"Oh," she said, smiling. "You're looking at my hair. Well, I just couldn't get it to do what I wanted in so short a time. That's why I have my collection of wigs. Sometimes I like being a black-haired woman. It's more mysterious, don't you think? Watch, Wade won't say a word. He never does. He'll never question why I wear something or don't wear something.
"But look at you!" she exclaimed, seizing my hands to hold up my arms and turn me about. "You're absolutely a heartbreaker. I can't wait to see how the men look at you."
"I feel half-dressed compared to you," I said.
"Nonsense. I dress to fit my moods, and this just happens to be my mood tonight. That's probably why I chose the black hair. I'm more secretive about everything, even my body, whereas," she added before I could say anything, "you've been kept a secret far too long."
She took my hand.
"And we're putting an end to that!" she cried, leading me to the stairway.
I looked back, expecting to see Wade. Why was he always dressed and downstairs before us? I wondered. I had the answer before we reached the bottom step.
"Wade will meet us at the restaurant," Ami said. "He got tied up at work. And if he's late," she sang, "we'll start without him."
When we reached the bottom of the stairs, I turned to look down the hallway; I could feel her eyes on me. There she was, Mrs. Cukor, standing just to the right of the den-office doorway with her back to the wall as though she was making room for someone to pass in front of her. Her head was turned my way. She glared in my direction.
What? I wanted to shout at her. What is it you want from me? What is it you expect I'll do?
"C'mon, silly," Ami chided, and headed to the garage.
We got into her sports car. She smiled at me and touched my face softly with her right hand.
"You look beautiful, Celeste," she said, "more beautiful than even I imagined you could be."
She stared at me a moment, her eyes looking as though they were watering with emotion. The depth of her feeling caught me by surprise. I loved the compliment, but something inside me sounded alarms I did not understand. She saw the confusion in my face and laughed.
"Sorry, I was so dramatic," she said, opening the garage door and backing out. Then she sped down the driveway, the car wheels screaming as we whipped out of the entranceway and around to continue on the street. She turned up the music.
"You don't know how to drive yet, do you?"
"Why would I? Who would have taught me? What would I have driven?"
"Yes, I just thought of that. We need to get you some private driving instruction immediately, along with those piano lessons I promised. I'll tell Wade tonight. When you drive up to the school in your own fancy car, you'll become Miss Popular instantly. You'll see how many new friends you'll have then."
"If they're becoming my friends just because I have a fancy car, they can't be very good friends," I said.
"Oh, stop. That's not you talking. That's one of the nuns or some goody-goody you were under all these years. Just like any princess, you're going to need your entourage," she continued. "When I was in school, I always had a half dozen or so girls surrounding me, wanting to do whatever I wanted to do, hanging on my every word. It will be the same for you soon. You'll see."
"How do you know that's what I want?" I asked. I didn't mean to be mean or contrary. I was simply curious as to what she had seen in me to give her these ideas.
She looked at me and smiled.
"Because underneath that dreary shell the state and these agencies and orphanages put over you, I know there beats the heart of a real woman just like me. I saw it in the way you moved, the way you held your head high, the way you looked at people and especially the way men looked at you."
"But how long did you watch me before you came to the orphanage?" I asked.
"That's for me to know." She laughed. "For a while," she confessed. "I couldn't just take any young woman into my life, could I?" she added in defense. "You understand, don't you?"
"Yes," I said, even though I didn't quite understand. It had bothered me before to know she had been spying on me at all and had spoken to my teachers, but now that she had confessed to doing it for a while, it was even more disturbing. Why hadn't I felt her eyes on me? Why wasn't I warned?
This was Noble's doing, I vaguely thought. He had dulled my senses to punish me for deserting him.
Now there were all these tiny alarms going off inside me continually, but I thought they might be there simply because I was doing so many radically new things. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps I had been living under some shell all this time. Perhaps I had been kept emotionally and socially retarded. I deserve all this excitement and fun, I told myself. Be quiet, my troubled heart. And my tongue . . . stop coming up with platitudes that belong more on the lips of people like Mother Higgins.
What would be so terrible about being popular among my peers, having boys compete for my attention, and having girls want to be my friend? When had I ever experienced such a thing? When had I even dreamed about it? Ami wasn't tempting me toward some pit of disaster. She was giving me opportunity, opportunity to become just what she had described, yes, a vibrant, sexy, and confident woman. And wasn't that what all young girls hoped to be, whether they admitted to it or not?
Go back, my conscience, my paranoid fears, my visions of dark places. Go back into the vault and let me be. I'm not going to cry out for Noble and look for him in every corner. I don't need him now, I told myself. I strengthened my determination.
"Want a cigarette?" Ami asked suddenly.
"A cigarette?"
"Don't tell me you've never smoked a cigarette," she said.
I didn't say anything.
She laughed.
"Well, then," she said, "I guess you've never done pot either."
"No," I said.
"Sister, you're going to feel like you've been reborn," she said.
Voices again tried to clamor inside me, but I shut them down before they could really begin. What good was being alive if you couldn't take some chances some time, experiment, step over the line?
"Don't tell Wade I even mentioned any of that," Ami warned. "He's Mr. Clean when it comes to that stuff, but he doesn't have to know anything about what you and I do together. You know what really ties two people like us together tightly?" she asked me.
"What?"
"Secrets," she said. She nodded. "Secrets. Revelations, getting naked with your thoughts, your ideas, your memories. And you know what, Celeste, it doesn't happen until you have trust. We've got to trust each other first."
"Yes," I said.
"I thought you would understand. See," she said, "I do know you."
She laughed, but her words hung in the air like the odor of smoke, of something burned.
Minutes later, we pulled up to the front of Hunters, and a valet came rushing out to open our doors and park our car. The restaurant itself looked like it had once been a private residence and later I would find out that it really had been. The owners had torn apart the bottom floor and created one large dining room and two small private dining areas. The decor was rustic, the walls covered with old farm implements, historic signs, beautiful mirrors. All the panels and wood were dark oak. There was a beautiful bar on the right with brass fittings and very
comfortable-looking stools, tables, and an area for dancing. A trio was playing, and the bar itself was very busy. Two bartenders were hurrying to fill every order.
The main room of the restaurant was nearly full. Waiters and waitresses dressed in hunter green outfits moved gracefully between the tables. There were servers as well. Everyone eating there was well dressed. I saw some young women who I thought were about my age, but none of them were dressed like I was. They all wore more conservative clothing, less revealing dresses, pants suits and light sweaters with jackets.
The moment we entered the dining room, people turned their heads. Some stared, some whispered, and some laughed. The maitre d', an elderly, di
stinguished looking man in a tuxedo, hurried to greet us.
"Hello, Mrs. Emerson."
"Hello, Aubrey. I'd like you to meet our houseguest, Celeste Atwell."
"Please to meet you," he said, his eyes sweeping over me as discreetly as he could. Even so, I caught a gleam of disapproval at how I was dressed.
"Mrs. Emerson. Your husband called and left a message he would be late, but he said you shouldn't wait for him," Aubrey told Ami.
"That's because he knows we wouldn't anyway," she said, and Aubrey nodded, smiling.
"Right this way," he said, leading us through the room to a prominent table near the bay windows.
I felt as though I was walking through thick cobwebs. Everyone was still looking at us, especially me. What it really made me feel was naked. I tried not to look at anyone, but I couldn't help catching smirks on the faces of some of the younger men and reproach on the eyes of most of the older women. Some of the young women looked envious, if not a bit annoyed that I was capturing the attention of every male in the room.
Aubrey pulled out our seats for us and then handed us the menus. The waiter, a dark-haired, darkcomplexioned young man anxiously holding in the wings, rushed forward the moment Aubrey left the table.
"Hello, Mrs. Emerson," he said. "Welcome back." His name tag read "Anthony." Although he had addressed Ami, his eyes went to me.
"Good evening, Tony. This is my house guest, Celeste. She's quite fond of Cosmopolitans, so bring us two," Ami ordered.
"Is she of age?" he asked, tucking in the right corner of his mouth. He had nice features, especially his ebony eyes and firm lips and jawline.
"Doesn't she look it?" Ami retorted.
"If you say so, ma'am," he replied. "Be right back."
"But I'm not of age," I said as soon as he left our table.
"It's not what you are; it's what you appear to be," Ami said. "Appearances are everything. Look at these people, all watching us. We've given them something to talk about," she said, and nodded at an elderly woman with blue-gray hair glaring at us. Her bald-headed husband, with a face that looked squeezed between two giant fingers, appeared mesmerized, his right hand holding a fork in midair as if he had been frozen instantly. The woman returned a quick nod and shifted her eyes away, saying something under her breath to her husband, who immediately stopped looking at us.
Ami laughed.
She studied the menu.
"Let's share a salad. What would you like to eat? What about lobster Thermidor?"
"I've never eaten lobster," I said. She swung her eyes to the ceiling and then shook her head.
"Okay, then that's what you'll have. I have so much to do with you to get you caught up that I have decided to devote all my time to it," she told me.
All her time? What did that mean? Where were her friends, her other activities? I know I should have felt grateful, but instead I had those pangs of fear again.
Our waiter was returning with our drinks, the cranberry-tinted liquid in large martini glasses carried as if he were bringing crowns on a silver tray. Once again, conversations stopped and all eyes turned in our direction. Ami sponged up the attention as if it nourished her very being.
"Should I take your order, or are you waiting for someone?" our waiter asked.
"Really, Tony, do I ever wait for anyone?" Ami teased. He laughed, his eyes moving quickly to me again. "We'll share the house salad. Celeste will have lobster Thermidor, and I'll have the shrimp cocktail as an entree. Also, put in an order for a chocolate souffle," she added.
"Absolutely," Tony said, reaching for the menus. "May I?" he asked me.
"Oh, yes," I said, leaning back.
He nodded, held his gaze on me a moment longer and then hurried off.
"He's drooling," Ami said. "See?"
I couldn't help blushing and looking down.
"You have to get rid of that modesty as quickly as you can, or rather, get control of it. There are times to appear modest and innocent and times when it's a disadvantage," Ami instructed. "For example, in a room full of stuffy, snobby people like this one, you want to look as confident and return their
condescending expressions as quickly and as firmly as you can. You tell yourself there is no one in here who is better than you are, and you let them all know it with the way you hold yourself, look at them, and even speak to them. Never give anyone the
satisfaction of thinking he or she is better than you are, Celeste.
"I know, for a girl who has been living as an orphan in hand-me-down clothes and for someone sleeping, eating, and breathing on the proceeds of charity, that's difficult to accomplish at first, but you're my spiritual sister now, and you live in my house. It's good to be somewhat arrogant. If you have it, flaunt it, and you have it," she said.
Her pep talk made me feel better. I lifted my head and looked out at the patrons of the restaurant, meeting every stare head-on. Just as Ami had predicted, they all quickly turned away.
Ami lifted her glass and nodded at mine.
"To us," she said, and we tapped glasses. I sipped my drink and then took a deep breath. When would I stop feeling like I was sinking deeper and deeper into some pool of sin? Every little change in me that Ami engineered seemed tainted, whether it be the use of makeup, the hairdo, the clothes, the drinking, or now the lessons in demeanor and attitude. Was she changing me into a better, more confident young woman, or dragging me down to some awaiting disaster?
Wade didn't appear until after we had eaten our salad. On his way to our table, he shook hands with and spoke to some of the other restaurant patrons. The conversation was obviously about me, as he looked our way and then spoke again.
"I hope he isn't describing you as some orphan," Ami muttered.
"Sorry I'm late," he said when he reached our table. "We had a small crisis at the plant, a truckload of wrong parts, and we had deliveries to do
tomorrow."
He sat. Ami shook her head.
"You have a general manager, Wade, whom you pay a good salary to, don't you? Why don't you let the man fulfill his responsibility?"
"The plant has my family name on it, not his," Wade replied drily, looking at the menu Anthony hurried over to give him.
"Family name," Ami muttered, "on plumbing parts."
"I'll skip the salad," Wade told Anthony. "Just bring me the filet mignon, medium well!'
"Very good, Mr. Emerson," Anthony said, taking his menu but smiling at me.
From the expression on his face when he looked at me, I didn't think Wade approved of the way I was dressed and made up. He finally noticed the Cosmopolitan in front of me.
"You ordered her an alcoholic beverage?"
"It's her first big night out with us, Wade. What's the big deal?"
"The big deal? Ami, she's underage. You can't do that. You'll endanger the restaurant as well. Please slide that over to me," he told me.
I did as he asked, and Ami immediately went into a pout.
"I'm sorry, Celeste," he said. He turned back to Ami. "You know that Mrs. Brentwood, the principal of the Dickinson School, is sitting by the fireplace with her husband?"
Ami glanced in that direction, and I looked as well. An attractive middle-aged woman with light brown hair sat facing us. Her husband had his back to us. I thought she had a nice smile, and unlike most of the other patrons, she didn't seem at all interested in us. She laughed at something her husband said and then wiped the strands of her shoulder-length hair away from her right cheek.
"So what?" Ami muttered.
"So what? So she'll know Celeste is not old enough to be served alcohol and that you ordered it for her. What kind of a foster mother are you? Not smart." Wade sipped my drink. "It's too sweet," he said. "How can you drink this anyway?"
"Sweets for the sweet," Ami quipped. Wade shook his head, but settled down and smiled at me.
"Excited about tomorrow?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, although nervous was a better term to apply, I thought.
&n
bsp; "You'll do well," he told me. "I'm sure you have better study habits than half the school population, most of whom are spoon-fed everything. What subjects interest you the most?"
"Boys," Ami offered for me.
Wade looked at her and then slowly turned back to me.
"I guess English," I said. He nodded.
"Yes, that was my favorite, especially English literature."
"Yes, well, you get lots of opportunity to use that knowledge in a wholesale plumbing plant, don't you?" Anti snapped at him as if she hated all education, regardless of the subject.
"You'd be surprised," he said. "Pipes have to be grammatically correct to fit correctly, and elegant sink, tub, and shower fixtures have to be described poetically."
We both laughed. It was Ami's turn to smirk, but before she could comment, our food was served. Wade looked surprised by my dish.
"She's never had lobster before, Wade, so don't start talking about the cost."
"I'm not. It looks very good, in fact. I probably should have ordered it myself."
"It is good," I said, tasting it. "It's delicious." He smiled.
"Who's your favorite author?" he asked.
"I don't know as I have one favorite," I told him. "I didn't expect to enjoy reading Mark Twain as much as I did this year. I love Huck Finn."
"So did I," Wade said.
Ami groaned.
"Really, Wade, next thing you'll do is get her reading the Wall Street Journal."
He shrugged and looked at me.
"Maybe I will," he said. "Why shouldn't she understand the financial world?"
"She'll have more important things to do."
"More important? Like what, Ami?"
"Oh, please," Ami said, and pushed her plate away. She had eaten barely half of her dinner. "I'll be right back," she said. "I have to powder my nose. Actually," she said after she stood, leaning toward Wade, "I have to pee."
She giggled and started away, deliberately pausing at a table to speak with a man who had been smiling at her, to the displeasure of the woman he was with. Wade watched her and then turned back to me.
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