The Shadow and the Rose

by Amanda DeWees

  Chapter 14

  A pregnancy test from the nearby convenience store confirmed her fears. Asking Gail to drive her into town to see a gynecologist was about as humiliating as she had expected it would be, as was the appointment itself, in which her doctor questioned her at length. Then, when she emerged into the waiting room, Gail started in on her.

  “Didn’t you use protection?”

  “Of course we did.” She had Maddie to thank for that—not that she would ever tell her.

  “So what happened?”

  “I don’t know! This is hardly my area of expertise.” She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “Look, Gail, it’s pointless trying to go back and figure out how it happened. And I didn’t want to have to talk about it at all. What happened between me and Tanner was personal, and it should have been private. Talking about it like this makes it seem cheap.”

  Gail relented. “Let’s get some ice cream,” she said. “We could both stand to cool down some. Especially you. If you blush any more I think you’re going to burst into flames.”

  Over sundaes they nudged the topic around further. The Dairy Queen was far enough from campus that they could talk relatively freely.

  “To be fair,” said Gail, who had become more philosophical under the influence of Moose Tracks, “it might have been inevitable, what with it being Beltane night, and Ash Grove sitting on top of a supernatural amplifier.” She licked hot fudge off her spoon. “I don’t know that any form of protection short of a pentagram and a priest would have worked.”

  “Thanks,” said Joy gratefully. “I’m glad you’re not mad at me.”

  “There’s not much point in being mad now.” Gail sighed. “I just keep thinking of how disappointed your father is going to be in me.”

  “In you?” That caught her by surprise. “It’s not your fault, Gail, he’ll have to see that. But anyway, I’m not ready to tell him yet. I’ve got to figure out how to prepare him for the shock.” Now it was her turn to sigh. “You’ve got to promise me you won’t tell him—or anyone. No one must know.”

  “Of course.”

  “Not even Dr. Aysgarth.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Gail said, “I promise.” Then, carefully, “Have you thought yet about what you’re going to do?”

  Joy realized that she was chewing on her thumbnail, a habit she had broken years before. She put her hand in her lap. “I need to talk to him first before I make any decisions.” She wasn’t talking about her father.

  “Have you got a way of getting in touch with him?”

  “I’m working on it,” said Joy.

  She had spent so many mornings and evenings online, trying to find a way to contact Tanner, with no success. All his contact information led to his agency, which meant it went through Melisande. No private phone number or email address existed for him; even his Facebook and Twitter accounts were maintained by Melisande’s company. When her spirits were at their lowest she couldn’t help but wonder if it was more than caution that had prevented him from giving her a way to contact him directly. Maybe he didn’t want her to be able to find him. Maybe she had just been a fling, a bit of fun to be left behind without a backward glance. She knew that wasn’t true, but it was hard not to let the doubts creep in sometimes.

  She even tried to think of ways to send a coded message. But what would she say, even if she could get a message through? She was determined not to tell him about her pregnancy until she could do it in person. That left only “come back”—as if he could go anywhere against Melisande’s will. He was as good as a prisoner until November, when he turned eighteen.

  A prisoner who led a very glamorous life on parole, however. She couldn’t resist checking the tabloids and celebrity gossip sites for news of him, and there were plenty of recent photos of him on different red carpets with different women on his arm; Melisande was the only one who ever appeared with him more than once. It was horrible seeing him that way, but she couldn’t stop looking. Even when she wasn’t actively searching for him, he’d show up in the sidebar of a website in a trashy faux news item like “Dishy Tristan Tans in Cannes!” The only thread of hope these sightings gave her was that in some of the shirtless beefcake photos she could see that he was wearing her mother’s pendant.

  That was one of the disadvantages of having a celebrity boyfriend (if he could even be called her boyfriend): she was constantly bombarded with reminders of him. Classmates still stopped her to ask for the latest news of him, and the launch of Melisande’s new skin-care product line meant that he and Melisande were practically everywhere she looked. The billboards on Highway 64 showed them in seductive poses, they appeared in banner ads at practically every website Joy visited, and one afternoon when she was hanging out in Gail’s living room she found that even there she wasn’t safe.

  Gail liked to have talk shows on in the background when she graded schoolwork, and she was marking up math tests while Joy, who would rather have done anything other than spend time alone in her room with her own thoughts, had taken it upon herself to alphabetize Gail and Jim’s Blu-Ray collection. When an image of Melisande and Tanner came on the screen she made a startled noise.

  “Actress and supermodel Melisande has appeared in her first TV ads,” said the voice-over. “She and her popular protégé Tristan will be talking with me today about the launch of her herbal skin-care line and the challenges of going from actress to entrepreneur.”

  Gail had looked up from the test she was grading. “Did you know about this, Joy?”

  She shook her head. Alphabetizing was forgotten as she stared at the screen.

  When the hostess introduced Melisande, she glided onto the set to wild applause. She was wearing a gauzy white dress with a plunging neckline, in a pseudo-Grecian style. Her white-blonde hair, worn down as usual, made an ethereal nimbus around her. She paused gracefully to acknowledge the applause before she took a seat on the sofa in the interview area, languid and relaxed, elegantly crossing her legs. Joy felt a pang of depression. She could never hope to be as graceful, or as feminine, as this exquisite long-limbed creature.

  The talk-show hostess, Roberta West, also dwindled to nothingness in comparison. Her spray tan and salon highlights looked all the more artificial next to the perfect beauty of her guest. But she greeted Melisande gushingly.

  “It’s certainly not every day that we get to welcome to our studio a star as legendary as you, Melisande!”

  The studio audience burst into further applause. Melisande smiled as if it were her due.

  “Now, in ads for your skin-care line you put a lot of emphasis on their herbal content,” Roberta continued, after some more pleasantries. “But this is different from the way we’ve seen herbal ingredients used before, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right, Roberta. My formulas rely not on scientific properties, but on more mystical ones.”

  Roberta put her head on one side to convey interest, like a terrier. “Do you mean the kind of old superstitions that people used to call witchcraft? Eye of newt, toe of frog?”

  Melisande’s raised eyebrows showed that she didn’t appreciate the implicit comparison to the hags of Macbeth. “Call it magic if you like, but it’s not about black cats and cauldrons,” she said coolly. “Herbs have been used since the beginning of recorded history in everything from housekeeping to surgery, and medical science has yet to explain some of their effects. For example, centuries before the little blue pill, the herb called lad’s love, or southernwood, was widely used to put men in an amorous frame of mind.”

  That was one of the ingredients in the unguent she had used on Tanner’s injuries when they first met, Joy remembered. “This use of herbs,” she said to Gail. “Does it seem significant to you? It almost sounds like she may be involved in witchcraft, especially since she’s so peeved at Roberta for suggesting it.”

  Gail thought about this, absently biting the end of her red pencil. “It’s worth considering. Are you thinking of just these skin products, o
r something else?”

  Joy told her about the herbal ointment as Tanner had described it to her. “I remember lad’s love especially because of the name. She implied it had some therapeutic quality, but from what she’s saying here, it sounds more like an aphrodisiac.”

  “Classy,” said Gail dryly. “I guess he was lucky she chose something more subtle than roofie. And vervain and coriander are used not just in healing but in love spells as well. Mullein, if I remember correctly, can act as a sedative. It sounds like she chose exactly the herbs that would make him susceptible to her.”

  “So she might be a witch?” She wouldn’t have a problem believing that.

  “Or at least versed in witchcraft. Of course, she could just be innocently blundering around in folklore without understanding there are actual supernatural forces to be tapped. But I doubt she goes into anything blindly—or innocently, for that matter.” She got up to fetch her phone and began texting. “I’ll see what the council thinks about the possibility of her using witchcraft.”

  “Cool.” It was a chance, however small, of defanging Melisande and freeing Tanner. Then she asked curiously, “How do you know so much about this?”

  “Oh, didn’t you know?” She glanced up from her texting to bob her head toward a shelf full of gardening books. “I’ve always been fascinated with heirloom gardening. It’s the one thing I don’t like about living on campus: I miss my garden.” Now Joy remembered the beautiful beds of flowers and aromatic herbs in Gail and Jim’s yard. Living next door had meant that the Sumners never lacked for rosemary, mint, or basil for cooking. “My background in herbs and plants is one of the main reasons I’m on the council,” she added. “That, and your dad’s recommendation.”

  But Joy’s attention was back on the TV, where the new commercials were playing. Gail set her phone aside and sat down on the floor next to Joy for a better view.

  The ad campaign was “The Touch That Transforms.” In the first commercial, filmed in black and white, a procession of young men in short Greek chitons climbed the steps of a temple to place offerings at the feet of a statue of Aphrodite. Tanner was last in line, and when he placed his offering on the altar he knelt down to kiss the statue’s foot. Color flowed into the figure, and she moved and smiled: it was Melisande herself, and she reached down to draw Tanner to his feet and into her arms. In the other ad, it was Tanner who was the statue, and Melisande, again as Aphrodite, brought him to life with a kiss: not on his foot, Joy noticed—that would have been too submissive for her, no doubt—but on his lips. Both commercials featured silky voice-over narration by Melisande.

  The studio audience applauded loudly for the ads, and then even more loudly as Tanner walked onstage. Joy’s heart gave the painful thump it always did whenever she saw him. He was darkly handsome in black jeans and a snug black shirt with most of the buttons undone. Of course. Melisande liked her trophy’s assets to be on display. He gave the audience a smile and a wave, sparking more applause and whistles, and took his seat on the sofa next to Melisande.

  “Tristan, we’re so thrilled that you could join us today,” Roberta exclaimed. “I have to tell you, we actually had to turn women away from the door when they found out that you’d be on the show! We haven’t had so much demand for tickets since David Gandy was our guest.”

  He gave a chuckle. He seemed at ease, slouched against the sofa cushions with his arm around Melisande’s shoulders. He wore a heavy gold chain around his neck, she noticed; there was no sign of her mother’s pendant. “You flatter me, Roberta. It’s Melisande who everyone comes to see. Especially if there’s a chance that she’ll be giving away any of her beauty secrets.”

  “Well, that’s very gallant of you. Isn’t he the perfect gentleman, ladies?” The ladies of the audience agreed loudly, and Roberta laughed and gestured them to silence. “Now, Melisande,” she continued, “you appear as nothing less than a goddess in these ads. What gave you the idea?”

  “Every woman likes to think of herself as a goddess,” said Melisande. Now Joy realized why she had chosen a dress in a Grecian style—to recall the ads. One slender hand rested on Tanner’s knee, and Joy seethed to see it. “And, of course, every man wants to be with a goddess.”

  Roberta cast a roguish look at Tanner. “Tristan, it looks like in your case that dream has come true. Would you say the relationship these ads portray is similar to your real-life relationship with Melisande?”

  “Well, any man who meets her can’t help but worship at her feet,” he said smoothly, and the interviewer laughed. “And I can say with complete honesty that knowing Melisande has transformed me. I wouldn’t be the man I am today without her.”

  His mentor granted him an approving smile, and the audience awwed.

  “Sounds like Melisande’s writing his dialogue for him,” observed Gail.

  “I do take credit for playing Pygmalion,” said Melisande. “In fact, that was the inspiration for the ads. If you’d seen Tristan when I first met him, you wouldn’t believe he’s the same person.”

  Smug she-devil, thought Joy.

  Their hostess chuckled. “From an ugly duckling to a swan, eh? So do you two—”

  “Roberta,” interjected Tanner, edging forward on the sofa to lean toward her, “as long as we’re on the subject, I’d love to get your help with something.”

  “Oh? What would that be?” Though flattered, she was wary of what was clearly a departure from the script.

  “In my time modeling I’ve met a lot of guys with body dysmorphic disorder, what some people call manorexia.” He spoke quickly, almost nervously; the suave charmer was gone. “I’m concerned that ads like ours are contributing to that problem, and I think we need to be responsible about the message we’re sending.”

  “I didn’t know he was involved in that cause,” said Gail. “Good for him.”

  “Neither did I.” There were always more layers to Tanner. She felt a swell of pride that he was trying to do something meaningful with his celebrity status.

  Roberta, too, was intrigued by this new angle. “That’s certainly a problem that’s on the rise, Tristan. We’re seeing more and more men these days with eating disorders, trying to live up to an ideal body type. I did a show on it just a few weeks ago. Melisande, how do you feel about this?”

  “Tristan and I have already discussed it.” Her tone was light, but her eyes had gone flinty and cold. “I have no intention of changing the ads.”

  “That’s where you can help, Roberta,” said Tanner eagerly. “I know you and your audience can help me convince Melisande how important it is not to send guys the message that they aren’t good enough as they are.”

  Uh oh. That was a risky move, ambushing her in front of an audience. Why was he defying her so openly, when he knew how dangerous she was?

  Maybe to send a message.

  To show that he was resisting Melisande. That he wasn’t her willing patsy, but had a mind of his own still.

  Whether or not that was his intention, Melisande wasn’t going to let him get away with challenging her. She laid a hand on his shoulder. Delicate though it looked, Joy saw Tanner wince when the slim white fingers clamped down. Joy realized she was hugging her knees to her chest as she waited to see what would happen next.

  “Now, sweetheart,” said Melisande indulgently, “you’re about the least credible person on earth to talk about body issues. Just look at him, Roberta. Have you ever seen a man with less to be insecure about?”

  Roberta’s grin—almost a leer—was answer enough, but she said coyly, “Now that you mention it, Tristan does seem to be the kind of ideal other men aspire to.”

  All the animation had left Tanner’s face. Melisande’s hand was still gripping his shoulder, and he gave in to its pressure and sat back, defeated.

  “Exactly! Who’s going to care what he has to say when he looks this delicious?” Melisande was in full control now. “Have you seen the six-pack on this boy?”

  “Not in person,” said Roberta im
pudently. “How about it, ladies? Should we get Tristan to show us?” Loud, enthusiastic whoops and catcalls came from the women in the studio audience. Tanner tried to demur, but they began to chant: “Abs! Abs! Abs!” Melisande murmured something to him that the mikes didn’t pick up, and he raised his hands in surrender before unfastening the remaining buttons on his shirt and pulling it open to display his torso. The audience went wild, especially when a giggling Roberta, at Melisande’s invitation, put her hand on Tanner’s abdomen to feel his muscles.

  Joy swallowed hard, forcing back futile tears of rage. Thanks to Melisande, they were treating Tanner like a steer at a livestock auction.

  “Is it just my morning sickness, or is this nauseating?” she asked.

  “Oh, it’s not just you.” Gail shook her head as, on screen, Tanner was made to stand up and turn around to show off his glutes. “That poor boy.”

  There was a purpose to the humiliation, though. Melisande was reminding Tanner—and everyone who was watching—that she was the one who called the shots. Joy realized now that if Melisande didn’t already know about her and Tanner, it would be idiotic to chance giving them away by trying to contact him. He had downplayed the risk he took in spending time with Joy, but now, as Roberta fondled his biceps while Melisande looked on, she saw that if Melisande did choose to take revenge, there was nothing either Joy or Tanner could do to stop her.

  Gail looked over at her as she sat gripping her knees. “I hate to ask this,” she said, “but have you thought about a backup plan in case he can’t be there for you?”

  So her thoughts had been taking a similar path. “Dad won’t throw me out into the streets or anything,” said Joy shortly. “I’ll manage.”

  “There are legal options, you know. If he won’t admit paternity—”

  “I’m not taking him to court.”

  Gail reached over to lay a gentle hand over hers. “I’m sorry, I know this is hard. But I think you need to prepare yourself in case the worst happens.”

  She knew Gail was right. But there was no part of this discussion that wasn’t painful.

  Gail didn’t press the issue, but glanced back at the TV and made a face. “Shall I turn this off?”

  The interview was wrapping up: Melisande and Tanner had risen to go. Roberta all but squirmed in delight as Tanner gave her a parting kiss on the cheek. The camera lingered too long on his face before cutting away, and for just a second it caught a look of utter bleakness in his eyes.

  Shaken, Joy handed Gail the remote. “I’ve seen enough,” she said. For the first time she wondered if she would ever see Tanner in person again.

  Over the next few days Melisande and Tanner made appearances on all the major talk shows, but Tanner never again made the mistake of trying to challenge her authority. He played the devoted consort, smiling and flattering, but she sensed a hollowness behind it as if his soul had been sucked out of him.

  Once the commercials made their debut, they seemed to take over every satellite channel and network. Every time she saw Aphrodite kissing the statue of Tanner into life, it was a reminder of the power Melisande wielded over him: the power that had not only created his celebrity but could destroy him as well. The goddess of love was the wrong role for Melisande, she thought: Kali, goddess of destruction, would have been more fitting.

  Hang on, she thought. Hang on til November. She could have been talking to Tanner or to herself.