“Marina!” she called me over to a painting, pointing, “Look– it’s you!”
I craned my neck to look up at the huge canvas, six feet across and painted with a Renaissance version of classical Greek mythology. There, hidden amongst the crowded images of gods, goddesses and dancing nymphs was my own face looking back at me.
Shayla laughed, “Says here some Italian dude painted it… in 1497!”
I stepped closer, counting the dancing girls in the center of the painting. There were nine. The information alongside the painting described the gods Apollo, Venus, and Vulcan. Mercury the messenger stood in the corner, his arm resting lightly on Pegasus. The girls frolicking in the center were identified as muses, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up.
“A long lost relative?” Shayla teased me.
“Very funny,” I said, walking away slowly with a few backwards glances.
We came upon another section of the museum that housed the spectacular statue, “Winged Victory”. We had the area all to ourselves for a few moments, and we stood back to contemplate it in silence. It was magnificent, standing boldly in a high ceilinged room, with oval windows set into archways that bathed the chamber with a warm golden light.
“This poor angel lost her arms and her head,” observed Shayla.
“Yeah,” I explained, “They think it was in a huge earthquake or something. It’s a statue of the goddess Nike.”
She scoffed at me, “You mean like the shoe?” she laughed.
“Exactly like the shoe,” I replied.
“Let’s go shopping,” said Shayla.
We took a cab to a popular boutique district and wandered around for a few hours. I could feel the time slipping by rapidly, each minute bringing me closer to the inevitable confrontation that I both feared and dreaded.
“Are you hungry?” I asked her when we passed a charming sidewalk bistro.
We sat down at a little metal table and watched an endless procession of sophisticated and urbane Parisians pass by. The people of Paris was dressed with a good deal more care than you’d ever see in a California beach town, and each woman seemed to have put some real effort into her hair and makeup before she ventured out into the street. Even the simplest of outfits was accessorized with a colorful scarf or piece of jewelry, and their shoes were a far cry from the flip-flops and sneakers most people in Aptos sported.
“French women are really pretty,” Shayla observed, “Do they dress up like that all the time?”
“You’ll have to ask Evie,” I replied.
We ordered as best we could with the help of a surprisingly friendly waiter, and ended up with a rustic pâté platter, served with toast and tiny sour pickles, along with enormous mounds of crispy pomme frites.
“They’re way better than at home,” Shayla said, gobbling them down, “I never knew that they’d have french fries in France!”
I laughed, “Uhm, think about it…”
She burst into sudden raucous laughter, and then stopped, whispering conspiratorally, “I don’t get it. How are you s’posed to eat them without catsup?”
Shayla remembered that it was Cruz’s birthday, and we called him, passing the phone back and forth between us. He’d already seen some reporting on the Paris shows and was excited about Shayla’s success. I heard them bantering back and forth, and she promised to appear in his debut show no matter how famous she became, thinking she was joking. Only I knew how close they both were to realizing their dreams.
After lunch I decided to shop for a birthday gift for Cruz, figuring that something from Paris might take the sting out of being left behind and missing out on fashion week. We prowled around until I finally settled on a designer messenger bag, crafted in the most beautiful chocolate brown leather.
“Ooh, let’s look in here!” Shayla cried, pulling me into a lingerie boutique. Evie had always professed a specific fondness for French lingerie, and I could see why. The quality of the construction was unquestionably fine, and the array of different styles was overwhelming. Undergarments of every shape and color were displayed on headless mannequins.
“More missing heads,” Shayla laughed, “You’d think the French have something against them!”
“You have no idea,” I said acerbically.
“Try this on,” Shayla thrust some hangers at me.
Some of the skimpier bustiers and garters made me blush, but Shayla was delighted, pulling out piles of teddies and bra sets to try on.
“We better get going,” I said nervously.
Shayla looked down at me with amusement, “Oh puh-leese! This stuff is sooo cute! You should at least pick up a nightgown or something.” She held up a lacy chemise in black, waving the hanger at me, “Ethan might like this better than a stretched out old T-shirt.”
I snorted, but she did have a point. She’d seen my sleeping attire on all the nights she’d taken refuge at Abby’s house, and it wasn’t exactly what you’d call pretty. I took her advice and started snooping around for something I could see myself in, quickly getting myself lost in a sea of silk and satin. I finally chose a beautiful slate blue peignoir set; a short nightgown trimmed in lace with a matching robe as sheer as liquid smoke.
I was giggling at some of the get-ups Shayla was unearthing, the council meeting completely off my mind, when a movement in the window caught my eye. I looked up to see the man from the Louvre, and the instant our eyes met, he looked away and kept walking. It could have been a coincidence, but the mere thought that we were being followed was enough to ruin my fleeting moment of lightheartedness.
“What’s wrong?” asked Shayla, noticing my frown.
“I think that guy followed us here from the museum,” I said, nodding to the window.
Her eyes narrowed, and she stormed out the door to look up and down the street. She came back in with a shrug, “He took off.”
“We need to go,” I announced, rushing to pay for our purchases and peeking out of the store cautiously.
Once we were safely in the cab she patted my arm, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I turned to look behind us, setting my jaw determinedly, “I will be.”
Once I got through this day it would all be over. I could just go home and focus on school, painting, and surfing. I vowed to spend more time with Ethan; to stop wasting my precious energy on petty jealousy and focus on building our life together. I’d learn how to manage my anger, and maybe even find a way to put my unwanted muse powers to their best possible use. Yes, I vowed, if I could just get through this one meeting it would all be smooth sailing from now on.
I really wanted to believe it, and if I closed my eyes and concentrated, I could see Ethan standing in front of the beautiful home he’d build someday. I just prayed that I was fated to be the one standing by his side when that day finally came.
CHAPTER TWELVE
COUNCIL
Evie had laid out an outfit for me, and I slipped on the chic dress she’d chosen, donning a pair of heavy gold Versace cuffs like armor. I applied my makeup as deliberately as war paint, smoothing my hair back and pinning it up. I scrutinized my reflection in the mirror, satisfied that I looked like someone who fit right in with the high fashion crowd. Dressed to the nines, polished and pampered, the girl in the mirror looked back at me with worried eyes.
I slipped on some oversized sunglasses and set out to do battle.
Boris had a car waiting in front of the hotel, and he escorted us to Shayla’s second fashion show. We were seated between a pampered American heiress and an Italian film star, both of whom could scarcely take their eyes away from Evie. This time I was too preoccupied to be amused by the spectacle, anxious for the meeting to commence so I could go home and see Ethan. I planned to call him as soon as we finished, and I couldn’t wait to tell him that it was all over.
I missed him desperately, but I also craved the comfort of a good long surfing session. I thought about the wave in my dream and licked my lips, expecting salt, but tasting only waxy li
pstick.
Daydreaming about surfing with Lorelei had seen me through many a boring high school lecture, and I soothed my nervous mind with thoughts of my mermaid sisters. I decided I would go out to see Nerissa and Nixie as soon as I got home. Telling Evie about it had only raised more questions, and given my newfound powers of telepathy, perhaps with a little effort I could pry some answers out of their pretty little heads.
As awful as our ordeal at Peter’s hands had been, a new mermaid was created out of it. Maybe it was meant to be, and Peter was doomed to die for his crimes. Like seeds that would only sprout when the forest was burned down around them, it was possible that the creation of a new immortal had to come out of another’s destruction.
I was lost in my musings, pondering the bizarre nature of mermaid reproduction, when the lights dimmed and the throbbing beat of the music filled the room. Shayla opened the show, strutting out boldly, sporting an outrageously fringed leather jacket, paired with the shortest of short skirts that showed off her long, strong legs. The crowd went silent, mesmerized; they had obviously read all about the latest runway star. The designer was ecstatic– this kind of buzz was priceless, and she had clearly put Shayla front and center to milk it for all it was worth.
A procession of colorful and luxurious clothes paraded by, and by the time the show ended it was clear Shayla had scored another tremendous success. She was bold, fresh and unaffected, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she had the crowd’s undivided attention.
She walked the last outfit slowly and dreamily, demurely sporting a spectacular shell pink bridal gown, her hair piled high on her head and adorned with a crown of handpainted silk roses. She looked ethereally beautiful, like a fairytale princess, and a hush fell over the room. The crowd finally recovered, standing to deliver another ovation.
“We leave here in about fifteen minutes,” Evie whispered in my ear, “Why don’t you go congratulate Shayla while I say hello to a few people.”
We went backstage after the show and parted ways. I turned around to see Evie almost imperceptibly shift into star mode as she stepped into a whirlwind of air kisses from her rich and fashionable friends. I headed for the dressing room to look for Shayla.
A young woman with a mane of glossy black curls intercepted me, placing a hand on my arm, “Give me one minute,” she said under her breath, looking around furtively. One glance into her sparkling golden brown eyes made me catch my breath. It was another one of them. I panicked, scanning the crowd for Evie.
“Please,” she said with intensity, “I’m here to warn you.”
I followed her around the corner of a dressing room screen.
“Watch out for Olivia,” she hissed.
“Who?”
She spoke quickly, in a Spanish accented voice, “Olivia knows everything. She was controlling Peter… The man was an imbicile! Twas all her idea, and she is using the Edwards family for her own purposes… But it backfired on them, didn’t it?”
I stepped back, alarmed.
She scrutinized me, searching my eyes, “You must be very powerful. You can do it too… can’t you? I can tell.”
“Do what?” I gasped.
“The visions, the seeing of what is yet to come.”
I was speechless that she guessed.
“I saw what Olivia has planned for you.” she said ominously.
“Has planned?”
She looked over her shoulder, “Do not trust her!”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because it’s wrong– what they wanted to do… What she still wants.”
I stepped back, suspicious, “How do you know what they wanted?”
“Twas in my vision, Olivia was speaking to that Edwards man about watching you... about having you taken in Paris and brought to them again.”
I was dumbfounded. If she was telling the truth, and her visions were anything like mine, then the danger didn’t die with Peter. They were still going to try and control me. I had to tell Evie right away.
“Leave Paris at once! Stay away from Olivia,” she hissed at me.
I was horrified, “Who are you?”
“I’m Marissa.” She leaned forward intensely, “Do not breathe a word to Evelyn! Olivia mustn’t think for an instant that she suspects anything. Your phones are not secure, and neither is Evelyn’s plane, so do not use it… Evelyn thinks that Olivia is her friend, so she cannot know in advance. Your leaving must be a surprise to both of them.”
“Why?”
“If Olivia thinks that Evelyn suspects…” she looked genuinely afraid, and glanced over her shoulder again, “She can be very dangerous. I believe that she had Peter’s mother killed to gain control of him and the Edwards fortune.”
My eyes flew open, “Why should I believe you?”
Her eyes met mine, and something in them moved me, “Because it’s the truth. I have nothing to gain, and if I get caught–”
She turned on her heel and sped off just as Shayla and her friends rounded the corner, giggly and glowing with post-show relief.
“That was intense!” Shayla screeched, throwing her arms around me, “You’re not gonna believe what just happened!”
She went on to tell me breathlessly how her mention of surfing in the interviews had attracted the attention of a powerful booking agent. She had landed the lucrative and coveted Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition, and it was her absolute dream job.
“And get this! It’s a surfer themed edition and they’re shooting it in Hawaii!” she squeaked out the last word.
“Uh, great,” I said, still trying to process what I’d just heard.
Shayla’s hands dug into my arms, “They wanted a girl who could really shred in the pictures and not just stand there with the boards!” She jumped up and down, unable to contain her excitement, “They’ll be like, dudes there too! Surfers are gonna be like, props for the models!”
She threw her head back and laughed at the thought; I could tell it was sweet revenge for the years of condescension she’d gotten as the only girl surfer in Aptos.
“That’s great Shayla,” I was truly happy for her. At least things were looking up for one of us.
She took me by the shoulders, suddenly serious, “They shoot on Thursday, and they wanted me to do it so bad they’re chartering a jet that leaves tomorrow morning. Just for me! Jacques made sure that they’d have me back for the weekend, so we can be back by Saturday… Please, please, please come with me!”
“Hawaii? I didn’t even pack a swimsuit…”
Shayla rolled her eyes at me dramatically, “Marina, we’re going to a swimsuit shoot!”
“I don’t know,” I said, but all I could think of was the blue wave from my dream beckoning. I thought about Kimo’s descriptions about surfing in Hawaii and my mouth went dry. I would give anything to be going surfing, instead of heading out to face the inquisition. The sound of the water came rushing back to my mind and I felt the urge to surf so badly I started to tremble.
“We can surf all day…” she said enticingly, “And after the shoot too!”
There was no way I could resist that. I bit my lip and started to plan out loud, “I suppose I could fly back to San Francisco from Hawaii and pick up my car…”
“Yes! Yes! YES!” she screamed, jumping up and down. “This is gonna be so sick!”
I looked up to see Evie coming towards us and thought fast, “Don’t say anything to Evie. Let me break it to her.”
“No prob,” said Shayla with a wink, stepping forward to greet Evie.
I can’t explain exactly what made me keep it from her, but I decided to wait until after the meeting to tell Evie about the strange conversation I’d just had with Marissa. Funny, I thought, the universe was giving me exactly what she’d recommended– an immediate way out of Paris that didn’t involve Evie. The synergy of two muses standing side by side must amplify our strange power.
Evie congratulated Shayla, proclaiming her an unqualified success. She gushed about
the swimsuit shoot in Hawaii, having just heard the news from Jacques. If two muses were better than one, Shayla was guaranteed success. Evie embraced her goodbye, wishing her the best of luck.
I hugged her too, whispering in her ear instructions to pick me up at the hotel in the morning. Shayla squeezed me hard, winked, and drifted off with a little band of models that trailed after her worshipfully. Cruz would have loved it.
“Shayla!” I called out after her, longing to be going anywhere but where I was headed.
“What?”
“See you soon.”
The council meeting took place at yet another grand hotel in Paris. This time, Boris escorted us in, and stood stoically by Evie’s side as we took the elevator up to a suite of rooms on the top floor. I thought about what Marissa had told me and steeled myself. I closed my eyes and imagined I was already in Hawaii, surfing inside the turquoise blue wave of my dream. At least I knew relief was on the way, and I latched on to the thought, rolling it around and around in the back of my mind like a soothing strand of prayer beads.
The door opened and we passed down a long hallway to find a woman standing in the threshold, waiting for our arrival. “Your man will have to wait outside,” she told Evie, who nodded to Boris.
He took a position opposite the door, his arms crossed, “Da.”
My mouth was dry with dread as we stepped into the room and looked around. There were about twenty women seated at a conference table, leaning forward with an air of excited anticipation. The power in the room was palpable, electric, and my hair stood on end as I scanned their upturned faces. I felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter.
A stunning red haired woman in a python print dress stood, and approached us with a friendly smile.
“Darling Evie!” she said, her arms open wide. Our eyes locked over Evie’s shoulder as they embraced, and something inside me recoiled.
“Olivia!” Evie drew back and returned her smile. It was clear that they liked each other.
“This is Marina,” said Evie, gesturing proudly in my direction.
03 The Fate Of The Muse - Marina's Tales Page 13
