The Book of Masks (Vol. 1)

Being Betty Vredenburg, Part 1

Previously: "The Mother of Invention" 

Fuck it, you tell yourself. If I want to switch places with Lucy, I can do it after switching places with her mother—that'd be easier! And if I enslave Betty Vredenburg, I might as well just move myself under her face so I can do her jobs direct.

You run the risk of getting in trouble with Blackwell by disobeying his orders. But the whole reason you're thinking of putting a watch onto Lucy is because you don't trust him.

"Well, I don't see much point in getting Lucy involved," you tell Betty as you come back in from the kitchen with the mask in your hands. She looks up at you blandly, and if she notices the mask she gives no sign. "Not when it's just—"

But then you're upon her, pressing the mask to her face before you can finish the thought. She goes limp as the mask vanishes into her, and you have to catch her before she can face-plant onto the dining room table.

You study her for a moment, then with a grunt and a grimace you slide your arms beneath and through her armpits and hoist her from the chair.

* * * * *

"Well, Kelly, I'm so glad we were able to get together and have this talk." You give Kelly Cooper your most ingratiating smile, and even reach out to squeeze her arm. "But I don't think we should tell the girls we had this little chat."

Kelly Cooper returns you a crooked and discomfited smile of her own. It bothers you enough that you add, in an undertone, "I'm just trying to get in character before I go." If anything, that makes Kelly's smile even more lopsided, so you growl, "Just be ready with those excuses for Professor Blackwell." You then turn and march off toward your car.

It wasn't a lot of fun making the switch, but at least it wasn't as fraught as when you switched from Yumi to Mrs. Cooper. After hauling Betty Vredenburg into the living room, you ducked into the guest bathroom and dropped to the floor to pull Mrs. Cooper's mask off. You fought to stay awake, but failed, and the new mask was resting on Mrs. Vredenburg's face when you emerged, groggy, in your own form and inside Mrs. Cooper's loose and sloppy workout clothes. But she was still unconscious when you lifted the mask from off her face and placed the enslaved mask of Mrs. Cooper there. The new woman woke with a start and a pale expression. You didn't spare her, and ordered her to follow you upstairs so you could change clothes with her. Then, once you had Betty Vredenburg's clothes, you returned to the guest bathroom to seal up the new mask, put it on, and get into your new impersonation's wardrobe.

After that, it was a matter of some instructions for Mrs. Cooper—excuses she could use and embroider and embellish to keep her out of Blackwell's villa for a day or three.

And now you're on your way home as a new woman.

Well ... on your way to finish her errands before going home. It gives you time to acclimate.

Elena Elizabeth "Betty" Vredenburg is closing in on fifty, but she's doing a pretty good job of pumping the brakes. Exercise and a careful (but not overly strict) diet has kept the waist from ballooning; but she is not so self-denying that her hips haven't expanded, and that has kept her face from shriveling up. Which is good, because with her narrow chin, cheekbones, and nose, hers is a face that could easily turn witch-like.

Maybe that's also why she favors pinks and peaches in her wardrobe: to soften her appearance while augmenting the pale-gold hair that she bequeathed to her daughters. (Unlike them, though, she wears hers in a short but stylish cut that only covers her ears and lower jaw.) She is also clever and careful with the blush that softens her features further.

She doesn't wear much jewelry, though, aside from a wedding ring and the occasional bracelet. But she shops at expensive boutiques, and you are feeling very chic and stylish as you make a stop to deposit some checks. You're rocking a hip-hugging silk dress that cinches tightly just below the knees, and high heel sandals that click smartly on the tile-and-marble floor as you march into the bank. You glance around the lobby with a lifted chin, only vaguely aware that you are searching for a particular face ... until you see him. He gives you a hot flash and a twinge.

There are other tellers who are closer, but it's his station that you stride over to. You reel a little, dizzily, because you can't quite believe you are letting Betty's instincts catch you up this way. I've got a character to play, you tell yourself as you fetch up helplessly at the counter.

"Good morning, Dylan!" You greet him with a smile that feels too desperate even to you. You try to dampen the enthusiasm Betty instinctively feels for this handsome and virile young man by digging into your purse for the parcel of checks. But your eyes keep being dragged back to his face. He has dark eyes and dark hair, and the faintest shadow of a beard on his chin and upper lip. "You're growing a goatee, aren't you?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

"Thinking about it, ma'am," he says as he takes your checks. Dylan is always professional, and he never flirts back. But he never acts embarrassed, either. If anything, he always acts a little flattered when Betty Vredenburg accosts him this way. If he didn't, she would probably be too embarrassed to continue her flirtations with him. You're feeling too embarrassed, but you've committed already and let yourself be dragged helplessly along by Betty's persona.

"What's your girlfriend say about it?" you tease.

He glances up quickly, and shows some very white teeth. "I'll ask her when I get one."

"Oooh!"

You rein yourself back while he concentrates on the checks. Still, you can't stop yourself from raking your eyes over his trim form under the gray suit jacket, the white shirt, the silver-spangled tie. If he hasn't got a girlfriend to help him dress, he's certainly got taste. Briefly, you wonder if he's gay.

"Thank you, Dylan!" you sing out as you scoop up the ten twenty-dollar bills he has returned to you. "And don't waste any time getting an opinion on the beard! You're cheating more people than just yourself if you don't get someone who will give you one!"

Shut up, you tell yourself as you totter out the bank, feeling much less poised than when you entered, and you can tell that it's partly Betty who's yelling at you for being such a desperate flirt. Yeah, you tell yourself, if he hasn't got a girlfriend he's got to be gay.

Or maybe he does have a girlfriend and he just doesn't want to toss it in my face, someone else inside you tries to counter. You push her down, and let out a heavy breath once you're back in the car and gripping the wheel. But she won't keep quiet: If only I was twenty-three again, and I knew then what I know now.

You flinch.

* * * * *

The house is empty, as you'd expected, when you get home, but you've only time to put the groceries away, to get changed into a more comfortable pair of slacks and a loose-fitting blouse, and to hide in the piano bench the notes you'd made from the Book of Miriam, before the door bangs open and Cindy comes running through.

"Hi Mom," she gasps as she goes past, running for the stairs, "I'm just back for a minute!"

"Where are you off to?" you call, but she's upstairs before you finish the question. You plant yourself in front of the door to stop her when she comes flying back down. She stops short in front of you, her eyes wide.

"Are you going to be home for supper?" you demand.

"I dunno," she stammers.

"Well, I need to know if I'm going to know how much to fix!"

Her face twists up. "Can't we keep it for leftovers?"

"Where are you running off to in such a hurry?"

"Seth's waiting for me?" she says, making it sound like a question rather than an answer.

"Well, where are you—? Fine!" You step aside with a shake of your head.

"Mom! I don't know how long we're going to be out—"

"You can stay out as long as you want, as long as you're back in time to do your homework."

"Okay!" She bolts for the door.

"And tell Seth he's got to feed you!" you call after her. She waves back at you from the front sidewalk.

You sigh, and return to the living room to flop onto a sofa. Instinctively you feel for the TV remote, then catch yourself at the thought, You'd think you'd have learned it all after dealing with Lucy at that age!

Lucy. There's an off-pitch tenor to your thought of the oldest Vredenburg daughter, but you can't quite put your finger on what's wrong.

Not until you remind yourself of your interest in her: What has she got to do with Professor Blackwell?

And that question now raises a very different kind of chill up your back.

Betty Vredenburg knows her daughters, and she knows Lucy pretty well (she thinks). Lucy has always been one of the "popular" girls, one of the alpha girls. A girl who chases hunky boys and flaunts her womanly attributes at them. She skated by academically only by the skin of her teeth, and has never been one to crack open a book, let alone to digest one.

So there is nothing she would see in a plump old turd like Professor Aubrey Blackwell, and there is nothing in his work—even if it is wound up in magic—that would attract her. It would all look moldy and ugly. Nor has she ever been one to try to get or hold down a job.

It's not like Lucy, in other words, to associate with the professor.

So doesn't that suggest that it's not really Lucy anymore?

Next: "Being Betty Vredenburg, Part 2" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 1)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 1)"