Sorry this update has taken so long. Thanks (reluctantly) to those who have been erm . . . bugging me about it. See, I didn't forget it! (Although I had hoped maybe to forget it, and hoped no one would notice). Anyway, I have two excuses:
1) I decided to focus on my other story until I got it to a real stopping place (and if you haven't read it – please do! Despite my moaning and groaning and gnashing of teeth and woe-is-me whining about it, I can say that now I am pleased with how it turned out. Fair warning: it's quite long).
And excuse #2) I have a near crippling obsession with having an ending. And with this story, I just don't. So, it is my equivalent of working without a net, and I do not like that. But, due to that, I haven't decided exactly where this goes NEXT, so instead we will just have a chapter that is Juliet's POV for all the time the first three chapters were already about. OK? (Which, durn it, meant I actually had to go back and read them b/c I was like "What??? What's this all about?" And I hate to read things I've written. The things I do. . .) So, anyway, this is me spinning my wheels while I try to figure something else out. Here we go . . .
"Jim LaFleur: DI head of security for several years in mid-70s. Disappeared along with his wife under mysterious circumstances, 1977." So said Daniel's journal.
She couldn't decide if she was envious of James, or if she felt sorry for him. On the one hand – disappearing under mysterious circumstances? That sounded like some kind of time shift – maybe? Or whatever it was, "disappearing" meant he wasn't here. She'd give just about anything to know that at some point in time, she'd be off this Godforsaken island. On the other hand, 1977? That was three years from now! Maybe he was stuck here until 1977, but the rest of them had a chance to get out before then, right?
But, then, why would they all leave before 1977, leaving James here? They wouldn't go without him, right? Why in the world would they leave him here? Maybe they were stuck until 1977 after all, damn it. Except . . "along with his wife . ." Of course! He would stay behind for this Mrs. LaFleur person. And Juliet, Dan, Miles, and Jin would try to convince him to go back to 2004 or 2005 or whenever, but he'd stay behind with his wife. Yes! That was it exactly! Problem solved. Now – how to get back to 2004?
"You do realize it's 1974, that whatever it is you think you're going back to... it don't exist yet."
This, she would have to concede, was correct. She'd been planning on staying only the promised two weeks, but then Horace stuck them for another 6 months. James had been right – what was the point in going back to 1974? If she wanted to get back to the right time, she'd have to stay here, and someone would have to figure it out.
Clearly, the person to figure it out was Daniel. Shattered, devastated, empty shell Daniel. Step 1 in her "back to the future" plan was to get Dan back on an even keel. She was the person to do it. Miles was too cynical; James and Daniel shared nothing but mutual disdain; Jin would be perfect if he could actually communicate. Too bad Charlotte wasn't around to translate. But if Charlotte were around to translate, Daniel wouldn't be such a mess.
It was Thursday night, and Juliet's plan was to pull Daniel aside, sit with him, and do something mindless. She'd found the perfect solution in the Dharma rec room – Battleship. Mindless – yes. Even better, it was only a two-player game, so even if Miles happened upon them, he couldn't beg his way into the game. Tonight, she'd just sit and play Battleship with Daniel. She'd keep it up as long as necessary, until he started feeling comfortable with her – even if it took playing Battleship with him for the rest of the year. That was the first step.
She tucked the game box under her arm and headed for their bunkroom. James was sitting on the front porch, legs resting on the porch rails, a beer can in his hand, and the five remaining unopened six-pack cans at his feet.
"Evenin', Admiral," he drawled, gesturing at the game.
"Hey," she blew on by him and into the bunkroom. Empty. "Seen Dan?" she asked, reappearing on the front porch.
"Nope." He took a long swig of beer. "Ain't seen him all day in fact."
She sat down next to him. "I was going to get him to play Battleship and try to earn his trust a little bit." She sighed deeply. She couldn't even get step 1 of her plan off the ground. "Gonna drink all those?" She gestured at the remaining beer cans.
"I'll share in exchange for a few rounds of Battleship," he said.
Well, hmmmmm. She really wanted a beer. Or two or three. But she wasn't sure she was in the mood for James and all his "Others this, Others that, How's life in New Otherton? Do you prefer to be called 'an Other' or 'a Hostile'?" BS. That wasn't entirely fair of her – she realized the absurdity of the situation, and from time to time even made fun of it herself. And James was surprisingly a really great companion when he wasn't trying to get her goat about her life with "The Others." Tonight, though? Tonight she wasn't in the mood for it. But those beers looked so good . . .
Two hours later, after who knows how many rounds of Battleship, after James had tracked down another six pack, after she finished her fourth beer, after he had finished his sixth, she realized, vaguely, through an alcohol-fuzzed daze, that he hadn't brought up The Others once.
"This is fun!" she laughed. "Growing up, my sister never wanted to play Battleship. She said it was a 'boys game,' and made me play with her Barbies. I always got to be Barbie's maid."
"Barbie's maid – BM," he chuckled, slurring his words just a bit. "Hey, BM, I just sank your battleship!" BM! She laughed, an honest, loud, whopper of a laugh. Oh geez. Potty humor. That was as good a sign as any that it was time to call it a night.
"All right. I think that's it for me," she said.
"We oughtta put this on the schedule. Thursday nights – beer and Battleship."
Yeah, maybe she could figure out another way to get Daniel to open up. Playing Battleship with James was too much fun to waste on mumbling Dan.
Life went on and they slowly but surely settled into the nine-to-five grind.
They'd all been shocked when Daniel got assigned to a construction crew at the Orchid. According to Locke, that was where "all this" had begun. That their resident time-travel expert was now working there had to be a good thing. Unfortunately, "Daniel's working at the Orchid" was about the extent of their knowledge of his doings there. While the rest of them had settled into a weird, familial companionship, Daniel came in and out of their lives like a ghost. He might come into their bunkroom, he might flip through his journal, he might mumble a few unintelligible things. They trusted he was working things out, but they worried, too, that he would blow their cover.
Because aside from Daniel, the rest of them were about as perfectly suited to living this lie as anyone possibly could be. James, as he had pointed out, was a professional. Jin didn't speak enough English to give away anything. Miles was a smooth operator who enjoyed a good lark. And Juliet? She'd had three years' worth of practice sublimating the "real" her. This was just more of the same -- only in a different time.
So, they lived their fake lives, and worked their fake jobs, and shared their fake histories. And they waited. Juliet's initial "back to the future" plan -- the plan to get Daniel up and operating again -- never really got off the ground. But if his assignment at the Orchid was any indication, maybe he was doing a good enough job of it himself. So, for the time being at least, the "back to the future" plan required no action on her part. And so she waited. Her job at the garage was taking up enough of her time, anyway. She'd had to pass both a practical and a written test on VW bus repair (and would move on to the Jeeps when she finished this), but she really didn't mind the studying. For the most part.
The night before her VW written test, she'd felt wholly confident.
"Here," she said, throwing her repair manual over to James in his bunk. "Ask me anything from this."
"All right," he consented. Then he spent minutes and minutes flipping through the book.
"It's not a novel," she said. "Just ask a question."
"I'm lookin'. Hold your damn horses. OK, what is the engine capacity of the 66 horsepower engine?"
She thought. They only had one 66 hp van. That was the #4 van. She had a mnemonic device to remember all these things. But what was it? Oh yes. "1.8 liters."
"Nope."
"Excuse me?"
"That ain't right. The 1.8 liter is the capacity of the 68 horsepower engine. Guess again."
"No, I'm sure I'm right. You don't know what you're talking about."
"That's true -- I don't know jack shit about any of this. But I can read, and right here on page 16, it's very clear. Look." He handed back the book. Damn. He was right. Maybe she wasn't ready for the big test. He was chuckling.
"What?" she asked, and it came out much more harshly than she'd meant it to.
"You." He kept chuckling. "It's one question. Don't sweat it. Give the book back, I'll ask another."
Maddening. He was smiling. Gloating. "Forget it," she huffed and stormed off.
She liked the guys, but she was getting more than a little tired of living with them. Like the time they were sitting on their porch and a handful of D.I. women walk by.
"Holy blue balls, Batman. I am so horny," he said.
She wanted to stuff her fingers in her ears and sing "la la la la la." She did not need or want to hear about this. But once he knew it bugged her, he'd make sure to bring it up a few times a week just to piss her off.
"Horny? What does this mean?" asked Jin.
"It means I want to have sex. I really, really want to have sex. We've been here for half a year, and I can't even get a woman to look twice at me. And it doesn't help that anytime someone might possibly be interested, LaFleur freaks out. He's so afraid of commitment, he even gets freaked if I spend too much time with a woman."
"It's not that he's afraid of commitment, Miles," Juliet said. "He just doesn't want Daniel to be right about us having always been here."
"Well, aren't you insightful," Miles snarked. "Just so you know -- Daniel is right. I'm sure of it. I'll lay you a bet that he's right."
"A bet?" Jin asked, interested.
"In fact, if I think long enough about it, I can even tell you who this mysterious Mrs. LaFleur is."
"OK," said Jin. Juliet chuckled. Jin was very competitive, and if anything involved a "winner," he was sure to be in on it. "Who do you think?" Jin asked Miles.
"Hmmmmmmm," Miles pondered.
"Any day now," Juliet prodded.
"Chill out. This is an important decision. What about you? You're so full of insight into his psyche."
"I don't know, I'd have to think about it," she answered.
"I don't mean who do you think it could be. I mean it could be you. You could be Mrs. LaFleur."
She glared at him. Jin was laughing. "That's absurd," she finally spat. Seriously.
"Well if it ain't the The Three Stooges." James appeared out of nowhere and walked up to them on the porch. They immediately fell silent. "What's the good news?" he asked. More silence and guilty stares. She hoped he didn't catch on that they'd been talking about him.
Jin saved the day by answering, "Miles says he is horny."
"No shit, Sherlock. Who the hell isn't?" James replied before walking inside the bunkroom, leaving the three of them to pick up their conversation.
"Sheila," declared Miles. "Only so long a man can go without scratching that itch, and from what I can tell, Sheila's the fastest way to getting some somethin' somethin'. He'll think he's just getting a fuck buddy, but Sheila will be Mrs. LaFleur. Mark my words."
That they could be so crude bothered her a little bit. That they had no compunction about being so crude right in front of her bothered her a lot. Being "one of the guys" was taking some getting used to.
If hearing about Miles' sex life (or lack of it) was disgusting, other aspects of living with a bunch of men were simply irritating. Like the time she was in the shower, hair totally wet, before she realized her shampoo had gone missing. She ended up using the guys' shared bottle. She felt totally defeated. She went to work every day in a pair of work boots and blue coveralls. Couldn't she at least retain one minor feminine touch? But, no, now even her hair was going to smell like a man's.
"What the hell happened to my shampoo?" she stormed, once clean, dry, and re-dressed.
"Oh, sorry," James confessed. "I spilled it. I was gonna replace it today, but didn't get a chance. I'll get it tomorrow."
Fine. Accidents happen. But the next day he returned with a completely different kind of shampoo. "This isn't the kind I like," she said, disappointed.
"I know, but they don't make that kind anymore. Sorry," he said.
Fine. At least he tried. But when she went to the commissary two days later, she found five bottles of the correct shampoo.
She was so tired of living with men. James' heart was in the right place, but he was completely incapable of telling one shampoo from the next. Maddening.
Now, though, she had something to look forward to. The sub was coming next week. It meant that soon they'd get their new living accommodations. THANK GOD. She really was at the end of her rope. She didn't care how it worked out. They talked a lot about what arrangements they'd get. If they got two two-bedrooms, who'd live where? What if they had to share a three-bedroom? She could care less. She'd be out of this stifling bunkroom. She could have a nice, tidy little house.
The sub's arrival also meant Daniel was leaving for Ann Arbor. That had to be progress, right? They all wondered.
She realized, though, that she didn't have to sit idly by, waiting for Daniel to come up with something in Ann Arbor. She could take the "back to the future" plan into her own hands. About a month ago, she'd befriended Joe -- "Engineer," according to his coveralls. He'd come into the garage, returning a van, and she overheard him talking about the Orchid – the key to everything, she was sure. So, she casually struck up a conversation with him. Sure enough, he was supervising some of the construction work going on there. Fearful of seeming too interested in this, she'd filed it away, and then kept a sharp eye out for Joe. And, sure enough, how convenient! She happened to run into him in the cafeteria a few times a week and just happened to stay late at work when she knew he would be returning a vehicle.
Lucky for her, Joe's company was enjoyable. He had a degree from M.I.T. and was, like her, a lover of opera and some of the finer things in life she missed so much. He'd been with Dharma for just under a year. Just this time last year, he'd been to a Boston Pops concert. Last Christmas, he'd been in New York for the New York City Ballet's production of The Nutcracker. Her heart ached for all the things she'd missed. And here she was, a grease-stained wretch. When she didn't work at the garage, she lived with a bunch of men, and the highlight of her week was playing a 'boys' game' (Rachel had been right about that, she had slowly come to realize) and drinking too much beer straight from the can.
And then one night, over dinner, Joe was talking about the time his car broke down on Cape Cod. "Mechanics on the Cape aren't as good looking as they are here," he slipped in, and winked.
He was flirting with her! She felt so flattered. She should just flirt right back. It would be a lot easier getting some information out of him if he thought he could get her into bed. But . . . it would just be more lies, she realized. Flirting with him would be a total act. She'd missed her opportunity to flirt right back at him, because, maybe embarrassed at his forwardness, he glossed right over that little remark and went on talking.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she thought, as he continued telling about summers on the Cape. He was just her type – neat, clean-cut, sophisticated. And nice looking! He was gesturing now with his hands, so neat, soft, and well-manicured. Lovely hands. And . . . nothing doing. He was absolutely perfect for her, and she felt absolutely nothing for him. She sat, exasperated, trying desperately to stoke the fires of attraction.
By the time dinner ended, she was completely down in the dumps. She was now officially one of the guys. A smart, nice, good-looking man flirting with her, and she couldn't even muster the attraction necessary to fake flirting back.
Her return to the bunkroom did nothing to lighten her sour mood. As soon as she flung open the door, she heard Miles let loose with a loud belch. He didn't even apologize. Why should he? She was just one of the guys. She could hear Jin in the bathroom honking his nose into a tissue. OK, he'd been sick, but even so . . . Gah! Men! She couldn't handle this much longer. She sat down on her bed and began taking off her boots, tearing at her shoelaces, as if this were somehow their fault.
"Someone's in a mood," noted James, from his bunk. She just glared back at him. "Maybe I can cheer you up," he added.
What? What could he possibly say to cheer her up? She imagined a naughty joke. That sounded about right. She was so tired of pretending to be one of the guys. She didn't want to hear it. She took down her ponytail, and ran her fingers through her loose hair. Instead of getting on with his crude joke or whatever it was he thought was going to "cheer her up," James just stared. Great, she thought. Did she have something in her teeth? Grease on her forehead? Limp and dirty hair? Whatever. Did it even really matter? She was gross and disgusting and unfeminine, and she didn't need him staring at the grease in her hair to remind her of that. Maybe she should just fake it with Joe. A night or two away from this testosterone shack couldn't hurt.
"What?" she finally asked him. Stop staring and get on with it, she thought.
He shook his head, and thankfully stopped his staring. He reached under his pillow. "Here," he said, holding out a copy of Little House on the Prairie. "I found this when we were cleaning out the school room. I know you said Plum Creek was your favorite, but I didn't find that one. I'll keep an eye out, though."
She was shocked. How long ago had they talked about Little House? How had he remembered? Well, imagine that -- she was cheered up. She reached to take the book from him, and for the briefest of seconds, their fingers touched. And there is was – a little sizzle. The jolt of electricity she'd tried so hard to generate at dinner tonight with Joe.
James cleared his throat. "You gotta give it back when you're done, but maybe I'll track down Plum Creek before you finish it." The last fifteen seconds had left her a little stunned. She smiled at him, and he smiled back like the cat that ate the canary.
"Cheered up?" he asked.
Yes, she was. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. Maybe living here and sleeping three feet from him (and OK, 4 feet directly under Jin, and 6 feet from Miles) wasn't as bad as she was making it out to be.
"Yeah, I am. Thanks a lot," she answered.
"Good. 'Cause now I have to confess, I'm such a klutz. I spilled your shampoo again. And they really are out of that kind you like now."
Drat. He'd just been buttering her up so she wouldn't kill him when she had to go back to using their nasty-smelling Dharma Initiative Head and Shoulders knock-off.
Boy, was he mad. OK, betting on Mrs. LaFleur had been a stupid idea (for which she placed the blame squarely on Miles' shoulders). But when he'd discovered their little game two days ago, she'd apologized, genuinely and profusely. Yet he was still grumpy and ill-natured. That didn't mean they didn't play Battleship, but it did mean they sat there drinking and fuming. She took actual pleasure in sinking his ships. Normally the game was just an excuse to drink and spend time together, but tonight she really wanted to win.
Several rounds in, though, she'd had enough of his silent treatment. "If you're waiting for me to apologize again, you're going to be waiting an awfully long time," she said. He merely grunted. "Besides, if you weren't such a baby about the whole Mrs. LaFleur situation, we wouldn't take so much pleasure in making fun of you. Geez, lighten up a little. How bad could it be, anyway? There are a lot of nice people here if you took the time to get to know them."
"You mean like Joe?" he asked.
"Joe?" she repeated.
Harmless, perfect, enjoyable Joe. Despite a depressing lack of interest in Joe, two weeks ago she'd finally managed to finagle an invitation to the Orchid out of him. Only to have it rescinded the very next day when Joe came stammering into the garage. He'd "misread the situation," apologized for being too forward, and hoped he hadn't "stepped on any toes." He'd "had a talk with Horace," who "explained everything." And the best she could figure is it was Joe's clumsy and roundabout way of saying the Orchid was strictly off-limits to folks who didn't work there. And Joe's nervous demeanor made it perfectly clear that his "talk with Horace" must have been mighty one-sided. It actually made her chuckle to think of Horace reaming someone out.
So the "back to the future" plan had hit a dead end as far as Joe was concerned. And, yes, if she hadn't been attracted to him in the first place, it was even less attractive to see him so anxious, sweaty, and spluttery after one strong talking-to from Horace, of all people. Even so, she felt somewhat defensive of her friend now that James was in on the act.
"Yeah, Joe," James was even mocking his name. "I'll tell ya why I think these people get wiped out. They're too jumpy and nervous. Let's face it -- Dan fits right in. No wonder they let him on their team. This Joe fella, I meet him one time and he's all stammering and apologizing and nonsense. I was like, 'Whatever, man.' I mean, I ain't never even talked to the guy and he's apologizing. For what the hell, I'd like to know?"
"I'm not sure, but I think Horace chewed him out pretty bad for inviting me to the Orchid. I'm guessing he thought the 'Head of Security' was going to do the same."
"He was gonna take you to the Orchid?" he asked.
"Well, from what I gather, Horace ixnayed that," she answered.
"Good for Horace!"
"Don't you think it's a way out of here? Out of now? Don't you think we should know more about that place? Why in the world is it good that Horace axed the idea?"
"It's just so sexual," he said with obvious disdain.
"It's a greenhouse with weird time-travel properties. What is even remotely sexual about it?" she asked.
"It's all in the name. 'The Orchid.' It's just so Georgia O'Keeffe."
"Georgia O'Keeffe???"
"Yeah, she's this artist chick, who painted all these flowers that looked like women's . . ."
"Thanks for the art appreciation lesson," she interrupted. "I know who Georgia O'Keeffe is. It's just. . ."
"You're surprised I know who she is, right?"
Well, that was just the thing. She'd long ago stopped being surprised by all the things he knew. High brow, low brow . . . didn't matter. He knew that Mr. Edwards delivered Mary and Laura's Christmas presents when the river flooded. He knew Edward R. Murrow reported the blitz from London rooftops. He knew Aaron Copland used the Quaker hymn "Simple Gifts" in Appalachian Spring. He knew Skippy was the neighbor with the crush on Mallory in Family Ties. He knew Dan Marino held the record for touchdown passes in a season. He knew Celine Dion was married to some "creepy old dude."
It made her uneasy, how much he knew, how easily he could talk about anything. He was undeniably attractive. She doubted there was a straight woman alive who could argue that position. She considered herself lucky that she could just be his friend. She'd never even remotely been interested in the ignorant hick bad boys who'd populated her high school days. Guys who couldn't speak proper English. Guys who used "ain't" and spoke in double negatives. Guys who considered education "beneath" them. James was one of these guys, and that easily set up a wall between "friend" and "someone she might actually be interested in." But every day, it was something new. Today it was a knowledge of Georgia O'Keeffe. Yesterday it had been a raucous and detailed (and entirely fake) tale of his memories of the JFK assassination. Who knew what it would be tomorrow? He wasn't an ignorant hick, and she feared greatly that the wall between "friend" and "something more" seemed to crumble a brick at a time with each little bit of knowledge he revealed.