The Maid's Diary(81)
We’re all tricksters. Each and every one of us. No one is a totally reliable narrator. Life is all Story. Every bit of it. We see things through the filter of our own unique worldviews, through our own longings and fears and loves, through our own traumas. Not one single person on this earth is able to interpret a thing in exactly the same way. The world is dynamic in that respect.
When I mention to my shrink that I play roles in public—acting wild-style—she smiles and I ask her what’s funny.
“You’re a trickster, Kit,” she says. “That’s not a bad thing. Tricksters have a key function in life and art. I maintain that if a trickster pranks her way into your life, it’s time to pay attention. They are the definition of duality. Both heroic and villainous, foolish and wise, benign and malicious. Both lovable and hateful. Friendly and fearsome. Both light and dark. If you find yourself drawn to or repulsed by a mischievous trickster or a clown, a rule breaker or magician, it’s a clear sign you need to explore the hidden—the buried—parts of your own nature, because the trickster is trying to poke a stick at your pretensions, your worldviews, your illusions, your false beliefs, your rigid ‘rules.’ In the trickster’s playful provocation, there always lies a hidden message.”
I think of my @foxandcrow account. I think of the things I post there—the mirror I playfully hold up to the world of poseurs and facades. And I believe my therapist.
“If we fail to embrace the lessons of the trickster, Kit,” she says, “we deny ourselves the capacity to witness our own shadow.”
So, Dear Diary, you see? Right from the mouth of my shrink: I play an important role. Mine is a game with purpose.
But sometimes a game turns dangerous.
Not everyone likes being tricked . . .
DAISY
October 31, 2019. Thursday.
Five hours and five minutes before the murder.
Daisy’s gaze shoots from her stricken husband back to the woman in the devil horns. Her gaze locks with the devil’s big blue eyes. Not Vanessa’s kind, warm eyes. Not her friend. Not pregnant. And because Daisy’s brain is a churning soup of cognitive dissonance and not working at all properly, she says, “What—where’s the baby?”
“You mean my bump?” She grins broadly, and the vampire teeth catch the light. “Silicone. Do you know how many different kinds of these pregnancy prostheses you can buy online? You should google it. Does make one wonder what people use them for. Fake photo shoots? Just to walk around in? Test-drive pregnancy? Did you know that you can even buy very realistic fake little babies online? I borrowed the silicone belly from my theater company. Two different sizes to show pregnancy progression. Borrowed the wig, too. I used it all for a production—The Three Lives of Mary. That’s what first gave me the idea.” The devil’s red lips part into a grin again, and Daisy can’t take her eyes off her vampire teeth.
The devil turns her smile on Jon.
“And how are you doing, BergBomber?”
“Mia,” he says quietly, darkly.
“Who—who’s Mia?” Daisy asks, afraid to know.
“Aren’t you guys coming in, then?” The devil smiles sweetly.
Jon seems rooted to the concrete. A funny little clang begins in Daisy’s brain. There’s something dangerous about the way devil-woman and Jon look at each other. Some micro-level vibe. And it’s telling Daisy this is not the first time her husband and this blonde have met. There’s a much deeper current here.
“Actually, it’s Kit,” says the woman. “I’m your Rose Cottage maid.” Her smile fades, and her face turns serious as she meets each of their gazes in turn. Light glints off the sparkles on her red horns. “Or perhaps you will both remember me better as Katarina.” She pauses. “Katarina Popovich. But then maybe you don’t. I was only sixteen at the time. I looked different, too. Life can change people profoundly, no? Either by design or accident.” She steps back and holds the glass door open wider. “Come in.”
“Daisy, we’re leaving. Now.” Jon grabs her arm.
“Things could go very, very badly for you if you don’t come in.” The woman angles her blonde head. “A bit like they did today, Jon. Now wasn’t that awful? It must’ve been such a terrible blow. To be fired like that? Thrown out by your ear and kicked to the curb in the rain. Security muscle dumping your belongings onto the sidewalk in a cardboard box. And you weren’t even allowed to drive your own car out of the garage.” She makes a tsking noise.
“Jon?” Daisy’s voice comes out in a hoarse croak. “What—what is she talking about? What does she mean about your job?”
Jon spins to face Daisy. His features twist in anger. His eyes are thunderous. “Are you a fucking idiot, Daisy?” He points at the woman. “This is your friend? Your ‘perfect’ Vanessa? You bloody little idiot woman. How could you be duped like this? For fuck’s sake. You’ve been seeing this woman in a fake belly since July, and all the while it’s Katarina? The bitch who tried to take me down all those years ago? And you let her into our lives like this? What in the hell is wrong with you?”
Daisy begins to shake. She recalls the day “Vanessa” rolled out her yoga mat on the grass beside her. How the new woman smiled at her. How it was Daisy herself who approached the new, friendly, pregnant mom-to-be. How she invited Vanessa for a coffee at the bistro after. How easy Vanessa was to talk to. How badly Daisy needed a friend. How quickly she latched on to Vanessa, thinking how amazing it was that their babies were due so close. And all the while “Vanessa” was also cleaning Daisy’s house? Poking in her things? But how . . . and Daisy realizes—although yoga was on “maid day,” and although she had lunch with Vanessa on maid days, it was always after noon. Vanessa could never make an early lunch. She always had some meeting or another “arrangement” before noon. Daisy feels faint as she thinks about what she confessed to Vanessa by the pool.