The Promise Girls

by Marie Bostwick

  And it did. Even in the cadenzas, the more animated, passionate, and technically challenging sections, she played flawlessly, simply letting go, like a rider letting loose the reins and giving a horse its head. The music filled every part of her, flooding into her empty spaces, salving the aches she had ignored for so long that aching had begun to feel like her natural state. It was not.

  She was not meant to live simply to endure, but to thrive, to create, and in doing so reflect the glory of creation itself, and the Creator who had fashioned her for this purpose.

  Before Joanie touched her fingers to the keys she’d forgotten this essential truth, this tenet that defined her. By the time the final notes faded from her hearing, she remembered. She knew. So did everyone else.

  Joanie wilted at the keyboard, drained. Her shoulders drooped and her head dropped forward, chin to her chest, and her breath came in shallow gasps, as if she’d reached the end of a race and the limits of her stamina.

  Mrs. Levitt’s hand went to her mouth.

  “Oh . . . I didn’t know. Forgive my chattering, I had no idea. No idea,” she murmured to the back of Joanie’s bowed head. She turned toward Meg. “She’s like you, an artist, a true artist. Are you all like this? The whole family?”

  Meg smiled at the woman.

  “We are,” she said, coming up behind her sister, bowing her body over Joanie’s curved back, sheltering her, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. She lowered her head and whispered in Joanie’s ear.

  “We are. But sometimes the hardest part to play is yourself.”

  Chapter 41

  The crew call for Avery’s commercial shoot was set for eight o’clock that morning. Hal set his alarm a half hour earlier than usual to give himself plenty of time to get down to the pier and set up his equipment. When his cell phone rang exactly at seven, Hal didn’t even look at the screen. Only one person could be calling him this early.

  “Lynn, could you possibly wait until after I’ve had my first cup of coffee before you call and tell me I’m going broke?”

  “Don’t be so snippy. I’m not calling about bills. This is important. Is your computer on? I just sent you an e-mail.”

  “Hang on.” He sat down at his desk and clicked on his in-box. While it was loading, he said, “This isn’t going to take long, is it? I’ve got to be out of here in fifteen minutes.”

  “Just give me five. Trust me, you want to see this.”

  “Well, what is it?” he asked, frowning at the laptop screen. “The computer must need coffee too. This is taking forever.”

  “All right. Remember the pictures you sent me? The ones from Joanie’s attic? I was looking through them and noticed something interesting about Joanie’s newborn picture, the one in Minerva’s hospital bed. Minerva is wearing a white bracelet in the picture, one of those identification wristbands.

  “I wanted to see what it said, but the print was too tiny. I tried scanning the picture into my computer, then zooming in and enlarging that one spot, but it was so blurry I couldn’t read it. Not surprising since the picture was taken in the pre-digital era. The resolution of older pictures is a lot lower than for modern photos, so if you try to blow them up it just makes for a larger, blurry image.”

  Hal glanced at the clock in the corner of his computer screen. “Hey, Inspector Gadget, is there a point to this story? I’m supposed to be at the pier in forty-five minutes.”

  “Hang on. I’m getting to it. Anyway, I did a little research and found this software that can enlarge any kind of photo, even older, low-resolution prints, and still make them look clear. It’s actually pretty cool. The program eliminates the relationship between pixels and resolution and an algorithm turns it into a mathematically encoded image.”

  “Lynn. I’m growing old here.”

  “Fine. As a former math guy I thought you’d be interested. Anyway, the software basically gets rid of the pixels and then uses fractal technology to intuit what the image should look like. So even if you are isolating one tiny section of it, like a hospital ID bracelet, you can see it.”

  “Hold on. The computer’s finally working.”

  Hal clicked on Lynn’s e-mail message, subject line: “I’m so good you should give me a raise,” and then on the attachment. Immediately, a fairly sharp photo of a woman’s wrist, encircled by a band of white, appeared on the screen. The print on the band was surprisingly clear and read:

  Northside Hospital, Atlanta, GA

  Melanie Anne Weldon

  12/22/1978

  “Whoa,” Hal murmured, leaning closer to the computer screen. “So this isn’t Joanie’s baby picture and your source was right. Minerva had another child in Atlanta, before Joanie was born. Which means there’s a fourth Promise sister.”

  “No, there’s not,” Lynn corrected. “Do the math. The first test tube baby was born in the UK in July of 1978. According to Minerva, she went to England shortly after because she wanted to have a baby using the new IVF technology and it wasn’t yet available in the States; also because part of her plan to raise a baby artist was to expose them to fine art and European culture from an early age.

  “But that had to be a lie. She can’t have given birth to one child in Georgia in December, then go to England, enter an IVF program, and give birth to Joanie in August of ’79. That’s only eight months. Even if she flew to Europe the next day, there’s no way she gets enrolled in an IVF program, has a successful procedure, and punches out a baby eight months later. There is no fourth sibling, Hal.

  “Joanie told you that was her baby picture and it’s true. But everything else about it is a lie.”

  * * *

  “Coffee?” Evan, the director for the restaurant commercial, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, handed a cup to Hal. The two men stood leaning against a wall drinking coffee while the production crew set up lights and uncoiled cables.

  Hal was grateful for the coffee. He’d spent so much time on the phone, arguing with Lynn about their next move, that he hadn’t had time for breakfast. He had to confront Minerva; on that they were in agreement. Hopefully, the photo would convince her to finally come clean about her past.

  “Hit her with it when she least expects it and in a public setting,” Lynn said. “She’ll be so flustered she won’t have time to think. If you show her your hand, you’re only giving her an opportunity to invent new lies. You can’t afford to let that happen. This story is gold, Hal. And right now, you need all the gold you can get.”

  He understood what Lynn meant, but what she was suggesting didn’t sit right with him. It felt a lot more like tabloid journalism than making a documentary. Who did she think he was anyway—Geraldo? Ambushing Minerva at the shoot was out; he wouldn’t spoil Avery’s big day. Doing it at the dinner wouldn’t be quite as bad, but still . . . Minerva wouldn’t be the only one getting ambushed. What about the rest of the family? What about Joanie?

  “You know,” Evan said after a moment, “I scheduled an early call because the pier is always loaded with tourists this time of year and I didn’t want a bunch of gawkers hanging around, making noise. But Avery invited enough friends and family on set that I don’t know why I bothered.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean you,” he added quickly, clarifying his comments as if he’d just realized how they might sound to Hal. “I just meant the rest of them—the kid, the sisters, and now the mother. But how could I say no? I mean, you’ve been filming her for weeks now, right? Is she hot or what?”

  Evan ducked his head to take another slurp of coffee. Hal shot him a look and was about to say something, but reminded himself that: (a) he wasn’t Avery’s father, uncle, or big brother, and therefore wasn’t in charge of defending her honor; (b) when he was twenty-five he’d have said the exact same thing; and (c) Evan didn’t seem like a bad guy.

  “Anyway,” Evan continued, “I was pretty pumped when Avery said you wanted to come. I mean, I’ve seen your work. I was at Sundance a couple of years ago and managed to score a ticket fo
r Spells the End. Loved it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Seriously, man. Great stuff.” Evan scratched his beard, shuffled his feet. “Listen, about today, if you have any suggestions or anything—I know this is just a local commercial, but it’s only my third directing job.”

  “Nothing wrong with shooting commercials,” Hal said. “That’s where I started. You learn a lot, figuring out how to tell a story in sixty seconds.”

  “Yeah, I’m trying to get some experience here and then move to LA in a couple of years. Say, if you know anybody down there . . .”

  “Sure,” said Hal, reaching into his back pocket for a business card. “Shoot me an e-mail before you go and I’ll give you some names.”

  “Thanks! Appreciate that.”

  Evan put the card in his own pocket. Someone folded back the flap of the tent where the cast was getting into costumes and makeup. Avery, sitting in a wheelchair, dressed in her mermaid tail and a pushup bikini top that made her breasts look like two mounds of rising bread dough, was wheeled through the opening by one of the costume people.

  “Looks like we’re ready to roll,” Evan said, grinning as the crewmember wheeled Avery toward them. “How you doing, sweetheart? Ready to shoot this thing?”

  Evan bent down, ready to kiss her on the cheek. Avery, fully in character as well as costume and makeup, froze him with a look.

  “Oh, I really wouldn’t if I were you, sailor. It’s not safe.”

  Before the young director could respond, the costume mistress jerked her head toward the tent. “The pirates were getting into a fight over her so I brought her outside. I think you’d better get in there. They brought their own wardrobe. A couple of them are carrying real daggers.”

  “Crap.” Evan let out a disgusted sigh and followed the costume mistress to the tent, mumbling something about keelhauling.

  Hal looked down at Avery and frowned.

  “What happened to your shell top?”

  “A last-minute wardrobe alteration. The director’s idea.”

  She cast a dangerous glare toward Evan, who had entered the tent and could be heard yelling, “Put that away! I’m serious! You pirates have got to start getting along!”

  Avery sniffed. “If they knew how to get along they wouldn’t be pirates, would they?”

  Hal took off his denim jacket. “Here. Put this on.”

  “Your gallantry is appreciated, Captain, but I’m not cold.”

  “No, I know. You’re hot. So put this on before I have to fistfight somebody.”

  He draped the jacket over her, tucking it up to her chin, and looked toward the far end of the pier. Joanie, Meg, Minerva, and Trina were walking toward them. A moment later, Lilly Margolis, dressed in the mermaid tail that Avery made for her, came around the corner as well, her wheelchair pushed by her mother.

  “Your public has arrived,” he said to Avery, then hefted his camera onto his shoulder and dropped back quietly, doing what he did so well, blending in, being wallpaper.

  He filmed them all: Joanie and Meg kissing their sister on the cheek and wishing her luck; Trina, who was interested in the camera setup; and Minerva, who clucked and gushed over her daughter like a proud mother hen.

  It was the first time Hal ever had a chance to film the whole family at the same time, Minerva as well as her daughters, and he was trying his best to keep them all in the frame. But he also worked on getting some close-ups of Minerva, not sure when he might have another opportunity. It was hard to keep his mind focused on getting the shots, knowing what he knew about her, and also what he didn’t know. Was Lynn right? Should he just shout out what he knew in front of everybody and let her twist in the wind while the camera rolled?

  He captured a close-up conversation between Lilly and Avery. It was great stuff. As the girl wheeled closer, Avery pushed Hal’s jacket away, resplendent in all her mermaid finery, and beamed at her little protégé, admiring her beautiful tail, the glitter in her hair.

  “We’re sisters now,” Avery told the little one. “Daughters of Poseidon.”

  Lilly beamed a smile, displaying a gap left by a recently lost tooth. What a doll. No matter what, this moment had to stay in the film.

  A disgruntled Evan came out of the wardrobe tent tailed by a band of six pirates, two of whom were still glaring at each other. “Okay,” he shouted, clapping his hands, “let’s get rolling, people. Avery, you ready? Your guests need to find a place to stand that’s out of the way. I don’t have time to deal with civilians tripping over cables or getting into the shot.”

  Before Avery could respond, Minerva approached the director and flashed her most charming smile. “Thank you so much for letting us watch. It’s such an impressive setup, like something out of a movie. Four cameras! We certainly don’t want to be in the way. Would it be all right if we stood over there? Near the tent?”

  “Sure,” Evan replied, his tone somewhat more conciliatory. “That’d be fine. There’s some coffee over there, if you want to get a cup before we start. But once we’re rolling, no one can move or talk. Not even whisper. Understand?”

  Avery sat up a little higher and pulled her shoulders back just slightly. “Oh, Captain. Can I ask you a favor?”

  Watching her through the camera lens, Hal smiled to himself. She was Minerva’s daughter all right. Evan didn’t know it yet, but he was about to say yes to whatever Avery asked.

  “My sister mermaid is onshore for a visit,” she said, motioning toward Lilly. Would it be possible to find a spot for her closer to the action? It’s so hard to see sitting in a chair.”

  Avery smiled sweetly. Evan smiled at her, then at Lilly.

  “C’mon, kid. I’ll find you and your mom a front-row seat.”

  * * *

  The premise of the commercial was that the pirates, sick of hardtack and grog, were trying to catch some fish for their dinner. Using a rope and pulley system, they hauled a huge net up over the side of their boat and, to their delight and amid much cheering and jeering, discovered that their catch included a winsome, buxom mermaid—Avery. The final shot would show the ship’s captain, sporting a lobster bib, enjoying a dinner served by the lovely mermaid, who stroked his hair while feeding him bits of butter-dipped lobster as an off-camera voice said, “Salty Dog Seafood. The freshest, best-tasting, best-looking seafood in Seattle.”

  It was a painfully simple plot. Also somewhat nonsensical. Presumably the audience wouldn’t notice that the pirates were fishing with a cargo net that had holes big enough to allow the escape of a fifteen-pound salmon. And probably they wouldn’t. They’d be too busy looking at Avery. No matter the commodity, from seafood to sealing wax, sex sells.

  But though the plot was simple, the filming was not. There were technical difficulties, first with the net—the pulleys got stuck—and then with one of the microphones, which somehow fell from the boom and nearly ended up in the water. Then there were problems with the talent. The pirate captain had only one line—

  “Stand away, ye lubbers! I saw her first!”—but kept flubbing it, saying “lovers” instead of “lubbers.”

  Hal, still holding the camera, was beginning to think they might lose the light—and possibly the audience—before they got a decent take. The adults were still paying attention, but the kids were getting bored. Trina was sitting cross-legged on the ground with her chin in her hand, staring at her phone. Lilly, her wheelchair parked behind the camera and near the edge of the pier where she had a good view of Avery, was fidgety and restless, fiddling with the scales on her mermaid tail.

  On the eleventh take, it looked like they were finally going to get it. When the pirates hauled the net to its highest point, leaving Avery suspended over the water, the pirate captain said his line perfectly, only to be interrupted by a loud splash and then the sound of screaming.

  Hal instinctively turned the camera toward the sound. He saw an empty wheelchair and Mrs. Margolis, screaming hysterically in a mixture of English and Spanish. Lilly’s disappearance int
o the cold waters of the Elliott Bay was so sudden and unexpected that it took a few seconds for everyone, including Hal, to grasp what had happened. But those seconds felt more like minutes. Every word and movement that followed seemed like a separate image and action, freeze-framed stills flipping one to the next, like a movie in an old-fashioned nickelodeon.

  There was shouting, screeches of horror and calls for 911, mixed with the anguished mother’s cries. Men shouting and calling out, “Can you see her? Can you see her?”

  Hal, still carrying his camera, ran toward the edge of the pier, kicking off his shoes along the way, prepared to go in after Lilly.

  From high above the water, a silver turquoise flash of color flew through the air. Avery, arms extended like an arrow point above her head, dove backward from the cargo net, pierced the murky skin of the water, and disappeared beneath the silver black surface.

  There were more shouts, more cries from Mrs. Margolis, and then silence as anxious eyes and Hal’s camera focused on the surface of the water. Once again, the passage of time was brief, but it felt like an eon. The ripples left in Avery’s wake faded to flat calm. Hal kicked off his second shoe.

  Just as he was about to lift the camera from his shoulder and dive in, Avery burst forth from the black, springing to the surface like a porpoise at play with Lilly in her arms. There were more shouts, triumphant ones this time, and cheers from the pirates. Avery swam for the pier, using one arm to hold the child and one to swim, relying on the undulating movements of the turquoise tail to propel them both to the pier and the dozens of arms reaching down to raise them to safety.

  The EMTs arrived on the scene shortly after Avery resurfaced, checked out both mermaids, and said they were fine.

  “I held my breath a long time,” Lilly announced. “Mermaids are good at that.”