Emma

by Carol Robi

  And that is what she had done. Lachey and I have a trust fund. How many kids in my neighbourhood can say that? It is not much, but it is enough to see that we have a good start when we break away from under her wing. Mom has saved for most of our college, and she owns this apartment, as well as has saved up a fair amount for her retirement. I know this because in this family, I am the accountant. Mom is not very good at numbers, but she always has the best intentions. She has therefore delegated the task of money management to me.

  We do not live a flashy life, even though I know we can afford it. Mom does not want to attract any undue attention to us, and Lachey and I are in consensus.

  I have never meet any of mom’s clients, though I know she has some very faithful regulars. Some of them have being seeing her since before I was born. She knows them well; their families, children, businesses, and even their hopes and dreams. She talks of her regulars as though they are her friends.

  I have never met my father. All I know is that he was one of mom’s clients.

  “I was so scared when I found out that I was pregnant with you, munchkin,” mother has told me this story countless times.

  “David,” Mom’s PIMP of sorts. She calls him her manager. He introduces her to her clients, and sets up the practicalities. “Said that I ought to get you terminated.” I flinched at the words. “I remained stubborn though. I always disliked the idea of kids. But once I knew you were inside me, there was nothing else I wanted more than to have my own child.”

  Mom had therefore kept me. She has never tried to find out who exactly my father is. It could have been either of the two dozen or so men she met that month. It had never mattered though. I was hers, she had told me, hugging me tight to herself. So she had me, gave me her surname, and we lived happily thereafter.

  She got pregnant with Lachey about four years later with yet another client. Another accident. It was a surprise with his colouring. That is why it is so difficult for people to believe that Lachey and I are brother and sister. We avoid talking to people, so that we do not have to discuss the difficult question. Lachey’s father was African American, I would assume, judging by his colouring. Mine was probably a platinum blonde caucasian. Why else is my hair so light, that is it almost white, even though mom’s is naturally auburn. My skin is also porcelain white, and burns red when I try to tan, while mom’s is a better toned shade that mellows to a beautiful olive tone after a tan.

  That is our family, the van Balken family of East River Road 22 A4. Complicated as it might be, I would not choose another family given the option.

  I stare at my pale face and shocking white hair in the mirror. It will not do. I walk over to mom’s bathroom and open her makeup cabinet. Hundreds of little boxes and bottles stare back at me, and on the bottom drawer are all of mom’s wigs. I take out an auburn wig and put it on. I look like her, if you ignore the sorry state of my face. I slap my cheeks to give them some colour, then I decide against the wig. I’ll keep my hair.

  I shake off the wig, and settle on the chair before the dresser as I pick up one of the makeup sets.

  I am good at this. I have been helping mom with her makeup since I can remember. I have just never put any on. I guess it was a form of personal rebellion, as I always feared that I would end up like her. Love her as I may, let’s state the facts. My mother is a glorified prostitute. And I have read the statistics, of daughters of prostitutes. I dread turning out like her so much that I have completely embraced the idea of being a less than average looking girl.

  Today though, today is different. I want to be beautiful. Just for one day, I want to know what it feels to be looked at as a beautiful girl.

  My fingers are adept as they work on my face. The completed picture is one of perfection. Mom would be proud, though I doubt she would be happy that I am doing this without asking for her permission.

  I stand before the mirror again, admiring my image. I smooth my dress, and turn around slowly. I walk back to the dresser to find mom’s jewellery box. The one built like a safe. I know its combination. I open it, and my eyes immediately fall on the opal drops.

  Perfect, I think, as I stand before the full length mirror again. The glistening opal earrings contrast with my pale skin and hair, and complements the dark stripes on the dress.

  The hardest task is finding the appropriate shoes. None of mom’s fit, no matter how hard I try. I finally settle for some black wedge boots I own. They are not the best shoes for such a perfect dress, but they will do just fine.

  I tiptoe along the corridor, cursing under my breath as the floorboards creak. I let out a sigh of relief when I make it to the closet by the door, and I hurriedly busy myself with tying the sash of my large raincoat.

  “Emma?” I let out a low shrill at the sound of his voice. My heartbeat quickens dangerously, and I have to lean against the closet for a few seconds before turning to face him. He caught me by surprise.

  Shock registers on his face when he sees me, and then something else. Fear. Lachey’s eyes look back at me fearfully, concern traced in them. I know what he fears. It is what I have been fearing all my life. He fears that I will turn out to be like mom. I take a step forward wanting to reassure him, but I stumble, my body still weakened by the effect of the fright to my heart.

  “Emma, what’s going on?” He asks quietly.

  “I.. I’m sneaking out,” I say, for lack of a better explanation.

  “Why?” He looks so confused. So worried.

  “There is this party..” I start, now strong enough to walk up to him. I stop right before him and shrug. “I just really want to go.”

  “Which party?” His eyes are still widened, but he looks a little more reassured now.

  “At the beach. I heard some of the kids talking about it.”

  “Were you invited?”

  “No,” I say quietly. I am now leaning against the wall beside him. “But.. I just really want to go.”

  “Dressed like that?” He asks, flinching as he acknowledges my dress and make-up.

  “I just.. I wanted to be somebody else for one night. Not to be Emma van Balken.”

  “Who do you want to be?”

  I could hug him right then, if that was the kind of siblings we are. He is not fighting me on this, or threatening to rat me out to mom.

  “I don’t know,” I answer him. “But I do not want to be me.”

  “Ok,” he says. I let out a relieved sigh of relief. “But I’m coming with you.”

  Oh no.

  “Lachey! I don’t think..”

  “I will not attend the party, Emma. You won’t even know I’m there. I’ll just stay hidden somewhere nearby and play on my PS. I’ll feel better if I am there where I can..” He falters here. “I just want you to be alright.” Now I hug him. I cannot hold back.

  “Thanks,” I whisper against his curls.

  I wait for five minutes as he grabs his jacket and his handheld playstation before we slip out of the house.

  Mom will never know if we make it back by 3am, in ample time to put everything away and fall asleep.

  Chapter 5

  I look in panic at my brother, and it is his reassuring smile that manages to give me the courage to do this.

  “I’ll be right here,” he says, waving his phone at me. “Just call me incase of anything, and I’ll come get you..” He is barely done before I fly into his arms again.

  Two hugs in a day! Even I surprise myself. I take back what I said before. My brother and I are very close. I just never realized it until tonight.

  I wave again, before rounding the bend. I have to walk carefully, so I do not step into a puddle or anything.

  It is difficult walking through the thicket in the dark, but I know it well. We have always lived here. I meet up with the main path soon enough, and I walk along it quietly, instinctively remaining in the shadows.

  I hear the laughs and excited conversation, and my heart picks up its pace again. I stop and take quick short breaths as I tr
y regain my courage. Suddenly my brain is screaming at me to get away from here, but what keeps me rooted is the image of Shane smiling at me over detention. That will never happen again. He had not even recognised me the day after. He still has no idea who I am and that I exist. I want him to know me. To smile at me like that again. To talk to me. The only way to get his attention is to pull this off.

  By the end of tonight, Shane will know my name.

  But what name? I puzzle. I cannot say Emma, Emma van Balken. No, I cannot say that. She is a nobody. A mouse.

  “Hi, my name is Lane,” I try, speaking low in the dark. What voice is that? They will rip through that voice. These popular kids are like jaguars. They smell the fear, and they feed on it.

  “Hallo,” I try again, speaking out in the dark. “My name is Lane. Lane Crawford.”

  Much better, I think smiling.

  I now walk with a confident sway. I feel like a Lane Crawford. A girl that just moved here from back east with her family. My mother is not an Escort.

  Mom, or Mrs elizabeth Crawford as other’s call her, is a lawyer with Beckford Associates. I don’t know if such a law firm exists. Hopefully not.

  I am slightly worried at how quickly I make up this character, Lane Crawford.

  Mr. Crawford, my father, is dead. I do not want to talk about it. I do not know how else to work that angle, as I have never had a father. I could not effectively make out his character to be convincing enough, as I do not know how it feels to have a father. It’s easier to make him dead.

  No, I have no siblings. I am an only child. I wince at the thought that I will have to cut my brother out too. I have to, otherwise it will open room for more questions.

  I go to Immaculate Glover School. Immaculate Glover School is a private school for the absolute richest in the area. That will do.

  When I round the bend, I bump into Drew being chased by one of the guys. Drew comes to a stop, and the appreciative look he gives me is slightly scandalous, considering he has a girlfriend.

  I instinctively want to fold into myself, but I remind myself that I am Lane. Not Emma. Emma is dead tonight. Lane is here.

  I square my shoulders, and stand straighter, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

  “Watch where you are going!” I say with a bored look on my face. “Boys!” I start to turn around.

  “Hey, wait!” Drew calls, running after me. He overtakes me, and turns to stop in front of me.

  “Please don’t leave,” he says, a cocky smile on his lips. “Let me apologise first,” he proceeds.

  “Hey dude! Who’s that?” His voice is unmistakable. Shane. My heart races, and my cheeks start to flare. I bite my lip hard, and force my emotions back at bay. It is Emma that reacts like that. Lane is different. Lane is cool headed and in control. Lane can choose any guy she wants, and can drop them just as fast.

  “Apologise?” I ask with an interested smile playing on my lips.

  I am flirting! I think excitedly.

  “Yeah, apologise. Join us! We are having a party. It is the least I can do for having nearly knocked down such a beauty as you.” Emma wants to run home right now and cherish this moment. Lie in bed and recount it over and over again in her head. Lane wants more.

  “Hi,” Shane now stops before us, having given up on Drew answering him. He is an exquisite specimen as always. I take in his beautiful hair, and bright eyes glinting in the moonlight. He has on that smile, the smile I never thought would ever be aimed at me again.

  “Hallo,” I say, with feigned disinterest. This seems to draw in the guys’ interest even more.

  A small semi-circle of sorts has now formed around me, and I am in the middle of it. I, Emma van Blaken. No, Lane Crawford.

  “My name is Shane, and you are welcomed to crush our parties anytime,” he says, laughing a little nervously as he speaks.

  He is laughing nervously because of me!

  “Hi Shane,” I say with a coquettish smile. I sell it, judging by the growing interest on his face. “I’m Lane..”

  “My name is Drew,” Drew then puts in, pressing forward as he does not want Shane to get all my attention. I notice the pensive looks Melanie and her crew send me, as Trevor then steps in, followed by Ike.

  Soon I am fielding questions from the most popular group of guys from school. Where do you go to school? Where do you live? Are you in high school? How did you get here?

  “Actually we were having a party at my school, as you can tell I am dressed up for it.” I glow at the appreciative look Shane sweeps over my body. I blossom in it.

  “On the way there, I had this huge fight with my boyfriend- now ex!” I add quickly, noting the relieved faces before me. “I told him to let me off here because I just cannot stand to look at his stupid face anymore. I then decided to take a walk at the beach first, before calling a cab to take me back home.”

  “I think any guy that would break up with you looking like that is a damn fool,” Ike says, and I flush at his compliment, bending my head to my side to send him a flirtatious look before I whisper a thank you.

  I am not interested in them, though I flirt with them. I am only interested in Shane. However, I have watched enough movies to know that the more wanted I am by others, the more he will want me too. And a little jealousy always helps to spark a boy into action.

  This is probably the favourite night of my teenage life. Everyone, and I mean everyone wants to be my friend. People are constantly asking me questions- asking my opinion on this or that. Asking me to judge on most random things..

  “Hey Lane! Help us decide on something. Sherry is adamant in saying that professional sportsmen are a hotter item than movie stars. What do you say? Who would you rather? A Beckham by your side, or a Brad Pitt?” Melanie asks. She and her friends have been trying to charm me into their group all night. Typical. Pretty girls do not like competition, so they have resorted to the if you can’t beat them join them slogan.

  “I say sports men. If someone can look good without makeup, covered in sweat and raw testosterone, then he tramps a made up doll any day.” I answer confidently, laughing as the guys in the basketball team high five each other and whoop cheerfully at my answer.

  My eyes then fall on Shane. He sits across from me, partly pushed aside by Drew and Ike. I revel inside from the longing look he sends me. Our eyes meet, and I smile at him seductively. His face immediately lifts up at having been singled out.

  Now he knows. He knows how it feels to live in the shadows, and hope for just a single acknowledgement of your presence.

  My attention works like a charm. He starts snaking his way towards me.

  I lean back and laugh lightly, confidently, at something or other someone has said, just as Shane reaches up to me.

  “Do you want to go for a walk?” He asks. Yes! My head screams.

  “Go for a walk alone with you?” Is what I say instead, raising my eyebrow with amusement. “Do you know what my mother said about going somewhere alone with strangers at night?” I proceed to say. The guys around us laugh at his expense.

  “Yeah I.. I mean, I’ll not do anything to you. It is not like I am serial killer or anything.”

  “Sounds like something a serial killer would say,” I point out, and the others laugh at what I say, agreeing with me. He looks ill at ease, and I feel terrible for making it so hard for him. The part of him that cares for him wins, despite my resolve to play hard to get.

  “Alright,” I concede. I turn to the others. “If I am not back in half an hour please call the police,” I kid, and everyone laughs again.

  My heart goes on overdrive as we break away from the rest of the group. We walk in silence for a while. I make sure to walk as slow as I can, so as not to get too far away from where I left my brother. It’s not that I feel unsafe with him, it’s because I know Lachey might be following us somewhere in the dark thicket. He will not let me out of his sight, and I do not want to give him too hard a time. I stop walking when I feel we have gone far en
ough.

  “So..” Shane starts, my stomach is housing about a hundred butterflies, judging by its incessant flutter. “Your mother is a lawyer?” He asks.

  “I do not want to talk about that- my family or my school,” I say. I do not want to feed him any more lies than I have to.

  “What do you want to talk about?” He asks.

  “We could talk about you,” I say. He chuckles under his breath.

  “What do you want to know about me?” He asks, bending to pick a stone and throwing it out onto the still waters. I listen as the stone plunges into the water. The soft sound it makes is enthralling against the silence we are bathed in. The party noises are muffled from here due to the wind’s direction.

  “Do you have a girlfriend,” I ask suggestively. I know that he does not. He dated Enuka before, but they broke up earlier this year.

  “No,” he tells me, looking away nervously.

  “My turn,” he says. “What did your boyfriend do to make you break up with him?” I’ll have to lie again if I answer that.

  “I do not want to talk about it,” I choose to say. He now turns to look at me, his whole attention centred on my face.

  “What do you want to talk about, Lane?”

  “I told you. You.”

  “Well, we are at an impasse. Because all I want is to talk about you.”

  “An impasse indeed,” I say, bending to take off my shoes. I enjoy the feel of sand against my toes, and when I straighten up again, it is to find him watching me puzzled.

  “Have we met before?” He asks. I panic, and look away.

  Is it my eyes? They are normally a very light brown, but I have won mom’s coloured contact lenses. They are blue tonight. So no, it’s not my eyes. Maybe it’s my hair. But I made it curly, and it is not falling listlessly, hidden under a hoodie, as I normally wear it back at school. Then what makes him think he knows me? There is nothing to link me to Emma. Not even the accent, or the tone of my voice. I barely recognise myself.