I got hired at Jack’s Organic Gardens, working inside. That’s where Anabel the doppelgänger bull rider recognised me. I hadn’t seen her since the night English 101 ended. I often invited her to stop for a drink after class at the Bison Bar but she always found an excuse not to. All I knew about her was what I’d learnt from the papers assigned to be read aloud. Faintly smelling of citrus, her hair was brown like Audrey Hepburn’s and was styled short the way the actress wore it in a couple of films. She had a chin dimple that wasn’t as deep as Kirk Douglas’s. Other classmates frequented the Bison: Jason, Gale, and Kristen for sure. Sometimes, believe it or not, the instructor Miss Butler dropped in. I rang up the spider plant Anabel was buying for the waiting room at a plastic surgeon’s office where she was the receptionist.
“Do you take before and after photos?” I wisecracked.
“I’ll do that with this plant,” she said, laughing. “Hey, I thought you worked at The Regal Market.”
“I was fired for dropping a big jar of honey that broke. A child stepped in it.”
“That’s one sticky situation.”
“His mum went nuts.”
“Understandable.”
“I thought you had a rodeo gig. You read so passionately about the sport.”
“No, never even seen a cowboy ride a Brahma. I got all the bull riding stuff from an old diary I found at Goodwill. Eventually, I’ll peddle it at an antique shop. Oh, I scored the doppelgänger business off a matchbook I found at the Peaks Bar.”
That sounded to me like something out of a “B” detective movie.
“The Faulkner connection came from a research librarian. Twins were mentioned in that arson story of his we covered.”
“‘Barn Burning’ it was.”
“A-plus for you. How’s your auto hunting going?”
“I’ll show you first-hand.”
I walked her to the door, opened it, and pointed out my bicycle.
“Not well,” I lamented.
“I’m a hiker but I have my boss’s car when needed,” she said.
One Sunday morning I got an urge to go out for breakfast. Moore’s Pancake House was close enough to walk. Entering, I spotted Anabel sitting at a corner table. I approached.
“Join me, web man,” she said.
“Ha. And how’s the plant doing?”
As I sat I saw Moore himself step out of the kitchen. He shot a look at us then quickly walked backwards through the swinging door. I couldn’t imagine what that was all about.
“Thriving. Some tiny white flowers have shown up and offshoots that actually look like spiders.”
“Strangely enough they’re called pups.” I’d heard a woman telling that to her tot.
Anabel softly barked.
“How’s the plastic surgery game?”
The waitress interrupted. We ordered a pot of coffee, buckwheat pancakes for me and blueberries for Anabel.
“Business is flourishing but it’s an uncomfortable place to work. I don’t look up from my desk much. People seem embarrassed being there. Sometimes I sneak a peek when all is said and done. I’ll never go that route.”
“As far as I can see, you’ll never need to.” Her complexion and eyes that I’d admired in class struck me now as photo or canvas worthy. She briefly put her hands behind her head and pushed her chest forward enough to lift and open her jacket that was the dark green of the XKE I’d seen around that I wished were mine. There was more than I’d noticed in class. I wondered if the plastic surgeon had given her a bonus expansion.
“Aren’t you sweet to the high heavens,” she said. “I bet you say that to all the girls, especially Gale.”
“No. Gale and I were finally friends, just friends. She’s off chasing her thoroughbred racing ambitions.” Gale wore horseshoe ear studs. Nothing adorned Anabel’s. I couldn’t make out any piercing marks.
“Did you see yourself in the Mountain Free Press?” asked Anabel.
“Yup, at the Dowd Chemical anti-war demonstration. How the heck did you find me? I was minuscule.”
“I used a magnifying glass. Don’t take this the wrong way but I thought you looked a little like Anthony Perkins.”
“That’s the guy in the horror flick!”
“Yes, but you are sane up close.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“I would have burned down Bates Motel if I were you.”
“You ain’t.”
“I saw you and Gale at that lame movie the other night. The clown’s brother got pushed down the stairs at the Bates Motel.”
“That was as scary as the shower scene.”
“No way. Any more visits to Dowd with your gang?”
“I haven’t seen them since.”
“That’s what I figured. You were among one-hit wonders. Butler looked like the type, big jewelled peace symbol with fancy clothes and the ring with the ‘I’m wonderful’ rock. The sex-crazed Kristen and Jason the weedy stud need audiences but no repeat performances.”
“I guess I was a one-hitter too. Better than none I suppose.”
“I’ll buy that.”
I’d also wondered why there were no more sign-waving events. If Anabel knew about Miss Butler’s undercover counter-espionage work, weeding out Neo-Nazis, there was no hint.
“They treated me in ways that boosted my self-esteem.”
“I bet.”
“Could we change the subject?”
“One more thing, I’m working against the war but quietly. Dr Fisk is involved. You’ll keep this to yourself, right?”
“Of course, I will.” She moved her leg. Her calf leaned on mine.
“I find men who want to outwit the draft and some that want to plain and simple disappear. Dr Fisk gives them a new look and there are simpatico Vietnam Vets who have connections to fix the paperwork. I’ve helped many and don’t think for a minute they are cowards.” Jason whispered into my memory.
“Nope, I wouldn’t want to die for the military-industrial complex, either.”
“Was that Navy stuff you had in your class papers true?”
“Yup, USS Ramply (DD-810) was the ship.”
“Ever kill anyone?”
“Not to my knowledge. A depressed cook committed suicide, jumped into the Pacific. I’d never given much thought to the war before sitting at that Bison Bar table with Miss Butler, Kristen and Jason after the protest. My mind and eyes opened but not enough to make me an activist.”
“Gobs are seafood on the hoof. Did Kristen ever mention that?” While I was figuring out a snappy way to respond, I heard her shoe drop and her foot was in my lap, heel nudging my legs apart. The waitress brought the cheque. The foot fell. Anabel insisted on paying. Outside, she shook my hand, winked, and was gone. I didn’t know what the hell to make of her. Why did she trust me with the draft evasion and plastic surgery? What was with the foot action? For that matter, why did Miss Butler share all the Neo-Nazi info at the Bison? I felt like a walking safe deposit box. I remembered a childhood friend asking me if I wanted to get in on a boxcar robbery. It was full of biscuits. I agreed but the ringleader looked me over, counted me out. “He’d crack within minutes if the cops ever caught and questioned him.” No Sunshine Biscuits for me, reform school for them.
For a while at work I looked at some faces and wondered if they were masked by Fisk, especially when I sold chameleon plants and of course the spiders. It was close to a month before I made another Sunday visit to Moore’s. About a hundred yards from the door, Anabel fell in step with me.
“You swabs don’t march do you?”
“I did some in boot camp, klutzy though.”
“I could show you some boot camp, kiddo, but for the time being, come to my apartment. I’ll make you pancakes that will grill your soul.”
“That’s all?”
“Oh, la, la,” she moaned.
She was wearing jeans, a loose fitting sweatshirt, tan work boots and a khaki ball cap. “At ease,” she said, six blocks later. She took my hand and led me up steep stairs. The door opened to the living room. “Wait here and enjoy the fish, seadog.” There were photos of soldiers, sailors and marines on the walls, some with the dates and locations of their deaths in Vietnam. Maybe those without epitaphs were the Vets who worked with her. One strongly reminded me of a guy named Vic that I’d been introduced to at the demonstration. He was a member of Students for a Democratic Society. His beard was reduced to a goatee. I guessed draft card burning would be right up Anabel’s alley. Others were women. No Kristen, Gale or Miss Butler lookalikes. The couch was greyish black and velvety. The rocking chair was occupied by a calico cat that gauged me. A bowl on the coffee table was full of peanuts. I caught her aquatic drift. The aquarium on a stand in a corner was ten gallons I estimated. Did the cat ever paw at fish? No spectacular species, just six lazy goldfish. I had some when I was a kid. I remembered carrying them home in a little plastic bag like a school snack. Multi-coloured gravel unevenly lined the tank’s bottom. A palace with a turret broken off was the largest decoration. In a rear corner next to a pirate’s chest was an algae-coated mermaid. A snail sat on top of the aerator. The setup needed a few scavenging catfish to clean it up and keep it that way.
“Git in here, Tommy,” sang Anabel. She was at the stove and the edge of a pancake she’d flipped nearly brushed the ceiling. “Ta-da,” she exclaimed as it landed pan-perfect. She took a bottle of syrup warming in a pan on the stove that was boysenberry. There were seven or eight raisins in each pancake. I loved those incognito grapes. “You better tell me these flapjacks are the best you ever had,” she said.
“A threat of death couldn’t make me deny it.” I had three. Anabel ate one.
“What’s it like being out at sea, Tom?”
“Nice when it’s calm. If I picked up and tilted your aquarium back and forth that mermaid would be as unsettled as I’ve been in storms.”
“That’s pretty kinky.”
“Would you find kinks in an ocean sky full of stars?”
“Yup and when I go on a cruise, the ship is going to be as big as an aircraft carrier. No seasickness for me. Did you ever puke over the side?”
“Nope. Saltines settled my craw. By the way, ever hear of a guy named Debussy who wrote music inspired by the oceans?”
“No but the name reminds me of something else.”
“May I make a head call?”
“Head call, huh, nice? Ha, you sure may and you are blushing.”
“I doubt it, just saving face.” She gave me thumbs up.
The naked picture of her I spotted to the left of the bathroom door didn’t make me blush either. She had a breast in hand, an offering. Next to it was a lobby poster for Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She must have spotted Audrey in her looking glass. A vanilla candle burned on the toilet tank. A box of tampons and a black thing that reminded me of a magician’s wand or a Geisha’s hair stick sat next to it. Two toothbrushes were in a holder. I washed my hands with pine-scented soap. The towel had a seahorse on each corner. I carefully put the seat down and flushed. I failed to find Norman Bates in the mirror. When I got back, she had a finger on each temple, eyes shut.
“I’ve felt the ship sinking in my sleep. A distant relative of mine was rescued from the Andrea Doria in 1953. Her name was Minnie. That’s my connection with the sea, other than my aquarium.”
“Lucky lady,” I said.
“Well it wasn’t the Titanic, for God’s sake,” she said, strangely perturbed. “I dreamed that she recovered in front of a fireplace in an eerie castle.”
“Was it the one in the aquarium?” I asked.
“It expands.”
“I’m sure,” I said. She stuck out her tongue. She could probably touch her nose with it. I gazed at a box of Diamond wooden matches on the counter. Were they better for arson than the books advertising businesses like the Bison Bar or crime clues. She led me in a waltz without music back and forth in the tight kitchen space before exiting us into the living room. I stepped on her foot, just a touch really.
“Sea legs gone?” she asked.
“Pancake drunk,” I answered. I blew in her ear. She did the same, adding her tongue tool while leading me to the door. The last words I heard through the cracked open door were bizarre.
“Dr Fisk could turn me into Gale. You know what I mean, doppelgängers.”
“That would be as dramatic as an ocean liner sinking.”
“Standby, mate.”
I stood by until an urge for another Anabel experience. I made a number of trips to her apartment but she didn’t answer the bell. One more try I swore to God. The half-dead spider plant was sitting inside the aquarium next to a cardboard box full of everyday trash. I got a couple of dirty looks carrying away the Anabel souvenirs.
I’d looked for Dr Fisk in the phone book. Why would a doctor have an unlisted number? All the faces in the second semester night freshman English course were new yet I wondered about the mugs of one or two, especially the woman with the tight face who wanted to be a race car driver. The instructor was a man named A.P. Trent who was a Vietnam vet.
The spider plant recovered. I bought angelfish for the tank and named them Anabel, Jason, Gale, Kristen and Marge which was Miss Butler’s first name. I never expected to see them again. I considered my lodgers animated tombstones but I hoped time did full-body plastic surgery. I pictured a monster clock in a horror movie. I taped some cloud scenes from a photography magazine on the rear aquarium glass. I’d often sit and gaze like Ben in The Graduate flick did at his captive fish. I wrote a paper for class about a restaurant torched by a jilted lover. Trent, who resembled Moore, wanted to know what the hell it had to do with the topic which was Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea. I told him Ernest was a Debussy fan. He laughed and gave a “C”, signifying crazy I reckoned.
DoubleSpeak 