Life, Libby, and the Pursuit of Happiness

by Hope Lyda

  I opened the shipping form and read the information. My name was on the slip, but it hadn’t been sent directly from the computer warehouse. At the top of the paperwork was the name of a private company, The Mail Station. Only a PO Box address and a toll-free number were listed. No matter where they were, they were closed by this hour.

  My eyes were glued to the pretty photos of a nicely dressed woman and a very stylish man enjoying their new computer at a cool-looking coffee shop. I didn’t know if it was because the woman in the photo wore a suit that resembled one I almost bought the day I invested in my fringe skirt, or because the stylish guy reminded me a bit of Blaine, but something possessed me to break into the box. I would call the shipping company tomorrow and tell them I thought my parents had sent me a computer for my birthday but then realized my mistake after I’d already spent the evening experimenting with it.

  Satisfied with this warped scenario, I pressed the flaps of the box lid to the sides and my nose took in the scent of fresh plastic bubble wrap. I placed two sheets of it on my kitchen table to play with later.

  A slim silver laptop was nestled midway through the box’s innards. The promotional description said the thing weighed only 5.5 pounds. I had to hold it to disprove that bunch of malarkey. As I lifted the cold-to-the-touch piece of equipment and placed it on the floor in front of me, I was surprised how accurate they were. It clearly weighed less than my library bag on checkout day.

  A narrow package remained in the box. On the outside were more photos of happy people showcasing how fun the accessories alone could be, given the right circumstances. Wow, a battery. Look at me, I have a power cord. Fantastic…an external mouse, should I need one. Get out of here! A refrigerator magnet in the shape of my new computer would remind me that the reason there was no food in the fridge was because I was paying off my brand-new, high-tech laptop.

  I released the contents of that second box onto my floor. With a series of lies to myself, I had emptied the carton of its treasured possessions and now faced something I coveted. Even though I’d never before pined away for a laptop, I would be brokenhearted tomorrow when I resealed everything and returned this so that Lizzie Haworth could write a bestselling novel from her newly leased penthouse apartment with a swimming pool on the roof.

  I held my breath and lifted the screen of the computer. No sirens went off. Only the very faint alarm of conviction sounded in my spirit, but the television’s volume muffled that adequately. Before I went any further, I refilled my mug with lots of whipped cream and a little cocoa and returned to face the consequences of my actions. As soon as I hit the power button, the screen lit up and icons zoomed into place across the top, side, and bottom panels. It was then that a most interesting feature appeared—a “Welcome, Libby Hawthorne” cartoon banner was flown across the sky of the monitor by a little yellow plane containing an exuberant, waving pilot with old-fashioned goggles. Lyndon Horne was going to resent the company for messing up his welcome page.

  The tiny plane buzzed around and around while a puffy cloud formed in the center of the screen. The happy, but not brilliant, pilot flew his plane into the cloud and did not come out the other side. Instead, the cloud morphed into the shape of an envelope addressed to me. A “read me” link was placed in the stamp corner. This was wild. Why hadn’t I purchased one for myself? I looked over my shoulder at my decent television that had been a hand-me-down when Cass and Nate went flat screen. What once evoked feelings of pleasure and contentment now inspired nothing. My heart was hardened toward my old companion.

  Click.

  The envelope morphed once again, this time into the shape of a piece of paper. Words began to type out onto the page:

  L-i-b-b-y,

  You had better be alone when you read this. Turns out the annoying blonde from OC is a top-notch computer consultant and programming genius. Thankfully, the pressure to run her Fortune 500 company caused her to crack and end up just a couple doors down in my wing.

  I placed my mug down on a magazine and rubbed my eyes with the back of my clenched fists. This couldn’t be happening. Cecilia came up with this? Maybe Rachel and I had underestimated her power to function without an assistant within yelling distance. The letters kept appearing onto the snow white page, so I started to follow along.

  All communication will come to you via email. Calls are too dangerous. I think that twerp Philip wasn’t buying my cousin impersonation. I suppose even pretending I’m related to you in any way was an absurd tactic. A cable company will set you up with wireless tomorrow. You have a nice laptop well beyond your means in front of you for a reason. You are expected to check for communication before you go in to work, during lunch, and all evening up until midnight. Stop whining.

  From now on our special person will be referred to as “Hudson Young.” Hudson has come under my influence and has agreed to return to the public eye with me at the helm of his official unveiling. He seems to think this place has changed him, so he does not want to reemerge as he was. He is leaving the newer, improved image up to me. As you know, molding the identities of young men has been a favorite pastime of mine for years. Piece of cake. Beefcake, that is. From now on, the event of his outing will be referred to as “the grand opening.” Got it?

  Hudson will arrive Saturday afternoon on American flight 253 direct from here. You will hold up a sign with his cover name on it. He will come to you. He has a partial disguise, but you must come up with something to last a couple weeks. I will not return until things are in motion. Until then, you must keep Hudson completely hidden from the limelight. You are the most unsocial person I know. If he stays with you and models your deadbeat life, he should easily stay away from anyone who is anybody. Don’t blow it.

  “For five years you worked me into the ground under the premise that I would some day be an account executive. That is why I have no social life!” I raged against the machine for a few seconds. How was I going to hide the most-wanted rock star in the town where he became famous? Girls and women had photos of his face emblazoned on their tight T-shirts, appliquéd on jeans, and tattooed on various body parts. I stood up to pace the length of my living room. Each round by the computer, I stepped on a piece of the bubble wrap to appease myself.

  Heart racing, I looked around at my unkempt apartment. Even my precious window seat looked poor and deadbeat. I couldn’t host a rock star here. I had no desire to have a man living in my apartment. Sure, I fantasized about a handyman to fix crooked floorboards and de-wedge stuck windows, but this was something completely different. I could feel my face turn red. I saw stars and needed to lie down and close my eyes. A few moments later the room stopped spinning, but I still felt as though I were out at sea.

  Saturday.

  That gave me a couple days to fake a sense of composure, clean my apartment, create my own plan to hide Hudson, come up with an excuse for having a man around me 24/7, and lose ten pounds. This would be the first time in my history that losing ten pounds in a matter of hours was the most reasonable item on my to-do list.

  Saturday!

  That was the night of my birthday party. I wasn’t about to miss my own gathering with friends because of my high-profile houseguest. I looked at the phone book placed beneath the left front leg of my couch to keep it level. A celebrity day care listing was probably out of the question. I was mad that Cecilia didn’t check with me at least to see if this was okay.

  But what upset me the most was that Cecilia was right. Stepping into my life was probably the best way Jude Shea could be guaranteed complete solitude and anonymity. It had worked for me for more than thirty years. Why not for him?

  Late at night, the ping of the computer announced the arrival of a new email. I rolled over and placed a pillow on top of my exposed ear.

  Twenty-Two

  “Isn’t that your friend Ariel?” Rachel pointed across the street toward the Nordstrom Rack.

  The sun’s reflection on the bay was bright. I shielded my eyes with my hand and saw
a woman who was clearly Ariel standing on the sidewalk. Her weight rested back on her right leg and her left leg crossed in front. She turned her head side to side watching the pedestrian crowd for someone.

  “We have a few minutes left of break. Do you want to go over and say hi?”

  “Yes. Ariel left me a message with the party’s start time, but I wanted to ask if I could bring anything.”

  “I wish I could come, but I have to go to the symphony.”

  “You don’t sound thrilled about that.”

  “It’s a blind date.”

  “Enough said.”

  As we waited for the signal to change, the morning’s wind blew a large gust. Bags swirled about shoppers like runaway kites. The light changed just as a child’s hat flew off and Rachel started to chase it alongside an office building. The frazzled mother was holding a tiny infant in her arms and trying to grab the little girl’s hand.

  Other pedestrians started to cross the street, but I waited for Rachel. Ariel was still watching for someone. I waved several times to get her attention. Her eyes lit up and she nodded her head in recognition, but she remained standing. Rachel was clear down the block but holding up the captured fleece hat with a victorious smile. I decided to start across the street and let Rachel catch up, but as I looked over at the Rack I saw Ariel and the person she had actually nodded to.

  It was her friend, all right, but it wasn’t me. It was her new best buddy, Ferris.

  He stopped just a few inches away from her and they began talking with serious expressions. Ariel glanced down at the cement or then out to the bay. Ferris motioned with his hands in the air several times.

  I stepped into the street when the light changed again. The mother with the two kids reached her arm across me and kept me from walking any farther. I shook my head to clear it and thanked her. My gaze remained steady on my two friends. I’d always assumed Ferris and Ariel had spoken to one another mainly out of respect for me. When they walked two doors down and stepped inside a doorway protected from the Seattle wind by a pale green awning, Ferris placed his hand along the small of Ariel’s back. This was clearly not about me.

  Breathless, Rachel came back alongside me, her red cheeks practically neon.

  “All is well. Child’s head is saved from the cold. Let’s go.” She reached for my arm to lead me across. My feet stammered the first few steps.

  “Ariel’s gone. I didn’t see which way she went.”

  “Well, I want to check out that very cute shirt dress in the window anyway.” My friend’s leading was now a tugging motion. Eventually we came to stand in the spot Ariel had been moments before.

  “Isn’t that adorable? I wish I didn’t have these good birthing hips. You could wear that.”

  “Uh-huh.” I offered, but my eyes were not on the dress but on that pale green awning, which also had cream script font running along the front and side.

  While Rachel examined the striped clutch that went with the shirt dress, I moved a few feet over and strained my neck to read the writing. “Psychic Readings by Viola Light.” When did Ariel start buying into psychics? And why would she choose Ferris to go with her rather than me?

  Rachel looked at me as though I were in need of medication.

  I snapped back to reality, whatever that was, and rejoined Rachel in the present conversation. “It’s for the best. I’d hate to get back late. Blaine has a ton of work right now. We’re setting up his travel schedule to meet a lot of the clients face-to-face.”

  “I cannot believe Cecilia would let this happen without a fight. Just when you think you have someone figured out…” She shook her head and hugged herself against the wind.

  “You find out that you don’t know them at all.” I finished her sentence with thoughts of Ariel.

  “Exactly.”

  “So are you in cahoots with Cecilia?” Tara said from behind me at the coffee station.

  I turned around to look her in the eyes and started laughing. “The mere thought of such a thing makes me laugh. Coffee?” I held up the freshly brewed pot. She stepped back as if afraid I was about to throw hot liquid on her head. When she saw that I was I sincere, she raised the pink mug in her hand to proper pouring level.

  “Sure.”

  “What’s that crazy woman up to? Do you know?”

  “Good coffee.” Tara’s perky little lips hovered over the ceramic edge. She was trying not to smear her lipstick. “Well, Ken knows she isn’t where she’s supposed to be.”

  “So, when the clients from Dallas called, the cat was pretty much out of the bag?” I made small talk, realizing that the closer Tara and I were, the less suspect I would be when Cecilia’s plan exploded one way or the other.

  Tara’s eyes grew wide; the perky lips formed a perfect O. “Oh, no. Ken called those clients to follow up after accounting figured out what was going on.”

  Uh-oh. “Did…did they track her purchases on the company card and realize she was, um…someplace other than Dallas?” Beads of sweat formed on my palms and along my spine.

  Tara shook her head, allowing celebrity-looking curls to brush by her bright eyes and serious expression. “The exact opposite. Cecilia’s company spending is so ridiculous that when her recent statement showed little activity for the past two weeks, red flags went up all over the place.”

  “I hope that doesn’t mean something bad happened to her.” I offered up a different scenario and breathed a sigh of relief—they had not traced any recent purchases to Cecilia. She had planned well.

  “They don’t suspect foul play or anything like that. There were some charges, but nothing compared to her usual travel expenses, like open bar tabs, and that favorite spa she goes to in Dallas didn’t appear once.”

  “Cecilia doesn’t go a day without charging a manicure or bikini wax to the company, right?”

  “Precisely. So accounting called Ken and notified him that something was up.”

  I continued my bit. “Good call on their part. If Cecilia doesn’t charge something every few hours the woman goes mad, I tell you, absolutely mad. No purchases means she’s been locked up in the center…” I stopped myself before I looped this conversation back around to the truth, “…the center of the pit of despair. Total despair.”

  “There was some activity. Cecilia purchased a very expensive laptop.”

  I spit out my coffee. A little stream shot toward Tara, who stepped back in horror.

  “Sorry. Heat-sensitive teeth.” I tried to wipe off the spray of brown dots from her suit lapel. She removed the napkin from my hand to do it herself.

  “They can trace things like that, right? They’ll know where she received it?” Would I get any sort of severance package if I was fired rather than let go? I remembered my last bank statement and my heart began to race again. My resume would be such a clear picture of my professional decline by the time all of this was played out. I waited nervously for Tara’s response.

  “She did it online and with a company that could not trace where the computer was shipped. Other than verification that she is still alive, that was a dead end.”

  “Thank goodness!” I yelled in celebration.

  Tara stopped wiping her lapel and gave me a look of disapproval.

  “I mean, thank goodness the woman is alive. She might be a pain in our necks, but the woman deserves to live, right? Yes!” I raised my fist and shook it a couple times.

  “Of course.” To avoid eye contact with me, the older but less mature, more crazy coworker, Tara looked at the clock on the wall between us. “Well, we’d best get back to woman our posts.”

  “That’s funny, Tara. See ya.” I gave her a baby wave with my fingers motioning.

  This secrecy business was exhausting. It was only 11:00, and I wanted to curl up and take a nap in the patch of sun on the office carpet, in my car, in the elevator, anywhere I could get away with it. Instead, I went back to my cubicle and started typing boring letters that gave my mind too much freedom to roam around the land
of “worst case scenario” while my hands followed their work routine.

  Blaine came out of his office and watched me type for a few words.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “I’m looking forward to tonight. I haven’t had much time for outings, and you know what my upcoming travel schedule looks like.”

  “Tonight?” I asked. I looked up at Blaine and realized how relieved I was that he was heading out on his trip. I wouldn’t have to lie to him about Jude or Cecilia. Maybe God was working this all out for me. I sighed with relief. Blaine was still talking about something and then stopped when he heard my sigh.

  “Sorry, what were you saying?” I said, returning my attention to him.

  “Is tonight not going to work out?”

  “Tonight?”

  Blaine laughed and scratched his chin. “Have you considered becoming a counselor? You’re quite a listener.”

  I glanced down at my calendar. “Tonight is the art exhibit! I’ve been thinking it was Thursday today instead of Friday. I’m so sorry. You must wonder how I get work done.”

  “You do seem preoccupied lately. I see you look off in the distance and your thoughts seem to follow.”

  “My neighbor Levi said I seemed preoccupied too. And not just lately, apparently—I hadn’t noticed he lived in my building for five years.”

  “Pretty social, are you?”

  “I seem to have quite a reputation for living a solitary life.” I wagged my finger at him. “But tonight I’m going to the museum with you. Well, we’re going together. You are going with me, actually. To get out. To experience Seattle. All that good stuff.”

  “Should we grab something to eat before heading over there?”

  “I don’t know. I’d like to be there when it starts, to support Oliver.”