03 The Fate Of The Muse - Marina's Tales

by Derrolyn Anderson

  Cruz ran his fingers through his hair, fixing his bangs across his forehead, “You have no idea how hard it is keeping such a big secret about yourself.” When our eyes met, his widened, and he smiled sheepishly, “Uhm, never mind!”

  I nodded sardonically. My secret was a whole lot darker than Cruz’s ever was, and he didn’t even know the half of it.

  The three of us drank a pot of coffee together, all sharing the sense that our lives were about to change forever. Shayla rummaged in the fridge and made us her favorite breakfast, introducing us to toast with peanut butter, bananas and honey. Cruz told us more about Brad, gushing about how smart he was, how rich and sophisticated. He confessed that he was a little intimidated by him.

  “I mean, he grew up in mansions,” he said, wide eyed, “He showed me his dad’s giant beach house and everything.”

  I exhaled in exasperation, “I hope that you know he’s no better than anyone else just because his father has money.”

  Cruz sighed, “He’s so perfect, I can’t imagine what he sees in me.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” Shayla exclaimed, “You’re the smartest, most talented person I know!” She looked at me and grimaced apologetically, “No offense.”

  I smiled, “None taken.” I thought about what Cruz just said and realized that I felt exactly the same way about Ethan. The only difference was, Cruz had a bright shining future ahead of him… and me? The only thing I had to offer were four more years of uncertainty and a lifetime of weirdness. Not to mention the homicidal anger.

  I thought about the council meeting and squared my shoulders. I got up and cleared the counter, “I’d better go get dressed.”

  “Me too,” said Shayla, bouncing up to leave. She turned, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder like she was in a shampoo commercial, “Cruz?”

  “Yeah?”

  She smiled wickedly, “I hope he at least took you out to a nice dinner!” We could hear her snickering all the way down the hall.

  When I got back to my room I dressed, packing my things methodically and zipping up my bag resolutely. There was none of the usual excitement or anticipation I used to feel before traveling. I thought about Ethan again, and fished the phone out of my bag to call him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine… I’m sorry I had to leave so early.” I bit my lip.

  “Marina,” he sounded frustrated, “It was Amber, right? I saw her there after you left. Did she say something to you again?”

  I felt a twinge of jealousy and paused, feeling ashamed. I looked down at the necklace on my nightstand. What could I say? It wasn’t his fault that I felt this way.

  “You did it again, didn’t you? You got all upset and you ran away.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling awful, “I’m really afraid of what might happen.”

  “I didn’t even talk to her!” he cried.

  I felt like an idiot, “It’s none of my business who you talk to.”

  I could hear him sigh in frustration, “When do you leave?”

  “Our flight takes off in a couple of hours.”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “No!” I said, a little too emphatically, “I’m not angry at anyone.” But I wanted to be. I wanted to yell at him, to tell him what she showed me and accuse him of treating me like her replacement. I wanted to allow all the hurt I was feeling to come pouring out. I controlled my voice, “I’m just nervous about what I’m going to be walking into.”

  “It’ll be alright… You’re gonna do fine. Just be careful.”

  My voice caught in my throat, “I’ll try.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” I hung up and picked up the necklace, holding it in my palm for a few seconds. I slipped it into my purse.

  Aunt Evie was all hugs and kisses when Shayla and I crossed the hallway to her apartment.

  “Are you darling girls ready for Gay Paree?” she exclaimed.

  “Oh, you have no idea,” Shayla laughed, catching my eye.

  We took the elevator down to where Boris was waiting alongside a long black limo. There was already a driver inside, and after we climbed in he closed the door and sat up front, giving me a quick wink before closing the tinted glass partition. We drove through town, arriving at the airport.

  I sat up and looked around when we passed by the main terminal, “Where are we going?”

  “I have a surprise,” Evie smiled brightly, “I finally decided to pick up my own jet… the last two charters I took were absolutely abysmal… And you know, simply everyone has one nowadays.”

  I was starting to realize how completely out of touch with reality Evie was.

  We pulled up and parked next to a gleaming new jet, with a couple of crisply uniformed pilots standing at attention by the steps. Boris got out and started to unload our luggage from the limo. I looked around the tarmac at the other jets and private hangars, noticing an old blue truck driving along a gravel road behind a chain link fence in the distance. It reminded me of Ethan, and a fresh wave of sorrow and regret washed over me.

  The truck stopped and I could see a figure get out of it. The fence was at least a hundred yards away, but I would know that walk anywhere. Without even thinking, I dropped my bag and sprinted across the asphalt, clearing the distance between us in record time.

  When I reached him, his face was up against the fence, his fingers woven through the wire. I took his hands and we kissed through the fence, wire pressing into our faces.

  He smiled at me, “They wouldn’t let me drive in. I thought I was gonna miss you.”

  I didn’t know what to say, and I tried to blink back the hot tears that sprang into my eyes.

  “Don’t cry,” he said softly, squeezing my hands.

  “How did you find us?” I managed to choke out.

  “I guessed… there weren’t any regular flights going to Paris.”

  “You didn’t have to come all this way.”

  “Yes I did,” he replied, and we kissed again as best we could.

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “I know,” he said, his eyes darting behind me. I turned to see Boris standing back a little ways, his arms folded across his chest. I lunged for Ethan’s lips again in desperation, as if I could somehow stave off the inevitable.

  “Marina,” A deep voice called out, “It’s time.”

  I sighed, and we pressed our heads together through the fence before I pulled away to reluctantly return to the plane. I trailed along behind Boris, looking back a couple of times to see Ethan standing still, watching me leave again.

  Boris climbed in the plane after me and secured the door, taking a seat in the front as I looked around. There was a long couch with pillows and throws on one side, with a table separating a couple of comfortable looking recliner chairs covered in soft white leather. A bar sat at one end, backed up by a wall paneled in richly grained wood. It looked more like a fancy cocktail lounge than a plane. I could hear Evie’s voice in the cockpit, discussing some detail about our itinerary with the pilots.

  I took a seat next to Shayla, and she swiveled to face me, grinning like she’d just won the lottery, “It still has that new plane smell,” she said.

  I smiled wanly, craning my neck to see if Ethan’s truck was still there.

  “Man, he must have really hauled ass to get here in time,” Shayla nodded.

  “I suppose,” I said quietly.

  “C’mon, don’t be bummed! We’re going to Paris! Ethan will be fine without you for a week!”

  I nodded, thinking that wasn’t really the problem. I knew that he’d be busy with work. The election was coming up, and Abby was planning a massive get-out-the-vote drive. She was turning into a real task-master, and Dutch and Ethan would definitely be put to work.

  I imagined Amber showing up to see him at the farmer’s market; I pictured how she would stalk him when I wasn’t around and squeezed my eyes shut tight. I was so tired of fighting it
. My leaving right now was probably the safest thing for everyone involved. The way I was feeling, I knew he would be better off alone.

  The problem was, I was afraid, and he wasn’t going to be around to calm me down.

  The problem was, I wasn’t sure I could get by without him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  PARIS

  We were moving, crashing through some bushes. I could hear the sound of twigs snapping underfoot and the heavy breathing of the man who was carrying me. Leaves brushed against my arms, and I struggled to lift my eyelids, but all I could see was a blur of green. I felt a flood of relief, followed by confusion. I fought to regain consciousness, recoiling inwardly at the heat and stench. Where was he taking me?

  I woke up, disoriented.

  “It’s about time!” Shayla laughed, “You’ve been sleeping almost the whole way!”

  I propped myself up on my elbows to find I was sprawled out on the couch with a cashmere throw covering me.

  “What time is it?” I croaked.

  “California time… or Paris time?” Evie asked, and I sat up to see her reclining majestically in a dressing gown, a cup of tea in her hand, a French Vogue magazine on her lap.

  “We’re landing in fifteen minutes!” Shayla squeaked excitedly, “Get up and come see it with me!”

  I stood and stretched, strange dream put aside, feeling much better after my long rest. I took the seat next to Shayla, watching as she pressed her face against the window. There was nothing but a blanket of white clouds to see, but the slight angle of the plane and the pressure in my ears told me that we were descending.

  “Buckle up, girls,” Evie said, just as we entered into the bright white lightness.

  “We’re like, in a cloud,” Shayla said, awestruck.

  We cleared the overcast, and the landscape below was unveiled. Waterways rambled across the countryside, contrasting with the geometric shapes of farm fields painted in different shades of brown on a palette of green. As we drew closer, roads, buildings, and finally cars began to reveal themselves.

  Shayla turned to me with bright eyes, “It looks like a bunch of dollhouses and toy cars!”

  Evie smiled with pleasure as she watched Shayla, and caught my eye, reminding me of the real reason for our trip.

  “You must be hungry,” she said.

  “I am,” I realized.

  “Well,” Evie closed her magazine, sitting up in her chair in anticipation, “We’ve certainly come to the right place.”

  After a smooth landing we taxied to a stop at another private section of the airport. It was morning in Paris, and I felt more rested than I had a right to be after such a long flight. Evie went into a dressing room behind the bar and came out looking as fresh as a daisy, chicly turned out in a wrinkle free Dior sheath complimented by a strand of enormous baroque pearls. Boris carried our bags and got into the front of the waiting limousine.

  “Why is he with us?” Shayla asked me under her breath, “Is he like a bodyguard or something? Do you expect more reporters?”

  “He watches over Evie,” I told her. Shayla nodded solemnly.

  “He’s my valet,” Evie explained, noticing Shayla’s curiosity, “I never travel without him.” She reached into her crocodile handbag and pulled out two new passports, “I’ve taken the liberty of acquiring some documents for you girls.” She turned to Shayla, “You’ll need this whenever you travel, so be sure to keep it in a safe place.”

  I opened mine, noticing that the picture had been taken from the photo shoot at Evie’s. She never ceased to amaze me with her foresight, and the way she used her money and connections to smooth over all the rough edges of life. If only Ethan had would have allowed me to ask her to stop the land seizure, the congressman might still be alive. Evie would no doubt have found a peaceable way to get the job done.

  I remembered the awful moment that my last passport ended up on the bottom of the sea inside a sunken helicopter. That day had been the catalyst, setting into motion the series of events that led me here. Why did that stupid helicopter have to crash? All of Evie’s talk of fate and destiny rolled around in my mind as we drove through the city of Paris and finally reached the Ritz Hotel.

  Shayla looked up at the ornate façade of the building in awe.

  “I’m famished,” Evie announced dramatically, ushering us through a revolving door into the lobby, leaving Boris to get our luggage to the suite. We planned to eat first and then go to our rooms to change and rest. Later in the afternoon, Monsignor Reynard was scheduled stop by to take Shayla to her first fitting, and introduce her to the girls she’d be sharing an apartment with.

  Shayla was nervous, “What if they don’t like me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I soothed her, “Just be yourself and they’ll love you.”

  We passed through a palatial lobby filled with giant floral arrangements and were seated right away in the equally luxurious restaurant.

  I took in the room’s lavish old world style, from its paneled gilt walls to the high ceilings masterfully painted with tromp l´oeil clouds. Enormous swagged velvet curtains framed a beautiful terrace garden view. The place was dripping with over the top luxury, and looked a lot like Evie’s extravagant apartment. No wonder she felt so at home here.

  “Whoa,” Shayla exhaled softly.

  “This restaurant is where Lady Diana had her last meal,” Evie pointed out as she unfurled her napkin.

  “Really?” said Shayla, looking around with wide eyes, “She was right here?”

  “I wonder what she ordered…” I mused, for I couldn’t decipher the French menu.

  Evie ordered for us in French, and I regretted not knowing another language. Dad and I had traveled to many different parts of the world, but I only knew little bits and pieces of lots of different languages. I studied Evie, wondering if she’d been married to a Frenchman too. Then I almost laughed out loud, realizing that I did speak mermaid.

  Soon the food began to arrive, distracting me from my daydreams. A large plate of sliced fruit and berries served as our centerpiece, and it was almost too beautiful to eat. Individual portions of eggs scrambled with black truffles were served along with buttery croissants and jewel-like jellies and jams. Comically large bowls of hot chocolate crowded the table, along with a silver tea service. Shayla tasted everything carefully, asking Evie what each dish was called in French.

  We were completely refreshed when we got to our suite of rooms, and naturally, all of our things were waiting there for us.

  Shayla wandered about, getting a good look at the elaborately carved and gilded moldings, floral themed décor and plush furnishings. Evie led us out to the balcony, pointing out the nearby gardens that Marie Antoinette had wandered in, held captive in the final days before her execution. Great, I thought, we have a theme; yet another tragic femme fatale and her sorrowful end. Not exactly what I wanted to dwell on at the moment.

  “Where’s Boris?” I asked. Evie explained to me that he would be in an adjoining room until we needed him to escort us anywhere. It was a comforting thought, for I couldn’t imagine anything bad happening to us while we were under his watchful eye.

  “Who are these dudes?” Shayla asked, studying a pair of portraits prominently displayed above a grand mantel.

  “These dudes,” said Evie, coming up alongside her, “Are the Duke and Duchess of Windsor. This suite of rooms was among their favorites.” She went on to explain how the king of England had given up his throne to marry a woman many considered to be unsuitable.

  “What an idiot,” Shayla said, “She’s not even that hot.”

  Evie laughed, “People have given up a lot more than a kingdom for love.”

  Before too long Shayla’s agent arrived to bring her to the new model’s residence. Her first show was scheduled for tomorrow and she was under strict orders to settle in and get some rest before any sightseeing was to be allowed. I watched her go, happy to see her heading off into her bright future, putting the past and all of
its unpleasantness behind her.

  I turned to Evie, “What happens now?”

  “We wait,” she said, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t shop while we’re doing it.”

  The first few rows of the fashion show were reserved for the famous, the beautiful or the filthy rich. Fitting into all three categories, Evie was naturally seated front and center, taking me along for the ride. I recognized pop stars, fashion divas and actors all around us, jockeying for position, competing for the highest profile spot to flaunt their plumage to its best advantage. They scrutinized me, trying to figure out whether or not they should know me.

  The relentless drive among the fashionable set to stay relevant reminded me of salmon struggling desperately to swim upstream, unaware of the common fate that awaited them at the end of their journey. They had yet to discover that there was no “there” there.

  The battle to remain an A-lister was brutal.

  The music started pumping, and the models began to slither down the runway in a perfectly synchronized display. The clothes were colorful and stylish, and the collection consisted mostly of flowing gowns and sporty, intricately constructed swimwear. The suits were lovely, but I couldn’t imagine going surfing in any of them. The models were waiflike, slim and frail looking. Stone-faced, they walked haughtily along, leading with their hips.

  And then came Shayla, and my scalp tingled as I felt the entire audience sit up and take notice. She stood out like a wolf among greyhounds, her athletic physique and bold but endearingly awkward walk sweeping through the room like a breath of fresh air. Where the other girls slinked, Shayla strode, her raw, unrefined gait loose and unmistakably free. She stole the show.

  Shayla had several outfit changes, and each time she appeared the effect was the same. When all the models came out for the finale the designer selected her to hold hands with, leading her down the runway to take a bow at the end. The crowd stood applauding, and Shayla looked ecstatic, scanning the crowd until she spotted us.