Forever Young: Blessing or Curse (Always Young Trilogy)

by Morgan Mandel

  “You mean live forever?”

  “It’s possible, if you’re careful. What I offer is, protected by your chosen age; you’d be immune to the host of maladies and diseases associated with growing old. You’d also be immune to viruses and other illnesses. However, nothing’s perfect. There are still other ways to die, but believe me, you’d have a greater chance at longevity on this pill than without it.”

  A picture of Larry splayed across the parking lot flashed through Dorrie’s mind. Yes, there were other ways to go. Her husband hadn’t even lived his natural life before it was stolen from him. A shiver raced up and down her spine.

  Still, she had to admit Mr. Remington sounded convincing. Of course he did. He had the gift of persuasion, as evidenced by his previous success.

  “To say the least, what you suggest sounds appealing, Mr. Remington, but I still can’t take the chance.”

  “Don’t be too hasty. I know you loved your husband and miss him, but would he want you to be unhappy? I’m offering you the opportunity to start a brand new life as a young person, free of the infirmities of age.”

  “But couldn’t I get that chance later, after other people have tested your pill?”

  “Of course, but why wait when you can enjoy the pill’s benefits now, along with the added celebrity and a very handsome recompense?”

  “Let’s say I did agree, what exactly would I do?”

  She must be crazy to even entertain the idea, but the bizarre concept piqued her curiosity.

  “When you’re not taping or participating in live commercials, you’d be working directly under me transcribing dictation, answering telephones, and promoting the product. You’d receive a tidy initial amount, which would increase in increments, as you progress through the various phases. Your main payback would be the priceless benefits of the pill.”

  The sum he mentioned would solve her debt crisis and certainly keep her solvent.

  “The idea is tempting, and I do need a job, but I’m still not sure. Like I said, it’s dangerous.”

  “So is growing old. I’ll give you a week to come up with an answer.”

  She didn’t blame him for the ultimatum. He’d spent time and money perfecting his product. If she didn’t want it, no doubt someone else would gladly accept the challenge, especially with so much money involved.

  Dorrie stood up. “Thanks, Mr. Remington. I appreciate your considering me, and will certainly think it over.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dorrie stepped into the bedroom. Tomorrow the week would be up. Mr. Remington would expect an answer.

  She slipped into her oversized tee shirt, climbed onto the bed, and steeled herself for another sleepless night. As expected, the pattern continued. Her mind insisted on reliving the memories that refused to fade. She missed Larry’s touch, the feel of his arms around her, the magic of their lovemaking. Those moments had been precious and special, though no child had ever been born of them. Dorrie sighed. It would have been nice to have a part of her husband left to cherish, but that wasn’t meant to be.

  Though she couldn’t stop thinking of Larry, she still hadn’t the strength to look at the photos on the iPhone. It lay in the safety deposit box where she took it out Saturday mornings to charge at the café not far from the bank. Someday she’d feel comfortable keeping the iPhone at home and facing the reminders of her past. Right now even thinking of the connection between the phone and Larry’s passing haunted her.

  So many dreams and hopes which would never come true, yet so many good times they’d shared. For their tenth anniversary, she’d come home from work to find a standing rib roast in the oven, complete with baked potatoes and other fixings. That wasn’t all. After dinner, Larry had said, “And now for something really classy. Come with me, my dear.”

  “Where to?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Leaving the dishes on the table, they’d dashed out to his car. After driving across town, Larry stopped at the mystery destination, Dairy Queen, where they happily consumed yummy ice cream Blizzards.

  Another time she’d turned the tables on Larry with a surprise party for his thirty-fifth birthday. He’d asked why, but she’d insisted it was the perfect time to surprise him since he’d never suspect it.

  “You got me on that one,” he’d said, as they undressed in the bedroom after the guests had left.

  She’d been dead tired after playing hostess, but when he’d reached across the bed to take her in his arms, she’d readily acquiesced. Their lovemaking had always been tender and special. She could never deny him. If she did, she’d be denying herself.

  So many other memories crowded her mind—birthdays, Christmases, other holidays, plus the not-so-good times, like colds and the common ailments which cropped up and disappeared.

  And the really bad times, when Mom’s health declined. A broken hip, two replacement surgeries which never took, more repercussions, as the worsening effects of osteoporosis piled up, all left Mom a victim, unable to navigate on her own. Medication proved a poor weapon against the advancing toll of such a crippling disease. Caretaking Mom drained their finances and stole valuable time from their marriage, yet Dorrie couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning her to a nursing home. Larry unselfishly supported her in her choice to keep Mom with them.

  Then one afternoon she’d heard Larry’s car pull into the garage. Smiling, she wondered if it could be a holiday she’d forgotten. Not working a day job tended to make all her days seem similar.

  The smile died on her lips when Larry, slumped shoulders and heavy steps, trudged into the living room where she and Mom had been watching television.

  “What’s wrong, honey?”

  He gave her a wounded look. “Bad news. I lost my job.”

  She gasped. “They let you go after twenty years? I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s not just me. Keith, too, everyone at Tomahawk Chemical. They ran out of money. Something about poor investments. Today’s my last day.”

  “Oh, my God. This is too much.”

  “I’m sorry, Dorrie.”

  “It’s not your fault. You don’t need to apologize.”

  As Dorrie rushed to hug her husband, Mom also offered sympathy. Her embarrassed look made Dorrie feel worse. Her mother had to be thinking what a burden she was, though she didn’t come right out and say it.

  A month later, Dorrie’s heart ached as she watched Larry congratulate Keith, on the eve of his departure. Keith, also a biochemist, had secured a position at Chicago Chem, where he could put his talents to use. She wished him luck, while wondering if desperation would force her and Larry to move as well.

  With Larry’s specific talents, his leads were limited. He searched high and low, but nothing materialized until a month later when he mentioned an ad from a laboratory in Arizona. “I know it’s far, but if they hire me, we could get back on our feet and out of debt. Believe me, hon, I’ve looked, but there’s nothing here.”

  She bit her lip, and nodded in agreement. Practically speaking, she knew he was right, but felt a pang at abandoning her home. She’d grown up in this town and knew no other lifestyle except here in the North Woods. In times of stress, all she need do was walk outside, watch the swaying pine trees and breathe in their Christmassy scent for her burdens to lessen. She never tired of watching the deer, chipmunks, rabbits and other wildlife meander to the backyard feeders which she kept filled, despite their desperate finances.

  When the Institute paid for Larry to fly over for an interview, she guiltily hoped something would be wrong with his credentials. It wasn’t right to think that way, considering their financial straits, but couldn’t help herself. Deep down she knew she was only fooling herself. Tomahawk was a lovely place to live, if they could afford it. Unfortunately, they couldn’t. Keith had accepted that fact. It must have devastated him to leave. If he could do it, so could they.

  Larry had lost his friend to distance. Would she lose her best friend, Jeanne, the same way? If that’s what
it took, no matter how hard it would be, she’d do it for Larry’s sake. He’d sacrificed a lot for her, taking Mom into their home. He’d not complained when she’d quit her job to stay home with Mom, though it meant less money coming in. Nor did he object when they dipped into their personal savings to pay for Mom’s medical expenses. If he wanted that job, much as she’d rather stay put, she’d not stand in his way.

  Calamity struck when Mom suffered a fatal stroke from a blood clot the doctor attributed to inactivity. Mom’s valiant fight had ended. Dorrie missed her dreadfully, but felt relieved Mom was at peace, with the suffering over.

  A few weeks later, when Larry received a job offer from the Life is for Living Institute, she’d put aside her misgivings and rejoiced with him. His joy became contagious. Soon she got into the spirit of adventure, believing change would do them both good.

  His new employer arranged for the sale of their home and for their furniture to be shipped to one they’d chosen online. When they’d walked inside their new home for the first time, she’d smiled with delight. “Looks like we made the perfect choice. I love it,” she said, turning to Larry.

  He put his arm around her, “Love ya, honey.”

  “Love ya, back,” she said, barely getting the words out as he crushed her to his chest, lifted her off her feet and swirled her about the room. The future seemed as bright and beautiful as the blue skies and sunshine of Arizona. Blinking back tears in her lonely bed, she wondered if she’d ever feel such joy again. It all seemed so hopeless.

  Or was it?

  The Angel Man offered her a way to redirect her life. She could start over again, in a way she could never imagine. Not only would she be young again, but she’d stay that way. It seemed impossible, yet in his genius he’d assured her it would work. Through the success of his other products, he’d already earned a great reputation. Would this one work as well?

  What if it didn’t? She’d be the guinea pig, trying an untested product which could ruin her health, and might not realize the consequences until it was too late.

  No, I can’t do it. It’s too much to ask.

  A picture of Mom lying helpless and scared flashed through Dorrie’s mind. Heart dropping, she sat upright in bed. Six months ago her own baseline bone density scan had read minus one, denoting osteopenia, the first stage of the disease which had destroyed her mother. Frightened by the news, Dorrie had begun a regimen of exercise, Vitamin D, Calcium and other medication to ward off the eventual ill effects, but she had no guaranty her efforts would work. That and more hadn’t helped Mom.

  Life was not good. Her job searches had been unsuccessful. Bombarded by memories of the past and worries about the future, she couldn’t sleep most nights. During the day, she walked around like a zombie, functioning, but barely living. She could do better.

  Always the serious one, all her life she’d followed the safe path. She’d weighed every decision, even the most trivial, like where and when to get a haircut. Unfortunately, all her planning had not prevented tragedy from striking twice, first to Mom, then Larry. She could muddle along, and if she were lucky, maybe someday she’d find a job, which she may or may not like. If the pill proved to be safe and effective, she might get up enough nerve to try it. Or, she could be a pioneer, do something radical, and change her life drastically.

  What was the worst outcome? Dying? If that happened, she’d see Larry again. Maybe it would be worth it.

  She shouldn’t think that way, welcoming death.

  Morning light wiggled through the edges of the bedroom’s floral drapes. Dorrie sat propped against the pillows, pondering her choice. Remington wanted an answer. She’d have to say something, but what?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Dorrie reached for the phone beside the bed. Palms clammy, heart thumping, she waited for Mr. Remington to answer. After a perfunctory hello, he got to the point. “Mrs. Donato, have you made up your mind?”

  She took a deep breath. What she’d tell him would shape her future, be it for good or bad.

  “I’ll do it,” she finally blurted out.

  “I’d hoped you’d say that.”

  The smile in Remington’s voice seemed genuine, but it didn’t stop her legs from shaking beneath the sheet. Good thing she had the bed for support, or she’d collapse.

  She tried to listen to his next words, but couldn’t concentrate on such trivialities as when and where to meet, when her mind dwelt on the frightening step she’d agreed to take.

  “I’m sorry, could you repeat that? I’m a little nervous right now. ”

  “Understandable. Let me run through it again. Come in the side door tomorrow at nine. Don’t dress up. Wear something casual, like you’d wear at home. We’ll shoot a few before shots and videos. You’ll take the pill, and be on your way. It’s as simple as that.”

  He made it sound like an everyday occurrence.

  “Okay, I think I can handle it.” Her voice sounded weak, but this was a huge step out of her comfort zone. Was this Dorrie Donato or some alien being which had taken over her body and agreed to such an outlandish experiment? The way her life twisted around lately, nothing surprised her.

  After she’d hung up the phone, she still couldn’t believe she’d actually said yes. Even more surprising was the weird adventurous streak shooting through her. Grief must have left her unbalanced, making her go off the deep end. She couldn’t think of any other reason for her atypical state.

  The next morning, while alternating between fear and excitement, she changed outfits dozens of times. She usually wore jeans and a tee shirt around the house, but wanted to look special for the camera. She finally settled on the velour jogging suit she’d bought in a shortlived fitness craze.

  On the way to the Institute, fighting fear and dread, she gripped the steering wheel tightly and tried to concentrate on driving. When she turned into the parking lot, she studiously avoided staring at the spot where Larry had lain.

  Her fingers trembled as she followed instructions and pressed the doorbell at the side entrance. Mr. Remington himself answered and whisked her down the hall and into what looked like a family room, complete with a gold couch, walnut end tables, glowing lamps and a gas burning fireplace. The homey surroundings eased her nerves, until she noticed the cameraman with his equipment in the far corner. What had she gotten into?

  Mr. Remington gestured toward the couch, and then motioned for the taping to start. She answered inane questions about age, weight and health, before he got to the grist of the interview. “Why are you taking the young pill?”

  “It’s a marvelous opportunity to turn back the clock, and I want to be young again. My bones are already thinning, and that’s not good. My Mom had osteoporosis and suffered a horrible death because of it. I don’t want to go through what she did.”

  At thought of her mother’s suffering, her voice broke. She bravely continued. “Along with my fear of following in Mom’s footsteps, there are plenty of other reasons to be young. I used to have loads of energy, could eat what I wanted without gaining weight, and still had great cholesterol readings. Then my thyroid gave out and slowed down my metabolism. I take pills to combat the affects, but they’re not perfect. I dye my hair, but it’s not like before. If I wear shorts, my varicose and spider veins stick out. I’m even more embarrassed by all the wrinkles on my face.”

  Wow, she’d come up with more reasons than she’d realized. They were all true, yet if by some miracle Larry came alive again, she’d gladly put up with aging for the chance to grow old with him. Unfortunately, that could never happen.

  Mr. Remington signaled for the cameraman to stop. “Great job, Dorrie. Very convincing. Now, if you would, please stand by the fireplace and we’ll take a few shots.”

  Following instructions on body placement, she adopted the various poses, then answered additional questions designed to emphasize her fearful senior status.

  After the questions, he handed her a small plastic bag. “Mrs. Donato, I’d like you to put this
on, please. The bathroom is over there,” he said, pointing to a closed door.

  Dorrie glanced inside the bag, then cringed. What she saw was the tiniest bikini she’d ever laid eyes on. She’d never worn one that small, even when she’d owned a decent figure. In her present situation, every pound accumulated through her entire life would stick out and look hideous.

  “Is this absolutely necessary?”

  “I’m afraid so, if we’re to measure your before and after. Don’t be nervous. It’s purely professional.”

  Of course. Who on earth would be attracted to anyone in her lumpy condition? Still, flaunting her flab would be extremely embarrassing. She didn’t much care for this part of the adventure.

  On reluctant feet, she stepped into the bathroom. Once there, she quickly donned the suit without looking at herself in the mirror, except at the last minute to make sure nothing vital showed. She wanted to get this ordeal over as quickly as possible. She had to be insane to make such a spectacle of herself, even more insane to think his pill would work. Where were her brains?

  Hand on the knob, she took a deep breath. She’d stroll out the door and pretend she wore bikinis all the time. Easier said than done, when her knees knocked from fright as she walked. She wanted to sink into a hole as Mr. Remington and the cameraman eyed her.

  The session lengthened. Boredom and irritation set in. Her legs, arms, and back ached from striking poses for the shots and videos.

  “That should do it. You can change now,” Roman finally said.

  With relief, she stepped into the dressing room and changed back to her jogging outfit. When she’d re-emerged, he said, “You’ve done very well, Dorrie. For the next step, we’ll go to my office where I’ll administer the first pill.”

  An icy shiver raced up and down her spine. She’d been so busy with the superficialities of posing she’d almost forgotten the reason for the publicity. Could she do this to herself?

  On unsteady legs, she quietly followed Roman and the cameraman down the hall and up the glass elevator.