Born Again

  Born Again

  by Heidi Lowe

  Published by Heidi Lowe Books, 2020.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  BORN AGAIN

  First edition. May 15, 2020

  Copyright © 2020 Heidi Lowe

  _________________________

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  CONTENTS

  Title

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  Books by Heidi Lowe

  Blurb

  ONE

  “Speech, speech, speech!” The chant rang through the bar, causing several people to turn and look at us. One inebriated guy, drinking by himself, even joined in with the chorus.

  I buried my face in my hands, feeling my cheeks burning up. You’d think I would have been used to it by now, seeing as Brit never missed an opportunity to embarrass me. This time, though, she’d managed to rope in her current squeeze, and Colin.

  “Make it stop!” I whined, but couldn’t help laughing.

  I felt Colin’s hand on my shoulder. “Take the win, Dakota. This is a great opportunity.”

  When I finally removed my hands from my face, I was met with the three beaming faces of the gang. They looked like ventriloquist dummies.

  “Okay, you guys are starting to creep me out!” I downed what was left of my wine glass. “As for a speech, all I can say is, I’m grateful to Papyrus Vision for the opportunity, but above all I’m grateful to God for everything He’s—”

  Brit snarled, waved a dismissive hand at me. “Less God, more alcohol!”

  A mantra that would never die. I could almost pinpoint the exact moment it would spring from her lips. I think a part of me brought up God and my religion just to get under her skin; a part of me found her aversion to both hilarious.

  “If I thought like that I wouldn’t have gotten this promotion... I probably wouldn’t even have a job!” I said.

  Brit chuckled. I knew that laugh — she was already three sheets to the wind, and would be “up for anything” soon. At which point nothing was off limits: dancing with strangers, kissing strangers, sleeping with strangers... It usually involved something debauched with someone she didn’t know, her boyfriend notwithstanding. If I didn’t want her throwing up on me in the Uber back to our apartment, I’d have to find a way to pry the bottle of Budweiser from her. A challenge.

  “You worked your ass off for that promotion, Daiquiri. Not some old bearded dude in the sky,” she said. She stopped a passing barmaid. “A daiquiri for my daiquiri.” She chortled at her silly joke.

  “Huh?” The barmaid looked to us, the sober arm of the group, for clarification.

  “Just the check, please,” I said, offering a sympathetic smile.

  “That’s probably for the best,” I heard Colin mumble, his tone one of contempt. When I looked across the table at Brit, her tongue now submerged down the throat of boyfriend-of-the-month, I knew why. It never took long for him to tire of Brit and her antics. At the start of our relationship, some five years ago, a common question had been, “does she have to be here?” After a while he’d come to accept that we were a package deal, so he stopped asking. Limiting his interactions with her was his only option. And although we’d only been out for a couple of hours, he’d clearly reached his tolerance level.

  “What?” Brit exclaimed, once she’d come up for air. “The party’s over? But it’s still early.”

  I laughed. “I know, I’m a party pooper. You know how groggy I get if I’m not in bed by ten.”

  She stuck out her tongue at me, then proceeded to return said tongue to the mouth of her smitten new flame.

  I ordered an Uber then went in search of the ladies’ room. Public toilets were a source of great angst, as you could never be sure what state you’d find them in. Anything from broken locks, wet floors, missing tissue paper, chains that wouldn’t flush... The horror! By the time I got there, I’d worked myself up into such a frenzy about what I would find, that I opened the door with caution, heartbeat racing, like I was about to identify the body of a dead loved one!

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I entered. A scent of white musk hit me immediately. No broken or out of service stalls, no tissue strewn across the floor, no cracked mirrors. The first two stalls were occupied, so I tried the middle one. Unlocked. I pushed the door open...

  And gasped. It took the two women a few seconds to notice that they weren’t alone; a few seconds for me to realize I was still standing there, frozen to the spot, taking in a scene I’d never witnessed before. One woman, a pretty blonde, pressed up against the stall wall; the other, a spiky pixie cut in a halter tank top, her hand snuggled between the legs of her blonde pal.

  They turned to look at me, the short-haired woman’s rapid arm thrusting and frantic neck kissing ceasing, the blonde woman’s heavy breathing breaking off.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I scrambled to close the door, to get as far away from them as possible.

  I crashed into a couple of people as I hastened back to our table.

  “That was quick,” Brit commented.

  So shaken up by what I’d seen, I’d forgotten the reason why I’d gone to the restroom in the first place.

  Colin put a hand on my shoulder again, looked at me with concern. “Dakota, you all right? Your face is flushed.”

  I forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Public toilets, you know how it is. I’ll hold it.”

  “Good night?” the Uber driver asked a few minutes into the journey.

  When he did a sharp right, the sleeping, snoring, seatbelt-less body of Brit rolled onto me. I’d practically had to shove her into the car when it arrived, and she’d tried to hug me to death every time I tried to strap her in. Eventually I gave up trying.

  “It was, actually,” I said. And because I often made a point of engaging in smalltalk with the Uber drivers, I added, “We were celebrating my new promotion.”

  “Oh yeah? Sweet! What you do?”

  “I’m a junior executive at one of Seattle’s top ad agencies... Very junior.” I laughed to myself. Junior executive was now my official title, though I’d theoretically been doing the job for two years; I’d had all the responsibility with none of the financial benefits. Big companies did that sort of thing all the time. As an underpaid lackey with big dreams — assistant to one of the senior executives — advantage had been taken of me. I knew it then, but I didn’t care. The slaving away, the endless hours of grunt work, had finally led to the grand prize: the coveted title of junior executive. The pay hike wasn’t bad, but it did mean switching departments, which in turn meant moving to another site. All new colleagues, all new bosses to answer to. A fresh start.

  “See, I never understand any of that shit— sorry, stuff,” he said. “Are you like Mad Men or something? That show was tight.”

  “Not as glamorous. Now I’ll get small accounts of my own, and I can scout for new business by putting campaigns together. Which means as of Monday, I have no life!”

 
He laughed. “Shit, I feel you.”

  His complete lack of filter, and the informal, familiar way he spoke to me, made me feel at ease. He drove recklessly, but what did any of that matter if the conversation was good? As long as he didn’t wrap the car around a tree, he’d get five stars with bells on.

  Brit found me the following morning sitting on the balcony, peering out across the communal lawn of our Des Moines apartment. That was how I liked to start every morning, watching the sun come up, while sipping coffee and reflecting on the previous day’s events.

  “Why?” was all she said when she staggered out, barefoot, bedhead, in last night’s clothes, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

  “Why what?”

  She slumped into the empty seat, shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare. “Why are you...” She was too hung over to finish the sentence. She sighed, threw her head back.

  I laughed. “If you were going to ask why I’m dressed, I decided to go to church today.”

  She groaned. “He steals your Sundays, sometimes your Wednesdays, and now you’re giving him your Saturdays too?”

  “No one’s stealing anything. I wanted to go in.”

  “Weirdo.” She hitched her legs up on the railing. “Bet Colin ‘gently encouraged’ you to go. You’re not that committed.” There was a twinge of disdain in her voice.

  “Nope, this is all me.” I got the feeling that, after all this time, she still thought that my commitment to Christianity was a passing phase. And that if I dumped Colin it would die a quick and painful death, so I would go back to being the party girl she knew and loved.

  “Whatever.” She wasn’t buying it.

  We sat in silence for a few moments, half to enjoy the beautiful landscape and the sun gracing the city with its presence, half because I was sure that if Brit spoke too much she’d end up vomiting.

  Then I said, as casually as I could, “I saw something weird in the restroom last night.”

  “Like what?”

  “Two ladies... together.”

  A beat of silence passed before she burst out laughing. “That was weird to you? Two women kissing? You believe some guy made a boat big enough to fit two of every animal, but that’s what you find outrageous?”

  “They were doing more than kissing.” My voice could barely be heard over her laughter. “It’s not that funny.”

  “You’re such a prude.”

  “I am not! Look, I live and let live, but I don’t want to see that stuff. It’s a public restroom, for God’s sake.”

  “Worse things happen in there, believe me.” I knew she was speaking from experience. Seedy, sordid experience. Even before my rebirth five years prior, when I was at my wildest, I’d never managed to get into even a fraction of the trouble she had.

  I sipped my coffee, said nothing. But I knew she wouldn’t let it go.

  “So that’s why you’re rushing off to church today?”

  “No...” Yes!

  She narrowed her eyes at me, a wicked smile playing on her lips. “Don’t lie. You were turned on, weren’t you?”

  I got up furiously. “I’m not listening to this.” She was still cackling as I stormed away.

  The Freewell Church of Kent was an independent baptist church — a modern white structure, some twenty years old. It sat on an acre of land, had an outdoor play area with swings and slides for the kids, and a couple of apple and plum trees that the pastor’s wife harvested regularly to make jellies and pies. There were fairs twice a year, fundraisers for the local community, and cross country trips. Each one of its one hundred plus members knew one another by name, because the majority of them, save for me and Colin, had been attending since the church’s genesis. There was a real sense of community and family throughout, which was, if I’m being honest, the thing that kept me coming back. It didn’t feel like the churches of old, the ones in traditional structures, with ancient walls, stained glass windows, and gravestones littering the churchyard. Whenever I attended, the vibe was warm, welcoming, like no one judged me or cared about what had led me there.

  Once I’d said my hellos, I found Colin already seated in our usual row. Freewell didn’t have pews but padded folding chairs.

  “Hey,” I said, claiming the seat beside him.

  He put away his cellphone. “Hey. Saturday, huh?”

  I shrugged. “God doesn’t take a day off, so why should I?”

  He smiled. “Thought you’d want the weekend to yourself, seeing as it’ll be your last weekend of freedom.” He was referring to the increased workload that lay ahead of me.

  I didn’t have time to respond, because Pastor Hugh Crouse stepped up to the podium and began his sermon.

  “Nice to see you here today, guys,” he said, shaking our hands in turn, once the service was over. That was his way; he made a point of greeting each parishioner, inquired as to what we’d been up to during the week.

  He was an affable father type, with white hair, a long white beard, and the softest, most trustworthy eyes I’d ever seen. If you stared into them for too long you’d end up confessing every sin you’d ever committed. I looked away quickly.

  “Great sermon, sir,” Colin said in that ingratiating tone he reserved for his superiors. He could be so deferential. The sermons were always great, never good or okay, but great. Sometimes exceptional. Even when they weren’t. Like today’s for instance. Nothing to write home about. He’d spoken extensively about forgiveness; read passages, mostly from the New Testament. Forgiveness wasn’t something I had a problem with, it was forgetting that proved difficult to master. If he had a bible verse for that I was all ears. But I’d zoned out halfway through, my mind wandering right back to the night before, to one particular moment.

  “I’m merely the Lord’s conduit,” the pastor said modestly, as though he genuinely believed that. “So what have you two been up to?”

  “Dakota got promoted,” Colin jumped in before I could.

  “That’s wonderful news. Congratulations, Dakota. You deserve it.”

  “Thank you. I have my work cut out for me.”

  He took my hand in his huge ones. “The Lord never gives us anything we can’t handle. Remember that.” He waved to someone else, then excused himself.

  As Colin and I headed to the activity room, where snacks and drinks had been laid out, Colin whispered with a laugh, “He clearly hasn’t met The Glacier Queen.”

  I shot him a wretched look. “Don’t remind me. I’m trying to enjoy my promotion before my life is ruined forever.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much, her team is full. Louis Sumpter and Flavio Constantini are both hiring for junior exec positions, so you’ll be with one of them for sure.”

  I sighed. Downsides existed with everything, and this promotion was no different. Longer hours and increased responsibility aside, there was also the inevitability of having a new boss. Possibly a mean one. And they didn’t come any meaner than Naomi Pierre, or so I’d heard. Not just from Colin — who worked in Papyrus Vision’s legal department — but from my former colleagues who knew others from the Household Goods department. The Glacier Queen had been her moniker since I’d started working for the company two years prior; I think most had forgotten what her real name was. Our paths had, thankfully, never crossed, but I feared that would change. Because I’d heard the stories about her juniors being screamed at, reprimanded in front of their coworkers, clients, and loved ones. The idea was always to humiliate; she apparently took great pleasure in embarrassing her subordinates. Although I’d never met or seen her, having been up until then a minnow in a sea of bigger, more important fish, I imagined her with horns! The Devil incarnate.

  My misery must have been apparent, because Colin rubbed my back. “Hey, it’s gonna be all right. There’s virtually no chance you’ll be in her team.”

  Clinging to his words like a lifeline, I exited the elevator in the Sekhmet Building the following morning, hopeful. Colin was right: of the three senior executives in the department, The Gla
cier Queen was the only one who wasn’t hiring. I had nothing to worry about.

  I made a beeline for the reception desk, noticing immediately how rushed and in a hurry everyone seemed to be in this neck of the woods. Staff in the old building didn’t seem nearly as stressed. These guys looked like they never took breaks.

  The receptionist, a girl in her early-twenties, smiled. “Hi, how can I help you today?”

  “Hi, my name’s Dakota Adams, I’m—”

  “Oh, you’re from the Pharaoh Building, right? The new junior exec?”

  “That’s right.”

  She offered me her hand, which I shook. “Welcome. You’ll love it over here. We have much more fun.”

  I laughed. “Looks like it.” If her definition of fun meant working their fingers to the bone...

  “Let me just check which team you’ll be joining.” She searched among a plethora of papers on her desk. Found what she was looking for.

  I watched the smile fade from her face.

  Oh no, was she about to tell me I’d lost the job before I’d even begun? There was an Alanis Morissette song about that kind of thing...

  “Is everything all right?” I said, about five seconds from panicking. I really wanted this job.

  “Uh, yeah... I thought... It doesn’t matter.” She forced a smile. “If you go straight down, someone will be there to take you to your new team.”

  I hesitated at the desk, not sure what was happening. Until finally I said, “So who did I get? Louis or Flavio?”

  She didn’t smile when she spoke. “Neither. You’re with Naomi Pierre.”

  TWO

  My throat clammed up. If there’d been a mirror around, it would have no doubt shown how the blood had drained from my face.

  “Th—there must be a mistake.”

  The girl looked at her paper, that hateful piece of paper, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, I really am.” She looked genuinely remorseful.