“I’ll wear my sweater and a coat,” I said.
She sighed, but showed me where there were mud boots and promised to tell the guards that I was out and about so no one, “Gives you the what-for.” I didn’t know what that was, but I didn’t want it. I stuffed the rain cap she handed me into my pocket and then set out.
It was windy, but I wrapped my scarf around my neck. After a while, with the sun shining, I’d worked up a sweat and I had to stop to take off my jacket.
This land… I’d never seen anything like it. Once I’d gotten out of sight of the house, the trees had disappeared and the land became rocky and brown. As far as I could see were rolling hills. In the summer, it was probably green, but now it was shades of amber and yellow.
I stood, facing the wind and smiled. I live here!
It was the wildest, most beautiful place I’d ever seen. In the distance, I thought I could make out a long rock wall and set out in that direction. I’d expected firm ground, but the farther I went, the spongier the ground became until my feet were sinking into sucking mud. I stood, ankle deep, panting, and seriously reconsidered my decisions.
I’d already slogged this far, why slog back? The ground had to be firmer by the wall. With effort, I dragged my feet out of the mud and made the final trek to the wall. Hidden on the other side was a dirt road, hardly more than a footpath, but with two distinct divots running its length. It seemed like a good path, so veering right, and hoping I’d connect with the road to the house, I took off.
The wind blew steadily, masking even my heavy breathing, so when a car tooted its horn behind me, I jumped straight up in the air.
Rogers slid from behind the wheel of a jeep. “What are you doing out this far?”
“I was exploring,” I said, pushing my hair out of my face. It’d come loose from my braid, and I’d given up fixing it. I pointed in the direction I was headed. “I’m going back to the house now.”
“The house is that way.” He pointed the way he’d come. “You go that way, you’re going to get lost on the moors!”
Get lost on the moors. “That sounds very Brontë-esque.”
“I don’t know much about that,” Rogers said. “But Mrs. Foster is worried about you. And she needs your help. I brought Sophie back early because the band has decided to invite guests. The house is going to be full to the brim, and the girl is getting underfoot.”
“It’s a good thing you found me,” I said. I looked back the way I was going. True enough, I couldn’t make out even the hint of civilization in that direction. “Eventually I’d have found something, right?”
“Did you even bring your phone with you?” he muttered as I strapped myself into the seat. I hadn’t, and he snorted when I didn’t answer. “You could get sucked into a bog and we wouldn’t find your body for a thousand years.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll bring it next time.”
He muttered something that was lost in the wind as he turned the jeep around.
I’d been walking for hours, so it was a little embarrassing when we were back to the house in under fifteen minutes. We were, however, stuck in a line of traffic for ten until Rogers, swearing quietly, put the jeep in four-wheel drive and bypassed the line to pull around to the back of the house.
As soon as I was out of the jeep, the door opened and Sophie ran out. “Jayne! Guess who’s coming?”
“I don’t know,” I answered as I followed her inside. Shrugging out of my coat and dirty boots, I unwrapped my scarf from my neck as the little girl proceeded to name people I’d seen on TV and read about in the news. “And Diego’s bringing Blanca Travis, and she’s going to record with the band, and she’s so beautiful.”
Blanca Travis was a musical icon, but back in my teens, she’d been part of an all-girl British pop band. Her sound had changed, as had her look. She’d gone from a teen who sang about parties and being friends forever to a woman who wrote songs calling out her enemies by name.
“Jayne!” Mrs. Foster called out. “Thank God you’re here. I need you to keep Sophie occupied. She’s underfoot, and I’m afraid I’m going to step on her.”
I took a moment to study the interior. In the few hours I’d been gone, the house had transformed from a quiet retreat to a bustling center of activity. People ran around, carrying food, flowers, and towels. In the main hall, men stood on ladders dusting and screwing in light bulbs that were so bright they nearly blinded me.
“Blanca only likes indoor sunlight,” Mrs. Foster explained. “It’s part of her rider.”
“What’s a rider?” I asked.
“It’s a list of demands that accompany her wherever she travels.”
“I thought those were for concerts?” I said, jumping back when two men carrying a headboard came through the front door and hurried upstairs.
“They’re for everything,” Mrs. Foster explained. “Her PA sent them to me.” Waving toward the kitchen, she sighed. “You should see the meal requirements her photographer sent.”
A sudden memory popped into my brain of my aunt berating one of her cooks for serving her organic red leaf lettuce and not organic green leaf lettuce. “I believe it.”
Another group of men were hauling a mattress upstairs, and Sophie hopped up each step, begging them to carry her upstairs like it was a magic carpet. “Excuse me,” I said to Mrs. Foster and intercepted her before they dropped the mattress on her. “Come on, Soph, we’re going to do a little work.”
She took my hand but whined. “I can’t concentrate, Jayne! Don’t make me do work!”
“Well,” I said, as we got closer to the nursery. “I was thinking, since all these creative people are coming over, maybe you could show me some of your creativity. I remember reading somewhere that you sing and dance?”
Her entire countenance changed and she rushed into the nursery, beelining for an armoire. Flinging it open, half her body disappeared, as she began digging for something. “I have costumes!” she cried. “From when I was with my mom! Let me show you!”
She appeared a second later, tulle covering her face before she dropped the dresses into a pile.
“My mom is a singer,” she said. “And a dancer. She had these feathers… where are they…?” She looked around, tiny hands fisting on her hips before she took off. In seconds, she had stripped, put on her outfit, and found peacock feathers.
Then she proceeded to dance the single-most inappropriate song and dance combo I’d ever seen.
Or heard.
It was in Spanish, so I was hopeful not everyone who heard the words would know what she was saying, but the way she moved was so singularly disturbing, I had to stop her. “Soph, is that your mom’s dance?”
“I saw her do it all the time,” Sophie said. “She used to dance for all her friends who came over, and if I was very quiet, I could stay. And sometimes, before they came over, I got to help her with her make-up and stir her drinks.”
All I could hope was that Sophie didn’t understand the things she saw. “What if we come up with your own dance?” I said. “With your favorite songs?”
She liked that idea. Throwing the feathers in the air, she ran to find the song she wanted. Together, we narrowed it down to her favorite songs from movies. Unlike me, Sophie had natural grace, and once she allowed herself to dance the way she wanted, she’d made a beautiful, and much more age-appropriate, dance. “Do you think I can show this to Blanca?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, after watching her tap dance and pirouette her way through a Disney song. “You could ask Diego.”
“Diego doesn’t like it when I dance, and Klaus yelled.”
“They may feel differently when they see you’ve come up with your own dances,” I told her. I could imagine what they thought if they saw what I had.
“The last time I danced, they sent me away to the school. Even Ten yelled, and he never yells.” She stopped and crossed her arms, looking up at me with teary eyes. “I don’t want to go to school again, Jayne. They w
ere mean.” Spinning around, she stomped to the armoire and took off her tutu, flinging it inside. “I’m never dancing again. I don’t like dancing. It’s stupid.”
My heart hurt for her. Walking over, I sighed. When I was next to her, I knelt on the floor and held out my arms. She threw herself at me, and I wrapped her up. “I’m sorry, Sophie,” I said. “But you are a lovely dancer. Especially when you make up your own dances. But you don’t have to dance anymore if you don’t want to.”
Her tears drenched my blouse, but she sniffed and nodded her head. “Ok.”
“But Soph…” She drew back to look at me. “Soph, if you love dancing. Don’t give it up.” I couldn’t promise she’d never be sent to another boarding school. I didn’t have a crystal ball, and while the guys seemed dedicated to her and her education, I didn’t really know much about them. The history of tutors I’d seen in her file suggested we didn’t last long, so I didn’t want to mislead her.
“What do you love to do?” she asked.
“That’s easy,” I replied. “Teach.” I wiped her face with my thumbs, and she smiled at me. Outside, I heard a peel of laughter. Sophie jumped out of my arms and pressed her face to the window.
“They’re here!” she cried and waved me over.
I slid onto the window seat next to her. Holy shit. When Mrs. Foster said they were bringing people home, she hadn’t been joking. Dozens of people spilled out of Range Rovers and Escalades. Half of them were people who’d received Grammys, and I was pretty certain that was an Oscar-winning actress.
“Let’s go.” Sophie grabbed my hand, tugging me out of the nursery and down the hall. At the top of the stairs, she paused and knelt, indicating I should join her on the ground to peer through the railing. Feeling foolish but curious, I did.
“There she is,” she whispered.
Yep. There was Blanca Travis. Her thin arms draped over Klaus’s neck while she leaned over and whispered into Diego’s ear. Both of them wore dopey grins and then threw their heads back and laughed at whatever she was saying. Tennyson was behind them, and dodged forward when they started to laugh.
Her laugh was like a siren’s call, because there came Lee, totally—and I couldn’t believe I was even thinking the word, but—besotted. I watched as Blanca lapped up their attention, spinning away from Klaus to hang onto Tennyson.
I was the biggest fool.
Her fingers traveled over Tennyson’s nose, lingering on his lips before someone else appeared behind her.
This whole time, this whole time… I’d let the band’s protectiveness and interest in Sophie lull me into this sense that they were just normal people. Dads.
And here was the reminder I needed.
How do you feel about celebrities?
These were rock stars. This was Rochester’s Pathos, and I wasn’t their family. I was just some idiot who forgot for a moment that I was replaceable.
17
Jayne
Everything changed the moment the band’s guests arrived.
I was used to being invisible, so not being noticed was a natural state. But not for Soph. Even with me, and however many other teachers she had, she was used to attention, and she struggled with being relegated to the nursery.
We ate in our room, did our work, and went to bed while all around us people acted like it was Mardis Gras and spring break wrapped into one party. The band stopped in to see Sophie, but they didn’t stay longer than it took to check in and give her a kiss goodnight.
They were friendly but dismissive of me. I fully expected they’d forgotten my name by this point. How could they not when they had so many more interesting people to spend their time with?
It was fine, really. Much more what I was used to.
The guests had been at Fairfax Manor over a week now, and I wondered how much longer they’d stay. As the days went by, and Sophie still hadn’t met her idols, she was becoming more melancholy.
I went down to the kitchen on the evening of our ninth day with houseguests, sidling past groups of celebrities making out in the hall, and in one case, averting my eyes from… I thought he was a soccer player? It was hard to know for sure when all I saw was his ass and profile.
And no one cared!
That was the thing. If it was me, and someone caught me humping in a vestibule, you’d bet I’d cover my bits, but the band’s friends didn’t care.
They just went about their business, and if they saw me, they weren’t embarrassed. More than once I got a wink and an invitation.
I guessed I should be flattered.
In the kitchen, I met five girls sitting at the table while a photographer took their photos. One of them, a beautiful blonde with sun-streaked hair narrowed her dark eyes at me. “Influencers only, help,” she said, causing her friends, and the photographer, to erupt into peals of laughter.
Rather than respond, I got the sandwiches Mrs. Foster had put up for Sophie and me and left. Just as I was about to step upstairs, Tennyson crashed into me. “What are you doing here?” he asked in the same tone he’d conducted my interview in.
“I’m just getting food for Soph and me. I’ll be out of the way in a second.”
“You left her alone?” He crossed his arms, looming over me.
The girls behind me snickered, clearly enjoying my dressing down.
“She was hungry,” I replied.
“Well, we’re having dinner in an hour, so I don’t see why you couldn’t wait.”
We? We were having dinner? “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I thought of the soccer player in the hall and the way these girls looked down their nose at me. I didn’t want my student exposed to their meanness. She might not understand their words, but she’d understand their tone, and it was bound to hurt her feelings.
“How about you let me make the decisions for my daughter?” Tennyson said.
The girls thought that was hilarious because they laughed uproariously before one of them called out, “You have a daughter, Ten? I want to meet her! I love kids!”
“You will, Gig,” he called over my shoulder. He glanced down at me and sighed. “Do I need to be any clearer?”
The entire back of my neck felt like it was on fire I was so embarrassed, and I hated that my pale skin was probably giving me away. Still, he was my boss, so I nodded. “Yes.” It was the suckiest thing in the world to turn around, trudge past the girls who regarded me with equal parts interest and distaste, and put the sandwiches away. It took all my self-control not to elbow Tennyson in the stomach on my way past him, but I didn’t.
He stopped me with a hand on my arm. “I expect you to join us, too, Jayne,” he whispered.
Why in the world would I?
“No, thank you,” I replied.
He stepped back on the stairs until he was taller than me again and leaned forward. “It wasn’t a question, Jaynie. We’ll see you there.”
Since it wasn’t a choice, I clenched my teeth and nodded sharply before stomping upstairs.
“I guess she didn’t like my invitation,” I heard him say as I reached the top of the stairs. The girls laughed and I hurried down the hall, turning the key to let myself into the nursery.
“No sandwiches?” Soph glanced up from her desk where she was drawing a picture of Blanca.
“Tennyson wants you to join them for dinner,” I said. “Isn’t that exciting?”
The little girl was too smart for me and cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes. “You don’t sound excited.”
I swallowed hard and tried to put myself in Sophie’s shoes. From a little girl’s perspective, meeting all these celebrities, people whose music she listened to and whose pictures graced album covers, this would be exciting. The realization made some of my muscles unclench. “It will be fun. Who do you want to sit next to?” I asked.
The question seemed to do the trick and she relaxed. “Blanca. Definitely. I want to give her my picture.” She held up the portrait she’d spent so much time on. “And the guys. I
don’t want to be next to people I don’t know. Will you be there?”
Unfortunately. “Tennyson asked me to come,” I answered.
Putting her book on the table, she drummed her fingers on the wood surface. “I have to figure out what to wear,” she said and jumped up. For the next forty-five minutes, she gave me a fashion show, trying and discarding more outfits than I had in my entire wardrobe.
Finally settled, she had me do her hair before announcing she had to pick out my outfit, too. “You’re going to be disappointed,” I told her as she began rifling through my drawers. “You’ve seen everything I own.”
She opened the closet and examined my two dresses thoughtfully. “This one,” she said, pulling out a simple denim shirtdress. “With those shoes.” She pointed to a pair of leather shoes I had. I wouldn’t have thought to pair the things together, but she was right. It would look cute.
For me.
Clothes in hand, I went into the bathroom to wash my face and change. Soph hadn’t left me much time to get ready, and that was probably a good thing. I didn’t need to moon over myself or stress out unnecessarily about my lack of beauty or fashion sense.
I opened the door, finger combing my hair to find the little girl waiting for me with a brush and a tube of lip gloss. “Diego won’t let me have real makeup, and I figured you don’t have any, but this will help.”
Kneeling on the carpet in front of her, I let her brush and flip my hair to her heart’s content, and then apply the gloss to my lips.
I smacked them like she demonstrated before standing and putting my hand on my hip. “Will I do?”
She smiled. “Yes. You’re prettier than all of them.”
I could have hugged her, and since she was right there and adorable, I did. “Thanks.”
Her voice was muffled as she went on, “Except for Blanca. Blanca’s the prettiest.”
“Fair enough,” I answered, thinking of the girls in the kitchen. And the girl with the soccer player in the hall. I was nowhere near as pretty as they were, and any other day, I probably wouldn’t care, but Tennyson’s words—actually, scratch that—the words I’d heard my entire life describing my looks were ringing in my ears.
Just Jayne Page 8
