Jezabel

'JEZABEL? What do you mean? You told me your name was Jess. Three
months we've been together and I find out you're not the person you
said you were.'

'Of course I'm the same person. Calm down. You know I write my name
with a 'z', well, it's short for Jezabel. Honestly Pete, you'd think
I'd confessed to being a serial killer. . .'

Well, I don't suppose I think you're that, but Jezabel. . . God, I
thought it was just an affectation when you spell your name funny. I
thought you were Jessica or just Jessie . . . '

'And that would have been OK? Good safe names, so I would be
too?'

Jez was getting angry. Her ears, just showing through her mane of
flaming red hair, were pink to match similar patches on her cheeks. Her
eyes glittered dangerously and her voice had become deadly
quiet.'

'You'd better hear it all. My middle names are Mata and Bonnie. . .
'

'After Mata Hari and Bonnie of Bonnie and Clyde, do doubt.' Pete was
scornful.

'Got it in one.'

Jez's voice was so icy it's a wonder it didn't splinter and break up as
she spat out the words.

' . . .but why, why on earth were you called that? What were your
parents thinking of? Or did you call yourself by those names for some
warped reason all of your own?

'You're still wanting me to be nice and safe Jessie, aren't you? Well
the names weren't my idea. My parents thought they could free us from
the 'tyranny of convention'. I'm quoting here. And enable us to make
choices based on what we wanted to be, whatever we wanted to be,
instead of being limited by our good safe names. They were really free
thinking. Pity really about the car crash. They could have explained it
all to you.'

Pete went very quiet after the revelation of her full name.

'And what do you mean by 'us'. I thought your twin brother was called
'Roddy'. Nothing wrong with that. Roderick is surely one of your 'safe'
names?'

He realised the implications as he noticed that Jez had one eyebrow
raised in a questioning manner. 'You don't mean, that's not actually
his name?'

'You're really on the ball this morning. His full name is Herod Adolf
Saddam. Same parents, same reasoning.'

The relationship cooled, and within a week, Pete had moved out. Jez had
already decided on his replacement, a nice safe man called Alan. She
hoped he could be turned round and given the freedom of another
personality. If not, she would move on again.

She phoned her brother.

'Hi, Roddy. Reporting my next failure. Another one bites the dust. How
are you getting on with Patience?'

'Hi Jez. She'll have to go.'

His voice was so cold that Jez felt a tremor of fear.

'No chance of giving it more time, Roddy? That'll make three within the
last six months.'

'No, definitely not. I took her to see the parents and they actually
liked her.'
Contrary to what Jez had said to Pete, their parents were alive and
well and living next to the church where her father was the
pastor.

'Perhaps we should cool it a bit, Roddy. We've been playing these games
for ten years now. It's great to plot and plan and play with other
people, but we're getting older now, and perhaps it's time to move
on.'

'You're not losing your nerve?' What about all you said about
conventions and the safe life? You were so much against them.'

'That was just teenage angst, and probably living so close to the
church in all senses of the word. Anyway I'm tired of playing the
field. How about you? Are you not fed up of all the scheming to get
your own way?'

'No, I've got a taste for it now. It was your idea after all. Choose
strong names and live up to them. Express our true
personalities.'

Jez had a lot to think about. Alan turned out to be what her mother
would call 'a lovely man' and she surprised herself by being happy and
content with him as he was, without trying to change him. She wasn't
looking around for others to conquer. She didn't feel the need to
report back to Roddy and tell him everything.

She realised he was not pleased by the turn events were taking and
agreed to meet him at his flat in the downtown area of the city. His
loft, as he liked to call it, was on the top floor of an old warehouse
that had been converted to trendy new flats. To suit his profession of
interior designer, he was forever changing the d?cor. This time it
looked as if the flat was underwater. It was cold and stark and the
overall impression was of cool greenness. As usual, Jez rubbished it.
He did not look pleased.

'What happened to Patience, then? I thought she would be here.'

'Don't know. She must have gone somewhere.'

While Jez was there, Roddy took a phone call.

'No, no. I haven't seen her for a fortnight.'

He listened for a long time, making soothing sounds into the
phone.

'I'm sure there's no problem.'

'Her mother,' he explained as Jez looked questioningly at him.

'She says she's going to call the police. Patience has never gone off
before without telling them. It figures. . . '

He snorted his derision. 'No, she wouldn't have done anything like
that. Not good little incorruptible Patience.'

It was as if Jez wasn't there. He was talking to himself. Jez became
worried by the way he was looking at her.

'Did you do anything to her, Roddy?' She had to know. Her voice was
calm, but inside she was in turmoil.

'What on earth would Herod or Adolf or Saddam do with an innocent like
that?'

Roddy laughed unpleasantly, and at once Jez knew that their game had
gone far wrong . . .
She stood up to leave, but Roddy, or perhaps it was Herod or Adolf or
Saddam, blocked her way and she knew she wouldn't be able to go.