And It Came To Be

by Kerri Philpott

Kinzie was a very exotic name. Everybody was always saying so. Kinzie thought so, too. But when everybody else said it, it usually came out, "Such an exotic name for a regular girl." Or average. Or ordinary. Adjectives like that.

And so Kinzie would look at herself in the mirror for hours. She wasn't the tallest member of the female gender, but her body curved in all the right places and the washboard stomach the rest of her sex was obsessed with...she had it.

With her black hair and big, dark eyes, Kinzie thought it wasn't a bad package. Until she moved in with Mara.

Mara McCoy...the model. The statuesque, perpetually tanned, blond model. She was a nice enough girl. That's why they moved in together. They had met in college and Kinzie had liked Mara instantly. When they discussed moving in together, Kinzie didn't have a thought or a care about what it would do for her self-image.

Now she heard other adjectives...beautiful, stunning, amazing...but they were all about Mara.

And the more Kinzie tried to like Mara, the more she started to resent her.

She ate the vegetarian dinners Mara prepared on her nights to cook and smiled. Kinzie complimented the glorious proofs Mara would bring home to agonize over. And she even graciously put up Mara's lovely friends when they needed a place to stay.

At night, Kinzie would hold a weathered teddy bear close to her. She called it Jeff.

"Well Jeff," she'd always start, "today it was a redhead named Stephanie, just in from a grueling shoot in Bermuda, and in need of a place to stay. I took one look at her and I wanted to say h-o-t-e-l baby, but then the phone started ringing. And they all wanted her. Or Mara."

Kinzie fell back onto her bed, tucked her legs under her covers and turned out the lamp next to her bed.

Then she pulled Jeff tightly to her and whispered into one of his raggedy ears.

"You know Jeffie, I don't want to be over six feet tall. I don't want perfect skin. I am perfect enough already. I know that and you know that. The opposite sex is just a little slow. I hope they catch up soon."

That was the optimistic speech.

She had another saved up for times when she was insane enough to go out in public with Mara, and she'd end up watching men she had multitudes in common with turn into drooling idiots at the sight of Mara. "Jeff," Kinzie would say, "it should be a crime what Mara and the others do to normal, average, healthy males. Those guys would be mortified if they could see themselves."

Then, just as Kinzie was working up a head of steam, Mara would get an out-of-town assignment. Kinzie would always buy Cheetoz, Coke and Hagen Daaz, the kind with the cookie dough in it or sometimes peanut butter. It was her celebratory dinner.

August 21 was a banner day. Kinzie stopped to check for messages when she entered the apartment, and saw the joyous news on the calendar - Hawaii and the red line went for two weeks!

Kinzie dropped everything except her purse and went back out the door.

Two weeks in heaven it was. Kinzie was unbelievably productive at work and at night she sat on the couch in a flannel nightgown she had had since she was 20 and ate Cheetoz and licked her fingers and laughed at Jon Stewart's monologue and blessed the fact Janeane Garafolo had a high visibility job.

The streak was ruined by a plaintive wail on the answering machine.

"Kinzie, the agency can't send a car. Can you come get me at the airport? Puh-leeze? A copy of my itinerary is posted by the phone. Thanks honey, you're a doll."

All good things pass, Kinzie told herself as she checked the board and copied the time and date into her planner.

Kinzie remembered having an odd feeling that morning when she woke up. It wasn't the overwhelming dread she usually felt when Mara breezed back into town. She felt good and that, was bad.

The feeling stuck with her all the way out to the airport and as she searched for Mara's gate.

Overwhelming dread was back with her though when, 45 minutes after Mara's flight landed, the empty baggage carousel ground to a halt.

Confused, Kinzie approached an airline attendant.

"Excuse me, but I'm here to pick up my roommate. She was supposed to be on your Hawaii flight. Would you be able to tell me if she was on it or not?" Kinzie asked.

"Name please."

"Mara McCoy."

"The model?"

"Yeah, that's her," Kinzie said with a sigh.

"Well," the attendant said in an overly bright tone, "then I know what happened."

Kinzie gave her the 'and-that-is?' look.

"She was arrested upon arrival and removed from the airport by a relocation team."

Kinzie was floored. "Relocation team?"

"Call this number." The attendant handed her a business card and disappeared.

Kinzie stared at the little white card and flipped it over a number of times before shaking off the fog of confusion which had engulfed her and looking for a phone.

She dialed the number totally clueless about what would happen next.

"Relocation. Central office."

"I'm calling about Mara McCoy."

"Yes ma'am, I can confirm she is with us. May I know your relation?" the voice asked her.

"What? You mean to Mara?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Roommate."

"One moment, please." After a pause, the voice - Kinzie was having trouble identifying the gender - was back. "May I help you further?"

"Well, sure. I mean did I miss a news broadcast or something? What is relocation?"

"One moment please."

Again with the one moment please. Suddenly two very average-looking men, unless you count their uniforms and guns, were by her side.

"Hang up the phone," one said.

"Please," the other one added, giving the first a nudge.

"Please."

Kinzie hung up. "And you are?"

"Orientation, from the office of Relocation."

"Are you allowed to speak your names or would you have to dispose of me afterwards?"

After curt introductions, the pair - now known to her as Powell and Olson - carted her off to a panel van with blacked out windows and drove her to, curiously enough, the Office of Relocation - Orientation Division."

There were computers everywhere, and the same haircut...everywhere.

"The world looked normal when I woke up this morning...," she muttered to herself.

Powell and Olson offered her a chair next to a desk. Very police like, Kinzie thought.

Powell, the dark-haired one, sat in front of the computer stationed at the desk, and Olson, the blond, was behind him.

"So you wanna know what relocation is?" Powell asked.

"If it will help me figure out whether or not to rent Mara's room, sure."

"Well, the Office of Relocation was set up to weed the most physically beautiful people out of society."

"What?"

"All the too-handsome guys and the stunning women, we rounded them up and you don't have to worry about them anymore," Olson chipped in.

Kinzie was struggling with the concept. "Rounded them up? Where are they?"

"Detention centre," Powell told her.

Kinzie looked at Olson and countered, "Prison."

"Yeah, okay, same diff."

"Oh my..." Kinzie let it all sink in. "Can I see her? Mara, I mean, and maybe take her some stuff?"

Powell accessed the bookings file. "She's at Centre 12 and you can't take her anything."

Kinzie turned to Olson. "Good cop?"

"Detainees get a standard-issue jumpsuit."

"Makeup?"

"Not allowed. Personal hygiene products are issued by the staff at the centre."

Kinzie shook her head. Then, miraculously, a sane thought came to her. "Who holds authority over this office?"

Olson's eyes widened and he smiled. "The Commissioner of Public Safety."

"Okay, I'll give you that one. Newly elected?"

"Yes, she is," Olson grinned.

"And they let her get away with...this?"

"This isn't just this you know?"

"I'm beginning to get the picture." Kinzie gave her head a little shake.

"Give it a little while to sink in," Olson said as he crossed round to her side of the desk. "I'll give you a ride back to the airport."

Kinzie's mind raced back over the details of the past few hours as Olson shuttled her back to her car. On the surface, she tried to figure out if he had been a band nerd or a science geek in high school.

Whatever he had been, he was now a pretty nice guy. He paid her parking and drove her to within inches of her car.

"If you have any more questions, you can call me," he said just before she got out. He handed her a card.

"That's me on the front, office and home. The numbers for all the centres are on the back. They will give you their specific location."

"Thanks," Kinzie said as she climbed out.

"Hey!" he called to her after she had taken a few steps. Kinzie turned back towards the van. "Band!" Olson yelled.

Kinzie smiled, waved and walked to her car shaking her head ever so slightly.

When she got back to the apartment, Kinzie had two ideas - go into Mara's room and see which of her clothes fit or go to sleep and hope she'd wake up to find things were back to what she perceived to be normal. Not that having the Barbies and Kens of the world locked up was bad...

Kinzie fell asleep in one of Mara's cashmere sweaters and was still in it when she answered the door the next morning at 7 a.m.

Tommy Switberg, a photographer friend of Mara's, looked at the sweater, at her face, and then back at the sweater.

"I heard about Mara," he told her chest.

"Tommy, look up or I'm going to start talking to your crotch."

"Can I come in?"

"Only if you talk to my face."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever," Tommy muttered as he strode across the threshold.

Tommy wandered around the apartment aimlessly, then plunked down on the couch. "So what are you going to do?"

"About?"

"Mara."

"Dunno. Rejoice in the fact plain people now rule?" Kinzie sat down next to him. "You know Tommy, I'm sorta wondering why they haven't come for you yet. I mean you certainly don't qualify as one of the beautiful people, but you did photograph them, and thereby glorify them."

"You have a sick mind."

"I've seen your portfolio. So do you," Kinzie countered.

She flipped on the TV and started channel surfing. "Hey," she suddenly realized, "this means no more Regis and Kathie Lee."

"Regis is still on."

"No shit?"

"They've just been taking the way too handsome ones like Fabio, Lucky Vanous, Tom Cruise..."

"What about Nicole?"

"They have detention centres set up for the married."

"Big of them."

Tommy made some sort of snorting noise in reply.

Kinzie finally hit CNN. "At last, the voice of truth," she said aloud. "Ooh, I like this toned-down look on the anchors."

The anchors were blabbering on in the same old way while they waited for a news conference to start. The Commissioner of Public Safety was going to speak.

"Finally, a chance to see this chick," Kinzie said.

Tommy looked at her in amazement.

"Oh please. Don't tell me the same thing wouldn't have come out of your mouth had you had the chance to speak first."

Tommy shook his head in frustration, and settled in.

CNN took a shot of a woman making herself comfortable behind a podium. She was a little shorter than average height, overweight, had curly blond hair and green eyes that sparkled with newfound power.

Kinzie's first impression was a positive one.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Debbie Walsh, and I am the newly appointed Commissioner of Public Safety. I called this conference this morning to explain exactly what has happened to those of you who may have woken to a few changes."

"Well thank you Debbie," Kinzie offered in the general direction of the television.

"This country has its problems. Many, many problems. Almost too many to solve effectively. But as Commissioner of Public Safety, I know a way to start."

Kinzie's eyes brightened. "Image and esteem," she whispered hopefully.

"Image and self-esteem," Debbie announced. "I say, change the way this country feels, and change the country. My program's detention centres have already created millions of jobs."

Kinzie had to give her that one.

"Detainees in the relocation centres currently have indefinite sentences. Dates for release will be set sometime in the near future. In the meantime, all detainees will receive unbelievably average treatment, except in the cases of models with image problems, specifically eating disorders. They all have new homes in special psychiatric detention centres. Those who do well in treatment there will be eligible for early parole. Thank you for your time everybody. Now take what's left of the day and have a damn good time."

Kinzie squealed with delight and leapt off the couch. "Ooh Tommy, I LIKE her! Where was she during my teenage years..."

Tommy was staring at her now.

"What?"

"Fine way to act with your roommate locked up," he observed.

"Tommy." Kinzie perched on his knees and took his face in her hands. "Mara's a lovely girl. Outside - the whole world knows that - and in - I know that. But having her around was killing me from the inside out and, to tell you the truth, a long-term break from her would do me a world of good."

"Why?"

"I told you, because it was killing..."

"Why?"

"Tommy, Tommy, Tommy...you're a sweetie. Take a good look at me. I ain't no Mara McCoy. I can't use my good looks to turn men into large piles of slob, and most of your gender is too superficial to realize what I have in her," she placed on hand over her heart, "or that just because I choose not to wear lipstick doesn't mean I can't kiss."

Kinzie leaned in and gave Tommy a slow, passionate kiss. Tommy wrapped his arms around her, and kept his hand buried in the cashmere even when she came up for air.

"Oh my God."

"God built it, but he didn't train it Tommy. Give credit where credit's due," Kinzie told him. "Jesus, I love that Debbie woman. It's about time."

"That's cold."

"Okay, okay," Kinzie wriggled free. She grabbed the phone and fished the card Olson had given her out of her purse.

"Who are you calling?"

"Detention centre 12," Kinzie said as she dialed.

"Hello? Yes, I'd like to visit a prisoner...sorry, detainee, so I need your location." Kinzie scratched the directions into her had with a ballpoint pen. "Who? Oh, for Mara McCoy. Yes, I've been told we can't bring her anything. Thanks ever so much."

Kinzie hung up the phone and turned to Tommy. "So wanna come?"

"Where?"

Kinzie shoved her hand into his line of sight. "Okay?"

"Okay."

Tommy drove with his left hand on the wheel and his right hand clutching Kinzie's temporarily tattooed hand.

"I can read the directions to you," Kinzie kept insisting.

"Right, and you'll be screaming 'Turn here! Turn here!' half a block after I should have. No thank you, this is fine," he said, pulling her hand even closer.

"You're making my hand sweat," Kinzie whined.

"You shush."

Kinzie rolled her eyes and scooted a little closer to the driver's side.

Detention Centre 12 was a converted high school, bars on the windows and airtight security on the doors.

Kinzie rang the buzzer and a guard ushered them inside. His uniform was identical to Olson's, but a different color.

"Detainee's name?"

"Mara McCoy," Tommy said with a frown.

The guard checked his clipboard. "Okay, follow me."

He led them to the cafeteria and seated them at a table emblazoned with a bright red four.

"Detainee 3924 report to the common room, table four," a voice announced over the intercom.

Kinzie raised her eyebrows hopefully at Tommy, who was still scowling.

A couple of minutes later, Mara walked into the room, followed by a guard. At least Kinzie thought it was Mara.

The woman was the same height and had the same color hair. It was bone straight now and didn't have the usual luster of Mara's. This woman didn't carry herself as regally as Mara, and she had to be five or six pounds heavier. Sure, it wasn't much of a difference in weight, but when you live with a model, you start to notice every pound they do, Kinzie often told people.

The woman came over and sat down at their table. Kinzie clenched her teeth to keep her mouth from dropping open.

"Mara?"

"Do not say a word about how I look," Mara warned through her own set of clenched teeth.

"Can we ask how you're doing?" Kinzie inquired.

Mara whirled to look into her eyes.

"They make me shower with generic shampoo! Just look at what it's doing to my hair!"

"Yeah, and you've only been here a day," Kinzie joked. Tommy promptly kicked her under the table, and Kinzie returned the gesture with a shove.

"Excuse me!" Mara yelled. "What about me!"

One of the guards seemed to materialize in front of their table. "3924, you are in violation of the third directive. Learn to consider the average, as well as others, before yourself. This will be your only warning. Next time it will be demerits 3924."

Kinzie slid her hand up over her mouth to cover the smile that spread across her face as the guard left.

"So, generic shampoo and rules," Kinzie observed. "Any other news?"

Mara scowled. "I'm making lots of contacts."

"There you go, there is a positive in this," Kinzie remarked, trying desperately not to sound too happy. She had her hand clenched under the table to aid in her efforts. Her knuckles were turning white, and it wasn't helping.

"Can you get bail or anything like that?" Tommy eagerly asked Mara.

"Didn't you hear Debbie at the conference you dolt? Sentences haven't been set yet," Kinzie reminded.

Both Tommy and Mara glared at her.

v "Who's Debbie?" Mara finally asked.

"The public safety commissioner. Don't they brief you on this stuff?" Kinzie asked.

"I dunno. I probably just forgot."

"Well, I have a friend in Relocation. He's in the Orientation division. We met when I was trying to figure out what happened to you," Kinzie revealed, hoping it would win her points. "I could ask him to come talk to you," she offered.

"No thanks," Mara said politely enough, accenting it with her go-fall-on-your-head look.

A buzzer sounded. Kinzie waited for Mara to explain it, but the rest of the visitors were getting up, so she just followed suit.

"Come on Tommy. I think we're supposed to go now."

Tommy opened his mouth to protest, but stood up instead when he saw a guard approaching. "Nice to see you Mara. Gotta go," he said before bolting for the door.

"Chicken shit," Kinzie hissed when she met him on the other side.

"So sue me," he said as they headed for the parking lot. "Just don't forget I'm your ride home."

Kinzie soon came to see television viewing as a treat. Cindy Crawford was nowhere in sight. Calvin Klein commercials featured fully clothed, real people.

Companies which refused to change glamorous campaigns were simply not allowed to advertise. Debbie explained that in one of her daily messages, broadcast at 10 a.m., 4 p.m. and 8 p.m.

It took Kinzie a while to realize she hadn't seen a high heel in eons. Reality didn't slap her in the head though until she appropriated a pair of Mara's and tottered around the apartment.

The final result ended up being a goose egg over her right eye and an intense dislike for one of the end tables in the living room.

Kinzie kicked off the torture devices and was in the middle of pulling herself up when her good friend Debbie broke into the programming schedule.

"My friends, I am here with you this afternoon to announce two celebrities have been released from New York -area detention centres. Kathie-Lee Gifford is out on bail. Bail conditions prohibit her from speaking publicly about her children or her love life. And we've had to let Sarah Jessica Parker go. No matter what we feed her, she doesn't gain an ounce and, according to your phone calls, letters and faxes, she is the one beautiful person you wouldn't mind seeing walking down the street. Thank you and keep your chins up."

Kinzie answered the ensuing doorbell with a huge smile on her face. Olson, in street clothes instead of his uniform, was standing before her. She almost didn't recognize him.

"It's me, Olson...from relocation?" he hinted.

"Hey, where's your uniform?"

"Day off."

"Cool! Come on in," Kinzie said, holding the door open.

"Where'd you get the shiner?" he asked almost immediately.

"Was playing with my roommate's high heels," Kinzie mumbled as she busied herself in the kitchen. "Can I getcha anything?"

"Whatever's cold would be great. Thanks."

Kinzie poured and handed him a glass of Coke. "So what are you doing here anyway?" she asked.

"I came to see you."

"Uh-huh. Sure."

"What?"

"Nobody comes to see me, they all come for...oh...I get it! Thank you Debbie!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Never mind Olson. Olson...hey, what's your first name?"

"This is what you're interested in?"

"Unless you want me to call you Olson for the duration of our friendship."

He thought about it for a moment. "Don't laugh though," he warned.

"Yeah, yeah. Spit it out."

"Harry."

"Well, Kinzie's never made the list of most common baby names, so I hardly think you have anything to be embarrassed about," she said as she curled her legs up under her on the couch and held her glass close.

"So how's your roommate coming along in detention?" Harry asked as he took a seat at the other end of the couch.

"You have to ask me? Can't you just call that kind of stuff up on the computer?"

"Number one, you can probably tell me things which can't be conveyed via computer, and number two...I was trying to make conversation. You are familiar with the process?"

"Remotely."

"So...your roommate?"

"Right. I'd say the best description of her current state is fit to be tied. She's not the biggest fan of generic shampoo. Models can be finicky sometimes."

"Really..."

"Hey, what did you do before all of this? I mean were you always in, uh..."

"Law enforcement?" Harry prompted.

"Yeah."

"Subway cop."

"Really? That's supposed to be a high-energy placement. Must be a bummer sitting behind a desk."

"Tell me about it. I think Debbie wants me fat.," he mused.

Kinzie tried to laugh. It came out as a snort instead. She thought to herself...fat, thin, whatever, I'll take you.