Dropping Eve
I had escaped the chaos that had become my life, compliments of the most important client I had ever landed, and was enjoying a cigarette in the courtyard across from my office. I hadn’t smoked in years, but as my dealings with Celia Darby became more frenzied with arbitrary demands requiring significant redesigns of her summer home practically overnight, I had started again. At first, I was ducking in shadows to sneak a drag, using body spray and mints to cover the odor, but after awhile, that became too much effort. My husband wasn’t too thrilled about it, but then again, nothing I did lately seemed to please him. The hours I spent trying to appease Celia had put a strain on our already failing relationship so that it was just hovering on the edge an inescapable abyss. Now, I was smoking out in the open, enjoying the rare January sunshine, hoping for a modicum of peace before I had to go back inside.
My phone chirped, and I knew the identity of the caller before even answering.
“It’s Celia, my dear. I just had a fantastic thought.” She’d already called six times that day with other such thoughts, and it was only noon.
I pictured my hands wrapping around her slender, white throat.
“I think we should put the master bath on the other side of the library’s closet, and then move the kitchen to the right side of the terrace so we could take advantage of the lake view from the breakfast nook.”
I gave her my perfunctory speech about how the changes would increase construction costs and of course my design fee. I saved the part about how these allegedly minor modifications would completely eradicate my structural, lighting and landscaping plans, not to mention what was left of my marriage. She had no qualms about any of that, so I reserved my breath and instead enjoyed my cigarette, tuning her out until she finally paused.
“So, what do you think?”
I’d like to cut the brake lines in your car.
“Sounds like it may work,” I said instead.
“Fabulous! I’ll expect the changes by Thursday then.” This was not a question. I massaged my pulsating temple. It was already Tuesday.
I clicked off and put out my cigarette, rummaging through my purse for a mint. Instead, my hand landed on a small, puffy envelope. I pulled it out and remembered I had shoved it in my purse yesterday when I emptied the mailbox on my way to work. Another of my mother’s delightful gifts. I could hardly wait to see what she had sent this time.
Opening the envelope, I noticed the courtyard where I sat had become much busier in the past few minutes. Students from the university across from my office had spilled out of classes and were milling about, listening to their iPods, chatting and bumming cigarettes off of one another. I pulled out a small black box with ear buds and at first thought it was an MP3 player. Finally, a gift I could actually use! But, no such luck. I read the packaging and realized it was an eavesdropping device. I could put the bud in my ear and listen to anything up to fifty feet away.
Dubious that such a thing was possible, I slipped the bud into my ear and turned up the volume. A flood of conversation practically knocked me off my bench.
“Are you going to Blake’s party tonight?” a girl asked. I tried to see who had said it, but there were too many faces to distinguish the speaker.
“What was the answer to number three on the test? I got two minus the square root of five.”
“OMG, you look so lame in those ginormous pants! Did your mirror break this morning?”
Hey, this was fun! I continued listening, lighting up another cigarette, preferring any activity other than starting yet another redesign to Celia’s summer house. After awhile, the students wandered off toward their cars or next classes, and the courtyard was practically empty. My phone buzzed again, and I hoped it was Celia calling to say she’d been hallucinating from the myriad of prescriptions she was likely taking and had been joking about the new changes.
Instead, it was my husband Mitch.
“Just called to remind you that we have to be at Rigby Hall at six sharp.”
“For what?” I asked, and before he could answer, I remembered. Marianne’s play. I’d completely forgotten about it!
The silence was punctuated by his disgusted sigh. “It’s opening night. She’s only been talking about it for months.”
Whining was more like it. Our daughter had tried out for the leading role in her first college play, but instead, she was cast as the understudy to a local beauty queen named Eve Marsette, and she had complained bitterly ever since. She was supposed to play the girl’s matronly sister, a lesser part, but she faithfully practiced the lead’s lines as well, just in case.
I blew out a puff of smoke, my mind and stomach churning in unison. How would I be able to attend the play and do the work necessary to satisfy Celia? Then again, how could I not?
“Look, personally I’d rather have a root canal. But we can’t exactly miss this,” Mitch said, and I could tell his patience was wearing thinner than what was left of my sanity.
“Of course I’ll be there,” I said, and shortly after, we hung up. Our conversations were becoming increasingly abrupt, but I just couldn’t worry about that right now.
I knew I should go inside and get started on the new floor plan, but instead, I replaced the bud in my ear, adjusting the volume and lighting a third cigarette. I heard rustling behind me, and I turned to see a short hedge mostly obscuring a slim figure sitting on a low wall, hunched over and talking into a cell phone.
“You know very well we have to do it tonight. We have no other choice.” The girl’s attempts at whispering were no match for my supersonic listening device.
She paused, and I heard snippets of other conversations from lingering students. I leaned in closer, trying to block out the extraneous noise.
“There’s no way around it. We have to kill Tom before he finds out what we’ve done.” She twisted a strand of blonde hair in her fingers, her crossed leg bobbing in a nervous rhythm.
“No!” The girl’s voice raised several octaves. “We can’t wait until tomorrow! Suppose someone finds out? Then, we’re totally screwed and should just turn ourselves in right now.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I leaned practically through the hedge, turning up the volume further. The girl had resumed talking in a hushed whisper.
“Look, I have an errand to run, and then I’ll be over so we can finalize our plan. You’d better be there.”
She jumped up, grabbed her backpack, and took off down the street. In a split second, I made the decision to go after her.
***
“What the hell am I doing?” I asked aloud, and then I realized talking to myself was a new symptom of my looming breakdown. I had abandoned ship to go chase some girl through campus as she plotted to kill someone named Tom. Well, I chuckled, it was infinitely more interesting than the alternative. I pictured myself in my cramped cubicle, toiling away on the new design, wondering how to make it as flexible as possible in anticipation of Celia’s next changes. Cringing, I hurried after the girl.
As the wind picked up and soared through the trees, I could only make out bits of her conversation. I tried to stay within a fifty-foot range of her so the listening device would work, but I also didn’t want her to notice me following her. At one point, she stopped and turned, and I ducked behind a column flanking the science building, feeling foolish.
She walked at a brisk pace through the small downtown area, and I stayed well behind, focusing on her pink beret to keep track of her. Suddenly, she disappeared into a store, and I lingered on the street, wondering if I should go in.
She hadn’t seen me. At least, I didn’t think she had. What was the harm? I pushed through the door, a bell announcing my arrival, and realized I was in a hardware store. I studied the orbital sanders for awhile, keeping one eye on her bobbing blonde head as she wandered down a nearby aisle. I heard the clatter of metal and wondered what she had picked up. She summoned a clerk over and asked if he could cut it for her. I realized it must be a chain of some sort. The compound miter saws on display obscured my view.
“I’ll need some rope as well,” she told the clerk, and he asked her how much. “Oh, about five yards or so. It’s gotta be really strong though, but not so thick you can’t tie it in a knot.”
As he went to fetch the rope, she reached above and selected a large hammer. I inched closer, peeking around an end cap of wrenches, just in time to see her practicing her swing. The look on her face terrified me; the intensity with which she connected to an imaginary target was downright vicious. I backed away, my head spinning, wondering if I should call the police.
But what could I really say? And if I lost her, how would I even be able to describe who she was? I was sure they’d laugh me right off the phone, and then I would be left there standing in front of a bunch of wrenches while this woman went on her merry way to kill someone named Tom.
The girl grabbed several rolls of duct tape at the register and quickly paid, shoving the items in her backpack. She exited the store, turning left in the direction she’d been heading. I was about to follow when the clerk blocked my exit.
“Can I help you find something?”
Although a nice length of rope seemed tempting at the moment as I shuddered with thoughts of the impending repercussions of my hiatus from work on Celia’s home, I muttered that I was just browsing and took off after the girl.
The street was teeming with pedestrians weaving around cars to grab a quick sandwich on limited lunch times, and for a moment, I thought I’d lost her. I scanned the crowd, my heart thudding to the beat of the traffic, wondering if I should let Tom’s fate rest in someone else’s hands, when I spotted the pink beret turning a corner past a coffee house. I sprinted in that direction, my heels clinking on the jagged pavement, the brisk wind finding its way up my skirt and billowing it out around me.
I spotted her about a block ahead and stayed with her until she turned up the stairs of a three-story apartment building and disappeared through the door. I milled around like a crazy person for awhile, wondering what I should do. I wasn’t even sure what apartment she’d gone to, and even if I did find her, what could I do to stop her from carrying out her plan?
I was ready to turn back toward my office when I saw her pink beret through a third floor window. I casually walked to the side of the building, and I was able to see her arguing with someone through that window as well. I noticed a ways down a fire escape that looked as if it hadn’t been used since Nixon was in office. After a moment of churning what was left of my functioning brain, I decided to give it a try. If I could reach that window, maybe I could learn more. I had no idea what I would do with the information, but for some reason, I couldn’t sit back and do nothing. Or rather, I couldn’t sit and work on Celia’s design anymore. I wasn’t even sure of the real reason for my quest of this woman anymore. Yet, something was prompting me to continue.
I reached up to the first ladder, but it was a bit high. I eyed a crate behind a Dumpster in the alley and dragged it over. I had to get on it and jump, but finally I caught onto the rung of the ladder and was able to pull it down without making too much noise. I started up to the first landing, but then I realized I’d have the same problem getting to the second ladder. I ran back down the first and grabbed the crate. I returned to the landing and jumped onto the crate, praying no one on the street or in nearby apartments were watching. I had no way to explain my actions to anyone else, let alone to myself.
After awhile, I made it up to the third floor, and I realized that the distance from the landing to the window was farther than I thought. There was no way that I could see into the window where she and the man were arguing. I reached into my pocket for my listening device, but it wasn’t there. I looked all around, but I didn’t see it anywhere.
I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, and through another window in the man’s apartment, I was able to see him hand something to the girl. I leaned in closer, and sure enough, he was brandishing a shiny black gun. She grabbed it without hesitation and stuffed it into her bag along with all the other murderous implements she’d purchased at the hardware store. With a wave, she left through the front door.
“Crap!” I said as I realized I would never reach her on time. I scurried down the fire escape, and when I hit the alleyway again, I stepped on something and heard a crunch. I looked down to see the listening device shattered beneath my foot. It must have fallen out while I was trying to hop up to the first ladder.
Suddenly, a flash of pink passed by me in the alley, and I raced after the girl. I ran so fast, I practically barreled her down. She turned with a start, and I muttered an apology and kept running down the street. About a block later, I ducked into another alley to collect my thoughts.
When she walked by me again, I was ready. I pounced on her, pulling her into the alley with me.
“What the hell?” she screamed. She fought against me, her nails digging into my arm.
I had nothing reasonable to say. So, I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. “I know what you’re doing! I’m onto you.”
She straightened up, her brow scrunched with confusion. “What? Who the hell are you?”
“I know all about Tom, and the gun, and the chains. I know what you and that other guy are doing, where you’re doing it and when.” I was exaggerating a bit, of course, but it didn’t matter.
She still looked confused. I didn’t give her time to react. I reached for her bag, ripping it off her shoulder.
“Are you crazy?” she yelled as she pulled the bag back from me. We engaged in a tug-of-war, until we were both practically on the ground. Out of nowhere, my phone chirped loudly, and I let go without thinking. The girl with the pink beret went flying backwards into a brick wall, hitting it hard and slumping to the pavement.
Her body convulsed as the blood started pouring from her head. My phone rang incessantly as I stared at her in horror.
I stood there gawking at her, replaying the series of events over and over in my mind. I saw a shadow approaching, and my first instinct was to run. I took off out of the alley and down the block as my phone kept ringing in my pocket.
I stopped in front of a drugstore, clutching a light pole, my head swimming as I relived the past two minutes. My phone continued to ring.
Finally, I caught my breath enough to answer.
“Mom! Where are you?” Marianne’s voice was hysterically shrill.
“What?” I could barely make sense of what she’d said.
“You’ll never believe what has happened!” She sounded like she’d won the lottery.
“What’s that, honey?” I was barely listening. A high pitcd tone had started in my left ear, making hearing practically impossible.
“They can’t find Eve.”
“Who?”
“Eve Marsette. The bitch who stole the lead from me. Don’t you ever listen to me?”
I let out a sigh. It was all too much. “I’m sorry,” I said, trying to sound normal but failing miserably as my voice came out in a squeak. “I do listen. It’s just been a trying day. Where is she?”
I could imagine my daughter’s eyes rolling. “If they knew that, then she wouldn’t be missing, would she?”
“No, I guess not.”
“Well, they just called to tell me to be ready to play the lead tonight! I’m totally freaking out!”
Me too. But not for the same reason. “I guess that’s good?” I never knew what words to use with my ultra-sensitive daughter.
“It’s great. I mean, I hope she’s okay and all, but I get to play the lead on opening night! Maybe I’ll be so good, they won’t even need her anymore!”
“I’m sure you’ll be great,” I said.
“When can you come here? I need you.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I said.
“Be here sooner!” Marianne said, and she hung up.
***
I got to the house just as Marianne was emerging from her bedroom in full costume. My husband was home by then and shot me an annoyed look.
“You look beautiful!” he and I said in unison, and I realized it was the first time we’d agreed on anything for quite awhile.
We headed to the theater shortly after. Marianne talked incessantly about her big opportunity and how terrified she was that she’d forget her lines. No matter how much we tried to reassure her, she kept supposing all the things that could go wrong. I was ready to strangle her, but then that would be one too many today.
“What’s with you?” Mitch whispered to me. My hands were clenched so hard in my lap that they were whiter than the wedding dress our daughter wore. My leg was shaking, and sweat was pouring off my forehead. I couldn’t believe I’d killed that girl. My vision blurred, my tongue was swollen and everything seemed as if were going in slow-motion.
“I’m just excited,” I managed. “Nervous excitement, that’s all.”
“I see,” he said, but his brow was furrowed as if he didn’t believe me.
I couldn’t worry about him right now. I had to find a way to get out of here and go back to see if I could do something. I didn’t know what I could do, but I couldn’t just sit through some play when that girl with the pink beret was likely dying or already dead.
We got to the theater, and Marianne told us to wait in the lobby for the ushers to seat us. She ran back to the dressing area to join the cast. I’d never seen her so happy. I wished I could be more supportive, but maybe that would be possible on a day when I hadn’t actually murdered someone.
Soon after, as Mitch and I stood awkwardly together watching the crowd thicken, the ushers began to let us in. We were led to the third row center, and my mind churned trying to figure out how to get out of there without destroying my marriage or what little respect my daughter had left for me.
The usher handed us each a playbill before he left, and soon, people were squeezing by us to reach their seats. A heavy woman was seated beside me, and her girth infringed on my own space. My breathing was already labored, but the thin air, the gathering crowd and the tight space made it nearly impossible. I felt as if I was going to faint right before the lights went down.
The woman was whispering to the man next to her, but her voice was loud enough for me to hear.
“Did you hear what happened to Eve?” she asked.
The man shook his head, looking around at everyone but her.
“I heard she was mugged today! She’s in the hospital with a pretty bad concussion.”
A woman in front of me turned then to the woman next to me. “I heard the same thing. And they’re having her understudy take her place tonight. I wonder if she had anything to do with it.”
The woman next to me lowered her voice more. “You know, I think you’re probably right. My daughter says that other girl can’t act her way out of a box. No one knows how she even got the role of the understudy.”
“I guess she got friendly with the director?” The woman in front of me giggled in a way that encouraged acts of violence. I opened my mouth to say something, but suddenly loud music announced the start of the show. The lights went down, and the curtains parted.
My daughter did not appear until the second act. She looked very nervous, and my heart went out to her. Although she’d been practicing, her words came out awkwardly, and her body language was stiff at best.
My mind started drifting until people snickering around me brought me back to the present. My daughter was on the ground, and the redness of her face revealed that she wasn’t supposed to be sitting there with her legs spread apart.
“Oh geez,” Mitch said. He shrunk lower in his seat. “This is not good.”
Marianne stumbled over to the bed nearby and sat on the edge. Way to go, I said silently, hoping she could somehow feel my encouragement. Late was better than never.
A man strode onto the stage, and Marianne stood to stop him. “Pete, you know very well we have to do it tonight. We have no other choice.”
“We can’t. It’s too dangerous.” He shook her hand off of him and continued across the stage.
Marianne’s voice rose several octaves. “There’s no way around it. We have to kill Tom before he finds out what we’ve done!”
I must be hallucinating. This conversation was eerily familiar. I listened closer.
“Let’s do it tomorrow. It’s too soon,” the leading man said.
“No! We can’t wait until tomorrow! Suppose someone finds out? Then, we’re totally screwed and should just turn ourselves in right now.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was the exact conversation I had overheard today when I listened in on the girl with the pink beret.
It took a few minutes for my befuddled mind to process things. I looked down and noticed the playbill in my hands. I turned the pages quickly until I reached the section featuring the cast. I scanned the page until I found the biography for Eve Marsette. I stared at her picture for a long while.
It was the girl with the pink beret.
She’d been rehearsing lines for the play. Sadly, as it all came together in my seriously compromised brain, I realized she was a much better actress than my daughter.
But what about the items she’d bought at the store? And what about the gun? After a few more moments, I realized they must have been props for the play. Sure enough, the leading man handed Marianne a shiny black gun.
What an idiot I was! And I’d killed that girl over this?
Then it dawned on me what I’d heard from the women around me. Eve was in the hospital with a concussion. That meant she was alive!
I could barely contain my relief and excitement. I squeezed Mitch’s arm and whispered I had to use the restroom. I shimmied out of the aisle to the complaints of the woman beside me and ran out of the theater.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket. Four new messages, all from Celia. I didn’t even listen.
Instead, I dialed her number. She answered on the first ring. “Where have you been?” she demanded.
“I’m at my daughter’s play. I won’t be able to meet your deadline after all. In fact, I will be out of town for the next two weeks. If that’s a problem for you, I can recommend a good architect to finish your project.”
I could hear her fuming on the other end.
“I see. Well, I’ll think about it and get back to you.”
“That’s fine,” I said, and I realized I didn’t care. I searched online from my phone for the number for an airline and dialed. On a whim, I booked two tickets to Jamaica. A perfect end for a crazy day.
I returned to my seat a short time later. Mitch looked at me with eyebrows raised.
“Must’ve eaten something bad. Listen, I’ve done something I think you’ll like.”
The woman beside me shushed me, but I ignored her.
I leaned closer to Mitch, kissing his ear. “I’m taking you on a second honeymoon. We leave tomorrow at 8 am.”
His brows crinkled, but I kissed him again and his frown turned into a smile.
“What about Celia?”
I squeezed his hand. “Who’s Celia?”
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