Marianne

by Elizabeth Hammer

  I hated when you would do stuff like give me hints on Solitaire or tell me how to load the dishwasher. I always said it was fine, but it wasn’t.

  Four o’clock:

  “Okay, okay. I’ll do the dress one,” said Marianne, detaching herself from Raven. “Someone get this crazy girl away from me so I can type.”

  You were right; that grey dress I wore to the movies was new. I didn’t want you to think I shop too much.

  Five o’clock:

  Most everyone was on Space Mountain, but Dark Lord Alvin had stayed outside to keep Marianne company. She was half-way through her message when the Dark Lord grabbed her arm.

  “Look!” he shouted. “It’s Gary Coleman!”

  Marianne looked up. “Didn’t he die?”

  “He’s right there!” Alvin pointed.

  She squinted. “You mean that guy in the green shirt?”

  “Yes! Yes!”

  “Good grief, Alvin,” said Marianne. “Stop shouting. That is not Gary Coleman.”

  “Sure it is.”

  “No! That man is short and black—” Marianne grabbed Alvin by the shirt to keep him from walking forward. “—that’s not enough to make him Gary Coleman!”

  Alvin was still trying to get away. “It’s him,” he said. “Who else could it be?”

  “It could be a short black man!”

  He pulled free. “I’m gonna go meet him.”

  Marianne spun around and ran behind a tree to send her message.

  I told my parents that you were only 20 so they wouldn’t freak out about our age difference. I don’t think they believed me, though.

  Alvin didn’t get socked in the nose, but it had been close.

  Six o’clock:

  I was the one who infected Danielle’s computer with spyware. I was downloading that video of the monkey on the motorcycle. Not the one with the rap song, the other one.

  Seven o’clock:

  Mickey and I knocked your MP3 player into the pool. We didn’t want to get in trouble for being stupid, so we blamed the baby.

  Eight o’clock:

  Marianne sat on a bench right in front of the castle, staring off into space. Sally and Ben were in a heated argument over whether Marianne should use a comma or a semi-colon. Georgia was running around and shouting herself hoarse trying to find hairspray so she could give Marianne another spritz.

  Marianne dialed Danielle’s number. “How’s my mom?”

  “A little better,” said Danielle. “She was trying to come down there again, but your dad got her calmed down.”

  “Good,” said Marianne. “And Patrick? Any phone calls? Messages? Anything—”

  “No,” sighed Danielle. “Don’t you think I’d call you if he’d contacted me?”

  “Yeah. I just…” Marianne clutched her still aching stomach. “Ahh! I wish that I knew he was getting them at least! What if it’s all for nothing because his phone is off? That would almost be worse than him deciding not to show.”

  Danielle snorted.

  “Ugh,” moaned Marianne. “I know. I’m not thinking straight.”

  “Better get it together,” said Danielle. “Only four hours to go.”

  “I know,” said Marianne, glancing around to check for eavesdroppers. “I’ve gotta get out of here,” she whispered. “I need to think. I need to do the rest of this without gawkers.”

  “Sneak off.”

  Marianne frowned. “They’ll hunt me down.”

  “Sneak off,” said Danielle again. “I’ll call Sally in five minutes to explain.”

  “Okay,” said Marianne. “If you don’t hear from me by an hour past midnight, start a search because I threw myself into a ditch.”

  “Talk to you soon.”

  Marianne hung up, sent her eight o’clock text, and made her escape.

  I starve myself because I can. When it’s me vs. hunger, I can always win, and that’s addicting. I never get to win at anything else.

  30

  Fattening the Calf

  Marianne walked through the turnstiles at the exit of the park and made her way into the outdoor shopping area, Downtown Disney. She passed by the shops, and the tourists, and the lighted-up trees in a daze. Now that she was finally free to think straight, she realized that she had nowhere to go. She wasn’t in the mood to shop, and one could only spend so much time smoking cigarettes by a fountain. She walked a little farther on, toward the spot where everything would go down in about three hours.

  She stopped between the two last buildings before the parking lot. On the left was the sports bar that looked like a gladiator arena. On the right was the three-story restaurant that looked like a Mayan temple. She put her hands on her hips and glanced from one side to the other. Oh, very cute, Universe. Very cute. Marianne figured she’d rather go down fighting, so she went into the sports bar. The girl at the desk gave Marianne a funny look. Ah, yes. She was dressed like a nineteenth-century vampire. She sighed. “Table for one, please.”

  After the waiter took Marianne’s order for a diet soda and a giant plate of French fries, she sent her nine o’clock text.

  I never told you when I was feeling hurt or scared because—and this is lame, I get that—because I didn’t think you’d understand, not really.

  After she hit send, she sat staring down at her phone. She scrolled through all the texts she’d sent today. One after another, betrayal after betrayal. She tried to imagine Patrick’s thoughts on receiving each one. Did he sigh and roll his eyes every time his phone buzzed? Did he turn off the power at some point so that he wouldn’t have to deal with it? Did they make him sad? Was he startled when she asked him to come tonight? How long did it take him to make up his mind? A second? Maybe he still wasn’t sure.

  Marianne’s food came. She thanked the crabby waiter and set her phone down on the table. Gently. That was her soul right there, so she set it down gently. She wanted to talk to Danielle. She wanted to go back to the Goths. This whole day had been stressful, but this was the first time she felt stressed and lonely. The stress would evaporate a few minutes after midnight, one way or another, but the loneliness? Who knows.

  Marianne wiped her eyes on her napkin and tried to put that out of her head. Thinking about these things was just making the minutes crawl by more slowly, anyway. She ate her fries, drank her soda, and watched the TV, trying to figure out the rules of football.

  She’d finally decided that football had no set rules and that the players just lined up wherever they felt like it when the waiter came back and snapped at her. “You need anything else?”

  “Huh?” Marianne took her eyes off the TV and looked down at the table. Empty.

  Empty?

  “Oh…” Marianne reached out and jiggled the ice in her empty cup. “Another soda, please.”

  She watched him walk away and tried to sit up straighter. None of the fries from the giant plate had disappeared; they were all inside her. The seams of her dress were digging into her sides. Her throat felt greasy and warm…

  Oh, for the love of bats. This was not the time for this. She’d eaten a bunch of food—big fat deal. Think about something else. She opened her phone and checked the time. Nine-thirty-ish. She could go kill some time fixing her makeup in the restroom…

  Nuh-uh. That wasn’t the actual reason she wanted to go to the restroom, so she forced herself to stay in the seat. Not tonight, Demon-Marianne. She asked for the check when the waiter walked by. She’d just sit here till he came, pay, and then leave. No problem. She handed the guy a twenty when he came back, and then she sat in her chair until he came back with her change.

  No, she didn’t. She went to the restroom.

  Marianne sat back down on the tile, bumping her head against the toilet paper container. She closed her eyes and listened to the voice of the announcer playing on the little TV hanging above her stall. Unbelievable. This was so totally unbelievable. What had she been thinking? She was a purging corpse! She didn’t deserve a second chance. When had she
gotten it into her head that torturing Patrick with her presence was a good idea? She was fricking stalking him via text. Marianne hung her head down and opened her eyes.

  She had puke on the bust of her dress and in her hair.

  The sounds of her sobs echoed off the walls of the restroom, mixing with the cheers from the football game. She let herself slide down the wall and just lay in a heap on the tile. Maybe she’d get Hepatitis and die. That’d be nice. She lay there and cried for a couple more minutes, but then she started to feel the microbes crawling up onto her skin. She pushed herself up with some difficulty, flushed the toilet, and opened the door.

  The mirror was directly across from her, and it was a sight. She looked like she’d been attacked.

  Marianne stumbled over to the sink and turned on the hot water. She scrubbed her teeth with a paper towel, washed the makeup off her face with hand soap, and rinsed out the vomitous pieces of her hair. She dabbed her dress clean, and then just stood there. Staring.

  Well?

  Should she press on toward midnight, or just call it off now? Because this was Truth, right here. Right here in the mirror. This germy, dripping wet tragedy of a human being was all she had to offer. She considered trying to make herself look normal—slap her hair in a ponytail and buy a dress from one of the shops. But she hated that idea. That idea comprised everything that Patrick had rejected. It would have to be the Tragedy or nothing.

  Well?

  She stared at the mirror, watching her lips move. “Mary?” she whispered. “What’s it going to be?”

  She shrugged.

  “You gonna run?” she asked. “Are you gonna run like the coward you are?”

  That didn’t sound appealing.

  “Okay,” she said. “So you’re going to walk out there at midnight. And Patrick’s going to tell you to go to hell, if he comes at all. You ready for that?”

  She took a deep breath. She owed it to both of them to do it.

  “But you will do it like a Goth princess, got it?” Marianne stood up straighter. “You’re going down, but you’re going to do it in a… a creepy, melodramatic, memorable sort of way, okay?”

  She nodded at herself. “Yup,” she said, unzipping her purse. “It’s gonna be awesome.” Marianne dumped the contents of her bag onto the counter. Phone, cigarettes and lighter, liquid foundation, and black lipstick. Not a lot to work with, but hopefully enough.

  She reapplied the white foundation with her fingers, covering up her blotchy cheeks and purple eye circles. She used the tip of a rolled-up paper towel to apply some black lipstick as eyeliner. Nice. Now she looked cat-like and sophisticated instead of haggard and sleep deprived. She dabbed some on her lids and blended it into eye shadow, adding that last touch of mystery and elegance. Not really. The whole job was pretty ghetto compared to Georgia’s work, but it was passable in the dark. A generous amount of black lipstick on the lips, a little rearranging of hairpins, and she was ready.

  The alarm on her phone buzzed. Five minutes to ten.

  31

  The Disinterment of Marianne York

  Marianne opened the door of the sports bar and stepped out. She let it shut behind her and then dug around in her purse for a cigarette. She lit it and then walked forward to find a bench where she could type out her ten o’clock text. She glanced to her left and froze. That group of guys walking toward her looked familiar…

  It was Christian, Ivan, Hector, and Sammy. Oh frick. She spun around to escape, but froze again.

  There were the Goths. Storming toward her, fangs bared, trench coats billowing in the wind.

  Caught. Trapped. Nowhere to go. People started shouting her name from both sides. Marianne hung her head down and waited for the groups to converge around her. Ben reached her first.

  “There you are,” he said. “We’ve been worried sick. Thought you went to jump off a bridge or something.”

  “No, I’m fine…”

  “Hey, Marianne!” came Ivan’s voice. “Looking good.”

  She turned around and smiled. “Thanks.” She gestured toward her dress. “It’s new.”

  Christian laughed. “Yeah, we heard.” He held up his phone. “We’ve been trying to track down Patrick all day, and Danielle finally told us what was going on.”

  Ivan stepped up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.”

  “I’ll say,” said Ben. “Have you read the texts?”

  Sally snatched Marianne’s purse from her and dug around for her phone. “You guys have got to read these,” she said excitedly. “I’m Sally, by the way. Anyway, she’s amazing. So brave. Look.”

  “Wait,” said Marianne, trying to grab it back from Christian. “I’ve got to send my ten o’clock text now.”

  Sally waved her away. “You’ve got a few minutes.” She leaned in close to Christian, pointing out the best confessions. “This one. Read that. It’s my favorite.”

  Ivan looked up from his place over Christian’s shoulder. “Ouch. I don’t think he’s going to like that one very much.”

  Marianne nodded, smiling, and then bummed a stick of gum off Sammy. She started to make her way over to a bench to wait when she heard it…

  “Hey… Hey,” said Hector. “Is that him?”

  “What?” said Sally, jumping back from Christian and glancing around.

  “That guy in the parking lot,” said Hector, pointing. “That’s Patrick!”

  Marianne looked over and saw a tall guy in jeans and a black t-shirt walking toward them. It was dark, and he was about a hundred yards away, but there was no doubt. It was Patrick. “No,” she whispered, ducking behind Christian. “What’s he doing here? It’s only ten!”

  “It’s fine,” said Sally, running over and grabbing Marianne by the shoulders. “You’re ready. And he came early; that’s a good sign.”

  Ivan squinted toward him and then coughed. “It sure doesn’t look like a good sign.”

  Marianne peeked around Christian and saw exactly what Ivan meant. Patrick was closer now, and he didn’t exactly look happy. He looked serious. In fact, he looked downright angry. Marianne ducked down behind Christian again.

  A few moments passed, and then suddenly, everyone seemed to freeze. Ivan lifted his hand and waved. A few more seconds ticked by, giving Marianne time to slink back into the shadows. Most of the Goths moved back a bit, too, giving Marianne more cover. This could not be happening. She was not ready.

  “Uh… hey, dude,” said Christian a moment later. “Where have you been? We’ve been calling all day.”

  Marianne shifted a few inches to the right to get a good look at him, and she saw the worst thing imaginable. The Non-Expression. There was nothing to read, no emotion, no hint. That meant bad things. Very, very bad things.

  Patrick shrugged at Christian, not really looking at him. “I don’t know. Here and there,” he said. He kept glancing around. Was that from stress? Was he looking for her? He looked at Christian directly for the first time. “Is something wrong? How’d you know I was here?”

  “We talked to your sister,” said Christian. He coughed. “She told us what Marianne and the Goths were doing.”

  Patrick looked understandably confused. “The Goths?” He glanced past Christian and seemed to notice the lurking black crowd for the first time. He swallowed, looking more confused than ever. “Oh…”

  Sally jumped into action immediately and stepped forward. “Hi, Patrick,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Sally. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Hello.” Patrick smiled at her and shook her hand, but it looked uncomfortable. He let go quickly and moved back, like he’d suddenly decided that he wanted to leave.

  Ben coughed and walked over to join Sally. He nodded at Patrick and held out his hand. “Ben.”

  Patrick grabbed his hand and then froze. “Ben?” he said. He let go and took half a step back. “Um…”

  Ben started laughing. “Yup,” he said, holding up his hands. “I’
m the one. Sorry about that, man.”

  Patrick stared. “Right,” he said, a bit tight-jawed. He turned his head to scan the Goth crowd again. Marianne swallowed her gum.

  “Hi, there. Hi!” said Georgia, waving and bouncing over. “I’m Georgia.” She shrugged. “I’m the other one who kissed her at the beach.”

  Patrick had been trying to smile, but he stopped. “What?”

  “Uh…” Georgia glanced around. Sally was shaking her head. “She didn’t text you that one, yet?”

  “No.” Patrick shook his head back and forth slowly. “No. She didn’t send that one, yet.”

  Marianne tried not to moan after seeing that look on his face. He obviously thought she’d been kissing any number of random people, and he looked depressed, dazed. Is that how he looked every time he read one of the texts? That wasn’t even the worst one. What had she done to him? A minute ago, she’d only wanted a little more prep time. Now she wanted out. There was no way she could face him.

  She had to go. To run. Marianne glanced to the side with her eyes, not daring to twitch yet. She was even scared to swallow lest he might see the movement. Maybe if she stepped around Todd and then ducked behind that kiosk… Breathe. Get ready. Marianne took one last look at Patrick and inhaled.

  And it was like he heard it.

  Patrick turned his head to look in her direction. She watched his eyes focus and saw the exact moment that he recognized her. He stared at her face. He glanced at her hair. Then at her dress. His lips parted slightly. Tense and watchful as they were, every single person present saw exactly what had happened. And the traitors just melted away, leaving Marianne alone and exposed ten feet from Patrick.

  Um…

  Marianne bit her lip and tried to smile. She laughed softly. “Didn’t recognize me, did you?”