fingers clacked the computer keys. She swiveled the monitor so Maggie could see. Slowly the picture crystallized. Maggie watched the image of a plain-looking woman materialize. “That’s Barbara,” Lucy said, “right now.” There was momentary sound, but Lucy tapped what must have been a mute button.
Maggie looked at the screen. A nondescript-looking woman sat beside a desk, typing furiously on a laptop computer as the hunky-looking man behind the desk talked. She saw him pick up the phone on his desk, press the receiver against his ear and swivel his chair so his back was toward the woman, who continued to work on the laptop.
Maggie watched Barbara tuck an errant strand of her shoulder-length medium-brown hair behind one ear while her boss talked on. “Look at that woman,” Maggie said. “She’s not even wearing makeup. And that blouse…” Barbara was wearing an orangy-yellow blouse and a brown tweed skirt. “It’s so wrong for her coloring. And sensible shoes, no doubt. Who’s the guy?”
“That’s Steve Gordon, one of the partners of Gordon, Watson, Kelly and Wise.” Angela gazed at the screen. “He’s rich, bright, successful, and very eligible. And as I said, she’s crazy about him.”
Maggie watched Steve hang up the phone and turn back toward Barbara. He opened a desk drawer, propped his feet on it and began to talk. Lucy tapped the button and the three women could hear the sound.
“That was Lisa,” the man said. “Make me a reservation for eight o’clock tonight at Enrico’s and send her a dozen roses. No, on second thought, make it just an arrangement.”
“Of course,” Barbara said. Maggie caught the heat of the woman’s gaze as she looked at her boss, while he seemed oblivious.
“Well, that’s your job, for starters,” Lucy said, tapping the mute button again. “First a physical makeover, then the rest.”
“Yes,” Angela said. “I think she should end up with that gorgeous Mr. Gordon. I can see it. A large house in the country, kids, horses, dogs…
“Actually,” Maggie said, “he reminds me of Arnie Becker on LA Law. A real ladies’ man and just a bit sleazy.”
“Yeah,” Lucy said, “me too. But Barbara really likes him.”
“She would,” Maggie said, rolling her eyes.
“Well, I think he’s perfect,” Angela said.
“Does it have to end up with them together for me to succeed?” Maggie asked, thinking that Arnie was all wrong for Barbara.
“Oh, no, of course not,” Lucy said. “Actually, I think she should get out, see the world, maybe end up like you did.”
“Free will,” Angela said. “That’s what we advocate here. Her life is her choice. It’s just that she has no real choices now. We want to grant her mother’s request and see what happens.”
“Do you think you’re ready for the task?” Lucy asked.
“I guess so.” Maggie shrugged her shoulders. What choice did she have? This was kind of like the Mad Tea Party in Alice in Wonderland, but her options were few. And, of course, this project did buy time for her back on earth. Wondering how long she could stretch this out, she uncrossed her legs and waited for the magical zap to transport her to meet Barbara.
“Well?” Angela said, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m waiting for the magic,” Maggie answered.
Lucy motioned in the direction from which Maggie had entered the room. “The elevator’s that way. Just press the ground-floor button.”
“Oh, Maggie said, standing up. She looked down at her diaphanous white gown. “And do I get clothes? This is a bit overly dramatic, don’t you think? I’ll scare poor Barbara to death.”
“Hmmm,” Lucy said. “You’re right. We’ll see to it that there are proper clothes in the waiting room on the ground floor. It’s on the right just this side of the front door. Change, then go out the door and you’ll be just where you should be.”
Maggie nodded, then turned toward the door. “Good luck,” Angela and Lucy said in unison.
“Thanks,” Maggie said over her shoulder. “I guess.”
As the computer room door closed behind Maggie, Lucy held out her hand to Angela. “It’s a bet?”
Angela took the proffered hand. “I firmly believe that Barbara will end up settled and happy in six months. Mrs. Steven Gordon. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it.”
“And I believe that once she discovers sex, there’ll be no stopping her. Whoever invented it, it’s the strongest drive we have, thank Lucifer. She’ll get into no end of trouble and she’ll love it. I’ll bet on it.”
“You know, people would never believe that you want anyone to be happy. You’re supposed to represent misery, suffering, and hardship, and here you are betting on happiness of one sort or another.”
“I know. But happiness isn’t all it’s cracked up to be either.”
In the room on the ground floor, Maggie found a pair of well-washed jeans, a soft light gray turtleneck sweater along with underwear, socks, and slightly worn running shoes. She dressed, leaving the almost-transparent white gown on a hook behind the door. Then she left the room and walked across what appeared to be a marble lobby toward the revolving door. When she pushed the brass handle, the door turned and she exited on the other side, right into what she somehow knew was Barbara Enright’s bedroom. Fortunately, Barbara wasn’t in it at the time. Maggie could hear sounds from the kitchen below. “God,” she muttered, recognizing the unmistakable sound of a food processor, “I’ll bet she cooks, too.” She shook her head, then crossed to the large walk-in closet, pulled the door open and flipped on the light.
Oh, Lord, she thought, riffling through a collection of slightly dowdy dresses, blouses, and suits. Way in the back, she found a soft chiffon dress in shades of blue. She lifted the hanger from the rod and held the dress at arm’s length. It was slightly out of style, but beautiful nonetheless. “Now this is more like it,” she said, putting the dress back where she had found it. “There’s hope yet.”
Suddenly she realized that she had been moving things and feeling things just like she had when she’d been alive. Phew. Been alive. That sounds awful. I don’t feel dead. Actually, she thought, pinching her arm, I don’t feel any differently than I did yesterday. She looked at the darkened window. It must be evening now, she thought, but I thought it was morning when I was with the gruesome twosome up there and I was on the phone with Paul last evening, I guess.
She looked at Barbara’s bedside table and spotted the clock. “Five-thirty and it’s pitch dark,” she said aloud. “But it should still be light. It’s midsummer.” She crossed to the window and looked out. There were small areas of snow on the ground and the stars shone brightly in a blue-black sky. “I guess time doesn’t work for the girls the way it works here on earth.” She thought about Lucy and Angela and marveled at how sanguine she had become about something so impossible. “I feel like a character in a play and soon the curtain will go down or we’ll break for a commercial and all this will all make sense.” She shrugged again. “Oh, well.” She crossed to the door and started down the stairs. “Better get this over with.”
