Lucy (16 page)

“Picky-picky.”

The fireplace in the living room had been designed to burn coal, and the gaslights still worked. But as young as he was, Harry had a long-range plan. Little by little over the years he had ripped down the drapes to let the light in and refinished the floors. When he began making serious money, he gradually added to the improvements until it was once again a grand old Victorian, with the Belgian crystal chandeliers all cleaned up and glittering. This was the palatial estate that he had once offered to Jenny if only she had been willing to give up the jungle. And as she looked around now, she felt a twinge of nostalgia for those simpler days when she thought that she knew what she wanted and could just say no without a backward glance.

For the first time, she truly appreciated the remarkable thing that Harry had done with the house. He had created a place of exceptional silence. The virgin pine beams that lay beneath the plaster, hard as iron with age, the colossal rooftrees somewhere above, the ancient stone pediments outside, and all the scrollwork and moldings and shingling enclosed her and muffled the world of noise out there so that she could hear the swish of her own jeans as she climbed the stairs to a beautiful suite of rooms furnished with period pieces, lush and moody, smelling of dust and tung oil. A watery sunlight fell through ancient imperfections in the window glass.

French doors led to a deck overlooking an English garden. It looked like the courtyard of a museum, the naked candelabra of pear trees espaliered against a high stone wall like Shiva. Meadow saffron, naked ladies, butcher’s broom, led along narrow cobbled paths. In neat beds were bistort, foxglove, throatwort, lenten rose, and, in a far corner, live forever. Harry’s dark sense of humor. All of those plants were poisonous.

The girls were sunning themselves in chaise longues on the second-floor porch. Jenny stood at the door watching them. They both wore bikinis, Lucy in yellow, Amanda in blue. They looked so beautiful. She felt her heart go out to them as if by force of emotion alone she could somehow protect them. Lucy was doing something strange with her hand. Jenny took a step closer to the screen doors to see. Amanda was giggling, saying, “No way.”

“Yes, way,” Lucy said. “Watch.”

Then it came into focus. A cabbage white was fluttering around between the two chairs. Lucy put out her hand, saying, “Come on. Come on.” The butterfly landed on her hand. “Okay, watch. Now fly,” she said. The butterfly began flapping around between the chairs again. “Now land,” she said. Jenny watched the butterfly alight on her hand again.

“Get out of here! I don’t believe it. Do it again.”

Again, Lucy made the butterfly take off and land. And Amanda said, “That is so money. I want to learn. Show me how to do it, Lucy.”

“I can’t show you how.”

“Why not?”

“You’re too human.”

An ominous silence fell between them. An injured look crossed Amanda’s face, and Lucy looked sorrowful.

“I’m sorry,” Lucy said. “That was mean. I’m sorry I called you a human.”

The two girls stared at each other for another moment. Jenny had never seen them at odds before and wondered how they’d resolve it. Amanda looked as if she were about to cry. Then a light of comprehension flowed into Amanda’s eyes, her expression changed, and she broke up laughing. Lucy realized what they’d just done and began laughing, too. Amanda shouted, “I can’t believe I was just offended when you called me human!” Then the girls couldn’t stop themselves and fell into a fit, rolling out of their chairs and onto the deck, where they lay cackling, as the butterfly flitted away into the garden. When the laughter died down at last, they lay there groaning and holding their stomachs. “Dude,” Amanda said, “you really know how to turn a bitch’s world upside down.”

23

AMANDA HAD TAKEN CHARGE
of Lucy’s wardrobe. “Let’s go sixties. What do you think?”

“What does sixties mean?”

“I mean the fashion of that time period. The 1960s.”

“You’re asking me about fashion?”

They’d had just enough time to make it to a vintage clothing store that Amanda knew in the East Village. Jenny let the girls go on their own, out into Manhattan. New York. Who could have dreamed up such a place? The throb of noise, the dazzling colors and the lights of Times Square, steam rising from the street in white columns as if the heart of the city smoldered with eternal fire—it all left Lucy breathless. She had to force herself to stop paying such close attention.

At the vintage store, Amanda clawed through the racks and came up with one she liked. “There,” she said, holding it up against Lucy’s shoulders. “A nice A-line patterned dress with bell sleeves. That and a little pendant. I have just the thing.”

Lucy had not known what Amanda was talking about, but she wore the clothes. And early the next morning, in a dark and cavernous space like a warehouse, she tottered uncertainly on heels as a woman led her through a clutter of equipment manned by shadowy figures. Cables snaked underfoot everywhere across the floor. “Watch your step,” the woman said. The darkened forms of technicians hunched at their stations, peering at dim red and green lights.

They emerged into a cauterizing light, where a pretty, blond woman sat in what appeared to be a disembodied living room, torn free from its house and set inexplicably down here for no apparent reason. The woman sat in a beige easy chair, beaming as if she’d lost her mind. So this was the illusion, Lucy thought. All this mess led to that clean picture on the little screen.

The blond woman leapt up and embraced her. “Oh, my dear darling girl, I am so honored to meet you. Welcome. Welcome. I’m Diane.” She sat once more, smirking and saying apologetically, “I can’t go too far. My microphone.”

“Thank you,” Lucy said, as she sat in the other beige chair before a great television screen that said “Good Morning America” on it. A technician approached and attached Lucy’s microphone.

A rumpled man wearing headphones, his jeans falling down, came forward and said, “And ten seconds, Diane.” She smiled at Lucy and held up a finger, as if to say: Wait.

Lucy watched as the man counted silently with his fingers: five, four, three, two, one—and then pointed at the woman, who clasped her hands together and beamed at someone who wasn’t there.

“We are so lucky today to have with us our incredibly special guest, Lucy Lowe. I’m sure you’ve all heard already, but just in case you haven’t, Lucy is a hybrid human. Astounding as it might seem, her mother was a great anthropoid ape. Lucy, welcome.”

“Thank you.” Lucy saw several television screens before her, and was trying to figure out where to look. “Sorry, I’ve never been on this side of the television screen before.”

The woman laughed. “That’s quite all right. I understand. Now, let’s jump right in. First of all, we have heard from the Centers for Disease Control that this is not a hoax.”

“No, it’s not.”

“So tell us what it’s like. What is it like to be a hybrid human?”

“Yes. Certainly.” Lucy thought for a moment as her face flashed across continents. In homes, offices, restaurants, airport lounges, and even in hospitals, the image of Lucy hung before the world, as she contemplated what she was going to say. She looked down into her lap, then up at Diane. “I think that I’m really like a lot of teenagers. I think that what I feel is exactly what many of them feel. Something happened long ago that I had nothing to say about. No one asked me if I wanted to be here. Someone made me without my consent. Before I knew what was happening or why, there I was, walking around, talking, drawing with crayons, and having all the experiences that make up a life. By the time I was old enough to question it, well, it was too late. I’m glad I’m here. I’m glad I’m me. But I didn’t make myself. Someone else did that. And I feel kind of like a stranger in a strange land. Don’t you think all teenagers feel that way at some point, Diane?”

The woman clasped her hands in front of her, and a pained expression crossed her face. “That is so touching, Lucy. And I think you’re exactly right.”

The show lasted only a few more minutes. The woman seemed to be rushing to a place where she would never arrive, hurtling across space in her little biopsy of a living room. Lucy said goodbye and was led back to the greenroom, where Amanda and Jenny waited. Amanda threw her arms around Lucy. “You majorly rock, Luce. You were awesome.”

They were led to the front door of the building and out to the street where the limousine waited. As they emerged, a crowd of people pushed in, shoving papers at Lucy, trying to ask questions. She stopped to sign autographs, but the limousine driver urged her into the car, and then they were off to the next show.

Sitting in the car between Amanda and Jenny, Lucy said, “I’m having a hard time getting my mind around this.”

“You’re a star. Get over it.”

Jenny didn’t look as elated. “I’m hoping it protects you.”

As they quickly discovered, fame was a chronic condition for which they knew of no immediate cure. One moment, Lucy was an ordinary teenager, caught up in the trivialities of life in high school. The next, she was swept up in a whirlwind of publicity, television shows, and interviews.

Lucy lost track of time, but she did remember the sea. She had never seen it before. They checked into a hotel called Shutters, which was right on the beach in Santa Monica. The room that Amanda and Lucy shared had sliding glass doors that opened onto a patio overlooking the water, and that first day, Lucy and Amanda hastily dressed in their bikinis, Lucy in yellow, Amanda in blue, and went screaming into the surf, where they played like two slick dolphins for most of the afternoon. Then, in the slanting red light, they lay in bed. Lucy was reading to Amanda—“and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the fig trees in the Alameda gardens yes”—when Jenny came in with the first offer in her hand.

Amanda, of course, made fun of it. “It’s a cool idea, I have to admit,” she said. “How about a self-help book called
Getting in Touch with Your Inner Ape
? Then you can follow up with a video called
The Jungle Girl Workout.”

But Lucy was remembering that even before she could read, she had loved books. She had carried them around and hoarded them. Then she remembered when her father was teaching her to write, holding the pencil and looking at the page and thinking about what a monumental thing it was to write. To write a book seemed so essentially human. To place a mark on a surface that could then move someone to laughter or tears. Only a human could do that. If she could write a book, a real book, then no one could ever say that she wasn’t human enough.

Lucy crisscrossed the country with Amanda and Jenny and wound up back in New York for photo shoots with
Teen Vogue
and
Rolling Stone
. Then they were at the airport again, heading home at last. As they waited in line to pass through a security checkpoint, people gathered around and asked for autographs.

When they reached the magnetometer, the functionary of the Transportation Security Administration smiled and gave Lucy a thumbs-up. He was about to wave them through when an officer whose nametag said Stockton stepped in.

“I’ll handle this, Gomez,” he told the man, who stepped back from the magnetometer. Lucy could see that Stockton was obviously the higher-ranking male in the hierarchy.

Stockton stepped through the magnetometer toward Jenny and said, “I’m sorry, ma’am, we can’t let her through.” And he pointed at Lucy. The man he called Gomez was watching with a pained expression.

Lucy and Amanda looked at each other, then behind them to see if perhaps Stockton were pointing at someone else.

Jenny had been smiling and chatting with a fan before Stockton spoke. Now she stopped, a puzzled expression on her face. “What do you mean? Is something wrong?”

“Yes, ma’am, we can’t let her through. All animals have to be caged and put in the luggage compartment.”

Jenny laughed, thinking that it was a joke. But there was no humor in the man’s face. “You’re joking, right?”

“No, ma’am, we don’t joke here. I can’t let her through. You’ll have to see your airline representative and make proper arrangements for transporting animals.”

“Hey, boss, come on.”

“At ease, Gomez. I’ll handle this.”

Gomez turned away. “I’m going on break.”

Lucy and Amanda moved up beside Jenny as a crowd of people gathered around to see what would happen.

A woman in her forties in a business suit stepped forward, her face red, and addressed Stockton. “You moron,” she said. “This girl is more human than you are. Let her through this minute.”

Stockton lifted his hand and motioned to a police officer. “Remove this woman, please.” Then he turned to Lucy and whispered, “You’re an abomination before Christ. You should be put to sleep.” He looked so unhappy. Lucy felt sorry for him.

The police officer stepped forward and positioned himself between the angry woman and Stockton.

“I’m a lawyer for the city. You touch me and you’ll be cleaning toilets for the rest of your career.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, you’ll have to leave now. You can’t make a disturbance here.”

“I’m getting on an airplane. I’m flying first class.”

“No, I’m afraid you’re not. Not now,” the policeman said. “You cooperate, you might catch a later flight.”

Lucy and Jenny and Amanda watched with wide eyes, scarcely able to believe what was happening. Now the crowd rose up and began shouting and booing Stockton. Several other guards rushed into the fray, and some of them began to radio for help. Jenny lifted her phone and took Stockton’s picture, then turned to the girls and said, “Let’s go.”

As they retreated, the crush of people parted. They slipped away from the checkpoint and moved toward the outer doors of the terminal. Police and TSA guards were closing in on the chaotic scene from all directions.

“What are we going to do?” Lucy asked.

“I don’t know. But we’re not going to get arrested.”

Jenny led them outside into the clouds of exhaust by the taxi stand.

“You okay?” Amanda asked.

“I guess. He called me an animal. And I guess I am.”

“You’re a person. And he was wrong.”

“He was a religious nut,” Jenny said. “But we don’t want to fight that battle here.”

“But how will we get home? I want a shower. And some grapes.”

The dispatcher at the taxi stand hailed a cab, and Jenny told the driver to go to the other side of the airport where the private planes were. “We’re going to do a little high-class hitchhiking. I did this once in Kinshasa.” Sitting between the girls, she took their hands in hers. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fun.”

Lucy could see the cab driver eyeing her in his oversized rearview mirror. “Hey,” he said, “you’re that, uh, monkey girl, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Ape, actually.”

“Same difference, right?”

“Not really. Apes don’t have tails.”

“Yeah?”

“That’s right. Do you have a tail?”

He laughed. “No.”

“And neither do I. Also monkeys go along the tops of branches on all fours. Apes swing under the branches.”

“Hey, I never knew that,” the cabbie said. “Say, you sound pretty smart for being half ape.”

“Yeah, I have all sorts of talents.” Lucy began to cheer up, seeing that Jenny and Amanda were watching with growing pleasure as she toyed with the cabbie.

“Yeah, like what?”

“Well, I’ll make you a bet. Is that your lunch there on the seat beside you?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, if I can tell you what’s in the bag, we get our cab ride for free. How’s that?”

“Deal. But you gotta gimme uh autograph.”

“Deal.” Lucy already knew what was in the bag, but she sniffed the air for effect. “Hmm,” she said. “Let me see … Today you’re having a ham and Swiss cheese sandwich on pumpernickel with mayo, yellow mustard, and onion. There’s also a container of coleslaw in there. You have an apple. And something with chocolate—wait. I’ve got it: Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. I can’t tell what the drink is because it’s in an aluminum can.”

The driver pounded the steering wheel and guffawed loudly. “Holy smokes, you’re right!”

“See? It pays to get in touch with your inner ape.”

As he pulled up to the general aviation facility on the other side of the airport, he turned around with his trip log in his hand. “Wow. So, how about that autograph? My wife’s gonna get the biggest kick out of this. She saw you on the
Oprah.”

As they entered the general aviation lounge at LaGuardia, the pilots and passengers stared and then followed their progress across the room.

“I think you’re being recognized,” Jenny said. “That’s good. Amanda, do you want to do the honors? You’re nice and articulate.”

“Do what? What are we doing?”

“Asking for a ride to Chicago. Someone who’s going west must have a few empty seats.”

Amanda glanced around the crowded room, biting her cuticles. Then she took Lucy’s arm, cleared her throat, and spoke in a stage voice. Drama club paid off. “Ladies and gentlemen, do you recognize this girl?” Now all eyes were on them. “This is Lucy Lowe. You may have seen her on TV.”

A few people said hi or waved. They all looked puzzled.

When Amanda explained what had happened, there were disapproving murmurs in the crowd.

“So we’re here to find a kind soul who’d be willing to take us to Chicago. You’ll not only get the rare opportunity to meet and talk to Lucy in person, but you’ll have a heck of a story to tell.”

Silence fell. No one moved. Lucy could feel their tension. They were all confused and fearful. The lounge was a bright, nondescript room with a terrazzo floor and an acoustic tile ceiling that held recessed fluorescent lights. A service counter stood at one end, attended by two women in uniforms. An elderly lady dressed in a purple suit stood with some effort and crossed to them with a magazine in her hand. “Excuse me,” she said to Lucy, “but I was wondering if you would mind autographing this for me.” She had bright green eyes and a beautiful smile. “For my granddaughter.” A star sapphire winked at her neck.