Immortal Beloved Page 11

  “Uh, I might be able to stomach another week,” was all I could manage, and tensed in anticipation of River asking me to leave.

  “That’s good enough,” River said, and kissed my cheek.

  I was floored. I couldn’t help raising my fingers to touch where she’d kissed it.

  “One final thing,” she said, and I raised my eyebrows. “You need different clothes.” She looked around my room with open curiosity. “Like regular jeans and cords. Long underwear. Socks. Heavy shirts, wool sweaters, thick gloves. Lighter boots or work shoes. Sneakers. Slippers. Something warm to sleep in.” She nudged my wardrobe with her shoe. “Got any of that in there?”

  I thought of the ragtag, mismatched, mostly black clothes I’d stuffed in there, expensive designer items I hadn’t taken proper care of, cheap punk tees and ratty dresses.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I said glumly. “Since I’m apparently going to be working outside a lot.”

  River grinned. “Yes. I’m sure someone will be going into town soon and can take you shopping.”

  The next day, late in the morning (and by late I mean, like, freaking nine AM) I was sweeping the long front staircase and trying to remember how the song in the Disney movie version of “Cinderella” had gone. And I was thinking about how the story of Cinderella—really, of most fairy tales—had changed throughout the years, gotten cleaned up, less scary, with more happy endings. There was the whole glass-slipper thing, and the translation mistake. I’d first heard it with her slipper being made of vair, which is fur, animal hide. It was translated into English as verre, glass. So there you go. Now I was sweeping and humming the mice’s song from the movie. And let’s all ponder just how far my life had fallen, in terms of excitement and chicness, shall we? Yes. Pretty damn far.

  “I’ll drive,” Nell’s voice said gaily from below, in the front hall. Her light brown head appeared by the stair banister, and next to her Reyn said, “I can drive.” I had decided he was the Viking god Odin, god of odiousness.

  Nell gave a pretty pout, and the devil grabbed me by the tail. I called down, “By all means, let him drive, Nell. He has a weenie. It makes a huge difference.”

  Her blue eyes widened and she stared up at me, first as if wondering at my audacity, then in irritation as she realized Reyn was also looking up at me.

  I was bored. Time to stir the pot a little. Sweeping busily, I said, “I mean, not with driving, it doesn’t make a difference. Of course. But in other stuff. Peeing standing up and all.”

  Reyn’s voice was tight. “Your point?”

  “No real point. Just lobbying for your right to drive. I mean, you’re old enough, right? How old are you? Like, thirty?” Most of him looked barely twenty, twenty-two, except his amazing eyes. His eyes looked hundreds of years old.

  He didn’t say anything, and Nell frowned. “He’s two hundred and sixty-seven. I’m eighty-three. And how old are you?” Her British accent was crisp.

  “Older.” I went down a step and continued sweeping. I’d gotten it down to an art: one broad stroke across, then two quick vertical strokes to get each corner. How was this saving my soul, exactly? Like, was I sweeping my way to salvation, or what?

  “Oh, good, I caught you before you left,” said River, coming down the hall from the kitchen. “You two are going to town, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Reyn.

  “And Reyn’s going to drive,” I said. “Because he’s a booooyyyy.”

  River’s eyebrows raised.

  “I’m driving because Nell has clipped both fenders of the truck,” Reyn said, taking his jacket off the long row of hooks by the front door. “And scraped the side of the Toyota. And popped a tire on the van.”

  Nell shot me her usual poisonous glance before she defended herself. “I was getting used to driving on the wrong side of the road! Everything is backwards here!”

  “You’ve been here for two years,” Reyn said, picking up some car keys. Nell looked like she was going to explode, and I got the feeling that if River and Reyn hadn’t been there, she would have spewed venom at me. Instead she snatched her own coat from the row of hooks and shoved her arms into its sleeves.

  “Yes, well,” said River, looking bemused, “Reyn—and Nell, whoever’s driving—I’d like you to take Nastasya into town with you this morning. She needs more practical clothes. Can you take her to Early’s?”

  If Nell had made any sound right then, it would have been a high, spitting shriek. Instead she just turned and headed out the front door without a word.

  “I have a car,” I pointed out. “I can take myself.”

  “This saves gas,” River said comfortably. “We try to combine errands as much as possible.”

  Reyn and I looked identically reluctant. Then I realized the fun in being an obnoxious third wheel on this outing that Nell had no doubt finagled in order to be alone with Reyn. I’m ashamed to admit that I made another wrong choice on the road to goodness just then, and trotted down the stairs, ready to make Nell’s day miserable.

  Okay, not ashamed, exactly. More like, triumphant. But at least I recognized that it was wrong, so that’s progress, right?

  Early’s was the general store right next to MacIntyre’s Drugs. It sold farm supplies, gardening stuff, clothes, toys, old-fashioned candy, and kitchen gadgets. It had a wooden floor, a pressed-tin maroon-painted ceiling, and tall, fluted metal columns holding up the roof. It was basic and unpretentious.

  “Clothes are over there.” Reyn pointed to one section of the store. “I have to get some feed. I’ll come get you when I’m done.” He couldn’t have sounded less interested.

  I gave him a warm, come-hither smile. “Thank you,” I said sweetly, and saw his pupils flare. “You are such a darling.”

  Nell’s face set like marble, and she walked off in the direction of the kitchen supplies.

  Reyn looked at me for another moment, then he too turned and headed off.

  I snickered after they left. I found myself facing racks of women’s clothes, piles of neatly folded jeans on tables, stacks of sweaters—and I felt a little overwhelmed. I couldn’t remember buying practical clothing before. When I was poor, hundreds of years ago, I’d made my clothes—hey, rough-spun linen, anyone? Homespun wool? Woohoo!

  By the time I’d had money, I didn’t need practical clothes. A long time ago, everything had been made for me, by people who’d come to the house. Nowadays, as much as I was thrilled to pieces over the death of corsets and hoopskirts, I still didn’t have much approach to fashion. When I ran out of stuff to wear, I called up a personal shopper to send over whatever I needed. It had been decades since I’d worried about what went with what or having the right outfit for different occasions. I never worried if I looked pretty in something or if it was flattering.

  “Shit. Okay, I can do this,” I muttered to myself. What kind of moron doesn’t know how to buy regular clothes? Nell obviously did.

  “Huh? You talkin’ to me?”

  I startled, looking up to see a goth teenager, a pair of black jeans in her hands. She looked vaguely familiar, and in a couple of seconds I recognized her as the JD who’d been hanging out in front of that old drugstore the day I’d bought the map. Her heavily lined eyes were narrowed at me, her hair dyed in wide swaths of brown and green.

  “Nah,” I said, pondering the sea of clothes. “Sorry. Talking to myself.”

  “Way to make sure of your audience,” she said under her breath, and held the jeans up against her waist.

  “So… you’re just… seeing what fits?” I asked conversationally. I picked up a pair of corduroys and held them up to my waist. They seemed big. Should I try them on? “Then what?” “Then. I. Buy. It.” Her face was sharp, wary.

  I slung the cords over my arm and picked up a sweater. It was navy blue. “Navy goes with everything, right?”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, and tossed down the jeans. Thirty seconds later, the doorbell over the entrance jangled as
she left. I couldn’t help laughing, but it was an uncomfortable laugh, one that announced I was out of my element.

  “You ready?” Odin was impassive, holding a hundred-pound sack of something farm-y on one shoulder. I glanced around for Nell but didn’t see her.

  “Uh—” Oh, crap, it was going to be one of those days, chock-full of personal growth. I could see that now. It was all I could do to not scuttle out of here and find a nice bar somewhere. “I’m having trouble… deciding what to get.”

  He blinked and let out a breath, then looked me up and down. I was wearing chalk-striped Lacroix satin trousers that were, of course, now shredded around the knees. A man’s blue velour pullover—God knew where I’d gotten it from—draped around me like a shroud. My scarf, green-and-white-striped, was looped several times around my neck. My delightful motorcycle boots completed the ensemble. It had been either these or a pair of leopard-print Manolos, which seemed to be the only two pairs of shoes I’d brought in my exodus.

  “I haven’t worked like this in… a couple of centuries.” I gave a little laugh, but inside I felt amazingly lame and stupid. “I’m just glad petticoats aren’t in the picture.”

  Reyn set down his heavy sack, as well as a smaller shopping bag. “What size are you?”

  “Um, size thirty-six shoe?” I offered. “And… maybe small, other things?” I was still stick-thin, no curves to speak of. I just—hadn’t paid attention to all this stuff in so long.

  “Okay.” Reyn let out a long-suffering sigh for my benefit. He gave me another appraising look, then turned to the table of jeans. His long fingers skimmed through the piles until he found what he was looking for and pulled them out. “Try these. You’ll have to roll up the bottoms.” He pointed to a dressing room, curtained off from the main room.

  I tried them on. They fit. He’d guessed an accurate size by looking at me—clearly, despite his monklike reserve, he had a bit of experience gauging women’s bodies. Who was he? Where was he from? What was his story? I was quite… fascinated.

  “They fit,” I said, coming out in my own clothes again.

  “Get two more pairs of jeans and two pairs of corduroys in that size,” he ordered. He was flipping through shirts and had already made a small pile of wool sweaters.

  Soon I had a bunch of new clothes in a shopping cart. Reyn surprised me by showing me how things went together, T-shirts and flannel shirts, button-downs under sweaters. None of the clothes were designer, or fashion able, or even cute, but they fit, were sturdy, and would be so much more comfortable and warm at River’s Edge. Of course, I could never appear in real society dressed like this, but I was actively avoiding real society right now, anyway.

  “Did you used to be someone’s dresser?” I asked. “A valet?”

  Reyn threw some packages of socks into the cart and picked up his sack again, heaving it onto his shoulder with little visible effort. “No. I assume you have, like, underwear and all that.”

  “Uh… I keep meaning to get some,” I hedged, and saw his jaw tighten.

  “It’s over there.” He pointed. “Get simple stuff that will wash well. You’re not out to seduce or impress anyone here. I’ll be at the register. Waiting.”

  “Aye, aye, sir!”

  There were no La Perla satin undies with handmade lace. I got some cotton ones with pictures of little animals on them, frogs and monkeys. In bras I picked up the second-smallest ones I could find. I didn’t want to try them on, probably wouldn’t wear them anyway. I found a down vest and a puffy coat that was warm and light and washable, unlike my Roberto Cavalli leather coat, which, surprisingly, had proved inappropriate for yard work. And since scarves are a huge part of my fashion identity, I threw a couple into the shopping cart.

  Nell arrived just as I was unloading underwear, bras, camisoles, and long underwear onto the counter. Words quivered on my lips, provocative things that would make Nell think that Reyn had helped me pick out my underwear, but I held them in. Which made, what? Evil 2, good 1. Or was evil ahead 3–0 by now? It was almost noon. Evil was probably winning by three points, at least.

  I paid for all my stuff, amazed at how little it had all cost. I’d regularly spent two or three times that amount on a single pair of shoes. They had been fabulous shoes, but still.

  “Where were you?” Reyn asked Nell.

  She smiled, either acting or having truly regained her sunny outlook. “I didn’t need anything here, so I went down to the yarn shop.” She gave me one of her friendly grins. “They have a great yarn and craft shop here, a few stores down. Do you knit? Did you make that scarf?”

  “No, don’t knit, I’m afraid,” I said, loading full shopping bags into the cart.

  We all trooped out to the truck and loaded our stuff into the back. Reyn looped a couple of bungee cords over everything, and we climbed into the cab. Nell had been careful again to be in between us, pressed up against Reyn on one side, which he seemed not to notice. God, he was dense.

  “I love knitting,” Nell said once we were on the road. We passed by MacIntyre’s Drugs, where poor Meriwether was no doubt being berated by her thug father. I made a mental note to stop in if I was in town again.

  “It’s very calming,” Nell pressed on. “And it gives your hands something to do. And then at the end, you have something beautiful and useful.”

  I nodded. “Hmm.”

  “What kinds of things do you like to do?” Nell’s face was open, her tone deliberately innocent. She was banking on the fact that I hadn’t been specializing in Girl Scout skills.

  I started to say something flippant, like “drinking and whoring,” but then was caught by the idea that I didn’t actually know what I liked to do. Hobbies, skills? Does drinking count? Holding my liquor? I used to know how to sew—not well, but enough so I wasn’t wearing a potato sack. I’d cooked, off and on, but that had been a long time ago. I liked going to museums and to movies, but that was hardly a skill. I knew how to ride. Had I ever done anything well? Was I proud of any skill?

  Not really. Not consistently. The only thing I had consistently done was survive. And obviously I didn’t even do that very well. I was struck by the thought that I’d had all this time, so many years, and I hadn’t developed… myself. When I’d finally had enough money to not work, I’d truly not worked, at anything. And neither had my friends. For the first time, I felt ashamed of that fact. I remembered the art openings of sculptors who had been liberating the life from within marble for a century or more, learning all the time with different teachers. Composers, musicians, who’d had more than one human lifetime to hone their gifts. Scientists who’d made an “overnight” discovery after decades of experiments and study. You think that guy really invented Velcro because he suddenly looked at his dog? No. There were artists working today, museums buying their current work, and those same museums, unknowingly, had other examples of their work from the last three centuries. Those people had evolved, grown, changed.

  I hadn’t.

  Things that don’t evolve and grow are not alive.

  I became aware of Nell’s pert interest, her wide blue eyes. Reyn was waiting, too, though his eyes were on the road, his strong hands on the steering wheel.

  “I don’t know,” I said slowly, with uncharacteristic honesty. “I’m not good at very much. I’ve done different things at different times, but I haven’t really kept up with anything. But… I can learn. I think I’m learning here. Maybe.”

  Reyn flicked a glance at me, those golden, lionlike eyes.

  “Well,” Nell said. “Yes, this is a good place to learn. But it takes commitment. And time. You haven’t even started taking real classes yet, have you?”

  I quoted Solis: “There are lessons to be learned in everything,” I said piously. “I’m learning to appreciate every moment, to pause and feel every minute, being fully here in the now.”

  Nell was nonplussed, and Reyn snorted a laugh that he turned into a cough. At least I thought it was a laugh.

  “You
really need to have the right attitude,” Nell said, implying that I so did not.

  “Hmm,” I said again, and looked out my window.

  CHAPTER 12

  I had landed on a different plane of existence: the River dimension. I had to relearn so many habits and patterns—to pick up after myself because there was no maid, to clear my plate after a meal, to leave my shoes by the door so I didn’t track in mud or worse.

  My new clothes survived the laundry much better than my Jean Paul Gaultier jumpsuit and cashmere sweater, which I had thrown through the washer and dryer. The sweater had come out small enough to fit Jasper, who now wore it proudly, flouncing around in hot pink Chanel. I hoped he wouldn’t skunk it up.

  There was no cable TV, only a handful of fuzzy local stations. River did have a computer in her office, and one could sign up on a sheet to use it. I didn’t need it for anything. We got the local paper every day, and out of extreme boredom I found myself poring over the latest crop reports, reading about whose cow got loose, whose barn got struck by lightning, and what grade-school teacher was going to run for city council. The London Times had been full of wars, government scandals, celebrity arrests, society weddings, race reports. It had all seemed like a blur—prime ministers came and went, the people rose up in protest and then settled back down. Here, the smallest inconsequential blip on the screen was treated like stunning breaking news.

  People were starting to teach me things that I’d never wanted to know: the names of the stars, patterns of the sun’s movements, names of trees and plants and birds and animals. How to gather herbs and hang them to dry. How to focus your attention on a candle flame. Yoga. Meditation, which I hated. But every time my inner spirit rebelled, which was, like, eighty times a day, I was always struck by the fact that I couldn’t bear the thought of doing anything else, being anywhere else. So I just sucked it up and kept doing whatever needed doing, until I could find a reason to leave. Until it didn’t feel scary to leave.