Dangerous Chapter 22 - Dislocation
“VAL,” I SAID, “I have some…um, some unexpected news.”
It was the Tuesday following my first session with Grace, and my cheek still ached from the impact of her ring. Val and I had met for a late dinner at a small Italian restaurant in The Commons, in Calabasas just off the Ventura freeway, about five miles from her house in the hills. For this dinner, as sometimes happened, I was not in doll mode.
“Oh?” she said, and sipped her Chianti.
“Well…” I dithered, unsure about how to proceed. “My boss asked me to fly to London to help set up a new post-production facility there.”
“He must think very highly of you, to give you such a responsibility. Congratulations.”
“Val…he’s offered me a supervisor’s position. It would be a permanent gig. And a lot more money.” I said it as gently as I could.
This set her back. “Hmm. That does rather alter things, doesn’t it?”
We were silent for a little while.
When Val did speak, her tone was unexpectedly light. “London’s a fine city. You should find it quite pleasant. How soon do you leave?”
I had expected Val to be stoic about it, but I wasn’t prepared for this display of complete unconcern.
“Let’s see,” I said. “I’m supposed to fly there on April twentieth, and today is the first…” I let that float in the air for a second.
But Val didn’t make the connection. Her eyes were distant, a little hard.
I decided it was best to abandon the joke. “April fools, Val,” I said with a meek smile, hoping she’d take the joke in good humor. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
“Ah.” Val set her glass down with exaggerated care. “I suppose you think you’re a clever girl.”
“Sorry, Val. It was a stupid joke.”
“Yes, I daresay it was. And do you know why?” Her voice was low, dark, threatening.
My stomach contracted into a tight ball, and I grew dizzy. “No, Ma’am.”
“Of course not, because the doll stupidly believes itself to be the center of the universe. Listen carefully. Of all the idiotic popular customs I detest, April Fools’ is the most vapid. I am profoundly disappointed.”
I looked down, my face hot with shame. A tear dropped into my pasta.
But she wasn’t finished. “Doll imagined I would fall to my knees and beg it not to go? How insulting.” She opened her purse and extracted a hundred-dollar bill, which she put on the table. “Goodnight.” She rose and walked out of the restaurant with a brisk click of heels.
I grabbed my own purse and followed her, heedless of the other diners’ eyes upon me. I had to trot to catch up, and reached her just in time to interpose myself between Val and her car door.
“I’m so sorry, Ma’am!” I pleaded. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll do anything. Anything.”
She impaled me with a bayonet glare. “The doll doesn’t have such a high opinion of itself now, does it?”
“No Ma’am,” I began to cry. “I’m stupid. I’m horrible. I—”
“Hush,” she said, softly, wiping my tears with her hand. She brought the damp fingers to her lips, and tasted my anguish. “Do you want to know the real reason I am so vexed with you, doll?”
I nodded dumbly. My knees were quaking.
“Because…” And now she actually struggled to find words, something I’d never seen her do before. “Because I love you, and I don’t want to lose you.”
It was a confession; quiet, vulnerable, completely unexpected. Val placed one hand behind my neck and kissed me hard upon the lips. I tasted wine and the salt of my own tears.
I gasped, involuntarily taking air from her mouth, caught in a vortex of fading terror and blooming joy. It was more than my body could contain, and I would have staggered if my hand hadn’t found the low roof of the car as a support.
Val broke the kiss, her eyes shining.
“Oh. Oh, Ma’am. Val,” I said tremulously, my heart filling with golden light so suddenly it hurt. The cool night air smelled of eucalyptus trees, their dry leaves rustling in the starlit breeze.
After a few heartbeats, her mouth twisted into a familiar shark-grin.
“April fools,” she said.
Then Val gripped me by the shoulders and moved me away from the car door. I wobbled drunkenly, struggling to deal with these sudden, conflicting dislocations. She got into the car and closed the door, then lowered the power window, an almost musical sound in the calm evening air.
“Are you free Friday night, dear? Grace will be coming by then to continue your training. Eight o’clock sharp.” Her voice was all Keeper now, as if nothing had happened.
Luckily she didn’t wait for a reply, because I was quite unable to utter a sound.
“Ta,” she said, and her stereo began to throb. The car pulled away with an electric whine.
As I stood watching her tail lights disappear, I felt as though my soul had been ripped out of my body and roughly stuffed back in. My hands trembled, and for a few moments I thought I might actually throw up.
That was the last April Fools’ joke I ever played in my life.
Copyright © 2011 Sandra Kishi Glenn
It was the Tuesday following my first session with Grace, and my cheek still ached from the impact of her ring. Val and I had met for a late dinner at a small Italian restaurant in The Commons, in Calabasas just off the Ventura freeway, about five miles from her house in the hills. For this dinner, as sometimes happened, I was not in doll mode.
“Oh?” she said, and sipped her Chianti.
“Well…” I dithered, unsure about how to proceed. “My boss asked me to fly to London to help set up a new post-production facility there.”
“He must think very highly of you, to give you such a responsibility. Congratulations.”
“Val…he’s offered me a supervisor’s position. It would be a permanent gig. And a lot more money.” I said it as gently as I could.
This set her back. “Hmm. That does rather alter things, doesn’t it?”
We were silent for a little while.
When Val did speak, her tone was unexpectedly light. “London’s a fine city. You should find it quite pleasant. How soon do you leave?”
I had expected Val to be stoic about it, but I wasn’t prepared for this display of complete unconcern.
“Let’s see,” I said. “I’m supposed to fly there on April twentieth, and today is the first…” I let that float in the air for a second.
But Val didn’t make the connection. Her eyes were distant, a little hard.
I decided it was best to abandon the joke. “April fools, Val,” I said with a meek smile, hoping she’d take the joke in good humor. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
“Ah.” Val set her glass down with exaggerated care. “I suppose you think you’re a clever girl.”
“Sorry, Val. It was a stupid joke.”
“Yes, I daresay it was. And do you know why?” Her voice was low, dark, threatening.
My stomach contracted into a tight ball, and I grew dizzy. “No, Ma’am.”
“Of course not, because the doll stupidly believes itself to be the center of the universe. Listen carefully. Of all the idiotic popular customs I detest, April Fools’ is the most vapid. I am profoundly disappointed.”
I looked down, my face hot with shame. A tear dropped into my pasta.
But she wasn’t finished. “Doll imagined I would fall to my knees and beg it not to go? How insulting.” She opened her purse and extracted a hundred-dollar bill, which she put on the table. “Goodnight.” She rose and walked out of the restaurant with a brisk click of heels.
I grabbed my own purse and followed her, heedless of the other diners’ eyes upon me. I had to trot to catch up, and reached her just in time to interpose myself between Val and her car door.
“I’m so sorry, Ma’am!” I pleaded. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll do anything. Anything.”
She impaled me with a bayonet glare. “The doll doesn’t have such a high opinion of itself now, does it?”
“No Ma’am,” I began to cry. “I’m stupid. I’m horrible. I—”
“Hush,” she said, softly, wiping my tears with her hand. She brought the damp fingers to her lips, and tasted my anguish. “Do you want to know the real reason I am so vexed with you, doll?”
I nodded dumbly. My knees were quaking.
“Because…” And now she actually struggled to find words, something I’d never seen her do before. “Because I love you, and I don’t want to lose you.”
It was a confession; quiet, vulnerable, completely unexpected. Val placed one hand behind my neck and kissed me hard upon the lips. I tasted wine and the salt of my own tears.
I gasped, involuntarily taking air from her mouth, caught in a vortex of fading terror and blooming joy. It was more than my body could contain, and I would have staggered if my hand hadn’t found the low roof of the car as a support.
Val broke the kiss, her eyes shining.
“Oh. Oh, Ma’am. Val,” I said tremulously, my heart filling with golden light so suddenly it hurt. The cool night air smelled of eucalyptus trees, their dry leaves rustling in the starlit breeze.
After a few heartbeats, her mouth twisted into a familiar shark-grin.
“April fools,” she said.
Then Val gripped me by the shoulders and moved me away from the car door. I wobbled drunkenly, struggling to deal with these sudden, conflicting dislocations. She got into the car and closed the door, then lowered the power window, an almost musical sound in the calm evening air.
“Are you free Friday night, dear? Grace will be coming by then to continue your training. Eight o’clock sharp.” Her voice was all Keeper now, as if nothing had happened.
Luckily she didn’t wait for a reply, because I was quite unable to utter a sound.
“Ta,” she said, and her stereo began to throb. The car pulled away with an electric whine.
As I stood watching her tail lights disappear, I felt as though my soul had been ripped out of my body and roughly stuffed back in. My hands trembled, and for a few moments I thought I might actually throw up.
That was the last April Fools’ joke I ever played in my life.
Copyright © 2011 Sandra Kishi Glenn
