Away for the Weekend

by Dyan Sheldon

  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 im
portant 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.”

  One girl’s heaven is another girl’s hell (and the same is true for angels)

  Gabriela’s head rests against the window as she stares blankly at the passing streets, Professor Gryck’s voice winding itself through her thoughts. Like twine being woven through ribbons of silk. What is the real Beth Beeby doing right now, Gabriela wonders. Is she leaning against a worktable at the studio, giving her opinion on a new design? Is she pinning material onto a body form? Maybe she’s having a private moment with Taffeta in her office, discussing Gabriela’s future over coffee, Taffeta purring, “You know, honey, I see great things for you. I’d love for you to work with me…” That seems unlikely. Even a girl with Gabriela’s creativity finds it hard to picture Beth suggesting adding a pleat or taking a tuck or talking loud enough to impress Taffeta. But she has no trouble imagining Beth and the others slipping through the luscious hills of Hollywood in the back of the limo, on the lookout for celebrities. Maybe they’re already on The Strip, having the shopping spree that makes all others look like buying a pair of shorts for gym. The shopping spree Gabriela’s been dreaming of.

  She sighs. For sure, the real Beth Beeby isn’t having as miserable a time as she is. Oh, how Gabriela wishes that she’d made a break for the front door when she saw the car outside the hotel. That’s what she should have done. There would have been a big drama with screaming and crying and everything, and nothing would have been solved, but it wouldn’t have made things any worse. There’s no way things could be worse. If she’d made a major scene like that, all they’d probably have done is send her home. And then she remembers that home isn’t where her clothes and jewellery and all her other stuff are but where Beth’s mother, the talking clock of doom, is. So things can get worse. Possibly even much worse. God and all the saints in Heaven help her, if some miracle doesn’t get her back into her own body, she’s going to be living with Mrs Beeby. She only just manages not to groan out loud. As sure as Prada makes bags, she, Gabriela Menz, is in Hell. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, thinks Gabriela, but whatever it is, I promise, if I ever do it again, even totally by mistake or because I’m being blackmailed or something, I won’t shop anywhere but Walmart for the rest of my life. Just pleasepleaseplease get me out of here.

  But the being who might get her out of here – the being who got her into this mess – is curled up in a window seat at the back of the bus, thinking about the small, bronze figure from Mesopotamia on display in the last museum, which brought back a host of memories. Remedios is visible, but although her fellow passengers see her, they don’t actually notice her, and if they did – if she happened to speak to any of them, for example – as soon as that person turned away she would immediately be forgotten. Professor Gryck, a woman who prides herself on her eye for detail, counts heads every time they return to the bus, and always comes up with the right number. Indeed, the only person who could notice as well as see Remedios (since she is, in theory, under angelic guidance) is Gabriela, but Gabriela is so consumed by self-pity at the moment that she probably wouldn’t notice if a scouting party of aliens boarded the bus.

  Nor is Gabriela the only one feeling sorry for herself. The small, bronze figure, which once adorned a box in which Remedios kept incense, is not the only thing to bring back memories. There were images of places and people Remedios knew. There were bracelets and necklaces like ones she’s worn. Cups like ones she’s drunk from. Books she saw written. Canvases she saw being painted. Even part of a wall she once leaned against on a hot July day. The visitors moved around her, listening to their tour tapes or reading from their books and leaflets. Talking. Chewing gum. Checking their phones. Thinking about lunch. They might say, “Isn’t that beautiful…?” or “Isn’t that moving…?” or “Wow, what a cool ring…!” But whatever it was would be forgotten before they left the room.

  The more Remedios had seen, the less delight she’d felt. That knife, that leather shoe, those coins, that painting of sunset over a field that is now blocks of apartment buildings – these weren’t even memories, they were remains. Empty shells – to be crushed underfoot or swept away by the tides. And then there’s Professor Gryck herself. She may be an expert on the Norse sagas, but her grasp of the rest of the world’s history leaves a lot to be desired. How endlessly dull and boring the woman is. How inaccurate. How easily she believes half-truths and lies. Gabriela is not the only one who suspects this may be Hell.

  Gabriela sighs again as the small blue bus navigates the traffic, its passengers sitting in orderly rows like guests at a wedding. No, thinks Gabriela. Not a wedding. A funeral. For this is the day joy died.

  While the other tour buses – big and shiny, with some fast talker at the front pointing out the sights and dishing the dirt – go from movie studio to movie studio and famous restaurant to homes of the stars, their bus (no more than a big van) goes from museum to museum with Professor Gryck reading from her notes on the cultural highlights of Los Angeles. Monotonously. If there is anything in these cultural highlights that is more interesting than a pair of white socks, Professor Gryck has managed to overlook it. So far this morning, they’ve seen paintings of kings, paintings of bowls of fruit, paintings of squares of colour, and paintings of jagged lines. They’ve seen statues of sun gods, Greek gods, Roman gods, Egyptian gods, demons with human bodies and animal heads, monsters with hooves, tails and pointed beaks, a couple of horses, an Aztec dog, dancers made out of coat hangers and a pickled pig (which, according to Aricely, represents the futility of life). They’ve seen bowls and pots and cups and tiny clay figures and jewellery from across time and around the world. They’ve seen an installation of light bulbs and a table made from cereal boxes. Even Delila’s beginning to feel like she might have died but doesn’t know it yet.

  As if r
eading Gabriela’s thoughts, Professor Gryck, in an unexpected display of democracy, suddenly says, “If there’s anything we’ve left out that you feel should be included, I’m happy to entertain suggestions.”

  Gabriela answers automatically. “I do!” She waves her hand like a flag of truce. “I have a suggestion.”

  But if she hoped the flag would save her from being shot at, she was wrong. Professor Gryck doesn’t like her suggestion.

  “I’m not saying we have to go in or anything. We can just drive by it,” argues Gabriela.

  Professor Gryck heaves a haven’t-I-had-enough-from-you-already? sigh. “I thought we settled this matter, Beth.” Students don’t argue with Professor Gryck – especially ones who are still in high school.

  Though not everyone seems to understand that.

  “No, we settled the other matter.” Unlike many people, Gabriela doesn’t flinch from meeting Professor Gryck’s gimlet gaze. She can tell that Professor Gryck is an unhappy, frustrated woman. Just look at the outfit she’s wearing: the shoulders are too wide, the sleeves are too short, the pattern isn’t matched up and it makes her legs look stumpy. It practically screams misery. No wonder she’s such a bossy old cow. “You decided that it isn’t important for us, as writers, to experience the living, breathing city of Los Angeles. I get that. This is something totally different.”

  “As I said before, Los Angeles is not all bright lights and glamour.” Professor Gryck is certainly proof of that. “What we’re here to experience is its culture. Not its razzamatazz.”

  “Yeah, but that’s what I mean, isn’t it?” Although patience, resilience and fortitude aren’t necessarily the first words that come to mind when thinking of Gabriela Menz, it is a testament to those qualities that she doesn’t shriek with exasperation. Professor Gryck may have a string of letters after her name, but none of them seem to spell out l-o-g-i-c. “If we’re doing the super culture tour, then what’s a bigger cultural landmark than that?”