The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)

False Faces, False Pretences

Previously: "Being Cathy Schell" 

"It's a good gym," you tell Anton. "My boyfriend and I are regulars."

Your reply is met with a deathly silence. Then Anton mumbles something. "What did you say?" you ask.

"I said, 'That's nice'."

"It is," you agree. "I haven't been to Munson"—that's the name of the sports complex at Keyserling—"in a couple of years. Not since I graduated. Have they renovated it any?"

"I dunno."

You try talking a little more, just to show the guy you're not pissed at him or unfriendly. But his answers are clipped.

Yeah, you were just looking for a pick-up opportunity, you think to yourself. All the girls at Munson are probably sick of your bullshit, so you thought you'd try it out here.

After a quarter-hour of not saying anything, Anton steps off his machine and wanders away. You give yourself a further five minutes, then give up too. The guy's clumsy stab at picking you up as rather ruined it for you.

You don't give up on the gym immediately, though, and hit the showers. It's a happy realization that leads you to them: Here's a chance to get naked, in public, with Cathy Schell's body, in a place where there's only a tiny chance of being caught out. Without your bag and a lock you have to fold up your clothes and leave them on a bench near the showers, and it preys on your mind a little as you let the hot water slide over you: If someone stole them, you really would be up shit creek without a paddle.

But you do your best not to worry about it as you wash yourself all over with the complimentary bar of soap, lathering your thigh and calves and hips and washing under your boobs. When you're done, lacking a towel, you push all the water off as best you can before slipping back into your clothes. You're wet enough, though, that you dispense with the tight underthings, and it's while wearing only the shorts, the shirt, and the shoes that you clomp back out into the lobby.

"Only a short one today, coach?" Evan calls as you pass the front desk.

"Yeah, just a short one. Had some stress I wanted to work out."

"I hear that. Did you want to sign in before you go?"

"Do I have to?" You'd rather leave no evidence behind of your visit. "I don't feel like I was here long enough to count."

Evan shrugs, and tosses you small wave as you glide out the front door.

* * * * *

So you managed to waste only a little more than forty-five minutes at the gym. It's not even five-thirty as you pull back out onto Twentieth. You've got an alibi set up for five more hours of fun, but what can you do? Cathy herself would like to hit a club. You have just enough money, probably, to get in to one, and after that you'd have to rely on guys to buy you a drink, and after your encounter with Anton you're not so keen on that.

Instead, as you drive around, your mind goes back to the grimoire, and to the supplies you need to gather for the next spell. You need money for that, though, and you've borrowed from everyone you can possibly tap.

But Cathy Schell could borrow some money, couldn't she? That was an idea you had, to scrounge around the school begging a ten here and a twenty there off the other teachers. Now, with Cathy Schell's memories, you realize that wouldn't be the best plan. Cathy doesn't know that many of the teachers, not that well. And even if she did, you doubt you could collect the two to three hundred dollars you figure it will cost you to buy those chemicals. So where could she—you—get the money?

You're passing the hospital when you glance over at the Panda Garden Chinese Buffet. One thought will lead to another, and a few blocks down you dive into a parking lot to make a U-turn and roar back up Twentieth the way that you came. Your idea is a long-shot, but if it works out it'll give you all you need in one big lump.

* * * * *

Fifteen minutes later you're parked in front of Thai Won On, a crummy little restaurant in a shabby little shopping center next to the Walmart. But you're not here to get Thai food. You're here for the Tae Kwon Do dojo next door.

The electronic bell on the door goes bong as you open it, but none of the students in their cotton robes look over. There's a half dozen of them—boys and girls, middle-school students by the looks of them—and they're concentrated on two figures in the middle of the mat. One of them is a boy of about fourteen, you'd judge. The other is a tall, bearded man. He's in black robes; the boy is in white.

The instructor holds out a padded paddle, and each time he gives a word the student, who is bouncing lightly on his feet, throws up a leg and kicks it. You only know the rudiments of the sport, but it seems to you that his form is very good.

There's something mesmerizing about the spectacle, and you don't break your gaze even after the instructor dismisses the one student and brings up another. Not until you hear your name—"Cathy?"—murmured almost in your ear do you spin about.

"Twyla!" You gasp at the willowy, blonde-haired woman smiling at you. "You snuck up on me!"

"You sure were into it." Twyla Carpenter grips your forearm. Like her husband, she's in a black instructor's robe. "You just stopping by, or here for a lesson?"

"Neither." You can't help blushing a little. "But how are you?"

"I'm okay. Want some coffee? Or I've got some chai tea from next door." She gestures you to follow her to a doorway that opens into what looks like a break room. You can't help casting a glance back at the male instructor: her husband, Ben.

The break room is actually an office with a sink and refrigerator, and you take some coffee in a Styrofoam cup and settle in to talk to Twyla Carpenter. Naturally, it takes almost twenty minutes to get the pleasantries out of the way, for Cathy hasn't seen Twyla—an old sorority sister from college—in a couple of months. So although you are anxious to get to the point, you sit back to catch up and reminisce and gossip. You ask about business at the dojo—it's good—and you tell her about your classes at the school—the volleyball team looks like it will do well this season—and you gush about this really hot guy, Thomas Luna, who you've been dating.

Twyla's eyes flash with sympathetic excitement. "You and your guy will have to come out with us some night," she says.

"That'd be great. Although—" You blush. "We're still at the stage now where we like it to just be us, you know, at his place or mine."

Twyla squeezes your hand. "So he isn't just a crush?"

"Oh God, no!" The words burst out without your even thinking them. "I think— No, I don't want to think that far ahead! But you know, there hasn't been anything, I mean, nothing that doesn't make me think, you know, that maybe—?" You have to cover your face for the furious blush that has come over it. When you think of Thomas, and how hot he is, and how smart and sensitive—

"Careful there," Twyla says. "Remember Alex?"

"Oh, God!" You make a face. Alex was a guy Cathy met her junior year in college, and she was sure he was The One. Until he dumped her hard for a girl on the swim team. "I don't think Thomas would— Look, how are you and Ben?"

Twyla raises an eyebrow. "I hope that's not following a thought."

"No! But I've told you enough about Thomas. Tell me about Ben."

"We're still doing great." But she shares some mild complaints—he's a bit of a slob, and is a little too forgetful when it comes to doing his share of the chores around the house.

You still haven't edged up to the real purpose of this visit when her husband comes in to get some water, and to visit for a few minutes before going back out again for the class. That's when you ask Twyla when she has to be on the floor for a class again. "I'm done for the day," she says. "I was just about to change when you came in."

"Then if you've got a little while," you tell her, "I've got a really big favor to ask."

Twyla—who was always a good friend, even if she and Cathy have grown a little distant since Cathy left for Boston—listens sympathetically as you spin a tale of some emergency dental work you need done. "Insurance will pay for half of it, but I'm still short a couple of hundred."

"The dentist can't set you up on some scheduled payments?" Twyla asks.

Damn. "I'm changing dentists after this," you improvise. "I don't want to owe him anything. And I don't want to ask Thomas for the money." You flutter your hands. "You know?"

Then you draw a deep breath. "So, could I borrow it from you and Ben? Three hundred? Just for a month. Two pay checks, and I'll have enough I can—"

"I think we can spare that," Twyla says. She starts to get up. "I'll get you a check."

"Isn't there a cash machine around here? I mean, it doesn't make a difference either way, I guess, but—" You make doe eyes at her.

Twyla doesn't seem to like the idea of giving you the money in cash, but she relents and walks down to the ATM with you. You thank her profusely, and after a little more chit-chat you part.

* * * * *

You still have the rest of the evening clear, but you have had your fill for now of being Cathy Schell. And you've still got a grimoire to explore.

The stores will be closed, so you can't buy those supplies until tomorrow. But cemeteries, where you need to gather dirt, are best visited at night.

Next: "The Graveyard" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 3)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)"