At one side of the lobby of The Hotel Xanadu, stands a calendar of the day’s events.
On one of the sofas in front of the desk, with a view of both the elevators and the calendar of events, sits Otto Wasserbach in a pinstriped suit and horn-rimmed glasses. Otto has been sitting here since the restaurant opened for breakfast, pretending to be reading a very thick thriller, but in reality keeping watch for Gabriela and Beth. Meanwhile, Remedios Cienfuegos y Mendoza, having made certain that only one elevator is working, has been riding up and down in it for hours. It has been, to say the least, a long and tedious morning. Otto’s book, compared with his own experiences, is about as exciting as a cup of warm milk; and if there is anything more boring than silently and swiftly going up and down and down and up in a metal box, Remedios doesn’t want to know what it is.
Nonetheless, they are both feeling confident as the breakfast hours pass and the time for the day’s events draws nearer. There is no way today’s plan can go wrong. Remedios has taken everything that might possibly go wrong into consideration and has prepared for every contingency. There are distractions that can be made; delays that can occur; diversions that can be created – should one of the girls make an appearance before the other comes downstairs. That is Otto’s job. One way or another, Gabriela and Beth will find themselves in the same place at the same time. It won’t take a second to switch them back, and the change should be complete even before they take their seats.
Remedios is almost wishing that she’d brought a newspaper with her so she’d have something to do, when the doors open and several chattering girls step in, among them Lucinda and her room-mate, almost glowing in the bright colours of their make-up and clothes. Remedios doesn’t look at them, but keeps her head lowered so that no one sees her smile but the floor. At the next stop, Delila and her room-mate get in. Remedios can’t believe her luck. This is going to be even easier than she’d hoped. Gabriela and Beth stand only inches away from Remedios – close enough to one another to touch, but not so much as giving each other a fleeting look. The elevator hits the ground like a feather falling on a cushion, and, in the instant before the doors swish open, Remedios lays a gentle hand on the girls in front of her.
Otto peers over the top of his book as the elevator doors open. And nearly cries out loud. They’re both inside! Standing next to each other. If he needed a signal that they’re doing the right thing, then this is it. He leans back with a sigh of relief, and watches the girls walk out, hurrying towards the calendar of the day’s events. The last person out of the elevator is Remedios, a smile on her face like a sunny day.
“Holy Hosanna!” says Otto as Remedios fairly floats towards him. “You did it!” But he wouldn’t be Otto without a second thought. “You did do it, didn’t you?”
“Yes, of course I did. Beth’s back in her body, and Gabriela’s back in hers.” Remedios smiles condescendingly. “Happy now?”
“Yes. Yes, I am happy.” Otto stands up, tucking his book under his arm. “Let’s go back to that taqueria for breakfast. We’ve got a couple of hours before the winners are announced. Celebrate with a burrito.”
Remedios, always a wing beat or two ahead of Otto Wasserbach, turns so she can see Beth and Gabriela walking along as if they know where they’re going. She allows herself a small but satisfied smile, but it disappears almost immediately. It will take a minute or two before the switch back is completed and everything’s normal again, and yet Gabriela sails along effortlessly in her platforms and holds a pair of glasses in one hand; and Beth wears her glasses pushed down her nose so that she’s actually looking over them. And then Remedios realizes the horrible truth. Merciful Michael, they’ve taken each others’ places! Remedios turns back to Otto. “You know, I think we better stay here.”
“Stay here? Why should we stay here?”
“I think that, perhaps, there’s been a little complication,” says Remedios. “But it isn’t my fault.”
Otto closes his eyes and groans very softly. “Oh, no, now what’s gone wrong?”
Gabriela wears the smile of a winner – head held high, eyes as bright as Venus, so happy that it’s all she can do not to laugh out loud. Oh, but it feels good to be wearing her own clothes again, even if she’s not in her own body. To be attractive; visible as a gazelle on a golf course. To see the way people look at her as she struts along the corridor.
“Wait a minute.” Gabriela stops by the door of the women’s room. “I just want to check my make-up before we go in.”
“I thought we didn’t want to attract attention by being late.” Lucinda points down the hall. A line of people, as glamorous as a diamond necklace, is slowly moving past the guards and into the Grace Kelly Room. “Everybody’s going in.”
“Two minutes,” promises Gabriela. “Two minutes isn’t going to make any difference.”
But Lucinda has had quite a weekend herself and isn’t about to have her better judgement derailed now. “I know your two minutes, Gab. You have a compact. Check your make-up here.”
Meanwhile, Beth and Delila walk slowly because Beth has to pause every so often to adjust her glasses to see where she is. Nevertheless, Beth, too, is about as happy as a bear at a dump to be back in her own persona, if not her own person. It makes her feel more positive about the future. Optimistic. Surely this is the solution to her and Gabriela’s dilemma. It may take their family and friends a little while to get used to, but this is all they have to do; just change their styles. Even Lillian Beeby will have to accept that although her daughter is a little blonder, has 20/20 vision and can eat nuts, she is still her Beth. Isn’t she the one who always says, “It’s what’s inside that counts”? Yes, she very definitely is.
“Dang it, but this is going to be one giant of a story to tell our grandchildren,” Delila says as they come in sight of the Cary Grant Conference Hall. “Can’t you just picture their faces? Their eyes’ll pop out.”
“Delila!” Beth stops suddenly. Her voice is low, but urgent and not particularly optimistic. “Delila! Wait.”
Delila turns around. “Uh-oh.” Delila has only been on two boats in her life: the Circle Line cruise around Manhattan and the Staten Island Ferry. In both cases, the day was clear and bright and the water was as calm as a garden pond. Delila, however, is not a sailor and might as well have been in a washbasin in the middle of the Atlantic during a hurricane. Beth looks the way those boat trips made her feel. “What’s wrong?”
“Delila?” The girl whose skin is suddenly tinged with green takes off Beth’s glasses and looks down at her hands. The nails, though clean of polish, have been cut, not gnawed to nubs. The skin is lightly tanned. She moves her gaze to her chest. She no longer has the physique of a twelve-year-old boy. “Oh my God,” breathes Gabriela. “I’m
Delila is now standing very close, staring into those dark blue eyes. “When you say
“Gabriela.” Her voice squeaks. “I’m
And it is at just about this same moment – as Delila groans and the girl who a minute ago was Beth Beeby blinks back a tear – that Gabriela snaps the compact shut and slips it back into her bag.
“Ready?” says Lucinda. “Let’s go,” and she starts off down the hall.
Gabriela doesn’t follow. “Lucinda?” she calls. “Lucinda, I don’t feel well.” Her voice wobbles, as do her legs. She leans against the wall. “I’m kind of dizzy.” Beneath the foundation, blush and toners her skin is colourless. She tugs at her skirt, which suddenly seems to have shrunk. “And I’m having trouble walking.”
Lucinda sighs, but turns round. “For Pete’s sake, Gab, it’s just nerves. You’ll be OK once we get inside.”
“I don’t have butterflies. I feel weird.” She feels like a wet cotton ball. Boneless. Weightless. Her voice breaks as she mutters, “Something’s wrong.”
“Gabriela?” Lucinda walks back to her, very slowly. Paintings have atmospheres. Rooms have atmospheres. Cities have atmospheres. And people have atmospheres, too. Lucinda can feel that the atmosphere that is Gabriela Menz has suddenly changed. Again. “Gabriela, is that you?”
“No,” says Beth, the wooziness passing. “It’s me.”
Delila and Gabriela are already hurrying towards them.
One of the differences between this morning and yesterday morning is, of course, that this morning neither Gabriela nor Beth is alone. They have Lucinda and Delila; they have each other. Another difference is that this body swap, though unexpected, isn’t quite the terrifying shock it was yesterday. And they’ve changed back to who they were, too, which should be good news.
