What is Love?

by Saks, Tessa

  “No way,” Ellen covered her chest in protest.

  “What’s the big deal? Why are you acting so uppity lately?” Sienna asked.

  “It’s so … trashy.”

  “And?” Sienna put her hand on her hip.

  “And it says something about you—I mean … me. I don’t want to say—”

  “Fuck me?”

  “Sienna!”

  “Listen prude, that’s why you go to clubs in the first place. You don’t fool me with your new prim stuck-up attitude, not for a minute.” Sienna searched through the medicine cabinet.

  “Besides,” Ellen said as she adjusted her bustier and put on the belt, “I already have Jonathan.”

  “Yeah, in the palm of your hand, you lucky girl.”

  “Actually, not anymore.” Ellen turned away.

  “What d’you mean? He was ready to fling the wife out with the trash.” Sienna sat on the toilet. “What’s happened?”

  Ellen picked up a comb and started to style her hair. “Well, he doesn’t seem as interested now. He has his … his wife’s in a coma, and now I’m on the backburner.”

  “Screw him!” Sienna yelled, jumping to her feet. She stood next to Ellen, taking the comb from her hand and teasing her hair higher. “Here, I’ll fix it. You’ll look so hot, every man will want you. They’ll fight over you.”

  “Now, that would be a real treat. I can’t remember the last time I had that happen to—”

  “I can. Exactly two weeks ago at Freeze.” Sienna laughed. “Face it, Sam, you’re beautiful, and men can never get enough of you. Never!”

  Ellen studied her reflection. Yes, looking like this, she could get any man. But she didn’t want any man. She wanted Jonathan. And now—finally in this position, she wasn’t even sure if he actually wanted her.

  ***

  Ellen awoke to pain and noise—a loud, harsh, grinding noise. The pulsating raw metal screeched at random intervals. A blender. Her head moved side to side, as her brain played bumper car with her skull. It hurt to move forward. Slosh, bang. It hurt to lay back. Slosh, slosh, bang. What happened?

  She put her hand over her eyes to block out the excruciating light. She remembered going to the club with Sienna and Rebecca and the long line wrapping around the building. They had walked to the entrance, past everyone in line, and with a wink and a smile, the bouncer opened the velvet rope and let them in right away. Entering the vintage club, they walked up the dark stairwell to the top floor, the music pounding a strong rhythm into her bones, vibrating every cell in her body into frenzied anticipation. It was electric. She danced. She remembered dancing all night. Every boy in the place had hit on her and bought her drinks. So many drinks. Such sweet, delicious drinks.

  What a night. A smile broke across her face. She hadn’t allowed herself to enjoy herself like that in years—no, decades. She was about to attempt to roll over when she heard a moan. Her heart froze as she looked in the direction of the low rumble.

  Beside her, tangled in her sheets, was the unmistakable naked flesh of a man. A stranger. And in her bed! What had she done? She frantically searched her soggy brain for clues. Nothing. She was blank. She had no memory of arriving home. No memory of leaving the club. No memory of being with a man … this … young body … this muscular body … this beautiful muscular body, who, whoever he was … clearly wasn’t Jonathan.

  CHAPTER 19

  “Stop calling me Ellen!” Sam yelled. “My name is Sam!” She pushed the tray aside and threw her water cup across the room. It bounced a few times, splashing water across the floor. “Call Johnny, he’ll tell you. He knows who I am. And don’t call me that fucking name again.”

  The nurse moved closer and spoke. “Listen, it says here Ellen Horvath, if you want, I’ll call you Sam, just don’t be all upset if the others call you Ellen—your husband checked you in here. He found you on the floor of your bedroom—says here you’re Mrs. Ellen Horvath, born June twenty-first, nineteen twenty-eight.”

  “No! No! No!” Sam held her head with her hands, covering her ears. “That’s impossible! Where’s the phone? … I need a phone. I can fix this screw-up with one call.”

  “I can have one brought in. It will take about an hour.”

  “Good.” Sam sat up and adjusted the thin, matted blanket. Her hand couldn’t reach very far with the IV attached. Through the fuzzy haze, her hands looked puffy and weird, all discolored and knobby … and they hurt. She couldn’t even close them into a fist. Someone had better start explaining what happened to her and when it would be fixed.

  As the nurse tugged on her IV, adjusting the bag from the metal stand, Sam turned her head toward the door and noticed a tall, dark-haired lady dressed in a cream suit entering the room. The woman moved closer, stepping around the water puddled on the floor.

  “Darling, glad to see you up and spry,” the tall woman said in a loud, throaty voice.

  “Excuse me?” Sam strained to make out the face.

  “It’s me … Patty.” The woman set her purse on the chair and leaned toward her. She grabbed her hands before Sam could pull away and placed air kisses on her cheeks. “You don’t seem very happy to see me,” the woman said, her hand waving the air. “No matter.”

  Sam stared at this woman. Now that she was closer, and in sharper focus, she did look vaguely familiar. She was old, at least fifty, but looked good for her age, with high cheekbones, bright red lips and dark hair swept up like a forties’ lounge singer. She tried again to place the face. “Who are you? Have we met before?” Sam asked.

  “Only about ten thousand times,” the woman laughed. “You don’t remember me? It’s Patty. Patty Anderson.” She put her hands on her hips and leaned closer. “Your best friend … and partner in crime.”

  “Sorry,” Sam said, shaking her head, unable to recall any Patty.

  “Wow,” the woman cried out in alarm, raising her hands to her head and adjusting her hair. She sat in a chair beside the bed, pulling her purse beside her. It looked like one of those fake brown purses with LVs all over, the kind everyone bought in the alley at lunchtime. This Patty woman leaned back in the chair and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “I don’t believe it …” she said slowly, as she shook her perfectly styled head. “Do you even remember what happened?” she asked in a low voice, then leaned inquisitively forward, stroking Sam’s arm.

  “No, what did happen?” Sam asked, trying to get the woman’s face in focus. Her eyes were lined with thick, black liner and had lashes so thick, they had to be fake. “No one seems to have any idea. I sure as hell have no clue.”

  “They haven’t told you? Darling …” She stopped petting Sam’s arm and sat back, folding her arms across her chest. “No, of course not! They don’t even know. How could they?” She smiled and leaned forward, grabbing the bed rail. Her eyes seemed to glow as she raised her eyebrows and whispered, “Well, you went to my special doctor and got the powder … the prescription …” She nodded and gave what looked like a wink. “And it worked!” The woman sat back, raising her hands as if this cleared everything up.

  “Worked? What powder? What prescription?” Sam had no clue what she talking about.

  “Did the trick.” She gave Sam another wink, this one more obvious. “Jonathan’s been here a lot, hasn’t he?” she said as she flashed a devious grin.

  “I—I’m not sure. I just came out of a coma yesterday. He was here briefly.”

  “Well, my dear, you have been in a coma for over two weeks now—or something like that …” She counted on her fingers for a moment, then quit with a dramatic wave of her hand. “Anyhow, it made Jonathan crazy. He’s been pacing up and down here, like a very concerned husband …” She leaned in closer. “He’s even put the divorce on hold.”

  “The divorce!” Sam covered her mouth. She had forgotten about all of that. “Oh my God, the divorce, he stopped it?”

  “Yes, you see, it worked, and beautifully.” The woman smiled and sat back, appearing satisfied.

&
nbsp; “But I want the divorce.”

  “No!” The woman cried out. “No, you don’t.” She leaned forward and put her hand on Sam’s arm, softening her tone, “You certainly have forgotten a lot, haven’t you, Ellen darling.”

  “God, stop calling me that!” Sam snapped, putting her hands over her ears. “Why does everyone call me that? I hate her!”

  “Okay, okay. Calm yourself. What do I call you?”

  “Sam, I’m Samantha Miller.”

  The woman let out a loud piercing laugh that filled the room as it reverberated. The nurse at the monitor turned away. The man mopping the water cringed forward and continued his work, keeping his head down. “Why on earth would you want to be that little bitch? You hate her—remember? In fact, you despise her.”

  “I don’t. You’re crazy.”

  “No? I’m sorry. Okay, S-a-m. I’ll call you whatever you want—you want to be her, fine, you’re her.” The woman leaned forward and looked both ways, as if checking for spies. “But I wouldn’t let anyone else know that you want to be her. They’re already concerned because of the …” she whispered, “suicide attempt—”

  “Suicide! Suicide? What the fuck?” Sam yelled.

  “Ellen … er … Sam. You don’t know?”

  “No! I don’t know!”

  Patty hesitated until the nurse and the man left. “The powder. The whole point of all of this was an attempt at suicide.”

  “Holy shit! They think I tried to kill myself?”

  “Yes … yes.” The woman motioned for her to lower her voice. “They all do—your family, the doctors …” she nodded, “everyone.”

  “But I didn’t … I wouldn’t …” Sam shook her head in disbelief.

  “I know. I know. Believe me, I’m completely on your side, but listen, if you want to make this work—you can’t appear crazy.” She grabbed Sam’s hands and held them tight. “Do not let them think for one minute you are crazy. They will lock you away, you hear me? You want to have Jonathan and your house and the money, right?”

  Sam nodded.

  “Right! Now please, act like Ellen … and quit telling them you are not Ellen.” The woman released her hands and sat back in the chair.

  “But I—”

  “Look, I don’t know what the stuff did to you—it may take some time to fix things. You may be supremely messed up, who knows. Anything is possible, and this may just be some weird side effect. You may actually think you are Sam. I get it. But trust me … hang in there. Be cool.”

  Tears rimmed Sam’s eyes, then spilled down her cheeks. “I don’t understand what has happened.” She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “I wake up and the skin on my arms and hands is old-looking, and no one can tell me why—or when it will go back to normal. And I feel sick and I hurt all over. My voice has changed, too.”

  Sam tried to restrain her tears. “Everyone thinks I’m Ellen Horvath, but I’m not. Don’t you see? I’m not Ellen. Look at me—I’m Samantha Miller. I was born May 22, 1959 in Great Falls, Montana. My mother is Suzy Miller. I have a brother Benny—” Sam stopped and wiped her eyes. “Wait, grab my purse. Is it in the locker anywhere?”

  “You poor darling,” the woman whispered aloud as she stood up to get Sam’s purse. She came back with a purse that Sam didn’t recognize.

  “That’s not my purse,” Sam said, pushing it aside.

  “Well, let’s see—here’s your wallet.” The woman opened it and looked at the driver’s license. “See?” She held it out to show Sam.

  Sam looked at the license and squinted. “I can’t see.”

  The woman handed her a pair of reading glasses, the kind old ladies wear at the end of their noses and hang from their necks. Sam slipped them on, read the license, then tossed the glasses aside and pushed the license away. “It’s not mine. Someone planted it there.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know! I don’t care. Maybe it was Ellen. She hates me. Maybe she wants me to go crazy—I don’t know.” Sam lay back on the bed. “I only know that I’m not her. I’m not Ellen Horvath, no matter what anyone says. How else could I know all this stuff about Sam Miller?

  “I hate to play devil’s advocate here, but you did hire the private eye to find out all that information. Remember?”

  “No,” Sam lied, fully aware of the stupid investigation. “Did she?”

  “Well, anyway, he did give you a very thorough report. I imagine all that info got wedged somewhere in your brain …” The woman tapped her forehead with a finger. “That’s why you know so much about her. Perhaps that’s even why you mistakenly think … why you feel like you are her. Who knows what happened. Maybe it’s a strange side effect?”

  “That’s bullshit. I’m Samantha Miller, always have been—”

  “Darling, have you looked in the mirror?”

  “No, they won’t let me out of bed.” Sam covered her mouth. “Oh God … my face … it’s damaged. What’s happened to my face?”

  “You need to see this.” The woman rummaged through the purse and retrieved a gold compact. “Here. Now don’t be too alarmed, nothing has changed.” She opened the mirror and handed it to Sam.

  Sam held it in front of her face. It was worse than anything she could have imagined.

  “Nooooo!” The force from Sam’s loud, piercing scream carried all the way to the floor above and the floor below them, and as she fell back against the pillow, the compact dropped to her side. Unable to breathe, her chest cramped with pain.

  “It’s not me!” she cried. “It can’t be. I know who I am!” She wiped the tears with her hands. “What’s happening? This isn’t real. It can’t be.” She sat up and opened the compact again, slowly bringing it close to her face. She touched her face as she looked into the horrid reflection staring back at her. “I’m old! Oh my God! I can’t be … I’m old and wrinkled … and ugly. It’s impossible—”

  “Now, now dear, it is a shocker. We all feel it.” The woman handed Sam a tissue.

  “But you don’t understand,” Sam cried. “This—” Sam pointed to her face, “is not me. It’s not—”

  “Yes. Yes, you’re right. It’s not. And it’s not fair—I understand. Absolutely. You have been through a lot. We’ll get you all fixed up when they let you out of this dreadful hospital. Perhaps I could have Andre come here and redo your hair. A facial would be good, too.”

  “No. I’m talking about all of this—” Sam pulled on her cheeks, stretching the saggy skin. “This … is not … my face. I am Samantha Miller. Something’s happened.”

  The tall lady sat down again, folded her arms and crossed her legs, her top leg swinging wildly. She smiled at Sam. “Ellen, I will call you Sam, but you must promise me you will stop insisting you are Samantha to everyone else. They will think you are insane. Do you understand? You know what they do to people who are insane?”

  She leaned forward and put her hands on Sam’s arm. “I say this with love because I want to help you accept yourself, for now. You can’t fix anything from a mental hospital—think of Jonathan. Who will he be with?” The woman nodded, her perfectly arched eyebrows rising. “Yes, that’s right. You know exactly who—”

  My body! Sam panicked. Where was my body? If she was stuck in Ellen’s ugly, old body … where was Ellen? Was Ellen in hers? “Oh my God, what the hell happened?” Sam cried out. She wanted to throw up. Sam picked up the compact again. “I can’t be. I just can’t be her,” she said to the ugly face staring back at her. “I can’t be old. I’m dreaming. I will sleep and wake up and this will all have been just a horrible dream.”

  As Sam lay back, dropping the compact to her side and closing her eyes, she prayed. She prayed that she was herself again. Desperately. With every ounce of her being, as she never had before, she prayed she would wake up and be herself. Her thin, young, beautiful self.

  ***

  Sam awoke from her sleep and felt the gold compact still lying beside her hand. She fumbled to pick it up and carefully opened it, af
raid of what she’d see. Her eyes were clearer now, though up close everything was still blurry. She looked at her reflection.

  Not blurry enough! She hated what she saw—still old. Still ugly. Still someone else. Still the someone she hated more than anyone else in the world. “Damn it!” she screamed aloud in the quiet, empty room. “What the hell can I do? How can this even be possible?”

  Sam looked around the room. In spite of an obvious attempt to make it cheery, it reminded her of a cheesy motel room. The stupid pastel flowered prints didn’t fool anyone. The place smelled like a hospital, that toxic air freshener combined with antiseptic cleaners. She noticed the phone on the stand beside the bed and leaned over, pulling it onto her lap and dialed.

  “Hello?”

  Her heart melted at the sound of his voice. “Rory, it’s Sam.”

  “Sam, it doesn’t sound like you. Where are you?”

  Sam coughed and tried to change her voice. “I’m in the hospital—”

  “What? The hospital? But I just saw you. What happened? Are you okay?”

  “No—yes. I’m here—it’s hard to explain. Something has happened.” She started to cry.

  “Sam, you sound weird.”

  “My voice is … it’s strained. I can’t explain on the phone—just come visit me. Please. I need you … I … I—it’s horrible. I’m in room 602B at the General.”

  “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “No. Well … I look different.”

  “Why?” Rory asked.

  “I dunno,” she said in an almost whisper, as her voice cracked. “I was hoping you could help me figure it out. Please come, I need you.”

  “I’ll be there, right after work, say six?”

  Sam hung up the phone and dried her eyes with the back of her hand. He’ll know it’s me. He’ll help me. She picked up the phone and tried her roommate at work. No answer. It would be at least three hours before Rory would come by. Three long hours.

  Sam lay back and tried to remember what might have happened that got her here and into this mess. The last thing she remembered, she was at the store with Sienna and Rebecca trying on wedding dresses, then they went out for drinks to celebrate her upcoming wedding. She had come home, alone. She was sure of that because she remembered hitting her head on the mirror of the medicine cabinet and Sienna still wasn’t home yet.