Today People

by Barbara G. Tarn

Carl found Vanessa suntanning by the pool of her father's mansion. She welcomed him with her cold, calculating smile. They kissed briefly, more like friends than lovers.

  He sat near her, fully dressed as he was, and a maid brought him a fresh cocktail.

  "I was afraid you wouldn't make it," Vanessa said, flipping through her fashion magazine.

  "Why would I miss our wedding?" he retorted, unable to relax since he was on the lookout for more symptoms of another heart attack.

  "I was told you were sick," she said flatly, without looking at him.

  "I survived," he replied, wondering if it was discomfort he felt or just plain nervousness. After the wedding he could relax. Hold on just a little longer.

  "Are you ready for our farce?" Vanessa asked, glancing at him with a crooked smile.

  "Always," he assured.

  "Are you really richer than my father?"

  "At the moment, yes."

  "That's why I love you, babe."

  Carl scoffed. He was marrying her for her family name, so they were really well matched. No love talk, just business. He raised his glass.

  "You love my money, I love your family name. We're even."

  "Cheers," she replied, and they toasted.

  "Andy called," Vanessa continued. "That bitch is taking you to court."

  "Why am I not surprised..." He sighed. Another woman after his money.

  "Andy said you denied even knowing her at first," she said.

  He shrugged. "Well, I admitted to knowing her, now what?"

  "What if you are the father of her daughter?" Vanessa frowned with worry.

  "No way!" he assured. "She was married at the time. It's her husband's daughter!"

  "Good." She smiled briefly. "I'd hate to waste money on her."

  Carl closed his eyes under the sun. Almost there. One last effort.

  ***

  The tabloid's cover had the "exclusive" pictures of the "Tycoon dream wedding". Carl likened them to Pamela's pictures on the other magazine. The wedding ring shone on his finger as he shifted the magazines to compare.

  I know I wanted something before I decided to get rich, marry for interest and live happily ever after. There's no happily ever after, though. So now what?

  He snorted and threw the tabloid in a drawer. He flipped through the other magazine until he found Pamela's picture on the Contributors page. Pretty dumb blonde. As brainless and glamorous as Vanessa.

  He sat back, staring at the ceiling. What was I thinking? What did I expect? That my first unrequited love revealed herself as perfect? Of course she's flawed. And she's changed. What about the others? The other ghosts from the past – where are they today?

  He called Paul and told him he'd be out for the rest of the day. Time to cancel all appointments and take that time off the doctor had recommended – if only for a day. He didn't want to waste more than that walking down memory lane.

  ***

  Carl couldn't believe his eyes when he saw Miss Templeton still at her post in the high school library. She'd looked old when he was a student, so she didn't seem to have changed much. Her hair was almost white now and she had more wrinkles, but she looked the same – unlike Pamela.

  "Good morning, Miss Templeton, where can I find the yearbooks?" he asked, stopping in front of her desk and feeling sixteen again.

  She pointed him towards a bookshelf and went back to her files – computers didn't seem to have reached the old school library yet.

  Carl went looking for the correct year and pulled out the book. He sat down at a nearby table and took a deep breath before opening the yearbook.

  Long-forgotten teenage faces jumped out at him from the pages, making him frown or smile as the ghosts of his classmates surrounded him in the quiet environment. He could almost hear their voices again.

  Pamela Lynch, prettiest cheerleader in school, her hair darker than now – his first love, the one he'd kept in a corner of his heart until he'd met her again.

  Carl Martin, the rebel teen with long hair and earrings who'd have died for Pam – except she didn't even see him.

  Carl stared at his younger self and smiled, glad of his radical change. A couple of pages later he saw Bonnie Doyle, who hadn't changed. He should have recognized her immediately.

  Carl picked up the still-open yearbook and went to Miss Templeton's desk, glancing at Bonnie's picture. She had recognized him in spite of the new look, while Pamela hadn't.

  "Is it possible to have the address of some ex-alumni?" he asked the old librarian.

  "Maybe." She looked up, suspicious. "You are?"

  He turned back the pages and showed her his picture. She looked very closely at the name.

  "Ah, yes, Martin! I remember you!" She squinted to see what he looked like now, but her eyes failed her. She sighed, oblivious of his embarrassment. "Who would you like to find?"

  4.

  Bonnie Dyle's house was a small one in a suburb. The garden looked unkempt and the building was barely bigger than a trailer.

  Carl rang the bell and waited, looking around a little uncomfortable – the street looked a little too much like the one he'd grown up in and tried so desperately to forget.

  I'm already time-traveling in my past, do I really need to dig deeper?

  The door opened and the blonde girl smiled, recognizing him. "Hi! How did you find us?"

  Stunned, Carl stared at Bonnie's friend. "Bonnie lives here?" he asked, a little uncertain.

  "Yep, I'm a guest." The blonde beamed. "Come on in!"

  Inside, the house was small – and messy, the mess of a fully lived-in house with no maids, no cooks and no butlers. The blonde let in Carl – a small living room with kitchenette that reminded him of his mother's house.

  "Uh... Is Bonnie in?" he asked, barely stepping into the house.

  The blonde checked a clock on the wall. "No, but her shift ends about now. Would you like to wait for her?" She stared at him with a hopeful smile.

  "Sure," he decided.

  "I'm Cindy, by the way," she said, offering her hand.

  He shook it, stepping forward.

  "Bonnie allows me to sleep on the couch until I solve some problems," she continued. "Take a seat!"

  She pointed him to the couch and he sat, looking around with distaste. The place looked too much like his past.

  "How long have you and Bonnie been friends?" he asked, staring at Cindy with curiosity.

  "About fifteen years." She shrugged. "We met through Slaughter International – we were both huge fans back then."

  "Never heard of them." He shook his head. "Where are you from?"

  "Toledo, Ohio. The first time we met was at their show there, back in 1998."

  "And how old were you back then, eleven?" he asked, surprised.

  She giggled. "Fifteen, actually. She's been like an elder sister ever since! She took me to the show when my mother refused, can you believe it?"

  "Yeah, well, she's a nurse, she loves to help people," he commented, trying to remember what Bonnie was like in high school. Quiet, shy. She must have changed too.

  Cindy sighed. "If only people helped her back as she deserves..."

  She stared at him.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

  "Never mind." She averted her eyes.

  He followed her gaze and saw some drawings on the wall.

  He stood and went to look at them. The drawings were pencil-made medieval scenes, with modern faces on medieval-like clothes.

  "Do you like them?" Cindy asked.

  "Interesting works." Not what you'd find in an art gallery or on his walls, but... He looked for the signature.

  "Bonnie does them," she said as he discovered it.

  He didn't remember Bonnie having drawing skills, so it was a pleasant surprise.

  "She's got talent, why is she a nurse?" he wondered.

  "She'd never make a living as an illustrator," Cindy answered sourly. "She's not talented enough. So she keeps it as a hobby."<
br />
  "I'm not an expert, but these look pretty good..."

  "She's the queen of tracing." She grinned, putting a hand on his arm to catch his attention. "Promise you won't tell Bonnie what I'm going to show you."

  He stared at her, puzzled. "Uh... sure...."

  She grabbed his hand and dragged him to the bedroom – a queen-sized bed and a closet, no clothes hanging around, but the little desk under the single window had papers and bills on it.

  Cindy guided him to a narrow wall by the window and pointed at two framed drawings. He recognized the pictures from the yearbook enlarged and done in color – long-haired teen Carl and all-American-boy Warren.

  Carl stared at both faces, speechless. The pencil drawings brought back more ghosts – his teens, his friends.

  "That's Warren Bratt!" he said at last. "Most handsome guy in school."

  Cindy nodded, thoughtful. "Bonnie says you were friends back then."

  "Yeah! I mean... I guess..."

  "Those two drawings are the best, aren't they?" Cindy said. "She enlarged the yearbook pictures and traced them... You haven't changed that much."

  He smiled ruefully and turned to leave.

  By the door he saw another portrait – him again, from a more recent picture, probably the one Bonnie had taken herself. Her hobby was still a favorite, then. Probably drawing helped her relax after her nurse duties.

  They went back to the living room and Carl sat on the couch, lost in thought. He saw pictures of Bonnie and Warren together, smiling at him from a nearby shelf.

  He was about to ask the obvious when Bonnie came in through the front door. She didn't look surprised to see him.

  "Hi," she greeted. "That was fast."

  "What?" he asked.

  "Your visit." She smiled, dropping her purse and her keys. "Miss Templeton called me at the hospital."

  "Oh. Guess she called your first, so I took Pamela by surprise."

  "You visited Pamela Lynch as well?" she asked with a frown, slumping on the couch next to him and taking off her shoes.

  "Yeah, I owed her an apology," he said.

  "You owed her?" she protested. "I think she owes you more than you ever will!"

  "What for?" he asked, puzzled.

  "She turned you down," Bonnie grumbled, averting her eyes.

  He smiled. "We were just kids. It was a lifetime ago."

  She shrugged. "Anyway, you can surprise Warren, if you wish," she said more brightly, pointing at the pictures of Warren and herself. "We've been living together for ten years now."

  His heartbeat accelerated, so he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What did he expect. Everybody had moved on. Everything is under control.

  His tone was neutral when he spoke again.

  "Congratulations," he said. "When will you get married?"

  "If and when we have kids," Bonnie answered. "We don't need no piece of paper."

  "I thought I was the rebel!" he retorted.

  "I certainly don't want any journalist at my wedding," she replied. "But then, who on earth would care anyway?"

  "Congratulations on your wedding, by the way," Cindy said. "Your wife is really beautiful."

  Carl lowered his eyes. "Thanks," he muttered.

  "So, are you happy with your life?" Bonnie asked.

  Control. Carl put on his "winner" mask again.

  "Yes. I'm exactly where I want to be. I earned my first billion, have a beautiful young wife..."

  "But do you love her?" Bonnie asked bluntly.

  "Who needs love?" he snapped.

  Cindy gasped, too shocked to comment. Bonnie pondered.

  "You were desperately in love with Pamela Lynch," she said.

  "Says who?" he retorted. "Besides, that guy is dead."

  Bonnie shook her head. "I think your heart just tried to send you a message about that."

  Carl touched his chest. The discomfort still loomed somewhere, and the fear of the next heart attack wouldn't let him sleep well.

  "It doesn't seem to agree with your choices," Bonnie continued, serious. She pointed at his chest with her chin.

  He composed himself. "I know exactly what I need to be happy," he declared.

  "Of course." She half-smiled. "It's your life. And your heart."

  Warren came in at that point, still handsome at forty. He stared surprised at the guest.

  "Hi, honey, look who's visiting us from the good old days!" Bonnie said as Carl stood.

  "Carl?" Warren brightened and gave him a bear hug. "I thought you'd be a picture in the paper forever! It's good to see you here!"

  Cindy rose from the couch. "I'm going to fix some dinner while you guys catch up."

  Warren sat near Bonnie, putting one arm around her shoulder, but couldn't stop staring at Carl, who sat back. His eyes kept wandering in the room, unable to stop on anything.

  So, this is the present of these ghosts. Is it better than mine?

  Bonnie and Warren looked affectionate to each other as they related their lives. The discomfort inside him came back, spreading from chest to throat, blocking his speech so he had to answer or comment with monosyllables.

  Anguish ate him from inside and he checked his watch.

  "I better go," he said quickly. Enough tormenting himself with useless chatter from his buried past.

  "You're very pale," Bonnie said. "Are you all right?"

  "Yeah, yeah." He stood too quickly and his head spun.

  "I'll take you home," Warren suggested.

  "No, thank you," he snapped, jarred.

  All stood, and Carl stumbled on his way to the front door.

  "You're sick," Bonnie said.

  "Call a taxi, please," he grumbled, massaging his chest.

  "I'll take you," Cindy offered. "Can I use your car, Warren?"

  "Sure." Warren handed her the keys.

  Bonnie and Warren stopped at their door while Carl proceeded to Warren's battered car, taking deep breaths and holding his chest.

  "Need help?" Cindy asked.

  "I'm fine," he replied. He felt already better now that he was outside of the ghosts' house. Warren's car smelled funny, so he kept the window open, slowly regaining control of his breathing and heartbeat.

  When Cindy pulled over in front of his gate, the pain in the chest was gone.

  She turned to look at him.

  "Here you are," she said. "You have more color on your cheeks, feel better?"

  "Yes, thank you. And thanks for the lift," he answered, a little sullen.

  "I'll take you to the door if you open the gate."

  "Here is fine. I don't mind walking a little."

  She nodded, but still looked worried.

  He opened the car door.

  "What happened to you?" she asked bluntly.

  He stopped with one foot on the ground and pondered.

  "You know when you suddenly realize you made all the wrong choices in your life?"

  She smiled. "That's why I'm here. I'm starting anew."

  "You can, but it's not that easy for me," he said sourly. "It's a matter of choices."

  "Best wishes. I know how much courage you need to go back and start again. And if I made it, so can you."

  He looked at her and slowly smiled.

  "You're right. Thank you, Cindy."

  5.

  Carl observed his guests around the pool from the darkness of the first floor terrace of his mansion, unnoticed. They didn't seem to miss him, and Paul was flirting with Vanessa. He certainly wasn't missing them – he was a loner, he'd rather be off reading. But he was good at pretending to truly enjoy his social life. Why would he do that, though? Why pretend every day of his life? He was out of poverty now and forever, so why should he act like as expected?

  He smiled ruefully at the sight of Paul and Vanessa kissing. His assistant was younger than him, and he wasn't surprised Paul was falling in Vanessa's net. The spoiled heiress couldn't pass on that. Since their marriage was a farce, she felt free to have lovers. He didn't car
e – the young wife looked good next to his new persona, and she enjoyed those parties more than he ever did. She could keep the pretense alive and he could just watch, like he was doing now.

  Still, watching her with her latest "boy toy" made Carl wonder about his own choices. A loveless life with a spoiled rich girl was really what he wanted? Or could he aim at something like Bonnie and Warren had? In his ambitious plans, love had no room. He liked to think his feelings had died when Pamela had rejected him – but maybe Bonnie was right. He still had a heart. And if it was like his father's, he didn't have much left to live.

  Did he really want to end his life alone in this mansion, surrounded by fake friends and an uncaring wife?

  ***

  Bonnie sat at her desk with Carl's wedding picture next to the drawing sheet. She had already traced the face and had started using the black pencil for the eyes and shadows. She'd been careful to draw only his head and neck and tried to ignore his young wife's smiling face as she applied the colors to paper. She barely listened to the background music and pondered.

  So, Carl was back in her life. A chancy encounter first – a blast from the past –, then at the hospital after a heart attack, and finally he'd been here, his memory refreshed after a trip to the school library. He was changed, but not in his looks. She had immediately recognized his tall figure and sighed internally at the sight of the suit.

  His eyes were the same from the yearbook picture she'd already copied – at least on a still image. Even in his smiling wedding picture, she could see the old Carl – the brooding teen who had stolen her heart. He'd cut his hair and looked respectable, now. She glanced at the long-haired version hanging on her wall. Same but different. It had been years after all.

  People change. Some more, some less. Carl had obviously changed a lot. She wondered if he'd forgotten his dreams along with his past. He looked in complete denial of his younger years. He used to be a talented storyteller, but that had vanished. She doubted he used a pen name – he probably had given up writing to become a rich bastard who looked down at his former classmates. That was the idea he'd given when he'd visited, at least.

  Bonnie was conflicted. A part of her still clung to the unrequited adoration she'd had for him back in high school, but she had changed too. She could see he was different, and there was probably nothing left of old Carl. Still, as the new face of Carl gained color on the paper under her careful penciling, she felt more and more drawn to him. Again.