She Wore Red Dresses and Told Such Sweet Lies
I dreamt a lot-every night, in fact. I hardly ever remembered the dreams, but I knew I had them, and I felt them for several minutes after I woke up every morning.
The birds singing at my window always seemed to remind me of something, as if they were actively trying to remind me, but that was silly, and even if it wasn't, I never did remember. I just felt very strange.
Every morning was like this-ambiguous strange feelings and birds at my window and then coffee and then school.
I also didn't remember my childhood. Well, I remembered a half dozen very specific memories and dozens more vague ones, but I didn't remember what I wanted to be when I grew up, who gave me my first kiss, where my family had gone on vacation-all the things television told me I should remember.
So as I stood in front of my class, or sat reading the students stories or cutting out pieces for arts and crafts projects, I wondered if this was what I was supposed to be doing. I couldn't envision myself doing anything else. I had trouble daydreaming, too, and that troubled me, as well.
I wanted to remember my dreams and my childhood and all the aspirations I had once had so that I could compare and contrast with my current trajectory, but I seemed to have a mental block.
I should have scheduled what would probably amount to several sessions with Dr. Hopper, but I didn't.
Instead I found myself, on many occasions, impotently airing my feelings to coma patients I didn't know, and even worse, on this particular occasion, trying to talk to Mayor Mills in the parking lot after a school board meeting,
"Madame Mayor," I began. I didn't have anything particular to say to her, and I knew she loathed inefficient chatter, but somehow my legs had carried me to her, and here I was. She smelled familiar, but I couldn't place where I knew the smell from. It was somewhere buried in my memories that refused to surface but haunted me regardless. It was a unique smell-like a campfire burning roses, and I couldn't imagine a perfume company selling something like that. I had to assume it was just her.
She turned around from where she was standing at the driver's door of her car, and her eyes were glassy and unfocused until they met mine, and then they were piercing and all fire.
"What is it, Miss Blanchard?" When anyone else said my name, I felt next to nothing, but when she said my name I felt everything all at once.
"I-" I really didn't know what to say, especially with her eyes searching me as they were. One of her hands was in a pocket of her blazer, and the other was on her car-it was tense and looked as though it would claw into the metal if it had the power. Her footing seemed unsteady, and worry arrested me. Mayor Mills never appeared shaken in any way, but here in the parking lot, she looked like a caged animal, her eyes powerful but her body weak. It reminded me of something, and a dove cooed in the distance-or maybe it was a pigeon-and I felt strange. She was staring at me, waiting for me to say something, so I did. "Are you feeling all right?"
She straightened her posture, and something blazed in her eyes, and I knew she really wasn't feeling all right at all, and I knew it was none of my business, but I somehow wanted it to be.
"Surely you didn't follow me out to my car just to make small talk."
"No, I-" Maybe I had followed her out to her car just to make small talk, but maybe I wanted to say something real to her. It was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't say it. I didn't even know what it was.
"Well, run along, then, dear." She turned too quickly and lost her balance briefly. I reached out to her, and she grabbed my outstretched arm. Our eyes met, and hers flashed with fear and then anger, and they reminded me again of the same thing her smell reminded me of-that thing in the back of my brain that wouldn't come to the front, that lived in a rolling sea of forgotten memories, tossing turbulently and occasionally washing over my senses but only ever enough to dampen the bow and leave a salty taste in my mouth.
"Can I see you home?" I said before I lost my nerve. She tightened her grip on my arm, and I could feel her nails and the heat of her palm. It felt unnaturally hot, and I wondered if she had a fever.
"I'd rather you didn't," she said, but her hand was still clutching my arm, forcefully and almost painfully.
"I don't want to overstep my bounds," I said. "But I don't think you should be driving."
"And you always know what's best, don't you, Miss Blanchard." She pulled me toward her with that grip on my arm. "I'm fine," she said in a growl. She released me in a way that was more like throwing me away and stared at me for another moment. If I hadn't known better, I would've suspected she was daring me in some way.
I backed away without a word, and she got into her car. I could see through the window that her hands were trembling and she was trying to gain control of them by gripping the steering wheel the way she'd gripped my arm. Her head rolled back onto her headrest, and she shut her eyes. After a moment, she scooted across the bench seat and opened her eyes to pierce me again with them, and she motioned for me to get in. I did.
"Drive me home if you must, but don't talk to me," she said, and her head rolled back onto the passenger's side headrest, and her hands held the hem of her skirt, white-knuckled.
I spent a few seconds looking at her, wondering what was wrong with her and wondering whether this was a good idea until she cleared her throat, and I turned her keys in the ignition.
I stared straight out at the road in front of me, and intermittently I could feel her eyes on me. The air in the car was heavy and humid, and I wanted to ask her questions. Actually I didn't want to ask her questions. I always had trouble asking her questions. I wanted her to volunteer the information I wanted to know, but I knew she wouldn't do that, especially because I couldn't exactly name all the information I wanted to know. Mostly-at this moment, anyway-I wanted to know why she looked as though she was about to faint.
When we arrived at her house, I parked, and we sat in silence for almost a whole minute before she said,
"Aren't you going to open the door for me?" She hadn't moved-hadn't even opened her eyes, and I hadn't moved either. I had barely breathed. I couldn't anticipate her, and so I waited for specific instructions. I was sure I seemed stupid. And I felt stupid. I would have taken anyone home if they seemed ill, but I was sure I wouldn't feel so stupid about it. I felt as though I was more of a burden than anything, and I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe I should just run away as fast as I could.
I got out and opened her door for her anyway. She took my hand that I hadn't even consciously offered, and I supported her weight as we walked to her house. We had never been this close, and the feel of her and the scent of her set off an unidentifiable alarm in my brain.
Once inside, she deposited herself on her couch. I couldn't be sure she'd ever opened her eyes on the trip here as they were shut still or again, and I stood in the middle of her living room wringing my hands, waiting for something.
"Pour us a drink, dear." She could've been using the editorial plural, but I wasn't sure, so I poured us both brandy. I didn't like alcohol much, but my mother had always said a little brandy cured all ills. I cleared my throat as I leaned in to hand her the drink, and her eyes shot open. They were glistening, and something in them frightened me-something mean and dark, which she tried to cover as she reached for the drink in my shaking hand.
"Thank you, dear," she said with a smile that was more sneer than anything else.
I took a drink and tried not to notice the way her eyes were plumbing the depths of my face.
"Have a seat," she said.
"I really ought to be on my way," I said. She scoffed.
"Funny, you don't seem like the type of girl who drinks and runs." We locked eyes, and the meanness was still there, but it was sparkling invitingly, like a game that was only fun if both of us were playing. I sat against my better judgment. "There. Much better," she said in kind of a purr. "It's a good thing you were in that parking lot, Miss Blanchard. I might not have made it home."
"Um yes," I said. "But. How did you get there in the first place?" I had seen her during the meeting-pale and shaky.
"By sheer force of will," she said, taking a long drink.
"You're certainly very dedicated." I watched as one finger traced a pattern on her thigh.
"Not the worst thing that's ever been said about me." The finger continued tracing over to the armrest, and her eyes watched it, too, until they snapped back to me, searching me for what I would say next.
"Well, I'm sure all politicians have their share of enemies."
"Is that a polite way of saying I shouldn't count on your vote in the next election?" She was still purring, and I was uncomfortable, but I decided to play along anyway. It was a strange game, and I didn't know the rules.
"I haven't exactly read your platform," I said. I took a drink. She laughed.
"Well, I'd like to be able to say I'm above buying votes, but here you are in my living room, drinking my liquor."
"It's very good liquor, at least," I said, venturing a small smile. She laughed again.
"Will you be that cheaply bought, Miss Blanchard?" She resumed tracing the armrest, but neither of us watched this time. Our eyes were on each other.
"I was merely complimenting your taste. I never promised anything."
"Of course. You wouldn't, would you?" she said, her eyes and voice taunting me with something I couldn't identify.
"I don't know. I've been known to promise a lot of things." It had come from the back of my mind, and I couldn't stop it, and now it was out, and it had done something to her, somehow. Something receded in her eyes, and they were no longer glistening.
"Yes, well. It's been lovely chatting with you, but I'm tired."
"Yes, of course!" I said, standing, mercifully not spilling the rest of my drink.
"I'm sure you can find the door."
I did. And then I was standing in her driveway without a ride home.
I walked back toward the district office feeling tense and sad. I wasn't sure if I was more tense and sad before or after our strange interaction.
xxxxx
I dreamt I was running through the woods. I didn't know if I was running toward something or away from something; I knew only that I needed to be in motion.
I woke up sweating, and I reached for my dream journal, which might as well have been made of post-its for how much I couldn't usually remember.
A scrap of paper fell out. It was a folded sheet of letterhead bearing the mayor's monogram. I opened it and found my handwriting describing a dream in which Regina-that was how I described her in the note-and I kissed, and then, when we pressed our bodies together, and I thought she would deepen the kiss, she strangled me instead.
I lay in bed the rest of the night with the note on my stomach. I did not remember that dream, and I certainly did not know why I would have written it on her letterhead and then hidden it in my dream journal.
I spent what seemed like an eternity drifting in and out of a restless sleep until my alarm clock rang. I would be very tired for the school play tonight, but I had a strange feeling that wouldn't be the worst part of the evening.
And of course I had been right. I was just taking off my wig when I heard footsteps behind me in the dressing room. Somehow I knew it was her before I turned and saw her with her hands in her blazer pockets and a mean smile on her face. The room felt smaller with her in it, and my eyes flitted toward the exit before I could stop them with the part of my brain that knew she would neither be kissing me nor murdering me. I didn't know which was the more frightening thought.
"Oh. Excuse me. I thought this was the ladies' room," she said, her voice velvet and lilting.
"It's down the hall, to the left." She moved toward me instead of away.
"If you don't mind, I just wanted to fix my lipstick anyway."
"It looks fine to me." Yes, I had looked at her lips, and yes, I could have kicked myself.
"I'm glad you approve, dear. But I'd like to check it myself." She was next to me now, and we were both looking at her in the mirror. "Am I-disturbing you? Shouldn't you be taking off your costume or something?" she said without looking at me.
"Yes," I said, moving my hands down to the buttons of my faux cow-hide vest and willing my eyes to do the same. This was absurd. It was a dream I didn't even remember, and I didn't have to be weird about disrobing in front of another woman. "What did you think of the play?" I said, mostly to distract myself.
"I found it deplorable." She looked at me then in the mirror. Her eyes were smiling that mean smile again. "In fact, if I weren't counting on the education constituency, who seem to adore you, I would have you fired for presenting such trash."
"You're joking," I said, flabbergasted.
"Ask anyone, dear. I don't have much of a sense of humor." But her eyes were laughing, and I felt small and cornered.
"But I-it's just a play. For children."
"Yes, but it would be nice if the children had some adult supervision." She turned away from the mirror to face me. I got the feeling again that she was daring me, goading me, and I instinctively somewhere in my gut wanted to take the challenge, but I wasn't sure how. I was angry, but not as angry as I should have been, and I didn't know what I should do about that, either.
"I fail to see what you're trying to accomplish, Mayor Mills." I had thought it would sound as good as it had felt to say it, but her eyes turned from laughing mean to just plain mean, and I felt even more cornered but like I might be able to claw my way out if I had to.
"I suppose someone as coddled and fawned over as you wouldn't consider this mentoring," she said lightly but with venom.
"You're right. I would consider this bullying." I stood straight, and I felt strong. I didn't know where the strength was coming from.
"Oh? And if I were to lodge a formal complaint? Would that also be bullying? Or would that be a concerned citizen reacting to an ineffectual teacher?" She enunciated each word so clearly that it made me want to do something, anything to get her to stop talking. She was fire, and I thought maybe ice might do it.
"Do what you like. You have no basis for a complaint," I said.
"Don't I? This play is counterfactual, not to mention asinine." We were close together, and that fire-burning-roses smell was making me reel.
"I doubt they'd even reprimand me over that little evidence of my ineptness." She laughed, and there was alcohol on her breath.
"I'm sure there's plenty more evidence to be found." If I inhaled just right I'd be able to identify exactly what alcohol she'd been drinking. I didn't know why it suddenly made a difference to me.
"If there is, I'd be more than happy for you to find it. For my own edification." Her liquor was somehow making me bold. In fact, it might have been I who had closed the distance between us. Her eyebrow rose, and her eyes were gleaming. "Feel free to come audit my class any time you'd like."
"Oh, I will, Miss Blanchard." She looked me up and down. "And be sure to remember to take off that costume. However ridiculous it is, it is city property, after all." She flipped her hair and walked out.
I had heard rumors-that I had discounted because I had figured she was just a person with regular person problems like any of us-that she liked to meddle, rile people up, have her way and enjoy the ensuing carnage, but I'd never encountered it before. But here she was, invading dreams I'd forgotten I'd had and accosting me in dressing rooms. There was something in me that suspected she wanted something from me, and I didn't know what that something was. Most disconcertingly, I wanted to give it to her, and I wanted something in return-something intangible. Maybe whatever it was would come to me in a dream.
It was a nightmare. I didn't remember it when I woke, but I was sure it was a nightmare from the way I wanted to cry when the birds chirped at me from the window, seemingly taunting me with something they knew and I didn't, which was ludicrous, but I cried anyway.
I had a half-day in-service in the afternoon, and I didn't know what to do with my morning. I thought about going to see that handsome coma patient at the hospital, but I wanted to talk to someone who would talk back, open their eyes and see me, smell like something other than a hospital.
Before I knew it, I was outside the mayor's office. I didn't want to see her, but somehow I had packed up my lesson plans, planning to prove something to her somehow.
Her voice told me to come in, and I did, and I suddenly wasn't so strong. She was sitting behind her desk wearing red and looking as though she was expecting me, smirking with her red lips, and laughing with her smoky eyes. I didn't know why I'd thought it'd be a good idea to come here today and call attention to myself. She hadn't shown up to audit my class yet-it had been weeks, months, maybe-and I had been anticipating it with something that wasn't exactly fear but should have been.
"Hello, Mayor Mills." I took a deep breath and decided to be forthright and then leave as quickly as possible. "I assume you have not visited my classroom because you're a very busy woman. So I thought I would make it easier on you and bring you my lesson plans through the end of the school year." I had made it all in one breath and was now trying not to pant as I looked at her looking at me.
"That's very thoughtful of you, dear." She paused and licked her lips, and I shouldn't have watched so closely, but I did, and I wanted to run away. "If you would just put them on my desk."
I walked closer, and her scent almost overpowered me. The circulation in this room must have been bad. I set the manila envelope on her desk and then stood there. I expected something. I almost flinched with expectation, and I didn't know what the expectation was. Finally, she said,
"Surely you have somewhere to be."
"I-of course I do, I-" Her eyebrows rose, and her eyes were laughing. Her mouth laughed, too.
"You didn't come by to ask me to lunch, did you?"
"No! I-"
"Goodness, dear. It was a joke." She was smirking still, and her eyes were gleaming again, and I needed to say something to make them either keep gleaming or stop gleaming.
"I thought you said you didn't have a sense of humor."
"Perhaps I did. Regardless, my schedule is full." She pushed the envelope a little ways across her desk with her pen and then looked back up at me.
"So is mine," I said. I was more relieved than anything else, but that little bit of something else nudged something in my brain, and I felt strange.
"Another time, then." Surely she didn't mean it. Her eyes said she didn't but that she was prodding me.
"Next week, before you audit my class," It rushed out before I could stop it, before I could even think what I was doing. I did not want to have lunch with this woman. But my words said otherwise.
"I am not eating at a school cafeteria," she said, still prodding, still smirking, still looking at me with a laugh in her eyes.
"I'll bring something." No! I would not either bring something. What was I doing?
"I hope you're not a vegetarian, Miss Blanchard. Because I do adore red meat." What was she doing? Was she flirting with me?
"At least we have one thing in common." Was I flirting with her? I needed to get out of here. If our previous interactions were any indication, she was bad news. She was probably doing this just to get enough dirt on me to fire me-although I had no idea why she wanted to do that, either. I was at a complete loss, and my heart was beating fast from the anxiety of it all, or maybe something else. If only she would talk to me instead of glare at me and say strange things to me.
"I'm sure we have more than one thing in common," she said almost offhandedly. We peered at each other. She was searching me, and I was searching her, and I didn't know if either of us were getting anywhere. She then opened the envelope and paged to next week. "How about I come in for this-" she sneered "-birdhouse thing."
"Yes. Good idea. You'll like the birdhouse unit, it's-"
"I'm sure I won't." And the gleam was gone. She was cold and professional, and I needed to get out.
xxxxx
The steak was slightly undercooked so that when I microwaved it it would be perfect. I had spent too much time on preparing everything about this day, and I didn't know what I expected, but I was certain I was prepared.
Except I wasn't at all, of course.
She was wearing red again, and I wasn't prepared to blush about it, but I did. And then I wasn't prepared for the way she was flaring at me already, eyes gleaming mean and daring but mostly mean. I was standing in front of my desk, and she charged in to within inches of me.
"I'll have you know, Miss Blanchard, that I'm here only to put a stop to this useless expenditure of resources. This unit is poorly planned, completely impractical, and downright stupid."
"Excuse me?" I said.
"Are you deaf as well as incompetent?"
"How dare you barge in here and-"
"One cannot barge into a place one was invited." And there was the daring gleam again. It must have been true: She must have hinged her life upon riling people up. Fine. I wouldn't be riled. That would show her I was someone.
"Of course. You're right. If you'll excuse me, I'll just go and get your red meat."
"Eat it yourself. You'll need those calories when you're out of a job." She smelled of alcohol again, and it warmed my cheeks as much as it turned my stomach.
"If I can be fired for a well-received unit I've been doing for years, can a mayor be fired for drinking on the job?" I hadn't meant to get riled, but there I was. Maybe I just wanted to give her what she wanted, whatever that was. She looked into my face, and she looked as if she was about to say something completely cutting, but then she paused and laughed.
"There aren't any specific regulations against it. So you may have a hard time in litigation." I was taken aback, but I tried not to show it.
"Lucky for you," I said. She laughed again.
"Now back to the matter at hand," she said, trying to suppress her smile.
"No. I will not discuss it further," I said, drawing strength from somewhere, maybe her eyes. I shuddered at the thought. "If you'd like to file a complaint, do it. If not-"
"If not, what? Get out of your classroom? I don't think so, Miss Blanchard. As we've discussed previously, you invited me. It would be rude not to accept."
"And what about your attitude today hasn't already been rude?" She paused and looked me up and down.
"Excuse me, dear. I always forget one is supposed to compliment one's hostess before one launches into business talk." She looked me up and down again and licked her red lips. "Thank you for inviting me to audit your class. Your cardigan is very flattering." We stared at each other.
"Thank you," I said, not knowing what else there was to say. Maybe it was the liquor. Maybe she wasn't always this strange. But why was she drinking so much? I didn't have the chance to think about it further because she was sitting on my desk now, and her knee brushed me when she crossed her legs.
"Can I sit here, or would you prefer me in the back?" she said, just this side of suggestive.
"I think you might distract the students."
"Oh?" I cleared my throat.
"I mean, they'll probably think it's strange that the mayor is here in the first place." She smiled.
"Of course, dear. Put me wherever makes you most comfortable."
I wouldn't have been comfortable if she'd been watching via satellite from her summer home on Mars.
"Just. In the back somewhere. We'll be working at these tables in front."
The students filed in a few seconds after she'd gotten settled. My stomach was upset from not having eaten lunch and a strange flashback to a dream I half remembered from the night before about eating something sweet and falling down with Regina Mills laughing above me.
She was watching me the entire lesson, and she was taking notes, and I was trying not to panic. I didn't know what there was to panic about: the lesson was solid, and as I gave my final lecture about birds who find their way home, I had gained my stride again. This was probably the best I'd ever delivered this speech, and I couldn't tell whether it was because she was there or in spite of her being there. Either way there was a correlation, and if she would talk to me about it, I might be able to figure it out.
I caught her eyes as the bell chimed. They were gleaming a dare, not as mean, or maybe I was imagining that.
"As excruciating as that was," she said when the children had gone, "I'll be back tomorrow for the rest of the lesson."
She walked toward the door and then turned back.
"And you owe me a meal, Miss Blanchard."
I didn't know if I'd won or lost. I didn't know what the game was, and I didn't know whether that steak would heat up again, but I knew-although I tried so very hard not to-I wanted to watch her eat it.