A/N: Lost And Delirious is one of my favorite movies, ever. I'm actually a little obsessed with it. Ever since I saw it for the first time, I've been showing it to everyone I know. Most people think I'm just weird, or want to know why I would want them to watch such a sad movie. In other words, they don't really get it.
One person I showed it to thought that there wasn't enough back story to justify Paulie's devotion to Tori. Which got me thinking about how the two of them might've met, and how their relationship developed. So, this is my attempt at a prequel.
I've been working on this thing, on and off, (mostly off), for about a year and a half, and I still think it sucks, but this is probably about as good as I can do, so I thought I'd post it. It's got a whole bunch of chapters, but it takes me forever to final edit a chapter, so I don't know how long it'll be before it's all up.
Enjoy. Or something.
You know my policy on reviews: do what thou wilt. I read them all, and I always try to respond back.
The fly sez: bzzzzz!
Disclaimer: The characters in the following pages belong mostly to Lea Pool, Judith Thompson, and Susan Swan.
When she was younger, she believed that if she just wished long enough, hard enough, she would find herself somewhere else. Somewhere nicer, or at least calmer. It never really worked, and after a while she stopped trying. But now, walking along the dimly lit hallway, she feels it again. For the first time in years, she just wants to close her eyes and wish herself away.
Paulie Oster walks between the familiar figures of her adoptive parents, like a condemned prisoner walking the dead man's mile, focused on ignoring the cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. Trying not to do or say anything. Trying to be invisible.
The building feels ancient, a remnant of some long gone era. The hallway stretches into the distance, walls and shadows melding together into the gloom. She is stiffly conscious of the anachronistic quality of the place, its imposing timelessness. The impression is compounded by the crisply tailored uniform she's been crammed into – maroon blazer over a crisp white blouse, checkered skirt, knee high socks. Even a matching tie. She had gagged at the color when she first saw it, but here she is, looking for all the world like something out of Rockwell.
Their little procession stops suddenly, next to a heavy wooden door, the dark brown of the wood speckled with black knots at irregular intervals. Paulie's father opens it and ushers them through into a dusky foyer. Their entrance stirs up eddies of dust motes, sets them swirling in the rays of sunlight that come in through the open office door beyond, striping the right wall. He puts Paulie's suitcase down against the wall.
"Miss Vaughn?" He calls toward the doorway. Paulie stops short. Miss?
"Yes, yes," a low, trembling voice answers from within. "Please, please, come in."
They step through into a cavernous office, furnished in a way that draws everything closer together, makes the space feel confining. The only light comes from large windows that stretch almost from floor to ceiling, washing the room in the angled light of the post noon sun.
A withered husk of a woman, stooped and grey, sits behind a huge desk of black mahogany, her face like a Shar-Pei's, wrinkle on wrinkle, fold on fold, her eyes sunken behind a web of blue-hued capillaries. The desk is covered in papers, books, folders, odds and ends. A large gold-edged nameplate sits in the center, doubling as a pen holder. Miss Vaughn, reads the gold-plated engraving in large institutional block letters, and underneath, Head Mistress.
The crone rises as they enter, navigates her way around the giant desk. The ancient clay of her face cracks and creases into a professional smile.
"Well, hello, Mrs. Oster," she intones, with exaggerated warmth. "Mr. Oster."
The pleasantries begin. Paulie watches the adults go through their carefully choreographed routine, old stage pros pantomiming through a well-rehearsed scene, feeling disconnected. She is always struck by how everyone around her seems to be on the same page, as if they all got the script beforehand, and she's the only one left not knowing her lines, having to improvise. She wonders what it is she's missing; what her part might look like in print. Sometimes she wishes she could see it, learn it. Sometimes.
Her eyes shift among them, carefully observant. The predictability of these two people who call themselves her parents used to surprise, even amuse her. Now it just makes her bitter.
Janet, (she hasn't been Mom for almost a decade) is truly in her element in this type of situation. Paulie watches her preen and gesture, always prim and controlled, her patrician façade broken only by the occasional attempt at a smile. Paulie can't understand how other people can't see through it. But then, she can't understand many things. More and more as she gets older, it seems. Funny, you would think it would be the other way – life should make more sense, not less.
Then there's her father. Stalwart old Robert "Oh, Just Call Me Bob" Oster. Sincerity and good cheer just radiate from his disarmingly ruddy exterior. His smile is at least more than a muscle twitch, but it's still oily and as fake as zirconium. At work, Call Me Bob is a stern, if kindly, taskmaster; but here, in a social setting, he is a well-trained dog, taking his cues from his icy mistress. Bob mostly smiles and looks beatific, chiming in only when Janet leaves him an opening, or feeds him a line. He knows his place.
"Miss Vaughn." Janet deigns to acknowledge the woman's greeting with a polite nod.
"Please," chuckles Bob, right on cue. "Just call me Bob."
"Thank you so much for doing this on such short notice." Janet's voice contains little actual gratitude.
"Yes, that was awfully nice." adds Bob.
"Not at all, not at all." Miss Vaughn waves it off.
Paulie mostly tunes out the dialog. She expects that she could probably mouth her parents' lines, if called upon. She knows them well enough. It's the third actor in this little play who holds most of her attention.
Miss Vaughn's voice quavers, at times seemingly beyond her control; her responses and mannerisms are intentionally exaggerated, as if she's always playing for some unseen audience, beyond the fourth wall. And yet. And yet…
There is something about this woman that is familiar to Paulie. Something beyond her public face, something deeper. She feels a strange sense of connection, as if meeting a kindred spirit. Which just throws her off more, adds to her displacement.
After a few more inanities, those rheumy eyes focus on Paulie; for just one second they lock into each other. She seems to look right into Paulie, and there is something indescribable behind the well-composed lines of her ancient face. Something old and wise, with just a trace of mischief. Despite herself, Paulie almost smiles. She catches herself, narrows her eyes, fights to keep her face blank.
"Well." Miss Vaughn takes a step in Paulie's direction. "You must be Pauline."
"Paulie." Paulie corrects curtly, seeing Janet stiffen on her periphery. She likes the nickname for its gender ambiguity. The fact that even now, years later, Janet hates the sound of it is just a bonus.
Miss Vaughn gauges her, extends a claw, as rumpled as her face, and seeming to quiver under its own weight.
"I'm Miss Vaughn." she says, steadily. "The headmistress here at Perkins."
"Nice to meet you." says Paulie, stiffly, ignoring the proffered hand.
"Paulie!" hisses Janet, offended by this breech of etiquette. She gives her daughter a withering look.
"It's all right," Miss Vaughn reassures her, without taking those inquisitive eyes off Paulie. "I'm sure once Paulie and I get to know each other better we'll be really good friends."
Paulie makes a rude noise, earning her another look from Janet. She lets it slide off her, focuses her attention on the spot on the carpet between her feet. An uncomfortable silence descends.
"Yes, well," Janet says, finally, clearing her throat. She shifts in place a bit, "I suppose we should get going. It's a long ride back to the hotel."
"Yes, yes, you're right." chimes in Bob. "A long ride."
"I'll walk you out." Miss Vaughn offers. "Why don't you have a seat, Paulie. We'll talk a bit more."
Janet puts her arms around her daughter, stiffly. Paulie turns away, impassive, a rag doll in her embrace.
"Remember, Paulie, this is your last chance," whispers Janet, sternly. "Don't blow this one."
Paulie says nothing. What would be the point.
Bob waits his turn, patiently. His hug is a bit deeper, and Paulie's sensitive nostrils are temporarily overwhelmed by his excessive cologne. He rubs her hair against the grain, as if petting a favorite dog.
"Take care of yourself, kiddo." he says, cheerily. "We'll see you for Christmas. Be good, now." And he chuckles at his own heartiness. Paulie fights nausea.
They turn for the door, Miss Vaughn falling into step behind them. They stop outside, in the foyer, murmuring in low voices, just below Paulie's hearing. She strains to make out a few words for a while, then gives up, settles onto the burgundy-upholstered couch opposite Miss Vaughn's desk.
Her eyes dart around the office, taking in the dusty bookshelves, laden with large, worn volumes, the cluttered desk, the large window casting elongated shadows on the wall in the late summer sun. She lets her back slide until her neck rests against the back of the couch. Young ladies sit with their legs together, Janet's voice pipes up in her head. Shut the hell up, Janet, retorts Paulie, inwardly, partings her legs further, idly toying with the hem of the ridiculous skirt. She zones out.
Eventually, Miss Vaughn bustles back through the door, settles comfortably into the big chair behind her desk. She puts her hands together in front of her, regards Paulie calmly over them. Paulie stares back, blank and disinterested.
"So, "says Miss Vaughn. "How are you?"
"Terrific." replies Paulie. "Next question."
For one second she thinks she sees a flash of irritation in Miss Vaughn's eyes. Followed by something even more unexpected – admiration.
"You just don't give an inch, do you?" Miss Vaughn asks, not really expecting an answer. Paulie doesn't offer one.
"You're really quite lucky, you know." Miss Vaughn says, expansively. Paulie snorts, shifts slightly on the couch.
"If you say so."
"I do. Paulie, no matter what you think of it, Perkins is a good school. We pride ourselves on offering a, well, a complete education, if you will. We don't just teach you facts. We encourage you to think for yourself."
Paulie leans forward, feeling herself getting angry.
"Look, spare me the marketing brochure. Bob and Janet are paying you to keep their no good daughter out of their hair, that's all. If you're waiting for me to thank you, you're gonna wait a long time."
She stares the old crone down, but sees nothing at all in those passive eyes, eyes that seem to go all the way back to Miss Vaughn's skull. Despite herself, she switches position, looks out the window.
"You're wrong," Miss Vaughn says, calmly. "I'm not just doing this for your parents. Or for their money. We're not exactly poor, here, Paulie. We have hundreds of girls from well to do families enrolled. Some of them a lot wealthier than yours. I have sole final say over admissions."
"Fine, then." says Paulie, refocusing her eyes on Miss Vaughn's. "If you didn't do this for the money, then why did you decide to let me into your little paradise?"
Miss Vaughn smiles, a mysterious smile, with an element of genuine warmth in it.
"You won't believe this, Paulie," she says, "But I think I know a little something about you. I believe that you are an extraordinary person. I just think you're a little lost. And, well, maybe I also think we can help you find yourself here. At least a little bit."
Paulie says nothing for long moments, trying to figure out this woman's game. And failing.
The silence is broken by a small noise from the vestibule. Miss Vaughn breaks eye contact first.
"Ah. There we are." she smiles. "While we're on the subject of extraordinary, I'd like to introduce you to another extraordinary person here at Perkins. Come in, Victoria, dear." she calls over Paulie's right shoulder.
Paulie turns, to see a tall, brown-haired girl carefully entering the room.
"Paulie Oster," Miss Vaughn waves her hand in the girl's direction. "Victoria Moller."
The new arrival stands half in shadow in the light of the setting sun. Small freckles stand out against her smooth, creamy skin, tiny imperfections. Her small, pert nose sits nearly center on her face, in perfect proportion. Her eyes are a deep emerald green, with shades of color playing in their depths.
"Hi, "she says, her voice soft and musical, smiling. Her smile is the brightest Paulie's ever seen. It lights up her whole face. She's beautiful.
Paulie turns away, without returning the greeting.
"Victoria recently lost her roommate." says Miss Vaughn, by way of conversation. "What was it, last year, that Linda graduated?"
"Yeah." the girl confirms. "Last spring."
"Yes." Miss Vaughn continues. "So, she has a big room, with lots of space, all to herself. And… she's volunteered to be your roommate this year. I think the two of you will get along famously."
Paulie casts a sidelong glance at the girl, then turns back to Miss Vaughn. The head mistress just looks back, with that placid smile.
"Victoria, why don't you show Paulie to your room?" she asks.
"Ok." the girl replies, softly.
Miss Vaughn turns back to the paperwork cluttering her desk. Realizing she's been dismissed, Paulie gets up and heads for the vestibule, walking forcefully.
"Paulie?" Miss Vaughn calls after her. Paulie stops without turning around.
"I'm looking forward to getting to know you." Miss Vaughn says, to her back, without missing a beat. "And just remember, if you ever want to talk, my door is always open."
Paulie pauses for an extra second, still turned away.
"I'll keep that in mind." She throws over her shoulder, derisively, then walks past the other girl and into the vestibule.
Victoria turns and walks with her. When they get to Paulie's suitcase, they both reach for it at the same time. For a split second, Paulie's fingers make brushing contact with the girl's soft, manicured hand. She stares hard into those deep emerald eyes.
Victoria offers her lovely smile again.
"I got it." Paulie says, sharply, brushing past her and out the office door.