Sirens and Scales

by Kellie McAllen

  “I say what I have to say, and sometimes you shouldn’t trust my words. But you should always trust me.” He pulled me in until my face rested against his hard chest and placed a gentle kiss on my hair.

  The sitting room was dimly lit by a large stained glass window that cast the room in eerie colors, Clarissa‘s house had always creeped me out. Maybe it wasn’t the décor but the tension through the home that made me unsettled. Whatever it was that had sent shivers up my spine in the past didn’t bother me now. I felt so safe in Jaron’s arms, but how could I when he said things like that? What was wrong with me?

  “How can I trust you when I can’t trust half of the things that you say?” I whispered.

  His long fingers trailed up my back and grabbed my shoulders tugging me away from him, so he could see my face. “People are more than their words, Maribel. I’ve had to lie and I’ve been lied to. Words have lost their meaning to me… well, most of them. There are three words that mean more to me now than they ever have…” His voice trailed off as he stared transfixed on my lower lip. I was beginning to worry that I had something there when he crushed into me, trapping me in a fevered kiss that warmed me all over. My head was spinning with the scent and the feel of him. His large hands wove themselves into my hair. “Maribel,” he moaned.

  I pushed away from him before I was completely lost in his spell. “I have to help Clarissa.” I cleared my throat and tried to pull my fingers through my messy hair. “Now try to behave yourself, I need to concentrate or I won’t get this dress done.” I teased before opening the door.

  He smiled a crooked smile and put a hand to his heart. “I will be quiet as a church mouse.”

  A mouse was better than a smoldering sex God, at least in mixed company. “I can deal with a mouse. According to Cinderella they make pretty good seamstresses.”

  “I could be a seamstress for you,” he said while stepping back into Clarissa’s bedroom.

  She brightened.

  “So has your mom texted you back?” I asked, hoping we could hurry and dive into the work.

  “She said I could do whatever I wanted to the dress. I guess she already proved that she can take anything away from me, now she’s back to not caring.” She smiled, and for the first time I thought she looked actually happy to have her mother in her uncaring shell and I could hardly blame her there.

  “Well let’s get going on your dress. Don’t know how I am going to rearrange this…” I picked up an armful of the tulle skirt. “…into a stunning gown in three hours if we use up all of our time with chit-chat.”

  The tension in Clarissa’s shoulders eased. “All right, follow me.”

  The workroom was like the ones I had seen on project runway, brightly lit and well organized. It would pass for a professional workshop if it wasn’t so obviously unused and a little cutesy. Clarissa wasn’t joking when she said it should be stocked with everything I needed. Thread of all kinds and colors was stored in roll out drawers, as well as buttons, zippers, and sequins. The only thing the room didn’t have was fabric, which was all right. The dress that now hung from a hanger on the wall would provide that.

  “All right, let’s see what we have to work with. I need scissors and a seam ripper.”

  After a little searching, Clarissa found the drawer that held the tools. I delicately removed layer after layer until all of the tulle was gone.

  “Better than we could have hoped for,” I said, smiling at the satin skirt buried under all of the fluff.

  “I like the fabric, but do we have enough to change the design completely?” she asked.

  “I think we will, for what I have in mind. Your mom was quite a bit bigger than you are. Funny that she would make remarks about your weight. I’ll need to take it in at least three sizes.” I picked up the scissors, ready to start taking it apart. “Do you want me to do a quick sketch of the design for you?”

  “As long as you plan on removing the ten pound orbs that the eighties called sleeves, then I’m down for whatever.”

  I got straight to work, laying the dress flat on the floor. First I detached the skirt from the bodice with my seam ripper and cut the skirt from a ball gown to more of a fitted A-line silhouette. The fabric running across the chest got snipped into a sweetheart neckline and I cut the back of the dress into a swooping oval that would hit the middle of her back. I organized all of the pieces and was happy with my work.

  “All right,” I said, looking over at Jaron and Clarissa. Clarissa was gazing at the deconstructed gown in white-faced horror. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be much more beautiful than it was before I took it apart.” I was sure of that. “Now while I get this back together, you two need to turn that tulle into a lot of rosettes.” I gestured to the pile of tulle.

  Jaron’s face fell in confusion. I laughed, realizing that Clarissa was just as dumbfounded as Jaron. What kind of girlfriend did I have? I quickly showed them how to cut the tulle into strips and then roll it into a flower shape that was held together by sewing a small sequin at the center.

  “Wow, you really did want to turn me into a seamstress,” Jaron said as he pulled a needle up through the center of a sequin.

  “I wouldn’t want to have all of the fun,” I teased before kissing his cheek.

  “When imagining us together in a room with a dress on the ground, this isn’t the type of fun that came to mind,” he said in a devilish tone.

  Clarissa cleared her throat and shot Jaron a glare that could have set him on fire.

  “Well, anyway…” I returned to my work. I had the dress put together in twenty minutes. Jaron groaned when I called Clarissa over for the fitting, leaving him to do all of the rosettes alone.

  “I think I’ll take a bathroom break while you get her into the dress,” he said, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

  “Go down the hall the way we came and it’s the second door on your left,” Clarissa said.

  Jaron stepped out of the room and Clarissa dropped her robe and stepped into the silky dress. Even with pins hanging out of it, it was still breathtaking on her. I wished Sylvia was there. No one could fit a gown like my aunt.

  “Oh, Maribel! It is so much better than I could have possible expected,” she squeaked as she looked in the full-length mirror.

  “Stop wiggling. I need to get this to fit like a glove and attach all of the flowers around the bottom.”

  “You mean the flowers that Jaron is making?” she asked, putting extra emphasis on his name.

  “Yes… you want to tell me what you’re getting at. I can tell you’re getting at something,” I said, sticking a pin through the fabric at her side.

  “Not that many guys would make rosettes for a girlfriend, not even that… for a friend of a girlfriend.”

  “So I’m his girlfriend now, am I?”

  She shrugged and then looked at me apologetically. “Not moving,” she said with a grin. “And I would say that between meeting the parents, driving you to school, and being unable to keep your lips off of him… yes, that probably makes you his girlfriend.”

  “I should hope so,” Jaron said from across the room. He had entered and started sewing rosettes without either of us noticing. “If this is how Maribel treats just any boy, I’ll be a little upset,” he smirked. “Glad that I was one of the lucky few, but upset none the less.”

  I put the last pin in place. “I don’t know why I let you two in the same room together. You like embarrassing me too much.”

  “Me embarrassing you, please. He was the one making innuendos about a dress on the ground. Almost threw up in my mouth,” she said, gagging to prove her point.

  I laughed. The day had turned into a pretty good one. Clarissa’s normal smile was back in place, and watching Jaron sew was one of the funniest things I had ever seen. His large hands weren’t meant for such delicate work. But he never complained, and I was impressed with how quickly he churned the faux flowers out. After taking in the seams to fit her body, I started attaching the rosettes to the b
ottom of the skirt, making them more concentrated at the bottom and fanning them out to the knee. The end product was lite and ethereal. Clarissa looked like a goddess in it.

  “Oh! I love it. I hope my mom likes it,” she exclaimed.

  I tried not to roll my eyes. Her mother would never like anything that had to do with Clarissa. It broke my heart that she always kept this sliver of hope that her mom would give her any kind of approval.

  “You look amazing and won’t be making your debutant debut naked, that’s all I care about,” I said rubbing my shoulders. My back was killing me. Being hunched over a sewing machine for three hours would do that.

  “I don’t know how you finished this with thirty minutes to spare!” she gushed.

  “Thirty minutes? What time is it?” I asked quickly.

  Jaron looked at his watch. “Six thirty,” he said.

  “Oh no!” I ran across the room and tore open my purse to fetch my phone, flipping it open. There were ten missed calls. Sylvia was going to kill me. I dialed her back and she picked up after half a ring.

  “Hello, Maribel?” Sylvia said.

  My stomach twisted, her voice sounded so worried.

  “Yes, it’s me. I’m so sorry. I had to go to Clarissa’s after school. I’m on my way home right now.” I brace myself for a tongue-lashing.

  “Are you sure you’re at Clarissa’s house?” she asked in a clipped tone.

  “Yes…Why? Where else would I be?” The phone filled with the sound of her letting out a breath.

  “Okay, well hurry home, and remember to call next time. I have to get off the phone and call Dylan. He’s out searching for you.”

  “All right. I’ll be there in five minutes.” I hit the end call button and looked at the phone curiously. Where did she think I was? I sighed. At least they hadn’t called the cops.

  “I can’t believe that you forgot to call Sylvia!” Clarissa said.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t remind me, or call her yourself. I was a little busy,” I shot back, gesturing to the gown she was wearing.

  “All right, I guess I’ll take the fall this time around… but I wonder if they will think your three hour absence is someone else’s doing.” She grinned and stole a glance at Jaron.

  “What are you talking about…”

  When she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, it dawned on me. Sylvia and Dylan thought I was… out with Jaron. I turned to him. He was trying to hide a devilish grin.

  “You need to get me home before Dylan comes after you with a shotgun.” I walked to the door and paused. “You look amazing, Clarissa. I’ll see you tonight, if I’m alive.”

  JARON DROPPED ME OFF at my house so that he could go home and change. I was going to a ball with the most gorgeous guy on the planet. I couldn’t wait to get into my dress. It couldn’t be as beautiful as I remembered. When I opened the door, my excitement was cut short. Sylvia and Dylan were standing in the entryway, dressed to kill. Literally. Dylan in his crisp tuxedo and Sylvia in her long black gown. Both looked like they were going to kill me.

  “Where is he off to so fast?” Dylan asked, peering out the window as the red car disappeared down the driveway.

  “He has to go get changed. He’ll be back.” I had more to say, but my mouth had gone dry under their heated stare. I walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water with them following behind me closely.

  “So where have you been?” Sylvia asked.

  “I told you on the phone,” I said.

  “I know, but I can’t tell if you’re lying or not on the phone.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t have anything to lie about. Clarissa’s mom was horrid and forced her to wear her old debutant dress from nineteen eighty-four. She asked me to help alter it so she wasn’t embarrassed, and she didn’t want you to know that her mom threw out the dress you got for her. That’s all.” I shrugged.

  “Oh no, she didn’t really do that, did she?” Sylvia choked.

  “Don’t worry. I turned that ugly mess into a great dress. What’s worse is, she fired Hailey.”

  Sylvia frowned. “No, Hailey has been there since Clarissa was four…” She huffed. “What a terrible day.”

  “I know, just pretend like you don’t know about any of it. Clarissa will be sad if she knows I told you, but since you are an apparent lie detector, and I didn’t want you thinking I was lying about my whereabouts for other reasons… I told you. Now I need to get dressed.” I turned to go upstairs.

  “Hold up,” Dylan said quickly. “Where was Jaron during all of this?”

  I smiled. “He was there with me. I think he must have sewn over a hundred rosettes for Clarissa’s dress.”

  “Man.” He whistled.

  “What?”

  “He’s got it bad, poor guy,” he mumbled.

  “Now, hurry upstairs and change, we're leaving in a few minutes,” Sylvia prodded.

  “Jaron is coming back to pick me up…” Seeing Sylvia’s eyebrows pull together, I changed course. “If that’s all right with you. We will probably be a little late because of the whole dress fiasco.”

  Sylvia looked like she wasn’t happy about the idea, but Dylan put an arm around her shoulders and tugged her toward the front door. “All right, don’t be too long behind us. We’ll go up and apologize for your tardiness.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you there, and don’t worry about… the other thing that you two are worried about. You know I just met Jaron. I’m not going to rush into anything… physical.” My stomach clenched and I searched for a time in my life that I had been more uncomfortable and came up empty handed. “Just know that if he gets too fresh, I’ll slap him,” I joked.

  Sylvia paused by the door and cursed.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I’m just wishing that I could turn my sixth sense off every now and again. Sometimes I find out truths that I don’t want to know,” she said before leaving through the open door.

  I stood planted on the first step, clueless for only a second before understanding that my aunt thought I had lied. I hadn’t. She was crazy. I ran upstairs to change, telling myself along the way that Jaron was such a gentleman I’d never have the opportunity to see who was right.

  13

  I TAPPED MY SHOE against the tile of the entryway, sending loud clacks through the quiet, empty house. I had gotten dressed, put my hair in an updo that had curls cascading down, and even put on a little of Sylvia’s mascara and lip-gloss for the occasion. But Jaron still wasn’t there. I looked at the clock again and decided I had better start walking over to Clarissa’s place. Calling Sylvia up and telling her that Jaron was a no show was less appealing than the long walk. I was getting used to his strange absences and was sure he had some kind of reason for not coming. Slipping out of my stilettos quickly, I put on more sensible shoes for the walk. I killed another minute attaching a gold clutch to my bracelet and had to force myself out of the door before I waited all night for him.

  The evening air was perfectly warm with only mild humidity. It would have been a pleasant walk if I hadn't been carrying my heels in one hand and holding up the hem of my glamorous gown in the other. Although that didn’t upset me as much as the reason I was having to walk to the ball. I felt like such a fool.

  The roads were oddly deserted for such an early hour, even my lame town had some traffic past seven thirty at night. I guessed that everyone must be at Clarissa’s ball; her mother had invited the entire town, after all. Just as I was about to turn a street corner, instinct told me to stop. I halted, the air felt warmer without the breeze on my face. I listened to the night and all was perfectly quiet. Shrugging off my butterflies, I went to move around the corner, but stilled as I heard hushed voices.

  “What are you playing at, Jaron?” a throaty voice boomed.

  Jaron? My skin prickled and I held back a scream. The voice terrified me, and the voice saying that name froze me to the spot.

  “We give you a simple task in return for a great kindness
on our part—” a second male voice, this one much higher, added.

  “You don’t know what kindness is,” Jaron spat.

  “Why must you be so difficult, boy? You know what will happen if you don’t do as we say… Do you think if you postpone it longer you’ll figure out how to get your tongue untied? Maybe you think that we won’t really pull the plug. But I assure you, we will.”

  “So stop playing and do what we say,” the squeaky voice added.

  “I won’t, I can’t. Listen, anything else. You name it, it’s done.”

  I heard the thud of a first against skin and a groan.

  “We don’t bargain,” the deep voice bellowed.

  After another thud, I swallowed my fear and stepped around the corner.

  There were two large men standing in front of Jaron, the larger of the two had him pinned against the wall of a building. They wore normal street clothes, t-shirts and jeans. The only thing remarkable about them was the tattoo that each of them had winding up their left arm. All three men were staring at me in horror. Jaron opened and closed his eyes, apparently wishing he could blink me out of the scene.

  “What’s going on here?” I demanded in the strongest voice I could muster. I doubted I was that intimidating in a full-length evening gown and ballet flats.

  “Maribel, run!” Jaron screamed before the man holding him threw an elbow in his face, dropping Jaron to his knees. He walked behind Jaron and pulled him up into a choke hold.

  “No, I think she should stick around. Didn’t see us coming, she’s just right here ready for the picking,” the man with the deep voice said with a toothy grin.

  “Don’t touch her!” Jaron warned.

  “Or what?” the man asked squeezing his neck tighter.

  “Or I’ll kill you,” he choked out.

  They both laughed. “I guess we’ll see,” said the smaller man. Then, he took a step toward me, just one step, and suddenly the man holding Jaron was on fire. He leapt back, swatting at his flaming arms and crying.