WE KNEW, BUT WE DIDN'T KNOW

 

 

  CHAPTER ELEVEN—A WEDDING INVITATION

 

 

I had no idea what to expect when I got home. Would Lucy have moved out? She had very few possessions, so that could be accomplished in one mini-move. I reminded myself to contact a mini-mover company as soon as I knew when my moving day would be. I would be that at my supervisors’ office when I did all the necessary paperwork; that is, of course, if Joe could get my application approved.

Lucy wasn’t home and neither had she left a note for me. The flat smelled nice, grilled cheese sandwiches and chips. As I filled the bathtub, I brooded about my lethargy. I realised it was fairly mild, but it was an almost constant company. And then I thought of Eleanor again and how unlike the rest of us she was. She had been so vibrant — in colouring and personality. I thought about my drabness, our drabness. For the first time, it occurred to me that it might be a by-product of our programmed lifestyles and the void where people, the others, placed their hopes for the future. We clones were almost certainly collectively depressed, so why weren’t anti-depressants routinely prescribed for the lot of us?

During my soak in the tub, I thought about those cats. They weren’t exactly diseased-looking, but they were awfully scrawny and unappealing. I tried to recall if there was a rule in the handbook about clones being allowed to own pets. To the best of my knowledge, no one I knew ever had, but I couldn’t remember a regulation against it. Certain rules were tattooed into my memory:

·       Clones are not allowed to smoke.

·       Clones are not allowed to purchase, own, trade, sell or drink any alcoholic beverage above 2˚.

·       Clones are strictly forbidden to eat meat or fish of any kind.

·       Clones are not permitted to own home phones.

·       Clones are not permitted to have intimate relations with non-clones.

·       Clones’ residences must be approved by their supervisors or any committee with authority over clone management.

·       Clones must report for medical examinations and submit medical certificates to their supervisors on a quarterly basis.

 

There were many more rules, pages and pages of them. The handbook was reissued every two years or so, and I realised that a new handbook hadn’t been distributed for more than three years. What could that mean?

I was also half-expecting to feel ill after eating morsels of chicken and chunks of beef, but I didn’t feel in the least bit off. My languid bath really relaxed me. I fell into a sweet sleep almost immediately afterward and didn’t awaken once during that long November night.

The next few days were wonderfully uneventful. Kathy’s recovery seemed to be an actual event rather than a fervent wish on my part. She had begun dressing and undressing herself and walking on her own. Her appetite was excellent and she was intrigued when I told her about the chicken soup and the stew.

“What does meat taste like, Sophie? Do chicken and beef have a similar flavour or are they very different?”

“Golly, Kath. It’s really hard to describe the taste of things. The chicken soup was lovely. The pieces of chicken floating around were kind of like threads. I would describe the taste as pleasant but bland, kind of like soft, tender cheese. The beef had a stronger, deeper, fuller taste. It was also very nice. It didn’t taste at all the way I imagined animal would. Sorry, I can’t do better. I don’t have the vocabulary, but when you’re stronger, I’ll take you with me to visit the Golds, and you’ll be able to taste what I’m trying so unsuccessfully to describe.”

Kathy smiled. “I wonder what Joe is going to cook for you? I have a feeling it will be sea fruits; I mean to say seafood.”

“What makes you think that?”

“That stuff is supposed to be romantic, isn’t it? Caviar, oysters, lobsters, all that expensive sea stuff.”

Kathy’s mentioning the sea reminded me of the boat that she had visited with Tommy and Ruth. The boat had become quite a landmark for carers and donors alike, but that ended just before I became a carer. It had been disassembled before I had a chance to see it although I had never understood why it was such a big deal. I wanted to ask Kathy about it, but I was afraid of causing her unhappiness. I wanted to give her new memories: Crinoline Lane and the crazy little flea market in the lane off St. Luke Street. I didn’t tell her about the key, though. I felt superstitious about it, as though mentioning it would jinx it in some way. I suppose I thought that my having it was too good to be true. And I decided that I wouldn’t visit the Golds again until Friday, after my date with Joe. I knew that they wanted to help me, but what if it could be the other way around? If they had to lose their shop, their home, maybe they could move into Joe’s building. Maybe we could be neighbours and part of this new project that Joe seemed to be a part of.

By the time Thursday arrived, I was so jittery I couldn’t concentrate. Kathy and I were giggling like schoolgirls during our entire time together. She wanted me to use her curling iron, and I did, but I didn’t like the results.

“I don’t know, Kath. I don’t think it looks good. I think curly hair makes my face look a little ugly.”

She burst into robust laughter. “No! That’s not true at all. You look sexy. You look like one of those models on the covers of fashion magazines.”

I was dubious. “What if he doesn’t recognize me? I think I should look pretty much the same way I looked when he met me, only better. I’ll wear more makeup and better clothes, but a different hairstyle could put him off.”

“Why don’t you go through my makeup case?” Kathy asked. “Perhaps there’s something there you’d like to borrow. I’ve got a few high-end lipsticks that I managed to get via grey market. Actually, I’d for you to take one and keep it if any appeal to you. You’ve been so generous and so kind to me.”

Kathy’s cosmetics case was on her nightstand. I unzipped it and several tubes, sticks and pots tumbled onto her bed. She picked up a bullet-shaped silver container. “Try this one,” she instructed. “It’s quite pretty.”

I removed the round sheathe and twisted the bottom of the bullet upward. The grape-coloured head reminded me of glycerine soap. “I think it’s too dark, Kathy. I don’t like bruised-looking lips.”

“You’ll be surprised,” she countered. “It looks much darker than it actually is. Just try it.” I did. She was right. She held up a small, smeared mirror the size of my chin and mouth and my lips were flushed a natural rosy shade. “It’s brilliant, Kath.”

“It’s a Clinique; at least, I think it is. One of my cases gave it to me about three years ago. And now it’s yours, a very small token of my appreciation.”

“Thanks, Kathy.” I began returning the cosmetics into the grimy red plastic case. They comprised quite a collection, far larger than my own.

“I want you keep it all, Sophie. I don’t need makeup. If I recover, and maybe I will, I’ll begin anew, start fresh, create a whole new look for myself.”

“This is quite a treasure for me, Kath. Thank you. What’s old for you, is new for me. I’ll scout around for you. I’ll get you a new case too. It’ll be our special project, one of our many special projects.”

I stuffed the bulging case into my beige polyurethane handbag, and pressed my lips firmly together to make sure that the lip stain or gel or tint was evenly distributed. It was a very nippy day, too cold to spend time on the balcony, so we decided to walk to the waiting room and buy a snack from one of the vending machines. The third floor was quiet. I noticed a new patient in the bed where the hapless girl donor had been. This patient was a male and he was alone; perhaps he had not yet been assigned to a carer.

“Would you like to introduce yourself to the new donor across the hall?” I thought it might be nice for Kathy to have a conversation partner.

“Perhaps another time. Today I want to be happy and focus on your evening — your date. Golly! Just the word “date” gives me gooseflesh.” We locked arms. Kathy was walking well, almost briskly and her posture was good.

“You look very pretty, Kathy. It’s hard to believe that you’re over 30.” At that precise moment, a stout nurse met up with us although walking in the other direction. She tossed us a very sour look and we stifled our laughter. I had seen that senior nurse very often since beginning my stint with Kathy at Windmere. She was beyond middle age with very saggy skin on her face, neck and arms. When Kathy and I were in the privacy of the waiting room, I said, “That nurse has the loosest skin I’ve ever seen. My Mrs. Gold is certainly older than her, but her skin isn’t so ruined.”

“I suppose the tug of gravity affects people to different degrees. That’s one thing we’ll never have to worry about.” We were idling in front of the vending machines. I asked, “Do you see anything you fancy? My treat.” We both studied the compartments behind the glass case. There was the usual assortment of cheese sandwiches, egg sandwiches, oatmeal and raisin biscuits, peanut butter biscuits, jelly cups, chocolate and caramel pudding cups. Kathy sighed. “This stuff is so repetitive, so boring. Why don’t they sell muffins in the machines? That’s what I’d really like, a big, fat whatever kind of muffin.”

“Let’s go down to the cafeteria in that case. I’m sure you’re strong enough.”

“That would be splendid, almost like going downtown. I enjoyed studying geography at Hailsham. It was very exciting to learn about so many countries where people had their own languages and customs. Now my notions of geography have shrunk to the size of a Donor Hospital.”

The cafeteria was the hub of Windmere even though it was situated in its bowels. It was the only area where clones and regulars were thrown together without any restrictions.

Kathy selected two obese muffins, a double chocolate and a cranberry-orange, and we made our way toward a small empty table near a window. After a minute of picking morsels to eat out of her chocolate muffin, Kathy said, “Seeing that wrinkly old nurse reminded me of a thought I had not so long ago. I used to think about old age a lot, you know, wondering what it would be like. At any rate, there have always been medical anomalies, atypical symptoms and the like. So what do you suppose, Sophie? Do you think an old person’s skin has ever sagged upward, in the wrong direction?”

I burst into laughter. “What a peculiar thought, Kath! Whatever made you imagine that?”

“I don’t know. I just did.”

“I think that would be impossible. That would defy the law of gravity.”

“But in nature, aren’t laws constantly being broken? And what is a medical miracle if not that?”

“I hardly think that reverse gravity could be considered a medical miracle. I’m trying to visualise it, and it’s a freakish sight.”

“But there are many freaks in nature, Sophie. Tell me, do you find old people ugly?”

“Not at all, at least not collectively. Some are very beautiful, and others are ugly, but most are ordinary, average, like the rest of us. I do have a fantasy, though, about the elderly.

“Tell me what it is.”

“Oh, it’s that they’re kind and wise, all of them. Of course, I know that’s not true. Some of them are, and others aren’t, but I like to imagine that they all are. Otherwise — ”

“Otherwise what, Kathy?”

“Otherwise, what’s the point of getting old?”

I had no ready answer for that, so we sat in silence for a while, watching people and clones, young, old, middle-aged, carers and donors and personnel, all going about their routines as though the social order made sense and the regulations weren’t being bent and broken all over the place.

It was almost 5 pm when I got home. I had bid Kathy a hurried and nervous farewell, but she looked the portrait of confidence. “It’ll be smashing, Sophie. Try to have fun and failing that, get some information about anything you can. But don’t be too obvious. And whatever you do, don’t say too much. Let him do the bulk of the talking. It’ll be safer for you, and for me, that way.”

I brushed my teeth at length and reapplied the glycerine-like lip tint. Then I painted two thin black lines as close to my eyelash lines as my limited skill permitted. I chose an oatmeal coloured sweater dress that was slightly tight, low-cut and short. It was almost the same shade as my well-worn tights and my polyurethane boots were a good height for the dress. On went the shabby pea coat, and I was out the door. I had the first month’s rent wad of bills stuffed in my plastic wallet. The wind was kicking quite ferociously, and that was a good thing inasmuch as it took my mind off my nervousness. But when I reached 329 St. Luc, my hands began to shake; my legs felt weak. My throat was dry. I was an utter wreck. I forced myself to ring the doorbell, and Joe opened the door almost immediately. He laughed, “I confess. I’ve been waiting for you in the foyer for at least thirty minutes. I was too excited to stay in my flat.”

Joe looked handsomer than how I’d remembered him. He had two deep dimples on either side of his shapely lips. Somehow I hadn’t noticed them when I first met him. It’s very peculiar how selectively visual memory functions. I wondered who he’d inherited them from: his mum or his dad?

“May I come in?” I asked. Joe was blocking the entrance as though he wanted to send me away.” Oh God, yes, Please do. How rude of me! See how nervous I am? It’s ridiculous, a man my age.”

“It’s awfully windy out there. I thought of putting rocks in my coat pockets.” I followed Joe up one short flight of stairs. The door to apartment 11 was partly open, and heavenly scents wafted into the hallway. I couldn’t identify the aromas, but they were pleasantly familiar.

“Let me take your coat,” Princess. I shrugged out of my worn coat and allowed myself to luxuriate in the warm fragrance of Joe’s flat. It was modern and austerely furnished, yet it reminded me of the Golds’ home. I’d never lived in a flat that was properly heated, or maybe it was the odour of cooking meat that made these places smell so different from anywhere I had been a tenant. I took in my surroundings as thoroughly as I could. A very large living room was to my right. The walls were a colour between beige and ivory. I don’t know the name of that colour. The large couch was dark green leather and the area rug was deep brown with a coral and green geometric pattern. There was a long, narrow glass coffee table in front of the couch. A familiar pop song was playing on a CD player. I owned a cassette recorder, but I’d heard that CDs had a better sound than cassettes. My ears, however, weren’t sufficiently trained to tell the difference. Beside the CD player, on a small metal corner stand, was a high stack of CDs, which reminded me of a colourful high-rise building.

“I’m going to bring you a delicious drink if that’s all right with you,” Joe said with a questioning tone. “Yes, thank you. That would be lovely.”

“Sit down or look around, whichever you prefer. I won’t be long.” I elected to sit down, and I placed my handbag on the floor. It looked forlorn and shabby, but I thought it would ridiculous atop the elegant glass table. The music made my limbs restless. “She drives me crazy.” I liked those lyrics a lot. Imagine having the power to drive a bloke crazy! If only I could drive Joe crazy I might be able to step out of my squalid little life and into a breathtakingly glamourous one, but wait, no. No, not a glamourous life but a safe one. That’s what I wanted, a safe life, one that wouldn’t be restricted to hospitals and recovery centres until I completed quietly by my 30^th birthday. “Slow down, Sophie,” I admonished myself. “Don’t get carried away. This is a first date, if you can even call it that. It’s more like a lease-signing dinner date. And make sure you sign the lease before you have that drink. No lease, no drink. It’s back to square one, but at least I have the Golds. If I can’t help them, perhaps they can help me.”

Joe returned carrying two glasses containing a dark red liquid. “It’s Vermouth,” he told me. “Sorry, I don’t have any ice-cubes or lime slices to serve with it.” He handed me one glass and then clinked it with his own. “To you,” he said. “To us.”

I took a sip. It was cold and bittersweet. “It’s an aperitif wine. It’s supposed to open one’s appetite,” Joe informed me.

“I think it’s working because I just realize how hungry I am.” Joe laughed. “Excellent. I was hoping you would be. Shall we take care of business first?”

I felt tremendous relief. All would be well! “You can sign the lease and move in whenever you like. You’ll only have to pay rent as of the first of January. That gives you a fair amount of wiggle room in case you have to sublet your flat.”

“No, it doesn’t work like that. We just have to inform our supervisors that we’re moving and get their approval. As long as we’re paid up for the month we can move out on any day of that month. They just need to know where we’re residing at all times. So I take it that my supervisors approved the application?”

“Piece of cake. I spoke to Vera Sanders. She said some very complimentary things about you.”

“Really?” I was taken aback. Mrs. Sanders had never been particularly nice to me even though she’d known me since my carer training programme, seven years ago. It’s true that she graded me a Class A Carer, but truth be told, I deserved that classification. I’d always been obedient and diligent, never any backtalk from me.

“Yes. She said you were a clever girl, and that you had a heart. I’ll get the lease and we can both sign it right now. As for the first month’s rent, I don’t absolutely need it today; any time before the first of the month will be fine.”

But I was anxious to get the paperwork over with and hoping to get my copy of the key. Joe left the room briefly and returned with two copies of the lease. He signed his name with a flourish. He looked pensively at my signature. “What are you looking at? Does my lack of a proper surname disturb you?”

“Not in the least, but I admit I’m curious about your given name. Do you know who gave it to you? With us, it’s usually the birth mother.”

“I really don’t know. I’ve always assumed it was someone who worked in the lab. I doubt that it’s a regular job — naming baby clones. Perhaps we’re pre-named.” I bent to lift my handbag from the floor.

“You know, I heard it’s bad luck to leave your purse on the floor.”

“Bad luck how? In what sense?”

“That your money will leave you.”

“I never heard of that superstition. Here you go.” I passed Joe an envelope containing exactly 350 quid. He didn’t open it to count the money. I found that omission endearing. He then fished in his left trouser pocket and handed me a gold-coloured key. It occurred to me that I ought to buy a keychain for my two new keys. I was pleased that I would be easily able to tell them apart.

Then Joe moved close to me and swooped in for the kiss. His lips tasted nice. The kiss itself was somewhat cool. I got the impression he was curious and that he had never kissed one of us before.  I don’t know what overcame me, but out of the blue, I feigned intense passion. I opened my mouth, more or less forcing him to do likewise and I moaned softly. His kiss became more insistent, but then he pulled away abruptly. “Supper should be ready by now. Bring your glass into the kitchen, and keep me company while I serve us.”

The kitchen surprised me. For one thing, the counter tops were pink, and then there were the considerable number of orchids in brightly coloured pots. It was also unusually clean and orderly. “We’re going spicy tonight, not Indian spicy but Mexican hot. Tacos filled with beef. I’ve thrown in Jalapeno and Serrano peppers to add bite. All I have to do now is heat up a few tortilla shells.”

I sat down on one of the two transparent Lucite chairs and admired the trays of grated orange cheese, multi-coloured sweet peppers and lettuce. There was a bottle of rose-coloured wine on the small, round table. I smiled up at a wall clock designed to resemble an Oreo biscuit with a bite taken out of it. The table was set with white dinner plates, surprisingly ornate cutlery and deep pink cloth napkins.

“I like your orchid collection.”

“Orchids are great, costly yes, but the blossoms last a very long time and I find the markings intriguing.”

Joe was multitasking, sipping his Vermouth heating up the corn-flour taco shells and chatting with me. He looked perfectly relaxed. “I suppose you’ll want to have another look at apartment 17 before you leave.”

“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary. I’ve so few possessions that arranging them won’t be a problem whatsoever. I’m hoping to find a few treasures at the sisters’ flea market. Have you bought anything there?”

“Good God, no! Heaven knows where that stuff comes from. People tell me I’m overly fastidious.”

I felt myself blushing. He couldn’t be all that fastidious or he wouldn’t be spending his time with the likes of me. “Yet you’re not squeamish about making supper for a clone,” I stated flatly.

“I don’t see you as a clone. I see you as a beautiful young woman who landed on my doorstep, a wounded bird.”

Joe brought a plate with a stack of golden tortillas over to the table. “Let me demonstrate how this is done.”

He spooned a small quantity of meat into the centre of the corn flour shell, added the grated cheese, then the lettuce and then folded the tortilla. He held it in his hands and took a big bite out of one end. Some sauce dribbled down his chin. That made me decide to use the cutlery even if the process would be awkward and inefficient. I didn’t want him to see me with a wet reddish-brown smear on my chin. Cutting into the soft shell proved to be messy, and a lot of the juicy minced meat remained on my plate, but at least my face would stay clean. The food was delicious, spicy but not crazily so. It was very different from Mrs. Gold’s food, but almost as good. I didn’t enjoy the sparkling pink wine, though. It was overly sweet and it hurt my teeth.

“My mate Conrad’s getting married this Saturday. I was wondering if you’d like to come to the reception. It’s at The Crown Royal Hotel. I’d love to have you as my date.”

My eyes must have turned as round as buttons. I squeaked the questions, “Why? Why do you want to invite me? Won’t it be complicated? Would Conrad and his bride be all right with my being at their party?” I didn’t have to ask about the legality of the proposal. I knew perfectly well that even if rules for clones were being softened, such an action would be clearly unlawful.

“No one will mind, that is if they even notice. The food will be beautiful; there’ll be dancing. I promise I will take excellent care of you. You’ll probably be the prettiest girl there.”

I stared into Joe’s eyes. They certainly didn’t inspire trust, but that wasn’t his fault. “Say ‘yes,’Sophie. You won’t regret it. You won’t have to worry about an outfit, either, no offence intended. My junior secretary is more or less your size. I can send her out shopping tomorrow for a suitable frock, and I’ll need to know your shoe size, of course.”

I can’t explain what got into me, but I answered, “I accept. It should be an amazing adventure for me, but promise you’ll meet me outside the hotel. I wouldn’t have the courage to walk in unaccompanied.”

“That was easier than I thought it would be! How delightful. Rosemary will bring the dress and shoes to your flat early Saturday morning. Now tell me what your favourite colours are and which colours you wouldn’t be caught dead wearing.”

At this turn in our conversation, it occurred to me that Joe might be gay, what with his attention to fashion details, but his probing kiss strongly suggested otherwise. “I love pink: pale pink, blush pink, dusty pink but not bubble-gum Barbie pink, and I dislike orange. My shoe size is 8. I don’t want a flouncy dress. I’d prefer something simple and elegant and not too short, but not floor-length either.” I took a second section of my wet tortilla, and then a third.

“I’m separated from my wife, Sophie. That’s why I’m living in this unit. I have two kids, young adults, a girl and a boy, barely younger than you, but don’t worry. None of them will be at Conrad’s wedding.”

I helped myself to a second taco shell, and after loading it with the designated ingredients, I held it up to my mouth and took a big-sized bite out of it. I could feel the sauce dripping down my chin, but I didn’t care. After supper, Joe led me back into the living room where he dimmed the lights and played some sad, slow bluesy music. We necked for a long time, and he fondled my breasts and stroked my thighs, but only on top of my tights and dress. Even though the fabrics of both were thick and rather course, my nerve-endings began to twitch. He took my hand and placed it on his trousers. His erection was strong, but he took our sex play no further. That was both a relief and a disappointment. It was still fairly early when Joe announced that he would walk me home. I offered to help wash the dishes, but he declined. “You’re my guest, Sophie. If we lived together, that would be a different story.”

We walked in agreeable silence. There were very few people out on the streets and surprisingly little traffic. No one looked at us accusingly. About halfway there, Joe slipped his hand over mine and it felt so warm and comforting. It was only after he kissed me good-night and started walking away that I realised I had let Kathy down. I hadn’t discovered any new information about the social status of clones, but I would have another chance on Saturday. That is, if I could keep my wits about me. Joe’s voice reached me from across the street. “The Crown Royal Hotel, Saturday at 18:30. I’ll be waiting for you.”

I was surprised to see Lucy sitting glumly on the living room sofa. She acknowledged my arrival with a lethargic nod. She sat like someone on an unmoored boat. “My request to be Mike’s carer has been denied.”

“Can’t you appeal the decision?”

“No, he’s already been assigned a carer, and my supervisor told me that there’d be too much paperwork involved in an appeal process. She told me I ought to, I had to, let it go. I’m feeling too downhearted to visit my case today. I can’t bear the thought of it.”

“You have to go to work, Lucy. It seems to me that you’ve missed more than a few days over the past month.”

“Ah, whatever. Perhaps you’re right. I’ll try to get some sleep now and see how I feel in the morning.”

I touched Lucy gently on her shoulder and slipped into my bedroom, which smelled stale. I wanted to tell Lucy that she should and could make friends among the others. As it stood, she was totally on her own and in a frightening downward spiral. I found it both amusing and ghastly that even among clones there was no equality. There were always those far luckier and unluckier than oneself, but I was beginning to believe that there were other factors at work besides luck although I was incapable of identifying what they were.

Friday morning was bright and beautiful. By the time I was finished in the lavatory, Lucy had already left the flat. I hadn’t bothered to undress, so I simply stayed in the same clothes I had changed into the evening prior. I was in a hurry to see Kathy, to share my good news with her.

To my surprise, Windmere had been transformed overnight, the theme being Christmas. A stately evergreen graced the main lobby. All its decorations, the glass globes, bows, glitter swans and angels, were silver. Even the simple star atop the tree glistened a snowy silver. It was enchanting. Clones didn’t celebrate Christmas, but that didn’t prevent us from admiring all the beauty that surrounded the celebration of the birth of the baby Jesus.

A much smaller but more colourful tree stood outside of the third floor nursing station. This tree, unlike the one in the main lobby, was artificial and somewhat gaudily enhanced with oversized blue, red, green, gold and silver baubles. The effect, nonetheless, was undeniably cheerful. It wouldn’t be Christmas for almost a month, but I reminded myself that many decorations appeared at the beginning of December. I was standing near the tree, absorbing its merry energy, when I noticed Kathy walking toward me. How well she looked! She was wearing a muted red mini dress and pale red lipstick. Her garnet, in contrast, shone almost black. “What a pretty girl she is,” I thought.

We embraced. “Let’s go to the waiting room and you can tell me all about your date,” Kathy urged. We locked arms and walked together. Our steps were in perfect harmony. I looked down to watch our feet taking matching steps and noticed her shoes — ballerina shoes, black leather, seemingly new. They weren’t stylish flats either, but genuine slippers, the kind ballerinas wear. “Your shoes!” I marvelled. “They’re exquisite. Where did you get them?”

“A nurse brought me a cardboard box yesterday evening. I think they contained the possessions of the girl across the hall. She told me to keep anything which I fancied. I felt uneasy rummaging through the contents, but everything, not that there was much, was so unusual, so lovely, that I couldn’t resist.”

“You know those ballet slippers are leather, don’t you Kathy?”

“Yes, but it’s not as though I bought them. If anyone asks me about them, I’ll tell them the truth.”

“What else was in the box?”

By then, we were seated in the waiting room. Both vending machines displayed ‘out of order’ notices taped crudely to the glass. “Let’s see now. There was this dress, and a white velvet dress, and a 1990 mermaid wall calendar. The illustrations are gorgeous. Too bad it’s almost defunct.”

I told Kathy about my date with Joe. “I’m sorry. I was so nervous and excited, I wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t get any information.”

“No worries. There’s always next time. Do you think you can trust him, Sophie?”

“To a point. I know next to nothing about others, but he seems genuinely interested in me.”

“Interested or curious?”

“Both, I suppose. I’ve decided that if he wants to have sex with me, I’m going to agree.”

“Why?”

I laughed. “Curiosity and interest. And something else as well. I’m very attracted to him. He’s not a boy clone; he’s a man and I think that having sex with him will be an extraordinary experience.”

We soon strolled to Kathy’s room and she showed me the white velvet dress, which had a Renaissance allure. We must have spent the better part of the day examining the mermaid calendar month by month. The mermaids were all beautiful with long flowing tresses, pale skin and wide eyes. They were perched on rocks, or swimming alongside mighty ships, or frolicking among dolphins or sea-ponies. June’s mermaids were admiring gold rings, ruby lockets, and emerald bracelets in a jewel-encrusted treasure chest.

“It’s the strangest thing, Sophie. These mermaids remind me of us.”

I understood exactly what she meant. I told Kathy about the good, hard kiss and about the wedding invitation. “Are you nervous?” she wanted to know.

“Strangely, I’m not. Although I am sceptical about the dress and the shoes. How can they possibly fit me, let alone suit me, if I haven’t tried them on?”

“And what are you going to do about outerwear? You can’t wear that old thing.” Kathy gestured to my shabby coat which was draped over the back of a narrow chair.

“Shoot, Kath! I hadn’t thought about that. I’m seeing the Golds after I leave here today. Maybe Mrs. Gold has something I can borrow.” But the prospect didn’t please me. The last thing I wanted to do was keep taking from them. I truly wanted to find a way to properly repay them. I had an idea, but I didn’t think they would agree. I had to find a way to make them agree.

“What are you going to do if this Rosemary person doesn’t show up tomorrow morning?”

“Oh, that’s easy enough. I simply won’t go to the reception. That’s all. In fact, it might be better that way. You know, less complicated.”

When it was time for me to leave, Kathy and I embraced each other heartily. I noted how much stronger she seemed, and I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried. “Bring me a piece of wedding cake if you can even if it gets all squashed. It’s supposed to bring good luck.” Kathy was smiling brightly. I knew that she was happy for me. I recalled Miss Veronique’s tales of the Warsaw Ghetto. Love is invaluable, and for the unfortunate, the ill-chosen, it is essential.