Installation 24: Bizzaro Phoebe previous
When Phoebe made her return to The Museum, she was surprised to find her desk moved even further into a corner of the office. All of her things – her file folders, towering stack of press clippings and her radio (the acceptable volume level marked with a Sharpie) were all out of place. Across the room, another desk was wedged into the opposite corner with duplicate office supplies set up across it so it looked like a mirror-image of Phoebe's.
Phoebe sat down in her chair without removing her raincoat. It was at this moment that Carlotta came in with mascara streaking down her face and hair flattened by the morning's downpour.
“Well,” Carlotta said, shaking out her jacket and shoes. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“I'm back,” Phoebe said lamely. She'd worked up a speech on her way in on the bus, but every word of it escaped her now. It had been something about a woman needing space and time to heal and maybe something about taking back the night.
“About time,” Carlotta said. “Look at the clippings! I was going to give them to Fern to do today if you didn't come in again.”
“Who's Fern?”
“Fern is the assistant hired by The Director to make sure we all stay on track with planning Ride the Snake.”
“But I could do that,” Phoebe said.
“If you ever came to work,” Carlotta countered.
“It was only two weeks,” Phoebe said. “I was ill.”
“Let's not try to fool each other,” Carlotta said.
Phoebe didn't have anything to say to this and didn't wish to argue. She was already upset about missing The Young and the Restless that morning.
“Well,” Phoebe said. “I guess Fern thinks she can set her own hours. Look, she's twenty minutes late.”
“On the contrary,” Carlotta said. “Fern is already here. She comes in half an hour early every morning to make coffee for The Director and check on Phillip Mantou to make sure he's at least conscious, if not actually sober.”
As if on cue, Fern entered the office loaded down with files. Phoebe's mouth fell open. Fern was the exact height (five foot five) and weight (roughly120, give or take one or five pounds) as Phoebe. She wore a wool skirt, tights, cashmere sweater and loafers nearly identical to Phoebe's. She had the same long, silky hair and even the same simple barrette to hold her hair back from her face.
It was when Phoebe got to the face that she froze. Fern's face was somewhat like Phoebe's, if Phoebe had stayed out all night, every night, for ten years, drinking hard liquor and smoking one cigarette after another and spent every day, all day, working in a chemical plant and if, in her free time, she spent hours at a time lying in a tanning bed with no goggles. Fern's face was a chiseled, craggy, hairy mess.
“Hello,” Fern croaked. “I've finished collating the materials you set out for me. What may I do next?”
Carlotta shot Phoebe a look that was best described as smug.
“Fern,” Carlotta said. “I'd like you to meet Phoebe.”
“The one who's been absent,” Fern said as she extended a cold, limp hand to Phoebe. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Hi,” Phoebe said.
“I noticed, while using the restroom, that the counter top is splotched with water,” Fern said to Carlotta. “Shall I go wipe it down?”
“Yes,” Carlotta said. “Because there's never anywhere dry to set my purse when I'm in there and I need to go redo my make-up.”
“Got caught in the rain?” Fern asked. “I watched the weather forecast last night and decided to come to work earlier than usual to avoid the precipitation.”
“What time did you get here?” Phoebe asked.
“I was at my desk at 7:00,” Fern said. “I'm sorry; I'd love to chat but there is much work to be done.”
Carlotta and Phoebe watched Fern leave. From behind, no one would be able to discern if it was in fact Fern or Phoebe.
“Is this some kind of punishment?” Phoebe demanded when Fern was out of sight.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Carlotta said. “We need more help around here and Fern is a terrific worker.”
Later, after Fern had wiped up the water in the restroom, fetched a Diet Coke with ice for Carlotta and cleaned out several storage closets that hadn't been touched in years, she finally sat down at her desk. Phoebe watched as Fern assembled press kits for Ride the Snake, a job that would have been Phoebe's only a few weeks before. Fern moved through the materials like a machine, assembling and stuffing with utmost precision. She never stopped to apply lipstick or take a drink of water or check her personal e-mail. She moved down the mailing list until all packets were completed, then got up to go to the mail room.
“Oh, don't bother with that now,” Phoebe said. “Why don't you wait until after lunch. It's noon.”
Fern turned, giving Phoebe a full-on view of her face. Phoebe noted a flourishing mustache and yellow teeth that were turned on their sides.
“I don't eat lunch,” Fern said. “It takes too much time. I prefer to work.”
“OK,” Phoebe said. She wanted very much for Fern to turn away.
“And I don't think you should take a lunch either,” Fern said.
“Why not?”
“You've missed a lot of work these past two weeks,” Fern explained. “Miss Carlotta is upset. And you have many clippings to photocopy.”
“Excuse me,” Phoebe said. “But I don't think that's any of your business.”
Fern stared at Phoebe and Phoebe willed herself to stare back.
“Suit yourself,” Fern said. She readjusted her armload of padded envelopes and left.
Fern and Phoebe spent the remainder of the afternoon working in their corners, silent, almost-mirror images stapling, typing and filing. At 5:00, Phoebe stood up and put on her coat. Fern kept working. Phoebe shut off her computer. Fern kept working. Phoebe shut off the light and closed the door. Under the pool of light from her desk lamp, Fern kept working.