Doreen

by Ilana Manaster

  That poor, lost, chubby girl who ate her lunch alone in the choir room could not be this same exquisite creature stretched out on the sand of a private tropical paradise. That friendless sophomore who spent the evening of her homecoming dance making smiley-face pizzas with her mother could have nothing to do with this violet-eyed, raven-haired beauty who’d been pleasured in the back of limousines, the bathrooms of Fifth Avenue hotel suites, and here, on the shore of the Pacific Ocean. The sons of fortune had wept at her feet and begged her to stay. But she always left. She knew the power of being longed for, of leaving her suitors unsatisfied. Heidi taught her well.

  The perfect, crystalline water lapped Doreen’s manicured toenails. The Standishes’ concrete and glass mansion hovered on a bluff above her.

  “Look at the snake basking in the sun,” said Heidi. She stepped onto the sand from the rocky steps that led down from the house. It was early. Peter and Coburn were still sleeping. She’d assumed when she left for her run that Doreen had been asleep as well, but she was happy to find her stretched out on the sand in her Missoni bikini. News had come from New Hampshire, and Heidi was anxious to share it with her friend.

  “I tried to sleep in, but I couldn’t resist the ocean,” Doreen said sleepily. “It’s too gorgeous, isn’t it? Anyone who says money can’t buy happiness has never had access to a private beach in Kauai. Right?”

  “Coney Island it ain’t, that’s for sure.” Heidi kicked off her sneakers. In her tiny running shorts and a sports bra, the rippled landscape of her midsection glistened with a thin layer of sweat.

  “I don’t know how you do it, Heidi. You must have sucked back ten mojitos last night, and you look fresh and clean as charity.”

  “It’s my positive outlook.” Heidi sat down beside Doreen. “Or maybe it’s love.” She folded herself over her legs to stretch her hamstrings.

  “What, what? Love? Are you in love, Heidi Whelan? I didn’t think it possible!”

  “Why not? I’m a person, after all.” After they’d said good night to Coburn and Doreen the previous evening, Peter led Heidi by the hand to the master bedroom. The house was cutting-edge contemporary and thoughtfully furnished with sharp-edged woods and metals and modern molded plastic. The concrete floors in the master bedroom were uncovered and cool underfoot. Windows lined one entire wall of the room. They made love while looking out at the expanse of ocean.

  “Bully for you, my dear. He is very charming—and rich! Did you see the maid’s quarters? And the meat fridge! A girl could do a lot worse than love a man with his resources. I can’t say I feel the same about his little dimwitted chum, but he has a pleasing energy, don’t you think?” Doreen yawned. “Do we really have to go back to dreary New Hampshire? Isn’t it winter there? That is unacceptable to me.”

  “True, winter sucks. But without it there would be no après-ski. And what kind of life would that be?”

  “Mmm. But to go back to Chandler? And do what? Learn about cosines? What an absurd idea.”

  “Speaking of Chandler.” Heidi stood up and, balancing on one leg, pulled the opposite foot toward the back of her head. “I got a call from your cousin just this morning.”

  “Ugh. Sorry. It’s just, she’s a bit of a bore, isn’t she?” Lately Doreen had no patience for Biz. Everything the girl said seemed to grate on Doreen’s nerves, so she was often short-tempered, even rude. Of course, Biz was not the world’s most glamorous companion, but Doreen’s contempt seemed excessive, especially considering how much Biz worshipped her. Which was undoubtedly the problem. Poor Biz. Heidi was content to be the preferred roommate, but she hoped that Doreen’s recent impatience was only temporary. Biz was one of the good guys.

  “I can’t speak to that, my pet, but she did have some juicy news to report. She’s been on campus since Christmas.”

  “Of course she has.”

  “Preparing for her exhibit. It’s coming up in March. Anyway, about a week ago she went into town. Some contraption of hers had run out of batteries.”

  “Please tell me it was a vibrator,” said Doreen, grinning wickedly. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful? For all of us?”

  “Whatever it was, since the union is closed for break, she went into the hardware store in Hamilton. And who do you suppose she saw working there behind the counter?” Heidi released her foot and stood looking down at Doreen.

  Doreen sighed and folded her hands behind her head. “I don’t know, Heidi, and honestly, do I care? The hardware store in Hamilton, New Hampshire, seems a rather banal topic in this breathtaking—wait.” Doreen sat up. She tipped her sunglasses onto her head and looked up at Heidi.

  “Simon Vale,” said Heidi with a nod. “He was there working. He didn’t know who she was, of course, but she said she spotted him immediately. Apparently he’s become doughy and marble-mouthed from medication.”

  “Doughy? Like, fat?”

  “Yep. Those crazy pills will do that. Plus candy bars in the vending machines, no exercise, meals that go heavy on white bread. Anyway, she said he was a total zombie, shuffling around, fetching metal widgets for the local DIY-ers. Pathetic.”

  “I’m having the hardest time imagining it.” Doreen gazed out onto the sea.

  “She even asked if he went to Hamilton High. Our little Biz, getting the scoop! Aren’t you proud? He said he didn’t go to school anymore.”

  “He dropped out of school?”

  “That’s what Biz said. She said he probably couldn’t have handled class in that state.”

  “Can I be honest with you, Heidi?”

  “Of course!”

  “I should feel something about this, right? I know I should feel something. But here? In this setting—I guess I’m just a little detached from all that now. I’m sitting here trying to picture Simon Vale fat and spaced out, and all I can think of is the scrumptious strawberries and pineapple we are going to have for breakfast.”

  “It’s easy to feel disconnected.”

  “But seriously. What am I supposed to feel? Loss? Regret? Guilt? How life diminishing! I loved him once, and he blew it. I don’t see what any of that has to do with me now. Brooding over lost causes seems a terrible waste of time. Anyway, I have to get wet now, it’s sweltering.”

  Doreen untied her sarong and ran into the water. Heidi watched her friend’s head bob up and down in the waves. How easy it was for her to let go and move on. But wasn’t she right? What good would it do anyone for Doreen to get wrinkles fretting over something she could not do anything about? All she did was break up with the guy. Probably he had always been unstable. If it wasn’t Doreen, it would have been somebody else. Still, something about it left Heidi cold.

  Like father, like daughter, she thought, then scolded herself. Doreen was much better than Roland could ever be, she was completely sure of that. Or, mostly sure. Somewhat sure?

  The sun beamed down. “How’s the water?” Heidi called out to Doreen. She shimmied out of her shorts.

  “It’s perfect!” Doreen yelled back. “It’s just perfect!”

  And it was.

  Deep in the Bolivian countryside, an ancient camioneta zoomed around curves on the bad mountain road that led to La Paz. In the back of the truck, perched on a great bag of seed, Jane Vale braced herself for the bumps, staring straight ahead to avoid looking over the cliffs at her pending demise.

  She tried not to be afraid. Could it have been only that morning that Jane woke up in her host family’s shack, enjoyed a breakfast of boiled eggs and plantains, and prepared for a regular day of work in the village? Had only a few hours passed since she heard the words emergencia and hermano? Since she dropped everything to go, get out, get to Simon? But it seemed a lifetime ago, like she’d been a different, more carefree version of herself.

  The camioneta took a particularly harrowing turn and Jane closed her eyes.

  This, too, was ending. In a few ho
urs she would be on a plane to Miami and from there on to Boston. The beautiful campo—broad and dry with squat trees and majestic blue mountains—would she ever see it again? When she volunteered for the Peace Corps, Jane had assumed it would change her, and that it would be the people she helped that would have the most lasting effect. And though she’d found the work rewarding, what moved Jane most of all was the landscape. After a childhood in a cramped house on a cramped block in a small-minded town, it had done her soul good to live in such vastness.

  If she could have brought Simon with her, if he, too, could have left Leaving Place, seen how large and far the world stretched . . . but it was no use thinking about it. She opened her eyes. Take it in, miss nothing. A great sadness filled her heart, as if she was saying good-bye forever to an intimate friend.

  Houses began to crop up as they approached the outskirts of La Paz. Back, backward. How much like a failure it seemed.

  Simon’s doctor suggested that school might be too much for him right away, and that football was out of the question. But it was good to have a routine, he said, so Jane and her mother decided that installing Simon at the hardware store would be a reasonable solution. One benefit of the store having so few customers was that the job would demand little of him.

  And at first, the plan seemed to be working. Not that Simon returned instantly to his old, jovial self, but the light responsibilities of the job appeared to do him good. Jane saw little improvements—an occasional smile, a flash of whimsy. One evening near Christmas, when she came to pick him up at the store, he said, “How you living, Janey-Jane?” in a voice that sounded so much like the brother she’d known and loved that Jane had to bury a sob of relief.

  But the glimmers of hope were painfully infrequent. Most of the time he moved around silently, heavy of body and spirit. He almost never laughed or kidded her, and he accepted hugs the way he seemed to accept everything now—as a passive, unmoved recipient. Jane found herself spending much of her day unconsciously praying. Let him smile today, she would beg. Let him laugh. Once, while they were sitting on the couch after dinner, she took his once-chiseled chin in her hands and stared deep into his eyes.

  “I know you’re in there, little brother,” she said. He blinked at her stoically, through a fog of meds. She moved her face even closer to his. “I know my Simon is in there, and he’s going to come out when he’s ready, better than ever.” When she released him and settled back into the couch, he patted her lightly on the knee and changed the channel.

  Doreen Gray. Jane knew who was responsible for what had happened to her brother, and she resolved that as soon as Simon was a little better she would plot her revenge. She’d already googled the girl, of course, but no pictures came up at all. What kind of person had zero Internet presence? She apparently belonged to no clubs. She wasn’t listed in any local article and she had no profiles on social media. And as the mystery around Doreen Gray grew, so did Jane’s anger and hate. Who was this phantom girl who had done this to her brother? Was she even real? Had Simon seen a ghost?

  Then, one cold January day, Jane dropped Simon off at the store on her way to the public library, where she fulfilled requirements for the online college classes she was taking. At noon she came back to the store, as usual, to have lunch with her brother and check on the daily sales. She saw that Simon was helping a customer, and at first she didn’t think much about it, just went into the back room and retrieved the turkey sandwiches she’d packed that morning. When she came back to the counter, the customer was still there, holding one of the paper sacks they used for small items like screws and bolts. It was a teenage girl, someone from Chandler, Jane assumed from the fancy clothes and headband.

  “This ought to do it,” said the girl. “Thanks for your help, Simon.” Jane unwrapped the cellophane around the sandwiches and opened the bag of chips. She heard the bell ring as the girl left the store.

  “Do you want a soda?” Jane asked, but Simon didn’t answer. “Hey. Simon?” She looked up at her brother and saw an expression on his face unlike anything she had ever seen before. He appeared to be experiencing excruciating pain and rapturous joy simultaneously.

  “Simon?” she said. He clutched a dollar bill the girl must have given him for whatever item she had used as an excuse to gape at her troubled little brother. The bill shook in his hand as he stood frozen, staring ahead.

  Jane sprinted from behind the counter and pushed herself outside, coatless in the bitter wind. Black wavy hair and a red coat. That’s what she remembered of the girl. Oh, why didn’t she pay closer attention? She ran down Main Street toward the Chandler campus, but the girl—that evil witch who had turned her exceptional brother into a blubbering half-wit—had disappeared. Jane thought of running all the way to campus so she could claw her eyes out, drown her in that stupid man-made lake.

  But Jane had seen Doreen Gray. And if she saw her once she could find her again. She tucked her hands into the sleeves of her sweater. The sweater was made of rough-hewn alpaca, a typical Andean design that had been a gift from her Bolivian host family. Doreen Gray had cost her everything! Her brother, her future, everything she loved was damaged or gone. And the girl would pay for all she’d taken, of that Jane had no doubt. But she had to be patient. She had to plan.

  Jane got herself employed at the Chandler library, reshelving books. Her smallness made her ill-suited for the job, and she had to lug around a ladder to reach shelves that would have been accessible to someone of average or even slightly below-average height. Something else she missed about Bolivia was how low to the ground everyone was, making her feel less shrimpy in comparison. But though the physical demands of the work were less than ideal, Jane thought it a perfect location from which to spy on the student body to try to catch the scent of the mysterious Doreen Gray. As she wove through the stacks, she scanned the tables and comfy chairs for the raven-haired, pale-skinned girl she’d seen so briefly in the store.

  But the girl never appeared.

  Maybe if she’d gotten nothing, Jane might have given up after a few weeks, but the name Doreen Gray rang loud at Chandler Academy, even in the supposedly quiet library. Her name was constantly invoked by the students—as if she was somehow behind everything that was happening on campus. Doreen suggested I do X. Doreen said I shouldn’t do X. Did you see what Doreen was wearing today? Did you see Doreen? Jane knew it was only a matter of time before the girl was revealed in the flesh.

  Then, one afternoon, Jane was on a ladder re-alphabetizing the English History section, when she overheard a cell phone conversation that was happening on the other side of the stacks. Such malfeasance was typical of the entitled Chandler students, and Jane didn’t think too much of it at first.

  “Heidi,” the voice hissed in a harsh whisper, “You have to stop calling, okay? I’m at the library and . . .” Here the girl paused and listened. “What? . . . Really? You’re kidding! Uncle Roland? Of course, you can help yourself to whatever’s in my closet. Is Doreen there now? She must be thrilled.”

  Jane froze at the sound of the name. Could it be the same Doreen? It seemed unlikely that there would be more than one. She left her pile of books on the top rung and climbed down. She crept around the back end of the stacks and crouched to the lowest shelf, staring out the corner of her eye at the girl on the phone.

  “Lunch in Boston. Wow. Okay. Okay, I’ll come right back. Just let me . . . okay, okay. Tell Doreen I’m on my way.”

  Jane recognized the girl on the phone. She even knew her name: Elizabeth Gibbons-Brown, a constant fixture in the library’s daily life. Jane had heard the staff talk about how she was this rich girl from some spectacularly important old family who preferred books to the company of her fellow debutantes. She read voraciously, sitting at the center table with a cheek in each hand, scanning pages as if they were fuel or food. She never spoke to any of the other students, though she must have known at least a few of them. And she never ti
red.

  The girl interested Jane. When she wasn’t daydreaming revenge schemes about Doreen Gray, Jane sometimes imagined making a friend of Elizabeth Gibbons-Brown, as if someone with her pedigree could ever condescend to speak to a poor townie girl like herself.

  After she clicked off the phone, the girl rushed back to the table, where she’d been installed since early that morning. Peeking from behind the stacks, Jane watched her pack papers and notebooks into her backpack, shrug into an oversize wool coat, and make for the door. Jane ran into the office behind the checkout desk and grabbed the Andean sweater and alpaca cap.

  “Sorry, um, family emergency?” Jane said to Mrs. Turner, her fat, cross-eyed boss who sat at the office desk snarfing caramel popcorn and playing solitaire. “I’ll be back in twenty. Okay?”

  Mrs. Turner grunted. Jane raced out of the library, terrified that she would lose track of Elizabeth as she’d lost track of Doreen in town. But when she emerged onto the quad, Jane spotted the girl immediately, and maintaining a safe distance, she followed her across campus. The frozen grass crunched under her hiking boots, and her breath came out in visible gusts from her mouth and nose. But she barely registered the cold. She kept her eyes focused on her target.

  They arrived at one of the dormitory buildings and Elizabeth keyed in. Jane stopped behind a large oak. Of course, she didn’t have key card access to that building, but it didn’t matter.

  She stood her ground, leaning against the tree as the feeble late-winter sun faded into the thick clouds. The lights came on in the quad. Jane Vale huddled into her sweater. She waited for Doreen Gray.

  “It’s just so unexpected! I never . . . I mean, how could I have . . . oh, Biz! There you are! Did Heidi tell you? Isn’t it just too wonderful?” Standing in Biz and Heidi’s bedroom half-dressed, Doreen flung her arms around her cousin with uncharacteristic affection.