Why Can't I Be You (9 page)

“I mean, the metrics are good,” I said, holding my own hand under the table, “but you can’t measure warm feelings about a brand. Five loyal customers who care about Jill might get you a lot further than thousands of followers who have already muted you. It’s more of an art than a science, I guess, is what I’m saying.”

There were actually some people in the room nodding in approval, a few even seemed to be taking notes on what I’d said.

“Interesting,” Kyle said, his eyes narrowing into slits as he gave me a sly smile. He clapped his hands together. “Well, you’re still going to have to report back with numbers. Twitter followers may like pictures of lunches, but I can guarantee you that your client is going to want cold, hard numbers.” He hit the button on his clicker and went right back to his PowerPoint, but he called out items on his charts with greater intensity. Jessie Morgan, I thought, wouldn’t even notice that she’d made him angry. I decided to pretend I didn’t notice either.

A
ll day I’d
been choreographing in my head what needed to happen after the conference let out for the evening. I thought about going to the pre-reunion cocktail hour. I thought about not going. Confessing. Not confessing. I played out every possible scenario in my head, instead of listening to Kyle talk about social media metrics.

In the elevator on the way back to my floor, I decided I would go to the front desk and leave the Jessie dress for Myra, with a note explaining that I wasn’t Jessie Morgan. I’d ask for a room change—say there was a draft that kept me from sleeping or the couple next door was loud or something like that. Draft probably. That was less embarrassing to explain. Or maybe if I went with the more embarrassing choice, I’d have to say less. I read once that people are more likely to get caught lying when they say too much. They over explain. Maybe if I implied there was crazy sex going on next door, and didn’t say much else, they’d rush to fix the situation and the less I said the better. Any which way, I decided that I wasn’t going to the Mount Si Class of 1999 Pre-reunion Cocktail Hour. It was absurd that I’d even considered it.

When I got back to my room, I put the Jessie dress on, because it was the most perfect thing I’d ever worn, and I wanted to see myself in it one last time, to feel like someone who could pull off a dress like that for one more moment. I turned from side to side, admiring the way the dress swished across my body as I moved, and I couldn’t help but think about Myra, designing the perfect dress for a friend she’d lost. She’d be so hurt and confused when the front desk returned it to her with my note, and then she’d have to put on a smile and steel herself to see her ass-face of an ex-boyfriend and his wife. Or maybe she wouldn’t even go. Maybe she’d be so freaked out that she’d spent the previous night pouring out her heart to someone who was only pretending to be her long-lost friend that she’d just go home and give up the chance to show John what he was missing out on. Maybe she’d cry and have weird mascara tracks on her face and be humiliated. And I couldn’t do that to her. I liked Myra too much.

So instead of dropping the dress off and switching rooms, I called Myra.

“What are you wearing to the cocktail hour tonight?” I asked when she answered.

“Did you see that little black dress in the window at the store?” she asked, not missing a beat.

“Yes,” I said. “The one with the silver thread sewn in? Right?”

“Yeah, I snagged it.”

“John’s not going to know what hit him!”

“Are you getting a cold? You sound funny.”

“Oh,” I said nervously. “You know, airplane air. I always catch something.”

“So, what are you wearing?”

“I was just trying on the red dress.”

“No! Wear that tomorrow!” She snapped into full-on designer mode. “Gray wool skirt, keep the brooch on it. But wear it with the recycled-tie silk camisole. Bring your black sweater, the one you had on yesterday, but only wear it if you absolutely get too cold to go without it.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks, Myra!”

“It’s what I do.”

“See you downstairs in twenty minutes.”

“I’m already here, setting up. Come down whenever.”

We hung up, and a second later she called back to tell me I should wear my hair pinned back on the left side and she had bobby pins in her purse so she’d pop up and do it for me.

“Oh my God, I’m so nervous,” she said, running into my room. “Do I look okay?” She was wearing the gorgeous dress from the shop window and black pumps with silver polka dots and crazy flared heels. She had perfect black winged eyeliner on her top lash line and her lips were shining with a pale pink gloss. Her hair was pulled back in a very high, sixties-style ponytail, and her bangs were brushed to the side.

“You look like a movie star,” I said.

“Thank you! I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, hugging me. “I couldn’t face him otherwise. I just couldn’t. You know, Karen is in Florida and Heather—you know how Heather is.”

“Mmhmm,” I said, standing in front of the mirror and pulling my hair back on the opposite side of my swooshy bangs. “Like this?”

“Almost,” Myra said, digging two bobby pins out of her purse. “I’ll do it.”

I had to take my heels off again, so I was close enough in height for her to reach. She twisted my hair behind my ear and secured it with two crisscrossed bobby pins.

“Crap,” she said, looking in the mirror. “I forgot my necklace.”

“Here.” I unhooked the clasp of my Tiffany bean necklace. I hadn’t taken it off since Deagan gave it to me for my birthday last year. I handed it to Myra.

“Really?”

“Yeah, this top has enough happening to stand on its own,” I said, co-opting language Myra had used the night before when we were going through my purchases.

She put it on and looked at herself critically for a moment, turning just a little from one side to another before nodding. “Thank you. That works really well.” She gave me a nervous smile.

“You look amazing,” I said. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Okay,” she said. “You know what I need?”

“What?”

“Some bounce time.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, come on! You can’t tell me you don’t remember the bounce!”

“Oh my God,” I said, pretending it was dawning on me, even though I didn’t have the slightest idea what she could be talking about.

“Yes!” Myra said, heading over to the clock radio. She plugged her iPod into the dock.

“Really?” I still had no idea what she was talking about.

She kicked her heels off, so I did the same. She scrolled through her iPod until she found the right song. The opening bars of “Why Can’t I Be You?” played, and I recognized it immediately.

My mom thought a guy wearing eyeliner was disgusting, so I had to hide my Cure CDs under my mattress like a boy hides porno mags. I bought them because this guy, Kevin, in my art class wore a Cure shirt at least once a week. He also did these amazing paintings of bones. You could look at them and know what he was feeling when he painted them. I wanted to talk to him so badly, but I didn’t know what to say, so I did that thing where you could get ten CDs for a penny through the mail and ordered every Cure CD they had.

I never got up the nerve to talk to Kevin, but all through high school I listened to
Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me
every single night before I went to bed. I’d wake up with headphone cord marks on my face. So when Myra started jumping around and singing, it was easy to join her and pretend that this was some kind of old girlfriend tradition, something we’d always done.

We bounced around the room, flailing our arms like Robert Smith and smiling at each other as we sang along.

“Okay,” Myra said, flopping down on the bed, breathless, when the song ended. “Now I can do this.”

“Good bounce,” I said, holding my side and trying to catch my breath.

“Great bounce.” She laughed. “God, like thirteen years since we’ve done that, huh?”

“Too long,” I said, smiling.

“I’ll say.”

“Man, we’re old!” I said. “How can it be so long since high school, when I still feel like an awkward kid all the time?”

“Oh!” She shook her head. “Crazy talk! You were never awkward. I’m the one who had those braces and the Lisa Loeb glasses.”

“Lisa Loeb! I had a green dress kind of like the one she wore in that video. I thought it was so cool.” I panicked for a second, worrying that maybe Jessie Morgan hadn’t dressed like that, that maybe I’d just given myself away with one stupid comment. But Myra was busy putting her shoes back on and didn’t seem to notice my misstep.

We checked ourselves in the mirror before we left. We were flushed and a little rumpled, but in a good way. We looked vibrant, wild, happy. The hair and the clothes and the makeup made me feel like someone new, but the happy is what made me unrecognizable.

A
s we walked
through the lobby and up the stairs to the bar, Myra squeezed my arm like we were headed into a haunted house.

“You’ll be fine,” I told her. “You’re going to be the most gorgeous person in there. I promise.” The bar was dimly lit, with candles flickering against polished wood and brass.

“Swear?” Myra asked.

“Shit!” I said, smiling, feeling bold like Jessie would.

“Oh my God! What?”

“I was swearing.” I laughed.

“Ha-ha. Not funny, Jess.”

“He’s not a shark or a zombie, My. He won’t jump out and get you.”

“Yeah, but I’m worried that when I see him my heart will break all over again. Is that stupid? That’s stupid, right?”

“No,” I said. “It’s not stupid. I understand.”

“You rock, Jessers. I don’t know how I’ve survive—”

All of a sudden a hyperactive blond blur charged at us. “No way!” the blur screeched in the cutest little chipmunk voice. She was only a little bit taller than Myra and had her arms wrapped around me before I could see anything other than a giant mass of yellow curls. “Jessie
Fucking
Morgan!” It was like hearing a cartoon character curse.

“Oh my God,” I said.

“You don’t even recognize me!” she said, and instead of it being an accusation, she seemed thrilled. “I know! Right?” She was wearing a strappy little royal blue dress that swished out as she turned from side to side to show off her figure. She put her hands on her hips. She had the tiniest little waist. “Can’t believe it, can you? It’s me! Heather! Well, like half of Heather. I lost eighty-five pounds, which is basically an entire supermodel.”

“You look fantastic!” I said. I didn’t know what she’d looked like before, but she was undeniably beautiful.

“Robbie is parking the car. He’s going to die when he sees you!”

She covered her mouth and nose with her hands for a second, like she couldn’t quite handle the shock. Then she shook her head.

I stiffened, waiting for her verdict on me.

“Okay, and I know it’s rude to say, but that nose is incredible.” Heather touched my nose cautiously with her index finger, like she expected it to be a mirage or a hologram.

“Thanks,” I said, feeling every muscle in my body let go just a little. In her mind I was Jessie Morgan. She had no doubt. Then it hit me: Why would she doubt it? Who would pretend to be some random girl they’d gone to high school with? Why would that be in anyone’s mind as something to suspect in the first place? Myra had already validated me. Heather was expecting Jessie Morgan, so she saw Jessie. Everyone else would too. I just had to make sure I didn’t say anything ridiculous.

“My roommate in college . . . ,” Heather said. “Well, I only went to college for a week, but that’s a whole other long story. But my roommate, she got a nose job the summer before college, and they did a really bad job, and if you got too close to her you could, like, see the chisel marks down the ridge of her nose. Like here.” She pointed to her own nose. “Like these little dents. And it freaked me out. But your nose is really smooth! It’s perfect.” She stared at my face as if I were a medical marvel. Then she gasped. “That’s not why I only lasted a week—her nose. That’s not why I left. Of course, it didn’t help that when I was lying in bed every night, I kept thinking about how she was there in the next bed with a nose full of chisel marks, wondering what it must have sounded like when the doctor hacked away at her face.” She wrapped one of her curls around her thumb and let it unravel again. “I left because I missed Robbie too bad, you know? And then he came up and proposed and that was it. I mean, I was never going to be a rocket scientist or anything. And there he was at my dorm room in the middle of the night with this ring.” She flashed her left hand at me quickly, and there was the small flicker of a diamond in the candlelight. “And I thought, what am I even doing here? And . . . Oh my God! I can’t believe how much we have to catch up on.”

“Yeah,” Myra said, herding us over to the bar. “You’re going to have to take some breaths from time to time or you’re going to pass out trying to tell Jessie everything.”

“I know, right?” Heather said, laughing. And she was actually a little breathless.

Myra ordered a pitcher of mojitos for us.

At the far end of the bar there was a wall of windows, and I could see the greenish glow from the falls all lit up. I wanted to go look, but Myra and Heather didn’t seem at all interested in the view. They’d probably seen it a million times.

While we were standing at the bar, waiting for our drinks, a guy in a navy peacoat snuck up behind Heather. He wasn’t very tall, but he was striking. He had broad shoulders, bright blue eyes, a mess of brown hair, and a five o’clock shadow that outlined his jaw. He smiled at Myra and slipped his arms around Heather’s waist. I almost yelled, “Robbie, how are you?” because I thought it would be good to pretend to recognize him. But I wimped out. Or possibly I had suddenly become the luckiest person alive, because Heather turned around and screamed, “Fish! You have to stop doing that! One of these days I’m going to grab your package or something.”

“Do you usually grab Robbie’s package in public?” Fish asked, smiling. He had a really great mouth. His lips curled up at the corners like he was up to something or he had a secret he might tell you if you asked the right questions.

“No,” Heather said, giving him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, “but, you know. Old married people get frisky sometimes.” Even in the dim bar lights it was obvious she was turning red.

I hopped off my barstool, thinking I’d get to hug him, and not hating the idea of having him wrap his arms around me.

He saw me, suddenly, and did a quick double take. There was a flash of recognition in his eyes, but then he focused completely on Heather and acted like he hadn’t seen me. I worried I wasn’t passing for Jessie as well as I’d thought.

“I’m totally telling Robbie that I grabbed your package,” Heather said, smiling.

“It’s your funeral,” Fish said. Then he laughed and shook his head. “No, that would really be my funeral, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, it would,” Heather said, laughing.

“So,” Myra said, grinning, “I can’t believe you haven’t noticed who’s here.”

Fish shot me a pointed look, like a warning, and it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He looked away for a second, and I wanted so desperately to meet his eyes again. I’d never felt that kind of electricity before. Deagan made me a little nervous when I first met him, but this was different. This was more than butterflies. It was like all of a sudden everything everyone in movies and songs and sitcoms and books said about chemistry made sense. My chemicals desperately wanted to get closer to his chemicals.

“God,” Fish said, rubbing his chin with his hand, looking at Myra’s brooch on my skirt. “You look different, Jess.” There was something flat about the way he said it.

“Thanks,” I said, trying hard to smile.

“Yeah.” He gave me a bewildered look, meeting my eyes again for a split second. “Take it as a compliment.” He shook his head and reached over to give Myra a kiss on the cheek.

From what I’d put together from my conversations with Myra, Fish was Jessie’s ex-boyfriend. But Myra seemed so excited to surprise him, so I didn’t think there was any bad blood. I thought he’d be happy to see Jessie. I wanted him to be happy to see me.

Our pitcher of mojitos showed up and so did Robbie. He towered over everyone. He wore ripped jeans, work boots, and a Carhartt jacket. He was completely underdressed for the bar, but he had a sweet round face, like a teddy bear, and adorable deep dimples that made me think most people would be willing to forgive his faux pas. “Jessinator!” he said, in what was absolutely not an indoor voice. He gave me a hug, lifting me off my barstool and leaving me gasping for breath. His jacket smelled like cold air and engine grease. “Holy crap! You’re really here! We missed you around these parts.” He kissed me on both cheeks and then my forehead before he pulled away and looked at me. “I missed you like crazy. No one to wreak havoc with me.” His face looked strained, like he might be fighting tears. He took his jacket off and hung it over the back of the barstool next to mine. “I had to settle down and get boring.” He patted his slight beer gut. “It’s all your fault!” He laughed and it was so loud that the people around us stared. He didn’t notice, or if he did, he didn’t care. It made me laugh too.

Myra poured drinks. She handed one to Robbie, but he handed it right to me.

“What’s with this shit, My Oh My?” Robbie said, looking into my glass and making a face like a kid staring at plate full of brussels sprouts. “It has grass in it.” He kissed Heather hello, even though he’d presumably just seen her when he dropped her off at the front door. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

“It’s mint,” Myra said, even though Robbie wasn’t listening. She waved her hand to get the bartender’s attention. When he came over, Myra stood on the rung of one of the stools, leaned over the bar, and shouted, “You see these two here?” She pointed to Fish and Robbie. “They’re too prissy for mojitos. You need to get them some beers.”

“Pike,” Fish shouted to Myra.

“Stout?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Pale for me,” Robbie said, his eyes sparkling. “Stout is like
eating
beer. You’re supposed to drink it, dumb ass.” Robbie grabbed Fish’s shoulder and slapped hands with him. “Hey, man!”

“Hey,” Fish said to Robbie, his eyes so much softer than when he looked at me, “so I know this guy who’s looking for a new clutch shaft for his Farmall.”

“Oh. Cool! What year is it?” Robbie asked.

“It’s a fifty-two Cub.”

“Ew!” Heather said, putting her drink on the bar so she’d have both hands free to herd Robbie and Fish over to some empty chairs by the fireplace. “If you guys are going to talk tractor parts, do it somewhere else and leave us to our girl talk, okay?”

“All day with the tractor talk. I need a break, you know?” she said to me, rolling her eyes when she came back.

“I can imagine,” I said, taking a small sip of my drink. I knew I had to be careful.

Myra was quiet. She watched the door and sipped her drink through a pair of red stirrer straws. The bar wasn’t too crowded. Most of the people coming for the reunion would probably just show up the next day, for the main event. I got the feeling that Jessie’s friends cared more about hanging out together than catching up with the few random meatheads and former cheerleaders at a table in the corner.

“Robbie took over his uncle’s shop,” Heather said. “I do all the books and stuff.” She shook her head and her pretty blond ringlets trembled around her face. “God, Jess. It’s so weird that you don’t even know this, right? I mean, I used to tell you everything and now there’s like thirteen years of stuff you don’t even know.”

I tried really hard to listen, to pick up any clues that might be useful later, but over Heather’s shoulder, I saw Kyle, from the conference, at the other end of the bar, raising his hand to get the bartender’s attention. I watched from across the bar, wondering if he’d be there all night. He couldn’t be a part of the reunion too. What would the chances of that be? Two of us from the conference at the reunion? And I was pretty sure he was older than Jessie’s friends. Late thirties.

“Uh-huh. Totally,” I said, nodding my head at Heather.

The bartender poured a shot of tequila for Kyle, who kicked it back immediately, smacked some bills on the bar, and got up. He caught me watching him and smiled.

Heather was still talking. “Um, you know . . . ,” I said, interrupting her. “I’m sorry. I have to go get this thing . . . in my room. My . . . inhaler. I need my inhaler.”

“You have asthma now? I told you not to smoke in high school. God, you and Robbie! I finally got him to quit three years ago, but I told you guys not to start in the first place! Didn’t I? Remember, Jess?”

“Yes, you did, Heather,” I said quickly. “And I didn’t listen, and I need to go upstairs to get my inhaler. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay. Do you need help?” she asked, looking me over with concern.

“No, I’m good. You stay here.” Kyle was getting closer, so I just started walking.

I ran down the stairs and got as far as the big stone fireplace before Kyle yelled, “Jenny!” across the lobby. Luckily no one else was there to hear it. I contemplated running for the elevator, pretending I hadn’t heard him, but he called out, “Hey, Jenny!” again, and I worried about being rude and then having to see him at the conference in the morning. More importantly, I worried if he yelled again, someone else might hear him do it. So I turned around and said, “Oh, hey!” like maybe I hadn’t heard him the first time.

“Wow,” he said, “You look . . .”

“Thanks,” I said, before he could even say how I looked. I watched the door to the bar nervously, hoping that none of Jessie’s friends would come out to the lobby.

“Hey, I just stopped up for a drink, but a bunch of us are grabbing dinner over in the dining room.” He pointed across the lobby. “And then we’re going to hit the city and head to a club. Come with?”