The Shadow and the Rose

by Amanda DeWees

  Chapter 3

  Next morning at assembly Dr. Aysgarth announced that Melisande, as their new next-door neighbor, was holding an open house that Saturday for the students of Ash Grove. Those interested could sign up with Dr. Aysgarth’s office aide. Even before the principal had finished speaking, the excited chatter of the students nearly drowned her out.

  Normally the event would have been of only mild interest to Joy. But since there was the possibility that Tanner would be there, she joined the roiling mass of students who were signing up. “We’ll have to go in shifts,” laughed Tasha Daltrey, Joy’s best friend among the day students. “If we all go at once, Melisande will run and hide in her panic room. And I wouldn’t blame her.”

  “Are you hoping to meet a Broadway producer?” asked Joy. “Or just going out of curiosity?” Tasha was a triple threat as a performer: actress, singer, and dancer. She was also consistently voted one of Ash Grove’s prettiest students. Her combination of coffee-colored skin and light amber eyes was arresting, and she carried herself with a dancer’s grace. But unlike some of the other reigning beauties (Sheila came to mind), she didn’t try to enforce her superiority on anyone else.

  “Some of both, I guess,” said Tasha. “It sure never hurts to know someone in the business. Clark’s riding with me; do you and William want to come with?” Day students were allowed to have cars on campus, but boarding students were stuck with the school’s shuttles unless they could cadge rides with day students.

  “William’s not going.” He had no interest in celebrities and said the evening would be better spent playing L.A. Noire. “But Maddie thought it might be a good chance for some networking. We’d love a ride.”

  “Cool, we’ll meet up in your dorm lobby beforehand. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask: how’s your dad doing?”

  “About the same, “ said Joy, making an effort to speak lightly. “It’s just going to take a while before we know if the chemo is working.”

  Tasha looked concerned, and opened her mouth to reply, but then the two were jostled aside by other students eager to get their names on the list. Joy wasn’t sorry to have the conversation cut short. It was nice that her friends asked after her father, but speaking about him without getting emotional was almost impossible. She waved a goodbye at Tasha and retreated from the fray.

  Although Melisande’s house was only a short distance away from the Ash Grove campus as the crow flies, it was only accessible via the road, which meant going the long way round. As they passed through the security gates and along the driveway in Tasha’s Toyota, it became clear why Melisande had not made it easier to reach her: the winding drive between tree-covered hills ended in a dramatic view of the house, so that visitors would be duly impressed.

  Some visitors, anyway. “It’s like the Ikea version of Falling Water,” was Maddie’s verdict.

  The house was a jarring contrast to Ash Grove. As neighbors, it would have been hard to find two as different as the rough-hewn, comfortable Ash Grove and the sleek modernity of Melisande’s house, its facade lit up by floodlights. On the inside they found that it was open and airy, with scarcely any dividing walls, and as pale as a blank canvas: the walls were light cream, and the floor was of blond wood, only interrupted with a few throw rugs of white fur. Squashy sofas upholstered in pale linen and low glass-topped tables were the only furnishings except for a grand piano on a dais at the far end of the room, where a male pianist was playing almost inaudibly over the conversation. A free-standing staircase descended from the upper floor. The overall effect was expensive but sparse, even to the point of being characterless—all except for the art. The paintings and photographs on the walls all showed just one subject: Melisande.

  Pouting on magazine covers; vamping in a quirky portrait by Annie Leibovitz; wearing eighties shoulder pads in a stylized painting by Nagel; even draped in Grecian robes in a publicity still from a sword-sandals-and-CGI movie. She was everywhere Joy looked.

  “It’s a shrine to herself,” she said in a low voice to Maddie, who nodded.

  “She must have an ego the size of Lookout Mountain.”

  “I think she’s divine,” announced Clark, William’s roommate, who was surveying the scene with an almost hungry look. He had dressed up for the occasion as the girls had not: he wore a cobalt-blue shirt with the sheen of silk, and the crease in his pants was sharp enough to cut steak. His butter-colored hair and blue eyes gave him a deceptively cherubic look. “I’ve never seen so many gorgeous people in one place—and they’re all here because of her.”

  It was true. The room was filled with beautiful people. Tall, slender, with perfectly toned bodies that spoke of a rigorous diet and exercise regime—or excellent genes—they lounged on the sofas or draped themselves elegantly against the walls, posed as if someone were painting their portraits. The women had long, shining hair; the men were either moussed or dramatically shaved. All were so perfect and exquisite they might have been sculpted, polished, buffed, and lacquered for viewing. All of their gestures were graceful and fluid, as if they were dancers. Probably some of them were, Joy thought.

  She recognized a runway model who had been in the news lately for her engagement to a race-car driver, and a classical violinist who had crossed over into the mainstream as much for his surly dark handsomeness as for his playing. Joy felt that William had made a wise decision in opting out of the evening; he had predicted it would be a glorified photo op, and so far it looked like he was going to be proven right. The Ash Grove teachers who were present in the role of chaperones looked sadly out of place. Among them Joy recognized Dr. Michael Fellowes, Ash Grove’s former principal, whose silver hair made him all the more anomalous in the crowd of young people.

  “I feel like a Hobbit,” said Maddie. “Isn’t there anyone else here under six feet tall?”

  “And does it seem to you like there’s a lot of skin showing?” Joy couldn’t help asking. She knew that she was probably more easily shocked than her friends, because none of them had grown up in a small town, but there certainly seemed to be a very relaxed attitude toward going shirtless (among the men) or low-cut and short-skirted (the women).

  “Maybe if you spend a lot of your time sculpting your body, you want to show it off as much as possible,” suggested Tasha, but Joy’s attention had wandered elsewhere. She was looking in vain for Tanner.

  A tall man (but they were all tall) with an air of authority strode over to them. With his dark, sculpted beard and small silver hoop earrings he looked like a cross between a pirate and a rock star. He had very even white teeth, which he flashed in a Mephistophelian smile at them, and a Bluetooth in one ear.

  “My, what tender young morsels,” he said. “Welcome, ladies and gentleman. Just when I was beginning to get bored, too. I’m Raven, Melisande’s right-hand man.”

  “Just Raven?” asked Maddie. “No last name, like Flea?”

  His grin widened, and his dark eyes dwelt appreciatively on her. “A bit less parasitic than that. And what is your name, sweetheart?”

  Maddie introduced them. To Joy’s horror, Raven kissed the hands of all the girls (he settled for giving Clark a wink).

  “You’ll find a selection of mocktails at the bar. In deference to Ash Grove rules, we’re alcohol-free tonight. Melisande should be joining us soon, so just make yourselves comfortable and enjoy mingling in the meantime.”

  “Is everyone—” began Joy, and then thought better of it. But she had caught Raven’s attention.

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “Oh, I was just wondering if Tristan is coming.”

  “As a matter of fact, he will be here tonight,” said Raven, raising an interested eyebrow. “I take it you’re a fan of his?”

  “She’s his biggest fan,” Clark put in before Joy could speak, and she stared at him in shock. He didn’t know she had met Tristan. “She’s got pictures of him all over her room, and she kisses every one of them before she goes to bed every night. If you could arrange it, she’d love t
o get his autograph.” He added in a stage whisper, “On one of her, you know, girls.”

  It was typical Clark mischief, but Joy could have strangled him. It didn’t help that Maddie and Tasha, the traitors, were having to struggle not to laugh.

  “Indeed!” Raven looked amused but intrigued. “So our Tristan has a local following. We’ll just have to see what we can do about that autograph.”

  He slipped away before she could protest. She glared at Clark. “Remind me to kill you later.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, unrepentant.

  “You’re impossible,” she returned.

  As angry as she was, however, she was soon distracted by the famous faces in the room. The lure of people-watching was too strong to withstand.

  “Isn’t that woman in purple the actress who’s in all those corset-and-bustle movies?”

  “You’re right! And that’s Olivier what’s-his-name, the French actor. I didn’t realize he was even in this country. What is he doing out here in the middle of nowhere? What are all of them doing here, for that matter?”

  “They’re Melisande’s entourage, of course.” A familiar voice made them turn. Sheila Hardesty stood behind them with Alissa and miscellaneous boyfriends. Her eyes glittered as she took in the scene. “All these people follow her everywhere just because she’s so incredible.”

  Maddie exchanged a look with Joy. “And it has nothing to do with her influence, or the fact that she can promote their careers,” she said skeptically.

  Sheila tossed her head impatiently, and Alissa chimed in. “They have agents who do all that. Melisande is just an amazing presence to be around. You haven’t met her; you wouldn’t get it.”

  “Wow, I’m so glad they’re here,” said Maddie witheringly, as they swept off in a cloud of scorn. “However would we lost little lambs manage without the BBBs to guide us?”

  Tasha gave her a pained look. “You know I hate that expression. Not all of us in ballet are bitches.”

  “In your case, it can stand for Beautiful Black Ballerina,” Joy offered.

  “Just like, in Blake’s case, it stands for Bodacious Baritone Beefcake,” said Clark. “Where is he tonight, by the way?”

  Maddie snorted. “I’d be the last one to know. I’m just his Bitter Brunette Beard.”

  Before they could ask her what she meant, the noise level dropped suddenly, and Joy felt a charged expectancy in the room. The pianist who had been playing unheard drew his hands back from the keys. Everyone was looking toward the staircase, and Joy followed their gaze.

  A shining apparition was making its graceful way down the stairs. Joy had seen so many depictions of Melisande by now that she thought she knew what to expect. But photographs had not caught her personality, and Joy realized at once that Melisande’s effect in person was something no photograph could convey.

  Melisande moved noiselessly, languidly. With her white skin and white-blonde hair that fell past her waist, she seemed to gather all the light in the room. She wore nothing but a charmeuse slip dress, and this too was white. She actually seemed to glow as she entered the room. She held her head with the calm assurance of a queen, and Joy was not surprised when applause broke out around her. The woman could certainly stage an entrance.

  “Good evening, everyone,” she said in a voice that was cool and silvery, yet somehow seemed to reach every corner. “I’m glad to see you all here. Those of you from Ash Grove High, please make yourself at home, and don’t be bashful about introducing yourselves.” She smiled and surveyed the room. “I don’t think my other guests require introductions.”

  There was an appreciative ripple of laughter, and a wave of people surged up to her. Even Dr. Fellowes was caught up in heroine worship; she saw his silver head among all the blonde and brunette ones jostling to be near her.

  Joy continued to examine her hostess. She really was extraordinary looking. Her hair was as pale and glossy as corn silk, and so fine that it wafted gently in every current of air. Her hands and feet—which were bare—were small and finely shaped. The rest of her was shapely too, as her bias-cut slip dress made very clear.

  “She’s not wearing a bra,” Joy couldn’t help observing.

  “That’s not all she’s not wearing,” said Maddie. “If she stands in front of a light we’ll be able to see how recent her last bikini wax was.”

  Tasha looked impressed. “I hope I look half as good when I’m her age. She’s got the body of a twenty-year-old.”

  “Hidden in the trunk of her car, maybe,” Maddie muttered. “There’s something creepy about her.”

  “You’re just jealous.” Clark sighed in satisfaction. “She makes Madonna look like Joan Rivers.”

  They fell silent as the woman herself glided toward them, entourage in tow. One eager attendant held her drink for her, another had a Bluetooth and tablet computer, and a third was ready with a snowy white wrap in case she became chilled. “Welcome, all of you,” she said. “Do tell me your names.” Even up close, her face was smooth and unlined; the only indication that she was older than her guests was the authority in her eyes and voice. Joy noticed that her fingernails and toenails were painted to look like gold. They were almost the only touch of warmth about her, except for the blush tint of her mouth.

  A handsome young man who looked like a cross between a Greek god and a thundercloud pushed into the group. He had a crest of dark curly hair and moody dark eyes, which were fixed on his hostess. Joy realized that he was the man who had been playing the piano when they entered.

  “Finally, I have a chance to see you without your lapdog,” he said to Melisande. “Don’t tell me he’s no longer the golden child?”

  Melisande regarded him with amusement. “He’s getting dressed, Saxon. You might try to put yourself in a better humor for our guests.”

  He actually pouted. “It’s not fair. I never get a chance to spend any time alone with you.”

  Melisande laughed outright at that. It was a soft tinkling sound that made Joy think of a glass harp—fingertips drawn along the mouths of crystal goblets. She stroked Saxon’s cheek. “You know that’s not true. Now, stop sulking, or I’ll send you to your room.”

  As she spoke, arms went around her waist from behind her, and a man’s head buried itself in her neck. “Is Saxon getting a scolding?” came a muffled voice. “I’m glad I didn’t miss it.”

  “Oh, praise be, the prince consort has arrived,” said Saxon sourly. “Let’s all bask in his glory.”

  The newcomer stopped nuzzling Melisande’s neck and raised his head. “Envy is so unattractive, Saxon,” he said.

  Joy felt a jolt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. It was Tanner.