Chasing Wishes

by Simonenko, Nadia

  "If you want my two cents, I think you’re an idiot for wanting to do the surgical implant," she tells me as she impatiently drags me up the staircase. "It'd be much less risky to outsource the testing to developing nations, both from an economic and legal perspectiega implave."

  "So you want me risk hurting other people instead of risking myself, purely to save money?" I fire back incredulously.

  "Of course that's what I'm suggesting," she says, all but laughing as if it's the most obvious thing in the world to her."

  "Do I even need to tell you what I think of that idea, Charlotte?"

  In my mind, the prudish schoolteacher image I've always associated with Charlotte begins to change and deform. Charlotte's lack of concern for other people suddenly reminds me of my mother, and her piercing eyes have that same cruel, cold glint to them now. She looks old and evil, almost like some kind of fairy tale witch clinging to my arm, and I suddenly want nothing to do with her. I don't want her touching me, but pulling my arm back while halfway up the stairs would be suicide.

  "Terrence... I know it sounds harsh, but remember that I have two conflicting priorities here," she tells me. "As your lawyer, I have the job of keeping your estate safe and doing what is right for your business..."

  "And you've always done right by me there," I affirm. I'd never have gotten contracts with all the companies I stole from over the last five years without her, and I'd sure as hell never have figured out how to break all the patents. If not for Charlotte, my retinal implant would still be nothing more than a dream.

  "It's very difficult to balance being both your lawyer and your friend," she continues, and for a moment, she almost sounds nervous. "It's very hard to protect both you and your business, Terrence."

  "Well, I certainly appreciate you trying."

  "Thank you. I try very, very hard to protect you," she quietly tells me as we reach the top of the stairs. She almost sounds as if she's ashamed to be telling me this, as if she's confessing some dark secret to me. Charlotte's never been one to open up to people, and her sudden change of behavior is a little unsettling.

  "Have you seen Irene?" I ask, changing the subject as we arrive at my bedroom. "I haven't seen her since lunch."

  "She's out for the day," answers Charlotte, bitterness creeping into her voice again as she opens the door and finally releases me from her clutches. "She's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

  "Oh?"

  "You just get comfortable in your chair and I'll explain, okay?" she says, her voice softening as she directs me toward my chair by the window. She knows how much I hate being treated as if I'm some sort of invalid, and fury rises inside me at her suddenly doting over me.

  "Do we really need to keep having this conversation, Charlotte?" I snap. "She's not going away, so you'd better get used to her."

  Her heels click against the marble floor in perfect synchrony with the ticking of my watch as she paces back and forth in front of my chair.

  "Charlotte?"

  "I know you think you think you're in love with her, but this relationship is going to ruin you. You need to get rid of her, Terrence."

  Click... click... click. I wish she'd just stand still already.

  "You’re my lawyer, not my relationship counselor," I growl.

  "Well, pretend I am, then!" she cries out in frustration. "What the hell do you think I was just talking about on the way up? You're paying me to protect your fortune, but fop widthI'm... I'm trying to protect you, too."

  Charlotte finally stops her pacing and the clicking dies away with one final echo. Thank God.

  "Okay," I tell her, drawing in a deep breath and then slowly letting it out. "I'm listening."

  "Terrence... do you know anything about Irene?" she asks. "Did you check up on her background at all before letting her into your life?"

  "She's been nothing short of perfect since the day she arrived. She's been the perfect companion in every possible way for me."

  I'm not certain I heard her correctly, but for a moment, I think I hear Charlotte gasp softly at my answer. What on earth is wrong with her tonight?

  "Terrence, I've done everything I can to care for you and protect you since the day you hired me, and you know that. Please just listen to me, okay? Hear me out,"

  "Go on. I'm listening," I tell her, and I sit back in my chair and fold my arms across my chest, waiting in silence for whatever she has to say. This had better be good.

  "My team and I have been working overtime doing a background check on Irene," she says, and my eyes widen in disbelief. Did Charlotte seriously go off trying to dig up dirt on Irene? Is she completely insane? Is she so jealous of my relationship with Irene that she feels the need to slander her?

  "And you found nothing at all, because she's absolutely perfect and everything's fine," I scoff, and I get up from my chair. "I'm not going to sit here and listen to you drag Irene's name through the mud, Charlotte. I think we're done here."

  "Terrence... sit down," she hisses at me, and she grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me back down into my seat. "You owe it to me to at least hear me out."

  I nod reluctantly and sit back with my hands behind my head. She's right—I do owe her at least that much.

  "Get on with it."

  "Let's start at the beginning, then," says Charlotte. I can feel her breath on my face as she leans in far too close to me, and I finally understand why Marcus keeps saying I make people uncomfortable. "Did you know that Irene has a recording studio in her room?"

  "I certainly did. She promised to lend me her microphone so I can dictate e-mails," I answer, omitting the fact that I have no idea what she actually records, and I can practically feel the wind leaving Charlotte's sails at my answer.

  "We talked to her former roommate and found out that Irene is an aspiring voice actress. She's been sending out voice-acting demo CDs for years, both while living here and prior to working for you," she says. "Does that sound like someone who wants to stay with you in the long run? Do you think she'll actually stay with you once she finally gets her big break?"

  I swallow hard but say nothing. Charlotte's trying to plant a seed of doubt in my mind, and I don't want to let her do it. Irene wouldn't leave me when she got her big break... would she? No, I don't believe it.

  Charlotte begins pacing again and each click of her heels sets my nerves just a little more on edge. If she doesn't stand still, I swear I'm going to strangle her.

  "That's just the start, though," continues Charlotte. "I requested that my firm run a full background check on her, and—"

  "And again, you found nothing," I interrupt.

  "Quite literally!" she snaps at me. "Terrence... she doesn't exist before age seventeen. I looked for public name changes, new citizenship paperwork, green cards, anything at all to explain where she came from. There isn't anything. She just appears out of nowhere."

  I sit upright in my chair, and I can hear Charlotte's pleased purr at my reaction as she continues her case against Irene. A strange sense of déjà vu and familiarity grows in my mind, though—not fear like Charlotte is hoping.

  It can't be true. No way. It isn't possible...

  "Put the pieces together, Terrence!" Charlotte says impatiently. "Don't you see what this all adds up to?"

  "No, make your own damned case," I fire back at her in irritation. She goes silent for a long time, and I swear I can feel her staring at me.

  "Okay, then here's my case," she says. "Irene appears out of nowhere with literally no background, falls in love with her blind, multi-millionaire employer who can't possibly check up on her on his own, racks up thousands of dollars of clothing purchases on his credit card..."

  "Clothing purchases that I approved," I interject, but she ignores me and keeps talking.

  "And all that on top of getting fired from her last job and having voice acting ambitions that will someday take priority over being your assistant," she continues. "I mean, do you really need me to make this any clearer?"r />
  "Yes, you do. Pretend I'm an idiot and spell it out for me."

  Charlotte's voice cracks as she speaks, almost as if she's trying not to cry as she talks to me. I've never heard her sound like this before, and I'm not sure what to do now. She's not upset at me for standing by Irene—she's upset that I'm standing by Irene instead of her.

  "Terrence... you hired a Hispanic girl who appeared out of nowhere, who has no problem spending big bucks on your credit card, and who has career desires beyond being your assistant," says Charlotte, speaking slowly and softly. "I know you don't want to hear this, but you're setting yourself up for another Colleen at best, and a scammer at worst. She's not going to stay with you, and she may very well rob you blind in the process."

  My heart starts to pound in my chest and I suddenly can't breathe. This is impossible. My brain violently rejects Charlotte's story as if refusing to entertain the idea, as if trying to protect me from the pain if it isn't true.

  Charlotte has no idea what she's just told me. Jesus... how did I not put all the pieces together?

  "Can I ask why, that in all the time Irene's been here, nobody bothered to tell me she's Hispanic? I ask, choking on the words as my heart wedges itself firmly in my throat. Marcus said she had a tan when we were at the library, but I thought he'd at least be capable of describing her ethnicity. I've just imagined that Irene was white since the day I met her.

  "I figured Marcus would've told you," Charlotte answers after a short pause. "I didn't take you as the type to be concerned over race, Terrence. That's not the problem here."

  I crack an amused smile at her accusation of racism. She has absolutely no idea why I asked that question because I've never told her about Nina.

  "Look... either Irene's a scam artist with a fake identity, or something so terrible happened in her past that the state had to seal her name change to hide it.ge /div> < Those are the only possibilities. Do you really want to take a risk on someone like that?" asks Charlotte, all but begging me to believe her. She almost sounds hysterical now.

  I'll do more than take a chance on her. I'd never have believed this could be true in a million years but... but it is. It's actually true.

  I’m eating pizza in a limo worth more than everything I own added together...

  The conversational déjà vu over pizza that I was afraid to acknowledge, the way she laughs, her sense of humor and aspirations to be a voice actress... I felt the resemblance to Nina long before learning about her mysterious appearance at precisely the right age. Jesus... they ev

  en share the same birthday! How did I not make the connection?

  "Charlotte, I'd like you to do something for me," I tell her. I feel as if I'm about to burst with joy, but another completely different emotion rises inside me as well...

  ...a feeling of relief so calm and complete that I'd almost call it serenity.

  All these years I've wondered what happened to Nina, and not only is she safe and sound, she's hiding right under my very nose. It's a dream come true.

  "Anything for you, Terrence," Charlotte answers breathily, and everything she's been saying tonight all comes into focus.

  Anything for me... she means it. Charlotte meant every last word tonight, and... and she never fucking told me until now. I bite my lip as I realize just how much what I'm about to do is going to hurt her.

  I have to, though. She has to know the truth.

  "Do you see that cassette deck over on the dresser?" I ask, pointing in its general direction. "Bring it over here, please. I'd like you to listen to something..."

  wi

  wi

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  Chapter XXVII

  Irene

  The stocky, young salesclerk stares nervously at me as I wander through the music store, and his brow furrows as I examine the selection of microphones locked away inside a glass cabinet.

  "Is there something I can help you with?" he asks with a well-rehearsed smile.

  "I'm looking for a new microphone, preferably—"

  "Oh, we definitely can help with that!" he talks right over me. "We sell a lot of this model—it's great for beginners—a fantastic entry-level microphone—and very affordable too."

  He holds up a crappy plastic microphone so awful that it isn't even behind the glass with the others. I'm not exactly the queen of high-tech, but even I can see that it's complete garbage. It looks like something I'd win out of claw game at the grocery store.

  "I'm going to need something better than that," I tell him. "Voice acting."

  He carelessly tosses the crappy microphone back on the counter behind him and then pulls another one off the shelf—the exact microphone I have at home that I'm trying to replace.

  "Okay, this is the highest-quality affordable microphone we have," he lies out his teeth. "It features noise-cancelling headphones to keep your audio from being picked up by your microphone and..."

  I almost want to strangle him. Does he think I'm an idiot?

  "Okay, how about you stop trying to sell me garbage and let mege /didth="2em tell you which one I want?" I interrupt him, and he stares at me in wide-eyed silence as if surprised I have the slightest idea what I want.

  I point at a microphone inside the glass cabinet and look pointedly up at him.

  "See the Harlan 1A in there? Get it out for me."

  "Are you sure you want that one?"

  "Yes."

  He fumbles with the keys as he opens the cabinet and then delicately hands over the microphone. His eyes practically bug out of his head as I pop the grille and check its condenser.

  "It's two hundred bucks, and just so you know, we don't do any payment plans or check cashing," he mumbles.

  "Duly noted," I answer unaffectedly, and I slide my credit card across the counter to him.

  Trust him to assume I don't have the money. This is for my job, or at least for the job I want to have someday. I can afford it, especially since I have no rent bills anymore. At least, I don't at the moment. What's going to happen once Terrence finds out about me? Charlotte won't keep my background a secret. She wouldn't have gone digging up dirt in the first place if she weren't planning on telling him.

  The clerk seems surprised that my card works, and then he silently hands me the microphone in a brown paper bag.

  "Have a good night," I tell him, but he just watches me suspiciously the entire way out of the store. Some things never change no matter what my name is.

  I hurry across the parking lot with my new microphone as it starts to sprinkle, and Cassie smiles softly as I get into the car. She floors it out of the parking lot and then turns on the radio as she races for the highway.

  "Nina Torres... wow," she whispers, sounding as if she just woke up from a dream. It's been over an hour, and Cassie still hasn't recovered from my grand reveal. She knows about everything now. My mother, my childhood, my brief time at Woodbridge... it's all out in the open. I even told her about the last time I saw Isaac: the night he kissed me and said he loved me.

  The night I wished I was someone else.

  I feel terrible for not telling her sooner. She must think she's been living with a stranger all this time, but it's only partly true. I might have started out as Nina, but I've grown into Irene now. It's more than just a name—I'm a different person than I was as a teenager. At least, I certainly hope I am.

  "Cassie... I'm sorry I kept all this from you," I apologize, tugging nervously at the hem of her blue knit sweater. "I just wanted to get away from that part of my life. I wanted to leave it all behind and just be Irene now, and I didn't mean to—"

  "Didn't mean to do what?" She interrupts. "To be fucking awesome?"

  My mouth hangs open as I stare at her in stunned disbelief. It's just as good that I don't say anything, though, because Cassie is just getting started.

  "Holy crap, Irene! Did you seriously think I'd be angry at you after what you just told me?"

  "I... well, yes," I stammer. I did think she'd be mad at me. I thought she'd feel b
etrayed, upset that I'd lied to her for years on end. I'd never have expected this reaction in a million years.

  "Your life is like, rags to riches, Irene," she gushes excitedly. "You escaped all that awful life, and just lustion ook at where you are now. You live in a mansion, slutface. You went from almost starving to having your own goddamned chef."

  Her eyes glaze over with as strange look of awe, as if she's ogling her favorite rock star instead of her ex-roommate. It's actually a little unnerving.

  "No I don't—Terrence does," I answer, vehemently shaking my head.