Away for the Weekend

by Dyan Sheldon

  “So you’re Beth Beeby,” says Professor Gryck. “I was hoping I’d bump into you – though not, perhaps, literally.” Even her smile looks serious. “I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your story.”

  The phone in Beth’s pocket starts to vibrate as the bad feeling starts to go away. “You did?”

  “Immensely. I couldn’t help thinking of Don Delillo. Would he happen to be an influence?”

  And that’s how the evening begins. They talk about writers they admire, novels they love, poems that have inspired them, their favourite books when they were children. Beth’s love of writing being greater than her fear of failure or falling short, she manages to hold her own against Aricely, Esmeralda and Jayne, all of whom seem to have swallowed whole libraries and committed them to memory. The only person who mentions names that Beth has never heard of is Delila, but that’s all right because none of the others have heard of the names she mentions either.

  “Diane di Prima?” says Aricely. “John Trudell? Are you sure they’re poets?”

  “Sure as I am that you’re sitting there telling me that they aren’t,” says Delila.

  It happens that Professor Gryck, too, suffers from allergies and agrees that if there is even the slightest chance that Beth’s meal has been contaminated with nuts it should be sent back. When Beth has a sneezing fit (probably because of something the napkins were washed in), Professor Gryck asks the waiter to bring her paper napkins from the bar. When Beth feels a twinge over her right eye, Professor Gryck fishes a box of painkillers from her bag.

  After the meal, Professor Gryck gives a welcoming speech and introduces the men who have come on behalf of the sponsors – a company that makes sports clothes, a soda company and a company that has made cheap hamburgers more globally accessible than water. “There was a time,” says Professor Gryck, “when international corporations wanted to teach the world to sing, but now they’re far more interested in getting it to read and write.” Everyone claps.

  By the time the evening ends, Beth has enjoyed herself so much that it isn’t until they’re walking to the elevators that she remembers Lillian Beeby, sitting at home thinking of things that might be going wrong.

  “I’d better call my mother.” Beth slows down to get out her phone. “Tell her what a good time I had.”

  “What did I say?” says Delila. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  But this, unfortunately, isn’t quite true.

  It’s late. In many parts of the world, this is the hour when people who are out go home, and people who are at home go to bed. But not in Los Angeles, of course. Here, the night is bright not with a million stars but a million lights, most of them in colours never seen on a rainbow, the streets busy and the roads busier. Which means that there are plenty of heads to turn as the candy-apple-red sports car weaves almost miraculously through traffic at a speed that should (but doesn’t) have several patrol cars behind it, sirens screaming. Not only is it a vintage model rarely seen even in Hollywood, but although it isn’t raining its wipers sweep back and forth (because no one knows how to turn them off) and something that once grew in someone’s front yard is caught in the grill.

  As eye-catching as the car are its occupants. A young man dressed rather like a CIA agent in pre-revolution Havana in a white linen suit, Panama hat and dark glasses despite the hour, sits rigidly in the passenger seat, his legs stretched out in the “braking” position; his hands gripping the dashboard like bryozoans glued to the side of a rock. Driving (for lack of a better word) is a young woman wearing farmer’s overalls and a feather boa that keeps slapping her companion in the face. He is handsome in what an artist might describe as a classical way; her ethereal beauty is oddly heightened by her bright blue hair and the silver stud shaped like a star in her nose. Both of them are talking at once, but they aren’t having a conversation. The young man is praying rather fervently and the young woman is singing a song of welcome to California – loudly but off-key. The car makes a sudden, heart-halting turn onto Sunset Boulevard.

  “Hallelujah!” cries Remedios. “We’re almost there! Was that an awesome ride, or what?”

  “Awesome isn’t really the way I’d describe it,” says Otto. Frightening. Terrifying. Perilous. Undoubtedly largely illegal. “It was even worse than the plane.”

  And considerably longer.

  Remedios isn’t listening to Otto. She has already learned how to turn his voice into background noise – like the sounds of traffic and aircraft overhead and the constant twenty-first-century electronic hum. Not listening to Otto makes everything so much easier. She looks around with a happy smile. “I know it’s been a few years and everything, but I can’t believe how much this place has changed since the last time I was here.” The last time Remedios was here was over two hundred years ago. There were no lights or cars or sprawling communities or freeways then, of course. The floodplain was still covered with woods; the woods were filled with bears and deer; and the chapel was about to be built on the plaza. The fact that so much has changed in the intervening years is one of the reasons it’s taken them so long to get from the airport to the hotel. That and nearly being hit by a bus, the incident at the gas station, and then that woman getting so hysterical over a few uprooted weeds. “I can’t wait to see the sights,” she says.

  Otto can. Even this brief an acquaintance with the city has made him think that several other places where he was very unhappy may not have been so bad after all. Otto, who has yet to let go of the dashboard, says, “I want to go home.”

  “And where would that be?” Remedios squints through the windscreen, looking for the hotel. It should be coming up on the right. Or possibly the left.

  “Jeremiah, Remedios. Where do you think?”

  “But we just got here. We haven’t even checked in yet.”

  “And we’re not going to,” says Otto. “I don’t know how I let you convince me that this was a reasonable idea. I should have stopped you right from the start. I insist that we leave. Immediately.”

  “But why?”

  “Why?” His voice is almost the same pitch as the screech of brakes behind them as Remedios makes a last-second turn into the driveway of The Hotel Xanadu on what seems to be only part of one wheel. “You’re asking me why?”

  “Yes, I am. We are allowed to go away for the weekend. Especially on business.” They slip into the line of cars waiting to be parked. “This is one of the most exciting places in the world, Otto.” Unlike Jeremiah where the most exciting thing to happen in the last year was when the mailbox outside the post office was struck by lightning. She gives him a playful nudge. It’s like poking a brick wall. “We’re going to have fun!”

  “No, we’re not. We’re going to get into trouble, that’s what we’re going to do. Gargantuan trouble.” Trouble, undoubtedly, of Biblical proportions. “This is going to be a disaster, Remedios, and you know it. We’re not supposed to meddle like this. The rules are very clear about that.”

  Remedios makes her mouth very small. Rules are for fools. “There are precedents.”

  “Yes, but most of those precedents were set by you.” Otto makes his mouth very hard. “And in any case, my understanding is that those were matters of global importance. These girls’ problems aren’t in the same league at all.” Though it’s likely that they will be after Remedios is through with them.

  “There are no small problems, only small angels,” parrots Remedios.

  “Remedios, that’s not the point. The point is that it’s not up to us to decide who wins or loses these contests. That’s not part of our brief.”

  Remedios groans. She doesn’t have time for this. By now, both girls have long finished eating, and soon they’ll be going back to their rooms. This is her chance – possibly the only one she’ll get – to do what she’s really come to do. “It’ll be fine. I told you. The chances are they’ll both win without my help.”

  “Then there’s no reason for us to be here, is there?”

  She g
roans again. “Yes, Otto, there is. In ca—”

  “No, Remedios, not in case they don’t win.” He shakes his head. “That’s interfering. That’s precisely what I’m supposed to be here to prevent.”

  “If you spent any time in the girls’ toilets, Otto, and heard poor Beth sobbing and vomiting you’d be more sympathetic.”

  “Remedios, please.” What a thought! “And in any case, I’m certain you’ve never heard Gabriela crying or being sick.”

  “Of course not. It’s different for Gabriela. Gabriela’s problem is that everything’s too easy for her. She needs to really have to push—” Remedios breaks off as she accidentally honks the horn and squirts water on the windscreen.

  Several people look over. Otto flinches. It’s a miracle he has any nerves left.

  “Then what you should be doing is guiding them to a better mental state, not fixing the competitions,” he says.

  Suffering seraphim, how is she supposed to accomplish anything with Mr No-you-can’t around? No wonder she’s had to resort to deceit. Her voice takes on a tone of regret. “I knew I should never have told you.”

  “Oh, no, telling me your plan is the only thing you’ve done right so far.” He lifts his sunglasses so she can see the look of stern disapproval he’s giving her. “You had to tell me. And I have to stop you. This isn’t as bad as what you pulled in Haiti, Constantinople, Tenochtitlan, medieval Cologne and all those other places, Remedios, but I still can’t allow it.” Before she knows what’s happening, he reaches over and snatches the keys from the ignition and holds them outside his door. “I’m not discussing this any more. I’ve made up my mind. We’re going back to Jeremiah.”

  Not if she can help it. The time has come for even more deceit. She has no choice. “I am just trying to help the girls, Otto. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”

  “Not like this.”

  She gives a sigh of defeat. “Isn’t there anything I can say to persuade you?”

  “No. No, there is not.” Unused to victory, he feels almost sorry for her. “I blame myself. I shouldn’t have let it get this far.”

  She shakes her head. Sadly. “No, you were right. It’s all my fault. It’s just that I really feel for them. Especially poor Beth.”

  “I know. Beth does have a hard time.” He has to resist the urge to pat her knee. “But we have to go by the book.”

  “Okay. From now on, we go by the book.” She sighs again. “So what do you want to do?”

  “I want to go back to Jeremiah and forget the whole thing. Put it behind us.”

  “You know, you look really tired.” Remedios’ voice is gentle, her smile full of concern. “It was probably that flight. And that was my fault, too.”

  He’s not used to her being nice to him, it makes him feel generous towards her. “I’ll be fine. I just need a little time to recuperate.”

  “Hey, I have an idea.” Remedios sounds as if she’s surprised herself. “It’s already late. Why don’t we stay here for the night?” She gives him another concerned smile. “Then we can make an early start in the morning.”

  He lifts the glasses again to peer at her. “This isn’t one of your tricks, is it?”

  “Otto! I wouldn’t trick you.”

  “Yes, you would. I have been warned, you know.”

  “OK, OK. So maybe in the past I’ve been a little flexible with the truth now and then. But I’m not messing with your head now. It’s been a stressful trip. And it is very tiring dealing with a body. And we do have a very nice suite booked.”

  He is tired. And it has definitely been a stressful trip. “All right, but you’re not going off on your own. I want to know where you are every second. Every fraction of a second.”

  “It’ll be like we’re handcuffed together.” Remedios lifts herself out of the car as the valet approaches. She points to Otto. “He has the keys.”

  If the desk clerk thinks there is anything unusual about the couple booked into the El Dorado Suite, she doesn’t show it. She is courteous and friendly. She hopes they enjoy their stay. She hopes everything is to their satisfaction. She asks three times if they’re sure they don’t need help with their bags. She hands back Remedios’ platinum credit card with a smile. “If there’s anything I or anyone else on the staff can do for you, Ms Mendoza, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Remedios says she won’t.

  “Maybe we should have asked for help,” Otto grumbles as they make their way to the elevators. “I don’t know why you brought so much luggage.”

  “So we look like tourists, of course. You can’t come to a joint like this without luggage.” She takes a step back as the elevator doors open and people get out.

  Otto steps inside, but when he turns around she is still in the foyer.

  “Remedios!”

  “I left my wallet at the desk!” She makes a what-can-you-do? gesture. “I’ll just go and get it. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “You’d better be,” says Otto as the doors slide together. “I’ll be counting the minutes.”

  As Otto’s elevator starts to ascend, the descending elevator suddenly stops on the seventh floor. Remedios looks down the hallway. There are quite a few people coming towards the elevators. And among them, of course, are Beth, talking to her mother and not really looking where she’s going, and Gabriela, glancing at her reflection in a mirror she’s passing.

  By the time the girls reach Remedios, the second elevator has finally arrived and its doors are about to open. Although she’s been waiting there the longest, Remedios is the last to get in, taking a place between Gabriela and Beth, both of whom are absorbed in themselves. As the doors silently shut, she allows herself a small but self-satisfied smile.

  The truth is Remedios never planned to fix the competitions. That was simply something she told Otto to distract him from what she really intended. She would have made a good conman. Which shell is the pea under? That one? That one? Why, no, it’s under here!

  What she always intended was to put Beth in Gabriela’s body, and Gabriela in Beth’s. She doesn’t give a feather whether or not the girls win or lose their competitions. What she wants is for them to look at the world and themselves from a different point of view.

  The elevator rises very slowly, but only one of its passengers notices. Timing is everything. She could make the switch and have them realize what happened in a matter of seconds, but for it to do them any good they have to be kept isolated. She doesn’t want them joining forces or making a fuss. And she especially doesn’t want them joining forces or making a fuss when Otto’s around. The last thing she needs is for him to discover what she’s really up to. It’s better if the girls don’t realize what’s happened until they wake up in the morning – by which time Remedios and Otto will have gone from the hotel, and he won’t have any idea of what they’ve left behind.

  On the top floor, Otto has finally given up trying to unlock their suite with the electronic key and, with a glance over his shoulder to make certain no one is watching, simply wills the door to open itself. And as the second elevator stops on Beth’s floor, Remedios lightly touches both her and Gabriela, and simply wills them to swap.

  Being an angel definitely has many advantages over being a magician.

  There are some things for which you just can’t plan

  When Gabriela first opens her eyes, she has a moment of not knowing where she is. This is something that happens to most of us when we sleep away from home. This isn’t my room. The window’s in the wrong place. There shouldn’t be a door over there. But then, as the fog of sleep clears, Gabriela remembers where she is. She’s in LA. In the hotel. About to have one of the best weekends of her life. And – if last night is anything to go by – about to take the first step in her career as a fashion designer to the stars. If she were in a musical and not in the bed next to Lucinda Abbot, she’d probably start singing.

  And then, slowly coming fully awake, Gabriela notices something odd. She sniffs. The room d
oesn’t smell. That is it smells, faintly, of soap, cleaners and detergent and The Xanadu’s air freshener of choice, California Dreaming – but it doesn’t smell of her. The innocent but alluring scent of her perfume. The wildflowers fragrance of her hair. The slightly sweet aroma of her night cream. She sniffs again. It doesn’t smell like Lucinda, who favours something sharper and more avant-garde, either.

  This is when Gabriela finally looks over at the figure in the next bed. It isn’t Lucinda Abbot. Even with the curtains drawn she can see that. It is someone so completely different from Lucinda that she might be from another species. Someone much larger. Someone whose hair just happens, like a tangle of string. Someone who probably thinks Dolce & Gabbana is a brand of ice cream and who wouldn’t know a Dior suit if it had a sign on it. Someone who sleeps in a New York Giants jersey.

  This, of course, is not something that happens to most of us when we sleep away from home, and Gabriela refuses to believe that it’s happening to her. She closes her eyes, counts very slowly to ten, and then, even more slowly, opens them again. The next bed still contains a lump of a girl, her mouth open and drool dripping down her chin. It is an interesting fact of human behaviour that if a person really doesn’t want to believe something, she won’t. You go back to where you left the car and it isn’t there, so you spend the next hour walking around, looking for it in case it decided to park itself somewhere else. Your boyfriend says he doesn’t want to see you any more and you ask him what he wants to do on Saturday night. You find yourself in a hotel room with someone you never saw before and you decide you must have forgotten something fairly crucial about the night before.

  Gabriela closes her eyes again, trying to remember everything that happened last night. She and Lucinda went downstairs. They sat with Taffeta Mackenzie. They had a great time. Better than great. It was like Heaven, if Heaven were located on the ground floor of The Hotel Xanadu. She was feeling really wiped out by the time they got back to the room, but she figured that was because of all the excitement and the travel and everything. In fact, she was so tired that she actually skipped her beauty routine, and was under the covers in a matter of minutes. She fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. That’s the whole ensemble. They had dinner; Taffeta said the car would pick them up at nine o’clock sharp; they came back to the room; she was feeling so totally exhausted she almost nodded off while brushing her teeth; she went to bed. Which means that when she opens her eyes the next bed will be occupied by Lucinda Abbot, not some girl who looks as if she plays professional ice hockey.