Thin Air

“You’re Marvin’s new assistant,” Cherise said. “Right?”

God, did I really look that way when I smiled? My mouth looked funny. “Assistant would be a kind way to put it,” Joanne said. I couldn’t stand thinking of her as me. “He just called me the weather girl.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Marvin for you. Hey. I’m Cherise. I’m the dumbass who runs around in the bikini to give the surf forecast.” Cherise rolled her eyes to show it didn’t really bother her. From this side of the conversation, I could tell that it wasn’t an act; running around in a bikini really didn’t bother her. She was pretty, and she knew it, and there wasn’t much point in denying the fact that guys found her hot. She figured she had the rest of her life to use her brains. A fine body had a short shelf life, when it came to stripping down to a G- string. “So how’s it working with Marvin so far?”

I watched the former me make a face that I resolved I would never, ever make again. “Oh, fabulous. Is he always that-?”

“Grabby? Always,” Cherise said, and leaned forward. “Okay, time for the potential compatibility quiz. Who’s the sexiest man alive?”

“Uh…” Joanne blinked. “Probably…um…I have no idea.” Oddly, I couldn’t answer it now, either. I only really knew two guys in the whole world, and they were both pretty damn sexy.

“Acceptable answers include David Duchovny, Johnny Depp, and James Spader. Sean Connery is always allowable. So-favorite TV show?”

“I don’t watch a lot of television,” the other me confessed. Well, I consoled myself with the thought that losing my memory clearly hadn’t made all that much difference in my conversational skills.

“Well, I watch a lot of television,” said Cherise. “So you’ll need to catch up. I’ll give you a list of what you can start with, and yes, there will be quizzes later.”

Joanne laughed. She had a good laugh, one that made you want to get in on the joke-the first thing about her I couldn’t quibble with. “You always this take-charge, Cherise?”

“Pretty much. I’m little, but I’m fierce,” she said, and inspected Joanne’s nail polish, giving it a nod of approval. “Seriously, if we’re going to be best friends, you really have to be able to intelligently discuss the relative hotness of television stars. It’s a must. What do you think, too green?”

That would have thrown most people. It definitely threw me now, observing, but Joanne had followed the shift without trouble. She looked at Cherise’s nail polish critically, tilted her head, and said, “No, it’s perfect. Picks up the color in your shirt.” I felt Cherise’s surge of satisfaction. “But,” Joanne continued, “you might want to consider pairing up that underlayer with a sheer teal instead of green. Make the color really pop.”

Cherise blinked, looked at her nails, then at her shirt. “Damn. You’re good. Shopping,” she said. “Tonight. Shopping and mojitos. Seriously, anybody who can one-up me on color analysis must be worth my time.”

Then-me looked a little taken aback by that, searched for a reply, and then said, with a hilarious amount of consideration for Cherise’s potentially bruised feelings, “I’m not, you know, gay or anything.”

Cherise found that funny. “You mean you wouldn’t go gay for me? Sheesh. I’m not looking for a date. Nobody else here understands the power of Zen shopping. I think”-Cherise swept a look over her ensemble, then Joanne’s, which actually was pretty cute-“I think we can do some real credit card damage together. Somebody’s got to keep the economy growing. It’s almost patriotic.”

Joanne looked relieved. And then smiled. The smile still looked wrong to me, from this side.

“Deal,” she said.

It was a warm place to be, and I wanted to stay there, bask in that sensation of liking and being liked.

But I couldn’t stay.

There was a blurring sensation, like being pushed hard from behind, and I jumped tracks, falling endlessly, falling, lost, and then there was a sudden burst of light.

Rapid-fire memories. Fragments of conversations. Ice cream on the couch, watching movies with Cherise. Shopping. Chatting.

Normal life. I’d had a normal life, once.

Another lurching sensation, a blur, and when I blinked it away, Cherise was pushing open a door from a dark hallway to the outside world. Time had passed, although I didn’t have a good notion of how much. She looked over her shoulder, and I saw Joanne following her out of the building.

“So,” she was saying, “What do you think? Hot Topic? And maybe some Abercrombie. Then lunch.”

“Girl, do you ever do anything but shop?” Joanne asked, but not as if she was really opposed to the idea. Cherise blew her a kiss.

“Well, I was thinking of dropping by the chess club, but you know how shallow those guys are…”

“Shut up.”

It was a bright, sunlit morning. The air was muggy and warm, with just a hint of salt air breeze. Joanne looked good: more tanned, more toned, wearing a pair of low-rise blue jeans and a teal blue sleeveless tee that rode up to reveal some firm abs.

Cherise, of course, looked even better. She was like orange sherbet, layered in pastels, all edible colors. She could have stepped out of a hair product commercial. The poster child for healthy and vibrant.

“Just for that, I’m adding Old Navy to the list,” Cherise said, and checked her purse. She frowned at a mirror and touched up her lipstick as they crossed a weedy picnic area behind the building they were exiting, toward a parking lot. “And I’m going to make you eat sushi, too.”

“Hey,” Joanne said. Her tone had changed, turned quiet and dark. “Cher. Heads up.”

Cherise looked up, alarmed, and focused on a man standing near the cars in the fenced-off parking area. I felt the surge of pure adrenaline go through her, sending her heart rate soaring. “Dammit. I really thought that restraining order thing would work.”

Joanne’s face had gone still and tense. She took her purse off her shoulder and handed it over to Cherise. “Stay here.”

“Don’t,” Cherise whispered, and grabbed her arm. “Let’s just go back in. We can call security-they’ve got his picture. They know to call the cops.”

“Yeah, that’s done a hell of a lot of good so far,” Joanne said. “This jerk isn’t going away. How many times does this make that he’s shown up here?”

Cherise sighed. I could feel the dread in her, honest and real. “Six.”

“And phone calls?”

“God, I lost count. And don’t even talk about the ugh-worthy letters.”

“Then this guy needs a stronger message,” Joanne said. “Look, trust me. You just go back inside, okay?”

“But-Jo, you can’t-”

Apparently, she certainly could. I watched myself walk purposefully toward the shifty-looking fellow standing near the red convertible. He was wearing an overcoat-a dead giveaway of weirdness in the current heat wave-and even from Cherise’s distance looked like he needed not just a shower but a full-scale disinfection. Wild-eyed, wilder-haired.

Scary.

Joanne stopped just a couple of feet away from him. Cherise couldn’t hear the conversation, because all of a sudden thunder rumbled overhead. Cherise looked up, startled, to see dark clouds moving in from the west-which, Cherise thought, was really strange, because she’d just been giggling about Marvin’s out-of-the-box weather prediction about storms when the coast seemed clear, and all of the other stations were talking sunny skies.

Joanne must have wondered, too; she looked up at the sky with a frown, and it distracted her for a second from the guy in the trench coat.

Who suddenly lashed out at her with a fist.

I had to admit-this former version of me clearly had fantastic reflexes. She leaned back, and his punch sailed cleanly past her chin. He snarled and reached in his pocket and pulled out…a knife.

“Call the cops!” Joanne yelled to Cherise, who dashed for the doorway. She dialed 911 on her cell while she ran, and yelled for help while it rang. Gaffers and techs came running from the studio-big strong guys, union guys. Tough guys. “Jo’s in trouble! Parking lot!”

They scrambled. Cherise blurted out the facts to the 911 operator and hurried back out to follow, terrified of what she’d find…