Chapter Six - Evangeline
“Why can’t you at least come with me?” I’m whining. I realize this. And even though Lucinda is patient, my neediness is wearing her down. I can almost feel her close her eyes and ask the Lord for patience. And I’m pretty sure she’s an atheist, so… yeah.
“I told you,” she explains. “You must not associate this house with me. It must become your own.”
I huff out some air. “Well, that’s fuckin’ stupid.”
“Well, your phobia is fuckin’ stupid.”
We both sit on the phone. Silent moments tick off. I think we’re holding our collective breath. I think she just closed her eyes again. This time asking the Lord she doesn’t believe in to take that back.
“I’m sorry,” she finally says.
“Whatever,” I say. “It is stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” she counters. “Your feelings are legitimate and I’m totally one hundred percent committed to your—”
“Forget it,” I say, sorta pissed, but… sorta not. “I’m mad that you’re making me go alone, but I’m certainly grown-up enough to not make you feel bad because the truth slipped out.”
“That’s mentally… mature of you, Evangeline.”
We both huff out small laughs. So I beg again, “Just walk me to the gate.”
“No,” she says. “I’m not going near that house. Ever. When you feel like it’s time to leave, you leave. And you call me. And we’ll meet. That’s how this has to go.”
I say nothing. She’s not gonna give in on this.
“You still there?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m picturing everything, that’s all.”
“What are you picturing?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Well, keep the preconceived notions to a minimum, Evangeline. Just… go there with an open mind.”
“It is a man?” I ask. “My watcher?”
“I’m not going to say.”
“And there’s cameras in the bedroom.”
“Of course. Everywhere but the powder room on the main floor. I’ve already told you that.”
“Is the watcher the guy you work with?”
“No,” she says. “I will say that. It’s not him. That’s not professional.”
“Who is that guy?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Do I know him?”
“No,” she says through a sigh. “Forget about him. He’s just the person who sets things up. That’s it. He’s not part of my treatment plans.”
But I’m so intrigued. It’s like… there’s this whole underground world humming along just below my feet. And everyone up top has no clue at all. Like a secret, forbidden city hidden away in plain sight. Who is this guy? And how does one get offered the job as Evangeline Rolaine’s watcher? I mean, really, how does that happen? “How do you find these people?” I finally ask. “The watchers?”
“This is the only watcher we’ve had to find. And it’s someone we both trust. So you can trust him or her as well.”
“Is it an old woman?” I ask.
“Evangeline.”
“What? I think that’s legitimate. I mean, I think old people watching me is creepy. How can I get better if I’m consumed with creepiness?”
“The watcher is not old.”
“How old?”
She sighs again. “Thirty… thirty-one, maybe? I’m not sure. Right around there.”
“It’s a guy, isn’t it? Is he hot? If he’s hot, that might be… kinda hot.”
“This conversation is over now,” she sings. “Get to the house by noon and settle in. If you decide to stop the treatment, you call me the minute you step out the door. Got it?”
I sigh too. “Fine.”
She waits for more. But when I don’t give her anything, she says, “I think this is gonna work.”
“I hope so,” I say back. “I really hope so.”
“I’ve left you a gift in the house.”
“What is it?” I ask, unexpectedly excited.
“I’m not going to tell you.” She laughs. “It’s just a housewarming gift. To make you feel at home.”
I sigh again. “Thank you, Lucinda. I really do appreciate how hard you’ve worked this past year to help me. And for thinking outside the box as far as this plan goes.”
“It’s… it’s a risk. We’ve talked about this. I wouldn’t set this up if I didn’t think it would help, so I think the chance for total recovery outweighs the risks.”
“I think so too. I’ve been thinking about my dress, ya know? The one I’ll wear for my comeback performance. And I’ve never done that before.”
“Well, if you need to go shopping for that dress after treatment, I would love to be your second opinion.”
I smile, picturing Lucinda and I as friends. She’s older than me by almost twenty years. But I like her. And she’s honest. That comment about my stupid phobia just proves it. “Deal,” I say.
“OK, so you know the rules.”
“One week’s worth of clothes. If I have to stay longer and I run out I can do laundry or go shopping.”
“In person,” Lucinda stresses. “Not online.”
I swallow hard, but I’m not going shopping. In one week I’ll be cured. I’m so sure of it, I force myself not to think about needing to stay longer. “Got it.”
“And you have groceries stocked in the fridge for a few days. But if you need anything else—”
“No deliveries,” I finish.
“Right.” She pauses, then says, “Take chances, Evangeline. That’s my best advice. When you think about leaving, pause and tell yourself, ‘Just one more night.’”
“OK,” I say. But this time it’s low, and soft, and barely audible.
“You’re going to do this,” Lucinda says. “You’re going to beat it.”
I nod my head, then say, “I will. I must.”
I imagine her smiling on the other end of the phone. She thinks I’m brave. She believes in me. Not just my talent—that’s easy to believe in once you see me play. But my spirit. “Call the number for the car service when you’re ready to go and I’ll see you soon.”
She hangs up.
I put my phone down and look at my suitcase. It’s packed with normal things. Things I wear around the house. Jeans. Yoga pants. Sweatshirts. T-shirts. I have my toiletries and my hair dryer.
It feels a little bit like the old me. Back when I was a kid and we’d travel all over the world. My passport was so full by the time I turned sixteen and needed a new one, it was nothing but a mess of indecipherable ink.
I don’t have a current passport these days. The last one expired a few months ago. And that makes me sad for a few moments. That I was so worldly and sophisticated once upon a time. And now I’m small and lonely.
“That’s why you’re doing this, Evangeline.” I give myself a pep talk. “And if you do it right and stick it out, in two weeks you’ll be that girl again. Only better. Because you won’t have your parents backstage waiting for their next opportunity.”
When the driver pulls up outside my building I roll my two suitcases outside, doing my best to blend in with the people. Trying not to stand out or be conspicuous in any way. Covered up in head to toe with outerwear. Gloves, long winter coat, scarf over my face, large, round sunglasses covering my eyes. It’s very cold and snow is falling like glittering dust. But it’s not enough to cover me and my heart starts beating wildly in my chest.
The driver must’ve been told not to make eye contact, because he’s wearing sunglasses too, and bows his head as he wordlessly takes my luggage and puts it in the trunk of the long, black town car.
I get in the backseat without waiting for him to open my door, and quickly shut myself up inside.
There’s a blackout screen between the front and back, and that, at least, is comforting. There’s almost nothing worse than a nosey driver glancing into his rearview trying to get a glimpse of me.
Twenty minutes later, after fighting afternoon traffic in downtown, we pass through a small restaurant and shopping district and arrive at a stately manor in what would probably be a very nice tree-lined street in the summer time.
There’s a tall, wrought-iron and brick wall surrounding the entire property. It’s got something akin to a small guardhouse off to the left, where a driver might interact with security if he were going to pull into the driveway, but my driver stops on the street and doesn’t attempt to pull in.
There’s no one in there anyway. Not anyone to help because it’s only me and my watcher until I decide to leave.
I wonder if he or she is spying on the car?
The driver gets out, but I wait until he’s got my luggage lined up on the sidewalk and he’s back in the front seat before I let myself out and close the door behind me.
He drives off, leaving me there alone. Standing in front of the gate, looking up at the imposing mansion, tiny silver snowflakes falling on my cheeks like slippery wet kisses.
I gather myself, eager to get inside before any of the neighbors see me, and pull my luggage through the thin layer of snow that’s collecting on the ground.
There’s a code to open the gate, which I use and pass through. And it closes back up automatically when I’m halfway up the front walk.
It’s an interesting Italianate-style mansion, stucco exterior painted a smooth moss-green. There are two ornamental wrought-iron balconies in front of the tall, second-story rounded windows, and another directly above the main door.
The house is probably almost a hundred years old. But everything seems well-kept and modernized on the outside. The grounds are manicured, even in the winter, and the long hedges of holly planted up against the perimeter wall have sharp edges defining their shape that say in no uncertain terms someone loves this place.
Even though the house is large and imposing, I am eager to get inside before I can notice anyone noticing me. If I can’t see the watchers, they’re not there, right?
It’s how I sell myself on going out at all these days. Dark or not. Bundled up or not. I need the illusion of being one hundred percent alone. Even though I realize it’s not possible to control the actions of others and there could’ve been fifteen people peeking through their front curtains as I got dropped off.
As long as I don’t see them, I’m fine.
Which is why I think this whole camera thing has a chance at working. My one saving grace is the exact thing being exploited here.
I key in the code to the front door and the automatic locks disengage. My hand is shaking as I push the front door open, pull my suitcases inside, and close it behind me.
I let out a long breath of anxiety-filled air and look around. My heart is thumping in my chest so loud, I swear I can hear it echo off the tall foyer ceiling.
In the center of the ceiling is a shimmering chandelier that reflects sunlight coming through the arched window over the door in just the right way so that tiny dew-drop shapes dance across the upper walls like a light show.
It’s mesmerizing. And beautiful.
But that’s when I see it.
A flame-shaped black lightbulb in a chandelier filled with white ones.
A camera, made to look like a lightbulb. With a small blinking red light piercing through the shiny opaque lens.
“Hello,” I say, surprising myself with my own voice. My brain catches up with the implications of what I just did and my heart beats erratically at my audacity. Sweat beads on my brow and heat consumes my body as I realize—actually understand for the first time—that someone I don’t know will be watching my every move until I say stop.
I can’t do this. I cannot.
Breathe. I hear Lucinda’s calming voice in my head.
But I’m already gasping. I turn, ready to flee back into the safe world I’ve made for myself, and realize there’s no car out there to take me home. Leaving would be worse than staying.
Breathe.
The powder room. My one sanctuary in this house. The only place where there’s no cameras.
I open the closest door and find an office. The next is a coat closet. The next is another closet. I rush into the main living area, stunned by how big this place is. By the size of the windows and the knowledge that some stranger is watching me right now as I lose my shit. This has my head spinning and the only sound in my ears is the loud, thump-thump-thump-thump of my own terrified heartbeat.
I whirl around, desperate to find the powder room, because that’s my only escape. I’m stuck here until dark. Because the thought of going outside in the light and finding help… and that’s hours and hours away and there’s no possible way I can stay here and let this watcher watch me. Especially now, when I’m freaking out.
There’s a hallway, and many, many rooms. But I see the bathroom. I run for it, practically throw myself inside, and slam the door shut. I don’t even turn on the light. Just press my back against the wall, slide down until I’m sitting on my butt, and wrap my arms around my legs.
This was the dumbest idea ever. What the fuck was I thinking? Where the hell do I get off wanting more out of life? When people are starving all over the world, and children are homeless on the streets, and there’s like… millions of women who fear for their lives in their own homes? And I’m not talking about my stupid fear. But their very real fear. And people dying, and sick, and hurting, and I’m just… just afraid of what amounts to faces pointed in my general direction.
This makes me selfish, and ungrateful, and stupid.
So very, very stupid for coming here and wanting… more.