The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)

Sufferin' Suffolk!

Previously: "Arguments with Yourself" 

Kristy Suffolk undressed is more or less as you imagined her. Strong legs and calves. A vase-like torso balanced atop a bowl-like pelvis. Hefty, cantaloupe-shaped tits with big, rosy tips. Toned arms.

Not everything about her is perfect or up to her own standards. Her feet, for example, are small without being dainty, with toes like short, fat thumbs. She hates them—you feel her disappointment welling up in your breast as you study them in the mirror—and she never wears sandals or flip-flops or goes barefoot if she can help it. There's a stubborn little bag of fat on her stomach, too, which will not dissolve no matter how much she runs or how many sit-ups she does. Her face—

Well, you like her face, though probably for the same reason she doesn't. In Kristy's opinion it's too round and flat. She has cheekbones, but they're not the planed and angled cheekbones of a model, but heavy cheekbones that in an unflattering light make her face look puffy. Her mouth is small, and when you try smiling you are struck at how little in the way of teeth you show. But you like it because it's a Do Not Fuck With Me face. With your mouth set and your forehead firm, your dark, almond-shaped eyes become hard and emotionless—almost merciless. You feel like you could punch someone out, but with Kristy's cold glare you wouldn't need to.

But from her ankles to her knees, except for that little bag at her stomach ... Whoa!

You dress very slowly, studying yourself as you pull on each item, clasp each hook, and twist each button through its buttonhole. When you're done—dressed again in jeans, plaid blouse, and windbreaker—you give yourself one last long, grave lookover, and declare yourself satisfied.

You look exactly like Kristy Suffolk.

And as you bend at the waist to haul up the bay door, you find that you can instinctively move like her, too. She wanted to be a ballerina when she was a little girl, and you counterbalance the pivot on your waist by raising a stiff leg behind you. You feel a faint smile on your face as you stalk into Carlos's studio.

"Ay, there you are," Marcos says with a leer. He's behind the desk again, his arms around Jessica, who is perched in his lap. "Thought maybe you went spelunking and got lost."

"No, just making sure everything was buttoned up right." You sweep your bangs out of an eyebrow and pointedly ignore your beta, who is looking at you like a dog panting after a treat. "Uh, thanks for setting this thing up."

"No problemo. Think you can find your way home from here?"

"Sure." You almost ask about the memories—how come you seem to have them already—but decide it doesn't matter. To Cindy, who has been grinning at you from a corner of the desk, you say, "So I guess we're gonna start hanging out more?" Kristy and Cindy haven't had much to do with each other.

"If you want," Cindy says. "Love to." She spreads her legs and puts her head back, and your own unbridled interest in her body fights with the repulsion that Kristy has for lesbianism.

"Can I get in on this?" your beta exclaims. "With you and Cindy?" He waggles his eyebrows.

"I don't think Cindy would go for it."

"Okay, but what about us?" He sidles up. "Isn't that the plan?"

You step back before you can stop yourself. "The plan is to see you tomorrow night," you tell him. "That study session Stephanie set up."

"What study session?"

"Jesus, how come I remember and you don't? We're having a study session tomorrow night. Me and Stephanie and a few others. She told you to show up for it."

"Oh yeah. Well, can I at least give you a ride home?"

"I got my car. Kristy's car." You glance around the room, and are disconcerted by the bright stares turned onto you. "I think I should get home. To my new home. I, uh, don't know if Kristy's got a curfew," you lie. "Seems best to play it safe." To your double: "I know you've got a curfew, though."

"So will I see you before tomorrow night?" Will Prescott asks as you back out of the studio.

"Yeah. Unless I skip English." You stride off toward the exit as fast as you can without losing your dignity.

* * * * *

Kristy hasn't got a curfew, so no one looks at you askance once you're home. It's not your family—it's nothing like your own family—but with Kristy's memories and personality you find it easy to kiss everyone goodnight before heading out the back door.

It's a four-woman household, and Kristy is the only one blood-related to more than one other. Kristy's father was killed in Iraq while Heather Suffolk was pregnant with her, and being estranged from her own family has lived with her widowed mother-in-law ever since. And when your father's brother (also a Marine) died stateside in a helicopter accident, Kristy's grandmother took in his widow as well. Fortunately for all, Kristy's grandfather was also in the military, and he had lots of friends who have chipped in to help out the family over the years. People have asked Kristy if her family is related to the "Suffolks" for whom the nearby military base and nature preserve are named. She has told them that she doesn't know, but that she might as well be because of her family connections to so many people at the base.

Some of them, for instance, built a one-bedroom studio apartment in the backyard some years ago, between the carport and the gardening shed, so that Kristy could have a bedroom of her own. That's where you repair to after brushing your teeth and brushing out your hair and saying goodnight to your mother and aunt, who are already in their dressing gowns while watching the TV.

The studio is well insulated but unheated, so you have a hot water bottle with you. You change into Kristy's heavy flannel pajamas and curl up in bed. For a few minutes, as you stare into the dark, you are flooded over with the raw strangeness of the place, and with a sense of homesickness. For a terrible moment you feel yourself an exile, trapped in a strange house, in a strange room, in a strange body, and fear that you'll never see your own bed and family again.

Then, like a picture coming into focus, you realize how silly the fear is. The masks can be taken off—though you'll have to remember to ask Keith and them how to do that—and you can go back to being yourself any time you want. In the meantime ...

You curl up and hug yourself. There is no hardening rod down below, but there is a quickening pulse, and before you even realize what you're doing, you're doing a familiar thing: Putting your fingers down the front of your pajama bottoms to push inside and stroke the tender skin behind and inside the bush.

In this way, you put yourself to sleep.

* * * * *

You're up early the next morning, to shower, and to wash and braid your hair back. The weather continues cool and rainy, so you wait for your regular ride while watching from the living room window. Your mind drifts as you slurp coffee from a travel mug.

"Sorry we're late," Kerri Mullen says as you heft yourself and your backpack into the back seat of her boyfriend's Ford Explorer. Before you even get the door closed, Cam punches the gas. "Waiting long?"

"No," you lie. It doesn't do to get off on the wrong foot with one of Kristy's friends.

"Well, the good news is that Cam says he'll talk to Scott today."

"What about?" The ensuing silence from the front seat tells you you've put your foot in it somehow. "Did I miss something?"

Cam says, "No," while Kerri says, "Has Scott stopped sending you pornographic selfies?"

"Um—"

"Because you asked Cam to get Scott to stop it."

You were sure you had all of Kristy's memories last night, even before you went to bed, but this is news to you. "Oh, right," you say. "Yeah, thanks."

Still the silence in the front seat continues. You hunch up as Kerri stares at the side of her boyfriend's face. Eventually, she says, "You're going to, right?"

"I'll talk to Noah about it."

"Noah?"

"Jesus! I barely know Scott!" Cam protests. "You actually want me to punch him out—? Threaten to punch him out, if he doesn't stop with the—?"

"Would you punch him out if he was harassing me?"

"You're my girlfriend!"

You jump in. "You don't have to, uh, Cam."

Kerri shoots you a quick, dirty look before rounding back on her boyfriend. "You can talk to Noah about it, at least!"

"I said that's what I'd do! Him and Noah are friends, Noah'll straighten him out."

Kerri snorts. When she turns back to you, it's to talk about other things.

You're only half paying attention, though. There was a text from "Marcos" this morning, reminding you that you could pick out a second "beta" for yourself, and that's what you're thinking about.

Scott Bickelmeir has been pestering Kristy, and he would be a formidable rival for Will Prescott's attentions; you don't like thinking of even your beta getting in a fight with a football player. As a beta, though, Scott wouldn't be a rival, and as a football player he could really help "Will Prescott" build up some cred in a part of the social scene where you have absolutely none.

But much the same could be said about Blake O'Brien—oh yeah, that was his name—the guy who gave you a ride from the Warehouse the next morning. Or from any of the football players or security staff at the Warehouse. Basically, from any of Scott's friends.

You could also use Stephanie. She's close to Kristy, and has been sort-of interested in your case recently.

Or you could hold off on making any kind of quick decision.

* To continue: "Things That Look Like People" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 3)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)"