Borrowed Faces

Summary: Mara enters the Lantern Room in her own face, meets Lena, and runs when a bathroom mirror reveals the mistake she never meant to make.

Mara reached the alley behind the Lantern Room at eleven seventeen, already reviewing Elise’s features and mannerisms.

She had planned the night around being unrecognizable. Elise could accept attention, make a choice, and leave before anyone asked Mara to explain herself.

Elise had blunt black bangs, a narrow nose, and a mouth that rested in a flat, unimpressed line. She stood differently from Mara too: weight on one hip, shoulders loose, chin up. Mara had selected the features from several sources: an actress in an old perfume advertisement, a woman she had seen arguing with a parking officer, and a former coworker with prominent cheekbones who never apologized for taking the last coffee pod.

Elise was useful at bars.

Mara took the chipped silver compact from her purse and turned toward the darkened bakery window. She needed twenty seconds, maybe thirty. The first pull always started behind her teeth.

A delivery cyclist shot into the alley, swore at a taxi, and nearly clipped her shoulder.

“Jesus, sorry.”

Mara stumbled sideways. Her compact slipped, struck the pavement, and popped open. The mirror caught a slice of streetlight and threw it straight into her eyes.

The cyclist was already gone.

“Fine,” she muttered, although there was nobody left to hear.

Music sounded through the Lantern Room’s brick wall. Mara felt the bass through the soles of her boots. Two women came laughing around the corner, one with her arm around the other’s waist, and Mara moved aside to let them pass.

She snapped the compact closed.

Inside, the line would be worse if she waited. Elise was familiar. Mara had worn her enough times that the change sometimes happened before she finished asking for it. She could do it in a bathroom stall.

That was what she told herself as she followed the women through the back entrance.

The Lantern Room had once been a neighborhood tavern. Pride flags now hung between old liquor advertisements. The floor sloped toward the bar, and years of use had scarred and darkened the wood. Small lamps under green glass shades cast dim light across the room and softened every face.

Mara stopped just inside the door.

Her habit was to count exits before people. Front door. Back door. Emergency door beside the small stage. A narrow hallway toward the restrooms that probably led to a kitchen. Four, if the kitchen had a service door. Three if it did not.

Then she counted women.

Too many.

Friday nights were easier when they were crowded. Nobody expected to remember a stranger clearly. Mara could order one drink, stand near the edge of a group, and let Elise’s face do the first half of the work. Elise entered rooms without waiting for permission.

Mara touched her hair. It felt shorter than Elise’s.

She had not changed it yet. Of course she had not. She had planned to do that in the stall.

She squeezed between two women arguing about a basketball game and reached the bar. The mirror behind the bottles was broken into narrow panels by shelves, showing her an eye here, a shoulder there, the edge of her mouth. She kept her gaze low.

“One gin and tonic,” she told the bartender.

“Rail?”

“Sure.”

The bartender wore a black T-shirt with LANTERN ROOM STAFF printed in faded gold across the chest. Her hair was shaved on one side. She watched the room with the tired patience of someone who had heard too many late-night excuses.

“Card?”

Mara handed it over without thinking.

MARA VALE, the card said in raised silver letters.

The bartender glanced at the name, then at her face, but only long enough to verify that the person in front of her resembled the license photo.

Mara tucked the card away quickly.

Bathroom, she reminded herself.

The drink arrived. She took it and turned, intending to move down the bar toward the hallway.

A woman was leaning against the corner where the bar curved toward the stage. She had dark curls pulled into a loose knot and a green button-down with one cuff rolled higher than the other. She held a glass of red wine loosely and had not taken a drink.

She was watching Mara.

Not staring. Watching. There was a difference, though Mara could not have explained it without sounding ridiculous.

The woman’s attention stayed on the details Mara normally removed first: the uneven eyebrows, the small gap between her front teeth, the tired set of her mouth. She did not look impressed or disappointed. She looked certain that Mara was the person standing there.

Mara almost went to the bathroom and became Elise. Instead she stayed because the certainty felt unfamiliar and because part of her wanted to know what would happen if she did not correct the face Lena had already seen.

“Are you deciding whether to leave?” the woman asked.

Mara glanced toward the front door, which made the woman smile.

“I’m always deciding.”

“Good. I hate being wrong this early.”

Mara laughed. The sound came out before she had decided how Elise would laugh.

The woman shifted to make room beside her. “You can stand here while you decide. It’s less sticky than the other end.”

Mara looked at the patch of bar. There was, in fact, no visible ring of spilled liquor.

“Strong sales pitch.”

“I work with what I have.”

Mara moved closer.

This was backwards. She was still herself. Her own brown hair, her own rounder face, the small gap between her front teeth she usually erased first. She should go to the bathroom. She should change. She should leave and come back as someone who knew what to do with the way this woman was looking at her.

Instead she took a drink.

“I’m Lena,” the woman said.

“Mara.”

Her real name. She gave Lena her real name.

Lena repeated it once without complimenting her or testing the sound. “Mara.”

Her skin suddenly felt too close.

For half a second she considered correcting herself. She could say Mara was a nickname, that her legal name was Elise, or that the card in her purse belonged to a sister with similar features. She had used versions of those explanations before and could repeat them without hesitation. None of them fit the certainty in Lena’s voice when she said her name.

Lena tipped her head. “Did I say it wrong?”

“No.” Mara took another drink, though the ice had already watered it down. “You said it with the intention of remembering it.”

“That’s generally what names are for.”

“People use them for receipts. Complaints. Getting someone’s attention across a room.”

“I can do all three, but I was starting with remembering.” Lena studied her without leaning closer. “Is that a problem?”

Yes. That was why Mara stayed. “I haven’t decided.”

“All right.” Lena lifted her glass. “You can let me know before I order stationery.”

Mara laughed again, quieter this time. She should have gone to the bathroom then. Instead she noticed that Lena gave her room to leave without looking away, which made leaving feel less necessary and more dangerous.

“You come here often?” Lena asked.

Mara almost answered no without thinking. The answer would be clean, forgettable, and impossible to follow up. She stopped before saying it. She had been in this room eleven times during the past year, but never in her original body.

“Sometimes,” she said. “Apparently not often enough to know where the floor stops being sticky.”

Lena glanced down. “That’s advanced knowledge. You have to lose at least one shoe before Nadia tells you.”

“Is Nadia the bartender or the person conducting the shoe study?”

“My cousin. Both, probably.” Lena tipped her chin toward the woman behind the bar. “She collects data whenever it supports an opinion she already has.”

Nadia looked over at the exact moment Lena said it. Lena lifted her wine in a small salute. Nadia raised one finger without smiling.

“Strong family bond,” Mara said.

“Very. She would hide a body for me and complain about the tarp.”

Mara laughed, then wished she had not because the laugh was hers. Elise’s laugh was lower and controlled. Mara’s real laugh caught at the end when she tried to swallow it.

Lena did not look disappointed by the sound. “I’m taking that as approval.”

“You shouldn’t. I laugh when I’m uncomfortable.”

“Good to know. I’ll avoid assuming I’m charming.”

“You’d assume it anyway.”

“Only on weekdays.” Lena took a drink. “What do you do when you’re not standing near emergency exits?”

Mara glanced at the front door before she could stop herself.

“There,” Lena said, pleased. “I knew that was what you were doing.”

“I work in claims.”

“That answer had the energy of a locked filing cabinet.”

“It’s a boring job.”

“Boring jobs still contain people. Who annoys you?”

It was odd enough to slip past her defenses. Mara told her about Owen, who began every meeting by saying he did not want to waste anyone’s time and then wasted forty-five minutes of it. Lena described a bookstore customer who hid religious pamphlets inside queer romance novels and became furious when Lena filed them under fantasy.

“That’s not where fantasy goes,” Mara said.

“I was making an editorial judgment.”

“You abused the catalog.”

“It survived.” Lena nudged the bowl of stale pretzels toward her. “Worst date.”

“Is that a question or an order?”

“I’m trying to find out whether I’m currently winning.”

Mara looked into her drink. She had dozens of answers, most attached to names Lena could never know. The safest story was one that belonged entirely to Mara.

“I told a woman I could ice-skate,” she said. “I couldn’t. I knocked over a child.”

“How old was the child?”

“Old enough to hold a grudge.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down.”

“Seven, maybe eight. He had a dinosaur helmet and a frightening vocabulary.”

“Did you apologize?”

“I bought him hot chocolate.”

“So you bribed a witness.”

“He stopped crying.”

“Did your date?”

Mara hesitated, remembering the woman’s expression as Mara had changed in a train-station bathroom afterward, removing the face she had worn before the embarrassment could attach itself to her. “She laughed until she had to sit down.”

“And you?”

“I changed the subject.”

Lena watched her for half a beat too long. “You do that quickly.”

The comment was accurate enough that Mara tightened her fingers around the glass.

Lena let her off the hook. “My worst date brought her mother.”

“Accidentally?”

“No. Her mother wanted to make sure I had career goals.”

“Did you?”

“I lied. Said I planned to become a dentist.”

“Why a dentist?”

“I panicked. It sounded stable.”

Mara laughed again, less carefully this time. The strange part was not that Lena was funny. The strange part was that Mara wanted to be funny back. She wanted the next expression on Lena’s face and understood, with a small rush of alarm, that she could not blame that wanting on Elise.

The room grew louder. Somebody started singing along badly to the song playing over the speakers. Nadia turned the volume up as punishment or encouragement; it was hard to tell.

Mara finished her drink. She should stop. Alcohol made shifting unstable, especially if she waited too long. She could still go to the bathroom and become Elise, but then she would have to return to Lena with a different face and explain nothing. Or leave as herself and end the night before it became something she could not control.

Lena set down her glass.

“Do you want another?”

“I probably shouldn’t.”

“Responsible.”

“It’s a recent development.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Mara’s hand went to the side of her index finger. Her thumbnail pressed into the skin.

Lena noticed. Her gaze dropped, then returned to Mara’s face without comment.

That unsettled Mara more than being asked.

A woman bumped into Lena from behind. Lena caught herself on the bar, close enough that her shoulder pressed against Mara’s. She smelled faintly of orange peel and rain.

“Sorry,” Lena said, though it had not been her fault.

Mara shook her head.

Neither moved away immediately.

The attraction affected Mara differently in her original body. During other encounters, she could separate desire from herself by using another name and face. Tonight every look and touch belonged to Mara, and she could not dismiss them later as part of a disguise.

Lena’s mouth was close enough that Mara could see where her lipstick had worn away at the center.

“Still deciding whether to leave?” Lena asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you want help deciding?”

Mara should have asked what that meant. She did not.

Lena waited.

That was the detail Mara remembered later, rather than the music or the wine. Lena waited. She did not move closer and make Mara say no before she had decided what she wanted.

Mara leaned in first.

The kiss was brief because both of them pulled back in surprise. Lena’s hand rested on the bar beside Mara’s hip without touching her. Mara tasted wine and the lime from her own drink.

When they separated, Lena’s expression had lost its easy humor.

“Okay?” she asked.

Mara nodded once.

“Words.”

“Yes. Okay.”

Lena kissed her again.

This one lasted longer. Mara forgot the bathroom. She forgot Elise waiting behind her teeth. She forgot the compact in her purse and the rules she had written often enough to recite while half asleep.

They left fifteen minutes later.

Nadia saw them go. Her gaze moved from Lena to Mara and stayed there long enough to promise a future interrogation, but she only called, “Text me when you’re home.”

“I always do,” Lena called back.

“No, you don’t.”

“I do sometimes.”

“That’s not what always means.”

Outside, the rain had stopped. The sidewalks shone under the streetlights, and cold air found the damp spot at the back of Mara’s neck.

Lena lived six blocks away in an old building with a front door that stuck unless she lifted it while turning the key. Mara stood behind her on the stoop, close enough to feel the heat of her body through the green shirt.

At the top of the second flight, Lena turned.

“You can change your mind,” Lena said at the top of the second flight. Her key was already in the lock, but she did not turn it. “I’m not saying that because you look scared. You looked scared at the bar too. I’m saying it because getting all the way here doesn’t obligate you to finish a story you started downstairs.”

Mara almost laughed. The words were too close to the problem. She had changed her mind, her face, her height, her voice. She had changed everything except the part of herself that wanted Lena to open the door.

“I know,” she said.

Lena studied her. “You keep saying that to end the conversation.”

“It usually does.”

“Not with me.”

Mara’s first impulse was irritation. Then she felt intense relief and resented Lena for causing it.

“I want to come inside,” she said. “I don’t know what I’ll want ten minutes after that.”

“That’s more useful.” Lena turned the key. “Ten minutes from now can make her own decision.”

Inside, plants crowded the windowsills, and a stack of books leaned against the wall beside full shelves. A mug sat in the sink with a tea bag dried to its bottom. Lena had not prepared the apartment for company. She had left in a hurry that morning and expected to return to her ordinary life.

Mara wanted to know what tea she drank. The thought frightened her more than the bed down the hall.

Lena put her keys in a blue bowl. “Water?”

“Please.”

“And water can mean water. You don’t owe the evening a plot.”

“There you go again.”

“Being clear?”

“Making it difficult to pretend I misunderstood you.”

Lena’s mouth tipped at one corner. “Occupational hazard. I catalogue handwritten letters from women who spent six pages avoiding the sentence they meant.”

“Maybe the avoiding was the point.”

“Sometimes.” Lena handed her a glass. “Sometimes they were waiting for somebody else to be brave first.”

Mara drank too quickly and felt cold water strike her empty stomach. “And are you?”

“Brave?”

“First.”

Lena set her own glass down. The easy humor left her face without making the moment solemn. “I can be.”

She came closer, slowly enough that Mara could track every inch. When the narrow hallway wall met Mara’s shoulder blades, Lena stopped before touching her.

“Your whole body just went quiet,” she said. “Tell me what kind.”

Mara could hear the refrigerator motor, the faint television in the apartment above them, Lena’s breathing. She could also feel Elise behind her teeth, still waiting to be useful.

“The kind where I want you to keep going and I’m annoyed you noticed I’m nervous.”

“That’s very specific.”

“You asked.”

“I did.” Lena raised one hand but left it suspended between them. “Waist okay?”

“Yes.”

Her palm settled there. Warm. Still. No pressure until Mara moved closer on her own.

The kiss was awkward before it was good. Mara caught Lena’s nose. Her sleeve snagged on a button. Lena laughed into her mouth and did not turn the laugh into ridicule. Mara felt embarrassment rise, waited for the old instinct to step outside herself, and stayed.

“Bedroom?” Lena asked after a while. Her voice was uneven now too, which helped more than confidence would have.

Mara looked down the hallway. The bathroom door stood open. A mirror waited above the sink, but from here it reflected only blue tile and darkness.

“Yes,” she said. Then, because Lena deserved more than the efficient answer, “I want to go to the bedroom with you.”

The room was dim except for streetlight coming through the blinds. Lena sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at Mara, giving her another chance to stop.

Mara stepped between her knees.

Lena touched the hem of Mara’s shirt and paused.

Mara took her hand and guided it beneath the fabric.

The contact left goosebumps across her stomach. Lena’s palm was warm. Mara kissed her harder, one hand in Lena’s hair, the other braced against the mattress.

For several minutes, she was not thinking about her face.

Then Lena pulled back enough to say, “I have to take my contacts out before I fall asleep in them and wake up blind.”

Mara smiled, breathless. “That would ruin the morning.”

“Especially for me.”

“The bathroom?”

“End of the hall.”

Mara went because she needed a minute too. Her skin felt bright and overaware. She closed the bathroom door but did not lock it.

The room was small, tiled in pale blue. A hand towel hung crookedly beside the sink. On the shelf were three skin-care bottles, a jar of cotton swabs, and a yellow ceramic dish with a pointed end and painted green leaves.

Mara turned on the cold water and pressed wet fingers to the back of her neck.

Then she looked up.

Her own face stared back from the mirror.

Not Elise’s narrow jaw. Not Claire’s pale eyes or Jo’s red hair. Her own face. Brown eyes. Uneven eyebrows. The small gap between her front teeth visible because her mouth had fallen open.

Mara gripped the sink.

She had walked into the Lantern Room as herself.

She had used her own name. Her own laugh. Her own mouth.

Lena had kissed her.

Every rule Mara had built around desire failed at once.

Behind the door, Lena called, “Everything okay?”

Mara checked the mirror again. The face did not change.

Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips were swollen. There was a faint red mark at the base of her throat where Lena had kissed her.

No disguise. No borrowed woman to take the consequences in the morning.

“Mara?”

Panic arrived as a list.

Shirt. Bra. Shoes. Purse. Door.

She turned off the water and opened the bathroom door.

Lena stood in the hallway wearing only her shirt and underwear, one contact lens pinched between two fingers. Concern replaced the smile on her face.

“What happened?”

“I have to go.”

“What?”

Mara pushed past her toward the bedroom.

“Hey. Okay, but... did I do something?”

“No.” Mara found her shirt on the floor and pulled it on backward. She had to take it off and try again. Her hands would not work properly. “No, you didn’t.”

“Then slow down for two seconds.”

“I can’t.”

Lena stood in the doorway, not blocking it. “Mara, look at me.”

That was the one thing Mara could not do.

She found one shoe beneath the bed and the other by the dresser. Her earring was missing. She did not search for it.

Lena’s voice hardened, not cruelly. “You can leave. I’m not stopping you. But tell me if you’re safe.”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

The answer came out before Mara could replace it.

Lena took one step forward and stopped when Mara flinched.

“All right,” she said. “I’m not coming closer.”

Mara could not stand how gentle she sounded.

Mara grabbed her purse and left.

She heard Lena call her name once from the apartment doorway. Mara took the stairs too quickly, caught the rail, nearly fell, and kept going.

Outside, the cold struck her bare throat. She walked two blocks before she realized she had forgotten her coat.

She did not go back.

At the corner, a dark shop window caught her reflection. Mara stopped under the orange streetlight and touched her face with both hands.

Nothing shifted beneath her palms.

The kiss still tingled at her mouth.

She swore softly, then louder, and walked home in the rain that had started again.