The Woman Who Made Me Feel Strange

by Anna Ferrara

  Would they have been that obliging if I told them I needed to call my now-married lady sex partner? Probably not, I figured. I smiled as appreciatively as I could make my face do and punched the digits I knew by heart as fast as my fingers could go.

  Arden Villeneuve’s mobile phone rang for a nerve-wrecking few minutes. During that time, the less-absurd story I had concocted to explain my return from death began to sound ridiculous in my head and I contemplated aborting the call multiple times. I had run my finger over the hang up button and was just about to push down when she picked up and said hello in that unmistakably sexy voice of hers.

  “Hi, it’s... Blaine,” I said. I decided, in the spur of the moment, to leave out Arden Villeneuve’s famous name, lest the library ladies in front of me got suspicious. “Is this a good time?”

  It certainly didn’t sound like it was. There were explosions on the other end of the line. People screaming. Children crying. “Lane?” Arden Villeneuve said. She sounded a little shocked.

  One of the library ladies looked up from her laptop and smiled at me. I gave her the sort of smile women in detergent commercials always wore and turned away. “No, Blaine. But yes, I do want to talk to you about Lane and her... incident. Unfortunately, I’ve misplaced my phone so why don’t you tell me where and when to meet and I’ll see you there. I’m free... anytime.”

  Something massive and heavy collapsed on the other side of the line. A few men began screaming at each other to run. The library lady who had been smiling at me turned her head back to her laptop at last. The elderly lady who had been at the Information Commons with me before went out the front doors with a stack of papers in hand. A few nerdy-looking teenagers came down the stairs from the second floor.

  “Hello?”

  For a long time after that, I didn’t get any reply.

  At 7:10pm, back at the Canned Food Factory Hotel, the door to Room 103 banged shut.

  Paul stormed in front of me with both fists clenched, her jaw tight, more angry than I had ever seen her before.

  “You should never have made that appointment with that woman or used those search terms!” she shouted with a finger in my face. “We have to move, right now, thanks to you!”

  I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t mentioned a word about the library when Paul came up to me at the hotel lobby at 7pm but she took one look at my face and just seemed to know.

  And after that, she went barking mad. She darted to the closet and pulled out all our new clothes like there was not a second to lose. She shoved those clothes into our two backpacks without bothering to remove the hangers.

  “What’s wrong with wanting to know the truth?” I tried to ask but I was drowned out by the riot of wooden hangers crashing against each other on the bed. Paul pried the hangers from the tops of the backpacks and tossed them like they were empty peanut shells.

  “I was just trying to do something meaningful,” I added. “What’s wrong with that?”

  Paul turned to look at me and there was rage in her eyes. “You are planning to tell that woman you didn’t die!” she yelled. “To impress her! That’s what’s wrong with that!”

  Oh. Shit. Paul knew every last one of my thoughts, I realised then.

  “Yes, I do,” she said right away. “Unfortunately. And I also know CRO will find us faster than you can even say ‘oh shit’ again if you meet her tomorrow!”

  God. “I could tell her not to say anything—”

  “You can’t trust anyone!”

  “Paul, please, she loves me. She won’t tell a soul—”

  “I’m leaving.” Paul zipped up the backpacks, threw one over her back and one over her front.

  “No, Paul, please!” I ran in front of her and attempted to block her from the front door with my arms out-stretched.

  “You can go do whatever you want,” she said, right before she pushed past me and went towards the front door.

  “Stop, please! I can’t be out here without you, Paul! I need you!”

  Paul stopped but she didn’t turn back.

  “As a friend,” I added, quickly. I took a deep breath. “Look, I won’t touch you again, I promise. And I’m really sorry I’m not what you were looking for in a lover but it doesn’t mean we can’t continue this crazy adventure together as friends, right? Nobody else is going to understand where you came from the way I do. Likewise for me. I need you as much as you need me.”

  Paul didn’t respond but neither did she leave.

  Heartened, I took a few steps towards her. “I won’t tell Arden Villeneuve I’m not dead if you don’t want me to, okay? And I won’t tell her where we live so you don’t have to move. But could you please just let me talk to her? Just once. I really need to do this. I really need to know what really happened that night.”

  I watched Paul take one long deep breath. She raised her head and stared up at the wall but didn’t turn back. “One time, and you are never to see her again. Are we clear?”

  I nodded at once and couldn’t help the smile that curled up the corner of my lips. “We are clear.”

  Paul turned around after that. Our eyes met and I saw an unusual cautiousness in hers.

  I smiled, relieved that our quest for enjoyment could now continue as before. “Shall we get dressed for dinner now?” I said quietly. “It will be a very platonic dinner with none of all the things that happened the last time, I promise.”

  She blinked hard and rolled her eyes in response but did not decline.

  Chapter 14

  23 June 2030

  Thanks to Arden Villeneuve, I got to have afternoon tea at Madame Pokerface—a Manhattan high tea room famed for its famous clientele, multiple design awards and insane prices—the next afternoon. And boy, was it a treat for the senses.

  What was essentially a black box splattered with messy splotches of pop-coloured paint was also full of rubber furniture—in the same pop-colours of red, blue and yellow—designed like royal furnishings from ages past. It looked as far removed from reality as any place could get and was more like a music video or piece of art designed to make you stop and stare and wonder… why?

  The host—obviously gay, dressed in a tailcoat tuxedo with a tall black hat which made him look like a magician—led me to the private corner behind four black walls where Arden Villeneuve sat on a jarringly-red Baroque chair in front of a jarringly-yellow Baroque table. Her mouth fell open when she saw me approach and her eyes became wide.

  I felt exactly the same way when I saw her—the body-hugging cream-coloured dress she wore amplified her curves beautifully; her curled hair seemed to be made of the perfect amount of buoyancy and her face was just flawless, as always—but I tried my best not to let my feelings show. I took the jarringly-blue chair the host offered and smiled like being at Madame Pokerface, seeing Arden Villeneuve in the flesh, was not much of a big deal to me at all.

  “Thank you, Marco,” Arden Villeneuve said with her eyes on me. She peeled them away with effort just so she could smile at him. “We’ll have the Fantastic Day, please.”

  “Excellent choice, ma’am. That set won Best High Tea Taste at the Gourmand Awards in 2028.”

  “Precisely why I’m choosing it.” She gave our host the most charming of grins which instantly lifted him up onto cloud nine. He gushed zealously about how the set was absolutely going to make our day simply perfect, wonderful and magical, then eventually left to get it for us with a bounce in his step.

  When we were all alone, Arden Villeneuve turned her eyes back on me.

  I couldn’t help but stare back. The scent coming from her—that mix of roses, vanilla and champagne—made my heart beat like a drum again. It always did, I don’t know why.

  “Do you mind taking your sunglasses off?” she asked, without taking her eyes off me.

  I had completely forgotten about my sunglasses. I obliged right away and put them on the table, folded.

  When I turned back to Arden Villeneuve, I
noticed her eyes were bigger than before. Her throat moved upwards then down. Her dress now looked purely white, not cream-coloured at all.

  I was as lost for words as she was. What do you say to a woman you love when you can no longer say you love her?

  “Are you Lane’s twin?” she said at last.

  There was no easier way to explain the similar face, was there? I said yes. Just Lane’s twin. Not a person who could survive a fifty-storey fall. Not the person who made you come more times than you can remember.

  Arden Villeneuve nodded. Expressionlessly. “It must be really hard losing someone so close. I’m so sorry.”

  Don’t be. I lost nobody. Except, maybe, you. I missed you, even though I won’t ever say it. “It’s okay.”

  “Do you smoke?” She reached for the diamond-studded cigarette case on her side of the table and the move drew my attention to the diamond-studded ring on her fourth finger.

  “Yes. I do.” We used to smoke after sex all the time, before you went off and married that religious guy, remember? I reached into the pocket of my jeans and dug out my brand new expensive cigarette case and lighter—a matching set, metal, with the logo of a haute couture brand patterned all over its sides like polka dots, much heavier than those dime-store plastic ones I used to carry. I lit myself a Super Menthol and set both down on the table next to me.

  Arden Villeneuve observed my cigarette case and lighter with mild surprise as she lit a Super Menthol herself. When she exhaled, a thoughtful look formed on her face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name over the phone. You are…?”

  “Blaine. Blaine Thompson.”

  “Blaine and Lane?”

  “Our parents thought it cute.”

  She nodded and grinned at last. “So, Blaine, what is it you want to talk about?”

  “Well, it’s about—”

  “Sorry to interrupt, ladies, but here is your Fantastic Day set!” Marco, suddenly next to the table again, placed a black clay sculpture with crevices full of tiny finger foods between the both of us. He then set down a glass pot full of golden-coloured tea and a glass bowl full of shrunken miniature oranges in a thick yellowish syrup next to the sculpture.

  “This tea, we call ‘The Harmless Champagne’.” He picked up the glass pot and poured the golden-coloured tea into the black clay teacups that had been in front of us all along. “Looks like champagne but is really only a blend of chamomile, honey, cinnamon and fresh oranges. Those, over there, are wild kumquats in syrup. They blend perfectly, beautifully well with your Harmless Champagne and are very, very, very sweet, so please add them carefully.”

  He set the glass pot down and pointed a well-manicured finger at the sculpture of finger food that seemed to vanish from the periphery of my vision each time I looked away from it because it was the exact same black as the walls. “Here, we have black truffle sandwiches, caviar pinwheels, homemade clotted cream scones, lemon meringues and hand-rolled truffles covered in edible 24-karat gold dust. Every taste, every smell on this piece of art has been carefully selected to relax you, refresh you and enhance your afternoon thoroughly.”

  “Thank you, Marco, it’s beautiful,” Arden Villeneuve said.

  “I know. You won’t be disappointed, ladies.” He wished us a lovely experience and, finally, left us alone again.

  We snuffed out our cigarettes and tasted the tea. I thought the ingredients sounded better suited for old people but the blend of raw fruit and natural sweetness turned out to be extremely invigorating. I felt refreshed after a few sips indeed. A pleasant surprise.

  Arden Villeneuve smiled and suggested I try a black truffle sandwich. I obliged. I lifted one from the sculpture with two fingers and put the bite-sized sandwich into my mouth. The moment I bit down, an aroma I had never encountered before hit me in the nose. It smelled like earth and tree bark but wasn’t entirely bad.

  “There’s something I need to ask you, Blaine.”

  I rinsed the overwhelming flavour from my mouth with a large gulp of hot tea and nodded. “Go ahead.” Warmth moved from my throat down into my stomach and left me feeling very relaxed indeed.

  “How did you get hold of my personal number?”

  My heart jumped when I heard her question and the warmth I had been feeling just seconds ago now seemed to burn.

  “Lane didn’t have my number, as far as I know.”

  Right. Shit. I had forgotten all about that.

  One night, months before the falling incident, a careless reservations executive at the Gentlemen’s Dinner Club left the computer containing member details unlocked and unguarded. I thought Arden Villeneuve’s number might come in handy some day so I memorised it. Without anyone noticing.

  But how was I going to tell that to her face without sounding like a creep? “I found it written in Lane’s diary,” I said instead, after some thought. “Thought you must have been close friends.”

  “Close…? Oh, no, I barely knew her. I didn’t even know she was a twin.”

  I found myself blurting out a laugh because her reply sounded like a joke, even though it was barely even funny. “Are you serious? Not even a little bit close?”

  “Yes. We were definitely not close. I mean she was my favourite masseuse because her technique was well, the best, but that was it. We didn’t talk much, in fact. Nothing more than the basic hello and goodbye, you know?”

  Her face was serious as she spoke. She looked like she meant every word. “Really?” I said as a strange coldness began to surround my chest. I felt my smile waning.

  Arden Villeneuve frowned and inhaled sharply as if a little irritated. “Did Lane say how she got the number? Staff at the Gentlemen’s Dinner Club aren’t supposed to know those things, you know. That’s why we pay so much to go there.”

  The strange coldness around my chest spread all the way over to my fingertips. I found myself absent-mindedly caressing my upper canine with my tongue. “I have no idea. She didn’t say.”

  Arden Villeneuve sighed heavily and shook her head as if annoyed. She reached for another cigarette and put smoke between us. “Well, I’m glad you told me anyway. At least now I know I shouldn’t renew my membership.” She chuckled a little and looked as if she expected me to smile back but I found myself unable to.

  Instead, I took a gold-covered truffle and busied myself with chewing it. I thought it tasted awful; I felt like I was eating damp soil.

  “So,” she said after watching me for some time. “What is it you want to talk about?”

  I forced out a smile, hoping it would help dissipate the bewilderment vibrating through my bones, but that didn’t work. “I... just wanted to know if you saw Lane the night she fell? If you noticed anything unusual about her behaviour? Because I don’t get why she did it. She didn’t seem like… the sort who would want to kill herself, you know?”

  Arden Villeneuve nodded. “I see. Well, I hate to have to say this, Blaine but...” She shrugged. “I didn’t see her the night she fell. I did get a bunch of roses delivered to her apartment that night but the guy who brought it there didn’t mention anything out of the ordinary so I’m as clueless as you are. Sorry.”

  “Why would you send her roses if you weren’t... close?”

  “Oh, I sent roses to everyone who ever worked for me that day. My way of letting them know I was getting married. Ask Marco if you don’t believe me. He got roses from me too.”

  I stared and didn’t know what to say. Had there been a delivery guy at my apartment on the night of the falling incident? I didn’t remember seeing one, that was for sure. But then again, the Arden Villeneuve in front of me wasn’t exactly like the Arden Villeneuve I remembered either. That electrified chemistry we used to always have between us was now... non-existent. She wouldn’t hold her eyes in mine the way she used to. She didn’t stare at my lips or cheeks. She never even glanced at my chest. It was as if we had been teleported all the way back to the first day we met, back to when we were not
hing but service provider and patron with no history together, no different from perfect strangers.

  She frowned at me again. “Is everything all right?”

  I looked away at once. No. Everything was not all right. An awful sinking feeling had begun gnawing at my gut. Thoughts I never thought I’d ever have were tossing themselves about in my mind. What if... just what if... my brain wasn’t entirely in tune with reality? What would my world look like if that happened? A chill bolted down my spine and made my hands tremble. The teacup I picked up for support rattled against the dish it was on.

  Arden Villeneuve shifted in her seat and tapped her fingers against her own teacup impatiently.

  I thought that very odd.

  Arden Villeneuve had never been impatient with me before. It used to be just… sparks. Two confident women patiently pursuing a sensuous adventure together. Where was that energising current now?

  Non-existent. In its place, an air of unfamiliarity and awkwardness so impenetrable, I began to think it would be best for me to get away from her. Fast.

  Her phone rang, to my relief, and, I think, hers too.

  She excused herself, picked up her clutch bag and sashayed away from the table like a larger-than-life goddess of elegance.

  The moment she was out of sight, I dropped the teacup in my hands and sank back into the smooth, spongy rubber armchair I was on. What the fuck? I saw her face. She hadn’t looked like she was lying. So, what? Did it mean our affair—the one thing in my life I had been truly proud of—had been nothing but a figment of my imagination? Did it mean I was so crazy, I didn’t even realise I was? What if... everything I saw in front of me wasn’t quite the way it really was? What if Paul was just a figment of my imagination too? That would explain her mind-reading, the flying keycard and her super speed, wouldn’t it? Or... maybe Paul was just crazy too? After all, I got to know her at a psychiatric centre; a psychiatric centre she claimed was a Curiosity Research Office. To be honest, that did sound absurd, didn’t it? I flipped up both palms and looked.