When We Were Mortals

by E. S. Mercer

  When Zara got the news of my impromptu vacation, she made plans that gave me no opportunity to rest. It was our first chance to actually go out and see the city and be able to do the things that free women were able to do.

  First stop, she insisted, however, was a salon. The Gypsy look was cute and all, but she wanted to finally feel like she fit in for good.

  “And you,” she said. “Your raven locks need to be tamed. Your hair is so long you are going to trip and fall on it one day.”

  I loved my hair so I put up a fight, but she won, dragging me into Salon Cheveux where she insisted they chop at least ten inches off. By the time we were done, Zara had made friends with the salon owner, Gail and I looked like a totally different version of myself. According to Gail, I didn’t look like the mess that walked in the door from the Poison District anymore, but rather like a woman who belonged deep in the Flush District with a modeling contract and manservants.

  As Zara and Gail continued kibitzing about how good we looked, I couldn’t help but stare at myself in the mirror, wondering how she was able to work such magic. I mean, I never thought I looked bad but now, I had to say, even I was even impressed.

  “Girl, you should flaunt what you have,” Gail’s very gay and slightly androgynous assistant Levi announced, coming up and running his fingers through my hair. “Most women don’t have the bare bones you have.”

  He took the towel off my shoulders and helped me up. “She stripped the crud off ya and just exposed who you really are. One HOT woman, soooo, go with it!” he said with a wink.

  “Oh girl, I have just the place!” Zara announced, accidently imitating the salon assistant. “We’ve been invited to the cities hottest night club tonight anyway!”

  “Aaru!” Gail and Levi interjected in unison. “We go there every single Friday night. I’m sure we will see you there,” Gail continued. “But I don’t want to go to any club,” I said to Zara as we started walking out the door. I guess I said it loudly enough, because she started looking back to see if anyone had noticed, chuckling, waving and shoving me out the door.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked in a chastising tone. “Are you insane? We’re too young not to get out and have some fun!” “And besides,” she said, pawing at the glass, as she saw the dress of her dreams through a boutique. “I need a reason to wear THAT dress!” “What dress?” I asked, as she smushed my face against the window to get a better look.

  “See it now?” she asked, letting go of my head.

  “Yeah, it's ok,” I said with a chuckle.

  “Ugh,” she said, grabbing my hand and dragging me to the store. Of course, she got her way, bought the skintight dress and chose an equally uncomfortable and inappropriate dress for me to wear, along with heels that felt like they broke every bone in my poor unaccustomed feet. By the time, it was all said and done, I felt like a high-priced hooker and I really wasn’t comfortable with it.

  “Hush,” she said as we made our way towards the line of the club. “You look hot!”

  “I look absolutely freaking ridiculous,” I said, pulling my dress down. “This just isn’t me.”

  “You don’t know what ‘you’ is,” she replied. “Maybe this is you and ya just don’t know it yet.”

  “I think if it was me, I wouldn’t hate it so badly,” I argued. “You’re fine,” she said, dragging me towards her waiting friends. “Let’s just go in and have some fun and forget about what we do and do not like for the moment.”

  “Fine,” I said, stumbling behind her.

  *****

  We made our way through the crowd, deafened by the music blasted by this week’s hottest DJ, as Zara searched for her knew friend Gail. I walked slowly behind her, desperately trying not to hyperventilate and pass out. It wasn’t just the overwhelming noise that bothered me. The smell of sweat and overpriced cologne set the stage for a scene that I wanted nothing to do with. There was no room to move as I brushed up against sleaze that I feared I would not be able to wash off in the morning. Thankfully, mere moments before I turned to run, we found Gail and her crew up in the mezzanine, a spot exclusively for the club owner’s favorite VIP’s.

  We were quickly invited up and showered with more hospitality than I knew what to do with. Bottles of champagne, plates of fresh fruit and unlimited drinks of our choice were offered at no cost to us. Gail assured us that everything was taken care of. I fought it for as long as I could, sipping from one glass and pretending to enjoy myself, until Zara caught on. She plopped down beside me, already three sheets to the wind and begged me to let lose for just one night.

  “I need you to want this as much as me,” she pleaded, leaning her head on my shoulder, “please.” After she begged me long enough, I decided to do my best to appease my best friend and to lose myself in the night; allowing the cinematic drama of slow motion to almost consume my now half-sober eyesight. I danced as if I had no place to be, all the while wishing I was actually home and tucked in my bed. And I put on the front for much longer than I planned, but after three hours, I was more than ready to go. Zara on the other hand, was not.

  So, I decided I would take advantage of the privacy of the mezzanine, sticking to myself for a while. I kicked off my shoes, dragged a chair to the railing and decided I would find enjoyment in people watching.

  Especially when I caught a glimpse of the balcony across from me. Through the flashes of the strobe lights, I could see sitting front and center, the most androgynous and flamboyantly dressed man I had ever seen in my life. Sitting on a throne of crushed red velvet and brushed metal, he wore a skin-tight golden body suit, a plethora if gaudy jewelry, and a red paisley cape draped over one shoulder.

  Surrounded by scantily dressed men, he tapped the clawed fingertips of his right hand on the arm of the throne, as his left gripped a six-foot solid gold and ruby scepter. His eyes, which quickly latched on to me, shone as brightly as the lights above him, changing from a yellow to blue, and back again with each blink of his eyes. As soon as he saw me, he bolted up out of his seat, leaning a little bit too far off over the railing, as if to catch a better glimpse of me.

  I could feel him rooting around in my head, searching around for something that wasn’t there. His presence wasn’t as terrifying as the other man’s, but his rooting around made me feel very uncomfortable. With that, I quickly shook him off, determined to find Zara and tell her I was going home.

  I found her down on the dance floor, in the arms of a sweaty, but welldressed man, grotesquely making out with his pretty face. "You can’t go!” she said, coming up for air long enough to grab a shot of something fluorescent green off the waitress’s tray and shoving it in my hand. “Just drink and you will feel better!”

  “It’s not that!” I yelled in her ear. “Something just feels weird here!”

  “Just drink!” she yelled back, pushing the shot glass to my mouth, while grinding on the man behind her. “You will be fine!”

  Every time I tried to lower the glass from my lips, she would push it back up, until every drop was gone.

  “Now drink another one,” she demanded, shoving hers in my face. “You just need to lighten up!”

  “I don’t want it,” I replied, pushing it away. “I already feel funny.”

  “Good,” she said, pouring it in my mouth. “That is the way you are supposed to feel when you are drinking.” But, at this point, I couldn’t hear her. With the last drop I drank, things began to get really warped. The room began to spin uncontrollably as the faces surrounding me began to twist and deform. One body melded into the other as they swayed to the beat of the music. Then it felt as if the crowd began to close in on me causing my legs to betray me.

  “I’ve got you,” a voice said behind me. I could feel his arms wrap around my waist, but couldn’t turn to see who it was. “Zara, I want to go home,” I yelled, trying to figure out which face she was in the crowd. She may have been right in front of me, but with the way she was sandwiched between a couple of dancers, I
couldn’t tell who was who.

  Then, the crowd parted just enough to let the strange man from the mezzanine come straight at me. Whether it was the concoction I just drank or my wild imagination, I swear he just glided across the floor. My eyes started to cross as I watched his hand come out of his cape and dig the sharp point of his claw into the skin of my chest.

  “Who are you?” he asked, in a faint and slithery, Middle-eastern sounding accent. For some reason, I could hear him clearly over the music and warped voices of the club-goers.

  “I am Anessa,” I slurred, desperately trying to stay awake.

  “Where are you from?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said, starting to crumble in the arms of the man behind me. “What did I drink?” I stood back up and started to look at the people around me. Everyone’s faces, including Zara’s, were now clear as day, but they had changed. Some looked demonic, while others looked far from human. The face I thought was Zara’s had aged at least a hundred years, with only her eyes looking familiar to me.

  The strange man placed his cold hands on either side of my face, to immobilize my face and look deep into my eyes. Rooting around in my head again, he searched and searched until I saw him gasp and let go. I could see the reflection of my eyes in his and for a second I swear mine flashed a radiant blue.

  “Noita, what is it?” the man who held me asked.

  I turned just enough to see his face, realizing it was the face of Ryan Renaldi.

  “Ryan?” I asked, starting to crumble again under the weight of my intoxication.

  “It’s her,” I heard the creepy little man respond as I succumbed to my fatigue, blacking out.

  “I can’t believe it’s her,” the man I now knew as Noita cried. “You’ve got to get her away, he will come for her.” “But she wasn’t supposed to be here,” Ryan said, as he lifted me effortlessly into his arms. “She rejected her life as Melody almost immediately.” “I don’t know how,” Noita replied, ushering us towards the back door. “It was a solid life. It was supposed to stick. It was built on a blank slate.”

  “What does that mean?” Ryan asked, stopping to question the little man.

  “Nothing,” Noita replied, brushing him off. “But she’s being watched. So go, now!”

  “Will she remember any of this?” adjusting me, in his arms. “No, she shouldn’t.” Noita responded, leading him towards the back door. “That green drink is a magic potion. It makes all these little humans forget.”

  Ryan carried me out of the club, leaving Noita behind to stew in the uncertainty of our meeting and desperately trying to figure out what went wrong.

  ******

  The sun pierced my brain, shining through the window as if its only purpose was to shock me awake. Irritated by its presence, I found it easy to revolt against the idea of putting my feet on the floor. I tried to fight against the down feather softness that tied me to the bed, but my glorious hangover from the night before convinced me to stay where I was, momentarily.

  “Did you sleep well?” I heard from the covers beside me.

  I turned over quickly to see Ryan sit up, swing his legs over the bed and stretch. “Wait, what?” I stuttered. I wasn’t only flustered by the idea that I was in someone else’s bed, but because the man whose bed I shared, was sitting on the side of his bed in just his boxers.

  “How the hell did I get here?” I asked, watching the perfectly sculpted man stand up. He had his back to me, so he didn’t notice how I was gawking. I mean, honestly, who wouldn’t. His naked back glistened in the sunlight, each muscle separated by a tiny little crease in his skin, while his tan looking new and fresh looked painted on with a holy paintbrush. His head was turned slightly to the side, revealing a slight grin, as his bed head fell haphazardly into place.

  “You don’t remember anything?” he asked, patting the bed, snapping me out it. “Nothing at all?”

  “Should I?” I asked, looking at myself under the covers. To my surprise, I was still fully dressed.

  He got up, walked around to my side of the bed and sat down beside me. “Long story short, you went to the club with your friends, drank too much and wanted to go home. I didn’t know where you lived, your friends didn’t want to leave, so I brought you home with me.”

  “I thought you wanted me to stay away from you?” I asked, as I unknowingly started to trace a strange and familiar tattoo on the ribs of his left side. It was fascinating and simple, like that of an ancient rune.

  “That’s not what I really meant,” he said, looking down at my hand. He tried to fight off the feeling he got when I touched him, but it was just too difficult.

  “Hmm,” I said, as he brought his hand up to meet mine, slowly dragging his fingers across the top of my hand. “What is that?” I asked as I continued to trace it’s lines.

  “It’s just a tattoo,” he shot back, withdrawing his hand. I could tell that he started to feel uncomfortable but just how good it felt to be touched. His demeanor changed as he quickly jumped up from the bed and made a beeline for the dresser. “You can shower and change into a pair of my sweats and a t-shirt if you'd like. I will be out in the kitchen making breakfast,” he said, as he pulled out a pair of jeans, put them on and left the room.

  I was too hung over to interpret the meaning of his behavior, or even try to understand why. He was so all over the place with his feelings, but I just didn’t have the energy to reel them in. So, I took that well needed shower and then joined Ryan in the kitchen as he quietly scrambled the eggs in front of him, deep in thought.

  “Did you have too much to drink too?” I asked the amateur chef. “Um, no,” he said looking up, refusing eye contact. “I’m just thinking.”

  “About?” I asked, sitting at the bar stool across from him, pouring coffee into a cup he had laid out for me. I could feel a turmoil inside of him as he stewed in his own thoughts. I knew how he felt about being around me, and how that made him feel. But now, I felt as if he was trying to convince himself that he couldn’t be near me.

  “What is it about this girl that has you so torn up about her?” I asked, reading his thoughts.

  “What do you mean?” he replied, still never looking up at me. I could feel him trying to hide behind his feelings.

  “I mean you are tormenting yourself over being around me. I can’t remind you of her that much. What, did she break your heart?”

  “Quite the opposite,” he said, scooping the eggs onto a plate.

  “Meaning?” I asked, feeling like I was pulling teeth.

  “Meaning, she never really knew I existed.” He replied, putting the plate in front of me. “I loved her, but she never loved me back.” “So, what does that have to do with me?” I asked, tasting his eggs. “I am not her. So why not give me a chance? I can prove I am not her.” “Oh, you are so, so wrong,” he said sadly, sitting on the stool next to me. I wanted to question what that last comment meant, but I could see him getting deeper into his head about it, so I left it alone. He didn’t utter another word for at least five minutes as we continued to eat our breakfast.

  Finally, I couldn’t take the tension and decided to work on conversation.

  “Hey, yo,” I called out, waving my hand in front of his face. “Snap out of it. You are so depressing.”

  He looked up at me, cracking a smile as an almost visible light bulb went off over his head. “You are right!” he exclaimed, cutting into his eggs. “I’m sorry. I have been going about this all wrong.”

  He rubbed the tattoo on his side, unable to hide the fact that he was scheming just a bit.

  “What do you say you and I have dinner tonight?” he asked. “Start over.”

  “Are you asking me out on a date?” I asked. “Do Professors date the help?”

  He shoveled the last bite of eggs in his mouth, chuckling at what he was about to say next.

  “Safer than dating the students,” he joked. I laughed with him as I watched the curves of his gorgeous smile. A smile I could tell had
n’t been wasted on just anyone lately, and was radiating more and more as the morning went on.

  “Deal!” I replied, grabbing his plate and mine, making my way to the sink. After breakfast, I made my way back to campus with the taxi money Ryan had given me. He offered to drive me home, but I insisted that I make my way back on my own. I guess taking money for the taxi didn’t mean I did it all by myself, but I felt better doing it this way.

  On the drive back, I watched the taxi driver keep eyeing me through his rear-view mirror. I should have found it strange, but by looking at his face, I could tell he was someone from the camp. I didn’t recognize him, per se, but it wasn’t hard to tell he was a Gypsy.

  “Zara not with you any longer?” he asked in a thick Romanian Accent. “Aren’t you ‘posed to stick together.”

  “I didn’t know that was a rule,” I responded, rubbing my very tired head. “I am not her keeper, just her friend.”

  “And no one watches you?” he asked, adjusting his mirror to watch me more closely.

  “Are you suggesting I need a babysitter?” I asked, getting a bit annoyed. “I think I am fully capable of doing things on my own as well.” He started to open his mouth again when I stopped him. “I am an adult and I can take care of myself just fine.” I said, handing him his fare.

  “No need,” he said as he waved away the money. I held it there, waiting to see if he would change his mind, but he didn’t. So, I got out of the cab and put it in my pocket. “Tell Ksenia I said hi,” I said, leaning back in the window. “Tell her we are doing just fine.”

  But he ignored me as he pulled away and I, still exhausted from the night before, stood staring at the window of my loft, four floors up. “You wanna race up the stairs?” A half-dressed Zara asked as she came up beside me, “see who can crawl up the fastest?” She stumbled as she tried to pull her one shoe off, catching herself on my shoulder.