Transition

by Henry Charles Mishkoff

Leida: Actually, you’re the one who said it. Let’s take a look.

  [The camera appears to be handheld, the video jiggles and bounces, the sound is muffled and uneven. The perspective is from the side, and at somewhat of a distance, which shrinks as the video progresses. As the camera approaches, Jillian’s voice becomes more distinct. By the time she launches into a tirade about the marking of the bike course, every word she says is perfectly clear.]

  Jillian: The race is hard enough all by itself. We shouldn’t have to worry about getting lost, you know what I mean? Whoever set up the bike course is a [bleep]ing moron!

  Kennedy: Jillian!

  Jillian: I’m sorry, Uncle Stan. But whoever is in charge of this fiasco is an incompetent… moron. Somebody should take him out and shoot him, put him out of his misery.

  Leida: Wow. “Take him out and shoot him” – is that what you said? But as it turns out, it wasn’t a him, it was a her. And in fact, there she is. Can we zoom in on her? She’s the woman standing off to the side, the tall lady who looks really steamed, you see her?

  Jillian: Fuck you.

  1.2.4: WSXR

  “You’ll never be on this show again, young lady,” Leida snaps, after a frantic cut to a commercial.

  “Fine.” Jillian unclips the mic and flips it back over her shoulder. She pushes herself out of the chair and begins to walk briskly toward the door. She’s past being angry; she’s mostly tired, and she desperately wants to be somewhere else. Back at the hotel. Anywhere.

  “And if I have anything to say about it, you’ll never be on anybody’s show, ever.” Following closely behind as Jillian flees the studio, Leida nearly has to run to keep up with Jillian’s determined strides.

  Just as Jillian reaches for the studio door, Leida grabs her arm. “And another thing…”

  In a flash, Jillian whirls and knocks Leida’s hand away. “Keep your fucking hands off me, you bitch,” she snarls. Her face, mere inches from Leida’s, is contorted with sudden rage. “You touch me again and I’ll wipe up the fucking floor with you, I swear I will.”

  The studio is deathly still. The crew stands motionless, glancing uncertainly at the two women and at each other. Sunshine sinks deeper into her chair and covers her eyes with both hands. Jimmy sits up alertly, licking his lips as he watches Jillian and Leida square off.

  Leida slowly retreats, her eyes wide. Jillian’s hands curl into fists. The sinews in her forearms bulge ominously. Her eyes are cold, hard as glass.

  “She threatened me!” Leida looks wildly around the studio at the seemingly paralyzed crew. “You all heard her! You’re all witnesses! She threatened me with physical violence! Isn’t anybody going to do anything?”

  But no one moves. A man on the other side of the studio clears his throat self-consciously as he glances around to see if anyone else is going to do anything. Once more, the room is silent.

  Jillian looks around the studio. Half a dozen pairs of eyes stare back at her. Suddenly, she’s struck by the absurdity of the situation, and her anger drains away as quickly as it rose up. She takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly. Her fists uncurl, and she smiles. “Well,” she says brightly. “Y’all certainly are a lively bunch.” She turns, opens the door, and steps out into the hallway.

  “Jesus,” she can hear someone say, as the door begins to slowly swing shut behind her.

  Then someone giggles, and somehow Jillian is sure that it’s Jimmy. The door is slowly closing, and she’s walking away, but she can hear the giggling getting louder and louder until it turns into a cackle. And by the time the door clicks shut the cackle has risen to a roar, and Jillian can actually picture Jimmy rolling off his chair as waves of laughter ripple through his ample frame.

  1.2.5: WSXR

  She tries to retrace her steps back to the dressing room and the lobby beyond, but long gray hallways seem to stretch interminably in all directions, and she quickly becomes confused by the maze of corridors and the seemingly endless rows of identical, unmarked doors.

  This is the one, she thinks, but the door opens to the anteroom of a large, dark office. Let’s see, it’s right around here – this one? Even worse, this one turns out to be a broom closet. The only room that she’s relatively sure she could find again is the studio, it’s got those big lights over the door, red and green, in cozy metal cages. But there’s no way in hell she’s going back there.

  Maybe this one? She yanks the door open, and there’s Rudi, leaning back in the salon chair, reading a magazine, smoking a cigarette. He’s startled by her sudden appearance, but he smiles when he sees who it is.

  “Rudi, thank God,” Jillian says. “How do I get out of this place?”

  “My goodness, darling, what’s got you so upset?” Rudi stands and snuffs out his cigarette. He studies her face with professional concern. “And you can’t possibly leave until I take off your make-up. Sit.” He motions emphatically for Jillian to take the chair that he’s just vacated.

  “Oh, Rudi, please,” Jillian whines, exasperated. “I just want to get out of here and go back to my hotel.”

  “Ah, but we don’t want to go to sleep with foreign substances all over our face, now, do we?” He arches an eyebrow at her. “And if you’ll allow me to make a wild guess, I’ll bet that you don’t have anything back at your hotel to remove your make-up with, am I right?”

  “Soap and water?” she suggests, hopefully.

  Rudi rolls his eyes.

  Jillian sighs with resignation and flounces down heavily into the salon chair. She closes her eyes as Rudi begins to rub some kind of cream on her face. “How did you know that I wouldn’t be able to get this stuff off by myself?”

  “Magic, darling,” he says, his voice quavering with mystery. “Rudi sees all, Rudi knows all. Now just relax and stop asking questions. You’re so tense.” He rinses her face with a warm washcloth, then a cool one, then he pats her dry with a fluffy towel.

  “I’m glad I let you do this for me, Rudi,” Jillian sighs. “Really. You’re very sweet. I’m a whole lot better now.” She rises to her feet and stretches luxuriously, straining her fingers toward the ceiling, rising to the very tips of her toes. “Okay,” she says. “Now will you tell me how to get out of here?”

  “Oh, I’ll do better than that, dear. I’ll sneak you out the back door.” He smiles conspiratorially. “Somehow, I get the feeling that there are certain people who you’d rather not run into, yes?”

  She laughs. “You are a mind-reader. And I don’t have my phone… could I get you to call a taxi for me?”

  “Call? You mean, as in on the phone? Oh, no, dear, my goodness, we don’t call for cabs here. What province did you say you were from?” He tilts his head back and looks down his nose at her with mock severity. “Here in the big city, you just have to flag them down. They prowl the streets like wolves. Just pounce on one as it scurries past you.”

  He opens the dressing-room door, sticks his head out into the hallway, and looks both ways. Satisfied that the coast is clear, he places a finger to his lips, winks, and gestures with his other hand for her to follow him.

  They tiptoe through a maze of narrow passageways, ducking into alcoves whenever they hear even the slightest sound. Finally, Rudi points to a door at the end of a long hallway. “There’s your escape hatch,” he whispers. “You’re on your own from here. I can go no further.”

  She giggles, charmed by the charade. Kissing him quickly on the cheek, she flees to the end of the hall, where a dim EXIT sign barely illuminates a notice printed in faded red letters on the gun-metal-gray door:

  This Door

  Is Alarmed

  But surely Rudi wouldn’t have steered her to an exit if it would set off an alarm, would he? Twisting the knob, she pushes the door warily. It swings open without a sound. She turns back to wave goodbye to Rudi, but he’s vanished, and she’s staring down a long, lonely, gray corridor.

  1.2.6: Boston

  First, Jillian’s surprised to see that night has fallen. Then, she’
s surprised that she’s surprised – after all, it had been dusky when she arrived at the studio, and that must have been more than an hour ago. Suddenly, she’s exhausted. It’s been a long day, and she’s ready to get some sleep.

  She flinches when the door clangs shut behind her. She finds herself in a dark and narrow alleyway. A soupy fog drifts through the air, lending an aura of mystery to the dim lights that dot the alley walls. The afterglow of her “adventure” with Rudi lingers in her senses. For a moment, she imagines that she’s in danger, and she turns to see if the door has locked behind her. But as she reaches for the doorknob she sees the lights of traffic passing at the far end of the alley, and she feels silly for being scared.

  When she gets to the street, she sees that she’s only maybe fifty yards from the entrance to the building. A red awning covers a red carpet that extends from a large revolving door across a wide sidewalk all the way to the street. That’s where the taxi dropped me off when I got here, she remembers. Maybe that’ll be a good spot to catch a cab back to the hotel.

  But then she catches a glimpse of three white-clad figures huddling by the revolving door – and although she can’t see their faces, she knows that it must be Sunshine and two of her cohorts. How had Uncle Stan described them? Refugees from the sixties? She had expected them to be more colorful – tie-dyed shirts, platform shoes, flashy bell-bottoms. But these folks are disappointingly bland.

  She decides to turn and walk away, she’ll flag down a taxi on the next block. But it’s too late, a mop of red hair is bobbing up and down as Sunshine waves frantically to get her attention. Jillian considers pretending that she hasn’t noticed, but Sunshine would only chase her down, so what’s the point? And so she plasters a smile on her face and walks over to greet Sunshine and her companions. One of whom must be the mysterious Nathan. A real, honest-to-goodness guru.

  Whatever the hell that is.

  “Jill!” Sunshine runs forward excitedly and hugs Jillian quickly but firmly. “I was afraid that I had missed you! I was afraid that you wouldn’t get to meet Nathan! He really wants to meet you!” Her face shines, her expression seems to indicate that she has paid Jillian a compliment of the highest order.

  “And I really want to meet him, too,” Jillian says, hoping that she’s not actually rolling her eyes.

  They walk back to the carpet under the awning, where Sunshine’s two companions wait patiently. One, a slender woman with a sallow complexion and straight, sandy-blond hair that hangs down past her shoulders, studies Jillian with a somber expression. The other is a mountain of a man, at least six-and-a-half feet tall, probably weighing in at close to three hundred pounds; his jocular expression and cherubic face seem out of place on his ponderous frame.

  “I guess you must be Nathan,” Jillian says, holding out her hand and smiling with what she hopes is acceptable warmth.

  The large man’s eyes first register shock, then humor; and in an instant, he’s shaking with laughter.

  “Or maybe not,” Jillian says, withdrawing her hand. Is this guy high, or what?

  “Nathan went to get the car, Jill,” Sunshine explains, her tone suggesting that Jillian has committed at least a minor faux pas. “This is my brother, Walker, and my sister, Chastity. And this,” she says proudly, showing off her prize, “this is Jill Kendal!”

  “Namaste, Jill Kendal.” Chastity speaks softly and embraces Jillian; then she steps back, holds Jillian’s shoulders, and peers searchingly into her eyes. “You have a powerful aura, Jill Kendal,” she pronounces, nodding significantly. “Almost too powerful. Bright, and extraordinarily well-defined. You have a magnificent store of inner strength, but you must resist the temptation to be too headstrong. I salute the spirit within you.” Inclining her head in a slight bow, she retreats a few steps backward.

  Jillian suppresses a nervous laugh. Are these folks for real? They look too serious to be putting me on. Do they expect me to say something? Am I supposed to somehow return that bizarre greeting?

  “Hi, Jill.” The man-mountain saves her by extending his hand. “I’m Walker, and I’m very pleased to meet you. We all are.” His handshake is surprisingly gentle for a man of his proportions, as if perhaps he’s afraid of hurting her. He beams with a jovial warmth, revealing an infectious grin that Jillian returns gratefully. His smile, almost apologetic, seems to say that he knows how strange they must appear to her. She feels as though they’re sharing a secret.

  She shakes his hand with relief. Here, at least, is a greeting that she knows how to return. “Hi… Walker, is it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Walker, I’m glad to meet you folks, too. I didn’t know that Sunshine had her whole family with her.”

  The round face smiles. “We’re not actually a ‘family’ in the traditional sense, Jill. I mean, we’re not related by blood. We’re brothers and sisters in a spiritual sense.”

  “Oh, I see,” Jillian says. “That’s… nice.”

  “We are but different manifestations of the same spirit,” Chastity explains. “We are inseparably joined by the invisible bonds of Nathan’s love.”

  Time to go, Jillian thinks. “Listen,” she says, licking her lips nervously, “I really hate to run off like this, but I...”

  “Oh, no, Jill,” Sunshine wails, “you can’t leave yet! You’ve got to meet Nathan!”

  “Sunshine, I’d like to, but...”

  “He’ll be here any minute, Jill,” Walker says, reassuringly. “You really should stick around and meet him. It’s an experience that you should not miss.”

  “Well…” Why are they making such a big deal out of it? She’s too tired to argue, and she suspects that they would be relentless even if she did.

  “Here he comes!” Sunshine squeals and grabs Jillian’s arm excitedly, as if to physically restrain her in case she decides to carry through on her threat to leave.

  A white Cadillac pulls slowly up to the curb and comes to a stop. Its windows are tinted so darkly that Jillian can’t see inside. Sunshine and her two companions rush to the car, babbling and laughing, all talking at once. Slowly, with a dull whine of electricity, the driver’s window begins to slide down.

  Jillian is standing about ten feet from the curb; and even though there are three figures between her and the car, and even though one of those figures is as large as two ordinary people, she somehow has an unobstructed view of the driver’s window as it slowly descends. It’s as if they have purposely left a line of sight for her.

  The window opens with tantalizing slowness. First, she catches a glimpse of the top of a bald head. Then, she sees that it’s not entirely bald; a fringe of dark, wavy hair curves back from the driver’s temples. Surprisingly, he’s wearing sunglasses – stylish, dark, wrap-arounds that obscure his eyes and make it impossible for her to tell if he’s actually looking at her. The sunglasses annoy her. They’re so affected, she thinks. They certainly don’t serve any purpose at night.

  The driver’s face is covered by a full beard, mostly black, but speckled with gray. As the window continues its downward glide, Jillian can see that he’s wearing the same white robe as his three followers.

  And just as the window grinds to a halt, the driver reaches up and slowly removes his sunglasses. And finally, she’s looking into his eyes…

  And those eyes! A penetrating stare, looking through her more than at her. She feels violated, stripped bare. The sounds of the city, the drone of traffic, the conversations of passers-by, they all fade into insignificance. A low buzz fills her ears. And then there’s a rushing sound like a cold wind whistling through the trees. She shivers. A thin, blue flame flashes through her body. Her stomach flips disconcertingly. For a moment, she thinks that she’s going to be sick. She closes her eyes…

  And just as quickly as it came on, the vertigo passes. The sounds and smells of the city flood back into her senses.

  With some trepidation, she opens her eyes.

  And everything is normal. The bearded face is still tur
ned toward her, but now it features eyes that twinkle brightly above a placid smile. She shakes her head, clearing the last vestiges of cobwebs.

  What happened? I must be even more tired than I realize, she thinks. For a minute, I thought I was going to pass out right here on the sidewalk. Wouldn’t that have been a scene!

  Sunshine and her two friends seem to have forgotten entirely about Jillian; they’re gathered around the car, chattering animatedly. Oddly, the driver seems to be ignoring them; his eyes and his attention are focused entirely on Jillian. He nods his head ever so slightly to her, a greeting, or perhaps a bow. His smile radiates warmth. His eyes are soft and inviting, polar opposites of the piercing eyes in her brief hallucination.

  Suddenly, Sunshine seems to realize that she’s been neglecting Jillian. Her hand shoots to her mouth in embarrassment. She runs back to Jillian, grabs her arm, and pulls her over to the car, apologizing profusely. “Jill,” she says, flushed with excitement. “This…” – she emphasizes the word dramatically, possibly to highlight Jillian’s earlier misidentification – “this is Nathan!”

  The three figures in the ridiculous white robes stare at Jillian expectantly. She feels more like she’s on stage than she had felt during Leida’s interview.

  This is silly, she thinks. These folks are a bunch of loonies, but they’re harmless. Why am I letting them get to me?

  “Hi, Nathan,” is finally all she can think of to say, and she extends her hand to him.

  He reaches a hand through the open window and takes hers. It’s an unusual sensation, not like he’s shaking her hand at all. She has the impression that he’s caressing it, but not in a sexual kind of way. It’s more like he’s somehow communicating with her through physical contact. She has the strangest feeling that some kind of energy is flowing from his hand into hers. It’s not so much a physical sensation as an amorphous feeling of well being, more like a rush of adrenaline than a jolt of electricity.

  “Hello, Jill.” His voice sounds surprisingly normal, and Jillian realizes that she was expecting something mystical, perhaps an Indian accent as per Leida’s suggestion. But it’s a very American voice, and the accent has a recognizable touch of New York.