Fri, December 11, 2074 4:27 pm-- 782 W. 42nd St.; Tolsbury, Pleasantview
"Okay, how I do I look?" Orlando emerged from the closet, kicking discarded articles of clothing out of his path. His linen suit was barely a shade darker than his face and hands. Jack could not imagine where he found this one. Cameleons-R-Us, perhaps. A four-buttoned jacket, shoulder pads, that pointy shirt collar--Where to begin? Spending most of his time in the company of London's associates made Jack sensitive to the way that a man should suit himself. He mussed his hair, searching for the right descriptor.
"You look exactly the way I would expect someone selling holy books in a convenience store parking lot to look," he said. Orlando's puke-gray jacket made a rustling sound as his shoulders drooped. He tugged at his cuffs.
"C'mon, be for real here for a sec. Are these sleeves too long?" Orlando turned to the mirror in the closet, evaluating the sleeves from various angles. Jack felt the urge to laugh but caught himself in time.
"Sleeves are not your problem."
"What then?" Jack rose an eyebrow at the obviousness of Orlando's error.
"You landed an interview with a high-profile judge and you're going in a suit that that's older than you are?" Orlando shrugged.
"Money's tight right now," he said. Jack inspected Orlando's frame while he was facing the opposite direction, trying to gauge the shape of the body beneath all that ill-fitting fabric.
"I reckon we're about the same size. I could let you borrow something," he offered. Orlando looked at him skeptically through the mirror.
"You own a suit? I've never seen you in a suit."
"My foster family makes me go with them to ballet and classical guitar concerts and whatnot." Orlando laughed, turning on his heels address Jack directly.
"You? At a ballet?" Jack exhaled through his nose but said nothing. "Right. Decent suits?"
"I've got this one navy Totori Hiedel that would prob'ly look good on you." Orlando whistled appreciatively.
"Totori Heidel? I wish some rich folks would foster me. Don't you ever worry that your Townie ass is a disgrace to Alpinian wool?" Jack leaned back on the bed, smiling.
"Nah man, you got that the wrong way around. You don't feel like a Res until you've worn real clothes."
"As opposed to the clothes I've been imagining for the past eighteen years?" Orlando was joking, but Jack thought that he had stumbled upon a certain truth. If clothing was a signifier of personal, religious, professional, and cultural identity then what did it mean to dress like a Townie? Townsmen dressed like Residents, only a decade or two out of fashion. They wore what Residents cast off, which was fitting considering the fact that their identities as Townsmen had been assigned by Residents. Townie was an artificial identifier because it had been thrust upon them independent of their wills. It was the clothing that they had been imagining, imbued with false meaning. Jack shook his head. It was too complex to explain to Orlando.
"You're on your own for shoes though," he said. "I mean, what are you? Like a size thirty-six?"
"Thirty-eight."
"Damn, Townie." Orlando rolled his eyes and loosened his tie. "You nervous about this interview? I mean, District Judge of Rawling Hills, mate." Orlando stopped what he was doing.
"Yeah, I guess you could say that."
"He probably gets fifty resumes on his desk every week and he picked yours."
"Beats me, man." Jack cringed.
"That's not what I meant. Graduated top of your class-- It ain't like you're not qualified."
"But how am I gonna make an impression?" Orlando spread his arms wide as if to display not only what he was wearing, but some lack of substance beneath it. Jack was stung by the gesture. No one deserved the best opportunities in life more than Orlando did.
The state took Orlando away from his parents when he was very young, citing dangerous and unsanitary living conditions. He then filtered through the system like Jack had, but he was not so lucky in his placements. He didn't talk about it much but he didn't need to, not with Jack. Orlando moved back in with his mother in his early teens and was sexually assaulted by one of her many boyfriends. He ran away as a result, spending eight months on the street before being accepted into Pleasantview Boarding. That place saved his life. Jack wondered whether Troy Tellerman-Caliente knew it too.
Still, was Orlando bitter about the path that his life had taken? Was he discouraged, mistrustful, beaten? He was not. There was no looking back for Orlando. He was ten times the man that Jack was. If it ever occurred to him just how extraordinary he was, he never let it show. He could perhaps afford to be a bit less humble.
"Just be confident," Jack concluded. Orlando smiled weakly.
"Easier said." Then Jack thought of something certain to boost Orlando's spirits.
"Hey, how's your man Aaron?" And predictably, Orlando beamed like a fool.
"You remembered his name." Jack scratched his head, somewhat abashed.
"He means something to you so yeah, I made it a point." Orlando appeared to be touched, but then the instant passed and his enthusiasm withered on the vine. He fiddled with his cuffs again.
"Aaron's out of the picture." He made this declaration almost at a shout. Jack rested his hands on the ironwork foot board. Orlando could hardly meet his eyes.
"What happened?"
"He couldn't handle the fact that I have responsibilities now."
"So fuck 'em."
"I cared about him."
"If he can't cope with you being a parent, fuck 'em." Orlando's jaw dropped. He began to stammer.
"I'm-- I'm not a--" He shook his head, seeming to clear his thoughts. "Haven has parents, okay? Anyway, since when are you so interested in my love life?"
"You're my friend. Speaking of, Beau is seeing a Townie-born girl." Orlando jerked his head back in disbelief.
"Say what? Beau? Our Beau? Beau Broke?"
"Her name's Felicity. She lives over on Tellerman Farm. Small world, hunh?"
"Eerily small." The bedroom door swung open as if on cue, and Haven came bounding through it. Jack warmed at the sight of her. He never thought that he would be happy to see Haven Hanby, but he was. Orlando, Haven, Beau... These people were his family. How could he leave them behind? Haven threw her arms around his neck and planted kisses all over his face.
"Jaacckk! Jack, I missed you," she said.
"That's nice."
"It isn't nice, it's terrible! You should come by more often. Jack! I want you to meet my ferret. His name is Mr. Piddlewater. Ask me why his name is Mr. Piddlewater!" Haven was pulling at the corner of his shirt. Jack gently deposited her back onto the floor.
"I'll stop by in a few minutes, I promise."
"Nooo, I want you to come nooowww. Please, Jack?"
"Haven, could you please just give us a minute,"Orlando asked. Haven interlaced her fingers and begged, hopping around the floor like a fish on dry land.
"I've already given you a minute. I've given you tons of minutes!"
"Haven." For someone who claimed not to be a parent, Jack thought that Orlando sounded awfully parental. Haven responded by stiffening her shoulders in begrudging defeat.
"Fine," she said, stomping out of the room. Orlando sat down on the bed next to Jack, and nudged him with the side of his gigantic shoe.
"You all packed," he asked.
"Seeing as how I won't need most of my street clothes, and I'm not allowed to bring in secular books or music, I'm as packed as I'm going to be."
"When will you be back?" Jack looked down at his palms.
"Don't know. It's not a job as much as it is a way of life. You don't get vacation days when you're a Magus." Orlando leaned back on his elbows.
"I still can't wrap my head around all this." Orlando could not be blamed for that. Jack might have told Orlando about his dreams or about the hidden abilities that he had struggled to understand for as long as he could remember. He could have told Orlando that he had to go because this was his only chance to learn who he was, but that would be admitting that London was right. "It's just all too surreal, you know," Orlando said. Jack leaned over the bed rail.
"Imagine being the one living it."
Tues, November 3, 2074 8:02 pm: Pleasantview Youth Boarding House- Tolsbury, Pleasantview
Beau was exiled, but he was used to it. His roommates both had more of a tendency to bring women (or in Orlando's case, whatever home with them in the evenings than Beau did. On such occasions, Beau would slink into the girls' dormitory with good book, hoping to enjoy a quiet respite in the peaceful company of the fairer sex.
Beau had barely cracked open A Condensed History of Rural Veronaville before his perfect oasis was shattered. Haven flung open the door, allowing the metal knob to slam into the wall. The resulting clamor was much like the firing of a shotgun. Beau almost dropped his book. Haven took no notice of him but immediately climbed atop her bed and began jumping furiously. It was now Beau's great misfortune to experience the sound of a squeaking mattress in stereo, as he could also hear it through the wall that adjoined them to the boys' dormitory.
"Stupid- Adrienne Burb- Thinks- She's so special- Just because she's pretty," Haven spat. Beau little knew what had inspired this monologue and what was more, he didn't care. But if he declined to say something in response, that little red headed twit would never leave.
"Ok, I'll bite. Who is Adrienne Burb?" Haven slowed down, her breathing steadily growing more audible.
"She's a girl in my class. Today we were at lunch and I heard her say to her friends that since her brother married Mrs. Lothario and her sister is going to marry Enoch Goth, she'll probably marry Laurie. My Laurie! She didn't call him Laurie though. She called him, 'the Caliente heir'." Haven snickered bitterly.
Beau should have known. When Haven wasn't talking about amphibians or candy or how she would decorate her room when she left the boarding house, she was talking about Lawrence Caliente. How sweet he was. How cute he was. How he called every week to see how she was doing. Beau attempted to use this pause in the conversation to skim a page. In 1460, the first known Fae was born to Marietta Henderson of 830 Stratford Street...
"So what do you think," Haven asked. Beau had already forgotten the thrust of the conversation.
"Hunh?"
"About Adrienne and Laurie." Beau sighed heavily through his nostrils. He didn't ask much. Just a quiet room to read in while Orlando was busy banging some guy next door. It seemed a reasonable enough request.
"I don't know why you set your heart on him so much," Beau said.
"Why not? I've known him almost since I was born."
"I know but he's... Well, he is the Caliente heir and full caste and much older than you." There were other things that Beau could have said. That Haven was the illegitimate daughter of a townie-born housekeeper. That she was extremely eccentric and a little funny looking. That guys like Lawrence Caliente had girls throwing themselves at him everywhere they went. But Beau valued what was left of his tranquility and would rather that Haven didn't hate him. Haven stopped jumping and hopped down from the bed.
"Are you trying to say you think he will marry Adrienne?" This conversation was completely inane. Beau wished that he could bury his head under a pillow and make it go away.
"How should I know, Haven?"
"I would die if he married her," Haven grumbled. When she spoke again, her voice was soft as though she didn't want anyone to overhear. "Sorry, Beau. Usually, I wouldn't be bothering you about this kind of stuff but Orlando is in the boys' room screwing a dude and-"
"Haven!" Maybe if he threw the pillow at her, she would take a hint. Haven pouted at having been chastised.
"Well, he is," she said plainly.
"That isn't the point. Little girls don't talk about-" Beau halted in mid-sentence when the intercom came on with a click.
"Dinner in ten, kids." It was the voice of Mr. Fuller, the boarding house's director.
"Ok," Haven and Beau called out. After the intercom went off, Haven flashed Beau a wicked smile.
"Actually, I know all about coitus. Jack said that-" The intercom clicked back on.
"Is Jack home," Mr. Fuller asked wearily. This line of inquiry made Beau wonder whether Mr. Fuller could still hear them with the intercom turned off.
"He's at chorus practice," Beau replied. Chorus practice was a new invention of his. He and Jack had laughed together about it the night before. It was plausible enough since Jack often sang in the shower but the idea of him joining the school chorus seemed so out of character that it was indeed laughable.
Beau didn't know exactly where Jack went at night, only that he came home smelling of liquor and cigars. Sometimes he came in with blood on his clothes. Jack disappeared at different times throughout the week but was always out on Friday nights from about seven to midnight without fail. Once upon a time ago, Beau worked up the nerve to ask Jack where he disappeared to and Jack said that he was a member of some kind of gardening club or something. Beau never asked Jack about his nocturnal wanderings again.
"I didn't know that Jack was in chorus. No one ever tells me anything," Haven fumed. For a moment, Beau had completely forgotten that she was even in the room. But before he could respond, she skulked away, perhaps to terrorize Willow or perhaps to eat dinner. Beau smiled contentedly. Haven was someone else's problem now. Contessa Capp died of consumption on April 3, 2043...
Mon, October 19, 2074 7:01 pm: Pleasantview Youth Boarding House- Tolsbury, Pleasantview
Haven Hanby tripped over her own tangled feet while rushing up the stairs. Her arms flew wildly into the air, grasping for a slightly-too-distant banister. She managed to catch herself before her face hit the wooden edge of the step but her right foot slipped beneath her, causing her entire body to slide backwards for the length of three steps.
No one saw but she was just as embarrassed as she would have been if someone had seen.
Haven pushed herself up, her palms red and burning, her pride likewise injured.
She continued her journey up the stairs clomping heavily but slowly, hanging her head in a show of defeat. She would be cursing herself painfully for the next few days over this.
Haven reached the top of the steps, keeping her eyes on the floor just in case anyone was around. This was the problem with the boarding house- there were no good places to sulk. She had to resign herself to looking away from everyone else and pretending that she was alone.
Haven turned the corner to enter the girls' dormitory when she heard a male voice chastising her from the study room, "You really shouldn't run like that, you could hurt yourself." Orlando! Haven swiveled around abruptly and headed into the study room.
Orlando was seated at the first computer, seemingly proof-reading something he had just typed. He did not look at her. Haven wanted to fling herself on him, plant kisses all over his face and tell him about her day at school. But most unusually, Orlando seemed like he didn't want to be approached.
Haven held her breath and crept behind Orlando's chair. She would wait for him to finish his work before she hugged him. Oh, Orlando! He was her very best friend in the boarding house. No, her very best friend in the world! He was super nice and smart and fun. Haven wished that she could be just like him.
Orlando never tripped or forgot important stuff or blew his nose too loud or said the wrong things. And he was always so good to her. He never treated her like she was different or talked down to her because she was littler than him. Orlando liked her in earnest, for who she was. Haven wasn't even sure she could say the same of her parents.
Haven teetered from one foot to the other. Maybe she would count the seconds until he was done. One (one thousand), two (one thousand), three (one thousand)... She couldn't take it.
"Wanna go look for salamanders," she chirped.
"No, I want to talk to you about something," he said flatly. Uh oh. What had she done now? Haven tried to recall anything she may have said to offend him. Her square face scrunched-up tight in desperate concentration.
Orlando turned his chair around towards her and gestured for her to come closer. Haven came tentatively. When she passed within reach, Orlando took her by the hands.
Haven's hands were sticky from an orange popsicle she'd eaten a few minutes ago. She regretted not having wiped them off somewhere. Orlando had a very expectant look on his face. Haven didn't suppose he was thinking about her hands.
"Haven," Orlando started but looked away as though he was rethinking what he was about to say. "I'm going to be eighteen in December-" Haven cut in, squeezing Orlando's hands.
"Yes, I know. I've already got everything planned." Haven gave Orlando her broadest smile. Did he really think that she would forget his birthday? Orlando closed his eyes and sighed. Haven knew that sigh. It was the sigh of someone who was exasperated with her. She was a little hurt.
"I'll be too old to live here anymore," Orlando said. Years later, Haven would remember this moment as moving infinitely slower than it did. She let go of Orlando's moist hands. Amid the shock of knowing that she was about to lose him, Haven thought that the mixture of his sweat and her popsicle juice had somehow bound them like blood brothers.
"The thing about it is," he continued. "I can't just leave you alone here. I mean, Jack would probably look after you but he's hardly ever around and- Well anyway, I want you to come live with me. I've already talked to your mother and to Mr. Hanby-"
Orlando was interrupted in mid-sentence when Haven threw her tiny arms around his neck. Orlando coughed. She was cutting off his air. She let him go. He was beaming.
"So you'll come?" Haven shrugged but could not suppress the joy on her face.
"My home is where you are," she said. Orlando grabbed her forcefully, pulling her into a crushing hug. Haven couldn't remember a time that she had felt more wanted.
