Double Take

by Laura Kennedy

  Tamara lit up. “Sunset Boulevard!”

  “That’s it! Well the guy, I think it was William Holden, told the old movie star that he didn’t love her and walked out. Well, she was so bummed out she cut her wrists with his razor. It was New Year’s Eve and everything.”

  “You mean, she tried to kill herself?” I slammed down my mango/date milkshake. “Okay, I’ll go, for God’s sake.”

  All the way to Spring Bayou I was frantic. What if Miss de France had tried to kill herself? Hadn’t she told me I was the only person she had in the entire world besides James? I stepped down on the gas pedal. Please God, let her be okay.

  It was a little after nine when I pulled into the circular driveway. I ran to the front door, no-see-ums attacking me like the furies of hell, a preview of what was to come. I rang the bell, counting the white moths hovering around the yellow porch light. James opened the door, looking as warm as Lincoln’s face on Mount Rushmore.

  “Where were you?” he asked. No hello, no happy birthday.

  “I...was with the Sisters.” I rushed into the foyer, looking for the familiar tiny figure. “Where is she?”

  “She’s locked herself in the bathroom. Madame waited for two hours, and when she realized you weren’t coming, went upstairs. I’d thought she’d gone to bed. I’ve begged her to come out, but she won’t listen to reason.”

  I took the stairs two at a time, James behind me all the way down the hall to the bathroom. His face was the color of ash. “I was about to call the fire department to break in, but maybe she’ll listen to you. She’s taken pills before.”

  I rapped lightly on the door. “Miss de France, it’s me, Brooke. Will you let me in?”

  My only answer was silence.

  “I’m really sorry I’m late. If you’ll please open the door, I’ll explain.”

  I waited for an answer, terrified of the image in my mind of Miss de France unconscious on the floor.

  “I’m calling the police.” James turned for the bedroom.

  “Let me try one more time.” I moved closer to the door. “Miss de France, I guess I forgot to tell you I decided to meet the Sisters first. Then we were all coming here.”

  Silence. “I mean, you can’t blame me for saving you for last. You’re like dessert. Who would have crème brûlée before pizza?”

  The door knob jiggled, then turned. There stood Miss de France wearing blue silk lounging pajamas that matched her eyes. I exhaled for what seemed like the first time in five minutes.

  “Brooke, darling, I thought there’d been another accident. Like Steffie. I was so distraught, I wasn’t myself.” There were tears in her voice.

  “I’m so sorry.” I leaned down, putting my head on her tiny shoulder. “It was so selfish and rude of me. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “Of course I can forgive you. Doesn’t love mean never having to say you’re sorry?”

  I wiped away a tear. “I never thought about Steffie and how you might worry.”

  “Never mind, you’re here now, and that’s all that counts.” The hurt and worry had passed like a Florida afternoon rain. She looked around her.

  “James!” she called. “James!”

  Phantom like, James appeared from around the corner.

  “Yes, Madame?”

  “Please get me my shawl. I’m going outside to show Brooke her birthday gift.”

  “I have a present outside?” I said, helping her move slowly down the hallway.

  “Yes, yes. Now, don’t think it’s a pony. You’re a little old for that.”

  I laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. It might come in handy.” Instantly, I was my old happy, materialistic self again.

  James appeared with her sweater, her cane and a flashlight. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I have Brooke.”

  I have Brooke. I thought of the break up speech I’d given four days earlier. Please, stop. You’re ruining my life. Obviously, she’d forgotten. Or chosen to forget.

  We walked through the kitchen and out the backdoor. With a flick of a switch, the backyard was flooded with light.

  “Your surprise is in the carriage house,” she said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to help me.”

  “I bet you had a hard time getting that pony up these stairs.”

  Miss de France’s laugh floated around us as we slowly maneuvered each step.

  “When I was a child, I had a pony,” she began, her mind floating back to prehistoric times. “His name was Macaroni and he would do tricks, but only if you gave him a treat.”

  Kind of like me. The only difference is my treats are more expensive.

  At the top of the stairs I turned to face Miss de France. Smiling her best close-up smile, she handed me a long black metal key on a yellow ribbon and I unlocked the carriage house door.

  Chapter Nineteen

  After struggling with the ornate lock, I flung open the carriage house door to nothing but octopus ink darkness. Snail like, Miss de France tapped through the entrance with the silver tip of her cane.

  “The light switch is on the right, darling.”

  Blindly, I groped for the switch. Beams of pale light reflected against a shiny, black padded wall and a mirrored ceiling to reveal a room that looked like something out of a 1930’s movie. Decorated in black and white, it was dominated by a low slung bed with a white padded headboard and a silver duvet. A delicate mirrored vanity table and bench, spotlighted by a row of star-shaped track lights, hugged the wall. An old white telephone sat on a matching mirrored nightstand next to the bed. In one corner was a tiny kitchen.

  “Well, what do you think?” Miss de France’s face was one big question mark.

  “I’m...just surprised that James’s bedroom looks like this. I mean, it’s not very masculine.”

  The tinkle of her laugh filled the room. “It’s not James’s room, silly. It’s yours.”

  “Mine?” Happiness and greed fell like colored confetti over my addled brain. “I don’t know what to say!”

  “Then just say that you love it.”

  “I do love it, but I have a bedroom already.”

  Dramatically, Miss de France spread out her arms, the batwing sleeves of her pajamas making her look as though she just might fly.

  “Of course, you do, darling. A wonderful place, I’m sure. Just think of the carriage house as your apartment away from home.”

  An apartment of my own! Just like I was twenty-one or something. The smile that had been waiting stole across my face. “Oh, Miss de France, it’s so...so...”

  “Hollywood, darling.”

  “Yes, Hollywood.”

  I tossed the flashlight on the bed and tiptoed to the shiny black wall behind it, touching it softly. I turned to Miss de France.

  “It looks like the tap dancing shoes I used to wear when I was seven.”

  “It reminds me of tap dancing shoes, too. Actually, inspiration came from the walls in my dressing room at Paramount. I’ve christened your new apartment The Patent Leather Room.”

  “The Patent Leather Room. How perfect!”

  “Now, here is the key. I’m afraid it’s the only one in the entire universe, so don’t lose it.”

  “Oh, I won’t.”

  “And now that you have your very own place, I have only three rules,” Miss de France said, looking stern.

  Rules? I was going to have to have rules? I looked into her blueberry colored eyes, waiting for the worst.

  “Number one: You must always let me know when you arrive and when you leave. Number two: You may not have more than three guests at one time. And number three...” I held my breath.

  “As a tribute to Steffie, you may not bring in alcohol or mind-altering drugs of any kind.”

  “Oh, no, I wouldn’t. I mean, I won’t.”

  “Splendid. Then you are free to do as you wish.”

  I hugged her so hard she gave a little squeak.

  “Oh, sorry, I forgot you’re so del
icate.”

  “Well, I think I’m still intact.”

  I smiled into the glamorous mirrored vanity, my reflection reminding me of my greedy little brother on Christmas morning.

  “I guess I better be running along,” I said, turning toward the door.

  “You mean you’re not spending your first night?”

  “Well, no. I mean, I have to clear it with my parents and everything.”

  Disappointment showed in her face. “Well, of course you do. It’s all right. We’ll have dozens of other nights together.”

  I smiled all the way home. I have my own apartment! My very own apartment! It was too incredibly cool. My cell rang twice, but adhering to my Oprah no-talking-or-texting pledge while driving, I ignored it. Besides, I wanted a few minutes to soak up the fact that I was the luckiest girl in the world. I mean, how many seventeen year olds for less than twelve hours had their own apartment? None. Unless maybe you were Miley Cyrus.

  But worry was beginning to ruin my total happiness. I felt my smile crumple like the cartoon face on my birthday cake sitting next to me on the front seat of my convertible. Only one teeny little problem. And that was telling my parents.

  Chapter Twenty

  All the way home I practiced how I would tell my mother.

  Oh, by the way, Mom, I stopped over at Miss de France’s after my party with the Sisters and what do you think she gave me?

  Or maybe, I realize that sometimes my stereo is like a little loud, so I thought it was a great idea when Miss de France surprised me with...

  Or, Mom, Dad, I know how you’re always telling me I should be more independent, so I really think you’ll love the fact I now have my own apartment!

  Dumb, double dumb and triple dumb.

  My mother was lying on the couch in white cotton lounging pajamas, reading for her English lit class. Having plowed through such fluff as One Hundred Years of Solitude, The Brothers Karamazov, and War and Peace, she was now attacking something with the bewildering name of Absalom, Absalom!

  When she saw me, she took off her glasses, placing the novel across her chest. “So, how was the party?” she asked. Somehow the line had a familiar ring.

  “Oh, great. The Sisters gave me a gorgeous, green suede Juicy purse and a really cool birthday cake. Would you like a piece?”

  “No, thanks. I’m trying to lose three pounds.”

  “Are you sure? It has a picture of me driving the Green Lady on it.”

  “Top up or down?”

  “Me or the car?” The minute I spouted my classic Green Lady joke, I was sorry. Sorry because it made me think of how I’d caught my mother with her top down making out with Nick in his van last year. Something I totally wanted to forget.

  “It’s got whipped cream frosting,” I added, trying to squish the thoughts about my mother and Nick back into my brain.

  “Well, in that case.” She got up from the couch, abandoning Absalom, Absalom! to the coffee table. I picked up the novel and followed her into the kitchen. Opening a page, I began to read.

  “Hasn’t this guy ever heard of a period? This sentence has to be a page long.”

  My mother opened the lid to the Publix bakery box and peered in. “Faulkner isn’t the easiest writer, but you get used to him after awhile. By the way, what happened to your face, on the cake, I mean?”

  “I dropped my cell on it.”

  She licked a bit of white frosting from her finger. “So, what’s on your mind?”

  “I was just wondering,” I began, plopping the book on the kitchen counter, “I have this friend who’s seventeen, like me, and she has a friend who’s willing to let her use her apartment sometimes, and I was wondering what you think. As a mother.”

  “Who’s the friend?”

  “The first friend or the second friend?”

  “The first friend.” My mother sounded tired.

  “Oh, just a girl I know.”

  “Okay, so why does this hypothetical friend think she needs an apartment of her own?”

  “Oh, no reason. She just thought it would be nice to have her own place to study and stuff.”

  “Right. Well, if I were the first friend’s mother, I would tell her in no uncertain terms nada, no, forget it.”

  “You would?”

  “Yes. Any more questions?”

  I shook my head.

  “Good. Glad you had a nice party.” With that, she picked up Absalom, Absalom! and her plate of birthday cake and left. So much for asking if I could spend the night in my new apartment. But I’d figure out a way. I always did.

  Although I was dying to tell the Sisters about my birthday present from Miss de France, I kept it a secret until the next morning. By the time Erskine had put his early-morning-wakeup-paw under my bedroom door, I’d texted all three of them.

  Sisters,

  Meet me @ Miss D’s @ 1 to C my huge b’day surprise. U won’t believe it!!!

  No X-cuses. Luv Brooke p.s. Please bring food! I’ll bring the cake!

  Tamara’s dad’s Chevy was already parked in Miss de France’s driveway when I got there. As for Tamara, she was sprawled out on the grass under the magnolia tree, Sudsy and Maria at her side. They waved when they saw me. T was in a terrible mood.

  “I’m glad you’re here, because the ice cream is totally melting.”

  “Sorry, but my mother made me help Benji with his spelling, and it would be easier to teach my cat.”

  Maria peeked out from under her lavender straw hat. “Is Miss D going to mind our dragging all of this food into her house? I mean, it’s kind of nervy.”

  I slammed the car door. “It’s okay, because we’re putting all of it in another refrigerator. Here T, hold the cake. I have something I have to do.”

  With no more explanation, I ran to the back door of the Victorian for the key. When I’d returned a milliminute later, T was in an even worse mood. She scowled when she realized I was headed for the carriage house.

  “Oh, great, we’re making James stick this junk in his refrigerator. Well, don’t expect me to ask just because we’re both black.”

  “Oh, really? I answered, smiling. “I never noticed.”

  The four of us clamored up the wooden stairs and with a flourish I produced the iron key from my purse.

  Maria looked impressed. “You have a key to his apartment!”

  “Yeah,” Tamara said. “Brooke’s getting it on with him now that she doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

  I swatted Tamara on the rear, then put the intricate piece of metal in the lock. The door swung open. Sunlight filled the room and there, looking more Hollywood than an old black and white movie set, was my apartment.

  I looked at the Sisters, waiting for someone to say something. Maria was the first to utter a syllable, her voice bouncing off the shiny black patent leather wall like a Ping-Pong ball. “God, it’s gorgeous! Who’d ever think that an old black dude would have a place like this?”

  “Why? You don’t think a brother can be sophisticated?” T was ready for a fight.

  “Oh, T, mellow out,” Sudsy said, grabbing the sheet cake from Tamara before it hit the floor. “You know as well as I do most guys are about as sophisticated as a rock. My brother’s idea of decorating is five hundred pounds of weights and a bunch of greasy motorcycle parts.”

  “Well, when we’re married, the only well-oiled machine Jamal is going to have in the bedroom is going to be me.”

  “It’s not James’s apartment,” I began, wondering if the Sisters would be jealous.

  “Then, if it isn’t his, whose is it?” Maria’s words hung in the air, as soft as the half-gallon of vanilla ice cream she held.

  Hesitating, I watched the drops of sticky white as they dripped from the container onto her flip-flops and oozed through her toes.

  “It’s mine,” I answered, afraid to meet their eyes. “It’s totally mine.”

  Tamara scowled. “I always said you were the luckiest chick on the planet.”

  “Yeah,” S
udsy agreed. “I am totally jealous. Why couldn’t Miss de France have adopted me instead?”

  “She didn’t adopt Brooke,” Maria corrected. “She just adores her like all of us do.”

  Tamara kicked off her Rainbows and flopped down on my Hollywood bed. “Well, I wish some rich old lady adored me.”

  “Look at that wall!” Sudsy squealed, changing the subject. She walked over to touch it. “It’s black patent leather.”

  “Miss de France calls this place The Patent Leather Room.”

  “Brooke even has a kitchen,” Maria said. “And it has the tiniest stove and sink I’ve ever seen.”

  “It’s a Pullman. Guess it has something do with trains,” I said, opening a tiny kitchen cabinet for four plates for the cake. “Now, I don’t want any of you to be jealous, because I’m going to share my apartment with all of you. I mean, we are Sisters, aren’t we?”

  “Damn right,” Tamara said, sitting up. “So when is it my turn to use it?”

  “We’ll draw names and the person I draw will be the first to spend the night with me.”

  Within minutes the names of all three Sisters were in Maria’s lavender straw hat.

  “We should have James draw so it will be absolutely fair,” Maria said, shaking out her mane of thick hair.

  “It’s okay,” I said, “I’ll close my eyes.” And with that, reached into the hat. “Sudsy,” I announced. “You’re the winner.”

  “Killer!” Sudsy squealed. “Now when do I get to sleep over?”

  “Tomorrow night,” I said, “but since I haven’t gotten around to telling my parents, I’m going to have to tell a teeny weeny lie and say I’m spending the night at your house. And you’re going to have to say you’re spending the night with me.”

  Sudsy nodded, but I could have sworn I saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes, the same annoying doubt I felt in my heart.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I picked Sudsy up at her house on Coral Cove Circle at seven-thirty the next night. Too guilty to walk to the door and face her family, I honked instead. In a minute she appeared, staggering to the car with a small cardboard box with enough stuff for a seven-day Caribbean Carnival Cruise.