Waverly blinked awake as Artur came into the room with the breakfast tray, closely followed by two young women. She recognized one of them from the day before. The girl had been helping Antigona with her makeup. Now she carried the same large makeup kit in an orange plastic box and had a banana-yellow satin evening gown slung over her arm. The other girl was bristling with assorted hair-care products, a hair dryer, curling iron, and straightener. Wordlessly they began arranging their supplies and plugging in various implements while Artur unloaded the breakfast tray onto the table. Charlie turned toward the wall and pulled the blanket over her head.
“Good morning,” Waverly said to the girls.
They glanced up. “No English,” the makeup girl said, smiling apologetically.
“I can do my own hair and makeup,” Waverly said, but the girls just looked at her blankly. Waverly sighed. “Okay, well, let’s get this over with.” She slid her feet into the ugly homemade slippers and gestured for the women to begin.
Twenty minutes later Waverly was sitting in one of the plastic chairs in the very form-fitting, very vivid yellow gown, being beautified within an inch of her life. Her hair was piled on top of her head in an elaborate updo, and she could feel her eyelids drooping under the weight of fake eyelashes. Charlie sat at the table in her pajamas chewing a slice of bread spread with adjvar and watching the proceedings with interest.
“How do I look?” Waverly asked.
“Well, I’m pretty sure astronauts can see that dress from the international space station,” Charlie observed.
Waverly sighed. “I was afraid of that.”
Someone knocked on the door and one of the girls called out a welcome, pausing with a tube of blush in her hand. The door opened, and Jetmir poked his head inside.
“Ah, good, you are almost ready,” he said. He came into the room, looking Waverly up and down approvingly. “Very beautiful, like Albanian bride now.”
Waverly frowned, unconvinced. “Was yesterday’s hair and makeup not good enough?”
“You are a beautiful woman,” Jetmir said smoothly. “We want you to look successful, like a TV star, so everyone can see that we treat you good, that you are happy here.”
“But I’m not happy here,” Waverly countered, blinking her false eyelashes. “I’d be happy if you’d let me go.”
Jetmir laughed as if she’d said something funny. “When we are done you will go free. But first you will help us. And today you will contact your television friends. The show from yesterday is ready.”
Waverly sat up straight in the chair. “What do you mean, ‘contact my television friends’?”
At the table Charlie gave a cough and shot her sister a warning look.
“We have made the show very good and now it is ready. Today you will contact your friends in America and get them to put it on the television.”
Waverly’s mind was racing. Could she actually speak to anyone? What could she say that would help someone find them? The thought of hearing Beau’s voice made her feel like crying. She pulled herself together. They might only get this one chance. She had to make it count for Charlie and the baby.
“Fine then,” she said calmly, not betraying her inner turmoil. She waved a hand at the young women working on her. “When I’m done here I’m happy to help.”
As it turned out, Waverly did not get to call anyone. She and Charlie were taken to the outbuilding, and Waverly was given a printed statement to read in front of the camera. Erjon sat to one side, Artur towering silently behind him and watched the filming closely. The prepared statement was full of grand sentiments about the idea of Albanian ethnic unification and assured the watcher that Waverly was being treated like a queen. It requested that Beau and the Food Network immediately air the episodes they would be sending. And then Waverly reassured them again that she was happy to be helping such a worthy cause and that there was no need for alarm. She was safe and well.
As the cameraman videoed her, Waverly read the last line of the prepared statement and took a deep breath, mustering her courage. On the way over to the barn, she and Charlie had only had a moment’s whispered conversation, but they had agreed that if she could, she must try to give as much information as possible. She laid down the paper and looked straight at the camera. Her heart was pounding in her chest. The cameraman was still filming. Good. She smiled her most dazzling smile and said very quickly, “Please also let Charlie’s friends at Care Network know that she is just fine as well, especially her colleagues Dr. Johan Kruger and Arben. Let them know that we are both happy and well.”
The cameraman stopped filming abruptly at a sharp command from Erjon, and Waverly sat back in her seat. Her evening gown was wet under the arms with nervous perspiration. Would the message go through or would they edit it out? Would Beau contact Johan Kruger and Arben?
Erjon approached her with narrowed eyes.
“You read the paper only,” he said sternly. He pointed a finger at her. “Nothing else.”
Waverly looked at him innocently. “I was just letting Charlie’s work colleagues know that she is safe too. You want them to know that she is okay, otherwise they might really make a fuss looking for her. And you don’t want that, not if you want to tape all the shows and have them run on TV.”
Erjon frowned, considering her words. Apparently deciding that she had not said anything worth editing out, he nodded at the cameraman and then gave Waverly another stern look. “Next time you read the words on paper. That’s it.” He wagged a finger at her.
Waverly nodded, dropping her eyes and trying to look appropriately chastened. “I understand.” Secretly she was elated. It wasn’t much, but if Beau received the message and was smart enough to contact the men she had named, it was a step in the right direction. If Arben could find Ilir, wherever he was, they might figure out what had happened to Charlie and her and where they were being held.
Erjon clapped his hands. “We send this message now. Let’s get to work.”
Using the e-mail address for Beau that Waverly supplied, Erjon and his crew sent her video message first, closely followed by the first episode they’d filmed the day before. Antigona arrived as they finished sending it, dressed in another sequined gown, this one a spring green, and after a quick break for coffee and cigarettes they began filming another episode.
Antigona made flija, a traditional dish that reminded Waverly of a stack of pancakes or crepes smeared with cream cheese between each layer. The flija was served sweet with jam or honey, or savory with cheese, adjvar, and pickled vegetables. In return, Waverly made French-style crepes stuffed with cream cheese and spiced apples.
In the moments before filming started, Waverly wiped off the bold pink lipstick the makeup girl had used and quickly applied her signature color, thinking of her mother as she did so. Her mother had seemed like such a pillar of strength to Waverly’s childhood self. She couldn’t remember Margaret Talbot ever being afraid of anything.
Waverly took a deep breath, needing the reassurance and strength of Margaret’s legacy. She glanced over at her sister, ensconced in a folding chair with a mug of tea, her belly swathed in a knit blanket. Waverly wanted to be that strong for her baby. She wanted to be that strong for her sister as well.
When they were little their father used to call Waverly his rose and Charlie his wildflower. But roses were deceptively hardy, Waverly had discovered. They looked delicate, but they could be surprisingly tough. She needed to channel that now, to be tough and smart and strong. Charlie and the baby needed her. She rubbed her finger across her teeth to remove any lipstick stains, then plastered on a dazzling smile and went to stand in her fake studio kitchen to make crepes and mark time until they could be rescued or find a way to escape.
That evening after the filming for two episodes had wrapped up, Erjon appeared and motioned for Waverly just as Artur was leading her back to the house for the night. Charlie had gone back earlier to eat supper and rest. Waverly sighed. She couldn’t wait to take off her ou
tfit and slip into her pajamas. The high heels were pinching her toes dreadfully. Erjon waved her over and showed her an e-mail on his smartphone. Waverly’s heart jumped a beat. It was from Beau.
I got both videos. Unfortunately, the Food Network’s schedule is full, but I posted the first episode to YouTube and expect it will get a lot of views. Keep up the good work. We’re keeping it up on our end.
—Beau
Waverly stared at the words, trying to discern their full meaning. It sounded as though Beau had gotten her clue. She fervently hoped so. Perhaps even now he was making contact with Johan Kruger and Arben. Perhaps their rescue was brewing at this very moment.
Erjon tapped the screen and said disapprovingly, “Not on American television.”
Waverly hesitated, trying to think of a way to spin the news. “No,” she said finally, slowly, “but this might be better. YouTube is even bigger than cable television. More people watch it, from all over the world.”
Erjon eyed her skeptically. “Huh,” he said noncommittally. He glanced at the message and back at Waverly. “Maybe,” he said again, his voice chilly with warning. “Remember, if you don’t help us, I cannot promise to keep your sister safe.”
Waverly swallowed hard. “I’ve done my part,” she said firmly. “Let’s see what happens next.”
Charlie was sitting propped up on one of the twin beds in a cozy nest of blankets trying valiantly to focus on the Steinbeck novel she’d brought with her for the Simply Perfect road trip. She was waiting for Waverly, eager to hear if there were any new developments, and kept reading the same few sentences over and over. She just couldn’t maintain interest in Cannery Row. All she could think about was how to bring about a rescue. She wondered if Waverly’s hint to Beau had worked, and if so, was anyone even close to figuring out what had happened to them and where they were being held?
When Waverly came back to their room, Charlie waited until Artur left them alone, then eagerly demanded any new details. Waverly kicked off her shoes, sat down at the table, and told Charlie about the last episode’s taping while she picked at her dinner. After eating just a few bites, she pushed her plate aside with a sigh. She rose and moved across the room to the mirror hanging on the wall and surveyed the bright yellow evening gown, pulling a face.
“Can you unzip me?” she asked. “I can’t stand to be in this thing a minute longer.”
“Sure.” Charlie pulled the zipper down, and the dress puddled to the floor.
Waverly arched her shoulders and groaned with relief. “That’s better. It was hideously tight. I’ve spent all day feeling like I’m being slowly squeezed to death by a banana boa constrictor.”
“Beauty hurts. Isn’t that the saying?” Charlie gave her a wry smile and returned to her cozy nest in bed. The dress truly was awful.
Waverly slipped into her pajamas, a periwinkle paisley-patterned set, and knelt on her bed in front of the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair, still perfectly formed and sprayed into submission, and winced as her fingers caught in the curls. She pulled her hair back from her face with a headband and opened her makeup bag, taking out a cotton round and a bottle of makeup remover.
Charlie watched her sister, struck by the familiarity of the gestures. How many nights had she stood brushing her teeth in the cramped bathroom in Aunt Mae’s farmhouse and watched Waverly perform this simple bedtime routine? A thousand? More? It made her feel like a teenager again, in a moment erasing all the distance between them. Waverly was just home from cheerleading practice. Charlie had finished her AP paper on Wuthering Heights. They were still two peas in a pod, together through thick and thin.
Charlie shook her head, coming back to the present in a rush. They were not teenagers anymore, sleeping in their matching twin beds a scant few feet from one another in the white gabled room, close enough to touch but dreaming different dreams.
Charlie studied her sister as Waverly gently and methodically swiped the cotton round over her skin, taking off the layers of foundation and blush. Without makeup she looked tired and a little pale. There were crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, Charlie noted with a pang. They were growing older, both of them. So many years had passed already. So many choices. So much they could not undo.
“What are you thinking?” Waverly asked, breaking into Charlie’s reverie. “When you frown like that, you get wrinkles on your forehead, you know.”
Charlie sighed ruefully. “Just thinking about how many years it’s been since we shared a bedroom. Seventeen. Seems like a lifetime.”
Waverly nodded. “But somehow it seems like it was just yesterday too.” She peeled off the ridiculous false eyelashes and set them on the bed. They lay there like two spiders. “What happened to us?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” Charlie slipped her bookmark into Cannery Row and laid the novel aside.
“I mean, we used to be each other’s constants. We were so different, but we had each other to rely on no matter what. And then somehow . . . somehow we lost our way. I don’t even really know how it happened.” Waverly looked thoughtful. She picked up her hairbrush and began to gently comb out her hair, wincing as it caught the tangles.
Charlie shrugged. “We were on two different continents, leading very different lives. It was a lot of years. I guess we just grew apart.”
“Maybe.” Waverly sounded doubtful. “But it seems like more than that. Honestly . . .” She tapped the hairbrush against her lips. “Now that I think about it, I think it happened when you left Africa and moved to Budapest. It seemed like you just . . . disappeared.”
Charlie’s breath caught in her throat. She looked down at the tiled floor, avoiding Waverly’s eyes. She felt exposed by her sister’s perception. It was true. When she had left Johannesburg, she had run from everything, including her relationship with Waverly. In her hurt and shame, all her former intimacies had been too painful to continue. She had been hiding ever since, until Aunt Mae’s death had shaken her from her cocoon of isolation.
“What happened in Africa anyway?” Waverly asked. She opened a small tub of Crème de la Mer face cream and scooped up a pea-size amount, holding it between her fingers for a few seconds to warm it. “Why did you leave? I don’t think I ever really knew.” She pressed the cream into her skin with the tips of her fingers, gently, like she was touching a bruise.
Charlie opened her mouth, ready to offer a vague explanation, then stopped. She was at a crossroads, she realized. She could easily brush off the question, give a bland, vague answer that revealed nothing. Or she could trust her sister, offer the truth, and see where it took them. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To close the distance, mend the years of silence? She shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke the words aloud for the first time.
“I left South Africa because the clinic I spent several years of my life planning, building, and funding went bankrupt. My business manager swindled the clinic out of all of the funds. I lost every dollar of my trust fund. And then I was raped.”
Waverly gasped, but Charlie continued, not looking at her sister. It felt so freeing to finally say the words. She had kept them inside, dark and hidden and secret. Bringing them into the light felt like taking off a heavy weight. “I didn’t want those things to break me. I wanted to be stronger than any act of violence or deceit. But I couldn’t. In the end they broke my grand ambitions. They shattered me.”
Charlie met Waverly’s eyes, her own stark and open. At last she had nothing left to hide.
Waverly laid down her little tub of moisturizing cream and crossed the room in a few quick steps. Kneeling in front of the bed, she gently took Charlie’s hands. Her eyes glistened with tears. “Oh, Charlie, I’m so sorry,” she said at last. “I’m so sorry that you went through all of that alone. I’m sorry I didn’t ask the questions sooner. I wish I could have been there for you. Please forgive me.”
Touched, Charlie simply nodded. She couldn’t speak. The tears lay just below the surface. She had finally opened
the secret spaces of her soul, the parts seared by shame and failure. It felt as though she’d opened her rib cage and shown Waverly her shriveled, pitiful heart, and in Waverly’s gaze there was only tenderness and compassion. For the first time in years, Charlie felt that someone truly saw her and knew her. She had ached to be known this way without even realizing it. She had missed her sister.
Waverly was speaking. “No matter what happens with this”—she waved her hand around the room, encompassing the whole strange ordeal of their kidnapping and present circumstances—“no matter what, let’s not lose each other again. Is it a deal?”
Relieved, Charlie nodded. “It’s a deal.” On impulse she held out her fist, her pinkie finger extended. Waverly blinked, then smiled and hooked Charlie’s pinkie with her own, reviving their long-lost secret childhood pinkie promise.
“Now you know we have to follow through,” Charlie said lightly.
Waverly laughed and pulled Charlie into a fierce hug, and Charlie let herself be embraced. She inhaled the scent of Waverly’s cream, lightly floral with just a hint of citrus. She imagined Aunt Mae looking down on them, smiling as her two girls found each other again. So many decisions and days and years had pulled them apart. It had taken extreme circumstances to bring them back together. But now, no matter what happened from this point forward, at least they had each other once more.
After the revelations and emotions of the night before, the next day seemed anticlimactic to Waverly. It almost felt like a repeat of the one before. Bread and eggs for breakfast. Another heavy makeup and big hair session. Another episode taping. Antigona made traditional pickled vegetables. Waverly whipped up a big glass jar of refrigerator bread-and-butter pickles and another of watermelon rind pickles. But something had changed. Despite their continuing circumstances, there was a new closeness and camaraderie between Charlie and her. They would always be markedly different people, but somehow they had bridged the gap of so many years. They were together again. That knowledge lightened Waverly’s heart through the long daylight hours of preparation and filming.
Becoming the Talbot Sisters Page 24