Chapter 36
THE FELLS RADISSON, SANTA FE
JUNE 16, 2022, 2:42 P.M.
AGE: JUST BARELY 36
THE CONFERENCE CENTER CONSISTED OF A CLUSTER OF STUCCO buildings. Pink and squat, they reminded me of enormous mushrooms.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Desiree said as we neared the entrance. “We used to find the most outrageous luxury retreats, but this is better for anonymity. Nobody ever pays attention to what goes on here. As far as they’re concerned, we’re just a bunch of middle-aged professional women—already teetering on the brink of invisibility—catching up over huevos rancheros and turquoise shopping expeditions.” She waggled her fingers at me.
“I saw them,” I muttered. “Very nice.”
“Welcome, Consortium Members! Celebrating Fifty Years of Excellence” read the bubble letters on the flatscreen that greeted Desiree and me inside the fake-marble-tiled lobby. The women milling about the premises were all slim and neatly put together, dressed in monochromatic business attire accessorized with identical thermoses and lanyards swinging from their necks.
While Desiree consulted with the receptionist, I hung to the side and pretended not to notice that more than a few of her sisters were eyeing me with wonder, subtly pointing and whispering among themselves.
In the cocktail lounge, a pianist was playing, of all songs, Toto’s “Africa,” which made me think of singing alongside Gabe at our a cappella outings. I started humming to the part about taking the time to do the things we never had.
“You’re going to do all the things!” Desiree said, popping to my side and handing me a key card. “We’ll settle into our rooms, but a few of my colleagues would like to meet you first.” She waved over a trio of women. Two of them had matching tortoiseshell hair clips. The third wore a tank dress which showed off a pair of exquisite biceps. I’d recognize those arms anywhere. It was Juliet Simcott, the silver-hued shapeshifter from the boxing gym. I reflexively reached up and felt my nose. The bump was still there.
“We’ve been waiting for you.” Juliet said, cupping my chin in her palm. Then she took her fellow sisters’ hands and they broke out into a little incantation, leaving me to smile awkwardly.
“Vita... Forte... Melior...”they said.
“Your departure is imminent,” Juliet intoned when the chanting was done. “Go relax. You’ll need all your energy soon enough.”
Desiree and I were staying in rooms opposite each other on the second floor. As we lingered in the hallway, she told me that there were a few things I needed to do before the ceremony. “You’ll want to take a hot shower. But no scented toiletries. The residue can clog the portal.” Desiree followed me into my room. “If you get peckish, stick to the fruit basket. Steer clear of the junk from the minibar. It will create interference.”
Everything in the room was beige and clean. A painting of a desert landscape hung over the queen-size bed. I examined the contents of the bag that had been left for me on the duvet cover. Clean underwear, a water bottle, and a packet of dried fruit. “Your ceremony dress should be in the closet,” Desiree told me.
I opened the closet door and found a long white gown hanging from a nonremovable hanger. The dress was ruffled on the bottom and had covered silk buttons up the back, not unlike what a beautiful Victorian ghost might wear to her wedding.
“The ceremony begins shortly before midnight. I’ll leave you to get ready,” Desiree said. A wistfulness came to her eyes. “Oh, Jenny. I think I’m going to miss you a wee bit.”