by Sarah Ellis
Larch stood considering. “The traffic report didn’t say. The traffic report said that traffic is congested back to the Delta Works Yard and drivers are advised to use Highway 10 instead. What do you think? Is this a good conversation for a visitor?”
Lynn was stopped in her tracks before she realized that the question was directed at Blossom.
“Yes, it’s up-to-date and you asked the visitor’s opinion. Well done.” She turned to Lynn. “We don’t have many visitors, so Larch and I practiced. How are we doing?”
At this point Larch turned his face to Lynn, not quite meeting her gaze. His eyes were blueberry blue. His face was scrubbed — not just clean but scrubbed of cool, scrubbed of any mask. He looked like an angel on a Christmas card. Not a cute angel but an art angel.
“You’re doing great. I feel very welcomed. Here are two more things about visitors. Usually everybody sits down and shares the food.”
“Oh, good,” said Larch, reaching over to grab the cream puff and launching himself into a chair. Artdog jumped into his lap. The cardboard must have been stronger than it looked. He licked his fingers and declared, to some corner of the room, “Larch loves cream puffs.”
Blossom held up one finger. “Who loves cream puffs?”
Larch gave his head a shake. “I love cream puffs.”
“Good,” said Blossom. “Come on, Lynn, pick a chair.”
Lynn fell into a sea of cushions and plucked one question from the mystery that settled around her.
“Where are we? What is this place? I mean, what was it before it was your house?”
“It’s one of the forgotten places. Fossick says it was some kind of construction storage area when they were building the reservoir. It got walled off.”
“How did you guys find it?”
“Fossick discovered it, before I was born. He likes to look around behind things. He says that even in a city there are many places unaccounted for. I’ve lived here my whole life.”
“So what about your other brother? Tron, was it? How old is he?”
“He’s seventeen.”
Larch’s face darkened. “He’s seventeen and he’s bad! He’s not doing his work.” He started to flap his hands.
Blossom leaned over and put both hands on the top of Larch’s head, making a cap with her fingers. “We can talk about that later.”
“What do you do about … I mean, do you have a bathroom?”
Larch giggled. “Of course we do!”
“What’s with all the doors?”
Blossom rattled some raisins into Lynn’s hand.
“Doors are an easy find. Doors and beds and couches and books and ties. Citizens leave them in an alley or on the street. Also exercise bicycles. Why do citizens make bicycles that go nowhere? Tron takes them apart for good pieces. The other left-outs are always plastic toys and those magazines with yellow covers.”
“They have pictures of every place in the world,” said Larch. “Deep sea exploration, Shangri-La, crop circles in Switzerland. That’s what Larch is working on now.”
Lynn had a vision, a kind of old-fashioned cartoon, of two space aliens — green, big eyes, head boppers, from separate planets — meeting beside some asteroid and trying to explain their ways to each other. She was responsible for making sense of exercise bikes and the tons of National Geographics that must be out there somewhere. Blossom was responsible for explaining angel-boy and his “work” and “finds” and if they weren’t growing marijuana down here how were they making a living but, more to the immediate point, where was that bathroom?
The bathroom had a shower, a sink, and an odd toilet that she had to climb up to. There was a complicated tangle of plastic pipes like a plate of noodles and some stiff, scratchy towels. There was a cat asleep on one of the larger pipes.
When she got back to the hodgepodge room, cat shadowing her, Larch had fallen asleep in his chair with Artdog curled up at his feet, smiling even as he slept.
“Catmodicum found you,” said Blossom. “I should tell you. She doesn’t know she’s a cat.”
Lynn spoke softly. “What’s with Larch?”
“Oh, he naps all the time. It’s his way. All the excitement of your visit has worn him out. Fossick said it might.”
“Where is Fossick?”
“He’s working. It’s Returns day.”
“Is he really okay with me being here? I know you’re pretty private.”
“My birthday’s coming up. On our birthdays Fossick says we can have our heart’s desire, if it’s humanly possible. And my heart’s desire was to have a friend my own age.”
“You never wanted that before?”
Blossom frowned. “Tron was always my friend. He took me with him wherever he went. He taught me things. We had fun. But then something happened and now he doesn’t even seem to like me. Or any of us. He doesn’t come home. He’s grumpy and disrespectful to Fossick. He isn’t here to take care of Larch. All he wants to do is be with those homeless soccer guys and that’s stupid because we’re not homeless!” Blossom slapped her chair and then sank lower into it.
“But he’s seventeen, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s kind of normal. I mean, I’m no expert, but the older brothers of my friends? They don’t hang out with us.”
Blossom gave Lynn the sudoku stare. Her voice was small. “Do they stop loving their sisters?”
“Oh …” Lynn was trying to figure out what to say to such a sad question, when Artdog gave a sharp yip and Larch sat up, apparently instantly awake.
“Would the visitor like to listen to music? We have every kind.”
Lynn glanced at her phone. It was late.
“That would be great, Larch, but I need to get home. Thank you for your hospitality. I had a great time.”
“Yes, you did. When the visit is over we thank the visitor and invite her to come again.”
Blossom walked Lynn through the machine area to the door.
“Blossom? About Tron? Really, I don’t think teenagers stop loving their families. It’s just that they turn into jerks for a while.”
“That’s what happens with citizens?”
“Not just citizens. Humans. And maybe animals, too. Who knows? For all we know maybe teenage … tunafish are all rude and horrible.”
“Tunafish?” Blossom grinned. “So. Larch says we invite the visitor to come again. Will you come to my birthday party on Saturday? To meet the others? We’ll have wonderful food, all boughten.”
Whatever boughten food was, Lynn was going to be there.
Heimlich girl and the citizen, two space aliens floating away from their planets and meeting, by the slimmest of chances, in outer space, green hands touching.
“Sure.”
SEVEN
Youth Cred
“Lynn, I hope you can be here for dinner tomorrow. I’m going to do that three-cheese lasagna that you love. And company’s coming.”
Shakti sounded weirdly tentative, and Lynn thought she knew why. This was it. This was going to be the big Meet Brandon moment. There was no lasagna in the world that would lure her to such an event. She had her answer ready. She knew exactly how to deflect Shakti by talking the talk. The answer was going to be, This is a big change for me and I don’t think I’m ready.
“So, who’s the company?”
“Jean and Rob.”
Oh. Recalculate.
Jean and Rob were friends of Shakti’s from back when dinosaurs walked the earth. They had real jobs and they stuck with them. Rob was a longshoreman and Jean was an accountant for non-profits. They were vegetarians and foster parents and community organizers. Best of all, they were quiet about it, quiet and funny. They made as little of themselves as Shakti made much of herself. Lynn once overheard that Jean was registered as an unrelated bone marrow donor, which m
eant you went in and had painful surgery and took risks for somebody that you didn’t even know.
They had stood by Shakti through thick and thin. What did that expression mean, anyway? Were the thicks the good times and thin the bads?
Lynn’s phone pinged a message. She pulled it out to check.
It was Celia. Mega news. Phone RIGHT NOW.
“Lynn. Please don’t read your phone while I’m talking to you. It makes me feel like a piece of furniture. Dinner tomorrow?”
“Oh. Yeah. Okay.”
Lynn went up to her room and flopped on her bed. Kapok stared, obviously dying to know the news of the Diode.
Celia started out the report. Kas was in the speakerphone background.
“So, the guy from McMinville got sent back home last night and his whole choir hates our choir because they say that Alexis seduced him. They are calling Alexis horrible names.”
“Skanky,” piped up Kas.
“Anyway, the guy, whose name is Romeo, if you can believe it — ”
“Get out.”
“Pronounced Rome-AY-oh,” corrected Kas.
“He says that his family is going to sue the school. But, anyway, Romeo — ”
“Rome-AY-oh.”
“Whatever, had the strongest male voice and now the McMinvilles think they don’t have a chance and they’re blaming us. And the second round concert is tonight.”
Kas’s voice boomed out. “And what Celia is way too modest to tell you is that she is doing the solo.”
Lynn bounced off her bed. “Celia! That’s amazing! Go girl! Kas, fist-bump her for me.”
Clunk. “Oh, sorry. I fist-bumped the phone.”
“I’m kind of nervous,” said Celia. “You know, being the center of attention. Braces and all that.”
“Those aren’t braces,” boomed Kas. “Those are bling! Oh, Lynn, everyone is so pumped. This morning I caught Travis actually practicing scales. We’re going to slaughter McMinville.”
“Hey, give me the phone back. Lynn, we’re so sorry that you’re not here. We miss you every single note. We’re … bummed.”
“Awww.” Lynn felt a little catch in her throat. Bummed was strong language from Celia. “Celia, I have two words for you. Canadian Idol.”
Celia giggled.
“Gotta go. One last practice. We are so breathing from the diaphragm. We’ve got diaphragms of steel.”
“Okay. Be awesome. Hugs. Send pictures.”
Lynn flopped back onto her pillows. She tried to imagine telling this story to Blossom. Citizen high school. It would involve a lot of explanations.
≈≈≈
Friday Lynn stayed late at school working on a skit for French. By the time she got home, Jean and Rob had already arrived. They were sitting at the table under the claw, deep into glasses of wine and a conversation with Shakti, discussing an upcoming political protest. The smell of lasagna almost covered up the smell of wet drywall.
“Hi, gorgeous,” said Rob, pulling another chair up to the table. “Take a pew.”
“It’s those scumbag developers,” said Shakti. “That land was set aside for public housing but now council’s going to let them build a casino on it.”
“Wrong on so many fronts,” said Rob.
“We just need to make our point. I’m sure they’ll listen to creative dissent,” said Jean, the world’s most optimistic person.
“It’s two weeks tomorrow,” said Shakti. She reached over and touched Lynn’s shoulder. “Would you like to join us, Sixer?”
Her voice was quiet and unsure. Ever since Lynn had unhooked, Shakti had become smaller, diminished. It should have been a relief, but instead it made her want to shake her mother. Don’t be so feeble!
But what about the invitation? Lynn had grown up on protests — the baby in the stroller, the toddler with a message on her T-shirt, the middle-schooler singing along. The box of photos was full of shots of marches and banners. There were always other kids and usually candy and little bags of chips and Shakti being happy. No Clive, though. Clive always said, “I don’t do chanting. How about I just write a check.”
“We’d love for you to be there, hon,” said Jean.
Jean and Rob … they were good to be with.
“Okay, but do we have to carry signs?”
Shakti lit up. “No! That’s the brilliant part. It’s going to be a different sort of protest. The developers are meeting at a downtown hotel, having some expensive bribing lunch for all the big influential people on council and the investors and the media — busloads of them, apparently. There’s a plan for a flash event to disrupt it.”
“We need to get the word out,” said Rob.
“I can help with that,” said Shakti. “I’ve got flexible time at the moment. Anybody for lasagna?”
“How’s the job search coming?” asked Jean.
Lynn waited for the answer. As far as she could see, there had been no efforts in that direction.
“I know it’s out there. I’m not going to push it and take some stopgap thing. I’ve made that mistake before.”
“Well, anything we can do to help,” said Rob. “Jean’s got a jazzy new printer if you want to copy your resume.”
Shakti nodded. “Hmmm.”
“Back to immediate plans,” said Jean. “We’re supposed to dress corporate. I’m not sure I can manage.”
“Of course you can,” said Shakti. “If I can do corporate, you can do corporate. We just need to go to that snazz consignment store, X-Threads. They specialize in business casual.” She glanced at her watch. “We can go tonight.”
“All right, then,” said Jean. “On two conditions. One is that Lynn comes, too, to lend her youth cred. The other is that you both come to our place for pie after.” She grinned at Lynn. “Deal?”
Lynn wasn’t so sure about her fashion cred, but it was never an option to pass on Jean’s pies.
“Sure.”
“Count me out,” said Rob. “I’ll wear my wedding and funeral suit. Clothes life is easier for men.” He held up one hand to signal stop. “I know. I know. Life is always easier for men. Point conceded.”
≈≈≈
Jean stood at the door of X-Threads.
“I don’t want to go in. I’m scared.”
“Jean! You’re the one who stared down armed bandits on that bicycle trip to Malaysia. How can you be afraid of a clothing store? A used clothing store?”
“I just am. They’ll be scornful. I’m not their ilk.”
“Nonsense.” Shakti opened the door with a flourish and ushered Jean and Lynn inside.
It turned out that Jean was absolutely right about ilks. She kept gravitating to fleece and Shakti to feathers. She was wrong, however, about the sales clerks, who although fashionable and skinny turned out to be totally supportive of the project, not to mention tactful.
“That’s an interesting retro piece, but not corporate.”
“It’s retro?” said Jean.
“Good color but several sizes too large for you.”
“But it’s so comfortable.”
“Yes, the colors are beautiful and tie-dyed silk can work in an ironic kind of way, but not in this context.”
“Irony?”
Clothes piled up in the fitting rooms and the younger of the clerks finally gave Lynn a pleading look.
“Look,” said Lynn. “Don’t think clothes, think costume. Think Halloween.”
Energized by the idea of being a corporate witch, Jean finally agreed to heels and a plain black skirt suit with a print shirt to “pop it up.”
“Ruffles?” She had to sit down in a chair to recover. “Oh, Lynn, thank goodness you’re with us. But what about your disguise?”
“I’ve got the perfect thing,” said the older clerk, holding out a navy blue wool trench coat.
“I think you’ve found your look,” said Shakti. “Junior high corporate.”
“I think it’s more like espionage,” said Jean. “It would go nicely with a foggy night and a cigarette in a cigarette holder. Oh, crikey, sorry. I know I’m not supposed to glamorize smoking.” One of the cracks in Jean’s armor of goodness was that she was a die-hard smoker.
“On that subject …” She looked outside longingly.
“Go,” said Shakti.
The clerks then applied themselves to Shakti, glamming and accessorizing, dressing up and dressing down. Between outfits they became Amanda and Jasmin, Shakti’s new best friends.
The final choice was a dark gray pencil skirt with a silver-gray jacket. The collar of the jacket stood up, framing her face.
“We’ve been just waiting for the perfect person for that jacket,” said Amanda.
“Yes,” said Jasmin. “That is going to take you anywhere you want to go.”
Amanda gave an appraising look. “Can it handle pearls, do you think?”
“Absolutely,” said Jasmin, draping a necklace over Shakti’s head.
She looked … Lynn stepped outside herself for a moment and admitted it. She looked stunning.
“Okay,” said Amanda. “Give us your best CEO look.”
Shakti did a little pout thing with her mouth, tossed her head back and said, “By all means move at a glacial pace. You know how that thrills me.”
Amanda exploded. “Miranda Priestly in Devil Wears Prada!” She and Shakti did a little squirmy happy dance.
Jasmin caught Lynn’s eye, smiled, shrugged and shook her head.
≈≈≈
There were two kinds of pie — rhubarb-strawberry and something called sunburnt lemon. Lynn had both kinds.
Jean and Shakti tried on their outfits and Rob said they looked beautiful and scary.
“Should we shave our legs?” asked Jean.
Shakti propped one leg up on a footstool. “I think so. It’s the least we can do if we really want to topple the corporate superstructure.”
Jean snorted. “Remember that cabaret thing we were in back in the day, body hair the last frontier?”