Excerpt 2 from “The Truth Lies On the Surface”

As she was nearing the bottom of her pint of ice cream, her Aussie lover was saying good night, and the next infomercial was about to begin. Not at all tired yet, and now wired from the sugar, Meredith scooted back in her seat and prepared herself for another wonder from Down Under. But no such luck. Instead, it was just some old doctor in thick spectacles talking about a new weight loss program and discussing the dangers of obesity in America. Of all the things Meredith could’ve seen tonight, this was just about the one thing that could’ve made her feel worse, especially as she was down to the last two spoonfuls of gooey heaven in a carton. At the risk of letting the last of her ice cream turn into runny soup, she picked up the remote and quickly channel surfed until she found something less depressing. What eventually caught her eye was another infomercial—but not the usual thing with a flashy gimmick, payed models, or testimonials from actors. No, this one looked more like a documentary, or maybe a newsreel tour of a facility that was called the Pritchard Institute. Just the name alone sounded intriguing, so she kept it on to see what they were selling.

For a while, a virtual tour guide was walking from room to room, going into detail about certain tools and machinery that are used at the facility. And the guide was describing them as ‘state of the art’ this, and ‘cutting edge’ that, but Meredith still wasn’t sure what it was all about. Nevertheless, she was hooked, so she hung in there for a while and waited to hear what the gist of it was. And then the sales pitch finally came, and it came from the founder of the Pritchard Institute himself, Edward Pritchard. He was a handsome man with a boyish face, black slicked-back hair, close-shaven and well dressed. She figured the man must be loaded to look this good. Meredith sat quietly and listened to his message.

“At the Pritchard Institute, it’s our goal to bring beauty into the world. And that starts with you. With the technology at our fingertips, we can transform you into the person you’ve always wanted to be. Now, I know what you must be thinking. ‘It’s plastic surgery. It’s silicone. You’ve seen countless botched surgeries, careers destroyed, lives ended, and all because of the need to hold onto something that time will inevitably take away from you.’ Well, I can’t stop age, and I cannot reverse time. But I can give you a timeless look that will never diminish; not even with age. You’ll be younger longer, and you’ll still be beautiful when you’re 80, or even 90. With just one simple non-invasive procedure, we’ll transform you into the beauty you’ve always wanted to see in the world. And if you still have your doubts, just come down for a consultation, which is at no cost to you. And then you can decide if this is the right move for you. I’m Edward Pritchard, founder of the Pritchard Institute.”

Meredith sat there speechless after hearing the pitch. Could this really be legit? She figured she might as well just set up an appointment for the free consultation to find out for herself. She literally had nothing to lose. She got up quickly to get a pen and paper from her counter, nearly spilling the rest of her ice cream on the floor, which had long since melted. She set the container on the countertop and raced back to the TV, spooking Nutmeg in the process, who had just come out of hiding to greet her. Then she apologized sweetly and made kissy noises as she sat back down. But Nutmeg had apparently seen enough, and he decided to stay away for now. The infomercial continued for a bit longer, as they often do, so she felt silly having made such a fuss. Nevertheless, she sat patiently and waited for the information, excited at the prospect of being seen. Less than ten minutes later, the phone number and address appeared on the screen, and she took it all down quickly, even though it was probably going to sit there for an additional ten minutes. Then she looked at her digital clock below the television, which read 10:55 PM. She could wait for business hours tomorrow before calling, or she could call now and leave a voice message. She decided on the former, so as not to sound desperate. She still hasn’t made an official decision on this yet, after all.

She sat and watched the rest of the ad, which ended at 11 PM sharp. Then she turned off the TV and got up to get ready for bed, first washing Nutmeg’s water bowl and topping off his dry food before going to brush her teeth. Afterwards, she retired to bed and got under the covers. Nutmeg finally joined her once he saw that she was still and quiet. But she certainly couldn’t sleep yet, as her mind was reeling with possibilities. But eventually, she drifted off to dreamland, where she revisited the horrid date that she just had with Dennis. Only this time, and with some luck, she managed to turn it into a lucid dream, in which she chose to go home with the waiter instead, leaving Dennis alone to cover the bill. It was a much more fitting end to an otherwise wasted evening.

—David Allen

Excerpt from: “The Truth Lies On the Surface”

If there is but one constant in the universe, it is this: the mirror never lies. We may lie to ourselves from time to time, and occasionally we can even fool ourselves into believing that we’re someone we’re not. But even at the worst of times, when our fantasy alter egos have abandoned us—which is usually at the most crucial times when we need those masks to hide behind to conceal the bitter truth that is as plain as the noses on our faces—the mirror will always be there to set the record straight. It can tell us when we’ve had too much to drink, or when we’ve been crying so hard that the evidence is plain to see. It can even tell us when that last helping of mashed potatoes was more lasting than we’d anticipated. Overall, it can be more honest than even the most straightforward and loyal of friends. And it will never lie to us, not even when we need it to. It’ll show us our true faces, warts and all, bed head and cowlicks, laugh lines and crow’s feet, coffee-stained smiles, and even the spinach between our teeth that no one else took the time to tell us about. It can be both our best friend and our worst enemy, all at the same time. And it was here, right in front of that mirror, where Meredith Bowen learned the most important lesson of all.

After a night out on the town, with a date that her long-time friend Bridgette hooked her up with, she now finds herself standing in the bathroom for far too long, reflecting on what it is that men find so unappealing about her. Was it the puffiness of her brow, or the way it makes her eyes look sunken in? Was it her lack of cheekbones, or the deep cleft in her chin, which most men would probably kill to have? Was it her Mother’s Jewish nose, or perhaps her Father’s Polish lips? Maybe her skin was just too pale and pasty, or that her hair would curl so tightly that it’s nearly impossible to brush at times. She tried her best to style it as well as she could, but some manes just couldn’t be tamed. But then again, what if it wasn’t her appearance at all? It could be her heritage, her personality, or her overly polite and conservative demeanor. Or worse yet, it could just be that she was unlikable. Perhaps her voice was irritating, or her laugh was comparable to a baboon’s mating ritual. Or then again, maybe there was no answer at all. Maybe it just wasn’t in the cards for her, or she hasn’t met Mr. Right yet, or it wasn’t her time, or any of the other multitude of bumper sticker support lines that she would hear from her overbearing Mother. But one thing was for sure, wherever the answer lies, she wasn’t going to find it while standing next to her cat’s litter box, which her tabby, lovingly named Nutmeg, was currently using. Not even the mirror had anything insightful or truthful to boast of tonight. So she decided to find her answers at the bottom of a pint of ice cream instead.

Meredith curled up on her recliner and turned on the television. She had already missed most of her favorite nighttime programs, so she had to pass up on the ending of the one that was still on. She could always catch up on these another time. But the other channels had nothing much to offer, besides infomercials and TV evangelists. After skipping around for a bit, she finally settled on an ad for a stain-treating wand, which can hold water like an iron and ran on steam and batteries. She was only half interested in the gizmo itself, but more entertained by the buff Australian man who was modeling as the spokesperson. Without even realizing it, she was suddenly scooping her pralines and cream faster as she watched the man with the bulging arms and firm pectoral muscles thrusting his wand, forward and back, forward and back, in an almost hypnotic rhythm. She had no interest in buying the product he was selling, but she could imagine herself straddling this man if given the chance. And for the time being, a perfectly innocent daydream was more than welcome, especially after the disappointing evening that she just had.

Her date for the night, Dennis, wasn’t the most remarkable looking man, nor was he very charming either. But he was a decent tipper, which she found admirable, and his sense of humor was just above subpar. Overall, she would’ve been willing to see him again if he hadn’t tried to hook her up with the waiter instead. And what’s worse, he introduced her as his friend, as if he didn’t even know they were on a date. It was downright embarrassing, and it made Meredith feel cheap. She was being passed around like a joint, as if everyone else was entitled to have a piece of this action. But in hindsight, she would’ve gladly traded Dennis for that waiter any day. And she may have done just that had the waiter not waved away the idea immediately. But she wasn’t sure if he was just uninterested, or if he was more respectful of the circumstances than Dennis was. Either way, she went home empty-handed, as per usual. Only this time, it was probably for the best.

But at least at home, she still had her favorite company of all to look forward to. Her cat, Nutmeg, who was currently not being very sociable, was a far better companion than anyone she’s been out with in the last five years or so. He’s also the only male that actually stuck around. When Meredith first got Nutmeg, the shelter where she adopted him from told her that the cat was a girl. So, she immediately came up with the name Meg, which Meredith ended up calling the cat for a couple of days before bringing her to the vet. At that point, she finally learned that the cat was a boy. Therefore, the name Nutmeg seemed more applicable.

—David Allen