Life, Libby, and the Pursuit of Happiness

by Hope Lyda

  Gong. A warning signal went off somewhere in my mind.

  Thirty-One

  Rachel stood on the corner of Cecilia’s street underneath a decorative outdoor light that cast more shadows than radiance. A couple sat on a nearby bench and spoke in the hushed tones of romance. I walked by them, stealing a long enough glance to know that I had never experienced that kind of love.

  I greeted my friend. “It’s chilly out here. I could’ve met you upstairs.”

  She shook her head and jangled several keys from a platinum key ring. “There are many security doors in the building. You wouldn’t have gotten past the night watchman.” Light from the lamppost reflected off the ring.

  “Are those diamonds?” I asked, trying to get a closer look.

  “Can you believe it? We could hock this and both go to Europe. Come on, what do ya say?” Rachel laughed, but I could see the glint of sincerity in her eyes.

  “Don’t tempt me after the great ‘your purpose could be here’ speech. Did Ken call you back?”

  “Yes. It’s official. He wants me to give him two weeks’ notice so he can get back and start the hiring process. I must warn you, he mentioned that maybe you could cover for a few weeks if they don’t fill my position right away. If that doesn’t tempt you to cash in this key chain and head for the airport, nothing will.”

  We walked through archways laced with roses and ivy before arriving at the brick-and-steel entry. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark gray uniform stood at attention beside the double glass doors with an etched design of a heron.

  “Evening, ladies.” The man nodded in a cordial fashion but did not change position until Rachel held up a security pass card. He passed a scanner attached to his wrist over the card until it beeped and then opened the door for us.

  “I couldn’t believe it when you buzzed me and said you wanted to help me clean.”

  “My curiosity about Cecilia’s dwelling could not be denied.”

  We walked about eight yards through an intricate indoor garden with waterfalls and exotic plants with fan-shaped leaves and vivid colors, the bright ones you rarely use from the crayon box because they don’t seem real, and reached another set of doors. Rachel swiped the card again. The sound of a chime welcomed us into the urban castle.

  “I suppose saying I’m speechless is…what? An oxymoron or something.”

  Rachel whispered, “A person we know and interact with daily lives this way.” She used a key on the lock beside the elevator; the door opened and we stepped into luxury space. I promptly sat on the deep green couch and looked up at the mirrored ceiling. “Do you think they have video cameras up there?” I asked, making faces.

  “I know they do. And it’s mic’d too.”

  “Good to know.” I stopped making the faces and stood up in silence. But I had to let out a giggle as the elevator’s mechanical voice announced, “You have arrived.”

  “Condo 1201,” Rachel said, motioning to the right in the autumn-toned corridor with amber lighting resembling a Woody Allen movie.

  I waited for her to walk ahead so I could reference the crib notes written on a small sheet of paper. Cecilia’s list of required items were arranged in order of logical room placement.

  collagen shots

  Hermès scarf

  Chanel sunglasses

  Dolce & Gabanna belt

  Gucci stilettos—black

  Mail from Paulo Carrera

  Baccarat crystal bottle

  I was reading them over when my head rammed into a mosaic design wind chime hanging at eye level. “Ouch!”

  Rachel, who was standing in the modern yet serene living room, looked over her shoulder. “I should’ve warned you. I still have a cut behind my ear from a few days ago.”

  “Any other danger zones to watch for?”

  “There’s a tricky step up into the bathroom. Her designers had to make room for the heated subflooring.”

  “That has a sane purpose,” I said and then casually added, “Why don’t I start there?”

  “Sure. I’ll sacrifice bathroom duty. Thanks again for helping. I need to get home soon to start packing and making arrangements for the trip.”

  “I need to get back to…” My voice trailed off when I thought of Hudson eating Levi’s fried chicken. I did want to be there with him. The past few days of conversations with him had been helping me process my own life questions.

  “To what? You have a hot guy waiting for you?”

  Yes, I do. “Actually, I need to get home so I can pack for my imaginary trips.”

  “Libby, I’m so excited I can barely stand it.”

  I looked over at my friend and coworker. “I’m happy for you, Rachel.”

  From a supply closet, she removed a duster for herself and a bucket and rubber gloves for me. “Thanks for saying and meaning that. Your day will come.”

  I shrugged and accepted my tools of the trade.

  “You create the best itineraries I’ve ever seen. You’re destined for adventure. I know it.” She paused and smiled. “Now go scrub the toilet.”

  I walked down the coffee-colored hallway, passing several pretty framed images of Seattle gardens before stepping up to the marble bath area the size of my living room. Cecilia’s bathroom had a large jetted tub, a double sink, armoire, antique vanity, and a huge glass-enclosed shower. I saw everything except for the mini-fridge Cecilia mentioned in the voice mail message that followed her email instructions.

  “Do you mind if I turn on some music?” Rachel yelled.

  “No, not at all.”

  “Thank goodness she has a killer sound system. But can you believe the woman doesn’t have an RV?”

  “No way,” I called back. “She’s always so up on celebrity news.”

  “True,” Rachel called out.

  “And she always is up on the latest edition of Seattle’s Rich and Famous.”

  “Only to look for her next bachelor victim.”

  “And the most recent episode of America’s Most Wanted.”

  “That’s her cross-reference media resource…in case the bachelor is actually the father of five from Wisconsin who robbed a Dairy Queen.”

  I laughed and considered how nice it was to bond over Cecilia’s quirky behavior. Too bad the woman behind that behavior was calling the shots in my life currently. When some jazz music started up, I quietly shut the bathroom door and began my secret search. In the vanity drawers the scarf, belt, and the sunglasses were found easily enough. Quickly these were stashed in my backpack. I opened the armoire and took in the scent of fresh Provence lavender. I reached in and felt below the stacks of towels for a button or something suspicious. Nothing. Next, I opened the cabinet below which opened like a drawer. It was lined with white ceramic and was filled with bottles of Perrier, club soda, and cranberry juice. To the far right was a small silver container that looked like an eyeglass case. It was very cold to the touch when I verified the contents—three full syringes. I removed the small Mariner’s soda can ice sleeve I had purchased three years ago at a game. It fit perfectly.

  I sprayed Windex on the mirror and covered my reflection with cleansing foam. This was me. My head in the white cloud of delusion and confusion. Shouldn’t life and faith make a lot more sense at this age and at this point in my noncareer? I wiped away the streaks and a moment of mental clarity followed.

  Blaine. All this focus on Hudson and Cecilia and now even Rachel’s decision had kept my thinking patterns from circling in on Blaine. He was part of my answer, but I wasn’t even sure what I was asking anymore. A few weeks ago my only concern was whether or not I would get the promotion, and let’s face it—the life—I thought I deserved. Now there were so many question marks in my life I felt like the Riddler’s troubled sister.

  A small crystal clock on the vanity sounded off the hour with a polite bell. I’d overstayed my time in the bathroom, so I rejoined Rachel in the living room. She was fluffing pillows and staring at a framed photo of Cecilia over the firepl
ace.

  “Haven’t you seen enough of this woman?” I asked in jest.

  She remained mesmerized by the image. I walked over to stand beside her and discovered why she could not turn away. It wasn’t a photo. If you stood directly in front of it, the image of a young, stylish and decadent Cecilia became a hologram.

  When I regained my ability to think and speak, I said, “Wow. The picture of Dorian Gray has taken on a new dimension. This is amazing and slightly…”

  “Narcissistic,” Rachel said, finishing my sentence. “How did I not notice this before?”

  “It looks like it should be moving.”

  All of a sudden Rachel started looking around the room.

  “I said that. Not the hologram,” I teased.

  “Aha!” Rachel leaned over and grabbed a remote from the arm of the swivel chair. “I thought this was just a spare for the Bose stereo, but I think I figured out something. Watch.” She pressed play and the hologram started to move. It was Cecilia waving and walking forward. She looked about thirty and was dressed in a dark, fitted, and elegant shift. That image faded and a new one popped up. This one was of her in the next decade. She had on a single strapped, very chic, and very short dress in front of a brightly lit club sign. A bit of the Seattle skyline was visible behind her. Rachel skipped forward to the next image. It was of Cecilia and a handsome Latin man. She had on a full-length gown that shimmered as the image moved. Cecilia leaned in toward the handsome man and looked up at him like a schoolgirl in love.

  The next several images were of Cecilia in her office, in a conference room, and several with her shaking hands with well-known national business tycoons.

  “Ya gotta give the woman some credit,” I said.

  “She has lived more than both of us combined. Even if we never adopt her sense for the corporate kill…”

  “Or manic behavior,” I added.

  “Maybe we’ll get an ounce of her ability to be herself at all times. She’s consistently being Cecilia.”

  “She can be full of surprises,” I said, thinking of how focused she was on turning things around for Hudson. It was to her benefit, but still she had found a way to help someone needing her expertise and she was stepping up.

  Rachel thought about this for a moment and then shook her head. “Not really. She’s wild or reckless at times, but her behavior is always self-centered.”

  After the series of moving pictures, a grid of countless channels emerged in the large framed area. “Ooh,” we said simultaneously.

  “All the times I’ve been here to run errands, water plants, and clean her windows; I could’ve been watching cable!” Rachel plopped down on the couch and flipped through highlighted show titles with trembling hands.

  “I can see you got a bit of her addictive personality, if that helps any.”

  “Funny,” Rachel said, but her eyes stayed glued to the screen.

  I decided not to distract my friend any further. This was my perfect chance to finish gathering items on my shopping list. I stared at my wrist and continued with my search and seizure. While I sifted through piles of envelopes in Cecilia’s office, I realized that I was depending on a woman with holograms of herself in her living room to deliver a happy ending for me and now for Hudson.

  I noticed Paulo’s name on the return address of two cream envelopes.

  Mission accomplished.

  A strange chill went up and down my spine. I shook it off and went in search of the Baccarat bottle, whatever that was.

  Thirty-Two

  “Do you need help moving?” Philip asked when I entered the building the next day. He was sipping his morning Starbucks out of a mug sized somewhere between a demitasse and a six-year-old girl’s tea set cup.

  “Moving?” Panic struck. Had I received another demotion without knowing it?

  “Since this is where all your personal calls are being routed, I just assumed you’re moving in.”

  I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. In fact, I walked quickly by him so that he could not inquire about the contents of the Macy’s bag I had draped around my wrist. On the way to my desk, I wondered and worried why I had so many calls. It was probably Cecilia pretending to be a relative again. The woman had my cell phone number but still risked everything by calling in here. This wasn’t building my confidence in her abilities at a time when I needed desperately to believe she was going to redeem us all.

  My phone light flashed.

  It’s Pan. Are you completely avoiding me? Do you not want me near your cousin? I want to connect him with Max this week, and I want to be sure you can come to the EMP event next week. Have you heard the news? Ray Stricter and Trevor Lawson are going to be there to help judge the finalists for the documentary. I can barely contain myself. Even if I don’t win the grant, the idea of having them view my work is enough. Call me, ya lousy friend. And connect me with Hudson. Does the guy like dogs? Okay, sorry to use up your work phone time. Call me. And fix your stupid cell phone.

  Delete. Next. I dug through my purse and found my cell phone. The battery was low again. I wasn’t good at maintaining electronics or household plants. I plugged the phone into the universal charger in my cubicle wall.

  It’s me. What is wrong with your cell phone? Am I supposed to trust you with anything if you can’t keep your cell phone service up and running? You took the wrong items. I said Hermès scarf and Chanel sunglasses. You grabbed the Hermès sunglasses and the Chanel scarf. Call me on my cell phone at 11:33 and not a second before or after.

  I glanced into the shopping bag but did not bother to verify this accusation. After all these years, I was only slightly surprised that she knew.

  Delete. Next.

  It’s Ariel. I hope I didn’t upset you by coming to your office. I feel like I’ve messed up our friendship. Let’s go out soon. I want to apologize again and again and get us back to normal. I miss you. Don’t hate me.

  Delete. Next.

  Libby, it’s Marsha. It’s late at night and I found out something delicious. I know your bedtime is like 9:00 or something. And I didn’t want to talk about this at work in case little ears were listening, so listen up. Rachel is leaving. That’s right, you heard it here first. I’m planning a going away party for late next week. It’s all hush-hush, so call me on my cell phone tonight.

  Delete. I’d have to warn Rachel about the party so she could exit early that day.

  Tap, tap.

  I looked up toward the sound, and Marsha’s face was hovering above the fabric wall. She gave me a thumbs-up. Then she pointed to the phone in my hand in case I wasn’t making the connection. I thumbed back and listened to the next message.

  Libby, help me. You think you remember how hard it was to live under the same roof with Mom and Dad, but you don’t really remember. Save me. Mom and Dad are taking me and Nate to lunch. It’s a badly veiled intervention. Please come and run interference. We’ll be at the Ginger Teahouse at noon. If you can’t make it to lunch, then maybe we can all come over to your place tonight. Remember, I’m your only sister. At some point in your life, you’ll be glad you saved me. Gotta go.

  Delete. Another message remained. Philip wasn’t kidding. Did I know anyone else?

  Libby, it’s Blaine. I’m sorry I’ve only been emailing instructions from the road rather than calling. This business trip has been all-consuming. Turns out there’s a lot to learn about coddling these clients. Maybe I should’ve job-shadowed Cecilia for a few years! Anyway, I miss you…your input. I should be home soon…back in the office, that is. Maybe even tomorrow. I need to come home and do laundry and catch up with life. I’ll email through some follow-up letters that should go out right away. Can you fake my signature? I’ll owe you coffee for making you resort to petty crime. I hope things are going okay for you. Thanks for everything.

  Replay. Replay. Save.

  He misses me. He tried to cover it, but the nice man with the great suits and fabulous personality and actual morals misses me. He felt
bad about having me sign his name and Cecilia didn’t bat a false eyelash asking me to harbor a fugitive. I was probably interpreting the niceness as something more. As much as I hated to think that I was remotely close to a Marsha-type woman, the truth was that as soon as I discovered Blaine was single, I was attracted to him. Was it the single woman assessment process: nearby handsome single man, must pursue, must achieve happily ever after destiny? Or was there more to it?

  After all, Hudson and I completely hit it off. We had such a strong, real connection that any other girl might consider that a potential romance. Ariel and Pan both responded to him like that. But I saw him and our conversations as well-timed, much-needed blessings. Maybe Blaine’s niceness was only meant to be that too. I needed to wise up and shape up before Blaine returned. He’d think I was a complete dolt if he knew what I almost let myself believe.

  Rachel’s voice startled me. “You don’t usually look like this until, oh, say, eleven. Rough night?” She winked and handed me one of the cups of coffee she was holding.

  I saw the top of Marsha’s fluffy bangs rise above the edge of the cubicle. I decided to play it up. “You know how it is. Juggling several boyfriends and this job has turned out to be so huge. I mean, I do all the secretarial work during the day, and those special management projects at night. It’s too much.”

  Rachel caught on quickly. “Woman, they’ve got you working too hard. Do you think it is worth it? All this to get Cecilia’s position? Do you even want it?”

  I had to stifle a laugh. “I haven’t decided, but I definitely want the option.”

  “I cracked under the pressure. Good thing Barcelona has fabulous sanitariums.”

  “And to think you could have had Ken’s position.”

  We both giggled at that. I watched the hair fluff disappear. Surely that last bit was more than even gossipmonger Marsha could believe.

  After Rachel returned to her space, I picked up the phone and dialed Cass’ cell. I got her voice mail. “Tonight won’t work. Don’t bring Mom and Dad over to my place. I’ll be at the Ginger Teahouse to intervene during the intervention.”