What is Love? (45 page)

As she stepped into
the shower, she laughed as she thought how good it felt to be yourself. For the
first time in nearly forty years, she understood who she was. The irony—that
inside the body of another woman, Ellen Horvath had finally discovered who she
really was.

***

Ellen phoned the
office and said she wouldn’t be in, that she was sick with the flu and would
hopefully be in within a day or two. She packed a tote bag with a novel and a towel,
then took the bus to the Heredity Gardens Enrichment Center. The two-hour bus
ride seemed short, for no sooner did the bus start, she nodded off, only to
wake as it neared the town.

After finding a cab
to take her to the center, Ellen walked up the long walkway to the reception
area and front desk. A thin man with a shaved head, wearing multiple strands of
beads on his wrist and a white linen tunic that seemed more like a dress,
looked up from his magazine. “Good afternoon, welcome.” He displayed a bright,
white-toothed grin.

“I don’t have an
appointment. I was hoping to walk around the gardens and look around.”

“Wonderful. Just
fill this out.” He slid a clipboard toward her.

Ellen sat and filled
out the form as truthfully as possible, including questions about her favorite
colors, objects, possessions, clothing, her food likes and dislikes. Any
allergies. What she believed about life, death, money, marriage, love,
infidelity. On the last pages were large areas to write about dreams and
desires. At first, the whole exercise seemed absurd, but as Ellen continued,
she started to see the changes in her preferences. Six months ago, she would
have had much different answers, but then again, six months ago, she would not
have come here.

When she finished,
she gave the clipboard back to the man behind the desk. “Is there a fee?” she
asked, noticing the cash register to his left.

“To walk around? No.
Fees are for classes or private sessions with Master teachers and guides. We
also offer massage, reiki, meditation rooms, sweat lodges and music
rooms—everything’s in the brochure.” He handed Ellen a brochure covered with
plant photos. “Oh, and here’s a map of the grounds. Now, I just need a driver’s
license.”

Ellen handed her
license to him. “I thought a place like this was all about Zen and trust.”

“State policy,” the
man said, rolling his eyes. He stood and walked over to the copier. Under his
dress-tunic, he wore baggy pants with beaded Moroccan slippers that tinkled
with every step. “Through the door you’ll find lockers, then go down the stairs
to get to the main pathway.” He handed her license back. “You can start
anywhere, they all connect back to here.”

Ellen thanked him
and went through the door to the stairs. She stood at the bottom for several
minutes and studied the map. The grounds were over sixty acres, including a
botanical garden and retreat. She had no idea the facility was this large, with
numerous buildings spread out all over—private study centers, auditoriums,
group-meeting rooms, cafes, spas and indoor and outdoor workout gyms. There was
also a library and an art studio.

Ellen started on the
path toward the waterfalls and lily ponds, a perfect spot to sit and read and
contemplate, or whatever it was one did here. When she reached the location,
she spread her towel across the grass and sat down to read her book. The sound
of the rushing water and birds distracted her from reading. She sat back,
contemplating the questions on the form and her life, enjoying the clear cobalt
sky, the trees and flowers, and especially, the tranquility.

Over an hour had
passed before Ellen decided to move to another location. She gathered her
belongings and headed down another path, and as she walked, she approached a
woman in a long crinkle pleated skirt, roman sandals and a billowy gauze
blouse. Drawing nearer, she realized it was her daughter. “Hi Brianna,” she
called out. “It’s me.”

“I know who you
are.” Brianna was cool and looked away.

“Can we talk a
moment? It’s about your mother.”

Brianna stood,
snapping her fingers as she used to do when she was angry.

“Can we sit down
over here for a bit?”

Brianna remained
silent for a moment. “I have class in ten minutes.”

“I wanted you to
know how sorry I am she is in such bad shape.” Ellen said. Brianna did not
respond. “I feel partially to blame, well a big part to blame
 …
and I wanted to try and help.”

“Help?” Brianna
asked, with a mocking laugh. “That’s a bit of a joke, isn’t it? You helped
create this and now you want to fix it? Why? Because you feel guilty?”

“I
 …
I know you hate me.”

“I try not to hate
anyone.”

“Well, I understand
your hostility toward me. I deserve every bit of it. If I were you—”

“If you were me,
Mother wouldn’t be in this situation. This never would have happened.”

“Yes, I only want to
try and help. This is very difficult for your father
 …
and now, he won’t budge. I think he’s being too harsh—”

“Harsh? He’s hurt
her for thirty years, maybe longer. He’s never considered her feelings. He
spent all his time using her for his career and business, for his success, for
his own selfish needs and never once put her first.”

“True,” Ellen agreed
wholeheartedly. “I’m not here to defend him, he was selfish.”

They stood a moment
in silence. Brianna spoke. “Why the sudden interest in Mother?”

“I heard how unhappy
she was, so I went to see her.”

“You saw her? Did
she throw you out?”

“No, we talked for a
while.”

“Now that must have
been interesting.”

Ellen nodded in
agreement. “I realized how hard it is for her. I don’t want to hurt her
unnecessarily. I don’t think Jonathan is being fair.”

“Fair? My father
fair? Did you know he’s been moving money around and out of the company, so
Mother will have enough to live on and not much more? That he’s doing it for
you?”

“No, we never talk
about that.”

“And supposedly he
has some Swiss bank account.”

“But that’s just a
rumor, he never—”

“I have a friend who
works at his bank and she saw the transfer documents. Anyway, it doesn’t
matter.”

“It does. It matters
very much. What about your inheritance?”

“Look at me.”
Brianna pointed to her soft, flowing skirt and sandals. “Do I look like I care
about an inheritance? I could care less. Money is what destroyed my parents. It
will never destroy me.”

“But you’re
entitled—”

“I’m not entitled to
anything. But you are—will be. It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I know how these
things work.”

Ellen blushed. “What
about Brandon? He must care. Even if he never calls or visits, or thinks about
anyone except —”

“Oh, he cares. He’s
mad. He feels ripped off. He was counting on his own share of the family
fortune
 …
see, he still has
dreams of being a powerful Horvath III. I can’t imagine why.”

“But Jonathan can’t
take everything, he has to leave some. Divorces are fifty-fifty.”

“Not when you own
your own business and your own lawyers. He can and he is, and no one can stop
him. You know what’s interesting—if Dad was in the hospital and Mother was
healthy, no one would be as affected by any of this. Mother would never do this
to us or to him.”

“No, she wouldn’t.”

“God, I miss her.”

She looked at
Brianna, staring out toward the lake, and a torrent of warmth flooded her
heart. She looked pretty—her skin had more color, her hair highlighted by the
summer sun and twisted into a soft braid. Ellen reached out to push the bangs
out of Brianna’s eyes, but stopped herself.

“I used to try to
get away from her,” Brianna said, her head hung down. “I wanted to be free from
her rule. I used to imagine her dead.”

Dead.
The
word tore into Ellen like a hot knife.

“Now, realizing that
Mother no longer wants to live, that she is unable to enjoy life—now, the only
thing I want is her back. I want her the way she used to be. I miss having her
worry about me. Selfish, I know. I’m more upset by what
I’m
losing. But,
a huge part of my life has been her. She only ever wanted me to be happy. She
tried in her own way to give me all the things she never had. I never, ever, once
thought about her. I was always thinking about how I felt.” Brianna wiped a
tear from her eye. “I never told her how much I loved her, how much she meant
to me. I never showed her.”

“I’m sure she
knew—knows.” Ellen said, as she touched Brianna’s arm. She wanted to give her a
hug, to hold her. “Your mother knows. She’s proud of you—proud of both of you.”

“It’s too late.
She’s slipping away and I can’t do anything.”

“Perhaps we can. I
could try to convince Jonathan.”

“No. It would only
make him more determined. I know Dad.”

“We need a good
lawyer to help with this. Do you know any that your Mother used?”

Brianna shook her
head.

“There was a Leo
Maxfield,” Ellen said. “That name came up before, he sounded very successful.
Maybe call him, tell him to look into the contract she signed and the
assessments that the doctors gave. He might be able to get another assessment
from a more trustworthy doctor. And tell him about the money. Perhaps he can
have the accounts frozen. See if there is anything that might help. Maybe she
wasn’t properly informed when she signed, and that would make the contract
unenforceable.”

“I can’t believe you
 …
Dad would go mental if he knew you
were saying this.”

Ellen shook her
head. “Some things are more important, some things are the right thing to do
and you must do them.”

Brianna nodded.
“Yes, they are, aren’t they? You know, it’s totally weird, but in a way you
remind me of Mother.”

Ellen put her arm
around her, forgetting herself. “I honestly hope it works, for all of us.”

Brianna rose to
leave. “I’m already late, I have to get to class.”

“Promise me you will
contact the lawyer right away. She needs to get out before the weekend.” Ellen
hesitated. “Because she plans to kill herself—”

“What?” Brianna’s
eyes widened. “We have to tell the hospital. They need to protect—”

“No, they’ll lock
her up in isolation, then we can’t see her or get her out—”

“But that’s good
 …
if she plans to kill herself. She
needs to be watched.”

“Yes, but there’s
the hit on her life and that would make it easier for them to continue.”

Brianna grinned.
“Not you, too? You’re supposed to be the one behind all this, remember? Or
didn’t Dad tell you about her absurd accusations? And your mother is supposedly
part of it, too. Or didn’t you know?”

“I know all about it
 …
actually, it might be true. That’s
what worries me.”

Brianna looked at
Ellen as if unsure whether she was joking or serious. “Tell me you aren’t
really involved in—”

“Indirectly, by
mistake.” Ellen grabbed Brianna’s arm. “Believe me, I never planned this. I
just worry that she might actually be poisoned
 …
slowly—”

“Poisoned? Come on,
I’ve seen her. She’s losing her mind, that’s what’s happening.”

“Poison can do that
to you. I thought if I took a bit of her hair when I visit her next, it could
be tested for chemicals. I read that was an easy way to test, but I need to be
discreet.”

“Discreet? About
murdering someone.”

“Until we get her
out of that place, I don’t want anyone stopping me from visiting or accusing me
of wrongdoing. Also, I want to find out who was responsible, after she’s gone.”

“Gone? You’re
assuming a lot—”

“I mean, staying
somewhere else. Your hair is the same color, it might be easier for you to get
it tested. Or maybe get Maxfield to do it. I don’t know where to take it to
have it tested. I did hear about this private eye who might know—”

Brianna covered her
eyes with her hand as if trying to absorb all the information and make sense of
it. “Actually, I can get it done here. The nutritionist does hair analysis. It
shows toxic chemicals and metals.” She looked directly at Ellen. “Why are you
doing this?”

“I don’t want
anything to happen to her. Every extra minute she’s in there could be
dangerous, or worse, fatal. We must get her out.”

“I’ll call that
lawyer, Maxfield. Give me your number, and I’ll call you if I hear anything,”
Brianna said. “I have to run, I’m very late.”

Ellen gave Brianna
her phone number and watched her run toward the large studio. She fit in with
this place; it suited her more than any of her other jobs. And she seemed happy.
In spite of everything going on in her life, Ellen was glad her daughter was
happy.

She turned and
walked back to the entrance, gripped with anxiety. Now she had set the course,
and there would be no turning back. Jonathan would never forgive her once he
finds out what she’s doing, and no matter what happened, her life would never,
ever be the same again.

In the dim light,
Ellen could see a body underneath the thin hospital blanket. Ellen approached
the bed and stood over Sam in the near darkness. Sam lay on her side, curled up
tight like a child. Her mouth was partially open. She looked like an embalmed
corpse, the unflattering light reflecting greenish tones on her skin and
shadows in the grooves of her remaining wrinkles.

Ellen studied Sam’s
hands, her hands.
My hands. The hands that baked the cookies and put on
Band-Aids. The hands that touched life. The hands that loved.
Then Ellen
looked at the hands on her current body. Young smooth hands. Hands that have
never rocked their baby to sleep or wiped a runny nose. She studied these hands
before her. Hands were a part of everything that mattered. They held wedding
rings and bridal bouquets. They cooked, they cleaned, they created, they
played, and they touched. They touched others with love and kindness. They were
a part of shaping life. What stories hands could tell, stories of pleasure and
pain. Yes, hands have also created pain. Slaps and spankings. Pain to others.

Ellen thought about
the pain her own hands had inflicted on others. It wasn’t the slaps or the
spankings that her hands were guilty of. These hands were guilty of an even
deeper cruelty. Denying touch. Denying the touch of love. They stopped feeling
pleasure when they started denying it also. The less they touched others, the
less pleasure she had received. She had stopped touching Jonathan to punish
him. In the end, she was the one who suffered most. She stopped touching her
children, not only with her hands, but also with her heart. They returned this
lack of compassion with defiance and judgment.

They say hands can
heal.
Could any hands heal?
Ellen tried to imagine who could have
healing hands. It would have to come from someone who wasn’t hurting herself.
Ellen looked again at the young hands attached to her young body. She reached
over and placed them on the hands of her old body. Ellen tried to imagine that
somehow, she could help Sam.

In sudden panic, she
pulled her hands away. What was wrong with her? She could no more help this
bundle of sadness lying before her than she could have helped herself. The
curious part was why she even wanted to try. Ellen leaned forward, noticing
small sores on Sam’s face and neck as she pulled a hair from her head. She
whispered, “Sam
 …
Sam. Ellen?”

“Mmm.” Sam rubbed
her eyes as she tried to open them. She rolled onto her back. “Always a
pleasure to see myself again.”

“I can’t say the
same.” Ellen smiled as she spoke.

“No shit. You really
fell apart, didn’t you?”

“How are you?”

“Just marvelous.”
Sam yawned, trying to stretch, the casted arm remaining stationary.

“Are you feeling
better? About everything I mean?”

“Don’t ask. You
won’t like the answer—or maybe you would.”

Ellen sat on the bed
next to her. “I have a plan.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Listen, I think I
can get you out of here. Isn’t that what you want?”

“What I want is my
life back. That, obviously, is no longer an option.”

“I tried to call
Patty to get more of the powder
 …”

Sam rolled away from
Ellen, her fingers tracing the shadows on the pillow beside her.

“I did try,” Ellen
added.

“Good for you.”

“Sam, I’m trying to
help. There was a box in the closet, in my house—Jonathan’s house—it had a pair
of silver shoes and a pretty bottle of powder stashed inside, a deep blue glass
with a cork stopper. What did you do with it?”

Sam continued
silently tracing, then motioned her to go away.

“Sam! Do you still
have it? This is important. What if there was a way to fix this—to switch back?”

“There isn’t.” Sam
rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “That’s why I hope to God I die
soon. I think it’s the only way.”

“Let me try and get
you out. I have Brianna talking to a lawyer and he can—”

“No!”

“It’s dangerous for
you here. What if you die and it doesn’t work? What if we both die?”

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

“Should I? You of
all people should know what it’s like to be old and worn out and tired. You of
all people should understand how pathetic my life is. I hate it. All of it. I
 …
I have nothing.” Sam covered her
eyes with her hand. “My life is over anyway. You know what they say, ‘dying is
easy, it’s living that’s hard.’ Now please leave me alone.”

“But Sam, let me at
least try.”

“I still hate you
for all of this. Go!”

“Give me some time.”

“Out! Get the hell
out of here!” Sam was crying as a nurse entered.

The nurse touched
Ellen’s arm. “I’m sorry. I have to ask you to leave.”

“I just want to
help,” Ellen pleaded to Sam. “I think I have a way to help—”

“Don’t you think
you’ve helped enough already. You’ve taken everything away from me. Everything!
I hope we both die.”

Ellen turned and
whispered, “I’m sorry.” She walked away, emerging into the hallway and the
annoying harshness of the bright lights, uncertain if she could do it. Uncertain
if any of this could possibly be repaired, and if it was worth all the effort
and risk.

***

Ellen took a cab
from the hospital to her old house. As she drove through the tree-lined
streets, a flood of memories surfaced again. She thought back to when they had
first bought the house, the excitement of leaving the apartment and having all
that space, the trees and a vast lawn. A real house. A grand house. Her house
had defined her. Now after all these months and all Sam’s changes, it no longer
felt like home.

Where was her home
now? Ellen had spent so much time wanting to be back here that she hadn’t truly
thought about where home really was. Was it in the gardens she missed so much?
The conservatory filled with her exotic plants? Her sunroom? Her bedroom? Did
home lie in all those places? She could create new gardens and find new
bedrooms and sunrooms. What was it she couldn’t find? What had she really lost?
Ellen thought about all the memories in their house that filled her heart.
That’s what she missed, the memories of her family, and their love.

The taxi pulled
toward the gates. “Stop here,” she said to the driver. She wished Sam hadn’t
added all the video cameras to the gate and front entranceway, it made her job
more difficult. Thankfully, Jonathan was away until Sunday.

The cab stopped
abruptly. Ellen paid and got out. She walked to the hedge dividing their
property from their neighbors. Inside the hedge was a hollowed low opening,
just big enough for a small body. She pushed the branches back and attempted to
crawl inside. The branches were thick and wooden with age, making it painful to
push them out of the way and crawl in. The scratches on her arm stung as she
finally succeeded, and was inside. She crouched and crawled along the ground,
encased within the hollowed shrub, feeling foolish as she worked her way slowly
to the back end of the yard.

The large shed at
the back was still standing. She fought her way out of the hedge, encountering
more slashes. The shed looked exactly as she had left it. She turned the
familiar brass knob. Locked. Ellen reached above the doorway for the key but
found nothing except dirt and cobwebs. She tried the windows. No key. Ellen was
about to grab a paving stone to smash the side window when she noticed the pot
of dead clematis and ivy. She pushed it aside and saw the dull brilliance of a
gold key covered in dirt.

She unlocked the
shed door and proceeded to look for the house key. She opened several old
tobacco tins, her usual hiding spot, but was unable to find the key. Darkness
was setting in and soon the motion sensors would be on. She opened other tins
and jars and as she heaved on a heavy metal toolbox, she heard a rattle.
Lifting it down from the shelf and opening it, there, in the bottom of the box,
was a key chain holding the house keys.

She raced out of the
shed along the pool house. The yard lights were already on and she had to
hurry. She made her way along the tattered rosebushes lining the patio and up
the stairs to the conservatory, ignoring all her favorite plants. She tried the
key in the conservatory door, knowing at this late hour, no one would be in
there. Two clicks and she was inside. Ellen moved quickly through the overgrown
plants and neglected flowers.

At the entrance
doors of the conservatory, she crossed the foyer and raced into the library.
From the library, she climbed the servant stairs leading into the second-floor
library that adjoined Jonathan’s bedroom.

Inside Jonathan’s
room, Ellen took comfort in the familiar surroundings. As she passed his
dresser, she noticed the one thing that had changed—their wedding photo. She
picked up the new photo of Jonathan and his surgically enhanced wife, wearing a
very short dress and obvious silicone breasts.
Doesn’t look like me,
she
thought,
more like a drag queen impersonation of me.

Sudden voices from
the hallway gave Ellen a start, forcing her into the closet to wait. She heard
the voices fade, followed by doors closing and footsteps down the stairs. She
listened intently and heard another door closing, which sounded like an outside
door. With a sigh of relief, she realized it was one of the staff leaving.
Ellen went to the hallway and listened, ensuring it was clear. She walked
quietly down the hall and slipped into her bedroom.

Once she got over
the shock of the purple and gray bedroom, complete with chrome furniture, she
started snooping. She opened drawers out of sheer curiosity. Everything that
she owned was gone. What did she honestly expect? Sam would have had no
attachment to anything, and she certainly had different taste.
Different,
Ellen laughed.
Try horrendous
.

Inside the dressing
table, Ellen found countless bottles of pills. All kinds of pills for nerves,
sleeping, blood pressure and cholesterol. Uppers. Downers. Painkillers. Ellen
went through the drawers, the closet and bathroom cabinets, but no sign of the
vials. Only pills. A chemical cocktail that, hopefully, weren’t taken together.
No wonder everyone thought Ellen was insane—with so many prescriptions and
narcotics, who wouldn’t be?

Ellen opened the
doors to the closet and wasn’t surprised—no longer sorted by color and
organized, now a tangled mess of color and prints. She stepped onto the step
stool and went through the boxes on the upper shelves, and to her
disappointment, not one of her old shoeboxes was found among the lot. They were
all gone, along with any hope of finding the powder.

She looked under the
bed and found a journal, obviously Sam’s. Ellen would never keep a record of
her thoughts for others to discover and expose. She picked up the red, sparkly
journal and sat on the edge of the bed, turning on the bedside lamp. She
flipped back to two months ago, just after the switch happened.

“July 26, 1986: I
don’t understand what’s happening to me. He won’t touch me. I try all the
things that he loved so much before. Was I that deluded that I didn’t see he
only loved my body? I truly believed he loved me. ME. The inside. That I was
special. That I mattered. Every day he treats me like I’m not a person. He sees
me as Ellen, nothing more.”

“August 21,
1986.”
The last entry, right before she went into the mental hospital.

“I am lost. I am
empty. I am no one. I have nothing. I am nothing. If I disappeared who would
notice? No. I never knew life could be so meaningless. I have money, more money
than I ever imagined and everything that I ever wanted, yet I have nothing.
What’s missing?

“I am. I cannot
be me. No one lets me be me. I have to live a lie and pretend I am old and
boring, that I don’t need sex and worse, that I am happy. I have no friends.
None of these women could ever be a real friend, someone who helps you when you
are in trouble, someone who likes you even if you’re not perfect. And besides,
who wants to be friends with a freak? I am young. They are old. I hate all of
them. I hate my life. I hate her, that evil impostor. I hate everyone.”

Ellen couldn’t read
anymore. She lay back on the bed and thought about how things had worked out.
Sam did get what she wanted—sort of. She knew the pain Sam was feeling. Ellen
had lived a hollow life for many years. Everything that had seemed important
was now pathetic and superficial. Her friends, where were they now? Now that
Ellen
had had a breakdown. She knew the truth. As soon as life was real, they weren’t.
They evaporated. She had lived in fear of losing her standing in a society
based on a plastic and artificial life, an imitation of happiness.

She thought of her
children and the pain they experienced, pain she never intended to inflict. And
at what cost? Would hurt ever heal? Not without love. Her children were alone,
and without love. She was adding up all she had gained in the switch and all
that she had lost, when suddenly, the sound of the door latch gave her a start.
“Samantha,” Jonathan yelled. “What in the hell are you doing here, in Ellen’s
room?”

Ellen sat up and
looked at the mess she made searching for the bottle. “I
 …
I can explain.”

“You better start,”
he said, pulling her off the bed. “You’re bleeding. What’s going on?”

“I
 …”
Ellen stuttered, unable to think
of an answer. “I wanted to surprise you, but I fell.”

“Come here,”
Jonathan said, still agitated. He led Ellen into the bathroom and dampened a
facecloth under the tap, then pressed it against her cuts. “Start explaining.”

The cool wetness
felt good against the sting. “I wanted to come by and surprise you, tomorrow,”
she lied, trying to think fast. “I knew you were coming back anytime between
today and tomorrow, and I wanted to sleep in your bed and wait for you, a
surprise for you, that’s all.”