Doreen

by Ilana Manaster

  “Do you know my son, Seth Greenbaum?” Eloise flipped her glasses onto her head. “He is a junior here. He asked me to attend this evening. He’s a big fan of your work, as you may know. You see, I have a small gallery in Chelsea.”

  “Of course! The Peek Gallery. Not that, I mean, of course, you know the name of it.” Biz felt her face flush.

  “I do, yes. And so do you. Good! I’m glad you know us. Anyway, I’m very interested in you. You are young, of course, but that is hardly a detriment. Agnes Chase—”

  “The photographer?”

  “Yes, of course the photographer. She is a client and a dear friend and she was just saying to me that she would like to find an assistant. I’m sure she’s looking for something more long-term than just the summer.”

  “I’ll do it!”

  “Wonderful enthusiasm, dear girl, but we must proceed step by step. Send me your portfolio and I will speak to Agnes. Here is my card. I will look for your e-mail.”

  Biz felt for the card in the breast pocket of her coat. There it was. Eloise Peek, President. Oh, to have this thing, something for herself, something she made for herself not because of her name or her family—but in spite of them, their materialism, their anti-intellectualism. It was all too good to contemplate. Imagine spending the summer as Agnes Chase’s assistant! And then off to Yale, the best photography school in the world. Of course, she hadn’t heard from Yale yet, but she would. She was the valedictorian of one of the highest ranked prep schools in the country. If Yale wasn’t accepting Biz, then who in the world were they accepting?

  She was so lost in her own good fortune that she collided head-on with someone coming out of West Hall.

  “Ow!”

  “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I—Peter?” She helped him to his feet. “What are you doing here? I thought you left hours ago.”

  “Oh. I, uh,” Peter looked back at West Hall. “I stayed for a bit, taking care of Heidi. I fell asleep.”

  “But our dorm is across campus. Doreen lives here.”

  “Does she?” said Peter. “What a coincidence. Anyway, great seeing you and congratulations again on your success.” Peter’s cell phone beeped.

  “Is that a text? Who is it from?”

  “Hm? Oh. I don’t know, uh.” He pulled out his phone and held it very close to his face. “Your brother. ‘Good to see you, man.’ Nice of him to say so.”

  Biz swiped the phone from him. The message on the screen was from Doreen: I miss you already, Pinkie.

  “I don’t understand. You and Doreen? But you’re with Heidi.”

  “Look, Biz, I know you’re Heidi’s pal. She’s great, okay? But Doreen and I . . . what we have . . . it’s different. It’s special, I—I can’t explain it.”

  “But Heidi really likes you. She loves you. She doesn’t love anyone and she loves you.”

  “I guess that’s her problem. Are you going to tell her? It would be a favor to me if you did, actually, save me the trouble.”

  “And what about your friend? Coburn? Doesn’t he count, either?”

  Peter shook his head. “Not for me. Not now. It’s just her that matters now. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, I’m different around her.”

  “You’re disgusting. You’re in college, an adult, practically.”

  But Peter wasn’t listening. He was scanning the windows of West Hall, obviously trying to figure out which one belonged to Doreen. When he turned back, he seemed surprised that Biz was still there. “Good to see you,” he said and walked away.

  Of course, it was none of her business, but as Biz climbed the stairs to Doreen’s room she could not help feeling lost and disillusioned. She’d always admired Doreen, overlooked the backstage calculations. But this was too far. Poor Heidi. Biz’s heart broke for her.

  “I knew you couldn’t stay away!” said Doreen when she opened to the door to her room. She wore nothing but a white lace corset and frilly shorts. “Oh. It’s you.”

  “Disappointed?” said Biz. “Expecting someone else?”

  “Who knows? Anyway, have you come to share your news? Tell me everything. I’ll even play at being surprised, though I already heard it from Addison.” She plucked a lilac satin robe from a hook on her door and slipped it over herself.

  “Why? Are you sleeping with him, too? He’s your first cousin, you know.”

  “Huh? Of course not! I ran into him at the hotel after I said good-bye to my father. What’s gotten into you?”

  “That’s a funny question, coming from you.”

  “Bizzy. Come sit.” Doreen patted a spot on her bed.

  “I’ll stand, thank you. Where’s the picture?”

  “Sorry? What picture?”

  “You know what picture. The one of you in the red dress.”

  “This again? I told you I don’t have it. And what do you need it for, anyway? The pictures from the show are much better. The one of me is just a copy from Vogue. You had much better stuff in the show. I liked the one of your mother. The diamonds looked like they were about to eat her face!”

  “Mm-hmm. Fine. You want to play it that way?” Biz flung open the top drawer of Doreen’s desk. She yanked out the notebooks and searched the pages for a folded sheet. When she didn’t find anything, she pulled out the other drawers and dumped them on the carpet.

  “Biz! What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Where is it? Where is the picture, Doreen?”

  “I told you.” And if Doreen was nervous about Biz finding the picture, she made no indication. She stood near her bed with her hands on her hips as her cousin ransacked her desk, her dresser, her closet. “I hope you are going to clean all this up.”

  “You’ll never guess who I ran into just now, outside of your dorm. Peter Standish. You know, Heidi’s boyfriend?”

  “Says who?” Doreen said under her breath.

  “What? What did you say?”

  “Nothing, but go ahead. Commence the dull moralizing lecture, I’m sure you’ve got one all cued up.”

  “Yes, yes. I’m so uncool. I know. But I would never . . . she would never.”

  “Of course! Our friend Heidi, the model of moral rectitude, who considers men to be loathsome, bottom-dwelling vermin to be used and discarded.”

  “This isn’t about how she feels about men! This is about how she feels about friendship!” Biz lay on her stomach and pulled stuff from under the bed, empty duffel bags, old sweaters.

  “Please, spare me. You act like she isn’t using you for your name, your position, the clothes in your closet, the bags, the shoes. Why do you think she agreed to be your roommate? Because of your charming personality? I know all sorts of stuff about Heidi that would turn you cold. Did you know she’s a year older than you? Yeah. Her school was so bad Crotchett made her do a year over again. She’s been lying to us about her age all this time. How’s that for the sanctity of friendship? She’s on some sort of secret scholarship that nobody ever got before or since. It wouldn’t surprise me if she slept with some high-ranking Chandler board member or something.”

  “You’re just trying to justify what you’ve done.” Biz emptied shoeboxes and added them to the pile. Where was that picture? “But it won’t work. Not on me. I know Heidi—I know who she really is.” She turned to the bookshelf.

  “You see what you want to see, Elizabeth. Heidi Whelan manipulates, she steals. She uses people to get what she wants. She used you and she used me. Pardon me if I don’t feel obliged to treat her like a saint. And what any of this has to do with that stupid picture, I’ll never understand. But go ahead, if it makes you feel better. Just let me know when you’re finished.” Doreen lay back against the pillows on her bed. She yawned luxuriously. “I’m gutted. What a day. What time is brunch tomorrow?”

  Biz stood in the pile she’d created: clothes, shoes, coats, books, papers.
She breathed hard. “You changed, Doreen.”

  “Yes, Biz. I have.” Doreen pumped some cream into her palm and began to rub it into one elbow, then the other. “I know you love to wax nostalgic about our time at the beach when we were babies, but that was a lifetime ago. I have changed, okay? I’ve grown up. You may consider doing the same before you go out and light the world on fire.”

  “That’s not the change I’m talking about. I’m talking about the morning after we took the picture. I’m talking about a painfully awkward girl who left my dorm room one evening, only to return the next day looking like a fashion model.”

  Doreen stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She continued moisturizing, moving on to her legs, feigning indifference, but Biz could see tension in her cousin’s jaw. Her head cocked to one side with attention.

  “Am I? Well, then show me the picture. That’s it. Show me the picture and we’ll be done with all this. Because it does sound ridiculous. To think that a picture I took and fixed up could have turned you into someone who would sacrifice anyone who gets in your way. That seems crazy to me! And yet, I can’t stop thinking that it happened. And I must know now, Doreen. I must know what responsibility I have for what you’ve become. A beautiful monster.”

  Doreen sat up, her eyes blazing, chest heaving. Time seemed to stop while the two cousins stared at one another. An intense smile spread across Doreen’s face. “What a spectacular idea!” She hopped off the bed and clapped. “Yes!” Wading through the mess on the floor to her closet, Doreen pulled rubber boots over her bare legs and retrieved a heavy metal flashlight, flicking it on and off, on and off.

  “What are you doing?” asked Biz.

  “Making sure it works. Now let’s go!”

  “Where are we going?” Biz’s guts churned.

  “I’m giving you what you want, Biz! Ain’t it grand?” Doreen put a hand on Biz’s shoulder. “We should have done this ages ago!” She laughed.

  “What’s so funny? I don’t get it.”

  “You will.” Doreen tightened the belt on her robe and with a final laugh she headed out the door. She raced down the hall and Biz hurried after her.

  “Oh, wait till you see what I have in store for you, my Bizzy little bee!” Doreen sang as she scuttled down the stairs two flights to the ground floor.

  Were they going outside? Had she buried the thing somewhere? But Doreen didn’t stop, she kept going down the stairs to the basement, almost hitting Biz in the face with the fire door. The stink of rotting garbage made Biz’s eyes water, but Doreen sped past the overflowing bins at the base of the garbage shoot, the blue barrels of recycled refuse. Biz tried to stay close, but she couldn’t keep pace. She saw a flash of purple satin as Doreen entered a small room at the back.

  “Hello! Doreen, where are you?” A switch on the wall made a dim fluorescent tube flicker to life overhead, revealing a mess of electrical wiring, plastic tubing, rotting mattresses, and old, broken furniture. The smell was of organic decomposition and turpentine.

  “Doreen! Doreen, are you here?”

  Biz heard a creaking from the back of the room. Carefully trying not to touch anything or imagine what horrible creatures made the stinking room their home, she crept past the broken-down bed frames, the burst cushions, the stores of pink insulating foam. Finally, at the back of the room she found a rusted metal ladder that descended from the ceiling. It led to a small crawl space, lit from within by Doreen’s flashlight. The drywall that had covered it had been pushed aside and Biz heard the scraping of things being moved around.

  “Doreen! Come down from there. I don’t understand.”

  Doreen stuck her head out of the opening. “Patience! All will be revealed shortly.” Biz watched her gingerly climb down the ladder with a shapeless package tucked under her arm. “Where shall we do this? But it’s so dark here. Come on. I know just the place.”

  Doreen hummed to herself as she scurried past the junk, out of the storage room. Biz followed her into another room. The janitor’s office, Biz supposed from the tools, the desk, the small television. Doreen turned on the desk lamp.

  “Have a seat,” she said. Biz did as she was told. Doreen ripped apart the parcel to reveal a manila envelope, and inside that another envelope, and inside that a folder. Biz had a feeling that whatever was in there would change her life forever. But she couldn’t stop it. She had to know.

  “Ah, yes,” said Doreen, adding the folder to the pile of discarded packaging. “Here it is.” She smiled at the picture and placed it facedown on the desk before sliding it toward Biz. “Go ahead. See for yourself. Go on.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes were wide.

  Biz looked down at the page. “I don’t know.”

  “Just do it!” Doreen yelled. She slammed a fist on the metal desk. “Look. Look! Look for yourself at your beautiful monster.” Doreen flipped the page over. Biz peered down at the image. She gasped.

  “What happened to it? Did you do this? Why?”

  “Don’t stop.” Doreen shined the lamp onto the image. “Get a close look, Elizabeth. Take it all in.”

  “No, no. I don’t under—”

  The composition of the picture remained the same—there was the green grass, darkening sky, even the red, strapless dress. But instead of the lovely girl on a chair Biz saw a hideous beast—with the eyes of a devil and a gaping, bloody, salivating mouth. A horrible tongue reached out from the depths. The creature was all appetite, burning desire, horrifying in its need for more. The hands were oozing, boil-covered, and they reached out from the body, ready to grab, take in, devour. It was flesh that craved, that hunted, that would not be satisfied.

  Biz felt woozy, but Doreen slammed her hand against the desk again. “Keep looking!” she demanded, her perfect, porcelain brow creased, her lovely mouth sneering. She smelled of orange peel and lavender. What could she, who looked so innocent, so immaculate, have to do with the seeping, lecherous beast in the image?

  “How did this happen? Tell me. Please, I have to know.”

  Doreen turned the flashlight in her hand. “Do you remember that day last summer, Biz? The day you took this picture. After you used your computer to turn the fat, ugly pig that I was into an ethereal, graceful beauty? I became agitated when you showed me what you’d done to the picture. Ring a bell?”

  “You thought we were making fun of you.” Biz imagined Doreen the way she looked that day when she arrived at Chandler, how sweet and scared and broken she was.

  “Yes. I often think that, of course. But you reassured me, didn’t you? You were only doing what they do in the magazines, you said. And then Heidi admonished me. She offered to destroy the picture—but I wouldn’t let her. I clung to it. I wanted to keep it forever. I made a wish. Do you remember what it was? It wasn’t so long ago, wasn’t it? Only a few months.”

  “You, you wished . . .” Biz had trouble forming words. “You wanted to be that girl, the one in the picture.” She blinked the tears out of her eyes.

  “And so I did. And guess what? My wish came true! Tra-la-la! Sound unbelievable? I didn’t believe it myself when I awoke the next morning. You see, at first I didn’t notice it. When you look as I used to, you don’t spend a lot of time looking in mirrors. In fact, before I even saw myself that morning, I took a quick look at the picture. But the picture didn’t look anything like I remembered it. The girl, the beautiful one, the one you created, Biz, she was nowhere to be seen. The subject of the photo was just regular, plain-old, ugly Doreen Gray—pimples, frizzy hair, and all. Was it a trick of my eyes or of my memory? I didn’t know, but I was so sad to lose that lovely girl. But, of course, I saw her again only a few minutes later. She looked me in the face the moment I looked in the mirror.

  “I thought I must be having some sort of psychological break. People don’t transform overnight. But then, when I arrived at your suite and I saw your reaction, and later still, at the caf
eteria, the way people treated me. I knew that what I saw in the mirror was how the world saw me as well. It had come true! My wish had come true and life would be too wonderful. Sad little Doreen Gray was a thing of the past, replaced by this!” And she spun around.

  “You said that the girl in the picture looked like you—the way you used to look.” Biz flipped the page over. “But this is the face of a devil!”

  “Yes. That happened over time. I noticed it after I broke up with Simon, the day of the terrible football game. Something compelled me to look at the picture when I returned to my room and I saw a small change. Nothing too significant, a hardness around the mouth, a widening of the eyes.”

  Doreen paced in and out of the light as she recounted her story. Her robe had loosened, the tie belt dragging on the ground. Biz sat on the desk chair and hugged her knees toward herself.

  “The morning after the Fall Dance—that’s when I really started to see a change. The face was becoming diabolical. It scared me. Of course, I knew I had behaved unkindly to Simon, and I realized the picture was reflecting those actions. And my evening with Gordon . . .” Doreen smiled. “I resolved to be better. I would study harder, I would beg Simon to take me back. I would be the very picture of purity and kindness and hard work. I would be you, Biz. But then Heidi came to me, she told me about what happened to Simon, how he’d been institutionalized. She showed me the article in the paper.”

  “Oh god.” Biz wanted to cover her ears to block out the rest of Doreen’s story, but she couldn’t. She had to sit there and take it.

  “And I realized that there was nothing to be done. More importantly, I realized that I didn’t want to do anything. It was a gift, you see? A free pass. I could do what I wanted—enjoy the best things that life had to offer freely, without consequences. The picture would absorb the consequences for me. It was so liberating! Let the picture fester while I enjoyed life to the fullest!” Doreen’s smile turned to a scowl. “But it was you, of course, nosy, tedious Elizabeth Gibbons-Brown who came sniffing around, asking after the picture. It had been just in my drawer then, but I knew it wasn’t safe. So I wrapped the thing up and that’s when I came down here and found the crawl space. The picture’s been there ever since.” Doreen lifted the page off the desk and examined the image. “It’s developed an impressive gruesomeness in there, I must say. And boy, have I had fun out in the world in the meantime.”