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Johnson frowned."Jenny, you've said something that is troublesome. I'd like to talk toyou about it." I didn't mean to make you upset," I said apologetically.Mrs. Johnson's smile returned."For someone whose profession is talking to people, I'm afraid I didn'texpress myself very well. It's not what you said that's troublesome.It's how it can make things difficult for you later on. Please come sitwith me and we can discuss it. Okay?" Sure, Mrs. Johnson," I agreed.We went into the living room. She pointed to the sofa and I sat down.She sat in an arm chair across from me with a coffee table separatingus. She adjusted her skirt and crossed her legs, placing her hands inher lap."Do you remember what you just said, Jenny?" I think so," I answered her. "I said I love my wig."She shook her head."You did say that, but there was more. Do you remember?"I thought back. Mrs. Johnson had complimented me about my wig. Ithanked her and said what I just said. Was there more? Nothing came tome. I shook. What a goddamned nightmare. It wasn’t nearly over yet, either.“Revert my suite to normal, please.” The house she’d slept in nearly every night of her long stay in Arcadia lay safely concealed behind a manipulation field. Ever the sensible mother-figure in her life, Gudrun had insisted on Procurement dismantling the structure during Rebecca/Iris’s stay in the palace, but Rebecca had uncharacteristically refused. She couldn’t suffer the loss of her home for even a night; it had preserved her sanity, possibly even her life in the beginning. It now belonged to Arma.“Do not allow Arma, or anyone else to access the gate while I’m gone, Siri.”“Affirmed.”Anxious, she disrobed and donned the black cords and warm flannel shirt that Procurement had provided for her return to 2014. It felt unbelievably good to wear the familiar outfit of her youth. Though 36 now, she fit the size 6 cords as though she had worn them yesterday. Her weight had shifted somewhat over the years, but she still tipped.
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