by Penni Jones
“Do you think it’s possible for you to go back without me?” I say as I catch up to Naomi.
“Seems too risky to try it,” she says. She doesn’t look at me.
“It’s just that my life here seems so good. So much better than the one I had before.”
Naomi stops again and glares at me. “You’re a goddamn reality star who’s knocked up some chick you don’t even know. As soon as your looks fade you will be out of marketable skills.”
“But knowing what I know now about life and death, I could turn his life around. This guy has opportunities. I wouldn’t squander them. I could do something more important.”
“You don’t even know if you will remember anything. What if the lessons you learned haven’t been strong enough to translate into your new life?”
“I’ve been on grief watch for a decade. I think I learned a thing or two,” I say. This time I take the lead walking.
“Looks like this building doesn’t have a doorman.”
“Oh good. Hopefully I won’t get slapped at this one.” My cheek still stings.
There is a directory with buttons attached for each apartment. The name D. Pine is scrawled on a white sticker next to a black button.
“I guess he’s not that famous,” I say.
“He’s an up and comer.” Naomi backs up and looks at the building.
“What are you looking for?”
“A fire escape or something.” She shields her eyes with her left hand and puts her right hand on her hip. The sun is shining on her red hair, revealing gray roots and pink scalp.
“Why?”
“To climb.” She looks at me and shrugs and says, “You, I mean. Not me. I’m not climbing shit with this ancient body. I swear to Christ my hip already feels like it has an icepick jammed into it.”
“But we don’t know which apartment is Dylan’s.”
Naomi turns to me with a fire in her eyes I’ve never seen. It’s Naomi’s rage with the force of Juniper’s decades behind it.
“At least I’m fucking doing something!” She closes the gap between us and pushes me with her palms. I stumble back but don’t dare defend myself.
If I stick around, I can’t be known as the guy who beat up Juniper Haskell, a woman half his size and old enough to be his grandma.
“You’re so goddamn apathetic and easily distracted. How can you even be both of those things?” She shoves me again and this time I fall flat on my ass.
“Calm the fuck down!” I stay on the sidewalk. It’s covered in cigarette butts and unknown liquids but at least she can’t push me down again from here.
Everyone around us is pointing and saying our names to each other. People are pointing their phones at us.
Juniper Haskell is going apeshit on Andy Sullivan and New York City is here to bear witness.
Naomi leans forward with her hand out. I reach toward her and she pulls her hand away. She thrusts her face toward mine. The spit glob hits below my left eye and runs slowly down my cheek.
“WHAT THE FUCK?” The only wiping material I have is my shirtsleeve.
“You’re on your own. Stay here. I don’t care anymore.” The rage is gone. She just looks tired.
Naomi heads toward the small crowd we’ve attracted. A woman with thick glasses and a fanny pack pushes a small notebook in front of her and asks for her autograph. Naomi flips her off and the woman gasps.
I lose sight of her as she goes through the crowd.
I’m back on my feet and dusting my ass when a pretty girl approaches. She’s young, maybe about twenty. She’s wearing tight short-shorts and tiny jacket.
“Andy! What are you doing here? I thought you were locked away in Connecticut for the next few weeks.” She smiles, revealing unnaturally white teeth.
“I am. I mean, I was. I have to go back. I just need to take care of something in the city.” I sound like an idiot.
“I hope you’re here to see Rochelle,” she says. She’s standing close enough for me to smell her floral perfume. “She told me you haven’t talked in a couple of weeks.”
“I want to call her. But dumbest thing ever, I can’t get into my phone.”
She shakes her head and says, “You’ve said some idiotic shit, but that one tops the list. Just fucking call her, asshole.” She turns to walk away, and I grab her arm. “I’m on my way to an audition. I don’t have time for this shit.”
“I’m serious.” I hand her my phone and say, “I can’t remember my code.”
The girl rolls her eyes and pokes at the screen. “Here.” She hands it back to me.
I’m looking at a different photograph. This one is of me and a pretty brunette. We’re smiling like we’re in love.
“What was the code?”
“I took a wild guess: six nine six nine.” She adds the word “douchebag” as she walks away.
Chapter 32
Naomi
We’re down to just under sixteen hours. Or I’m down to just under sixteen hours, depending on how this shakes out. I decide on the most direct route: I ring the damn buzzer.
“Yeah?” It’s a young man’s voice.
“Is this Dylan Pine?” I’m speaking closely into the intercom like I’m trying to tell a secret.
“Depends on who this is.” His voice is deep and confident, cocky.
“It’s Juniper Haskell,” I say.
Laughter bursts through the intercom. Then he says, “I’m in 401.”
The door buzzes and I pull it open. There are stairs on the right. Those would have been my first choice in my own body. I always took the stairs. I had to counteract the booze calories somehow. But the stairs seem daunting now. Instead I push the button for the elevator.
Dylan greets me outside the elevator when I reach the fourth floor. His lean, muscular arms are crossed over his chest. He’s wearing a button-down purple shirt and fashionably-ripped jeans. The look is complete with Doris’ dumb smirk.
“Have you ever peed standing up, Naomi? It’s truly marvelous.”
“How did you know it was me?” I step off the elevator onto worn, faded red paisley carpeting in the hallway. The elevator doors close behind me, creaking and groaning as they go.
“I recognize the name.” She looks me up and down and says, “You really lost the vapid soul body lottery with that one.”
“Tell me about it.”
I follow Doris into an apartment. It’s a decent sized studio apartment with new furniture.
“Short-term body jumps are never a good idea.”
“Ernesto didn’t know much about it.”
“Ernesto doesn’t know everything. But the good news about your body is that if you stay with it, you can learn how to live without depending on your sexuality. That’s a valuable lesson.”
“Thanks for the advice,” I say. “How do you like the new digs?”
New Doris says, “Not bad. It won’t be long until I have something bigger.”
“You know we need you to come back.”
“We both know that’s not going to happen.” She steps over to the refrigerator and pulls out two bottles of beer. She opens them both and hands one to me. “You know, I never cared for beer when I was alive. But it’s gotten better. And it seems to agree with Dylan’s constitution.” Doris pulls up her shirt and shows me an amazing set of abs.
“Do you think of yourself as Dylan yet?”
“No.” She shakes her head and lowers the shirt. “This must be why we erase the memories. It’s hard to get comfortable when you move into a new body. But I’ll get there.”
The beer is cold down my throat and warm in my stomach. Alcohol. I’ve missed it and didn’t even know it.
“How much time do you have left to return with me?” she asks.
“Less than sixteen hours. Luke’s here somewhere, too. But I ditched him on the sidewalk. He was slowing me down.” I take another pull from the beer bottle. It’s a hoppy beer, tangy and pleasant.
“Of course, he was. That’s all they
do is slow you down.” She motions toward a small table next to a window. There are only two chairs. We both take a seat. “If Samson and Delilah’s roles had been reversed, that story never would have made it into the Bible.”
We don’t have time for the Doris-isms.
“What should I do?” I ask. This is what it has come to. Me seeking help from my mentor who is also the closest thing to the devil I’ve ever seen. “I mean, is there any way for you to return just long enough to keep Greg and Luke from going to the Shadow and then come back to your new life?”
Doris looks out the small window for a beat and turns back to me.
“I tried to tell you what to do before. You didn’t listen. You had everything set up. You would’ve had your choice of new bodies and a new future. And now look at you.” She points at me without smiling or smirking. “You’re old before your time, sad and wrinkly. You’re dying, you know that, right?” Doris tilts her beer bottle back and I watch her Adam’s apple bob up and down.
“I didn’t know that. I knew I felt like shit, but I thought it was because I’m old.”
Suddenly I’m very tired. Exhausted. It could be from travel fatigue or a psychosomatic symptom from the news of my impending doom.
“You look tired, sweetie.” Doris grins at me through Dylan’s face.
“Did you do this to me?” Fucking Doris. “But I saw you open the beer.”
“I had it waiting just in case Ernesto sent you after me. There’s another one in there in case Luke or Ernesto came with you. I knew you would come for me. You’re a tenacious little bitch.”
I sit up straight, fighting to rest my head on the table. I stand up, then stumble over to the sink and stick my fingers down my throat, trying to throw up whatever she gave me. Maybe it’s not too late to save myself. But instead I fall to the kitchen floor. Pain shoots up my hip, but everything goes numb shortly after. My last thoughts before everything goes black is how incredibly stupid I am, and how spotless the linoleum is.
* * *
Luke
“Rochelle?” I ask into the phone.
“Ohmygod, Andy! Why haven’t you returned my calls?” Her voice is young and sharp, but shaky like she’s about to cry. Her tears are my fault. Andy’s fault.
I don’t know exactly what to say. I just know that I have to say something. To right Andy’s wrongs. To right my wrongs. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been in Connecticut. I’m not supposed to talk to anyone from the outside world. How are you?”
“How do you think I am?” she says in a whisper. She’s crying now. Tears form in my eyes even though I don’t even know this girl.
“Can I see you? Please?” I’ll figure out some sort of explanation. Maybe I can set up an account for the baby while I’m still Andy. Something to make this better before I leave. How much can I do in sixteen hours?
Rochelle pauses for about ten seconds. It feels like an hour. “Are you in the city?”
“Yes. I am.”
“Okay. Come over.”
“Can we meet somewhere?” How can I tell her that I don’t know where she lives?
“No, Andy. We can’t. I don’t want my picture to end up in Star Magazine again. My mom didn’t speak to me for a week after the last time.”
“Okay. I understand. Can you give me your address, please?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Her tears have given way to anger. It’s kind of a relief. It’s taken away my urge to cry.
“I’m sorry. I’ve just had some memory problems lately. I don’t know if it’s the stress of the show or what. Maybe it’s too much pot or a brain tumor. Who the fuck knows? Just, please.” My voice has started rising in anger. The frustration has become overwhelming, but I can’t take it out on Rochelle.
“A brain tumor would explain why you’ve been such a massive asshole these past couple of months.” Rochelle’s voice has a teasing lilt to it. Somehow, I’m making some progress. “I’ll text you the address. If you’re not here in thirty minutes don’t bother coming at all.” She hangs up without saying goodbye.
The phone chimes and her name appears on the screen. I push the screen and see her address. It’s underlined. I tap the underlined portion and a map pops up.
What a time to be alive.
I tap the picture of a person walking. According to the directions, I’m twenty minutes from her apartment. I start walking, almost running. Every few minutes a stranger will recognize me and try to stop me for an autograph. I keep pushing forward, ignoring their requests. Someone calls me an asshole and I don’t disagree. I just keep moving.
It takes me three near-death experiences involving aggressive cab drivers, at least a dozen disappointed young ladies who wanted a picture with Andy, and fifteen minutes to get to her apartment.
I push the buzzer for apartment seven and try to prepare myself to meet the mother of my unborn child. Andy’s child. Not mine. I have to stop thinking that way. But how?
“Come up,” she says through the speaker and the door buzzes.
I pull it open and sprint up the first flight of stairs. She said “up,” so I know it’s at least on the second floor. But there are only three doors on this floor. Four, five, and six. I sprint up the next flight of wooden stairs, thankful that Andy is in such great shape.
Door seven is just to the left at the top of the stairs. I’ve run all this way but hesitate when I reach it. I ball up my fist to knock, but I can’t. Something is stopping me. Fear? Anxiety? Shame?
But I don’t have to knock.
Rochelle opens the door. She looks at me with wide brown eyes. Her long brunette hair drapes over her shoulders, falling just below her breasts. My eyes stop at her belly, just round enough to know there’s a life growing there. I want to touch it so badly, but I don’t know this woman. But what do I have to lose?
I reach out slowly, giving her time to swat my hand away if she wants. But she doesn’t. I rub the small mound gently, even though it’s surprisingly firm and could probably take more force.
Rochelle grabs my extended hand and pulls me into the tiny apartment. She closes the door behind me and says, “What do you want, Andy?” There are dark circles under eyes and her mouth is turned down at the sides.
“I, uh, I don’t know.” I wrap my arms around her and press myself against her. Her body stiffens at my touch but relaxes quickly. She wraps her arms around me and melts into my embrace. My shirt is suddenly wet from her crying against my chest.
“What are you doing here?” she asks through choking sobs.
“I needed to see you. And to tell you that I’m sorry,” I say with my lips at the top of her head. Her hair smells like strawberries.
Rochelle pulls away from me and wipes her eyes. “You abandoned me.”
“I know. I was a selfish piece of shit.”
“Yeah.” She walks across the room to a tiny countertop that serves as a kitchen. She picks up a glass and fills it with tap water and takes a long drink.
I have no plan from this point. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
Rochelle puts down the glass and looks at me, waiting for me to do something. But what?
Then the simplicity of the situation occurs to me. I should just ask.
“What do you want to do, Rochelle? What do you want me to do?” I walk two paces forward, reducing the gap between us.
She sighs and clenches her jaw. Her face is freckled and has no wrinkles. She’s not a teenager, but probably only twenty-one or twenty-two.
“I want you to take responsibility for this like you said you would.” She points to her belly. “I want you to stop running away and living your life like nothing is different.” She steps forward. She’s inches from my face. I can smell her lip gloss: coconut. “I want you to stop acting like what we had wasn’t real. Like you didn’t love me. Like this was just some stupid meaningless fling because we both know better.”
I grab her face in my hands and kiss her mouth. Slowly at first, but I speed up once she reciprocates.
I move her toward the bed, feeling a little guilty since we don’t actually know each other. I pause and look at her face. Flashes of memory bolt through my brain: Rochelle laughing, Rochelle crying. Her holding the positive pregnancy test.
I know her.
We help each other out of our clothes, and she pushes me onto the bed, climbing on top of me. She leans forward to kiss me, her swollen boobs falling into my outstretched hands.
It’s quick. Embarrassingly quick. But, also wonderful.
“Sorry,” I say. “You’re just so beautiful. I couldn’t make myself think about football or whatever to go longer.”
“That’s all right.” She props herself up on one elbow and looks at me. “You can make it up to me.”
“Oh yeah?” I sit up.
Rochelle nods and lays back, pushing me down by the shoulders. “You know what to do, baby.”
Chapter 33
Naomi
My mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. My shoulders are stiff from my arms being tied behind my back. My back is cramped, and it feels like there’s a pole poking into my side, though it’s probably just the side of the chair. Doris is sitting across from me, smirking.
“You could have at least tied me to the recliner, Doris. I’m old and this is uncomfortable.” It’s difficult to get the words out because my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.
“You’re right. I could have. This was easier, though.” She stands and grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator. She opens it and presses it against my lips.
“Thank you,” I say as she pulls the bottle away.
She nods and sits back down.
“How long was I out?”
“Four hours.” She smirks with Dylan’s attractive face. It’s strange to see her expressions on this young man. It’s like looking at her son.
“Fuck.”
“Fuck, indeed.” She takes a pull from her beer bottle. “I think it’s safe to say that Luke isn’t coming for you.”
I nod in agreement. I sent him away, but I really didn’t think he’d leave me like this. I thought he would realize he was being a dick and come back to help me. That’s what I get for thinking.