was saying was that while we were there, we visited this pineapple plantation. And ohmygod… You haven’t tasted pineapple till you’ve tasted that. And fresh? We had it straight from the field. It was like eating dew.”

Gabriela picks up her fork and stabs at a chunk of pineapple in her bowl. Of course you did. It was probably reciting a poem while you ate it.

Jayne’s voice, always pitched for command, saves Gabriela from having to reply. “Are you serious?” she demands. Mercifully, this question is to Delila. “You’ve never seen Jules et Jim?

“I don’t really watch movies with subtitles.” Delila says this loudly. “And it’s not because I can’t read fast enough to catch what they say,” she adds. Also loudly.

“But it’s a classic,” says Esmeralda.

Delila breaks a piece of toast in half. “Coke’s a classic, too, but I don’t drink that either.”

Aricely, distracted from fresh pineapple, joins in. “I would’ve thought that as a poet…”

“As a poet,” says Delila, “I like language. The words are important to me. I don’t want to be the prisoner of some bad translation.”

Gabriela allows herself a small smile as she stabs a chunk of banana. You should think twice before you take on the warrior princess. Say what you will about Delila – her size, her shape, her hair, her stubbornness, her obvious fondness for bold prints and primary colours – she doesn’t let anybody push her around. No matter how hard they may try.

Gabriela carefully balances a cherry on top of the stack of pineapple, while Esmeralda, Aricely and Jayne begin a discussion of world literature. Their voices buzz in the background. She’s never been so bored in her life. Not ever. Not even the time she broke her ankle in two places and sat in emergency for four hours with absolutely nothing to do because she’d also totalled her phone when she fell. But at least then the anguish was physical and not mental.

And that’s when – unplanned and certainly unprovoked – Gabriela picks up the cherry from on top of the pineapple, and throws it across the table at Jayne.

Jayne hasn’t thrown a piece of food since she ate in a highchair, but nature does sometimes override nurture. She automatically hurls her last piece of bagel across the table, hitting Delila. With one hand, Delila wipes cream cheese from the shoulder of her kaftan; with the other she lobs a teabag and gets Aricely right between the eyes.

Professor Gryck can move remarkably quickly for a woman built like a silo, and descends on them like the Day of Judgement. She is horrified and shocked. In all her years of teaching, she has never had anything like this happen. Not ever. Not even close.

“She started it!” Esmeralda points at Gabriela.

“Well?” Professor Gryck glares down at Gabriela. Last night, when they bonded over tension headaches and Beth apologized for everything from knocking her fork to the floor to choking on air, Professor Gryck had assumed that she was going to be the easiest of the group to handle. Shy. Nervous. Afraid not just of her own shadow but everybody else’s as well. But now she isn’t so sure. This certainly isn’t behaviour she expected. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I guess it just kind of slipped,” says Gabriela. “Or maybe it’s all the excitement.”

Professor Gryck’s sigh could rock an ocean liner. “Beth Beeby.” She holds a napkin to her heart as if staunching the flow of disappointment. “I swear, if I hadn’t seen you with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it. What happened to the lovely, polite, courteous, well-mannered girl I had supper with last night?”

Damned if I know, thinks Gabriela.

As they leave the restaurant, Gabriela suddenly sees Lucinda, looking as if she’s just stepped out of an ad for body spray, sashaying out of the doors to where a gleaming black limousine is parked. It’s true that one Cadillac Escalade looks pretty much like another, but though Beth’s eyesight isn’t any better than her taste in clothes, Gabriela recognizes the driver who picked them up from the airport yesterday – 6′1″, 17″ neck, at least a 45″ chest, 36–37″ sleeve. And then she sees the others – Hattie, Nicki, Isla, Paulette. Her heart stumbles like someone whose stiletto gets caught in a grate. And there – wearing pyjamas and walking with all the grace of a horse in mud – is what looks to be her parents’ only child.

“Wait!” she calls, knowing no one will hear her. It’s all she can do not to weep.

As he leaves the restaurant, Otto’s attention is caught by the flock of fashionistas by the windows. He slows to a stop, unable to take his eyes off them. Off Gabriela. The feeling that something isn’t quite right that he had as he watched Beth mauling her food returns. The longer he watches, the stronger the feeling. Eventually, Remedios comes up behind him, but he ignores her. Suddenly, the girls start to move towards the door, all of them flowing as effortlessly as a river – except, of course, for the one who wobbles as if her ankles are made of rubber, holding on to every wall, door and post she passes like a bewitched mermaid trying to accustom herself to having legs.

“Otto! Let’s go!”

But Otto is still watching Gabriela as her fall is broken by a man walking in the opposite direction who opens his arms to catch her even before she topples towards him.

“Otto!” Remedios finally grabs his shoulder to yank him around. “Let’s—”

“Wait!”

It is, of course, not Remedios who cries, “Wait!” It is Beth Beeby, looking as if the last rescue ship just pulled out without her.

And that is when Otto realizes what Remedios has done. What she’d undoubtedly been planning all along. How could he have believed for even one minute that she intended to fix the contests? Fix the contests? Remedios Cienfuegos y Mendoza? The angel whose specialty is chaos? It would be like the most famous tenor in the world giving up opera to sing at birthday parties.

“Remedios, I believe you have some explaining to do,” says Otto, as he shoves her hand away and turns back to the finalists in the design competition. “But not now.” The driver of the limo helps the girl Otto now knows to be Beth inside and Otto starts across the room, moving like air. “Now what I want is the car.”

Although he wasn’t actually speaking to her, Remedios answers as she rushes after him. “The car? But we haven’t checked out yet. We—”

“We’re not going anywhere.” As he reaches the doors, the red sports car appears at the start of the driveway. “We’re staying here until you put everything back the way it was.” He gazes over his shoulder at her, giving her a look that would send the Devil back to bed. “Or should I say everyone?”

Remedios grimaces with exasperation. This is exactly why she wanted to leave first thing in the morning. She knew he’d be unreasonable if he found out what she’d done. If they’d left when she wanted, they’d be well on their way to the redwood forest by now – and well away from Gabriela and Beth, and Otto standing on his principles like a goat on a mountain ledge, ruining everything. “You’re overreacting.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, you are. Just like in—”

“Baghdad was a special case.”

“I wasn’t thinking about Baghdad. I was going to say Egypt. Or Rome. Or Jerusalem. Or—”

“For the love of Peter, Remedios. That’s all ancient history.”

She knows more about him than he thought.

“All I’m saying is that you could at least give me a chance to explain why I did it before you get righteous and indignant.”

“All right.” And he stops so abruptly that she passes him and has to turn round. His arms are folded and his face looks like the silence of a stone wall. “I’m listening like a thousand ears. Explain.”

“I got tired of hearing Beth weeping and worrying, and tired of watching Gabriela act like the most important thing in the world is what she wears. That’s not embracing life; that’s hiding from it. I thought it was time they both put things in perspective. Lost their props and crutches, and had the chance to see things differently. They’ll be better for it, Otto. It’ll bring out the best in them.”

“Or destroy them completely.” He starts striding forward again. “Do you have any idea what could happen to Beth out there in Gabriela’s body? Do you? The girl gets a headache if there’s too much traffic on the road or she gets 99 out of 100 in a quiz, and now you’ve sent her out into this— this—” Although among other gifts he has one for words, at the moment Otto is having trouble finding ones to describe Los Angeles. “City of Angels” are three that are definitely out. “—this circus with a freeway running through it.”

“Heavenly host! She’s a girl, Otto. She’ll be fine. You just have to relax.” She follows him outside. Their car is at the kerb. “That’s your problem, you know. You take things too seriously. You never relax. Not ever.”

“A corpse couldn’t relax with you around, Remedios.” He slips something into the valet’s hand and climbs into the car. “The only thing to be thankful for is the fact that, despite all appearances, you’re on our team.” Though she might do them more good if she went over to the other side.

“What are you going to do?”

“As if there’s anything I can do. You’re the one who did it. You’re the one who has to undo it.”

“So why are you in the car? Where are we going?”

Otto starts the engine. “We’re not going anywhere. I’m going to keep an eye on Beth. For the love of Lazarus, Remedios, she can’t even walk in those shoes.”

“And what am I supposed to do while you’re cruising all over LA, having a good time?”

“Isn’t that obvious? You’re going to keep an eye on Gabriela.”

And how atrociously unfair is that? He gets to swan around the most glamorous city ever created in a sports car and she has to sit on a bus? “But her group’s just going on one of those dull tours. Museums, Otto. I don’t want to go to museums.”

“Maybe you’ll learn something.” Unlikely though that seems. “Maybe it’ll bring out the best in you.”