“If you were to bear my grandchildren, darling, I promise you, you would never, ever want for anything again until the day you die, which I’m sure we could even extend if need be . . . you’d be amazed at the things the Von der Klaasen wealth could afford you.” Just as she thought the girl was beginning to consider her generous offer, Gabriel came walking back out to the patio and Veronica, whose eyes were still trained on the girl’s face, witnessed the young thing’s psyched, enamored expression and gave up immediately. Oh well, Veronica thought, she’s a bit pale anyway. She had been hoping to liven up the gene pool a bit by throwing it a racial curve ball that might hope to dominate the freckles. She had heard that the Johnsons might be bringing their South American au pair to the party that evening. She made a mental note to accost Consuela then.
Half an hour later, Demetra returned to the patio proudly brandishing Reginald’s Rolex. Reginald, now watchless and wearing the sullen expression of a poor sportsman, followed. “Reggie!” exclaimed Gabriel, “Looks like Meaty disgraced you with the Bocce balls once again . . . I told you never to bet your Rolexes, she’s a shark!” he said as he uncorked a bottle of wine.
“I assure you, it’s fine, I have dozens,” said Reginald as he glanced slyly at the mermaid, hoping she heard his bragging. “And it’s ‘Reginald’,” said Reginald. “Not ‘Reggie’.”
“My bad,” said Gabriel with mock prudence. When the cork was out, he poured three glasses of wine and passed one to the mermaid, who took the glass in both hands and breathed the scent in. He offered the second one to Reginald but was met with a sneer and the wine was dismissed with a sweeping hand gesture. “Mom, did you pack the Lagavulin 18 like I told you to?”
Veronica replied that she had and that it was in the car. “Oh great,” he replied. “It’s probably piss-warm by now . . . way to drop the ball!” He sniveled at her seethingly but she just rolled her eyes and went back to her conversation with Lucia. “Real men drink scotch,” he said to Gabriel as he stood up to go retrieve the bottle from the Hummer. Gabriel took a sip of his wine and turned to the girl he found that morning to see how she would react to the taste of the wine. She took a sip and didn’t love the Chardonnay’s bitter taste, but kept sipping happily not because she was growing used to it, but because she loved that she was drinking the same thing he was, from the very same bottle. A few moments later, Demetra came outside and climbed right up onto her big brother’s lap, which made the mermaid suddenly envious. Of course, it dissipated quickly when she remembered it was just his baby sister, who was in no way a threat to her ultimate happiness.
“And there is the girl who stole my heart and my watch,” said Reginald as he re-emerged with his Lagavulin gift box in hand. “It’s okay, I’ll win it back next time. Or I’ll just wait ‘til you’re eighteen and marry you so it’ll become our communal property . . .”
Demetra giggled innocently as a baby but replied sharp as a tack. “Reginald, by the time I’m even old enough that the creepy things you say cease to make you sound like a total molestor, I sincerely hope you’ll have taken a victim, er, bride by then.” Everyone laughed except his mother, who pretended not to be listening.
Reginald’s orange neander-brow lowered as he addressed her brash comment. “For your information, Lizzie McGuire, I have beautiful women jockeying for pole position as we speak! I’m just taking my time deciding which, if either, is worthy of the Von der Klaasen name.”
Demetra giggled even harder, for she found almost everything he ever said to be infectiously funny in its fatheaded pomposity, for Reginald was like a caricature of himself. “First of all, you can’t marry someone that’s made in CGI,” she chirped. “Secondly, and I mean no offense, but maybe it’s time you gave yourself and your ‘Von der Klaasen name’ a break. I mean, I know it sounds cool and Dutch and stuff but your dad won the lottery; that doesn’t make you a duke.”
Reginald’s face went bright red as he sneered at her as well. He, like his mother, couldn’t stand being mocked by his juniors. “I’ll have you know these ladies I’m speaking of are bright, athletic olympians who competed in the last winter games. One is a crosscountry skiing sensation from Mongolia, the other, a slalom goddess from Liechtenstein!” He had a way of making his nasal voice boom at the end of sentences whenever he was angry. Fumbling awkwardly and unskillfully, he cracked open the gift box and poured six fingers of the warm scotch into the promo glass it came with.
Demetra watched Reginald as he poured, spilling on his hand as he tipped the bottle back up. “Is this for real, or is it like the time you tried to tell us the concept for The Matrix was all your idea, stolen from your diary while you napped on the airplane?” she spoke dryly and her question irked him, but Reginald just ignored her. He picked up his scotch, stirred it with his middle finger then took a sip, trying hard to hide the face he was making in order to appear to be enjoying it. He didn’t like scotch; he liked Shirley Temples. But no one was ever to know that. He offered his glass to Gabriel.
“No, no buddy; it’s all you,” replied Gabriel. “Can I get you some ice?”
“Hmpf,” muttered Reginald. “Real men drink scotch.”
Within an hour, the patio was filled with people toasting, laughing and eating from iced seafood towers, cheese platters and fondue pots. When it came to throwing parties, one could always count on the O’Faolains to put out an impressive spread. All of their neighbors and friends were present, young mingling with old, just about everyone indulging in moderate to heavy drinking. Gabriel was with some friends by the bar when he noticed Mr. and Mrs. Behrensen walk into the party. He didn’t see Arabella with them but knew that she would most definitely be there if they were. He sighed. A freak storm helped him dodge the bullet last time, but what would save him this time? He ducked a bit and looked around, hoping to avoid her as long as he could when suddenly, he heard a familiar voice over the loudspeakers.
“Good evening, Tofino!” said Arabella as the party guests cheered and stepped back so that she and her two back-up dancers would have room. “Last year at Gabriel’s birthday,” she said in her sexiest pop star voice, “a late-summer storm put the party on hold and I never got to give him his present.” She made a pouty face, and everyone, reflexively, went awwwww. “Well it’s a beautiful night out, and I have his present right here with me so happy belated, Gabriel!” Everyone cheered again, and with that, she put the microphone on its stand and signaled for the lights to lower before she began her song:
It was you I hunted, and it was you I claimed . . . I’ve kept you in my cross-hairs, and I’ve been practicing my aim . . . As she sang, everyone froze where they stood. Her song and her voice were, surprisingly, stirring; it was a sweet lament about the exquisite pain of unrequited love. It gave everyone unexpected goose bumps, for it was a drastic change from the upbeat pop tunes she was famous for. The shift in her style surprised no one more than Gabriel, who, upon hearing her croon with such depth and feeling, decided that perhaps he had been wrong about her. The buzz was that she had been training rigorously with a top-tier vocal coach to take her career in a new direction, and even though she had very much enjoyed her time at the top of the charts, she longed deeply to be taken more seriously as an artist. Mostly, Arabella wanted to be taken more seriously by Gabriel.
Her plan was working; she was delivering her song beautifully, and had the whole party entranced. Gabriel watched her with eyes that told of awe and wonderment, for she sounded as sweet as a siren and he was only noticing now even though she had spent so many years trying desperately to get his attention. Maybe it was the low glow of the patio lanterns, or the gentle melody of the song she was sharing but Arabella looked more beautiful to him than ever before. It filled the mermaid with deep sorrow to be standing next to him as he watched her, for she knew that she herself had once sung far more beautifully. If only he knew that she had given her voice away forever, just to be there at his side while he delighted in the song of another.
Just then, the merma
id looked down to notice a couple of little crabs crawling around the floor at her feet. They stopped for a moment right in front of her and seemed to look right up at her until they both took off in straight lines towards the performers. As Arabella began to dance the routine she had been rehearsing for months, her two dancers held their positions a pace behind and on either side of her, swaying gracefully to the music. All of a sudden, just as they were preparing to all spin in unison, the dancer to Arabella’s left spotted the crabs down at her feet and, thrown off balance, rolled her ankle and fell down hard, smashing her hip. The whole crowd gasped as the dancer hit the floor and the crabs quickly scurried away but in that strange and unexpected instant, the little mermaid felt her body being taken over from the tops of her fingers to the tips of her toes. Almost involuntarily, she raised her arms in the air and lifted herself up on her new toes and over to the show to fall perfectly in line with the dance choreography. The fallen dancer sat on the floor gripping her sore ankle, and stared up in disbelief at the girl who was so quick to take her place. The little mermaid followed the steps as if she knew them by heart, and as she swayed, her eyes spoke more deeply to the heart than any girl’s pretty song ever could. Arabella and the dancers had shoes on but the little mermaid’s feet were bare, and as she rose to her tiptoes, she seemed to glide upon them weightlessly and effortlessly, looking lovelier with every step.
Arabella continued to sing her song, confused about how this girl knew all her moves but glad her performance didn’t have to miss a beat. Soon, though, she began to fill with anger and jealousy as she watched Gabriel, her target audience, clap and cheer and stare in amazement at the little mute girl instead of her.
Everyone was captivated, and the little mermaid who was so new upon her feet felt absolute exhilaration as her body floated to the music as if it knew every note intimately. Every movement of hers was so perfect, she looked as natural dancing this complicated routine as she did simply walking. Gabriel’s smile was now exclusively for her, and she relished the feeling like it was the only bit of joy there would ever be. She promised herself then and there that she would always be the one winning in his smiles.
When the song was over, Gabriel gave Arabella a quick hug and thanked her for the song, then turned to the little mermaid and hoisted her in the air like she was the pride of his life. He told her she was amazing, and that he had never seen a person move so beautifully in all his life. She soaked his praise up, and had never felt so happy. He told her he had something to give her, then put his arm around her shoulder and walked with her towards the house, so excited about the little dancer that he completely forgot that it had been Arabella who had put on the performance for him in the first place. It was all very wonderful for the mermaid, but it did not sit well with Arabella.
After a few seconds of gaping at her microphone, dumbfounded, the salt in her fresh wound began to sting fiercely and she was unable to maintain her composure any longer. She grabbed the wrist of the fallen dancer and dragged her swiftly over to Gabriel and the mermaid just as they were about to step inside. She shouted at them dramatically, “What the eff? She pushed my dancer!”
Gabriel rolled his eyes, for it was an outrageous accusation. “Arabella, that’s not true and you know it. We all saw it happen; she didn’t push her at all. You should be glad she saved the show!”
“STOLE the show!” whined Arabella indignantly. She hated herself for how petty she was being in front of all those people but she was a falling woman reaching for a branch. “She stole my show and my choreography! You should throw her out of this party!”
Gabriel smiled and attempted to calm her down by resting his hand on her shoulder. “There’s no need to be dramatic, Arabella,” he said. “She didn’t mean any harm. And she’s really sorry for stealing your thunder, aren’t you?” he asked, turning to the mermaid and nudging her. Baring all her pearly teeth with a huge felicitous smile, the mermaid nodded “yes.”
“So there you have it,” he said. “Great new track though, Arabella. Seriously, you’ll be able to shake off that cheesy pop persona in no time with tracks like that! Good work, buddy.” He patted her on the back and with his unintentionally backhanded compliment still lingering in the air, he went inside with his tiny dancer, having finally shaken Arabella loose and now free to enjoy the party without her eyes on him everywhere he went. As they walked up the stairs to Dagmara’s old room, they heard the Behrensen’s SUV limo screech out of the driveway and knock down a cast iron flower urn. Unless she was coming back to torch the place, she wasn’t going to come back and that was a great comfort to him. He turned to his little mermaid and said, “You might possibly be the greatest thing I’ve ever found on that beach! You must never, ever leave me.” He uttered the sweet words so casually as they walked together down the hall, having no idea whatsoever that that was already her plan, and it had been all she thought about since long before she knew he’d return her feelings. I would never leave you, she seemed to say with her piercing blue eyes.
The party was a great success and saw the wines and liquors flowing until the very end. From every huddle and corner could be heard riotous belly laughs and warm acclamations for the O’Faolains, who were famous for their memorable fetes and soirees. (They were now also famous for Gabriel’s infamous birthday shipwreck, but that wasn’t enough to deter their friends. In fact, since everyone from his birthday had survived and were already laughing about the shared near-death experience, it had made invites to the family’s jams that much more coveted.) After the last party guests had cleared out, the family and their mermaid sank into their patio chairs, finishing off their drinks and winding down.
“Well!” started Lucia, exhausted but hyper from the rush. “You sure made a splash tonight, didn’t you, little mystery lady! I think the Behrensen limo took down my peonies on their way out . . .”
“Yeah!” exclaimed Demetra. “Where did you learn to dance like that?”
“Remember, Meaty,” said Ava, “It’s pointless to ask her any questions that can’t be answered with a nod or a head shake.” The mermaid, cool and unfazed, just smiled and shrugged her shoulders. She was almost glad to be dumb in this situation because she wouldn’t have wanted to lie to them, but she also didn’t have an answer they’d understand or even believe.
“People kept asking what your name is tonight,” said Gabriel to his little friend. “It was weird having to say I didn’t know. So I was thinking . . . I know you can’t tell us what your real name is, but if it’s alright with you, maybe we can come up with something to call you in the meantime. I mean, we have to call you something, right?!”
The little mermaid smiled and nodded, even though she wasn’t sure she agreed. She was never given a name, just a number and a superlative: the sixth born princess, the littlest. It did, however, seem a novel idea to her that a person be given a name not based on rank, but simply because of the way it sounded rolling off the tongue.
“Should we just call out names and judge your liking based on facial expression?” he asked. She nodded happily -- it sounded like fun. “How about ‘Kelsey’; that’s a hot girl name!” offered Gabriel. The mermaid pondered it.
“Pass. Conjures up images of Kelsey Grammer and his giant kneecap of a forehead.” said Ava. “We wouldn’t want to invite the comparison,” she added coolly. The mermaid arranged her fringe to obscure the top half of her face.
Gabriel thought for a moment. “How about ‘Katrina’? That’s pretty!” he said. The mermaid smiled then looked to Ava.
“Pass,” she said. “Makes me think of hurricanes, and also of strippers. Next.”
“Well then how about Chloe? She kind of looks like a Chloe,” said Gabriel.
“French hooker,” said Ava. “Next.”
“How many sex industry workers are you personally acquainted with?” he jocosely asked.
“I’m just trying to make sure we don’t give our mute squatter an intolerable whore name, that’s all,” she snapped back.
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Cliff piped up. “Well, I had hoped to name one of my daughters Gertrude Gladys, after my two aunties,” he said. “But that’s already been vetoed three times in this family, I don’t know why I bother suggesting it now . . .”
Lucia patted her husband on the back patronizingly. “Neither do I, darling. Neither do I.”
“How about Anne?” offered Gabriel. “It’s simple, not whorish, but pretty.”
“I always thought if I had another daughter, I’d call her Octavia,” suggested Lucia.
“That’s really pretty, Mom,” said Demetra. “But I think we should call her Ariel.”
Gabriel laughed out loud. “Ariel?” he asked. “Like that Disney mermaid?”
Ava rolled her eyes at the suggestion. “Pass-- cheesy and juvenile.”
“Ava, are you actually going to contribute anything or are you just going to sit there and rip on our suggestions?” asked Gabriel, tiring of her negative comments.
“I don’t actually care what we do with her, but I’ll be damned if I don’t make sure we’re at least calling her by something decent while she’s freeloading in our home.”
“Hear me out before you dismiss me,” demanded Demetra in the most polite way possible. She stood up to speak. “Check it out: she’s given us nothing to go on regarding her origins, can’t speak or write any languages but can somehow understand everything we say. Look at that necklace and her impossibly long, pearl-woven siren hair! AND let’s not forget, Gabriel found her naked out on the beach, just as the prince so famously does in the fairy tale.” She knew she had made her point. “Ariel, I think,” she said triumphantly, and sat back down. Gabriel couldn’t argue, neither could Lucia. Cliff glanced at the girl they were taking the liberty of naming, and felt himself getting a little emotional. “It’s remarkable how much the young lady looks like our Dagmara.” Everyone turned to look at her.
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