A Room with a View
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In Phoenix, I traded my Honda for a Mercedes E550 Sedan with all the bells and whistles, which took most of the afternoon on the first day of my road trip. Then I checked into the Phoenician, a hotel on Camelback Road, one of Keating's fiascos that later turned into a world-class hotel. After ordering from the room service menu, I called the folks. Dad wanted to know about my new car and complimented me on my choice.
"A sedan is always best, Debra," he said. I think he feared that I'd buy a sports car.
Mom still seemed upset, but maintained a stiff upper lip and tried to sound cheerful. My meal arrived while I was still talking with them.
After I ate, I drove by the house I occupied as Aaron MacDonald. It was dark and obviously vacant. I had hidden a key, and I knew the code to disarm the security system, but upon reflection, I didn't want to go there. It would be too much like visiting my own grave. Instead, I went to Scottsdale Fashion Center. My new killer body needed some new killer clothes. I dressed myself the way I liked women to dress when I was a man, which meant I would exude class with a capital C.
The next morning, I donned my magazine reporter disguise: a business pant suit, big hair, too much makeup, and high heels. I also added a few of business cards I'd printed before I'd left home that said I was a freelance journalist. At the Arizona State Hospital, I asked to speak with someone in administration about one of their patients. The administrator bought my journalist persona and told me all about Aaron MacDonald, the patient at ASH that had been struck by lightning not once, but twice.
That the patient had been struck by lightning twice had been an educated guess on my part, but in the guise of a freelance journalist, it was the only angle I could think of that would allow me to uncover as much information as possible about whoever was currently occupying my original body.
From what the administrator told me, I was able to deduce that John Windom and I had in fact swapped bodies last October, but John Windom couldn't handle the swap and ended up in a psych ward at County General. Then the vile creep raped a catatonic woman. Talk about sick! I had no sympathy for him, and I certainly wouldn't help him. He ended up at ASH right after the second time lightning came down out of the sky and hit him.
The administrator frowned. "It appears that the patient changed pathologies at that time. Strange, that rarely happens, especially moving from paranoid schizophrenia to a regressed personality." He looked up from the file that was giving him the information he was giving me. "The patient also speaks only three words now: mama, papa, and conk. The attending psychiatrist has no idea what the patient means by conk." He looked down at the file again. "Except for a short-term hunger strike, Aaron MacDonald has been a model patient since coming to ASH."
I'd just found Debra Oakman. The last simultaneous lightning strikes created a three-way swap—minimum. John Windom could have moved to another body, or he could have died when he reentered his own body. Or ... The possibilities were too many and varied to follow.
I might have clarified the swaps somewhat but I had not solved the conundrum.
I asked about the patient's health and his overall demeanor, and the administrator told me the patient was in good physical health, and for the most part appeared happy. I left a few minutes later undecided what to do for Debra Oakman, if anything.
I stayed at the Bellagio in Las Vegas, dined at the Tuscany Kitchen, called the folks, and then took in Cirque du Soleil and watched the dancing fountains in front of the hotel.
Did I get hit on while dining out alone, wandering through the casino, while attending the Cirque du Soleil unaccompanied, and while standing by myself and admiring Bellagio's fountains? You'd better believe it. Dressed to the nines in my new killer body, I'd have been crushed if I hadn't. I was also proud of the way I managed to say no to the potential suitors without putting them down. I am woman; hear me roar.
I briefly considered looking up Anthony Ferrari, the pimp that murdered John Windom's wife, to exact a partial measure of justice by way of a few broken bones, but I didn't even check with Lieutenant Valdez to determine if he'd made any progress on Yvonne Windom's murder case. As Valdez said, justice would eventually be served one way or the other.
The next morning I drove to Ely and took a room in the Copper Queen Ramada. It wasn't the Bellagio or the Phoenician, but it had some fond memories attached to the motel.
Architecturally, Ely hadn't changed. It was still ugly. But as I'd learned during my short tenure as John Windom, a town's architecture doesn't matter. What matters are the men, women, and children occupying a town.
Armed with my freelance journalist business cards, I drove to White Pine High School. The emotional force of the nostalgia that struck me as I entered the school made my knees wobble. I wanted to say, "Hi, Evelyn," when she greeted me at the administrative office's counter. Instead, I gave her one of my business cards and asked to speak with the principal.
"I'm doing a story on men and women who were struck by lightning twice during their lifetimes," I said.
"Oh, my," Evelyn said, "you're talking about Coach, aren't you?"
"Was John Windom a coach at the high school?" I said.
"He sure was, a football coach. He was a wonderful man," she said, glanced at the business card and added, "Ms. Oakman. Let me check with Mr. Early's secretary to see if he can meet with you."
The name on the card read D. Grace Oakman. I'd emphasized my middle name in case I was asked for identification while in the persona of a freelance journalist. The address was fake, but the cell phone number was real. It was, however, a different phone than the cell phone I used as Debra Oakman.
Tom didn't make me wait very long, and I soon found myself sitting in front of his desk. The rascal liked my legs I noticed as I crossed them after retrieving a notebook and pen from my purse, additional implements of my disguise as a freelance reporter.
The interview achieved my purpose. When it ended, he called Robyn to his office and introduced us. Nostalgia from walking into the high school had made my knees wobble. Seeing Robyn again made my entire body shake. The emotions raging inside me were almost too much to take. This wasn't working.
I think it was Sam Ewing who wrote or said, "When you finally go back to your old hometown, you find it wasn't the old home you missed but your childhood." I didn't have a childhood in Ely, Nevada, but I lived in the town for a brief time with a brand new body, a pseudo-childhood, and I missed that time and the people I knew who called me Coach. I thought seeing Robyn again would give me pleasure. It didn't. Seeing her again was excruciatingly painful. I wanted to take her into my arms and hold her, but couldn't.
I'd planned to interview Tom, Robyn, Orville, Gloria, and Elizabeth, as well as some of my football players like Larry, Helen, Cal and Cory, and also talk to Nora Daniels and Marylyn Pope, the morning workout girls. I'd also planned to speak with Agnes, Elizabeth's Uncle Lou, and Mabel, my ranch manager, and finally spend a few minutes with the sheriff. But seeing Robyn again turned my plans upside down. I knew I couldn't handle the emotions that would overwhelm me after interviewing so many friends from my life as John Windom. After speaking with Robyn, I'd interview Elizabeth. I had to talk to Elizabeth to find out the disposition of assets like the money in John Windom's bank account, but after interviewing Elizabeth, I'd leave Ely, Nevada, never to return again. I should have listened to Thomas Wolfe: You can't go home again.
Pretending to have done my homework before driving to Ely, I asked Robyn about the teachers and teenagers on my list, and she filled me in on what had happened to each after lightning came down out of the heavens and put an end to John Windom's life.
My praise regarding Orville's ability as a football coach had been heard, and Tom had made Orville the head football coach for the next football season. The extra money from the head coaching job would give Orville the money he needed to retire when the time came to hang up his cleats. Thank you, Tom Early.
Danielle was engaged to Larry Wiggen; a June wedding was planned. Danielle stopped attending the early morning workouts. I wasn't surprised. Gloria Sanger, the home-ec teacher, supervised the workouts now, and ten students were huffing and puffing and eating nutritious meals to lose or gain weight and get fit. Robyn still taught them pilates, and the beginning form of tai chi had become a tradition to start the workouts. Cory and Nora had become a couple, and an almost svelte Marylyn had also found a boyfriend. Larry Foreman and Helen had become high-school sweethearts. Larry's alcoholic mother was still on the wagon, and instead of the local community college, Robyn had wrangled a full academic scholarship for Larry at the University of Nevada in Las Vegas, the same college Helen would attend. Cal, it appeared, was no longer a bully.
As I was leaving Robyn's office, she said, "I loved him, Ms. Oakman. I loved Coach, and I miss him."
I didn't respond, and I didn't turn back toward her. I just left. I didn't want her to see the tears in my eyes. In my car in the parking lot, I sobbed like a baby.
As I approached Elizabeth's office door, I ran into Larry Foreman, not literally, but we passed in the hall. The rascal looked me over, but he was just being male, and I appreciated his interest.
Seeing Elizabeth was almost as difficult for me as seeing Robyn. Where Robyn was forthcoming about the people I knew at the high school, Elizabeth was not, forthcoming, that is. She was wearing her lawyer hat, and my questions were trampling on confidentiality issues.
"Ms. Conner," I said, "I'm writing a human interest story about the life of John Windom, one of very few individuals who were struck by lightning twice during their life. The disposition of his estate is crucial to the story. I'm not asking for amounts. I don't need that kind of detail, but my research about his life indicated that he left a young daughter behind. Can you just tell me if the daughter will be well cared for financially?"
"The answer to that question is yes, Ms. Oakman," Elizabeth said.
"Thank you," I said. "My research also revealed that John Windom's mother is still alive, or was at the time of his death. Did Mrs. Jacobs assume the responsibility of raising the child?"
"She did," Elizabeth said.
"Thank you," I said again. "Mrs. Jacobs resided in Reno, Nevada. I'll be driving to Reno tomorrow to interview her and Mr. Windom's daughter."
"Then you'll be wasting a trip," Elizabeth said and then laughed, probably at the confused expression on my face. "Carol lives in Ely now," she added. "While John was alive, he purchased some land from my uncle that he planned to turn into a little horse ranch. He even purchased two appaloosa horses to start the ranch, and he left behind some unfinished architectural plans and sketches that showed the layout of the various buildings on the land and the look of some of the structures he'd planned to build. Carol decided to turn John's dreams for the ranch into a reality. Some changes were made. John purchased three parcels of land for the ranch, but Carol managed to talk the seller of one of the parcels into returning the earnest money, and she completed the sale on the other two parcels, hired an architect to redesign the ranch, and put the construction project out for bid. Construction started on the ranch house about a month ago."
I smiled. Way to go, Carol! I wondered where the money had come from, and then I remembered she'd married a man named William Jacobs, who was "in construction". I'd never inquired about Carol Jacob's financial situation. From what I'd just been told, she had to be worth millions to make my dream for the ranch a reality. Way to go, Carol!
I pretended to check some notes. "That would be land sold to John Windom by Louis Hailey?"
"Yes, a total of 80 acres. Lou and Mabel Grant will live on the ranch. Before his death, John hired Mabel to manage the ranch and train his horses, and Carol honored John's wishes in that matter as well. She also hired Agnes Smith, John's housekeeper and Piper's nanny."
"May I have Carol Jacob's address and phone number? To round out my story, I'll need to speak with her and John Windom's daughter."
"I'd give the address and phone number to you, but they won't do you any good today. Carol and Piper are out of town on a horse-buying trip. Lou and Mabel went with them. If I remember their itinerary correctly, they're currently in Mississippi. I don't expect them back until next week."
"That's disappointing," I said. "I'd like the address and phone number anyway. I have enough of John Windom's story now to draft an outline of the story I will write and send to some editors. If one of them bites, I'll need to speak with Mrs. Jacobs and Piper. Perhaps I could do that via the telephone."
I wasn't truly disappointed. I was relieved. Seeing Robyn and Elizabeth was almost more than I could handle. I wanted to see Piper again in the worst way, but no way would I have remained composed if I saw her. I would bawl like a baby.
I jotted down Carol's address and phone number. It was the address of the rent house I'd been living in when lightning struck me the second time, and the telephone number was my also my number.
Kaidence
- 10.08.2021
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