by Tony C. Skye
Julianna nods and smiles as practiced, “Thank you both for coming. I look forward to our future relationship together.”
“The pleasure is all ours, Mother,” the prince answers with a slight bow.
To Julianna's surprise, the man speaks rather clear English. She smiles as the two are escorted away by a man wearing a white tuxedo. Two more people are immediately brought up before her. She looks out over the very long line which is quickly forming.
Oh this sucks. I'm going to be here until my next birthday. This isn't a party. It's a funeral procession. And what’s up with this deodorant? My own deodorant hates me. This is awful. Who wants to spend their birthday…
Watch yurself now, da Misses Julianna. Yurself be getting' much stronger now and cannot be projectin' yur thoughts like this. Control, Misses Julianna. Control.
Julianna scans the faces in the distance. She spots the Lady Lanecia standing next to her grams. The voodoo priestess smiles. Ever since the cleansing ritual at the Lady Lanecia's house, Martha and the voodoo woman have been taking turns at teaching Julianna how to control her thought projections. Apparently, Lilith's bloodline and Lady Lanecia's family have been able to do this for a millennium. But not until Julianna came along, has anyone ever been able to thought project outside of the two bloodlines.
It was Frank who first noticed it. He didn't understand what was happening. The poor guy thought he was starting to lose his mind. Then one night, when Julianna had joined them for a family dinner, Frank put it together.
Julianna was staring at a dish of escargot.
‘That's freakin’ disgusting’, Frank heard a thought race through his mind. Only, he loves eating snails. Whenever he asked her if she had just thought how disgusting they were, Martha gasped. And the rest is history. Ever since then, Martha and Lady Lanecia have been torturing her with the word control.
“Eh-hem,” Frank clears his throat. Julianna jerks away from her thoughts. She looks at Frank with blank eyes.
Saudi Arabia, Misses Julianna.
Julianna glances at the voodoo priestess before returning her eyes onto the people standing beside her grandfather.
“Thank you for coming,” Julianna recovers, “I hear Saudi Arabia is a beautiful place. But as I can clearly see, their people are even more beautiful.”
“You are too kind, Mother,” the man speaks, “But it is you who have marveled us with your beauty. We are eager to be here, and it is our great honor.”
You aren’t looking under my arms.
Control.
Julianna smiles as the man is escorted away with the four silent women that came with him. The only part of their bodies Julianna can see is the top side of their faces above their noses. The right corner of her lip lifts slightly.
Just try covering me up like that, buddy. I’ll drown you with my armpits. How could women even put up with that? A knife, yeah a knife sounds about right. I wonder why no one has tried that yet? Maybe I should put on a mask and visit Saudi Arabia.
Lady Lanecia and Martha watch the man shake his head in bewilderment while walking away from the throne.
Misses Julianna. Yurself must be stoppin' dat. Yurself becomin’ louder each time.
The birthday girl smiles against her nerves. She swallows.
Where’s the royal water when a girl needs it? Oh that’s right, under my freakin’ arms.
“How's she doing?”, Martha whispers to her best friend. Unlike her granddaughter and Lady Lanecia, she is unable to project from such a vast distance.
Ugh…How does anyone do this? It’s just not me. Nope.
“I'd be thinkin' dat she is about to become da Misses Julianna,” Lady Lanecia confesses.
“Oh no,” Martha panics, What's she about to do?”
“Dat,” the voodoo woman points her right index finger towards the throne.
Martha looks. Her heart rate increases its rhythmic timing.
“Stop her,” Martha begs her lifelong friend.
“Like at my house, stop her?”, Lady Lanecia reminds Martha.
Julianna stands unexpectedly. Frank stops mid-sentence within his next formal introduction. The crowd's concern for the nervous-looking teen is clearly shown within their expressions.
“I know many of you have traveled a very long way to see me,” Julianna speaks with a shaky tone, “And I want to say, thank you.”
She pauses to regain a little more composure. The ensuing silence from the crowd intensifies the awkward ambient confusion.
“I am very aware of what many of you expect of your Mother,” Julianna continues, “And how you desire for her to carry herself.”
“Oh no. Please don't,” Martha quietly pleas.
“Oh yes, Mrs. Martha. She'd be doin' it,” Lady Lanecia counters.
Julianna grabs at the dress where her breasts are. With both hands, she tugs on it.
“This,” Julianna's tone becomes more certain, “Is not your Mother.”
Julianna releases her dress and points at herself , “I am.”
The birthday girl steps away from her throne, turns, and points at it with her left index finger.
“That is not me,” Julianna informs before turning to face the crowd again.
“I can give you all a lie to believe if you would prefer it that way,” Julianna continues, “And pretend to be something that I'm not.”
She watches the crowd of people shifting nervously.
“Or I can be truthful with all of you.”
“Oh boy,” Martha shakes her head. “Here it comes. We’re ruined.”
“Release it,” Julianna gently instructs the two women holding her dress. They both nod and step away as ordered – secretly thankful for the reprieve. The crowd begins whispering and mumbling among themselves.
“We can spend all day wasting time with these boring and repetitious introductions,” Julianna addresses the crowd of strangers again, “Or we can treat this event like it's my seventeenth birthday and have some fun.”
The murmurs in the crowd silence themselves.
“I would rather meet all of you while enjoying my birthday. That is who I am. I'm not some princess doll who wants to walk on rose petals on her way to sit on a throne.”
Julianna reaches inside her dress and pulls out the Lilith diamond, “This is me.”
She kisses the black jewelry before allowing it to dangle freely around her neck. Julianna bows her head with eyes closed and extends her arms palms outward. She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly.
“Gariatu Estidium Merné,” she speaks loud and clearly. Some of the people in the crowd bow their heads in sync with hers. Others stare watchful of what might come next.
“Ré zé xoré bélohni ait sloishrié,” Julianna announces with a dark and commanding tone. The once sporadic breeze becomes more consistent; yet, it remains gentle in nature. Rose petals scatter from the red carpet onto the green lawn.
“Zéch shrié féi slati aihn xoréé sloié,” the Mother's speech brings with it a heavy presence along the wind's gentle current. People in the crowd begin kneeling – most of whom do not understand her words. But the power wielded by the young woman is highly understood.
“Ré zoéti shrié shriavet trové féch zéch féiééslo yhnslosté.”
The teen's long wavy black hair blows with a sudden wind shear. Voices in the crowd gasp as rose petals begin circulating around her. Martha's eyes water. She glances over to her friend. Lady Lanecia is smiling proudly – a rarity for the dark humble woman.
“Ré zé ait xoré féaislo ait zéch bélohni ait zéch bélohniste,” Julianna speaks while raising her head. She opens her eyes and examines the kneeling crowd. Rose petals descend upon the ground around her.
“Fhcxo ré zé hnrix yhni,” Julianna pauses to lower her hands. The increasing wind dissipates in strength.
“I am Julianna, the Mother of Darkwaters.”
The crowd stands. Nervous eyes glace around at one another. Julianna grins approvingly. Martha cycles through
her granddaughter's speech within her mind. She delights in Julianna's adept knowledge of the language of Lilith.
Lady Lanecia takes hold of Martha's right hand and lifts it up waist high. She pats her friend's hand, “Da Misses Julianna be da Misses Julianna.”
“Yes, she is,” Martha quietly answers.
A beautiful Gothic woman has been standing behind Martha and Lady Lanecia the entire duration of the event. She steps closer to them.
“Excuse me,” the woman with long dark hair softly speaks, “I hope I am not bothering you. But do you know what the Mother said?”
Martha turns and smiles.
“She said, ‘I am the Mother of Darkwaters. My will be done on this day. I alone will welcome you by my blessed hands. I am the blood of my mother of my mothers. But I am not her.’”
“That was intense,” the woman of Goth wonders within her tone.
“She sure is,” Martha agrees.
“Thank you ladies,” the pale woman speaks, “I'm sorry to have bothered you.” She backs up to give the women their space.
“Our Mother is come!”, the crowd chants with a cheer, “Our Mother lives! Our Mother reigns!”
Julianna patiently waits for the whistles and cheers to lower in their volume. She motions for Amelia Daxton. The eager servant walks over and nods her head with reverence. The birthday girl closes the gap between them and whispers in the woman's left ear. Amelia nods with compliance. Julianna turns her back to the woman who expertly unlaces the gown's silky straps.
“What is she doing now?”, Martha panics while feeling this day is going to age her by fifty more years.
Lady Lanecia stays silent with the crowd. They watch while the young woman drops her dress to the ground. Julianna defiantly pulls off her sparkly green three-inch high heels and drops each one onto the dress below her. The barefoot woman walks down the three steps. She approaches the state senator from Louisiana – the same man her grandfather had been attempting to introduce to her before her rebellion.
“Hi,” the young woman speaks while holding out her right hand, “I am Julianna.”
“So I've been told,” the senator answers, “It is so nice to meet you, Julianna.”
The man reads the words on the young woman's black tee-shirt and grins.
“I have a daughter your age. I thought she hated me. But now I'm beginning to think she is just turning into a woman. Independent. Like you.”
Julianna’s left brow lifts slightly. She releases the man's hand.
“This country was born from independence. Was it not, senator?”
The man smiles and nods, “Indeed it was.”
Julianna smiles and turns to find the next person she will greet.
“Could you read it?”, Martha questions while squinting.
“Not with these old eyes, Mrs. Martha” Lady Lanecia confesses.
Overhearing their conversation, the woman of Goth speaks up, “I believe it reads: 'This is my party. Deal with it.'”
“Surely not,” Martha speaks more to Lady Lanecia than to the woman behind her.
“That's one of the coolest things I've ever seen,” the Gothic woman amuses, “I like her.”
Martha turns to say something, but the pale woman is already walking towards the greeting area where her granddaughter is.
“I don't recognize her face from the print out, “Martha fails to recall the woman.
“Dat be because she has come with them,” Lady Lanecia points towards the orchestra set up in the distance.
Martha turns her attention to the stage.
“Is that a guitar?”
The voodoo priestess laughs, “Dat be yur grand baby's vision of an orchestra, no less.”
“Now, I know for a fact that I cleared a check for three-hundred thousand to an orchestra, Lady Lanecia,” Martha defends.
“Yes, Mrs. Martha. Dat be an orchestra up there alright. But it be da type Misses Julianna be thinkin' of. Not da type yurself be thinkin' of.”
“But Frank took care of...”, Martha pauses. Her red brows narrow.
Lady Lanecia grins,“Dat old grandpa be deceitful, Mrs. Martha.”
Martha lets out a sigh of conceding defeat. She nods in agreement with her friend of so many years.
“I give up,” Martha submits to the circumstances of the day, “Julianna is Julianna.”
Lady Lanecia wraps her left arm around her friend’s shoulder. Martha pats the woman's hand caringly. They both watch as Julianna turns around to greet the next person.
“Hi,” the birthday girl automatically holds out her right hand, “I'm Julia...”
“Ha-ha-ha,” the woman standing in front of Julianna laughs, “I was really hoping you'd recognize me. I could see that you were routine-greeting.”
“Ru-what?”, Julianna's voice cracks. She sways slightly. The woman before her grabs hold of her offered hand to help steady her.
“Routine-greeting,” the older woman smiles, “I do it all of the time.”
“Oh,” Julianna speaks without closing her mouth again.
“Love the shirt,” the woman says with a smile. “But the scene back there was even better. The whole wind thing was pretty creepy though. But like to each their own. Right?”
“Uh-huh,” Julianna's mind is unable to form any complete sentence.
Shaking the hand she holds, the woman formally introduces herself.
“I'm Amy.”
“Oh my gawd. I love you,” Julianna panics. She shakes her head, “Wait. No I don't. I mean - yes I do.”
“Ha-ha-ha. Don't worry about it,” Amy dismisses the young woman's incoherent ramblings. “Believe it or not, I've been there myself.”
Amy releases Julianna's hand when she feels the girl's footing regain their confidence.
“Why don't we get this party of yours kicked off?”, Amy declares her intentions.
“Sure,” Julianna answers with blushing cheeks.
“For the record,” Amy confesses, “I wouldn't normally do something like this. But your grandfather can be quite convincing. Like two and a half million is a little hard to turn down with the guarantee of privacy.”
Julianna's eyes widen.
“I wasn't supposed to say anything to you,” Amy admits. “Before I met you, you were like another business deal. But if you want to, maybe we can kick it together later. You never know, we might become friends or something. I like try not to start any of my friendships with secrets or lies.”
“Oh-okay,” the star struck birthday girl stammers.
Amy smiles as she looks at Frank standing behind his granddaughter. The verbal agreement they had together concerning her pay has been upheld by a single nod from the older gentleman. She looks at Julianna before turning to walk towards the stage.
“Don't tell your grams,” Frank interrupts his granddaughter's woozy thoughts.
Julianna turns with an awkward grin. Frank takes hold of both of her shoulders while staring into her emerald green eyes.
“She was among your music when I loaded the cars,” Frank informs, “And for the most part, she's the only one capable of pulling this off. Your grams needed an orchestra and I found one. I looked her up and found that she is a classical pianist – quite impressive actually.”
Julianna steps closer and wraps her arms around her grandfather. She hugs him tightly.
“Thank you.”
Frank places his large right hand on the back of Julianna' head.
“Well now. A grandfather needs at least one special moment with his granddaughter. Happy birthday, Jules.”
“I love you,” Julianna's grip tightens. The orchestra begins playing. Julianna releases her grandfather and looks towards the stage.
“It'll be awhile before she plays the songs you are probably accustomed to,” Frank explains, “Martha's needs her orchestra. It will give me time to dismiss the older guests as well.”
Julianna nods – her eyes unable to look away from the stage.
“Maybe you could help
speed things along by greeting everyone.”
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” Julianna panics.
Frank watches his granddaughter rush towards the closest person in whom she has not met. Her right hand extends outward. Frank smiles with amusement. But it is short-lived. In the distance, he notices a woman with red hair staring at him with narrowed brows.
* * *
Martha waits for the double doors to the library to lock into place as they open inward. Once they click into their niches, Martha steps into the library from the hallway of candelabras. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. A smile of satisfaction crosses over her lips. As far as she is concerned, there is nothing in comparison to the aroma of books to fill a room. And the older they are the better.
Martha makes her way over to the staircase leading down into her granddaughter's area. She descends the stairs. The woman finds Julianna sprawled out on her bed as if she has been warring with her covers all night. Her granddaughter's head hangs off the side of the mattress. Martha's freckly nose flares from a familiar putrid odor. She glances at the trash can strategically positioned below Julianna's head. The older woman walks over to her granddaughter's desk and places a small shot glass filled with the hair of the dog upon its metal surface.
“Stereo on,” Martha commands to the library's computer.
“Steer-e-oh on,” the system reports.
“Load Robby,” Martha orders while turning to look at her poor comatose granddaughter.
“Loh-ding Rah-bee,” the female computer voice confirms.
Martha's left brow lifts slightly.
