Mermaid in the Mirror

 Michael London was changing the message on his phone when he noticed something off-kilter in the nearby bookcase. It was the Indian Gupta terracotta head. He had recently moved it to make room for a pair of Chippendale dining room urns. The 5th-century terracotta head disturbingly had been knocked loose from its wooden base, with a hairline fracture above one of the almond-shaped eyes. He could see a large chip off its aquiline nose as well. Michael realized he must have caused the damage when moving it. Just as he was about to search the floor for the missing chip, he could hear a familiar knock at the door.

"You've got a delivery, Mr. London."

           “Thank you, Dani.”

           “It’s a rather large delivery,” she paused in the doorway.

           “Yes, I’m aware of that fact. It’s from Christie’s Auction House. Tell whoever is delivering it they can bring it straight to my office.”

           “I doubt it will fit through the doorway, but I’ll tell them.” She clicked her heels together and sighed as she departed.

           Michael London wondered why his office-ex, Dani Lingstrom, was now referring to him as Mr. London? They had had an amicable break-up the way he saw it. Dani was the one who preferred the single life, after their office romance had just begun to blossom, with Michael intending to pop the question. It had taken him weeks to get over the strikingly talented and gorgeously perceptive young attorney, who worked alongside him at the London & Briggs Law firm. The truth was, Michael was starting to drink again. And truth be told, his auction house purchases were starting to get out of hand. There was something about the magic gavel going down and the words, “Sold to the man with the big wallet”, resounding in his ears. It didn’t matter what he was bidding on either. He just had to be the highest bidder.

           Even Michael was shocked at the size of his recent purchase which came housed in an even larger sized crate, with Christie’s Auction House stamped on the side. He paid the delivery men extra to pry the wooden box open with two crowbars and haul away the shipping debris. He figured his latest acquisition, an enormous brass porthole window, scavenged from a sunken ship, would add a striking ambiance to his office that overlooked a marina from his fourth-story office window. The rectangular porthole window stood almost six feet tall. Next, Michael called a handyman friend to come and hang the window from the ceiling using some nautical chains purchased from a previous auction. The window just rested on the carpeted floor in front of a small leather sofa he never invited clients to sit on.

           “Look, I think you’re an ass to clutter up your office with all this…stuff,” Charlie Briggs, Michael’s partner at the law firm, said one day. Charlie was an often red-faced, balding-haired, ruggedly-built man in his forties. “Don’t you think your office is starting to look like a curiosity shop for lack of better phrasing? I mean that little mummy thing in the glass case over there,” Charlie pointed. “If I were one of your clients, I would be horrified to look at that. What is it, anyway?” Charlie grimaced.

           “It’s a pygmy mummy,” Michael replied.

           “Well, thank God it doesn’t have eyes. I like the porthole window, by the way. That at least makes sense seeing as how there’s a million-dollar view of the water outside your office window. Has anyone ever told you, Michael, that you’re becoming a hoarder? It happens. The stuff keeps accumulating over time, and before you know it, people have to come and do an intervention. Far be it from me to care that much. It’s your life and your office anyway,” Charlie ranted.

           “I have to take this call,” Michael interjected. “Can you close the door on your way out?”

           Later that evening Michael was starting his old routine again. Often, he would drink in his office until the wee hours of the morning and fall asleep at his desk. It wasn’t usually anyone’s business if he didn’t open his office door until noon and then wander home for a few hours rest before returning to the office. After a few pints of lager, Michael had been staring obliquely at the leather sofa through the weathered brass porthole window. He wasn’t sure about the history of it other than the porthole was salvaged from a sunken navy ship found 1.15 miles beneath the surface of the Black Sea. He looked up at the verdigris pattern on the antique nautical chains when an apparition suddenly appeared. The sensual form of a sea-maiden, complete with a fishtail and long flaxen hair that fell in rivulets over her melon-shaped breasts, jolted him out of his stuporous state. Michael blinked his eyes, hoping the apparition would disappear. But there, the mermaid sat, with her tail off to the side trailing onto the carpeted floor, while her upper body rested comfortably on the aged leather of the Pottery Barn sofa.

           “How did I get here?” The mermaid blinked her placid green eyes in disbelief.

           “Are you talking to me?” Michael said in a startled tone. He quickly glanced around the room, wondering if someone wasn’t playing a trick on him. He could see no signs of anyone else being inside the room, and he had been there all evening. “This can’t be happening.” Michael shook his head and glanced back at the mermaid, who was busy gazing at her reflection in a gold hand mirror encrusted with seashells and jewels. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement run through him. “If I’m going to have an erotic fantasy, it may as well be a mermaid in my office after hours.” Michael snickered then chugged the last of his beer. He could still see the mermaid out of the corner of his eye. Michael began to break out into a cold sweat. He knew he had had a lot to drink but no more than usual. “When I snap my fingers, you’ll be gone.” He snapped his fingers several times but to no avail. “So, you come here often?” Michael smiled at the mermaid and popped open another can of lager.

           “My name is Cerena,” the mermaid said. “You’re so very handsome,” she giggled. “Where I come from, all the men-folk have light-colored hair, bleached from the sun. Your hair is black.”

           “Hasn’t gone grey yet, and I’m nearly forty,” Michael winked. He was starting to get used to the idea of a sea vixen entertaining him in the wee hours of the morning while he drank himself into oblivion. He doubted he’d remember her name in the morning.

           A few weeks had passed by, and everyone at the law firm had noticed a spring in Michael’s step. He was starting to shower again and appeared clean-shaven. More importantly, he hadn’t purchased anything more from the auction house since the porthole window. He’d even agreed to meet his partner, Charlie Briggs, for lunch at the nearby steakhouse he’d sworn off since his divorce.

           “Well, here’s to one helluva comeback,” Charlie said while downing a Pisco Sour. “I thought I was seriously going to have to do an intervention of some kind. It’s nice to have the old Michael back.”

           Michael watched as Charlie casually flirted with the waitress before ordering one more drink.

           “I almost forgot to ask about your new lady,” Charlie gave Michael a knowing glance while cutting into his rib-eye steak.

           “New lady?” Michael asked.

           “Yeah, you were starting to tell me about her, but I had to cut you off when I got that call from Lyle Goldman. Sorry, pal. No one makes Lyle Goldman wait. So, what kind of woman is she?” Charlie grinned as he stuffed another bite of steak in his mouth.

           “What kind of woman is she?” Michael echoed. He paused while downing the last of his club soda and lime. “She’s a water spirit.”

           “Oh, you mean she’s a Pisces?" Charlie nodded, shoveling another bite in his mouth. He reached his hand out as the pretty young waitress handed him another Pisco Sour. “Thank you, darlin’," Charlie smiled.

           “You’re welcome,” the waitress smiled back. “Is there anything else I can get you gentleman?”

           “No, no, I think I’m good. I’ve got a two drink limit. How about you, Michael? You good?” 

           “I’m good.” Michael gave an affirmative nod as the waitress scampered over to another table.

           “So, you’re dating a Pisces, huh?” Charlie laughed. “I’ve had a few of those, and let me tell you—”

           “She’s not a Pisces, in a zodiac sense,” Michael interrupted. “By water spirit, I mean she’s a mermaid. I know it sounds crazy, but I’m just going to tell you anyway she’s a mermaid. A real one.”

           “That’s not the kind of answer I was expecting,” Charlie put his fork down. “I mean, I was thinking, is she a blonde, a brunette? What kind of work does she do? Does she have a husband? Kids? That sort of thing. But a mermaid? Mermaids don’t exist. It’s just folklore.” Charlie coughed into his napkin.

           “Are you alright?” Michael asked.

           “I’m fine,” Charlie waved his hand. “I had a piece of rice pilaf stuck in my throat.”

           Michael felt bad that he seemed to catch Charlie off guard with his answer. However, he was adamant that his old friend should know the truth as incredulous as it seemed. 

           “So, where does your mermaid lady live?”

           “She’s from a place called Shore Haven.”

           “Shore Haven?” Charlie snickered. He wiped his mouth on the napkin and dropped it on the table. “Well, how about we meet for dinner sometime? I’m dying to meet this mermaid gal of yours.”

           “Unfortunately, I don’t think she’s visible to anyone but me.” Michael sighed.

           “Have you ever thought about therapy?” Charlie said after a long pause. “Here, I’m going to give you the number of a good friend of mine. Her name is Sarah Menken, and she happens to be a therapist. Here’s her business card.”

           “I’ll take it, but I don’t think I need this kind of help.”

           “Give it a whirl. Therapy can be kind of sexy. Don’t be afraid to reach out. We all have issues, Michael…Check, Please,” Charlie said while flagging down the waitress.

           Michael London sat at his desk and sobbed uncontrollably. It had been three nights since he last saw Cerena. He had no explanation for her sudden disappearance, for he had grown quite fond of their evening chat sessions. Like clock-work, she would appear after his second or third beer. Oddly, he was never fully aware of her presence until suddenly she was there. Just like always. Now, she was no longer visiting him in his office after hours. The last time Michael had spoken with Cerena, it was with his hands and mouth pressed up against the porthole window’s glass. Michael had wanted to be close to her even though she forbade him to come near the window. Now, he feared he would never hear her tinkling laugh again. Or listen to her lament that she would never be able to wear dresses and high heels like a real woman.

           “How is it I can see you when no one else can?” Michael had asked her.

           “But I’m tricking you,” Cerena smiled seductively. “You’re only seeing me through your mind’s eye.”

           “My minds eye?” Michael scoffed. “Do you mean you’re a figment of my imagination?”

           To say out loud that Cerena was merely a figment of his imagination put Michael’s mind in a tailspin. He had no idea why he was starting to sound delusional even to himself. Michael wondered if he needed to check himself into a wellness clinic to get away from it all? He was sure Briggs and a few of the other attorneys at the firm could more than adequately handle his caseload. It would be just until he pieced himself back together. It had been a tough year.

           “You deserve a break. You deserve a hammock. You deserve a sandcastle on the beach and the sound of the ocean in your ear.” Charlie Briggs was cheering Michael London on from across his cluttered desk.

           “Just so you understand, Charlie, I’m not going on vacation. I’m doing a brief stint in a residential rehab facility. I think it’s time I got my act together.”

           “Sure, I understand, Mike. We’ve known each other for a long time. If you say you’ve got to go into rehab., then I’ll support you 100%.”

           “And just so we’re clear,” Michael continued. “I don’t want anyone in my office while I’m away except you. You’re the only one allowed in here. I’ve got to figure out where I’m going to put everything when I get back. I can’t believe you let me get this crazy.”

           “Everyone handles divorce differently” Charlie said. He was fixating on a tall Blenko art glass mushroom on Michael’s desk. “Are you planning on getting rid of that?”

           “It’s all going into storage when I get back. For once, it’s going to resemble a professional attorney’s office in here.”

           “Well,” Charlie stood up. “Although I’m not looking forward to making sense out of that mess of paperwork on your desk, I’ll get it all sorted for you by the time you get back. No worries. Just look after yourself, Mike.”

           “Thanks, Charlie,” Michael breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll see you in a month. If you need to get a hold of me, I’ll be at the Silent Heart’s Nest Rehab Facility.” He handed Charlie the card. You’ll have to call the main number to reach me. We’re not supposed to have any cell phones.”

           It had been a week since Michael London had gone to rehab. Charlie had meant to stop by his partner’s office to check up on things, but he’d been dreading the arduous task of having to sort through the piles of documents without the benefit of a paralegal. Still, he had promised his good friend that he would see to things personally, so as not to embarrass Michael by his sorry state of affairs. Charlie would be the first to go through everything and weed out all the red flags. Charlie closed the door behind him. He immediately felt claustrophobic in the cramped space crammed full of rare artefacts and objects de art. He sat himself down in a Regency-style walnut armchair and found a pair of readers next to a gold gill Foo dog lamp. Charlie Briggs put the glasses on and began sorting through a big stack of paperwork. He was looking for any open court cases. He would review these first. About halfway through the paper stack, Charlie found a moldy piece of pastrami sandwich flattened between two pages. “Michael’s a nut,” Charlie said out loud. “I hope they give him some lithium.” He decided to give up and reached for the phone to call Brandon, a paralegal temp. As he was about to ring the front desk an odd feeling came over him. It was almost as though someone was looking over his shoulder.  He dropped the receiver off the hook and spun around quickly. Charlie gasped. “How the hell did you get in here?”

           “I’m here because you imagined me.” The mermaid looked up at Charlie. She was sitting at her usual place on the leather sofa.

           “I haven’t done anything. Is this someone’s idea of a joke?” Charlie’s cheeks flushed.

           “Don’t worry,” the mermaid cajoled. You’ll get used to me. I’m every man’s fantasy.” She held the gold jewel and seashell encrusted mirror in front of her face as she combed her flaxen hair. The sound of her laugh reminded Charlie of gently breaking glass.