Sunday 8 May 2016

CLEANER II: Chapter Six - Part Twelve

MELISSA


I stood staring at her; at Dahlia.

The potential that had existed for this thing to go either way; for the decision to fall in favour of either future path... It had existed as some magical, writhing creature all summer, escalating in tension as the stakes of our physical transformations had risen. There had been the tiniest smidgeon of it that first time she had asked to swap places, back at Summertop: the possibility of a real and total trade of places. On the side of the Dorset Way in the thunderstorm, when I had been contemplating ending it all and Dahlia had appeared like magic through the curtain of rain to offer a different possibility; it had been even more possible. Each day; each week; each month that had passed since then, had made the unreal potential of her really wanting to go all the way with this seem first plausible, despite its foolishness, and then seem actually likely.

Despite her waverings and doubts since our arrival in Greece, I had allowed myself to think it could really happen; to coax her toward it, to push myself harder than I had ever pushed myself in my life; to even plan and book the facial reconstruction procedures, the plane tickets, the hotel rooms.

It hadn’t been a done deal – of course I’d known that – but my confidence had grown anyway. I’d let myself believe it out of a necessity and desperation to have something to cling on to, and I realised now why that was.

Because if Dahlia were to refuse then all power would be taken away from me.

The potential had flicked back and forth between the different possibilities, driving me to frenzy – I hadn’t realised how enveloped in stress I had been and all the more over these last weeks.

Because suddenly that whip-snapping alternation of potential was gone – the decision had been made – and it was suddenly blindingly clear to me how little power or control I had ever had over this.

I thought I had. I thought when she relinquishes her name and handed it to me along with her purse and pin codes, that I was truly becoming the dominant one. I had set up the awful circumstances for her here at the Castle Hotel. I had refused to allow her to move over to a cushier life at my hotel. I had insisted on her learning the intricacies of my history and on lowering her standards and self-image so as to take her place within this iniquitous pit of cleaners and abuse cooks.

I had become slim and beautiful like a princess in a fairytale, able to get... almost any man I desired.

But here, finally, it turned out that I had no say in the matter whatsoever; not really.

I wanted to go to Thailand and change our faces; really become one another. I had done everything; given... my soul to this; and now, with a few words she had shut that down forever with her smug, implacable, sad-faced conclusion.

I had faced all my demons. I had accepted that I was wrong to be trying to take her life but I had pushed forward anyway, really damaging my heart in the process; accepting that lesser image of myself and embracing it; that corruption. Now, with her whim, she had made that sacrifice meaningless. She had cost me my soul for nothing in return.

Everything I had done had been a waste, as her, now, she had simply snuffed it out. I had never had anything more than an illusion of power. All of this had been the playing out of this ridiculous rich woman’s fantasies and nothing more. Now that she had had enough, it was over. My feelings didn’t matter one whit.

She stood there, looking at me and what was that in her tired, muddled, inebriated face? What quality was framed at last, in this moment when the potential of that fabulous future life was being ripped away from me?

Her body was still but there was a quivering of energy beneath the surface of her face as though she were readying herself to speak further or show some sign of... something. My own gaze flicked from one element of her facial features to the next, waiting to catch the clues of what that would be. It was coming now. The moments of stunned silence were coming to an end. Yes. There.

Her cheeks shifted; the line of her mouth the curvature of her eyes; and she took on a cast of... sadness... apology... and pity. Pity for me. For me! Who had had it all just seconds ago!

I had been Dahlia Western with all the potential to remain that way forever; a rich, retired model living in a palatial home; beautiful, slender, perfect. And maybe I could have even gone back there to England and restarted that career, become the celebrity that she had been so afraid of becoming again. Maybe I could have gotten acting parts; starred in movies and really done anything I had ever desired.

And now, instead, I had nothing. That potential had been whipped away from me by her whimsy; her stupid, pathetic, fucked-in-the-head, on-again/off-again fantasies; and all she could do; all she could give me back; was a slow look of condescending pity.

I had never liked any of my employers. They had always made me feel like a second class citizen; like they were supposed to be better than me, even though they weren’t, just by virtue of their wealth or position. I had resented Dahlia in just the same way. Of course I had, with her beautiful house and perfect figure; her beauty that I couldn’t possess and her wealth and fame. But things were different now. When she had wanted to swap places I had looked down on her and begrudged the ridiculousness of it all. I had scorned her unenviable descent into madness and alcoholism, even though it mirrored my own.

But she had made me believe I could have this life. She had all but offered it to me. For that I hated her. I loathed her. Right now I wanted nothing more than to roar with pain and anger and drive her backwards through the very wall to plummet to her death. If there had been a balcony I might actually have done it.

I. Might. Actually. Have done it.

Thinking that now made my hands quiver and close into fists at my hips. It made the world contract about me until all I could feel was the burning rush of real rage in my head and shoulders – the rest of my body was ethereal – stabbing daggers of fury pressing through each of my eyes from behind, and the terrible vision of her crumpling face, looking at me as though she truly understood what her decision meant to me.

She couldn’t understand, though I bet she thought she did. I bet she thought she knew exactly how hard it would be for me to step down from the plinth of her life and go back to mine. She had walked in my shoes all summer. I bet she thought she was a fricking expert!

But it wasn’t about being fat. It wasn’t about being a cleaner, or poor, or ridiculed by those around me, or having no friends, or sinking deeper and deeper into vice and despair.

It was about the total lack of potential – that was what becoming Melissa would be like for me again. To have had every possibility and then have it removed just because this debutante felt like it; as though my life meant nothing.

Behind those sad eyes, was she justifying it all right now? Was she thinking, Hey, it’s okay! Melissa got to have an all-expenses paid long summer holiday. She got to lose all that weight. She got to see how the other half lives.

And now she gets to go back to that loving husband of hers.

That loving, fucking husband, Robert.

Oh, how I had laughed about the lies I spewed her regarding him; at the misty looks she got to imagine having someone so wonderful to look after her. And now who was the fucking joke on? Who was doomed to go back to that; top live with him and return to the selfsame abuse that had dogged me all my adult life?

Certainly not her. Not fucking Dahlia.

Me. Only me.

She could justify things as much as she wanted but we both knew my life was over now. I might as well have ended it in the Spring; walking out onto the dual-carriageway into the path of a truck.

It didn’t matter what I’d achieved; the weight I’d lost. There was no way I would be able to maintain that when we went back; no way I would manage to cling on to any of the so-called advantages I’d achieved.

The despair would return – it already was returning – and I would submit to it fully; I knew that. How could I not? I had no real strength of my own. I never had. I was a pathetic fake who had survived in Dahlia’s lie only by virtue of its fantasy nature. Once the real world smacked me back down I would crumble instantly. I would fall into the cogs of the humdrum world and be every bit as crushed as ever I was. The drinking would return. The self-loathing would return. The overeating and everything that entailed would return.

Dahlia, in her well-meaning, utterly selfish fancies had lifted me up from the brink of ruin only to dash me back down again.

I hadn’t been happy when we had started the swaps but I had been existing. How quickly had these games pushed me to realise that I couldn’t live my life anymore? Why would my future be any different now?

And maybe it was lucky there wasn’t a balcony after all, because now it felt like it wouldn’t be her going over it, clawed beneath my rage. It would be me; stumbling into wilful oblivion as the truth of my wasted potential overcame me.

And then suddenly Dahlia spoke and even in this she had the power to strip away this space I’d claimed for my emotions to run riot. Of course she did. She controlled everything. She always had.

She fixed me in her gaze and locked me there and the sides of her mouth turned up, even has her brow crinkled inward and her eyes took on a mockery of sadness and empathy.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I really am. But it has to be this way. You understand, don’t you?”

And she looked at me, expecting some platitudinal answer; something glib that exonerated her of any blame in the terrible ruin she was about to make of my life again, and I thought to myself, You fucking bitch. You fucking bitch to do this and then honestly think it’s okay; that I might make you feel better when all you’re doing is stabbing me in the back.

And then I replied and there was venom like battery acid in my voice that made that dopey, sad-sack expression of hers flinch right off her face.

“No,” I said. “I don’t fucking understand, you nasty, stupid little shit. I don’t fucking understand at all.”

9 comments:

  1. WOW! powerful writing indeed. I love THE LAST LINE.
    What a life time of envy & resentment & self hate is written here. She has projected all hr hate on D. So wanted to turn her into M, into herself. & now feels this dreams is gone.
    But Sorry, Emma, I don't believe part of this that M doesn't realize she doen'thave togo back toRObert. Looking the way she does &with her new clothes she could go somewhere else, become a sales person, even talk D into Maybe gettinga her a modeling job. Her trainer has already told her there no real chance she could slip back. he's found grace & poise in her danicing & modelign lessoons. The old M is gone. Unless she wants her back & workins at that.
    ut anyway where do we go from here? Maybe D's shocked or bullied into agreeing to a swap? Maybe M uses force or pays muscles somehow? Or well mayeb anything.
    Stilling waiting for the trip to Thailand, very impateinetly in the colonies
    Eric

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    Replies
    1. I love that last line too. I think fireworks are about to fly!

      I take your point about Melissa but she's not looking at the world from the most logical standpoint right now. Emotions are running high.

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  2. A very emotionally charged episode! In that one moment, all of the hate and resentment that has been simmering in Melissa has erupted now that she's been reminded that any control she thought she had was just an illusion.
    very wonderfully written!

    Melissa will certainly do something, but will it be a rash decision driven by rage, or, will she collect herself and plot something more sinister. Hmmmm...

    We shall see!

    Well worth the wait! Thank you, Emma!

    --Robert

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  3. one of the things I love about this story is the parallel between Dahlia and Melissa. both of them believe they are destined to failure so they are, they both seek to escape themselves. Melissa sees a bright future if she can remain Dahlia, and absolutely no hope if she doesn't. bare in mind that either way she is a beautiful woman with at least the theoretical potential of a modelling career, but to Melissa the most important criteria is the name on her ID. you could say, but its Dahlia's connects that would make it work. true, but why not ask for introductions as compensation? It never occurs to her. the fraigility of both of their egos is to me one of the most interesting and realistic pieces of this story.

    PS
    "All of this had been the playing out of this ridiculous rich woman’s fantasies and nothing more." I love this line, since it works both ways.

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  4. I think this is the first time me knew the name of the hotel where Dahlia has been slaving away as a cleaner.

    Certainly Melissa's resentment and sense of entitlement has, at last, surfaced and she's showing Dahlia that she's far from being her friend. Instead of being grateful for all that she's been gifted she turns on her benefactor, albeit a flawed benefactor. What she seems incapable of appreciating is that she now has a great chance of moving her real life forward (and surely Dahlia would still help her) even as a reborn Melissa Chapman. She could do anything and leave her bully of a husband to his own devices.

    Of course that would make a boring story and Emma isn't one to write a boring story, as we all know. So what now? Melissa is still in a powerful position. She presumably still has access to some of Dahlia's funds. All the locals think of her as a wealthy woman and Dahlia as a fat, ugly cleaner. It's just how she plays her hand now she's revealed her real attitude to her real employer. I think she could force Dahlia to continue in her role, perhaps even at her posh hotel if the Castle Hotel is to close for the off-season, and silently slip away back to England on her own but separating the two wouldn't be so much fun. So they both go back, then what? These are two fragile women who both have power but don't know how best to exercise it.

    Lots of questions and few answers but Emma knows ... I hope :)

    Thanks

    Robyn H

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  5. Very well written .I wish I could have been there to see the look on D's face.

    Rob

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  6. Wow!
    Another chapter that leaves me breathless.
    And another fine psychological case study as well.
    Interesting that Dorset Road is mentioned again.
    Might be a key scene... Maybe we even even see that place again. The story might even come full circle there...
    Lots of possibilities.
    Now I really wonder how D reacts to being addressed as "stupid little shit"...
    Keep up the good work, Emma, while we are all biting our nails.

    Marc

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  7. Some more thoughts. I htinklike most of us that sppmehow M would convicne d to swap faces & lives willoiingly ( it was what the orignal model did inthe first version of the story after all)
    Bbut as crazy as D is - & she's certiicably nuys, she ot that crazy. As she said inthe last chpater

    “Just that you would be the one who got to be Dahlia. You would be living in my house with my cars and all the money. What would I have? That street you’re talking about... That would be some scummy backstreet of Barton; not the lane outside Summertop.”

    M realises it I think in this chapter even thinkingof murdering D

    "And then I replied and there was venom like battery acid in my voice that made that dopey, sad-sack expression of hers flinch right off her face.

    “No,” I said. “I don’t fucking understand, you nasty, stupid little shit. I don’t fucking understand at all.” "

    I i;ve cometo to the conclusion that somehow M will have to force & threaten D to agree.
    Iwonder how Emma will contive it.

    I continue to hope that you feel well

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  8. It seems to me that Melissa is having a bit of a tantrum. Probably not her best move. Neither woman is thinking anywhere close to logically, which is what makes this story so much fun. They've been playing this game so long that I don't think they know what reality is anymore.
    Melissa doesn't want the game to end, she wants to walk away with everything and Dahlia, despite her decline has made her decision and reasserted her control over the situation and duly reminded Melissa that she was never in control.
    Dahlia has just pulled the corner stone of the fantasy that Melissa has built for herself and once the foundation is gone, the whole thing becomes rubble.

    This chapter, at least for me, illustrates just how far Melissa has yet to go to become the sophisticated woman that Dahlia once was (or perhaps still is buried under her bulk.) :) She let her emotions get the best of her.

    I'm sure that Emma will surprise us all with another exciting plot twist! She does it so well!

    --Robert

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