by Mary Carter
She’d seen very little of Jasper since the embarrassing porno fiasco. It was probably for the best. It was normal to think of him for hours a day. Who else did she know?
Three p.m. That meant it was espresso time. Her taste buds were primed for the rich treat. Ava headed to the kitchen to make one. She opened the freezer, where Queenie kept the espresso. A barren frozen tundra stared back at her. Gone were the bags of veggies, the mint chocolate-chip ice cream, the microwavable meals, and the espresso. All that remained was a single tray of pathetic ice cubes. She slammed the freezer door shut. It bounced open again. She shut it less violently the second time although what she really wanted to do was rip off the door and hurl it out the window. She took a step back and stared at the fridge.
Please. Let there at least be crumbs. She opened it. White, white, white, empty, sad, bleak. Not a single bottle of salad dressing or stick of butter to be seen. It was so white she had to shield her eyes. How could he? One by one she threw open the cabinets. Dishes, cups, martini glasses, and alcohol shakers, and salt and pepper, and tea, boxes and boxes of tea, but nothing edible to be found anywhere. It was as if the entire cast of The Walking Dead had come through and cleaned out every edible morsel.
Queenie. That diabolical bastard. And just when she was starting to like him. This was beyond cruel, especially since he had taken her three hundred American dollars and so far had only given her what amounted to sixty pounds in return. He was probably keeping the rest to make up for the Scotch, and the espresso, and all his groceries. Perhaps that was justified. But leaving her to starve? It was sadistic. She’d spent so much on takeaway lately she doubted she had more than ten pounds left. She headed for the little table by the windows. Sitting in the middle was a note.
Gone for a few days!
Enjoy the market!
Queenie
CHAPTER 14
Why, that big weasel. Queenie said he’d be gone for days. He was trying to force her out of the flat. What was next, tear gas? She grabbed the phone and called Jasper. It went to voice mail.
“Can you stop by and exchange some American dollars for pounds? Queenie took all the food out of the fridge and I’ll need to order takeaway.” She hung up. That felt awful. She was a grown woman. Everyone was right. She ought to be able to go to the market across the street. In the bedroom, she opened the wardrobe. In addition to her nightgowns, Ava had started wearing Aunt Beverly’s clothes. It made her feel close to her. Forget shoes, you could really get to know people by slipping into their outfits. Aunt Beverly had flair. She was flirty and daring and that’s just how Ava felt when she wore her aunt’s dresses. She pulled out a short red dress. The phone rang. Jasper. She lunged for the bedroom phone.
“Hello?” She tried to slow her breaths so she wouldn’t sound desperate.
“Thank God, you’re there.” Queenie’s voice boomed through the phone.
Where else would I be? Was he calling to apologize? The nerve. She’d make him work for it. “Who is this?”
“It’s Queenie.”
“Queenie who?”
“Queenie who owns your flat.”
“Not yet you don’t.”
“You sound grumpy.”
“No food in the house will do that to a girl.”
“You haven’t gone to the market yet?”
What a cruel man. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “I am about to go. What can I do for you?”
“I need my lucky charm.”
“I told you there’s no food.”
“I—What?”
“Are you talking about breakfast cereal?”
“No, I’m not talking about breakfast cereal; I’m talking about an actual lucky charm.”
“Oh.”
“I have an audition and I have to wear it.”
If there was one thing Ava believed in, it was superstitions. She couldn’t even hate Queenie enough to deprive him of his lucky charm. “What is it?”
“It’s a gold coin around a chain—can you look in the sofa cushions?” Ava nodded even though he couldn’t see her, took the cordless phone, and headed to the living room.
“You were supposed to give me pounds for the rest of my dollars,” she said on the way.
“Sorry. I was in a rush.”
“Did you leave any pounds?”
“Luv, if I could afford to leave pounds just willy-nilly we wouldn’t be fighting over Beverly’s flat.”
“Well, I won’t be able to mail your lucky charm even if I find it.” Ava dug into the first sofa cushion. Change. But not a gold coin on a chain. And it didn’t look like enough change to buy food. Well, maybe an apple. Was it worth risking an attack just to walk across the street and buy an apple? Was it a real gold coin? The second sofa cushion held a pen, crumbs, the cap of a pen, and a piece of paper. Ava unfolded the paper. It had one word on it. “BREATHE.”
“I’ll send a friend to get it—and he can bring you a basket of food or give you pounds.”
A basket of food? What was she, Little Red Riding Hood? “I found a note that says: ‘BREATHE,’ ” Ava said.
“Beverly always wrote herself notes before shows,” Queenie said.
“She did? Why?”
“Stage fright.”
This was news. “Beverly had stage fright?”
“She would get a touch of the nerves now and then. The notes helped her.” A touch of the nerves. Just like Ava. Only Aunt Beverly still functioned. “What about my charm?”
Ava lifted the third sofa cushion, and sure enough there it was—a large gold coin with Shakespeare’s big face smiling at her. Ava pulled it out. It was way too golden to be real. The chain, however, looked real. “Is it the Bard?” Ava said.
“Oh, thank God. Thank God, thank God, thank God.”
“Call me Ava.”
“My friend’s name is—”
“Why don’t you just ask Jasper to pick it up? And I’ll take pounds over a basket of food.”
“Why do you want Jasper?” Queenie’s voice rose an octave, and if Ava didn’t know better she would say that she just made a teeny tiny mistake. “Does somebody have a little crush?” She took it back. She’d made a monumental mistake.
“I know him. I do not know your friends.”
“Somebody has a little crush.”
“Stop saying that.”
“You’d better not let Hillary find out. You think I’m bad? My niece is a hellcat.” Hillary was Queenie’s niece. Had anyone ever mentioned this before? Ava was back to not liking Queenie.
“They’re broken up.”
Queenie laughed. “That doesn’t mean she’s going to let anyone else have him.”
“He’s not a trinket; he’s a person. Besides, I don’t have a crush on him. We’re just friends.”
“She’s also high society. London high society.”
“I don’t care.” Ava didn’t even know what that meant. Designer clothes, and polo matches? Royal invitations? Old money? Who cared.
“You should care. She’s a Hell Hath No Fury kind of broad.”
“How many times do I have to say it? I don’t have a crush on Jasper. I have a boyfriend back in the States.”
“You do?” He didn’t even try to hide his surprise. “Don’t you miss him? Don’t you want to go back home?”
“He’s going to visit me here instead.” Imagine Cliff here. She couldn’t. Not just because she hated him; he just wouldn’t fit. His Pabst Blue Ribbon beer drinking, blue-collar ways. Oh, God. Was it happening to her already? Was she becoming a snobby Brit?
“He’s not allowed to live in the flat, not until the year is over. That is, if you complete the list first.” Queenie sounded truly alarmed. Now Ava wished Cliff really was coming just so he could invade Queenie’s privacy. “Is he a hermit too?”
“I’m not a hermit! Hermits don’t like people. I like people. Most people.” Ava gravitated to the window. The London Eye was turning in the distance. Cars, and lorries, and people, and dogs, and b
icyclists were all out en masse. Busy, busy people.
“If you’re not a hermit, then what do you call yourself?”
“Ava.”
“If I wanted to refer to your condition.”
“Why would you be referring to my condition? To whom?”
“I’m a drag queen. You don’t need to lecture me on labels. We’re all gay, and bitchy.”
“But you are gay and bitchy.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to wear the label. A small percentage of the time I can also be masculine and mushy.”
“Just how I like my manly men. Mushy.”
“I’m just saying I’m an aging, gay, bitchy drag queen and I’m not ashamed of it.”
“Fine. I’m agoraphobic. Is that what you want to hear?”
“I think ‘bitchy’ applies to you as well, luv.”
“Stick it.”
“Have you ever thought about getting together with others who are like you?”
“So the Mother Ship can call me home? Oh, gee, I’ve thought about it. Only problem is none of us are willing to meet because we all insist on being the host.” God, Ava could kill him. Why was he being so nosy?
“Maybe you could meet online—”
“I have to go.”
“Where?”
“Just because I’m an agoraphobic doesn’t mean that my time isn’t valuable, that I don’t have things to do.”
“You’re right. I’ve been schooled. I’ll give Jasper a bell and tell him to pick up my charm. Unless you want to call him.”
“Nope.”
“And until he gets there . . .” Queenie paused.
“Yes?”
“There’s twenty pounds in the tin of Earl Grey in the kitchen.” He hung up. Ava went to put the lucky charm down on the minibar, then put it on instead. The heavy coin felt comforting against her chest. She could see why Queenie liked it. She went to the kitchen and found the tin. Sure enough, there was twenty pounds. She took it out and put it in her bra. Where else was he hiding pounds? Ava checked in a few other tins. Nothing. She opened drawers and dug into tea boxes. Nada. At least she had twenty. Would Jasper be able to make time to see her again? He’d been busy the last ten days. Not that she’d expected any kind of regular visitation. But she sure wished for it. She thought he liked her too. Maybe that’s just how people behaved with each other. How was Ava to know? She had so little to compare it to. Queenie was right about one thing; she did have a little crush on Jasper.
Hillary is definitely the Hell Hath No Fury type.
Well, she didn’t have anything to worry about when it came to Ava, now did she? Jasper would never choose Ava over Hillary anyway. Would he?
What time was it in the States? She could use a chat with Diana, despite her betrayal on the airplane. Ava would eventually need more Xanax. Could Diana find a way for her to get a prescription in London? Or would Ava have to find a psychiatrist in the UK? Were there any who would make house calls? Ava’s stomach gurgled. Her immediate concern was food.
Maybe if she opened the window and yelled down at someone on the street they would take pity on her and toss up something to eat. Would they simply think she was a lazy cow? Once again, she wished people could just understand. One of the pitfalls of having an invisible disability. Maybe she should get a T-shirt made up. THE INSIDE GIRL. Or she could start a blog. The Insider’s Guide to London. High society. Like Hillary was famous or something.
Ava brought her laptop over to the window. She wanted to show Diana the view. She looked down at her hand. She was still holding the piece of paper from the sofa. BREATHE. She tried to pay attention to her breaths as she put through the video call.
Ava watched herself in the camera as she listened to the computer trying to chirp through.
“Hello?” She heard the voice too. It sounded garbled. Underwater. Seconds later the picture came on. Diana’s hair was a mass of frizz. She had huge dark circles under her eyes. “Who is this?” she demanded. Uh-oh. From the looks of Diana it was three o’clock in the morning.
“Traitor,” Ava said. “What kind of doctor are you?” She hadn’t meant to start with that, but her mouth usurped her brain.
Diana rubbed her eyes. “Who is this?” Good God, apparently Diana wasn’t a morning person.
“It’s Ava. From London. Remember me? The one you abandoned?”
“Ava.” Soon Diana’s face was on the screen. She kept moving her face closer and closer to her own computer’s camera, giving Ava a full view of all her wrinkles and pores. A view Ava could have done without.
“It’s good to see you. Even though I’m really pissed at you.” Ava meant it. It was really good to see Diana.
“What time is it?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t figured it out.”
“From now on, figure it out. You can’t just call me in the middle of the night.”
“And you can’t just leave a person like that without an apology.”
Diana sighed. “I’m sorry. But you’re there, aren’t you? Well done.”
“Gee, thanks. I feel so much better. I’ll let you get back to your beauty sleep now.”
“Oh, don’t. You’ve already gotten me out of bed and you look like you haven’t slept in days.” Ava looked at herself on camera. She was a fright too. Dark circles. In need of a haircut. But how in the world could she go to a hairdresser when chances were very good that midway through her shampoo or, worse, little foil packets of highlights Ava would be seized by a panic attack and have to flee? She wished Diana would just cure her already. If a scrappy Brooklyn Jewish woman stuck in Iowa couldn’t help her, then who could? “Talk to me.” Diana’s truck-driver voice cut through the air. She pulled her glasses to the bridge of her nose and leaned forward until her entire face filled the computer screen.
“It’s good to see you.” Ava was repeating herself, but it was true. She had no idea how much she missed Diana until she was there before her. What about Cliff? How would she feel if she saw Cliff right now?
Diana smiled and threw open her arms as if to hug Ava. “You made it.”
“I made it.” Ava threw her own arms open. Tears filled her eyes. “No thanks to you.”
Diana didn’t comment. “Tell me everything, starting with the flight.”
Ava wiped her tears and bit her lip. She didn’t want to spend her time with Diana crying. She wasn’t even sad. It was just such a relief to talk to someone who knew her. Who understood her. Once upon a time she had Diana, her mother, and Cliff. Now she just had Diana. She couldn’t imagine losing her too. “I don’t remember a thing about the flight. I was drugged like a Clydesdale horse.” First class. She missed the hot towels, the champagne, the chocolates, the nuts. She’d slept straight through.
“What about when you landed? Did you make your way to Luggage okay?”
Ava felt a flash of heat rise up her neck and flare from her cheeks. “Easy breezy.” No use going into the bits about the janitor’s closet, the rubbish bag, and the wheelchair. Ava grabbed the laptop and stood. “Would you like a tour of the flat?” She was proud of it. She wanted to show it off as if it were her own.
“No, it will make me dizzy.”
Ava started to walk around anyway. She really wanted Diana to see the flat. “It’s lovely. Very spacious. Beautiful light wood floors, and an open floor plan—”
“Ava, put that computer down or I’m going to hurl.”
“Sorry.” Ava set the laptop down but remained standing. “It’s four flights—sixty-two steps—up to the flat, but the view from the windows is so worth it. You can see all of London—”
“Ava, oy. Please sit down.” Diana slapped her hand over her forehead. Ava took a deep breath and plunked down on the seat. She looked out the window but could feel Diana staring at her. “What’s going on, Ava?”
Ava turned to the screen, her damn eyes still overflowing with tears. She was tired. Seeing a friendly face, even if it was grouchy, was overwhelming. “How could you not come w
ith me? And what about all those turtlenecks? You don’t need them?”
“I have more. But I’d appreciate it if you’d like to mail the suitcase back to me; I would appreciate that.”
“No.”
“You don’t have to do it right away. Spend a few days imagining yourself going to the post office. Baby steps, visualization. Just like we talked about.”
“Maybe you should have spent a few days visualizing yourself staying on the plane with me. Are you afraid to fly?”
“I’m too tired for this. What’s really going on? You look like you’re about to cry.”
“I’m going to lose the flat.”
“Lose it how?”
“Aunt Beverly knew about my condition. I only get to keep the flat if I go out and do certain things within the first ninety days.” Eighty days now.
“What sort of things?”
“Touristy things. See Big Ben. Not the porno, the real thing.” Diana arched an eyebrow. Ava plowed on. “Tour the Tower of London. Ride the Tube. Ride the London Eye. Sit on a bench in Hyde Park. Go to an English pub. All lovely, lovely, impossible things to do. Can you believe her?”
“How does it feel?”
“How does what feel?”
“To meet yet another person who doesn’t understand your condition?”
“I think she was trying to help.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It sucks, okay? The whole world thinks I’m a joke!”
“I don’t think you’re a joke.”
“You’re paid too well.”
“Ava.”