Palmira Haswell met Anne Bellenger at the dirty coffee place next to the barber’s shop with the cheap neon sign. Palmira Haswell was wearing a black skirt with a navy blue blouse and her hair was done in a neat pony tail. She looked about twenty, although her real age was probably over twenty-eight.
Anne Bellenger was a redhead with very attractive features. Her rather huge breasts made her face look like a small heart shaped pendant with a pout. She worked as a model and her ad photos were frequently splashed between the classifieds in the popular Russian Newspaper in Warsaw. She had apparently earned a great deal of money on her last modeling trip to United States and returned back rich, and pregnant. The story went like this - She had a husband in California that she did not want to live with anymore, mainly because she did not want to live in the US anymore. She frequently traveled between Los Angeles, Paris, London and Warsaw (her hometown) on account of her various modeling assignments. She had pleaded with husband Greg many times to move to Paris, but unsuccessfully. Greg did not like the idea of missing College Football to drinking French wine in their fine glasses. He got her pregnant during her last trip to US and so finally Anne had decided to stay permanently in California.
8 months and 23 days later, the stillborn was born. I say born because I don’t know what to call a newborn that comes out dead. Greg did not stop Anne from returning to Warsaw. She stopped working as a model for a while and took up knitting. She returned back to modeling after knitting a scarf and two un-wearable stockings. Greg sometimes called her to talk for a minute or two. They were technically still married.
When Anne Bellenger was contacted by the Russian guy who called himself Ivan, she asked him how long he had been in the business. The fake passport business that is. Since Poland had kind of become the bridge between the East and the West, the business had really picked up. Ivan was a new recruit in Warsaw but had previously worked in Latvia for years. The good thing about new recruits was that they were often inconspicuous, a desirable trait in a business of this nature.
Palmira Haswell was an administrative clerk at an accounting firm. Her job was boring and her personal life full of men she wasn’t interested in. Despite her twenty eight years or more, she had been unlucky in love and had never been proposed to. She was a natural beauty with naturally blonde hair, an asset she acquired from her Swedish mother, an asset she neatly managed in a pony tail. Week after week she had been looking for a new job, as she hated her current position.
One day, on her way back home from work, it has started to rain and she had entered a small café that was run by a middle aged Latvian woman with thick arms. Palmira ordered coffee and picked up the only paper, a Russian newspaper. In the classifieds section there was an ad for "International Travel" with a line underneath in fine print that read "passport specialist". Palmira had picked the paper and brought it home because of the job classifieds, not because she was looking for a passport. Yet, after waiting a day or two, she contacted the number provided in the ad.
Ivan had arranged the meeting between them. Anne did not need the money, but she was greedy and could not refuse Ivan.
Palmira’s miserable condition revealed itself in the eyes of Ivan the Passport Specialist. The specialist that he was, his specialty was reading people’s misery through talking to them about amber jewelry.
Ivan convinced her to go to the US and try becoming a model and then later an actress. He explained to her how hundreds of pretty girls he knows now had blossoming careers in Hollywood, all thanks to passports provided by him. She did not question him.
Palmira Haswell paid $400 for the fake passport to Anne Bellenger, and $400 to Ivan. She paid in cash, and did not ask for a receipt. Ivan always mentioned honesty as his number one rule for doing business. If he was paid for something, he would always deliver that something. Palmira opened the passport and saw her recent photo and her new name Anne Bellenger. It reminded her of the loud redhead with big breasts and a pout, and long bright fingernails not appropriate for knitting.
Months later she would think, "It is easy to live with a new name, but it is not easy to live as a new person".
Months later she would also think, "It is difficult to live as a new person in Los Angeles, but it was even more difficult to survive as myself back in Warsaw". She often wondered if what she thought was what she actually felt. But with time, the difference became less and less distinct.
Palmira Haswell was no longer one person anymore. She was Anya the Artemis; she was Palmira the quiet pony tailed clerk; she was also the redhead with the face of a heart-shaped pendant with a pout. On some days she coexisted with all of the three, on other days she struggled hard to become one of them.
********************************************************
Truth be told now, I am in love with Anya the Artemis. Truth further be told, Anya the Artemis is adored by thousands, whereas Anne Bellenger was loved only by one, and Palmira Haswell by none.
This is the reality that she lives with everyday: that her new identity, is her only identity.
I am not ready to find out any more about her than I already have, and yet, until I get to the smallest details, my mind would not rest. When I hold Anya in my arms, I hold her closer and tighter every passing night. Yet, whether I would return to her the next day, is unknown to me.
One day, as if she could read me, she disappeared. Her furniture was gone, the dark drapes, the white sheets, the broken mirror, the black and white picture of bright colorful flowers, everything was gone. I waited for a few days to see if she returned or tried to contact me, but she did not. Her website’s domain name was purchased by someone that sells customized quilts.
I did not look for her. As you might have expected.
- Proma
Anne Bellenger was a redhead with very attractive features. Her rather huge breasts made her face look like a small heart shaped pendant with a pout. She worked as a model and her ad photos were frequently splashed between the classifieds in the popular Russian Newspaper in Warsaw. She had apparently earned a great deal of money on her last modeling trip to United States and returned back rich, and pregnant. The story went like this - She had a husband in California that she did not want to live with anymore, mainly because she did not want to live in the US anymore. She frequently traveled between Los Angeles, Paris, London and Warsaw (her hometown) on account of her various modeling assignments. She had pleaded with husband Greg many times to move to Paris, but unsuccessfully. Greg did not like the idea of missing College Football to drinking French wine in their fine glasses. He got her pregnant during her last trip to US and so finally Anne had decided to stay permanently in California.
8 months and 23 days later, the stillborn was born. I say born because I don’t know what to call a newborn that comes out dead. Greg did not stop Anne from returning to Warsaw. She stopped working as a model for a while and took up knitting. She returned back to modeling after knitting a scarf and two un-wearable stockings. Greg sometimes called her to talk for a minute or two. They were technically still married.
When Anne Bellenger was contacted by the Russian guy who called himself Ivan, she asked him how long he had been in the business. The fake passport business that is. Since Poland had kind of become the bridge between the East and the West, the business had really picked up. Ivan was a new recruit in Warsaw but had previously worked in Latvia for years. The good thing about new recruits was that they were often inconspicuous, a desirable trait in a business of this nature.
Palmira Haswell was an administrative clerk at an accounting firm. Her job was boring and her personal life full of men she wasn’t interested in. Despite her twenty eight years or more, she had been unlucky in love and had never been proposed to. She was a natural beauty with naturally blonde hair, an asset she acquired from her Swedish mother, an asset she neatly managed in a pony tail. Week after week she had been looking for a new job, as she hated her current position.
One day, on her way back home from work, it has started to rain and she had entered a small café that was run by a middle aged Latvian woman with thick arms. Palmira ordered coffee and picked up the only paper, a Russian newspaper. In the classifieds section there was an ad for "International Travel" with a line underneath in fine print that read "passport specialist". Palmira had picked the paper and brought it home because of the job classifieds, not because she was looking for a passport. Yet, after waiting a day or two, she contacted the number provided in the ad.
Ivan had arranged the meeting between them. Anne did not need the money, but she was greedy and could not refuse Ivan.
Palmira’s miserable condition revealed itself in the eyes of Ivan the Passport Specialist. The specialist that he was, his specialty was reading people’s misery through talking to them about amber jewelry.
Ivan convinced her to go to the US and try becoming a model and then later an actress. He explained to her how hundreds of pretty girls he knows now had blossoming careers in Hollywood, all thanks to passports provided by him. She did not question him.
Palmira Haswell paid $400 for the fake passport to Anne Bellenger, and $400 to Ivan. She paid in cash, and did not ask for a receipt. Ivan always mentioned honesty as his number one rule for doing business. If he was paid for something, he would always deliver that something. Palmira opened the passport and saw her recent photo and her new name Anne Bellenger. It reminded her of the loud redhead with big breasts and a pout, and long bright fingernails not appropriate for knitting.
Months later she would think, "It is easy to live with a new name, but it is not easy to live as a new person".
Months later she would also think, "It is difficult to live as a new person in Los Angeles, but it was even more difficult to survive as myself back in Warsaw". She often wondered if what she thought was what she actually felt. But with time, the difference became less and less distinct.
Palmira Haswell was no longer one person anymore. She was Anya the Artemis; she was Palmira the quiet pony tailed clerk; she was also the redhead with the face of a heart-shaped pendant with a pout. On some days she coexisted with all of the three, on other days she struggled hard to become one of them.
********************************************************
Truth be told now, I am in love with Anya the Artemis. Truth further be told, Anya the Artemis is adored by thousands, whereas Anne Bellenger was loved only by one, and Palmira Haswell by none.
This is the reality that she lives with everyday: that her new identity, is her only identity.
I am not ready to find out any more about her than I already have, and yet, until I get to the smallest details, my mind would not rest. When I hold Anya in my arms, I hold her closer and tighter every passing night. Yet, whether I would return to her the next day, is unknown to me.
One day, as if she could read me, she disappeared. Her furniture was gone, the dark drapes, the white sheets, the broken mirror, the black and white picture of bright colorful flowers, everything was gone. I waited for a few days to see if she returned or tried to contact me, but she did not. Her website’s domain name was purchased by someone that sells customized quilts.
I did not look for her. As you might have expected.
- Proma
Comments
Yes there is no mention of how he moved from Kolkata to LA. Or how he got the information where Anya lives, or how did he get the Visa to live in a foreign country. In a way this story is part real and part surreal. The details of how he moved from Kolkata to LA might have been interestingly written, however the story focuses on the becoming of Anya. How Anya moves from Warsaw to LA, her "secret".
I would have added all the missed information about his move had I intended a longer story. But for this particular short story, which is about the layers of personalities present in a person that come out of past experiences, and how that is in conflict with the person that other people can see in her, all that added information would have done nothing.
Thanks for reading !
I love this. Your style is eloquent.
Have you ever thought about publishing?
Take care,
Yasmin
PS. I miss you ladies!