“Hi, Princess,” Maria called. “Delicious sweater set. Makes me think of lemon sherbet.”
“Thanks. They’re new.”
Tamara narrowed her eyes. “Where did you get them?”
“Well, actually...”
Tamara made a face. “Let me guess. Miss de France.”
“She likes to buy me stuff. It gives her something to do.”
Sudsy’s face looked mean. “Yeah, like control you.”
I laughed a who cares kind of laugh, but inside I felt like a cheese soufflé that had just hit cold air.
“That’s not fair, Sudsy. Miss de France doesn’t control me. I see her because I feel sorry for her.”
It was Tamara’s turn again. “You mean, because you feel guilty she had a heart attack.”
“Well, at least I have a conscience and that’s more than I can say for you, T.”
I took off my cardigan and tied it around my shoulders, then stormed down the hall to my locker. Tamara was my BFF, but lately she seemed more like an enemy. Actually, Sudsy and Maria seemed distant, too. I thought of the old days, driving around in the Green Lady, hanging out at the Tastee Freeze and around each other’s houses and sighed. The old days. BLDF. Before Lauren de France.
I opened my locker and carefully hung my cardigan on a hook. It was too hot for two sweaters. It was too hot for one sweater. But I’d wear it. Didn’t Miss de France want me to be a sweater girl?
I sauntered down the hall to my first period class, resuming my chest out position, looking for love. If Lana Turner could pull it off, I could too. By the time I walked through the door of the class room, I’d counted two wolf whistles and three dirty looks from Paige Barton and her ladies-in-waiting. But instead of feeling good about the attention, all I could think of were Miss de France’s words to me the day before. I think you have a lot of Lana in you. Poor thing.
Poor thing? Why would anyone feel sorry for a famous movie star who’d had everything? Or could it be that Miss de France had meant me?
April Fool’s Day arrived along with another dance lesson. By then Anthony and I had progressed from the foxtrot through the two-step and the waltz. And unbelievable as it seemed, I looked forward to the lessons. Of course, Anthony was still a pain holding me too close, putting his hand on my ass, and blowing in my ear. But I couldn’t deny that dancing was magical.
James met me at the door as usual. He turned up his lips in what passed as a smile.
“Madame has a little surprise for you,” he began. I followed him into the drawing room.
“Oh, and what’s that?”
My mind was doing double time as it considered every possibility. Clothes? Jewelry? Shoes?
“You’ll see,” he said.
As usual Miss de France sat in her red chair next to the bay window. Opera glasses to her face, she peered through the window at Spring Bayou across the street. When she saw me, she smiled like she hadn’t seen me in a year.
“Darling, you’re here at last. You look fractious.”
“I am. I had to stop at the library and it was jammed.”
I pranced to her chair and kissed her on the forehead. How could you not want to kiss an old lady who worshiped the ground you walked on?
“Still pining for that darling Tyler? Well, I’ve asked James to make lemonade just the way you like it with plenty of sugar. That will perk you up.”
I glanced around the room. “Where’s Anthony?”
“I’m afraid he’s twisted his ankle doing an exhibition mambo at Dance With Me and won’t be able to dance for several days.”
I pictured Anthony mamboing and falling flat on his conceited ass. “Oh, how tragic.”
“Indeed. However, since the show must go on at any cost, he has sent a proxy who should be arriving any moment.”
“A guy, I assume?”
“Brooke, you are so droll. Of course it will be a man, however, just what breed of male, I’m unsure.”
I lowered my head to put on my dancing shoes, raising it when the annoying squeak of the tea cart announced the arrival of James, the lemonade, and the new dancing master.
I looked up, curious to see who would be twirling me across the Valentino copycat dance floor that afternoon. Beginning with black loafers, I worked my way up a pair of long legs seductively hidden under black slacks. Trying not to linger, I moved to a black silk shirt draped over a hunky chest until I reached a familiar smug face. I let out a Little Orphan Annie yikes! Tall, dark, double handsome and triple sleazy, it was Nick Diamandis, Coral Cove’s number one lover boy who’d not only hit on me, but had slept with my mother.
Chapter Fifteen
Startled by the noise, Nick glanced my way, a fakey smile on his face. “Hey, Brooke. Small world.”
Too stunned to answer, I glared at him, then the floor. Anyone with an ounce of decency would have looked embarrassed running into the daughter of the married woman he’d had an affair with, but not Nick. He looked different from when I’d seen him a year ago, like he was old enough to vote.
Ignoring my yelp, James proceeded with the introductions. “Madame, may I present Anthony’s cousin, Nick Diamandis.”
Miss de France held out her hand. “My, my, you and Anthony are practically twins! Well, I’m charmed to meet you.”
Nick meandered over to Miss D, hand extended, a fake smile tattooed on his face. “And, I’m charmed to meet you, too, ma’am. I’ve heard so much about you.”
What a kiss ass!
Miss de France turned to me, speaking in a tone reserved for not particularly bright five year olds. “Brooke, why don’t you introduce yourself?”
“I’m afraid we’ve met.”
“You have? How serendipitous! Then you two already have a relationship.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” I looked down at the red Oriental rug. “Isn’t James rolling up the carpet?” I asked changing the subject.
“Oh, silly me. I forgot to tell you we won’t be dancing today.”
“We won’t?”
“No. Instead, we’ll be beginning your acting lessons. They’re long overdue, I’m afraid. You do still aspire to be an actress, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, sort of.” Damn, anyway. I’d been waiting for the acting lessons, but why did they have to be with the guy who’d practically ruined my parents’ marriage?
Ignoring my lack of enthusiasm, she went on. “From what I understand, this young man has superb credentials.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Nick looked at me coolly, as though observing a creature from another planet.
“So what have you acted in?” I asked in the snottiest voice I could manage. The unforgettable image of Nick and my bare-breasted mother making out in the front seat of Nick’s red van careened through my mind.
“Oh, a few things. Shakespeare in the Park, West Side Story. I just landed the lead in Street Car Named Desire at the little theater.” Surprisingly his voice didn’t sound braggy.
“He’ll be a splendid Tony for you, Brooke.”
I’m sure I looked blank. “Tony who?”
“Robert Wagner’s character in Beneath the 12-Mile Reef. And you’ll be a spectacular Gwyneth as well. I just know it. It should be too much fun.”
I scowled. “But I haven’t even read the script.”
From seemingly nowhere, Miss de France produced a few sheets of paper like a rabbit out of a hat.
“Here,” she said, shoving the script into my hands. “I’ve highlighted all of your lines. You do memorize, don’t you?”
Lines from the The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, the only thing I’d ever memorized, flashed through my mind.
Water, water, everywhere, and all the boards did shrink; Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink.
I licked my lips. “I think I could use that glass of lemonade.”
Sashaying over to the tea cart, I caught a glimpse of Nick staring at me with laughing eyes.
My heart played Chinese checkers in m
y chest. I couldn’t do this movie scene, pretend or otherwise. Wasn’t it bad enough it would be with Nick? Was I going to be forced to relive the night Miss de France had her heart attack, possibly the worst night of my life?
“Couldn’t we do something else?” I said. “Something a little more recent, like Twilight?”
Miss de France shook her head. “Never heard of it. Besides, The 12-Mile Reef is the perfect acting exercise. The epitome of Romeo and Juliet, the eternal struggle for love against the social mores of the day.”
I had no choice but to spend the next hour smelling Nick’s sexy cologne and doing voice exercises. To my surprise, I didn’t know how to speak. To prove it, Nick had me leave a voice mail for Maria on his tape recorder.
“Now, I want you to listen to yourself, Brooke, and then tell me, objectively, what you think.” He pushed the button.
Hi, this-is-Brooke. Just calling to-say-hi. Give-me-a-call. Bye.
To me, my voice always had sounded low and kind of sexy. But after I heard myself, I realized I’d spent my entire life talking like a chipmunk. “Well, my voice sounds kind of high.”
“And?” Nick gave me a patient look.
“I didn’t sound very loud.”
“You not only weren’t projecting, your words ran together. Now, do it again, and this time enunciate.”
The hour dragged by, me reading such gibberish as she sells seashells by the seashore and the rain in Spain stays mainly on the plain. It was probably a good thing (the exercise not the rain), because it forced me to forget about Nick and my mother, at least for a little while.
It was obvious Miss de France wasn’t going to change her mind about doing the 12-Mile Reef. She had a will of titanium. But did she really know what she was doing to herself? Maybe if I couldn’t talk her out of it, someone else could. But it had to be someone she trusted.
James was chopping onions for dinner when I wandered into the kitchen.
“Hello, and what do you have on your mind this afternoon?” he asked, never lifting his head.
“I just wanted to talk to you about something. It has to do with Miss de France.”
“Proceed.”
“Well, my acting lessons started this afternoon, and Miss de France wants Nick and me to rehearse scenes from Beneath the 12-Mile Reef.”
“And?”
“Well, we both know she believes she was in the movie, and that she was Terry Moore. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to encourage her when she’s obviously delusional.”
James jerked his head up from his onions, knife in hand. “Missy, Madame is not paying someone to teach you to think. She’s attempting to teach you to act.”
I stared at the poised knife and the angry man who was holding it, not knowing whether to scream or run. “Yes, I know,” I said, backing toward the door. “And don’t think that I don’t appreciate it.”
“Then you can show your appreciation by not questioning her judgment. You and I cannot afford to upset her. Her health is far too fragile.”
I halted my retreat. “She’s doing okay, isn’t she?”
“So far, but we have to protect her.” His voice softened from number three to number one sandpaper. “I’ve been taking care of Madame for forty-five years, and I will continue to take care of her as long as...”
He stopped as though the thought of her dying was too much.
“You really love her, don’t you?” My words came out without thinking.
“I’ve loved her since the first time I ever saw her, the afternoon I showed up at her back door looking for work. I was hot, thirsty, and desperate. And even though I was only a boy of twenty, I felt like I was a hundred. Miss de France gave me a glass of sweet tea and a life. But it was a different world then. An unforgiving world of black and white, and make-believe right and wrong. There was no in-between.”
He wiped his eyes on the end of his sleeve. “Damnable onions. Should have put a match in my mouth. The sulphur works, you know.”
Forgetting my former terror, I tiptoed out of the kitchen. So James and Miss de France had been in love! No wonder Miss de France adored Romeo and Juliet. I cried all the way home.
Alone in my bedroom I attempted to memorize my lines, reading them aloud to Erskine. My cat lay on my bed, watching and listening while I paced back and forth.
“Cut it out, Greek.” It was the scene at the bayou where Tony has Gwyneth on the ground trying to kiss her, even though they’d just met like fifteen minutes before. I guess when it comes to guys, some things never change. The drama was building when my little brother, Benji, burst into the room.
“Is there someone in here with you?” His freckled face was one big question mark.
“No, I’m practicing my lines.”
“Lines for what?”
“A movie. One Miss de France was in, sort of. And she wants me to learn her part.”
“Why?”
It was a good question.
“Because...” I thought of how obsessed Miss de France was to make me an actor and how I’d bought into it, but was too embarrassed to admit it. “Just because.”
Benji made a wild grab for Erskine, who escaped with seconds to spare, then flopped down on my bed. “Well, if you ask me, that old lady takes up a lot of your time.”
“Well, no one asked your opinion and get your grimy bare feet off my duvet.”
He jumped up, chasing Erskine out of the room and down the stairs.
That Benji. Now he wanted to tell me what to do, too. Hmm, maybe he was just mad I was never around. Could it be possible he missed me? How cute. Poor Benji, little freckled cretin that he was. I needed to pay more attention to him in my spare time, as though I had any.
It had been eons since I’d seen Grandma Donnie. To be exact, the day after The Green Lady had broken down in front of Miss de France’s house. To try to make up for neglecting her, I made a surprise visit to Omega Point Sunday afternoon after work, my only day off from Miss de France.
Grandma Donnie opened the door. “Well, look who’s here. I should make you show an ID to be sure it’s really you.” The too sweet smell of incense about knocked me over when I walked into the candle lit living room. I scampered over and plopped down in a chair.
“So how are things with Miss de France?” she asked.
“Okay,” I lied.
“Well, don’t kill yourself trying to do good deeds. I mean, look what the missionaries did to the Hawaiians.”
I frowned. Most of the time I followed Donnie, but this time she’d lost me.
“I know you feel sorry for her, Brooke, but this woman doesn’t seem to realize you have a life.”
“You mean, had one.”
“Maybe I should talk to her. Tell her you need some space.”
The image of Grandma Donnie charging up the steps of Miss de France’s Victorian flashed across my mind, leaving me sweaty and ready to puke.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I wiped my forehead on the end of my oversized T-shirt. “Do you think we could open a window or something?”
“Oh, sorry. I forgot how sensitive you are to fumes.” Donnie got up from the couch, extinguished the flames in the incense burner like Wee Willie Winkie in the old nursery rhyme, and then held a cold can of Diet Sprite to my forehead.
“That feels good,” I said.
“Now take a sip and tell me what’s going on.”
I took a slug and gave a big exhale. “Well, to start with, Tyler and I broke up.” The words came out all quivery like Jello.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I’ve always liked him, but sometimes these things are inevitable. Tyler will just have to adjust. It will help toughen him up for other disappointments in life.”
“Donnie, I’m the one who’s going to have to adjust. He broke up with me.”
A stunned expression landed on her Lancome painted face. “Well, that little asshole!”
I left Grandma Donnie’s feeling a little better. It was comforting to know I had h
er on my side. Of course, my parents were there for me, too, but with them comfort always came with baggage, i.e., never ending lectures and restriction. Thank God Donnie was an old hippy.
But having unconditional love didn’t solve my number one problem. And that was how to free myself from the control freak of all control freaks, Miss de France.
Chapter Sixteen
When I told the Sisters I was taking acting lessons from Nick Diamandis, they were blown away. Being my BFFs, they knew about my mother’s affair and were sworn to secrecy. No one else had a clue except Grandma Donnie, who was too smart to say anything. And to be sure I never told my dad, she’d bribed me with the Green Lady.
The four of us sat inside the Green Iguana, chowing down on hamburgers and French fries.
“What do you think your mother’s going to do when she finds out?” Maria’s eyes were as big as her hamburger bun.
“Nothing, because I’m not going to tell her.”
Tamara scowled. “Why not? That way you could get out of the acting lessons.”
Sudsy blew the paper from her straw at Tamara. “Because she doesn’t want to get out of the acting lessons, T. Only the dance lessons.”
I shook my head. “Actually, I kind of like the dancing lessons now too.”
The Sisters did a group stare.
Tamara’s eyes narrowed. “Well, aren’t we going Hollywood.”
Sudsy came to my rescue. “Knock, it off, T. Tell me you wouldn’t like to have some rich old woman pamper you.”
“I’d rather have some rich old man pamper me. You’d be seeing nothing but Jimmy Choo and Prada.” She did a shoulder roll.
Could it be possible T was jealous? Hmm, yes it was. Part of the reason I’d qualified for Coral Cove’s Vocabulary Bee last year was because I’d remembered Sudsy’s definition of Tamara as avaricious.
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