by Anna Ferrara
I ignored them both and shoved everything on the plate into my mouth in three quick bites. A sour taste formed in my mouth as I swallowed and never went away, not even when I tried to wash it out with wine.
“Stop it,” I heard Paul say in my head. “You can’t logically know she lied so you have to act normal. Please.”
“What time are you girls leaving tomorrow?” Arden Villeneuve interrupted. She had her eyes firmly on me this time and she looked downright worried.
I couldn’t bring myself to meet her gaze, much less answer her. I turned my attention to my glass of wine and poured it all down my throat in one swift move.
“In the afternoon,” Paul said quickly. “We’re going back to Canada. Where we’re from.”
“I see. You said over the phone you’re never coming back?”
“That’s right,” I said abruptly and met her staring eyes at last. “You’ll never have to see us again.”
I saw Arden Villeneuve inhale sharply as she searched my eyes with her large, purple ones. “So this really is goodbye, huh?” She smiled weakly.
I looked away and did not bother with a reply.
I didn’t speak again at dinner. Paul filled the awkward silence by chatting aimlessly about the touristy sights of New York and the glamour of Arden Villeneuve’s stupid multi-million dollar wedding. I learned Arden Villeneuve’s wedding involved elephants, a privately owned mountain and a thousand guests—Lane not included. I found out her new marital home had a white lion enclosure in one of its living rooms and that the bed she shared with her new husband had both massage functions and temperature control. I heard all the details concerning the stone tub full of imported hot spring water from Japan in her new bathroom and the pool that could be converted into an ice-rink at the click of a button.
By the time dessert was done, I was all ready to leave Arden Villeneuve far, far behind. Unfortunately, she insisted on sending us back to our hotel in her diamond-studded limousine and Paul couldn’t resist the urge to check the limousine out.
The three of us ended up at the back of the spacious limousine under an artificial night sky made of LED lights, on seats made of calfskin. Paul and I sat next to each other with Arden Villeneuve in the seat right opposite me and I refused to look Arden Villeneuve’s way at all. I kept my face at a ninety-degree angle, turned toward the window, the whole way and focused mostly on the club-like music in the background instead of their pointless chatter.
I was done with Arden Villeneuve at that point. I knew I had to be. I knew Paul was right. Arden Villeneuve was definitely not the type of woman who would ever want a woman like me. That made sense. I knew I wouldn’t want to be with a woman like me either, if I were her. That was just the way life worked.
The limousine stopped outside the entrance of our hotel eventually, right under the ginormous old-fashioned red lights shouting the hotel’s name.
Paul thanked Arden Villeneuve enthusiastically for having paid heftily for dinner but I didn’t even bother. When Paul scooted out of the limousine, all smiles, I followed her without even glancing back once.
“Blaine,” I heard Arden Villeneuve say, right as her large, soft hand curled around my wrist and pulled me back.
The scent of champagne, vanilla and roses filled my nostrils all over again but I no longer found it pleasant. I sighed and watched Paul disappear through the hotel’s glass doors. “What?”
“I am really sorry about your sister.”
I turned, with a heart full of hate, and found Arden Villeneuve staring at me with eyes that were uncharacteristically wide. She made no attempt to look away this time; no attempt to change the topic. She simply stared into my eyes, at my lips, at my cheeks, at my ears, as if trying to take in as much of my face as she possibly could. As if... she missed me.
I wriggled my wrist out of her grasp. “Why? Did you have something to do with it?” My voice came out cold.
Her eyes took on a look of shock and she shook her head right away. “Of course not. Why would you say that?”
“Because I know what went on between the both of you. I know you saw her on the night she fell, I know you dumped her, and I hate that you won’t even admit it happened.”
Horror crossed her face. “Admit what? I didn’t see Lane that night and there was nothing going on between us, I swear. Did she write something in her diary that said otherwise?”
I snorted, shook my head and climbed out of the limousine without another word.
“I’m serious, Blaine, nothing happened between your sister and I!” Arden Villeneuve shouted from behind me.
I went right through the hotel’s glass doors without turning back.
Chapter 17
25 June 2030?
Paul’s side of the bed was empty when I woke in Room 103 the next afternoon. The sight of it made me sit up and wonder, sleepily, if Paul had even been there at all.
Sure, the sheet looked slept in and the quilt looked like it had been pushed aside, but I could have easily done that myself, couldn’t I? I might have slept on two sides of the bed in one night without knowing, right? I reached over and touched the white sheet on the other side. It was cold. Either Paul had been gone a long time or I had shifted to the side of the bed I was now on very early in the night.
It wouldn’t be bad if she did turn out to be a figment of my imagination, I found myself thinking as I yawned and stretched my body across the king-sized bed. My bones creaked as I extended them and afterwards I felt as if my body had entered a deep relaxation. Being crazy was better than being the sort of person a former lover didn’t want to admit knowing, right? The latter sucked more. Way more. I dragged myself out of bed to get a bottle of water and caught sight of a note on the tin can table, written on The Canned Food Factory Hotel’s fancy notepaper.
‘Gone to get lunch. Didn’t want to wake you cos you were sleeping like a baby. Stay here and don’t talk to strangers! I’ll be back soon. Love, Paul.’
I picked up the pen lying next to the note and wrote my name under the message.
‘Lane Thompson’. My handwriting turned out to be blocky, exactly as I remembered it, nothing like the cursive, artistic-looking writing above it.
I exhaled in disappointment. Paul was likely another person altogether. Which meant I was definitely the loser Arden Villeneuve wanted nothing to do with.
Knowing that made me feel very much depressed. Was that how I felt right after Arden Villeneuve dumped me at the cemetery? I wondered.
No. I didn’t remember feeling all that depressed on the night of the falling incident. But then again, that didn’t mean I hadn’t felt depressed, did it?
I left Room 103 to see if the nearest pharmacy had any antidepressants on its shelves. ‘Prevention is always better than having to cure,’ those antidepressant ads always said. I feared they might be right. Just because I hadn’t been trying to kill myself on the night of the falling incident didn’t mean I would never try to kill myself ever, right? It was still best to take precautions, wasn’t it?
I didn’t get far. I had only made it out of the elevator when a familiar figure at the lobby—with shades and a scarf over her blonde hair—made me stop and forget all about what it was I had set out to do.
The woman, tall and slender, in a classic black suit and black heels, had been at the reception counter arguing with the receptionist. She stopped and froze the moment she caught sight of me and her mouth fell open.
“Blaine!” she said and marched over to me while turning back to glare at the receptionist in annoyance. “This is the woman I was talking about! Blaine Thompson. I told you she lives here!”
The receptionist—some guy I had never seen before—looked terribly apologetic. “Maybe we have her under another name? An alias, maybe?”
I gestured at him to leave the matter alone. Calmly, even though my knees were beginning to shake. Paul would be furious if she knew this was happening, I knew. This was as far from not talk
ing to strangers as I could possibly get. “I did use another name. Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”
The receptionist nodded at me and grinned sheepishly but didn’t stop staring at us—or actually, mainly, at the woman who marched right up to me.
“What name did you use? There’s no record of any Paula either.”
Of course there wasn’t. But I knew it wasn’t a good time to get into explanations, not while that receptionist’s eagle-like eyes remained on us. “It’s complicated,” I said quickly. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Oh, I… I was hoping to see you before you left. And I’m glad I made it. What time’s your flight or ride?”
My flight or ride? Okay... “We... pushed it back. To next week. Decided we wanted to have more time here. There’s so much to see and do.” I crossed my arms, nodded politely, and refused to smile even though my heart began to pound in that strange way it only ever did in the presence of women I fancied.
“That’s wonderful. Do you want to have lunch? Now?”
Lunch? With her? “No.” Hours ago, when she was still the woman of my dreams, definitely yes. Now that I knew what sort of person she was? Definitely no. “I have some place I need to be.” Some place far, far away from you.
“Please, Blaine. I really need to explain some things. About your sister.”
My eyebrows shot upwards before I could stop them.
“How about room service? It would definitely be best if we could just go somewhere private. Fast.” Her eyes darted sideways as if trying to hint at something.
I followed her line of sight and saw perfect strangers pointing phones and cameras at us, grinning like the receptionist still was. Shit. Paul would be so pissed if she knew all this was happening.
“Fine,” I said after a sigh. “Come with me.”
The space of time between the moment I opened the door to Room 103 and the moment I closed it behind us felt like a whole eternity in itself. Arden Villeneuve, lovely as hell, stepped into my private quarters all alone, bringing that scent of vanilla, roses and champagne with her. Who would have ever thought a thing like that would ever be happening to someone like me?
I didn’t want her to know I was still in awe of her, of course. Not anymore. I crossed my arms, kept my distance and stared at her as coldly as I possibly could. “So, talk. What about my sister?”
“Could we order lunch first?” she said, looking impeccably neat with her well-pressed clothes and professionally styled hair. The mess of used clothes, towels and unpacked shopping bags all over the hotel room behind her started to look, to me, a lot like pigeon droppings. “I’m starving. Please? Where’s Paula, by the way?”
“Out.” I gave her a look of obvious annoyance, handed her the room service menu like a waiter would and went to sit on the leather chair by the tin can table, as far from her as I could get.
“I see.” Arden Villeneuve plucked off her shades and scarf and studied the menu with her bouncy blonde curls cascading beautifully down the side of her face.
The room became perfectly quiet and I couldn’t help but think Arden Villeneuve would never be considering food right now had we been the us I remembered. The second the door shut, I would have tiptoed and put my mouth on hers. We would have been in various extents of undress by now, taking care of a completely different sort of hunger. But, unfortunately, this was the new us now. The us who were strangers, all because she refused to admit the us we were before existed. I did think of putting my arms around her again, in spite of everything, but I made sure those thoughts got forced out of my mind every time they appeared.
When Arden Villeneuve looked up and told me she wanted a Classic Cobb Salad and a bottle of Riesling to share, I went to the rotary dial phone on one of the bedside lockers without saying a word.
I spoke to the room service attendant on the other line in a manner that suggested I was having one of the most boring afternoons ever and kept my back to Arden Villeneuve the whole time. What I didn’t let on was that my limbs were tingling with buzzing currents all over again and that my heart was dancing quicker than my lungs could take in air. The recent slap of reality hadn’t changed my body’s desire for Arden Villeneuve one bit, I realised. It was as if I was biologically predisposed to lose control of all my nerves in her presence; to always want that face, that body close to mine. Arden Villeneuve was like a drug I couldn’t get off, an addiction I couldn’t shake. Not even when I already knew wanting her was a terrible idea.
I found her seated at the tin can table, opposite the leather chair I had been sitting on earlier, when I hung up the phone and turned back around. Her sunglasses and scarf had been put away and her expensive handbag had been tucked neatly by the side of the leather chair she sat on. She held up her cigarette case and asked me if she could smoke.
I said yes. I picked up my own new cigarette case and went back to the seat opposite her but didn’t offer to light her cigarette even though the old me would have most certainly done so. She didn’t offer to light my cigarette—like the old her would have done—either. We were both in a completely different world now. A world in which we were polite and distant, where huge plumes of smoke always separated us.
“Will you talk now,” I asked. I really would have preferred to go back into the world where we did mostly everything else but talk but I no longer had any idea how to get there. “Lunch is already on its way.”
Arden Villeneuve sucked hard at her cigarette and a very solemn expression appeared on her face. “Nothing happened between me and your sister, Blaine. I don’t know what she wrote in her diary, but you must know, nothing happened between us at all.”
My heart jumped when I heard her words and my ridiculous thoughts jumped out of me along with it. I could see Arden Villeneuve meant every word and it, oddly, made me feel that little bit less depressed again. After all, being crazy is still better than being the sort of person a former lover doesn’t want to admit to knowing, right? “Prove it,” I said. Firmly.
“I can’t. I don’t know how, but I swear, I’m not lying to you. Why don’t you show me what she wrote? There’s got to be some other explanation. Just because Lane wrote so doesn’t mean it actually happened, right?”
My heart jumped again and this time wouldn’t stop jumping. I didn’t know what to say. I had no diary to show her. “The diary’s not here,” was the best I could think of.
Arden Villeneuve’s gorgeous eyes turned large again. “Why not? Where else could it be?”
In the land of non-existent make-believe objects, maybe? “I don’t know. Maybe her landlord took it?”
“Her land—” she chuckled. Uncomfortably. “Why would Lane’s landlord take her diary? Why would any landlord take his dead tenant’s diary?” She stared at me, her gaze serious and unwavering.
I began to realise inviting Arden Villeneuve up for lunch wasn’t the best of ideas at all. “I don’t know but I don’t have it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Stop lying, Blaine.”
“I’m not.”
“It’s all over your face! Just tell me the truth! Why do you keep thinking I had a thing with your sister?”
“Because you did!” I was there with you, living every moment for an entire year! That is all I remember! Only I didn’t know how to explain it all without sounding perfectly insane!
“I didn’t!” Arden Villeneuve insisted.
I struggled to breathe properly. What, was I really going to have to tell her I was a ‘curiosity’ who survived a fifty storey fall and then escaped by jumping out of a tenth storey window? Was I really going to tell her Paul was a fellow ‘curiosity’ who could read minds, move objects with her mind and travel at super speeds? It sounded perfectly absurd when put within the confines of language.
“Please say something, Blaine.”
Goodness. Come on, Lane, think. Think!! I took a deep breath and did my best to breathe normally again. “Tell you what, Arden, I’ll tell you where
Lane’s diary is if you tell me how she was behaving the night she fell. And don’t tell me you didn’t see her because I know all about the cemetery and all the little happy goodbyes you said. I know how many times you orgasmed that night for God’s sake!”
Arden Villeneuve stared hard at me and seemed to turn into stone. “I didn’t... see her,” she said. Weakly. “I swear.”
“Alright. In that case, we have nothing else to talk about. Please just leave.” I dragged my cigarette hard and turned away from her.
There was a long silence but Arden Villeneuve didn’t leave. She simply stayed in the leather chair with her cigarette between her lips and her eyes on the floor. I could hear the tobacco within her cigarette cackling every time she took a puff. From the corner of my eye, I could see her shoulders rising and falling more rapidly than they usually did.
“She behaved normally,” Arden Villeneuve suddenly said. Her voice sounded thick, like she was going to cry. “She wasn’t suicidal or depressed at all. She seemed perfectly fine when we said goodbye. Better than I was, in fact.”
I turned back to her and found her staring into space with bloodshot eyes and a ruddy nose. Her face was blank. She didn’t look happy nor did she look sad.
When she turned to me, she simply looked tired. “Will you please just hand me the diary now?”
I took a deep breath then said it. “The diary doesn’t exist, Arden. The diary is just something I made up.”
“What?”
The doorbell rang in that moment and made us both jump.
“Room service,” Arden Villeneuve said. She patted away the tears that had been threatening to come out of her eyes and straightened out her already perfectly straight clothes. “Will you get it, please? I’m not in the mood for… fans.”
