The Woman in the Mirror

Justine walked into the office carrying Saturday night’s baggage of memories and unanswered questions. Depression followed her like a bad perfume. She had that awful feeling that this Monday would not be her best day. She was wrong.

An ornate mirror hung from the office wall. It attracted everyone’s attention. It was said to have been stolen from the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles. But Sotheby’s could not always be trusted to provide authentic documents of antiquity or legacy. Perhaps the company had a purpose in mind for hanging it there. She didn’t know. Or even care for that matter, especially this Monday.

The mirror had a certain old-world charm. Everyone noticed it. Its frame was of gilded artistry and spoke of affluence. It had a smoky hue that distorted images in its reflection. Its diffused quality reminded her of those mirrors found in the fairy tales she’d read as a child. Was it Through the Looking Glass she remembered? She couldn’t be sure. She was certain no one lived happily ever after.

Like all the staff, she gazed into the mirror as she entered, making final adjustments to her outfit or hair. In fact, the mirror seemed to have some power of attraction. Like the other girls, she glanced into her reflection each time she passed it. She felt it was drawing her into itself. She wondered if the others thought the same. But she never asked them. Pride will allow only so much publicity. Besides, she never thought herself overly vain, at least not like some of the other girls who shamelessly primped if front of it throughout the day. Her mother had taught her not to make an open show of vanity…it’s not proper, she’d said.

But there was something strange about the mirror on this particular day. She stopped in its presence as though it beckoned her. Her body had a tingling sensation that she could feel but not describe. She stood there speechless. The mirror seemed to have invisible arms that reached out and held her in a powerful embrace, like a hypnotic trance. What? She asked aloud, gazing full into its smoky surface. Her image reflected a silent response. She wrestled with its hidden strength but could not free herself. Its energy field held her tightly. Time stooped.

Suddenly the office door opened. Lisa entered. The door slammed shut, the trance ended. Time began again. “Good morning,” Lisa said with enthusiasm. “How’d your weekend go?”

”Don’t ask,” Justine answered. “Just awful. My now ex-boyfriend cancelled our Saturday date, said he’d met someone, like it was just no big deal. After all I’d done for him. You can guess the rest of the story. He could have at least had the nerve to tell me in person. Instead he just sent a text with the bomb. I should have never trusted him. I knew better. Lisa, he’s just like all the others. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I ever trust another one, I promise.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Lisa said, her voice genuine. “Just try to shake it off, Justine. It’s happened to all of us at one time or another. Life goes on. You’ll be fine in a few days. There’re plenty of ‘em out there, girl. The next one may be just who you’re looking for. You gotta be receptive. And be glad you got rid of this dirt bag when you did.” Lisa looked into the mirror, brushed her hair back and walked away.

Justine called after her, “Lisa, do you believe that mirrors can have magical powers?”

Lisa turned around, laughed and said, “Only in fairy tales. But then again, I guess it’s possible. It may depend on who’s looking in it. And what they want to believe. Why?”

“Oh, I was just wondering. Never mind.” Lisa flung her a puzzled look, shrugged and walked off. Had she imagined it? She became bewildered and tried to let the thought go, but couldn’t. It held her like the mirror had done.

She poured a cup of coffee and sat at her desk. The phone and email messages attacked her. Another typical day, she conceded. But the mirror had added a dimension. It intrigued her. She glanced at it again. Something was all wrong about it. It didn’t belong in here, she thought. The office, decorated in modern furniture by a minimalist, was not the place for such an artifact. I don’t belong here either, she said to herself. Never have, come to think of it. The thought troubled her.

Something’s all wrong for sure, she concluded. Why have I stayed here for three years? I don’t like the job. The same old same old, every day. Booooring. Renting apartments. Listening to the same stories from different people, the phony smiles, the counterfeit countenances, the lies, the complaints, the management hassles. What kind of place is this for me? Hell, for anyone? She felt her anger rising.

She tried to put it out of her mind by recalling her recent trip to France. Gone for a whole month, heaven. The village life with family, quaint, serendipitous, easy. Paris, with its vibrancy, its promise, its sidewalk cafes, its art, its possibilities for her. But here I am, my head in France, my body stuck in this cesspool of traffic-clogged Atlanta, toiling in a dead-end job nobody appreciates and in a city full of egotistical men. I should leave. Maybe I will, she thought. She became afraid of the suggestion.

She’d often had these thoughts. They seemed to precede necessary decisions, some delayed choices life demanded. Did they always have to reach some volcanic crescendo before she’d make the choice? Did she always have to have another failed love affair to get disgusted with things as they are? What would it take for her to make a change? The baggage of memories and unanswered questions got larger, almost too heavy to tote. The effort of lugging it around made her weary.

Suddenly a stranger walked in. She looked up from her desk and froze. Her world stopped moving. He was tall, maybe six-two, slim. His skin had the smooth glow of a Mediterranean summer. He wore a pair of black silk trousers and a brilliant blue silk shirt under a pale yellow Canelli linen jacket. His hair was thick, the color of night, a hint of gray highlighted the temples. A movie star? He looked every bit the part. He was clearly out of place, she though. What’s he doing here?

The mirror had arrested his attention. He stood and quietly gazed into it. He seemed to be waiting on someone. Just then another man bolted through the door. She recognized him as one of the many older transient tenants who came for a few days each month. She knew nothing else about him, except that he was friendly and his rent checks cleared. The men talked in low whispers for a minute. The tenant hurriedly excused himself and disappeared into the property manager’s office.

Justine sat at her desk like a corpse and stared at the man. Was he French? Possibly. Italian? Hard to tell, she thought, but clearly European. No one of his comportment had come through the doors of this apartment complex in her three years. She knew that. She suppressed her curiosity her, but fear held her from approaching him. The stranger just stood there, disinterested in his surroundings, and looked into the mirror.

Her eyes had captured the stranger and were feasting on him. She noticed he seemed not to be looking at himself at all, but looking through the mirror, as if there were something, or someone, on the other side. He might have been looking into the future, she thought. Is that possible? What did he see? She had no answers. But she longed to know.

The other girls were occupied, so she shoved her fear into in the desk drawer, pushed back and walked up to him. “Hello,” she said. She wanted to say more, but when he turned and looked at her with his dark eyes, she became mute. Her lips moved, but no sound came from them. He simply said in return, “Hello.”

“May I assist you while you wait for your friend, perhaps get you a cup of coffee?” she said.

He turned, looked into her eyes and said nothing. Only his eyes spoke. Her soul heard their voice. She trembled. He noticed. His eyes surveyed her body in a swift look-over. She felt his glances. They felt good. His lips parted and curled into a slight smile that revealed a hint of mystery and very brilliant white teeth. He shook his head and said, “No, thank you.” That was all. He turned and continued to gaze into the mirror, seemingly oblivious to her presence.

The encounter had ended. She returned to her desk feeling stupid, embarrassed and highly disappointed. For what, she thought? What did I expect from a total stranger? Oh, well, another day on the job. Her eyes did not return to work, but continued to feast on this man. Across the aisle Lauren mouthed a silent sentence, “Who is that good-lookin’ stud?” Justine shrugged. She wanted desperately to know.

He continued to stand there, unmoving, statuesque, concentrating on something. She wished she knew what, or who. What did the mirror know? Should she ask him? No, that’d be rude. More questions without answers. The baggage bulged.

His friend suddenly materialized and slapped him on the shoulder, saying, “I’m done here. You ready to go? We have just enough time for a quick lunch before I drop you at the airport.” Justine’s heard these words. Her heart sank. But not for long.

“Yes, just one moment,” the stranger said, his accent unmistakably French. He slowly walked towards Justine. She feigned busy-work. Her face gave the ruse away. He offered his hand, she shook it. Her face flushed when he said, “I hope I was not rude to you. You see, that mirror mystified me. It seemed to have some power and I was drawn to it. I couldn’t resist. Please forgive me.”

“I totally understand,” she said. “Strange, it did the same to me when I came in a few minutes ago.”

“You look French. Are you?” He said. Her heart almost stopped.

“Why, sort of,” she said. “My mother and some of my family live there. I visit often. I’d love to move there one day.” Her nerves quivered, her heart pulsated. She felt weak all over. She forgot about the baggage.

“Please pardon me, but you are a dead-ringer of someone I recently knew,” he said. “I saw your reflection in the mirror and it reminded me of her.”

Oh, her, she thought, just what I needed to hear…somebody else’s love problems. She smiled and said, “Of course.” Still, her heart beat faster, not believing what she was hearing. Before she could stop herself, she said, “Someone special?” She bit her tongue. How stupid, she thought. Why’d I say that?

“Well, yes,” he replied, “But that was last year. We were engaged to be married, but it didn’t work out.” He looked at the floor, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” Justine said. She lied. She wasn’t. “I understand very well,” she said. “It’s happened to me, too. Recently.”

He shook his head, smiled and laughed. "I knew we had things in common. What is your name?” In a response too quick, she blurted, “Justine. Justine Boston.” Oh my God, that was totally un-cool, Justine, she said to herself. What’ll he think? He didn’t seem to notice, or care. She had consumed his interest.

His friend called, “Hey, get a move on. I’m hungry, and Atlanta traffic is murder.”

He looked around, nodded and said, “Coming.”

Oh, no, she thought. She prayed for no. Please, no. We’re just getting started, and now he’s leaving.

He reached into his jacket, pulled out a business card and handed it to her. “My name is Emile Rousseau. This is my first visit to Atlanta. If things work out for me, I’ll be back. When I do perhaps we can continue our conversation.” It was more of a question than a statement, a way to engage and not be committed or rejected. She wasn’t new to the subtleties of dating. Things were beginning to get interesting.

“Your name. Are you related to…?” She didn’t finish the sentence before he said, “Yes, I’m afraid so. He was my great, great-grandfather. It’s hard to live down his reputation! But I’m in publishing, not art” She couldn’t believe what her ears heard. Publishing. And she wanted to write a book? Things were getting very interesting indeed!

He turned and walked towards the door. As he opened it, he cast a backward glance and smiled at her. A smile that was real, she thought. The sun rays cast his shadow across the mirror as if to imprint his body within it. He said. “Justine, if you ever get to Paris, would you please call?” And that was it. The door closed behind him as he walked out of her life. She sighed and said to no one, “Just my luck with men!” But she knew she’d see him again. And soon, she hoped.

The hours crawled by in the mundane tasks of her job. All excitement had been sucked from the day after her brief encounter with Emile. She dragged herself through the remaining hour in slow motion. The day finally ended. The others had gone. She thought about the strange events of the day as she cleared her desk and prepared to leave.. It had started with the mirror and ended with a stranger’s smile. She imagined the possibilities.

She stopped in front of the mirror. She looked into it, wondering what had captivated Emile’s interest. She looked into its vast smoky darkness. Something moved, ever so slightly, in the shadow’s recesses. And moved again, perceptively. Movement was slow at first, as if coming from a great distance. Closer and closer it came. A woman appeared, dressed in a low-cut, emerald green dress, perhaps an Armani, carrying a Vuitton tote bag. A diamond necklace dangled seductively from her neck.

The woman smiled as she drew near and approached the mirror’s outer edge. She had a familial quality about her. As she drew closer, Justine saw that the woman’s shape and face looked like that of her own. Impossible, Justine thought. She shook her head, rubbed her eyes. What’s going on? She was confused.

Who is this woman? She looks like me, Justine thought. Is it me? She wondered. This is ridiculous, she knew. How could it be? In the midst of these thoughts the woman stepped from the mirror onto the floor. Time moved in reverse. Emile was just leaving. The woman called to him, “Emile, wait for me.”

Emile turned, flashed a large smile and said, “Where have you been for so long?” They embraced, kissed, retreated arm-in-arm into the sunlight and disappeared. Justine didn’t move. She stood there, incredulous.

She tried to piece the day together…Emile, the phantom woman in the mirror, the improbability of it all. What did it mean? Was she hallucinating? She got no answers. But didn’t Emile say she reminded him of someone? Could the woman in the mirror have been her in another life, another time, another place? Could she actually step out of a mirror into Emile’s life? So many questions, so few answers.

It had all been too much for one day. She needed a drink. She shook her head and laughed to herself. She left the office and the magic mirror, locking the door behind her. As she walked to her car she heard Emile’s parting words, “Justine, if you ever get to Paris…” She knew that was real, and she knew already what she would do…and soon!

It felt good to have finally made a decision. Now she only had one more to make. She dropped the baggage of life’s memories and unanswered questions behind her on the sidewalk and moved on, unencumbered into a new world of infinite possibilities…

Bud Hearn
October 25, 2010