Gabrielle

by Lucy Kevin

  “My grandmother said there’s a party I’m supposed to go to.”

  “Holy crap. A party? To pick out a companion?”

  I scowled at her. “You mean owner.”

  She shook her head. “Seriously, I think you should read some of the textbooks for my class. As far as I could tell, the great courtesans were never owned by men. If anything, they owned the men.”

  Before I could tell her she didn’t know what she was talking about, she got this funny look on her face and said, almost hesitantly, “Can I come?”

  My mouth flew open and I jumped to my feet. “No. What’s wrong with you tonight? I’m not even going.”

  “Then maybe I can take your place.”

  I was as angry with her now as I had been with my grandmother. “I came here because I was upset, because I thought you were my best friend, because I thought you would understand how weird and horrible this is.”

  She grabbed my hand and pulled me back down to the step. “Sorry. You’re right. I’m being a really shitty friend. I can’t imagine learning something like this about my mother. It would be totally weird.” But then she shrugged again and said, “But I don’t know, I just can’t help but think that maybe it isn’t all bad. I mean, look at my mom. After my dad died, she got married four more times and none of those have worked out. Honestly, I don’t know if marriage is all that great. At least if you’re a courtesan, then you control the terms of the relationship.”

  She was being absolutely no help at all. I stood up again. “I should go. My grandmother is probably worried about me. I was kind of mad when I left.”

  “Wait a sec.” Missy ran inside and came back out carrying a bag. “These were my textbooks. Maybe later you might want to look at them. You should at least read Gigi by Colette.

  It’s about a girl who comes from a family of courtesans.”

  “You seriously think I want to read a book about my life?”

  I didn’t take the books. How could I? If I took them, it would mean I was giving in, that I’d have to try to have an open mind about something I was not going to change my mind about.

  Ever.

  Fortunately, Missy knew better than to push me, especially when I was perilously close to the edge of losing it. “If you ever want them, at least you know they’re here.”

  As soon as she backed off, suddenly I felt like the coward. Was I seriously worried that reading about courtesans would change whether or not I became one?

  I wasn’t going to become one. It was the twenty-first century. The guys at this courtesan coming-out party my grandmother wanted me to go to were probably a hundred years old. What would it hurt to flip through the books? Maybe, I even thought with a tiny glimmer of hope, what I read would help me reconcile what I had learned about my own mother.

  If, I reminded myself, it was even true. Maybe my grandmother had been mistaken about my mother and father and their relationship.

  I grabbed the books from Missy and was about to leave when I realized I hadn’t told her what I had thought to be the most important thing in my day—possibly my life—before my talk with my grandmother.

  “He kissed me.”

  She looked confused at the quick subject change for a moment. “I seriously cannot keep up with you tonight,” she muttered, and then as realization dawned, “Wait … Dylan? He kissed you?”

  I nodded.

  “And? Was it great?”

  I was glad I could think about something other than the whole courtesan thing for a minute. But at the same time, I almost didn’t want to tell her. In fact, a part of me regretted mentioning it at all. As if talking about it would take away some of the magic. But now that I’d started, I knew she’d never let me get away with saying nothing.

  “It was amazing.”

  She clapped her hands and laughed. “Honestly, at first I didn’t think you were his type.”

  “That’s what he said, too.”

  “But then when I thought about it more, I realized a girl like you is probably exactly what a guy like him needs.”

  “A girl like me?”

  What was with all these people thinking they knew me so well? Sure, Missy was my best friend, but it still sounded like she had me pegged in a certain kind of box with a certain kind of hole on the top.

  “Oh, come on, Gabi, you know exactly what I mean. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing to be all butterflies and sunshine. Just that you definitely are.” She grimaced slightly, clearly remembering my courtesan legacy. “Or were, anyway.”

  “I still am,” I said, even though I had been so desperate to prove Dylan otherwise that afternoon. I sighed.

  “This has been a really confusing day. I’ve got to go.”

  Missy gave me a hug, but just before she pulled away, she said, “Okay, so don’t kill me, but it just occurred to me that if you’re supposed become a courtesan when you turn eighteen, can you even date Dylan? I mean, unless he buys you jewelry or something?”

  “Seriously, Missy, that might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”

  But then she asked the million-dollar question. “Are you going to tell Dylan any of this?”

  “He already knows some of it. Not about me, or that I could be one if I wanted to, just that my grandmother used to be one.”

  Even that had been more than enough to shock him. What would he think if he knew I’d been groomed for the position my whole life?

  She hugged me again. “This must suck for you.”

  “It does.”

  *

  On the walk home I looked up into strangers’ windows. I’d made this trek from Missy’s house to mine countless times over the years, but tonight everything looked different.

  There was an entire world out there that I hadn’t known about. A courtesan/protector underworld in the shadows of New York City. One that my grandmother was obviously still involved in.

  Maybe, I thought as I saw a man and woman embrace behind a window, I wasn’t the only one who knew about this. Before today I would have assumed that the man and woman in the house were, if not husband and wife, at least boyfriend and girlfriend.

  For the first time ever I wondered if maybe, instead, they were a man and his chosen courtesan.

  That sick feeling I’d had in my stomach all night intensified.

  Letting myself into the house, I expected to find my grandmother waiting nervously by the door. Instead, our house was empty and she had left a note on the kitchen counter.

  Please eat. I left dinner for you in the fridge. I am at Marianne’s house. I love you. We will talk more tomorrow.

  Marianne was my grandmother’s best friend. I called her Tante. I wasn’t surprised that my grandmother had gone to talk to her, but at the same time it made me think, did Marianne know about my grandmother’s past? And about my supposed destiny?

  Far more antsy than hungry, I wandered through the house, and the new eyes that I had developed when I was walking home from Missy’s house made me see everything differently even here.

  When had the fabric on the furniture gotten so worn? And that space on the wall where a large painting used to be—what was the reason my grandmother had given me for selling it?

  There were several other things missing throughout the house. A Chinese vase. A crystal sculpture. Several paintings from the den that I rarely went into.

  Suddenly I wondered: How much would the path I took in the future impact my grandmother?

  *

  I was drawn by some sort of magnet to the piano in the corner of our living room.

  Comfort. That’s what the piano was to me. A place to lay my fingers, my fears, my joy. Whatever came, the piano could take it. No matter what I did, no matter what I felt, it would still be there for me.

  I slowly opened the keyboard cover, laying back the glossy black wood. I could see myself in the reflection of the shiny ivory keys, but after sitting in this exact spot so many times before, after seeing that same reflection, the girl looking back at me lo
oked different.

  I wasn’t sure I recognized myself anymore. Not after everything my grandmother had told me about my mother. About my destiny.

  I had a choice to make. I could slam the piano shut and walk away from it.

  Or I could try and face what I was feeling.

  My decision came between heartbeats, my fingers pressing down on the keys, first one, then another, until a complete chord was ringing out into the dark living room.

  I am wondering who I am today

  I’ve been wondering who I am all week

  If I’m wondering who I am all month, all year, is that okay?

  I’d never written a song like this before. I’d never been a particularly confessional person, either in real life or in music. But tonight, I just didn’t have it in me to hold back anymore.

  Because that’s what I suddenly realized I’d been doing my whole life: Holding back.

  That was safer.

  This was scary.

  I hated being scared, hated feeling like that little five-year-old girl whose entire world was falling apart.

  Only, now that the music, now that the words had started coming, I didn’t know how to turn them off.

  I feel like I used to know my dreams

  Now they’re wrapped up in my tears

  And when I hear my voice, it’s not my voice I want to hear When I look for my dreams I find it’s not that clear anymore All I needed to do was lift my fingers up off the keys. All I needed to do was shut my mouth and get up off the piano bench and then I could try and stuff the song away. Far, far away.

  But before I could do any of those things, I made the mistake of looking down at my distraught reflection in the keys.

  I am looking at myself today

  I’ve been looking at myself all week

  If I’m looking at myself all month, all year, is that okay?

  I feel like I used to know my dreams

  I wrapped them up and I held them close to me

  But now they’re escaping me

  What am I doing here?

  What am I doing here?

  What am I doing here?

  The notes slammed out from my fingertips, the words rang out from my lungs.

  But it didn’t help.

  It didn’t help.

  I am wondering who I am today

  I’ve been wondering who I am all week

  If I’m wondering who I am all month, all year, is that okay?

  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1p4hOqs71jk

  http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/wondering/id427761572

  WONDERING by Gabrielle LeGrande / Lucy Kevin © 2011

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I wasn’t surprised when Dylan tracked me down at school the next day. Things between us the previous afternoon had been left on a really weird note.

  If only he knew how much stranger things had gotten from there.

  “Gabi,” he said, “I hope you’re not mad at me.” When I didn’t reply immediately, he added, “You know, for saying those things about your family.”

  Yesterday I hadn’t been mad at him. More stunned—and way out of my element. But by this morning, his question about my mother was just a drop in the bucket.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Forcing a smile, I said, “Where are you headed next?”

  “I’ve got a free period.” He looked sort of nervous. “I was hoping you’d let me take you somewhere. Buy you a hot dog or something.”

  I had calculus next. I liked math, the way numbers always made sense, how there was a clear right and wrong answer every time. I had never skipped a class before. I’d never had a good reason to.

  But when my stomach grumbled at the mention of the hot dog, I suddenly realized I hadn’t had anything to eat since lunch the day before.

  Missing one calculus class wouldn’t kill me. “Sure. I’d like that.”

  “See,” he said as we left the building, “I told you I’d be a bad influence. I’ve already got you skipping classes.”

  I shrugged. “Whatever.”

  That was my new take on life. I was going to let it all wash over me and figure everything out later.

  Much, much later.

  He gave me a funny look. “You are still pissed at me, aren’t you?”

  I wanted to say no, that the way I was feeling had nothing to do with him. I wanted to have him put his arms around me so I could spill out the whole sad story. I wanted him to tell me everything was going to be all right.

  But unlike Missy, whom I had known my whole life, I was just getting to know Dylan.

  And I didn’t want to scare him away.

  “I just have some things on my mind.” Working to shake off my bad mood, I asked, “So had you been to New York before moving here?”

  “Nope. Only California.”

  “Do you like it?”

  He looked around at people rushing around us, at the trash in the gutter, at the tall buildings. “A place like this, you can lose yourself here.”

  “Lose yourself?”

  “Yeah. You can just disappear.”

  I still didn’t get it. I’d lived in the city my whole life and could really only see it one way.

  As home. Now, I looked around me through his eyes.

  And I supposed that if I wanted to get lost, I could probably do it here.

  “So how does your mom like it?”

  “She thinks it’s better than where we were before.”

  On the one hand, I knew he was interested in me. He kept coming to find me, was about to buy me a hot dog. But at the same time, it was so hard to talk to him. To get him to tell me anything about himself.

  Thinking that maybe I hadn’t found the right subject yet, I asked, “When did you first get interested in music?”

  Finally, he smiled. And by the way his shoulders relaxed, it was as if the weight of the world had finally fallen off them.

  “I can’t think of a time when I wasn’t banging on something or trying to play an instrument or singing.”

  I smiled, too. Because I totally got what he was saying. Music had always been like that for me, had been there for me, with me, during the lowest time of my life.

  I found myself telling him, “I was five when my mom died and even though I was really little, I can still remember how bad it felt to know she was never coming back. The only thing that made me feel better, apart from my grandmother, was music.”

  “Music has been there for me during some rough times, too.”

  By now we were standing in front of the hot dog vendor’s cart. “How do you like them?”

  he asked.

  Normally, I didn’t really like them very much. But with Dylan, nothing was normal.

  “With everything.”

  I was glad when he grinned, almost proud of my answer. And I belatedly realized I had wanted to impress him, just as I had in the record store when I’d made sure to steer clear of the pop section and only listen to heavy metal. After all, that’s what he’d liked about me. I wasn’t prepared to see what he thought about the boring pop-music junkie that I was the other ninety-nine percent of the time.

  A couple of minutes later he turned to me, a fully loaded hot dog in each hand. “Let’s walk across the street into the park.”

  We sat down under a leafy tree and ate in silence for a minute. I couldn’t eat much of it—honestly, hot dogs weren’t really my thing.

  He looked over at my half-eaten dog. “You going to finish that?”

  “It’s all yours.” As he scarfed it down, I asked, “So, what are your plans for after graduation?”

  “I guess I’ll see when I get there.”

  It was a really odd way of looking at things for me. My whole life had been mapped out for me since birth. Go to school. Go to college. Get a great job. Get married and have kids.

  Marriage and kids stopped me in my tracks. I felt the blood rush out of my face, was glad I wasn’t holding a hot dog because I would’ve dropped it in my lap.

 
“What’s wrong?”

  I knew I had to tell him something. The question was, how little could I get away with?

  “When I got home last night, my grandmother and I had a really weird talk. About my mother.”

  His eyes narrowed as he stared at me. I waited for him to put two and two together, to realize that his question about my mother being a courtesan must have prompted one of my own.

  Instead, he said, “I get how family stuff can be weird.”

  I got the feeling we were both telling each other as much as we could for right now.

  Which was why I wasn’t going to push him for more information about himself just yet. Now that I was keeping things to myself, too, I knew I had to respect his wishes to do the same.

  “Thanks for the hot dog,” I said. “I guess I should be getting back now.”

  He helped me to my feet, and as we carried our wrappers over to the garbage can, he said,

  “You’re right, skipping one period is long enough. I wouldn’t want to corrupt you too much, too soon.”

  My heart raced at the implications in his words. That there would be more corruption from him, that it would go further than just skipping a class.

  As if to confirm my thoughts, he turned to me and said, “Any chance I could kiss you again?”

  I answered him by going up on my toes, putting my hands on either side of his face and pulling his mouth down to mine.

  Our second kiss was different than the first. I knew the feel of his lips, the way his tongue would slip against mine.

  And it was even better than the first time.

  The only thing that stopped me from pressing myself fully against him was the fact that we were only a block from school and it would be weird if someone we knew saw us.

  Still, he held my hand all the way back, up the stairs and through the front doors. And when he leaned over to quickly kiss me again before we headed off to our classes, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

  Word spreads fast in a small school like mine. And Missy was all over me at lunch. “I heard you missed calculus. And that you came back an hour later kissing Dylan. Is that true?”

  “It’s true.”

  I wanted to run and find him and kiss him again. Because he’d given me something wonderful and delicious to think about—something other than what I’d found out about my mother last night. If I focused hard enough on him, I could almost forget about that party my grandmother wanted me to go to.