“All right,” said Addie, “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER THREE
She was the most beautiful dancer Addie had ever seen. She swirled along, sometimes appearing to be a stunning ballerina, sometimes a black man, tap dancing with absolute perfection, here and there a whirlwind of hail, a bolt of lightning, sometimes nothing but light, and pure energy. Occasionally the dancer would twirl and flow right through Addie, like a breeze that ruffled more than just her hair. Eventually she came briefly to a stop, spoke in a voice that was pure music and said, “I am Arabesque.” She completed another beautiful turn then transformed herself into an elaborate carpet, woven with lustrous yarns, in designs that overlapped, repeated, and changed into something else. Then she was once again a ballerina, standing beside Addie.
“Dancer, you’re such a kidder,” laughed Cerise. “She just loves that carpet trick. Hardly anyone knows what an Arabesque is, that’s why she does it.”
“It’s a dance move,” said Addie.
“It’s a repeat pattern in a carpet, or any design, swirls that lock and interlock, repeat, and are renewed in new shapes, only to repeat again,” said Dancer. “That’s why I use Arabesque as my name, though everyone calls me Dancer.”
“She’ll help you with the time traveling,” said Cerise.
Before Addie could consider this fully, a scene began to play before her. She squinted to recognize the moments, but they were unfamiliar. There she was, looking rather old, apparently living in some nasty little apartment, with cheap, ugly furniture. Her clothes were very worn, yet she could not remember ever having owned those particular garments. She tore through some envelopes lying on a table, and ripped one open—it contained a check, some sort of unemployment or disability, a stipend she knew was unearned.
The door opened and in walked Randolph, even older than he currently was, and he grimaced as he surveyed the scene. His eyes, filled with rage, locked with her own, and he scowled at her as he set down a salad on the table.
“Any Scotch?” she asked, walking closer to him on pretense of taking him in her arms, but he stepped back, utter repulsion on his face.
“Don’t kid a kidder,” he said. “Once a month it’s my turn to check on you, but I never agreed to pretend we have a relationship.”
Addie snapped out of the scene, aghast. “This never happened. This isn’t true. This didn’t happen. I never lived in that place. I was never a drunk. I didn’t need a caretaker.”
Before she could protest further, another scene began. She stood, a bit unsteady on some very exotic, very high heels, grasping the arm of a spectacular looking younger man. He was tall, masculine perfection, and she clung to him as though the wind might blow him away. He allowed her to cling, yet she could feel him leaning away from her, not into her embrace. He was yielding unwillingly, or so a body language expert might say.
He pulled a key from his pocket and opened the door to a house even grander than the one in which she had lived and had recently lost. “I’ll need you to deposit some money tomorrow, babe, or some checks will bounce.” Then he pulled her close in his arms and she sighed. Perhaps they were genuinely in love; maybe they were married. “And have you thought any more about what we discussed?” he asked her, a wicked gleam in his eye.
Addie pondered, and then he reached out, twisted her around, her back to his front, ran his hand demandingly down her breast, his hand moving violently, obscenely, cupping her crotch tightly through her clothes. “You’ll see it’ll be fun. I have just the girl, she loves threesomes. It’ll be hot.”
Addie’s heart sank as she withdrew from the scene. She knew what was coming next. The hidden camera. The film on the internet. Her career once again in ruin—once again over a man.
“This never happened. I don’t know this creep. I never did any of this,” she said, her voice strident and irritated.
“Possible futures,” said Dancer, “Your own expectations.”
“I knew it!” said Addie, triumphant. “I knew it was going to get worse, even more unbearable. My life was a disaster, sinking down into a mega-disaster. I did do the right thing! Don’t you see? I was screwed from the start. Did you see my son? He never loved me, never once, not once in his life. Who could stay alive in a life like that? I was going to end up in disgrace, some crone chasing sleazy gigolos, my life ruined again and again. I did the right thing! I should have done it sooner.”
The three guides stood silently, listening to Addie. As she spoke, each reached out, offering a hand, a soothing touch, but Addie stepped back, out of their reach.
“How are you doing this, anyway? Where is all this stuff coming from? How do you make these—um—holograms?”
“We just dip into the Akashic Records,” answered Dancer, serenely.
“The what?” asked Addie, annoyed.
“Everything that’s ever been done is recorded there. Everyone who has ever been born can be recalled. Every life. Every act,” said Dancer, cryptically.
“It’s sort of like a magnetic strip, a library where all of life has been imprinted,” explained Cerise patiently.
“I hate this so much,” snarled Addie. “It’s like I’m the only one left in the world and all my reality consists of is this—memories and might have beens. And you three standing there like a jury, passing judgment on me. Where’s the rest of the afterlife? Is it nothing but deluded wisps recreating life on earth and me, stuck here in this unearthly video arcade?”
Cerise waived a hand and Addie could feel herself growing only slightly calmer. Still enraged, she looked in the direction of Cerise’s arm. There around her, in what appeared to be a tightly packed crowd, were millions of people, entities, light forms, in all manner of activity. Some were beautifully aglow, some seemed surrounded by gray clouds, some were rather shriveled, and they stood, on what appeared to be sets of their own, watching scenes from their own lives.
“It’s just a matter of dimension,” said Cerise. “We can flow up or down, or stay here in the middle of all the activity. I thought you’d prefer some privacy.”
Addie was relieved to be looking outside herself, and she noted a couple, both very old, yet beautifully aglow, step into each other’s arms and merge together like the beams of two flashlights aimed in the same direction. It was more than light—she watched them as they merged, and it seemed they floated into each other, and disappeared.
“How beautiful,” murmured Addie. “Some kind of out of body love, or sex?”
Cerise nodded and said, “Yes, it’s love and sex—it’s merging, blending souls. A little different than what you’re used to on earth but the idea is the same. But look closer.”
Then Addie realized, it was Mrs. Kaplan, floating into the arms of her husband, reunited in joy and peace. “She’s dead?” asked Addie.
“She’s still on earth,” said Cerise, “But we don’t have time here like you do on earth. I told you Dancer was here to help you with time travel.”
“So I’m looking at her future death?”
Cerise nodded.
Addie did a double take when, in the distance, she could see someone she was sure was Mae West, and around her was a group of entities, laughing and glowing. They created a fantastic pool of light. She could see West’s face coming into and out of focus and in between she was simply shimmering light, an energy force field, surrounded by other glowing vibrations.
“She’s a teacher here, helping them work on relationships, on self-actualization,” answered Cerise, although Addie had not asked.
“They really glow,” said Addie.
“They’ve been here a while. Finished their review, have cleared, but still want to continue working.”
The entities around her faded into blankness once again as Addie looked down at herself. At best there was a muddy gray around her. “I’m so murky,” she said.
“It takes time to clear away all the pain,” said Cerise.
“Everyone in my life has caused me pain. That’s why I did it. I couldn
’t take any more suffering. I never got what I needed. Never.”
Addie grew more and more infuriated as the words poured out of her. The heat rose within her, and a ball of menacing red light whirled around her. It was rage, and it was perversely comforting. Addie saw compassion on the faces of her guides, but she ignored them, preferring to submerge into the whirlwind of anger which saturated her heart, then expanded to fill the entire area in which she stood, immobile, wishing she could run, could crash into something, could destroy something. If only there had been a punching bag, but no, in fact, she did not desire to smash something that was inert. She wanted to vent her rage on something which actually could feel. The atmosphere, or whatever surrounded her, had turned a solid red, and there was zero visibility except for the shimmering, love-saturated faces of her guides, like stars twinkling in the darkest night, faces which glowed and were surrounded by clean, uncolored light.
A little man appeared before her, his body small and withered, his face dark and sunken. The nasty moustache. That walk. Hitler! Adolf Hitler stood before her, speaking in a whisper that was ungodly and hoarse, and although she heard German, Addie understood his message as though uttered in her own language.
“It feels good, doesn’t it? Power—it’s your power, let it in. Embrace it.”
All around her appeared scenes of violence, hatred and murder. People were pummeling each other. Soldiers shooting each other. A man strangled his wife. A mother heaved her infant off a bridge into a roiling stream. A child sunk an axe deep into the skull of his sleeping parent. And there in the distance was Addie.
It was her—wasn’t it—yet she was a man, and Quatro, her most recent marital atrocity, was a woman, yet Addie could clearly see it was them, and she was the man. Dressed as a Nazi soldier, Addie had been raping Quatro, and then in an act of deviant pleasure, began plucking at the shredded clothing and skin beneath with a knife, watching mesmerized as the rivulets of blood drizzled down along Quatro’s limp body. As that became dull, Addie started plunging the knife into Quatro’s flesh, knowing where and how hard to strike so that there would be plenty of time to draw out the game. There was rage and pleasure in her soldier’s eyes, raw pain and humiliation in Quatro’s. Ultimately there was but a single breath left in Quatro, and at that moment Addie plunged the knife in deep, again and again, continuing to strike long after death had come, as the act of killing was unreserved pleasure.
Addie watched the scene, yet she also participated totally, inhabiting again the man’s body that once had been her own, and when the soldier she had been withdrew a penis from his blood stained uniform and proceeded to masturbate over the corpse of his victim, Addie knew she should be repulsed, but instead she felt joy. Quatro deserved it! It was thrilling! It was just!
Although Hitler standing beside her had provided a distraction that was monumental, he had not diverted her from feeling this all-encompassing emotion, this fury, and Addie felt the rage expanding inside her. From the depths of some pocket he pulled a rabbit, which was lean to the point of starvation, its ears limp, its limbs bloody. It breathed, but barely.
He thrust the rabbit forward toward her and said, “Here, finish it off.”
Addie knew that she could allow herself to plunge down, deep into her wrath, she could let go, could willingly eviscerate the creature thrust out to her, but there was a glint in the rabbit’s eye, and she saw that light, and then her breath began to come more quietly, and her heart clenched. “No!” she whispered.
“No!” shouted the three guides in unison, and Cerise moved forward, and reached out toward the rabbit. From her hand poured a torrent of light, a golden glow which surrounded the animal, and Addie expected to see the bunny fat and healthy, hopping off to some rabbit heaven.
But instead of being restored to health, the rabbit transformed itself into a carbon copy of Hitler, a man surrounded by a cloud of doom. Then the duplicate image merged with the original, and there was a smirk, a look of joy, of perverse pleasure on Hitler’s face.
Addie was perplexed. “Why didn’t you set the rabbit free?” she asked.
“Victim and victimizer,” answered Cerise. “They were one, as is the usual way. Two sides of the same coin.”
The guides then moved forward with arms outstretched, and surrounded the man who stood so seductively in front of Addie. They formed a triangle around him, and Addie could see the light rise from them and enclose him. There was a hum, a vibration that could only be described as angelic, and from the guides radiated streams of sparkling incandescence, a flood of pure energy, and although Addie wasn’t directly in line with it, she felt a glow, a sense of divine serenity and she knew that this was the force of purest joy being unleashed.
Hitler’s eyes fluttered, his lips parted, and briefly the love they radiated flowed into him. An expression, almost of peace, began to cross his face, when he twisted, broke free and disappeared.
When he was gone, Addie stood, stunned for an instant, then felt herself wash away for a moment, and she was down, floating on the ground, momentarily unaware of anything. The rage was gone, and in its place exhaustion.
The guides cradled Addie in their arms, swaddling her with love and comfort. They said nothing, and Addie lay there unable to think, listening for the sound of her heart thundering, but of course she heard nothing. Yet there was something inside her that burned too rapidly; she felt atwitter, unbalanced, unable to see or hear properly. Finally she whispered, “At least Quatro got some of what he deserved.”
It had been the hypnotic scent of the jasmine, drifting in from below the bedroom window, that had persuaded Addie to buy the Palisades house. And there she stood, her hand in Mick’s, the day they flew in from their honeymoon in Hawaii. “I can’t believe it,” he said softly. “A month ago, I was figuring there’d be no girl to take to the winter formal. Now I’m married.” He smiled sweetly, looked into her eyes and kissed her then, gently, insecurely, but determined to be a man. “This is even better than a prom!” he said.
Addie watched herself fall into bed with her teenaged groom, and she sighed at the sweetness of him, his inexperience, his tentativeness, the softness in his eyes. If she could choose one moment of her life to live, over and over, this would be the one. If there could be a living scrapbook, she would insert herself into this page and stay there forever. This would be her heaven. It didn’t matter that she had been nearly forty that day, that somehow it was all so preposterous. She had felt young and free and in love, for what she was sure was the only time in her life.
Then there was Mick at the kitchen table, sitting and talking with Lissa, and they were laughing and goofing off like what they were—teenagers. After the marriage, Mick had refused to complete high school, but she’d arranged for him to be home schooled for the one semester remaining, and it was up to Lissa to bring him the work he needed to do. She also brought home gossip from school, jokes, tales of the football team.
Addie’s heart clenched. She wouldn’t share Mick with anyone, certainly not Lissa. She couldn’t risk him choosing her young daughter over her. Addie walked over to where the kids were sitting, and squirmed into Mick’s lap, causing him to blush. She kissed his neck quite seductively, and then Lissa blushed too, and rose.
“Think I’ll spend the night with the boys at Dad’s,” said Lissa.
“Arthur Asshole Bittman is not your dad,” countered Addie automatically.
“He’s not my only parent with asshole for a middle name,” Lissa muttered, slamming the door.
“Gee, babe, give the kid a break,” said Mick.
“Do you think Lissa is pretty?” Addie asked, almost below her breath.
“Yes, she’s beautiful. Looks just like you!”
Addie scowled and rose, leaving Mick alone with his schoolwork. About how many girls had she asked the same question? Every one they knew.
“You see,” said Addie to Cerise, “I knew from the start what would happen. It was just so unfair. When someone who actually loves yo
u shits all over you, what hope is there?”
“Yes, it was hard for Lissa to feel she had to spend all her time with her stepfather,” said Cerise.
“What?” exclaimed Addie, “I’m talking about Mick throwing me over for that little slut.”
Another scene rapidly appeared. Years had passed, and Mick was now twenty-three. He and Addie stood facing each other, tears flowing down both faces. “I love you so much,” he said to her, absolutely sincerely, “You’re my first girlfriend.”
“How could you sleep with that little slut?”
“I don’t want you to blame Blinnie. It’s not like she got me drunk or drugged me or anything. We just have a strong connection, I guess. And I just felt something and didn’t know what to do with the feelings. I mean I know we’re married and all, but sometimes I don’t feel married, don’t understand what we are.”
“What do you mean you don’t feel married? We’ve been together over six years. We sleep together, fuck together, eat together, live together. I sent my kids to live with Artie so I could concentrate one hundred percent on you.”
“I know, I know, but well, okay I don’t know. But I have to do this. I have to see what will happen with her. Be young while I am young.”
“When have I ever prevented you from being young?”
Mick began to sob, and he reached out and held her tightly in his arms. “Oh Addie, you’ve always been wonderful to me. My best friend. I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t want to hurt you for the world.”
“Then don’t. Stay. Be my husband.”
“I have to do this, please understand, please stay my friend.”
“You think I will stand by and watch you go off with that little slut? Do you really think it’s your baby? That nasty little piece has fucked everyone in this city, don’t you realize that.”
“Don’t, Addie, don’t….”
“Yeah, and I have a good lawyer—hell a great lawyer—and when I sue her trashy parents and they end up in the poor house, just see how fast she wanders off. You think I’m going to bankroll you two? Forget it.”
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