The Secret Lab of Dr. Z: And Other Stories

By Brenda Paske

Youth ends. Security ends. Life ends. But not everyone accepts it.

In these stories, six women come to the end of their old lives, with no plans for the new one.

Brooke hopes that a facelift will fix her now-ordinary life.

Inez wants to stop her husbands strange transformation.

Cady cant seem to pull herself together as her home and husband slip rapidly away.

They must move ontheir comfortable former lives no longer an option.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532045400

Brenda Paske

Brenda Paske currently lives in Los Angeles, City of Hopeless Dreams, with her ex-husband and two cats. She is an IT Consultant with five previously published books.

Book preview

Copyright © 2018 Brenda Paske.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-5320-4539-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-4540-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018903109

iUniverse rev. date:   03/22/2018

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

The Secret Lab of Dr. Z

Sol y Sombra

Spider Time

The Doctors

The Island of No Sorrow

Beatriz at Dinner - Alternate Ending

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Many thanks to Gladys Bogado and Aneta Badalian for all the suggestions and encouragement!

This book would not have been possible without both of you.

THE SECRET LAB OF DR. Z

Ugly people live in a different world. To be old is to be ugly. It is indisputable.

Still, Brooke was sure there was a way around that equation.

The Tree of Opportunity is watered with the Blood of Idiots! she raged furiously, alone in her car. What a stressful day. A terrible day.

A news helicopter passed overhead, flying low. Sirens blared behind her and two speeding police cars passed. Some unfortunate soul had pushed their luck too far, forever.

Brooke pulled the Mercedes up to their little Coldwater Canyon cottage, belatedly realizing that the chaos of police cars, helicopters, and news crews surrounded her house. Was it Richard? Were all the problems finally solved? Was he dead? Oh my God, did someone actually murder him?

But her Insignificant Other was safe on the front lawn, talking to two policemen. She grabbed her handbag, crammed with contracts and disappointment, and exited the vehicle.

It’s P-22! Richard said excitedly, as Brooke hurried up, arranging her face to indicate love and concern. The mountain lion! He’s under the house!

You should go inside, ma’am. It’s not safe, one of the policemen told her.

Brooke ignored him. What happened? Did he attack anyone? She glared at Richard. That’s a lawsuit for sure. Then she spotted the tangled ball of yellowish-white fur on the grass in front of them. Snowbelle! she cried out in sincere anguish.

No, no, Brooke. It’s not Snowbelle. Richard assured her hastily. It’s a koala. P-22 stole it from the zoo.

They all gazed down at the pitiful remains.

Then he threw it up on the lawn. He is a cat, after all.

Where is he now? Brooke looked frantically around.

He’s hiding by the tool shed. I saw him when I got the hose. I think he might be sick.

So close. So close. Why hadn’t the mountain lion attacked him? But here it was. The eyes of LA upon her. It was her chance at last. Everyone loved P-22. She must give an interview. Get her face out there.

Brooke flipped her hair out gracefully, eyeing the cameraman in the street. She struck a thoughtful pose for the benefit of the cameras overhead. A cautious smile touched her lips.

And that’s when Romper Woman struck.

She stepped unexpectedly from behind the hedge that separated their identical houses, clad in a tiny orange romper the color of a traffic cone.

Do not harm him! He is under my protection! There is no cause for fear, she announced. He has answered my call from across the centuries and we are finally reunited! His true name is UNHU-MANHUM. We were lovers in another life, before he was cruelly slain by the Patriarchy.

Romper Woman was a neighborhood fixture. Of course she had to live right next door, in an untidy house with weedy yard, painted three different colors. Brooke had complained twice but the city did nothing about her obvious zoning violations. Her real name was Rhonda, but Richard had christened her Romper Woman due to her unvarying wardrobe. She had yards of fried blonde hair, puffy lips, fake cheeks that stretched her face bizarrely and huge breasts. She always wore short bright rompers like a child, exposing thin muscular legs that contradicted her giant chest. She talked a lot about her past fraught life of domestic violence and tragedy and Richard made a point of hiding whenever she was outside.

Romper Woman’s thickly mascara’d lashes, oddly not fake, fluttered rapidly. She seemed to have difficulty focusing and talking, probably due to conflicting medications.

But the cameras turned irresistibly to her, ignoring Brooke entirely.

Romper Woman was only 28.

Brooke didn’t want to be one of the Ordinaries. For so long the world had been golden, like her hair had been golden. Her well-chosen expensive clothes, social armor, and a charm against fate. Her brilliantly white realigned smile. It had worked for a long, long while. For so long she had been the 1% - really, that was all the pretty women there were in the world. After all, how many did you need to show the rest of the women the efforts men could make? But once she had turned 45 it had been quite clear that it was only a matter of time. She was a real estate agent, constantly in the public view, her face hanging out for everyone to see, her picture in the glass case in front of the office and in every full page ad. The face that no longer sold. Her promised life had never happened, stepping smoothly up the ladder to bigger houses, better clients, as the golden glow of her smile made the money roll in.

She had been held back and deliberately overlooked. Now it might never happen. She was old, too old. Her promised life would certainly never happen, not without some kind of push.

Surgery was a professional decision, really. You had to look current.

The travesty had to end. That night Richard watched in unfeigned terror as she marched down the hall in a tissue facial masque, towel turban and Meng $1000 silk robe, Snowbelle clutched protectively in her arms.

You’re look like a Cult Priestess with her familiar spirit, he said. Who shall dare oppose you now?

It’s time, Brooke said coldly. Look at this cat. She’s so scrawny and her fur is falling out. She sleeps all day and wails all night. She’s in PAIN Richard! She’s in pain.

Richard looked desperate. There’s pain medication.

She’s dying. Tomorrow we go to the vet.

Richard spent the night in his office, gently stroking Snowbelle on her special silk pillow, saying goodbye. He was a dog person and had never liked Snowbelle, not until she got sick.

It was a perfect example of everything that was wrong with him.

P-22 was captured at last, having roamed up the canyon in a fruitless search for escape. They brought him up limp and stunned to the front yard, tagged him with a red radio collar, and drove him away as cameras rolled and helicopters circled. He would be treated with antibiotics and released far in the hills to hunt again in lonely majesty. A handsome, healthy beast, he cautiously regarded his watchers. Nothing of his life was secret now, said his deep cynical eyes.

Later that week in the dead of night P-22 joyfully entered the zoo and slaughtered yet another koala that had strayed from its assigned zone of safety. He then vanished far into the hills on swift murderous paws, predatory nature satisfied.

They treated him for mange, Richard told Brooke. He must have been feeling great. That’s the thanks for helping a wild beast. He harrumphed and returned to surfing the internet, pleased with his own keen observation. Brooke was seething.

"I can’t believe Romper Woman showed up right in the middle of everything and stole my spotlight! He was at my house! It was my story! It could have been a real selling point!

Richard looked doubtful. Really? A selling point?

He was being completely unsupportive. Brooke thrashed around for inspiration. We —we could have a wildlife observation platform. That ridiculous woman with her terrible plastic surgery and obvious zoning violations! She has the face of an old shoe. A shoe from Shoe Warehouse. She’ll do anything for attention! I bet she was feeding that cat!

Well… Rhonda’s face looks a lot better than it used to.

What do you mean?

Her ex-boyfriend smashed it up pretty badly. She hardly looked human. He’s in prison for life now.

This was outrageous. He was actually defending the woman.

Oh my God, maybe I should have a terrible personal tragedy to get everyone on my side, said Brooke furiously. It was so hot today! It’s been horribly hot all week! Why do all the crazy people have to come out when it’s so hot?

"It has been really warm."

I say hot, you say warm! Are you deliberately trying to annoy me?

Richard’s eyes looked trapped. I-I thought I was agreeing with you?

Don’t condescend.

There was a long pause.

Has… has something happened? Richard asked cautiously.

And Brooke burst into tears. So much had happened.

That day Brooke had arrived for an open house in Bel Air and was parking across the street when an old BMW pulled up right beside her, blocking her car door. An angry-looking older Eastern European man was at the wheel. She recognized her client’s next door neighbor, rumored to be one of the richest men in town, and smiled winningly at him. Brooke was used to awkward and sometimes frightening male approaches.

You can’t park there, he growled. You do not live on this street. You do not belong here! Brooke kept her smile where it was. For a moment she had thought the man might be a possibility — but he was just a rude stupid peasant like everyone else.

She laughed easily. Yes I can, old man. It’s a public street. Now fuck off if you still can!

Inside the open house the young agent’s assistant, Tammii with two I’s, had gushed over her. Oh, I am sure I can learn so much from someone with your many years of experience! You must have so much wisdom!

What the hell! Was she supposed to mentor now?

Her boss Margaret had smiled coldly across the desk at Brooke that morning. The Tree of Opportunity is watered with the Blood of Sacrifice, she had intoned. Lauren has found her niche, but I’m still concerned about you. Your numbers aren’t what they should be, Brooke. Let’s work at bringing them up. Nothing goes on forever.

It was infuriating. Tammii’s numbers were terrible, but no one lectured her. Driving back with the irritating little girl up Wilshire through Beverly Hills was endless. Halfway to the office the street was blocked with traffic. People were standing out in the street like it was a carnival. There was no going back or forward or off to the side. An ambulance pushed through and Brooke saw a crumpled white pile in the street.

A jumper, a bystander told Brooke, when she rolled down her window. She woke up from liposuction, looked in the mirror, ran straight to the roof, and jumped.

Oh, how sad! shrilled Tammii.

Brooke watched black figures bend over, close to the dead woman’s face. Bright lights flashed in the crowd. There was a sense of feeding. Living off the tragedy. Black hoodies hid faces, if there were