by Amanda Adair
What starts in school continues at work. The gossip. On TV they pretend gossip is spread through websites and apps, word-of-mouth and the school intercom system. In reality it starts with one person, maybe a group of friends, who pick on someone. Others pick on somebody else. At some point it’s your turn, whether you’re gossiping yourself or not.
“Not as crazy as people in Maywood,” Tessa says.
“Maywood’s a good place to live,” Tammy says confidently. She has to say that. She’s stuck here forever. She’s never going to move to another town or city or state or country. I know that for sure.
“It is,” you agree. “But some people here should be thrown out. There were so many weirdos in our school.”
“There are so many weirdos everywhere,” Tammy adds.
“Remember Axel?,” you say. “He was so in love with me. He really wanted to be with me. And that nerd that was so bad at athletics it wasn’t even funny anymore but sad? And the redhead?”
Tammy starts laughing.
“A redhead?,” I ask and try to stay calm. “A Lindsay Lohan? What was up with her?”
“A female Rupert Grint,” you say.
“She was a loser,” Tammy says looking at me. “Her look screamed overprotected and prudish slut.”
I would love to ask Tamara what exactly a prudish slut is supposed to be. “Oh.”
“I don’t know her,” Tessa says and gets up. “Do you have something to drink?”
“Water, wine, juice,” Tammy says. “Help yourself. It’s all in the kitchen.”
Wine. I bet wine doesn’t conform to her macrobiotic diet.
“You know her,” you interrupt my thought. “Tits-out girl.”
“The photo,” Tessa says and slams the fridge door. “I saw that one. Poor thing. So embarrassing. How can you let others take a photo like that?”
It’s not like she wanted them to take it.
You giggle. “That’s why she’s a slut.”
You didn’t tell anyone you did it? You really still pretend it was my fault? I swallow, then I say, “What photo?”
“It was hilarious,” Tammy says and turns towards me. “Just a photo of the girl, Sam. You could see her tits.”
“I sometimes send my boyfriend nudes, but I completely trust him,” Tessa says and sits down. In her hand there’s a glass of water. “He doesn’t even show it to his friends.”
“Isn’t he proud of you?,” Tammy asks.
Suddenly it’s like Tammy and you never lost contact. Housewife and nutritionist Tamara turned into her teenage self again.
“Hey, she’s my sister,” you say. “I don’t want him to show his stupid Football mates her body.”
“He always says he doesn’t want anyone else to see me,” Tessa says.
“Maybe he doesn’t want anyone else to have you,” Tammy comments. “Be careful in case you break up.“
“I love him,” Tessa says. “I’d never break up. We’re made for each other.”
Those are the exact same words you said when you were together with Joe. Those are the exact same words your sister posted online when she was with another guys three years ago. Hoes like you never learn. You pick a human being, call it you one and only, then let them break your heart, and get another one. Bullshit. None of you are truly in love.
“So, my cousin has ginger hair,” I say, so we stop talking about Tessa’s relationship, but get back to Samantha Goldinger. I can think the name as if it’s just a name. Like Ashley Miller or Trevor Smith. It’s just a name. Distancing myself from my previous identity works. It has to work. “It’s not ugly,” I say reproachfully.
“No, it wasn’t because of her hair,” you say. “That’s too simple. You know, some people are just not cool. She was from… I don’t know. Kansas or something. No, Kanada. Totally boring. She thought she was great, but she was ugly,” you say and lean back. “She deserved everything. I wonder what she does now, where she lives.“
SHUT UP. SHUT UP, STUPID. YOU KNOW NOTHING.
“She suddenly disappeared,” Tammy says. “So weird. Maybe she’s in a mental hospital. She was never stable.”
I can’t. I get up, walk past the kitchen and open every damn door until I find the bathroom. Then I throw up.
34
It took me a few minutes to clean up the mess. I haven’t thrown up since the early stages of my pregnancy. Of course, I didn’t puke into the toilet, so I can simply flush it away. The lid was closed, so I hit the tiles, the ground, the lid and a green fluffy carpet. Sorry, Tamara, but you all provoked me.
“Are you okay?,” I hear your voice.
“I feel sick,” I reply and continue wiping the floor. “It’s the alcohol.”
“Maybe it’s the pizza,” you say. “I feel a little sick myself.”
Maybe it’s because you’re a dumb bitch and even your own body can’t stand your bullshit anymore. “Oh, damn. Do you have to throw up, too?”
When I’m done cleaning, I open the door. Tammy’s standing right behind you. She’s just here to make sure nothing’s dirty. She totally regrets letting us in.
“Do you need anything?,” she asks me.
“I’m much better now,” I say and smile.
A few minutes later, after everyone relieved themselves, we sit on the sofa.
“Do you want some water?,” Tammy asks.
I shake my head.
“Toothpaste and a toothbrush?,” she offers. She really is a housewife now. She would be a perfect mommy. Caring and annoying.
“What school did you go to?,” Tessa asks. Even though she doesn’t look at me, it’s obvious she’s talking to me. Everyone else in this room went to Maywood High. Well, technically everyone including me went there. But not Blair.
“West Beverly,” I say without thinking beforehand. It’s like my brain doesn’t function anymore. I’m stressed out. I’ve just spit out my last intact brain cells.
“That’s the high school from 90210,” you say and look at me like I’m crazy. “I’ve seen all seasons. It’s vintage.”
Vintage. Okay.
“Yeah,” I say. “We used to call it West Beverly, it’s actually called Beverly Hills High School. The series was filmed there.” Focus, Blair. You need to focus. “I went to a lot of schools as a child and teenager. Beverly Hills was the one I graduated from. I didn’t go there for long.” What did I write into my resumé? No, it’s okay, I didn’t put any high school in there. I’m good, I try to calm myself down. “It isn’t as exciting as in the show.”
“Cool,” Tessa says. “I would rather grow up in California. Imagine seeing celebrities every day. Imagine bumping into Kylie Jenner at the grocery store.”
“She doesn’t go grocery shopping herself,” you say. “What a waste of time when you’re the youngest self-made billionaire.”
“Well, then imagine not having to go to a grocery store,” Tessa corrects herself.
“You don’t have to go,” you say. “Your boyfriend does everything for you.”
“It’s not the same though,” she argues.
I’m waiting for you to brag about the event in New York where you met Kylie. Come on, you know you want to tell us. You want to tell me. Maybe the audience is too small, too irrelevant, because instead you say we should go home, back to our kids. Don’t you want Blair to know what an amazing life you have?
At half past seven my alarm goes off. I promised Tessa to help her prepare breakfast for Mr. Maas. I don’t know what to call those people. Andrea. Feels wrong. Sander. Doesn’t feel right either. Mrs. Flores. Mr. Maas. Whenever I see them it’s like I’m fifteen again. When I get downstairs, I see Tessa standing in the kitchen.
“So, I’m preparing the eggs,” she says. “I have bacon right here, cornflakes, coffee and toast. Can you decorate the table? And I need some salt and milk on the table.”
I’d rather cook. Why should I take care of that? I’m here for cooking, not decorating. I could just mix in some antifreeze and watch them all pass away
. I nod though. It’s not like I have a choice.
“Thanks for helping me, Blair,” she says while cooking the bacon. “I want him to be happy, you know.”
I nod again.
“It’s just that I’m not prepared for this,” she says. “We didn’t know about his condition. It all came so sudden. He hates going to the doctor. And now, look at him.” She turns around. “I’m sorry that I’m telling you this. I’m just not feeling so well.” She has tears in her eyes.
I try to sound as worried as possible. “I’m so sorry, Tessa. What’s wrong with him?”
She sniffles. “Didn’t Piper tell you?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“He has cancer. It doesn’t look good.”
Karma. This family’s poisonous. If she knew what her family is really like. Maybe she knows. She’s one of them.
35
I’d rather drown than have breakfast with anyone named Flores or Maas ever again. We had boring and useless conversations about Tessa’s university, your career, Blair’s fictional past and family, Kye’s father, and your mother’s diet. Andrea is one of Tammy’s clients as a nutritionist, like most of Maywood’s moms of all ages. They will also be the ones sweating on some colorful yoga mats, listening to spiritual music and following her instructions.
“I’ve lost five pounds so far,” she said proudly. “And she forbids any fast food and sweets. I haven’t had sugar in weeks.” So, what happened to the cheesecake then? “Sugar is basically fuel for illnesses like cancer.” She then looked at Mr. Maas, and Tessa went nuts. Screamed at her and left the room. She doesn’t want to accept that her father’s ill.
Andrea even recommended Tammy to you and me, as if she thinks our diet is crap. Our diet. Our eating habits. Only then I realize we almost have the same schedule and habits. We’re the same person. I was aware of the fact that we have the same employer, share an office, live in the same area, and bring our kids to the same school. But we also eat the same breakfast, buy the same drinks, order the same meals, and we dress alike. I’d like to say you dress like me. That I am your fashion idol. But occasionally I buy clothes that you already own. I sometimes have to remind myself that underneath it all we are nothing alike. I don’t want to lose myself, Samantha Goldinger, while pretending to be your friend, your reflection. I serve as your mirror. I may look differently, I may have a different hairstyle and size, face and figure. But Blair mirrors your personality. She’s made to become your twin. The only thing Blair Morgan and Samantha Goldinger have in common is having met you.
I’m taking Kye to a playground nearby. You and your family want to spend some time alone. Mr. Maas doesn’t look good. He keeps saying he’s alright, but he’s mostly asleep. And when he’s not asleep, he looks tired. He drinks a lot of beer and rum. And he smokes lots of cigarettes. He must be stressed out. I guess knowing you’re about to die is one of the most stressful things. At least when your life is worth living.
There isn’t much to do in Maywood. There’s a park, there are some stores, some playgrounds, houses, streets, trees, bushes, leaves. I stand in the front yard for a while because I still haven’t figured out where to go. The playground is the best option. I don’t want to go to the café and let Kye play or draw. I don’t want to go shopping. I have everything I need. We spend half an hour at the playground. There are empty bottles and cigarettes on the ground. And it smells like weed. Maywood seems like your average small town with sophisticated families, caring housewives, well-behaved kids and successful small businesses, but on a closer look it really is a garbage dump. The teenagers are spoiled yet arrogant and nasty. The moms seem caring and friendly, but they are devious and snobbish. It’s a performance. A reality show inspired by Desperate Housewives. I decide to go to the bookstore to buy Kye some new books. He finished all of the books he owns. He even finished some of the books Dana owns. While Kye is busy rummaging around the shelves I look at my phone. I have two phones. One regular smartphone for my social media activity, and one old Nokia prepaid mobile phone that doesn’t even have a touchscreen.
MWG
Update?
BLAIR
No progress
MWG
Then start with another project
So you know you’re still on track
You need to keep going
BLAIR
What project?
MWG
Start with something easier
Less demanding
36
Tessa took Kye and Dana Isabella to the park. There’s a playground nearby. Your mom has a meeting with her nutritionist Tamara. You and I went to the only bar in town to have a few drinks. Most people in Maywood know you, especially those who attend Maywood High, so after an hour we moved to a larger table. You are a former prom queen, and you and your little sister have always been the most popular ones. People gather around us. You talk about the good old times, then about your new exciting life in Manhattan. You actually tell them you live in Manhattan after I told them I live in Brooklyn. I see you showing one of those girls’ pictures of my apartment. My apartment. In Brooklyn, not the Upper West Side. You spend a lot of time at my place but it’s still my apartment. I guess since none of them are ever going to visit you it seems okay to lie to them. But I’m here. I’m a witness of your lies. Again.
We order food and more beer. Some of us now stand around the billiard table in the back of the bar. One girl even sits on it, swinging her legs, so we can see her black panties underneath her skirt. Some of us dance to the shrieking and disturbing sounds of the live band on stage, consisting of old men with grey and brown beards and an old skinny woman who’s the lead singer and responsible for my headache and tinnitus. Some of us still sit at the table, me included. I seize the opportunity and go to the restroom. Alone.
I say to myself it’s basically an audition I perform all for myself. It’s like a test. I need to pass this little mock exam, so I know I’m ready for the actual final exam. I need to know Blair can do this. I need to know I’m not wasting my time. I look at myself in the mirror. My light blonde hair grows longer and longer. It’s still a long bob in a way, but it has grown past my shoulders. I don’t have any dark or red roots. My hairstyle is on point. I straighten my hair often, but I don’t have to do it every day anymore. I guess it’s because my curls gave up. They don’t want to fight for their existence anymore. They’re dead. I touch my silver necklace with a bird pendant. The one I inherited from Mom. I look tired, almost as tired as your stepfather. I need loads of make-up to erase, or at least cover up, all those marks of stress, anger and fear. I leave the restroom and sneak outside. It’s time to finally do something. MWG is right. It’s time to take care of my demons, one by one.
The streets are empty even though it’s the early afternoon. People in Maywood prefer to take the car. It feels safer even though the crime rate is extremely low. I pass by a few teenagers in front of a house and a barking dog in one of the front yards. I don’t have a key to your parents’ house. But I’m not stupid. I left the window to my room open, so I can climb up the garage and get in. That was the plan, but when I stand in front of the garage I wonder if it’s safe to climb up there. It’s higher than I expected. I look around to make sure nobody’s watching me break in, to make sure no one’s passing by. Then I enter the porch, hop on the railing and pull myself up. I’m technically not breaking in, am I? I live here. I’m your guest. I crawl towards the window, push it open and stand inside the room. That was easier than I thought. I brush off the dirt and dust that now sticks to my clothes and hands. I walk down the corridor and open the door at the very end. I stop in front of the king size bed and look around. The TV is still on, but he’s asleep. I wonder if I should turn it off, but it’s more authentic this way. Just as I grab the pillow from the other side of the bed he slowly opens his eyes. The sounds of the TV distract me. I’m about to panic.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper and press the pillow onto his face. My voice is shaking, bu
t I can get hold of myself. “You violated your supervisory duties.”
I expected him to just choke and die within seconds, but he tries to push me away. It takes more than a minute for him to finally, irrevocably stop breathing. I keep on holding the pillow in front of his face. I’m afraid that his eyes are still open. And they are. I put the pillow back to where I got it from. I’m wearing gloves, because even though I’m currently staying here at this house, it’s kind of suspicious if my fingerprints are on your mother’s pillow. She never asked me to make her bed and I never set foot into this room. I’m basically not even here right now. I leave the room as if nothing’s happened. As if no one’s just died. As if I haven’t just killed someone. I feel okay. Normal.
I’ve never killed a human being before, but these times are officially over. It didn’t matter if I kill him or leave him alive. He’s sick anyway. He was about to die. He had a few months left I guess. I needed to know if I am Blair enough to do it. If I am tough enough to pull through. I am. From now on it’s less talking and more action.
The people in Maywood are dumb. So dumb that I’ll probably get through with killing him. It’s not so bad to kill a dying man, is it? That’s Blair’s influence. You mom freaked out when she realized her husband isn’t breathing and has no pulse. She called the doctor. Normally, people call 9-1-1 but apparently calling the doctor of their trust directly (and there is only one doctor in town) is what people in Maywood do. She immediately called you then. While the doctor was on his way I was back at the bar, drank a beer and talked to a girl named Gina who told me she’s into the bartender. I helped her to get his number. I even adjusted the time on my watch and made sure she remembers the exact time. Just in case they find out Sander Mass was murdered. I need an alibi.
Just when they started making out you appeared in front of me, told me to hurry up and come with you. Again, you didn’t tell me shit. But good for you, I already knew. The doctor arrived before we did and reminded Andrea and Tessa that he was seriously ill. Cancer. Late stages of cancer, to be exact. Dana and Kye were downstairs when you opened the door. Nobody was with them, but they were playing, so I wasn’t mad. I heard Tessa scream and cry. The doctor admitted Sander Maas’ death was sudden, but it could’ve happened anytime. And I’m relieved. I am capable of following my plan. I know that now.