Apotheosis

by Joshua Edward Smith

  As her eyes adjusted, she saw the place was absolutely packed with people dancing. The bass was so much louder inside. It was making her stomach roll—or maybe it was the greasy pepperoni. Either way, she needed a drink. The three found their way to the bar and Nina pushed through the crowd with her chest. Nobody seemed to mind. When her breasts were over the bar, a young man came over immediately to take their order. Since her breasts were mute, Nina spoke for them. “Patrón. Six shots.”

  Cynthia mouthed “Six?” at Celita, who rolled her eyes.

  The bartender came back with the shot glasses and filled them on the bar. Nina used her hips to clear space for her friends to join her. Cynthia handed the bartender her credit card. He mouthed “Open?” and she nodded assent. Each woman took a shot and they tapped them together.

  “To Tía!” Nina yelled. And they all drank their shots fast. The bartender had put lime slices on the bar, and the younger two each picked one up and sucked on it. Cynthia smiled at them and then looked around the club. It was throbbing with energy, bodies, and sweat. The humidity felt like she was standing in a hot tub. She shuddered at the thought.

  Nina slammed her hand on the bar, which caught Cynthia’s attention. The girls both had their shots at the ready, and Cynthia picked hers up. “To Buelita!” Cynthia yelled.

  “To Buelita!” the girls echoed back and they all slammed back their second shot. Cynthia was starting to feel the drinks hit her system and decided that was all she would be having tonight. She did have to drive these girls home, after all, and she suspected they were far from finished.

  “Thank you,” Celita leaned over and spoke directly into Cynthia’s ear. It was a normal voice volume, but relative to the club noise it was like a whisper. “You don’t need to buy us any more drinks. There’s plenty of men at the bar who will do that.”

  Cynthia smiled and nodded, giving Celita a small hug. Nina grabbed their hands and pulled them out into the middle of the dance floor. Cynthia felt a little out of place, since she hadn’t been in a club like this in decades. But she had certainly been to plenty of weddings, and it wasn’t all that different. She watched how the girls were dancing and did her best to fit in. The white girl two-step she mastered in college clearly wasn’t going to work in this environment. The dance du jour struck her as more akin to the way you’d move while having sex. Cynthia had plenty of experience with sex, of course, so she adapted.

  Nina pointed at her and gave the thumbs-up to Celita, before turning her attention to a sweaty, stunning specimen of the male of the species. He seemed thrilled to have the opportunity to simulate sex with Nina on the dance floor. Celita stuck with Cynthia for a song or two but was soon swept away by a young man, and Cynthia found herself alone. She slithered between the bodies back to the bar and used Nina’s breast-first technique to wedge her way back to where they had been before. After a minute, the bartender spotted her and came over carrying her credit card.

  “You’re all set,” he shouted, handing her the plastic. Cynthia gave him a puzzled look. “Guy over there,” he pointed down the bar. A man waved. He had clearly been watching the exchange. Cynthia waved back and smiled. “Get you anything?” the bartender asked.

  “Tonic and lime,” Cynthia shouted.

  The young man nodded and turned to get a glass. Cynthia felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see the man from the end of the bar. She shifted to the side to make room for him to join her. She was long since over her proper aversion to touching and pushing strangers.

  “Hello! I’m Bob,” he said.

  Cynthia took him in, not even subtly, head to toe and back again. He looked about thirty. “Tía,” she said, offering her hand.

  “Tía? That’s a pretty name,” he shouted. “I haven’t heard it before.”

  Cynthia smiled but said nothing.

  “This place, huh?” he said, gesturing toward the dance floor.

  “Quite something,” she agreed. The bartender put her tonic on the bar in front of her and queried Bob with a look. Bob nodded. Cynthia smiled with her teeth, “Thank you, Bob.” She took a sip. The tonic was horrible. Something was definitely wrong with the bar gun he dispensed it from.

  “What’s wrong?” Bob asked.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. This is really bitter. But it’ll be fine.”

  “Nonsense,” he said. Bob waved the bartender over, leaned over the bar and discussed the issue with him, then returned to Cynthia. “He’s got some in bottles.”

  “You are my hero, Bob. Wanna go fuck in the bathroom?” she asked.

  He stared at her a moment. Cynthia waited him out as long as she could but then started laughing. “I’m joking!” she yelled.

  Bob rolled his eyes and pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. “Oh God. You’re a live one. I have to admit—I have a fiancé. But I was seriously considering throwing all that away for a chance with you.”

  The bartender replaced Cynthia’s drink and she tried it. “Much better!” she shouted to him. “Thank you!”

  “If you have a fiancé, why the hell are you buying me drinks?” she asked.

  “I’m designated wingman tonight. I’m supposed to make friends with you so my buddies over there can hook up with those two hotties you came in with.” Bob pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, and Cynthia glanced down to where he had been standing. She had no idea which men were his buddies, but she nodded as though she saw them.

  “That makes total sense. The girls just came to dance, though. I don’t think your crew has a chance with them.”

  “That’s okay. Don’t tell them that. I can spend the rest of the night talking with you. Gets me off the hook. If that’s okay with you?” Bob asked.

  “Sounds good. Want to dance?”

  “I’m a terrible dancer. But I’ll keep you company out there,” he said.

  Cynthia took his hand and led him to the dance floor. He wasn’t a terrible dancer.

  EIGHTEEN

  Cynthia forced herself to get up at 6:15 the next morning. She would have loved to sleep in—and she knew Emma wouldn’t complain if she did—but she had made a yoga appointment with that guest, so her fate was sealed. She stumbled from the bathroom into the lobby, where Emma was flitting about getting the breakfast buffet ready. “Child, you look like you could use some coffee!”

  “Please,” Cynthia mumbled.

  Emma poured her a cup, adding sugar and cream exactly how Cynthia liked it. “How was last night? You get your groove back?” Emma asked, slowly grinding her hips side-to-side.

  Cynthia laughed. “Not so much. I met a nice guy but he isn’t on the market. And anyway, he’s like twenty years too young for me.”

  “Those young ones will wear you out, I bet.”

  “I have no intention of finding out. Thank you for the coffee. I have a yoga date,” Cynthia said with a smile. She headed into the game room and unrolled two yoga mats she kept tucked away behind the sofa.

  “Good morning.”

  Cynthia turned to see the woman standing in the doorway. “Oh, good morning! I guess you got your wake-up call. Did you sleep okay?”

  “I slept great. That rich food just knocked me out.”

  “How did you like Chez Claude?” Cynthia asked.

  “I loved it! It was so good. The man—Claude I guess? He hung out with me at the bar a little. Super handsome guy. I thought maybe he was trying to pick me up, but then he just excused himself and went to flirt with someone else. I guess that’s part of his business plan,” she said with a laugh.

  “I’ve had that treatment from him as well. Dangerously charming, that guy,” Cynthia agreed, kneeling to insert her tape into the VCR she brought with her to the inn.

  “Oh! Look at that! VHS!” the woman remarked. “That’s really funny. I have a friend who… Wait a second. Did you say your name was Cynthia?”

  Cynthia pressed play and moved to her yoga mat and sat down. “I don’t know if I did, but that’s the name on my name tag,” she said without taking h
er eyes off the small TV screen. She followed the instructor’s first stretch.

  “Okay, this is weird. I know a woman who does yoga from a tape like this, and her name is Cynthia, and she kind of looks like you. But she lives in Oregon,” the woman said.

  “I used to live in Oregon,” Cynthia said, continuing to follow the lead of the on-screen instructor.

  The woman was not doing yoga. She had turned to face Cynthia, who was facing straight ahead, eyes closed, as she touched her forehead to the mat between her outstretched legs.

  “Holy shit. You’re her. You’re Cynthia from Twitter,” the woman said.

  “Seems that way,” Cynthia said, wrapping her hands around her right foot and touching her forehead to her right leg.

  The woman walked over to the TV and turned it off. She stood in front of it facing Cynthia, who looked up at her and raised her eyebrows. “Is there a problem,” Cynthia asked.

  “I… But how… What the fuck?” the woman stammered.

  “Let’s just do some yoga, Sam. Turn on the TV. We can talk at breakfast.”

  Samantha stared at her a moment. Cynthia smiled and stared back. Without a word, Samantha turned the TV back on and went to her yoga mat. She assumed the downward dog pose Cynthia was already performing.

  ¤

  Cynthia refreshed her coffee and filled a bowl with fresh fruit. She took it outside to the patio and settled on a chair with a nice view of the grounds. After a minute or two, Samantha appeared at the table with a plate and a coffee of her own. “May I join you?” she asked.

  “Of course.” Cynthia turned to face her and extended her hand. “Do you prefer Sam or Samantha?”

  “Either is fine. Most of my friends call me Sam,” she said, shaking Cynthia’s hand. “So it’s no accident that I’m here and you’re here, huh?”

  Cynthia raised her eyebrows, smiled, and then took a sip of coffee. She was relishing the tension. “Not really, no. I might have… nudged our marketing in your direction here and there.”

  “I was wondering why I got that first mailer out of the blue—the one about the name change—since it seemed to be intended for people who already knew about the inn.”

  Cynthia ate another piece of fruit and nodded.

  “So, how long have you known?” Sam asked.

  “Last time I messaged you. I was meeting Evan… thought I was messaging him… well, you know. Anyway, I finally had dinner with him and he told me all about you.”

  “You had dinner with him?” Sam got a dreamy look in her eyes.

  “I did. You should probably turn your attention toward someone else. He’s a complete asshole.”

  “What? Really? What did he do?” Sam was on the edge of her seat, gripping the table.

  Cynthia put her hand on Sam’s. “Relax, honey. It’s not so much what he did, as who he is. He just thinks he’s God’s gift to women. The kind of guy with no moral compass. Just constantly chasing tail. You know the type.”

  “I do,” Sam said, slouching in her seat and picking up her coffee. “Claude,” she added with a wry smile.

  “So much worse. Like Claude times a hundred.”

  The two women sat in silence awhile, sipping their coffee and picking at their breakfasts.

  “I’m really sorry,” Sam finally said.

  “Are you?” Cynthia asked. Sam did not respond. “Are you really? Do you have any idea how fucked up that was? Playing with me that way?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Sam repeated. “I… it just… hell, I don’t even know. At first it was just fun to pretend to be him, but then you were so nice, and I was lonely, and… I’m just really, really sorry. I can’t explain or justify what I did. I know it was wrong.”

  “I had an idea of him. It was misguided, but I had a notion of who Evan was, and you played into that perfectly,” Cynthia said.

  The two sat in silence awhile longer.

  “You know, it’s funny,” Cynthia continued. “I told my best friend in Portland… Huh. She was my best friend? That’s kind of odd to realize, now that I mention it. Anyway, I told my friend about the texting we were doing, and she said it sounded like I had a new girl friend. Like a college roommate or something.”

  “It was like that! I agree. I don’t know. I know it was totally fucked up, and I’m really, really sorry. But… it was nice, too.”

  “It was,” Cynthia agreed. “I wish you had just come right out and told me first thing.”

  “I was embarrassed, to be honest. It seems so silly to be running a fan page of a guy who isn’t even a celebrity.”

  Cynthia nodded. “That’s not silly. That’s something… that’s not normal, Sam.”

  Sam shook her head. “No. You’re absolutely right. It’s not normal. I know it isn’t. It’s kind of a compulsion.”

  “And it’s misguided. Because, you know… asshole.”

  Sam laughed. “I never would have guessed that! I’ve never really talked to him. Did he tell you we went to high school together?”

  “He did.”

  “He signed my yearbook. ‘Stay cool.’ The kind of thing you write when you don’t know the person who asked you to sign it.”

  “You probably should talk to a therapist about that whole thing,” Cynthia offered.

  “Oh I have. A few of them over the years. They all agree that I’ve got issues, but none of them were able to solve them before my insurance ran out,” Sam laughed. “Hey, can we start over? Like just pretend all that stuff didn’t happen? I was thinking of walking the park today. Want to come with?”

  “Are you going to cut me open and wear my skin as a suit?” Cynthia asked.

  Sam burst out laughing. “No! I swear! I’m not that flavor of crazy. Just like, fantasize on Twitter crazy. I swear I’m harmless.”

  “Okay,” Cynthia said. “We can do that. But you have to leave all sharp instruments in your luggage, just in case.”

  ¤

  “Wait,” Emma said from the stove as she was preparing dinner. “This woman Sam who pretended to be that doctor is staying here and you and she went down to the shore today?”

  “Right,” Cynthia said.

  “And you lured her here just to meet her?”

  “Right.”

  “Child, you crazier than I thought. And I already thought you were pretty crazy.”

  Cynthia sipped her wine. “I can’t argue with that. I don’t know what I thought would happen. The idea just hit me as I was putting together that first direct mail campaign. I was hand-addressing all these cards to people who had stayed here, and for some reason I decided to send one to her. And then it became kind of a game. Looking at the things she was into on social media and doing targeted ad campaigns to her zip code with those things narrowing the interest groups.”

  “I don’t know what the fuck you are talking about right now, but it all sounds kind of illegal or something,” Emma said.

  Cynthia laughed. “No, not illegal. Just kind of nuts. But it worked! And it turns out that she really is a pretty nice person, despite everything.”

  Emma carried dinner to the table. Cynthia had long since given up trying to help, as Emma would not hear of it. It was her kitchen and that was that. “So now what?” Emma asked.

  “With Sam?” Cynthia shrugged. “Now nothing, I guess. I mean—we connected on Facebook and stuff. But she doesn’t exactly live close by.”

  “Seems like a lot of trouble to go through for nothing,” Emma said.

  “The thing with her had been bugging me, you know? It all just felt… unfinished. It feels better now.”

  Emma took a bite of her salad, saying nothing.

  “So how are you feeling, Emma?”

  “I’m fine, child. You worry about me too much. Say, you never finished telling me about last night! What’s it like hanging out with those girls?”

  “It was fun, but I don’t think we’ll be doing it again. I think I cramped their style a little. I felt guilty when I wanted to go home and they were still partying it
up.”

  “Young girls go all night,” Emma said.

  “They do if you let them! But I needed to get home to my bed.”

  “You score any digits?” Emma asked.

  Cynthia laughed. “Where the hell did you learn that expression?”

  “I’m very hip.” Emma said with a little swagger.

  “No, I didn’t score any digits. The one guy I spent time with is engaged and was just out having fun with his friends. It’s a scene for much younger people. I hear the North Beach area is more my speed, but those girls would be bored silly at those places. Maybe you and I could go there sometime.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Sure. It’s like wine bars, and tapas, and stuff. I hear there’s a pickup scene, but it’s older and more sophisticated.”

  “I don’t know, sweetie. Hard to see you getting some action with an old lady in tow.”

  “Never know. Maybe they come over to hit you up and then settle for me when you turn them down,” Cynthia said with a smile.

  “Maybe score some digits of my own!” Emma said.

  “Maybe!”

  “Alright. I’ll see if I can find some room in my calendar for you,” Emma said.

  “My people will call your people,” Cynthia replied.

  Emma laughed. “I am your people, and you are my people, so I think that don’t change much.”

  NINETEEN

  Cynthia sat at the concierge desk, looking through the mail in her inbox. Among the usual set of bills and junk mail, there was a small envelope with her name written in a nice script across the front. No address, no stamp. She called over to Billy, who was hanging out waiting for something to do. “Hey, Billy. Do you know anything about this?” she asked, holding the envelope up for him to see.

  “Oh, yeah. Someone drove up front, handed that to me and asked me to deliver it. I put it in your inbox. That okay?”

  “Yes. Thanks, Billy,” she said, turning the envelope over. The back was blank. She sliced it with her letter opener down the side and poured the contents onto her desk. $135 and a note. She picked up the note. It merely said “Thank you, —Claude.”