Body Jumping

by Brenda Lowder

  I clench my jaw and tell myself not to grind my teeth since they’re not mine. It’s just like Laurel to be stalwart and brave in the face of impending tragedy. Outwardly she projects calm since she’s concerned with the view of herself she presents to the world, but she should be screaming, fighting, wailing at the unfairness. Terrified of the loss.

  There’s so much for her to lose.

  It really could be nothing, though, I tell myself, desperate to believe it. I try not to think about how Nana was at the end. Not that I remember much. Just the pain and the finality as filtered through my mother’s perception—mainly my mother’s tears since that’s what I remember about that time. And the inevitability of it all. The total existence-zapping nature of death.

  For most people.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper when I see Laurel is waiting for some sort of normal response from me. “I hope it turns out to be nothing. I really think it could be. But, still, I’m sorry. Worrying about this, on top of that.” I wave over at the used-to-be me. I wonder if my body will die before I can get back into it. And if that happens if I’ll stay in Evie or be yanked through the ceiling like the old man, giving Evie her body back. Tears spring to my own eyes. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to be there for Laurel.

  “Hey, it’s okay.” Laurel puts a soothing arm around my shoulder.

  I start to really cry. “You shouldn’t try to make me feel better.”

  “Why not? She’s your friend, isn’t she?” She nods her head toward my body. “And you must be true friends for you to visit this often and be so concerned about her.”

  I nod and wipe my eyes. “She’s my life.”

  An odd look crosses Laurel’s face. “Not in a gay way,” I say. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Just…she’s not. And neither am I! I don’t know. Never mind.”

  She tilts her chin at me. “I think I know what you mean. There are just some people you can’t imagine living without, right? People who are your life.”

  “Exactly. Julianne is my life.”

  And she’s got something she needs to live for.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’m early for work that afternoon, but the restaurant is already packed with construction people and design people as well as some other servers. I catch glimpses of Aiden as he emerges from his office every seven to ten minutes—I count—to consult on some aspect of his growing empire.

  I know Aiden’s not my direct boss, but I hope that being here, in the restaurant he owns, I’ll be in his path often enough that a relationship will blossom between us. But I worry about who my boss will be. I quake at the idea of having to answer to Jim. I don’t know how he knows Evie, but the way he was with me this morning was…disturbing. I don’t know how well I can convince him that whatever he thinks I may have done I’m a better person now, thank you very much.

  “Are you the new hire?”

  I jump from my self-directed reverie to focus on the young woman who has stepped in front of me. She’s wearing the required black skirt and white button-down blouse, so she must be a server like me. Her auburn hair is pulled into a serviceable ponytail, and wide, guileless eyes sit atop an even wider smile. I like her immediately.

  “I am.” I don’t know whether to shake her hand or not. It’s not a social meeting, and this isn’t an office. Do they shake hands in the restaurant business? I keep my arms loose at my sides and wish I’d waited tables in high school like everybody else so I’d know what I was doing.

  “Hi! I’m Jill. Evie, right?”

  I nod. She takes me by the arm and points us in the direction of the large back booth where the other servers are gathering. “Aiden said we’d be getting a newbie today. Watch out for the hazing.”

  I whip around to look at her. “Hazing?”

  She bobs her head. “Yeah, immature, right? They’ll make you do something embarrassing like flash the boss or streak naked through the dining room, but you’ll do okay.”

  “What?” My mouth drops open. She bursts into laughter and covers her mouth with her hands, her eyes smiling above them.

  “Nah, I’m just messing with you.”

  I take a deep breath and reconsider how much I should like this girl.

  As if sensing my thoughts, she pats my arm. “That was the hazing. Everyone here is really cool. You’ll like them, I think. We all do. It’s great until the customers come, right?” She laughs again and leads me over to the table. Five servers—three men and two women—are seated in the round booth and two others—both men—are sitting outside it along the back wall in chairs. Jill and I pull chairs from a neighboring table and sit down facing the others.

  “Everybody, this is Evie.”

  I get interested looks from the group. She rattles off their names, but I forget them as soon as she says them except for Marco, who is an exceptionally handsome twenty-something Latin man with dark smoky eyes and a knowing smile, and Gretchen, who is a round, matronly forty-something, who makes me happy that apparently Aiden isn’t shallow enough to hire everyone solely on looks.

  I decide not to worry about learning everyone’s names since we’ll all be wearing nametags soon.

  “Hi!” I say and give a little wave which is met with nods and smiles and a matching coy little wave from Marco.

  We have no time for chitchat since a short but imposing man strides to the opening by our table and looks down his French nose at us with almost palpable authority.

  “I want perfection, understand?” he says without preamble. Even through his slight French accent, his consonants are sharp and clipped. “Your job is easy, no?” He focuses on me, and I try not to squirm under his penetrating gaze. “You take the orders and you serve the food. I am the chef. I am the genius.” He raises his arms. “I am the entrancing actor on center stage. You are merely the usher to greatness. If you stumble, if you fall, I will crush you!” He slaps his hands together in front of me, and I jump. My eyes dart around, but no one laughs. This must not be part of the hazing Jill may or may not have been joking about.

  “Understand?” He leans toward me expectantly.

  “Yes, sir!” I answer. No one else speaks.

  “Chef,” he corrects with a frown.

  “Chef,” I hurry to amend.

  He nods once and turns on his heel. When he strides back in the direction of the kitchen, I feel everyone else around the table exhale.

  Jill jabs me with her elbow to get my attention. “He gives that same speech every time we get a new server.”

  “So it’s not just me?”

  “Not even,” Gretchen pipes up. “In fact, he gave it six times the first day so he could stare at us each individually.”

  Six heads—the original six servers, I presume—nod up and down in agreement.

  “Is he our boss?” I ask hopefully. Not that I like him, but anything is better than the threat of Jim, right?

  “He’s everyone’s boss,” asserts a young man in his early twenties with sandy-colored hair and boy-next-door good looks. “Without his ‘genius’ there is no restaurant.”

  “You really think it all comes down to the chef?” Marco challenges him.

  “Of course! What else?”

  Marco and the young man, whose name I remember now is Brandon, argue chef talent versus good management until another man strides to the head of our group.

  “That’s quite enough restaurant philosophy for today,” the man interrupts them. Everyone at the table suddenly adopts better posture again.

  He looks directly at me. “Hello, Evie, and welcome. I am Jean-Claude, the maître d’ of Simple Sauce.”

  Jean-Claude is a handsome, trim distinguished man in his late forties. He brings to mind old Audrey Hepburn movies. A debonair maître d’ who knows everything and has secret ways of coaxing romance along. I decide I like the look of him. Especially if he has any power to help my romance along. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  “Yes, thank you. And just as a warning, if
I hear you, or anyone else,” he looks around the table to meet everyone else’s eyes as well, “add Van Damme to my name, I will let Chef Gaspard do the crushing he is always so eager to perform.”

  I blink, and it takes me a beat to realize what Jean-Claude is saying. There’s no danger of my adding “Van Damme” to his name. This elegant man is about as far from the nineties’ action star as I can imagine. “Yes, sir.”

  He nods, satisfied, and without further asides launches into our training for today. There is a small bit of additional info shuttled over to me since I’m a couple days late in getting started, but I learn fast. We have to memorize the table numbers, listen to company policies, get our safe food handlers permits which will require a class and test with the state, and loads of very detailed—and to my mind uptight—customer service training.

  I learn that later in the week Chef Gaspard will have us sample all of the dishes on the menu so we’ll know how to talk about the food to the guests. Guests, never customers. The employees will meet daily for a family-style meal made by Chef Gaspard before service for further tasting and for bonding. I wonder if Aiden will attend these meals, but no one mentions him. There’ll also be a soft opening of the restaurant for friends and family of staff the night before our grand opening. I think about who I can invite. Would Barclay like to come?

  “Jean-Claude, could I speak with you for a moment, please?” Aiden pulls our teacher aside, and my heart leaps. I’d been so absorbed in learning my new job, I hadn’t seen him come in. I strain my ears to catch snippets of their conversation. Something about sconces. Or is it scones?

  Jill nudges me with her elbow, and I stop craning my neck toward Aiden so I can look at her.

  “The owner is really hot, isn’t he?” She grins, a wicked glint lighting her eyes.

  I pretend a yawn. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  She laughs so fast she snorts. “Yeah, right. It’s okay. Hey!” Jill turns to the table and stage whispers to the group, “Don’t y’all think Aiden is super hot?”

  “Oh, yeah!” Gretchen moans her answer, and I grip the edge of the table to keep myself from smacking her.

  “Super hot,” Marco says with a wink at me. Gay or teasing? I can’t tell. I hope he’s gay. Teasing me would mean my feelings for Aiden are obvious.

  “I’d kill my grandmother to sleep with him,” says a young woman with pink hair and overly drawn eyebrows. When she catches our startled glances, she goes on, “She’s really mean! And racist. Never mind,” she huffs and waves away our silent judgment. “You’d hate her, too, if you knew her.”

  Of course I should have figured that there’d be this much competition for Aiden’s attention. He’s a sexy, single man. Women—and gay men—probably throw themselves at him all day long. I don’t think Gretchen has the advantage over me, and I’m reasonably sure Aiden isn’t gay so I don’t think any of the guy servers have a chance. And probably they aren’t all gay, even though they all seemed to nod in agreement when Jill made her comment. And if I were thinking about this logically, I’d have to admit that the pool of possible people who could outrun me into Aiden’s arms was astronomical—he didn’t spend all his time at the restaurant. There’s a whole population outside these doors ready to jump his bones. Or whatever the kids were calling it these days.

  I knew this, as Julianne. Dowdy and drab, I knew I never had a chance against all the other beautiful women in his life. But I’m not Julianne now, I tell myself. I’m Evie. Thin, beautiful, blond Evie. With clothes that fit and eyes that flash.

  No, Aiden could never be mine, Julianne’s.

  But he can be Evie’s.

  For the first time I look like someone he could love. All I have to do is reach out and take him.

  A pulsing surge of confidence shoots through me. I’m not myself. I don’t have to act like I am. I’m Evie, and I can get what I want. I always had the desire.

  Now I have the equipment.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next few training days pass without many Aiden sightings. And no chance to talk to him at all. Now that I’m confident that I could—and should—approach him and make something happen between us, I can never find him. The good news is he’s so busy with the upcoming restaurant opening that no one is outrunning me into his arms. I doubt he knows anyone exists at the moment.

  I visit the hospital every day, but I’m so torn. To pursue Aiden, I want to be Evie. To help Laurel, I want to be Julianne. I run into Laurel twice more, but my father still refuses to come, which bothers Laurel more than it bothers me. I’m still unsuccessful in finding my way back into my body. I’ve done everything physical—and appropriate—that I can think of doing. I’ve shook hands, hugged, kissed, licked…although maybe that wasn’t quite appropriate but at least Laurel didn’t walk in and catch me doing it. But I’m starting to think that the key to getting back in probably isn’t a physical endeavor but a spiritual one. Isn’t that the part of me that’s been traveling?

  Taking stock of myself spiritually, I find I’m a mess. Every time I see the used-to-be me lying in that hospital bed, I feel revulsion and…relief. Relief that it’s not me anymore. I’m ashamed of these feelings, and I feel guilty I’m not helping Evie or Laurel more, but I don’t know how to fix this.

  Deep down, I don’t want to be me.

  How long will this journey last? How long can I stay in Evie’s body, enjoying the possibilities of my new life, without there being any ill effects? I’ve heard about people in a coma for years. Years!

  I’m sure I won’t need years. Maybe a year. Two, tops. Surely I have some time to figure this all out.

  But how long does Laurel have? If she’s really dying of cancer like our grandmother did, how long before she’s gone? I can’t bear to think of it, and yet my heart fills with love for her at the thought that she’d want me to be the one to watch over her daughter and son, the tiny humans she sees as having pieces of her own soul.

  I’ve got to try harder.

  But how?

  “Is there a problem, Ms. Catrone?”

  I look up to see Aiden frozen in mid-busy-step, watching me zone out in the middle of folding five zillion napkins into the approved artistic shape worthy of Simple Sauce.

  “No. Sorry, boss,” I say and go back to folding napkins as fast as I can.

  He looks around before pulling up a nearby chair and sitting next to me. Setting his clipboard on the table, he offers me his full attention. “I wasn’t giving you a hard time. When I came into the room just now you looked like you were reading a telegram saying the world was going to end.”

  I smile weakly. What can I tell him—it is ending? Or at least the world as I know it. I settle on telling him the truth. One of the truths, anyway. “My sister might be dying.”

  His head snaps back.

  “And I—I have a…friend…who’s in a coma.”

  He nods slowly. “Wow. That’s a lot going on.”

  I nod along.

  “I’m sorry I made light of it.”

  “Oh, you didn’t. And you didn’t know.”

  He studies me more closely now, like he doesn’t know what to make of me. “What are you doing tonight?”

  I blink. Truthfully I’m probably going to stream old episodes of Project Runway with Barclay. Should I tell him that? “I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t you go out with me?”

  My stomach flips. Yes. Why don’t I? This is exactly what I want, and yet I feel a slight caution, a warning signal to myself to be careful. Is he only asking me because he feels sorry for me? There’s danger of getting hurt here.

  But time with Aiden! Isn’t that what I’ve wanted? It’s my whole point in being here. In being Evie.

  “I’d love to.” I peer at him under my eyelashes, trying to gauge whether he’s asked because he wants to spend time with me or because he feels bad about the people in my life dropping like flies. He smiles and his pupils get a little bigger, the glint of light in them shining right at me.r />
  Let it be because of me.

  “Great.” He pushes his hair away from his forehead, but it doesn’t take the hint and instead flops back down a second later.

  I wonder when he’s thinking of us “going out” and where. “Umm…I’ve got to go home and change.”

  “Of course. Wear something comfortable. Pick you up at nine?”

  This is happening? He’s going to pick me up? There’s going to be a real date. With Aiden. My months and months of unrequitedness are exploding in my brain. And nine o’clock? In my old life I was in bed by nine, practically.

  “Wonderful.” I give him my address and hope desperately that Barclay will be home when I get there so he can tell me what to wear.

  ∞∞∞

  “Eeek!” Barclay is screaming, but they’re screams of happiness. I can tell because he’s spinning in a circle as he does this. “Julianne has a date! Julianne has a date!”

  “Enough! Enough! There shouldn’t be this level of celebration for a simple date.”

  Barclay cocks his head at me and tucks in his chin. “Mmmhmm.” The sound is eloquent. He’s saying he doesn’t believe me for a second. “This is the first date you’ve had in forever.”

  “How would you know? You’ve only known me a month and a half!”

  He puts his weight on one hip and points his finger at me. “Um, excuse me, I knew you as Julianne, albeit briefly, and I’m telling you there’s no way that girl was getting any action for years. If ever.”

  “But I am Julianne.”

  “Yeah, and you look a lot better now, so you are in need of some action. And you just might get some this time!” He claps his hands. “And here’s this dream man you’ve had your heart set on since you were an ugly duckling! This is something out of a FAIR-Y TALE!” He twirls again, and I try not to hit him for calling me an ugly duckling. And everything else he’s saying.