“It must be some sort of mix-up,” Marlowe said.
I was vaguely aware of the news playing on television or radio, a monotone recitation of events. “My life is unraveling and now this, now Leeta. It’s too much.”
Verena knelt down next to my chair and pushed the strands of wet hair from my eyes. “I think you’re ready for the last task of the New Baptist Plan.”
“I’ve had enough of your stupid plan. Before I met you I had some semblance of a life. I had a job and now that’s gone. I had plans for surgery and now I’m confused about that. Everything is slipping away from me.”
“I never said the New Baptist Plan would be easy.”
“No calorie counting and no weighing, right? If I don’t become thin, what’s going to happen to me?” I saw a calendar reaching years into the future and every page was blank.
“Let’s finish the New Baptist Plan,” Verena said. “You can do it right here at Calliope House. We’ll take care of you.” Being taken care of is what I needed.
Marlowe said, “Please stay here with us, Plum.”
And I did.
I followed Verena and Marlowe outside into the rain, down the front steps of Calliope House. To the right of the steps, unseen by passersby, there was another series of steps leading down to a red door, its frame overgrown with ivy. This was the door to the basement.
I followed them down the steps. Down we went, down to the very bottom.
UNDERGROUND
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The New Baptist Plan, Task Five:
Disconnecting and Reflecting
The underground apartment was nestled into the earth beneath Calliope House, deep in the place where roots grow. The walls vibrated faintly whenever a subway train passed by. This dark, cool space was where I landed after weeks of falling. It was Leeta’s appearance in the café more than two months ago that had caused me to lose my balance. I tripped into a hole, where strange things happened and even stranger women dwelled. Spinning and falling, trying desperately to steady myself, I kept reaching for something to cling to on my way down.
In the underground apartment, darkness wrapped itself around me. I didn’t resist. I’d taken my last half-tablet of Y—— and a handful of Dabsitaf the night before I went underground. I slept deeply, but I was also restless at times, rolling around in the twin-size bed, sweating into the sheets. My body was screaming for Y—— in those moments, but it wasn’t going to get it. I was finished with drugs.
When I finally opened my eyes after many hours, I swung out of bed and placed my feet on the floor. There was a lamp on the nightstand and I switched it on, surveying the bedroom, only vaguely remembering my arrival hours—days?—earlier. I was dressed in a baggy beige shift and black leggings, which Verena and Marlowe had given me after I’d followed them down the stairs. The clothes were my size, so they’d prepared for my arrival. Verena had given me her phone and told me to call anyone who would notice I was missing. I called my mother and Carmen. There was no one else. I made up a story about going on a retreat with Kitty and her staff. I explained that it was a last-minute trip because Kitty had forgotten to invite me, which is something that could have been true.
Then Verena and Marlowe left me alone. In the bed, on the edge of sleep, I recalled Leeta’s face on the screens in Times Square and hoped I’d been hallucinating.
My bedroom in the underground apartment contained only the starkest, most minimalist furnishings. The furniture and walls were white, the linens were white, everything was white—I was living inside an aspirin. In the dresser, more beige shifts and black leggings, plus pajamas and underthings. I didn’t know what had happened to the backpack I’d brought to Calliope House. My laptop and wallet and everything else must have been aboveground, in that world I’d left behind.
On top of the desk was a stack of books, including Adventures in Dietland and Fuckabilty Theory, a cup full of pens in different colors, and a notepad with a message on top:
Plum, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.
Rest until then.
Love, V.