Chasing the Red Queen

by Karen Glista

  Donja stacked the dishes in the sink with the water running.

  “Dad said the dishwasher will be installed tomorrow,” Makayla smiled.

  “Good,” Donja scowled.

  “You know, I was thinking, we should take pictures of the women in the wedding album with our phone and put them online. Perhaps we could find who they belonged to.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Donja said. “Did your dad get the computer set up in the study?”

  “Yeah, finally and we have Direct TV as well.”

  “Good to know, I don’t want to miss ‘The Walking Dead.’”

  “Oh my God, you watch that garbage!” Makayla screeched.

  “Yep, I love it, I got a thing for Darryl.”

  “He looks like a well-worn party animal.”

  “Shut up!” Donja smirked, splashing her with soapy water.

  Makayla squealed, backing away.

  “I bet you watch that ‘Kings and Queens’ thing, don’t you?” Donja simpered.

  “Yes, and I’ve got a crush on Jon,” Makayla laughed then popped Donja like a whip with the twisted dishrag.

  Donja screeched. She flipped her hand into the sink, cupping water. She flung it with a squeal. Makayla dodged then dashed in a for swipe with the dishrag. Within no time, they were both soaking wet, slipping and sliding, the kitchen floor a mess.

  “We better clean this up before your mom comes back,” Makayla laughed, wiping her wet face with the back of her hand.

  “That was fun,” Donja giggled. “I haven’t acted like a kid in,” her words faded…“not since my dad died.”

  They just stared at each other.

  “Same here, with my mom,” Makayla whispered in a barely audible tone.

  “Well, Sis,” Donja said, “it appears you were right. You’re my shield and I’m your Prozac.”

  Makayla hugged her and then pulled back. “Not to get all philosophical, but do you think everything in life happens for a reason?”

  Donja scrunched her brows. “Meaning?”

  “The deaths of our parents, my dad marrying your mom, two mentally unbalanced strangers who obviously need each other desperately, becoming sisters? What are the chances of that happening?”

  Donja huffed. “Pretty slim I would imagine.”

  “Fate?” Makayla queried.

  “Sure, we can blame it on that,” Donja smiled grabbing the mop from the broom closet.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Are you serious?” Donja blurted, with a hand to her hip. “You’ve never seen a mop?”

  “Well of course I’ve seen one,” she said, “just not being used.”

  “Well, this is your lucky day, Princess,” Donja said offering it up. “Time to learn.”

  With the floors spick and span they hung the mop outside the backdoor to dry. Donja headed for the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” Makayla asked.

  “I need my phone.”

  “Hmm, well, we have a few hours to kill before we get ready to go out,” Makayla said following behind. “Why don’t we take some pictures and post them online. I just love a good mystery and those pictures have spiked my curiosity.”

  Donja laughed. “You got it, Sherlock!”

  Observers

  Donja and Makayla spent the entire afternoon on the computer. Armed with a liter of Diet Coke and half a bag of Hershey’s Kisses, they managed to get seventeen of the mysterious brides from the wedding album posted.

  “You think we’ll get any responses?” Donja asked.

  “It’s hard to say,” Makayla answered. “These pictures are old, and it’s a given that these women have long since been dead.”

  “True,” Donja replied.

  “Any more coke?” Makayla asked.

  Donja held up the empty bottle. “Nope, we drank it all.”

  Makayla emptied her glass, munching on crushed ice. “I think our best bet is that someone in the area who either knew the family, or was a relative will take notice,” she slurped. “I feel like a detective.”

  Donja tucked her hair behind her ears. “Okay Miss Detective. Don’t you find it a bit weird that out of hundreds of brides, that not a single picture had a groom?”

  “Yeah, it is strange, but even stranger, how did they all get combined into one album and stored in a hidden attic.”

  “Now you’re thinking, Donja said, toying with her hair. “It’s almost like someone was trying to hide the fact that they ever existed. Those brides were young, all of them but did you notice those last two we put online. They couldn’t have been more than nine or ten years old.”

  “I noticed,” Makayla sighed. “Do you think it was some sort of cult or one of the founding Mormons. I read an essay once that said some of them had up to forty wives and I did find some baby clothing in one of the boxes.”

  “I don’t think Mormons married outside their religion, but it could have been a cult. I didn’t even see the baby stuff.”

  “You were busy looking at the wedding album, just some clothes, nothing unusual.”

  “Well,” Donja said, checking the time on her phone, “it’s getting late and I better get my bath and start getting ready. I’m not too up on this glam-meets-goth makeup. You may have to help me the first couple of times till I get the hang of it.”

  “No problem, you’ll have to help me with the teardrop as well.”

  “You don’t have to be gothiglam if you don’t want to,” Donja muttered.

  “Hey, I kinda like it, it’s unique, it’s us…sisters to the end,” she laughed. Suddenly her demeanor shifted. “I just hope Heather’s home. I better text that girl and see what’s up.”

  ~~~

  Dressed to kill in a tight black mini skirt with a white, long-sleeve silk blouse, her birthday diamond earrings, a diamond tear drop necklace borrowed from Makayla, and black, six-inch ankle strap pumps, Donja slid behind the wheel of her navy blue mustang and fired her up. Makayla, dressed in a one-piece red mini with matching pumps and her blonde locks shimmering eased into the passenger seat, diamond studded loops dangling from her ears. Steering away from the manor, headed out the cobblestone drive, Donja heard her phone go off in her purse.

  “Get that,” she mumbled, eyes on the road. “It might be Debbie. She went with Diana, Holly and Trisha to Chicago for a Rihanna concert. I’m so jealous.”

  “Rihanna? Girl, I’m beyond jealous,” Makayla simpered as she fumbled in Donja’s purse. “I think she’s got a concert at the ‘Bell Centre’ in Montreal next month. We’ll have to go,” she mumbled as she pulled out the purple android and fixed her eyes on the screen. “It’s a call from someone named Kevin from a 269 area code.”

  Donja gripped the steering wheel tightly with her ring tone, ‘Echoes’ resounding. She glanced and met Makayla’s questioning eyes all the while searching for rhyme or reason when none existed.

  “It’s him, isn’t it?” Makayla asked reinforcing the fact that indeed it was Kevin, the one Donja thought she would love forever, the one who betrayed her, the very one who broke her heart.

  “Block his calls,” Donja blurted abruptly.

  “Are you sure?”

  Donja felt the blood drain from her face as visions of Brandy’s belly swelling with child forced a shudder.

  “Yes,” she said with as much conviction as she could muster, though part of her wanted to slam on the brake, grab the phone and succumb to his voice, fall for his lies, get used…get hurt all over again, anything to have him back, feel what she used to feel. She took a deep breath, with the phone still ringing as another part of her screamed a thousand no’s!”

  “Last chance,” Makayla said. “I can see the fight in your eyes and you’re trembling. Are you sure you’re over him?”

  “Big time,” Donja snapped, “it’s a little too late.”

  Shocked, Donja watched as Makayla took the call and raised the phone to her ear. “Hi Kevin, this is Donja’s sister. Go fuck yourself!” She lowered the phone, finge
rs sliding over the screen. “Blocked,” Makayla beamed, lip gloss shimmering on her painted lips. She put the android back in Donja’s black clutch, then turned up the CD.

  At a loss for words, Donja focused on the road. Finally, she said, “Wow this pony drives like a dream.” She masked her feelings as best she could all the while fighting an internal battle to kill what was left of a heart that could still care for a no-good scoundrel which sadly still had the power to get to her. She gripped the wheel and surprisingly, the pain was ebbing, so different than before. “I love my stepfather.” She cried out, tension masked, pain taking a back seat as the music of Lacrimosa as well the magic of this new life, one she never imagined, took center stage.

  “Call him Dad and he’ll be eating out your hand,” Makayla smiled. “He really likes you and though I was jealous of Frankie in the beginning, I can see now that fate once more stepped in to render a hand. The two of them are like two peas in a pod, father and son right down to skinning those slimy fish they catch from the river.”

  “Father and son,” Donja mumbled, her words lost in the music. She gripped the steering column tighter, expecting a backlash of pain which never came. She cocked her head.

  “I can’t call him Dad just yet, I need time, but I’m getting there, I really am. I just need to find that comfort zone not only for me, but him. The last thing I want is to make him uncomfortable.”

  “He wouldn’t be, he’d be honored.”

  “That’s good.” Donja paused, her thoughts racing. “And how are you and my mom getting on, you never mention her.”

  Makayla glanced out the window. “It’s been tough.”

  “Sorry, but if it helps she thinks highly of you.”

  “And I do her as well, believe me it’s no fault of hers, it’s just this god-awful insanity that I can’t let go of.”

  “Take your time.”

  “Yeah, time heals all wounds. Right?”

  “So they say.”

  “Take a left here,” Makayla blurted as they came rolling into town. Now right at the next drive, it’s that huge mansion on the bluff.”

  Pulling into the circle drive adorned by lighted lamp posts, Donja could only marvel at the home best described by one word—money.

  “We’re out front,” Makayla said into her phone, as she got out, pumped the seat forward and climbed in the back.

  Donja changed the CD. to Lady Gaga.

  The doors to the mansion swung wide and Heather came striding towards them like a model on the catwalk. She was dressed in a black one-piece slinky mini with matching stilettos, her long chestnut hair bouncing on her butt. She slid in the white, leather seat with a million-dollar smile focused on Donja. “My goodness, girl, you look hot.”

  Donja smiled back. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Heather said as she turned her head to the back seat. “Kayla, this girl’s a vamp.”

  Makayla slid forward, leaning in between them. “We’re gothiglams. See my teardrop.”

  “Well I’ll be damned,” Heather moaned eyeing her black teardrop. “You know, it’s kind of nice and I love the way you lined your eyes.”

  “Donja taught me. I told you we were rubbing off on each other. I’ve even been listening to goth music.”

  Heather slapped the dash with her hand. “Makayla Hampton into goth. Wonders never cease.”

  “Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” Makayla hissed.

  “Chill…point taken,” Heather hissed.

  “Okay, bitch, spit it out,” Makayla barked. “Your mom called me, and she was fit to be tied that you didn’t come home. What happened?”

  “I lost Becky,” Heather exclaimed with animated hands. “I figured she met up with Tammy or Kris, hell she might have found a hot number, I have no idea. I tried her cell, but she didn’t answer so I went to the Casino Hotel to meet Matt.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  Heather swiveled to face her in the back seat. “He was not happy.”

  “What happened?”

  “First he was pissed because he thought I had been drinking.”

  “Were you?”

  “No but it didn’t matter, cause then he said he wants me to get rid of it.”

  “What a dick.”

  “Yeah, he is that.” Heather breathed.

  “So, are you going to…you know, get an abortion?” Makayla asked.

  “No, I told my mom.”

  “You didn’t?” Makayla shrieked.

  “I did and though we’ve had our differences, she’s still my mom and she’s in my corner. She even promised me a Lamborghini once this is behind us.”

  “That’s great, but I’m shocked.”

  Heather rumpled her perfect brows. “By the car or that she’s willing to help me.”

  “Both! So, what’s the plan?” Makayla asked.

  “We’re leaving for London, but instead of prep school, she’s gonna send me away to live with her sister in Edinburgh till the baby’s born and then we can decide what to do.”

  “Well I hope it all works out,” Makayla said, “oh by the way, what happened to Becky?”

  “No idea,” Heather sighed, “but her mom came by this afternoon looking for her. She was not happy. When Becky does come home…I bet they ground her for a year.”

  “Bummer,” Makayla breathed.

  “Okay, enough of this shit,” Heather beamed, though not too convincingly. “It’s my last night, no tears, let’s party girls, knock ’em dead.”

  “Woohoo,” Makayla shouted as the tension eased. Minutes later with Donja and Makayla singing along to Lady Gaga’s, ‘Brown Eyes,’ and Heather staring out the window in silence, Donja turned onto the International Bridge.

  After an uncomfortable encounter with an utterly grotesque dimwit at customs who seemed to be getting his jollies by giving the three of them a hard time, checking and rechecking their I.D.s, Donja gassed the Mustang and they sped toward the bright lights of the city, a full moon overhead.

  “Take a left on the corner of Huron and Superior,” Makayla said shattering the baleful silence.

  Donja exhaled, excitement building, and with her blinker clicking rhythmically, took a sharp left as Makayla slid forward gripping the bucket seat. “Slow down and look for a parking space.”

  “Hmm, lots of cars; it must be packed,” Heather said, breaking her chained silence.

  “It’s Saturday, what do expect?” Makayla chimed in. “Make the block, Donja, no wait she hissed, “there’s a car pulling out.”

  After several attempts at parallel parking which proved a harrowing experience, Donja exited her prized pony, found the sidewalk and strolled behind Makayla and Heather.

  “You seem to be all right with everything that’s happening, Matt, the move…the baby,” Makayla said.

  Heather rolled her eyes, spiked heels tapping the concrete walk. “I’m just trying to survive.”

  “I’m afraid for you, so young and a baby,” Makayla whispered but Donja didn’t fail to pick up on it.

  “No more than I am for myself.”

  “I’m going to miss you.” Makayla said.

  “I’ll miss you too, but you got Donja now so no more hurting yourself. You can do this.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Makayla said pivoting to Donja. “The sister I never dreamed possible.”

  “You’re both lucky,” Heather said as they rounded a corner, “Damn lucky.”

  Straight ahead, Donja saw people swarming the sidewalks. She heard music penetrating double wooden doors from which young people, dressed to the nines were entering and exiting. Drawing closer she saw a sign ‘Observers’ painted eloquently on a brick wall with detailed pictures of eyes, all female, a hundred or more with long exaggerated lashes. Nearing the entrance, they fell in line behind several couples and the first thing Donja noticed was the men, some in suits, some in silk shirts with diamond cuff links, others in casual wool jackets with crisply pressed trousers and shiny, expensive shoes. The
re were others gathering, some in silky slacks with white shirts, open to the sternum, but one thing rang loud and clear. Money.

  Seems strange for guys so young to dress so fancy.

  She attempted to blow it off, but the newness of it, like everything about this new life caught her off guard. Her eyes betrayed her and within minutes she was scrutinizing the dress of every girl, some solo, some in groups, others in tow with a man’s hand in the small of their back, but they too were exquisitely dressed. She exhaled, relieved that she wasn’t the only gothiglam, thanks to Makayla. She smoothed her black mini and Makayla must have sensed her anxiety.

  “You look beautiful so lose that deer in the headlights.” Makayla whispered.

  “So where are all the guys in jeans and T-shirts, the gals in halter tops, flipflops and shorts?” Donja asked, matter-of-fact.

  “The other side of town, or on the river at Backwater,” Heather chimed in. “They wouldn’t be caught dead at Observers, it’s high-class, baby, and anything less, is asked to leave.”

  “What’s Backwater?” Donja asked.

  “A low-class club for punks and wannabes,” Heather replied.

  Hmm, that’s snobby!

  “You’re going to have a good time,” Makayla whispered as if sensing Donja’s thoughts. “These guys are all from good families and lots of them fly in from all over Canada, Alaska, London, New York. This club’s like a money magnet.”

  “I can see that,” Donja replied with a forced a smile, but truth of the matter, she felt out of place. Rubbing noses with the rich, especially snobby rich left her queasy.

  “You’re a vamp,” Heather said without looking. “Act the part.”

  “She will,” Makayla said, jumping to her defense. “I’m her shield, right Donja?” she said as they shared a look.

  “Yes,” Donja exhaled with a smile, despite Heather’s ‘better than though attitude,’ which left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  Inside the thick wooden doors with two hulking bouncers positioned on both sides, a doorman who looked like a figurine in a wax museum blocked entry. Dressed in a black, three-piece suit, he checked Makayla’s I.D. and then it looked like he took her hand though Donja couldn’t be sure. Makayla moved on a safe distance and Donja stepped forward and met his piercing gaze which seemed to look straight through her.