Claudine

by Barbara Palmer

  Maria possessed only one tailored suit. She’d worn it exactly twice, once for an interview with the university registrar and the second time for a funeral. She felt now as if it were another funeral she was headed to; the woman she was about to see had been dead to her for a very long time.

  Jewel’s condo was only a few blocks away from Maria’s building. Was it odd that Maria had chosen a place so close even though the emotional distance between them was fathomless? Keeping a fragile thread alive, perhaps, to her girlhood? She hoped not. That was simply too pathetic. She held her breath while the doorman called up to the apartment. There was no certainty her adoptive mother would agree to see her. So she felt both relieved and anxious when he told her to go on up after clicking off the intercom. She hit the buzzer at Jewel’s door and a maid answered. The maid nodded in approval when Maria removed her shoes, and showed her into the long, elegant living room. It was the same as she remembered; not even the smallest detail had changed. Except for the kitchen and bathrooms, wall-to-wall white broadloom covered all the floors in the apartment. Jewel hated noise, said she liked it quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop. Maria had once emptied a whole box of pins on the tile kitchen floor just to see whether Jewel would notice.

  Everything was spotlessly clean. The Ming dynasty china Jewel loved to collect gleamed in the glass cabinet. Tasteful antique furniture that looked attractive but felt uncomfortable was artfully arranged. The television was discreetly hidden behind cupboard doors, the fireplace long closed off. No clutter of plants or family photographs. No music playing in the background. It was as if the life had been drained out of the place. She went over to the white baby grand in front of the leaded glass windows and plunked a simple tune on the ivory keys.

  She’d taken her first lessons on this piano in Providence. Jewel was at work much of the time, often not home until after dinner. Maria’s nanny, a part-time college student, came from a big, boisterous African-American family in the Mount Hope district. She’d take Maria home with her and devised all kinds of games to play with her younger siblings and cousins. Afterward they’d sit in the kitchen, the main gathering spot in the house, and eat a huge meal, often with twelve at the table. More than anything else, this tempted Maria out of her cage of fear. She began to trust people again. It was her nanny who first sat beside her on the piano bench and taught her to play. Jewel was thrilled when Maria managed a complete piano score with no mistakes. It was one of the few times she could remember Jewel approving of something she did. She lifted the lid of the piano bench. She picked up the thin, browned pages of one of the music books, surprised to see Jewel had kept it through all these years. Her memories were abruptly cut off by her adoptive mother’s sharp tone.

  “You’re lucky I was here.” Jewel said. “I’m going out soon.” She checked her watch even though Maria knew she had the time right down to the minute. “What did you want, Marie?”

  Nothing more than that. Not even a hint of surprise at Maria materializing after a nine-year absence. And “Marie” never “Maria.” Right from the start, Jewel refused to use her proper name as if it had been necessary to erase all elements of the past in order to realize her grand remodeling project.

  She steeled herself, and thought, Don’t rise to the bait. Be nice. “You’re looking well, Jewel. I’m glad to see you.”

  Her invitation to call a truce was met with silence.

  “How’s Milne?”

  “He’s away. On a business trip.”

  Drying out somewhere, Maria thought.

  Jewel checked her watch again. “I’ve just got time for a cocktail. Do you want one? What about a White Lady?”

  “Sure, thanks.” She forced a smile. White Ladies were the only cocktails Jewel ever drank.

  Jewel rang for the maid and ordered the drinks. “Don’t stand on ceremony. Have a seat.” Maria lowered herself to one of the settees and Jewel sat on the other facing her, the two of them holding themselves breathlessly, like gladiators preparing for combat.

  It was as if nine years had vanished in a flash. Jewel looked no older. A product of extensive surgery, she had the tight-skinned, plasticized look to prove it. Not a hair of her white-blond coif was out of place. She wore well-cut slacks and silk shirt of black, her favorite color. Pinned to her lapel, a sapphire brooch with a teardrop pearl. Milne’s wedding gift. Early on, Jewel had developed the habit of always wearing a precious gem as an acknowledgment of her name.

  The maid brought their drinks and disappeared. Jewel took a sip and set her stem glass down on a coaster placed on the end table. “Well,” she said brightly, “are you still whoring?”

  Maria wanted to toss her drink in Jewel’s face, smash the precious Ming china, and ruin the white broadloom. Instead she said, “Let’s not get off on the wrong foot. I know you have no desire to see me. And I wouldn’t have come if there wasn’t an urgent reason.”

  “You turned out to be an extreme disappointment to me, Marie. After everything I did for you, you can’t expect me to feel charitable. All the funds spent on private schools. Your piano lessons, summer camp in the Catskills, braces. All money down the drain. What a colossal embarrassment you turned out to be.”

  “And the next thing on the tip of your tongue is: I should have left you in that orphanage. I know the litany, so you can spare me the rest.”

  “You were a distant child right from the start. It was unnatural.”

  “What did you expect? I’d just come from a torture chamber.”

  “I should have known that you can’t make an angel out of a slut.” Jewel carried on as if it had been a speech she’d been itching to give for nine years.

  Maria wanted to scream at her. The same rage she’d felt as a teenager boiled up all over again. She banged her glass down on the end table.

  “Look. I came because I need some information. A man has been stalking me. He’s aware of things. The name of the town near the orphanage, Siret. How old I was when I came here. Very few people know about that. Have you talked about me, my origins, with anyone recently?”

  “You are not a subject I make a habit of discussing. Why would you think I have any desire to broadcast a source of shame?” She took an angry gulp of her cocktail, draining the glass. “A man’s stalking you. Do you have any idea how absurd that sounds? He probably just wants to screw you. You’re not playing hard to get are you? That can’t be good for business.”

  Maria folded her arms across her chest as if to defend herself from the river of spite pouring out of Jewel’s mouth. “It’s just me here. Me and you. If you don’t tell me, I can send the police over if that’s what you want. Wouldn’t that ruffle your neighbors’ feathers.”

  “The police don’t waste time checking out harassment cases against prostitutes.”

  “Jewel, a young girl was killed because she looked like me. A child. She was only fifteen,” she said flatly, making one last effort to wind the tone back down to manageable levels.

  “Well, you can see how your . . . habits . . . lead to sordid endings. My advice would be to put your life back together again, seek counseling, whatever you need to do. Start afresh. Move to another city where no one knows you.” It was obvious what she meant. Far away from me.

  “Why would I do that, Jewel? I like my job. And I’m very good at it.” She gave her a witchy smile.

  Jewel stared at her for a moment, then pulled out her phone and checked something on the screen. Despite the tone of voice she’d used, Maria wasn’t sure her adoptive mother even heard what she’d said. “Jewel! Who did you tell about me?”

  Her words were met with a stony silence. Then Jewel said, “My friend’s due any minute. We’re off to a launch at the New Museum. You’ll have to leave, I’m afraid.” Her voice was cold and her waxy skin, always carefully protected from the sun, looked as white as ice.

  Living in Jewel’s household had left Maria with an appreciation for fine art. She kept informed about the various openings and shows. She knew there
was no launch scheduled at the New Museum that evening. And likely no “friend” on the way either. Jewel had made the story up to get rid of her. For some reason this cut much deeper than the bitter words.

  “I’m asking once more, pleading with you. Please tell me who you told about the orphanage.”

  Jewel replied with a sly smirk, touching a hand to her perfect hair. “We’re finished here, I think.”

  Maria walked out of the room without saying another word.

  One of the fedoras Milne liked to wear had been casually tossed on the Prince George table in the hall. She hadn’t noticed it on her way in, distracted by the maid and preoccupied with having to face Jewel. If Milne had truly been away, the maid would have carefully tucked it away or faced Jewel’s wrath at leaving things “untidy.” So her adoptive mother had lied about him too.

  Milne had been an attorney in Providence and Jewel married him shortly after she adopted Maria. The family moved to New York when Jewel was offered a partnership with a high-profile law firm. As a small-town lawyer, Milne quickly found himself out of his depth and when she was on the warpath, Jewel would fling his failures in his face.

  As she pressed the elevator button, Maria heard the door behind her open. She glanced back and saw Milne in the hallway. If Jewel had changed little, Milne looked as though he’d aged for both of them. His hair was snowy white and wrinkles creased his face. He gave her a quick hug and stood back. “Hello, pet. You look wonderful. She doesn’t know I came out here so I can’t talk for long.”

  Maria melted at the sight of him and threw her arms around him. “I’m glad you did; it’s been so long since I saw you. I didn’t know you were here.”

  He pushed her away gently. “I know. I heard everything. That’s why I came out. She was pretty upset.”

  “It felt like she’d just stored up nine years of rage and let it loose on me.”

  “Neither of us has lived up to her expectations, pet. She doesn’t take that very well. But she’s kept some of your things, you know. Your artwork, poems you wrote in prep school.”

  “I tried to get through to her, Milne. What else can I do?”

  “She’ll stew about your argument today. I know she will. Just give it a little time and she may come around. Don’t forget. It’s been years since we’ve heard from you. That’s hurt her too—more than you might think.”

  Nothing had changed. Even after all these years, Milne was still trying to bridge the canyon between them, play the peacemaker. His efforts always failed. She took his hand. “Do you have any idea who Jewel might have told about my background in Romania? I need to know.”

  He shook his head, and Maria noticed a tremor in his movements. “We share the same living quarters. When she’s home I tiptoe around, trying to stay out of her way. She wouldn’t tell me.” He glanced nervously at the door. “I better get back. It won’t do you any good for her to see me here.”

  When he gave her a warm kiss on the cheek, she caught a faint whiff of whiskey on his breath. “Take care of yourself, Milne.”

  He padded back down the hall in his old slippers.

  On her way home she thought about another mother. Her first one. Her dearly beloved. A dark-haired woman with a warm heart. How at this time of year they’d spend hours in the garden. Her mother would make little trenches in the rich brown earth; Maria would follow behind, carefully dropping seeds in place. She recalled her mother’s low melodious voice, the way she laughed approvingly at how precise Maria was, making sure every seed was spaced exactly so many inches apart.

  Once, a kid had bullied her and Maria ran home crying. She begged her parents not to send her to school anymore but they insisted. The next afternoon a pet kitten was waiting for her at home, a furry tabby with green eyes. “Like your beautiful ones, Maria,” her mother said. “Remember. When a person tries to harm you, if you find someone else to love, the hurt will go away.”

  It had been a happy home until the Romanian Securitate police broke through their front door. Ceausescu kept the largest secret police force in the Eastern bloc, notorious for its brutality. Maria’s father was a highly regarded officer in the Securitate. As a communist satellite, Russia and Romania were, on the surface, friends. In the last year of Ceausescu’s reign, when the regime was clearly tottering, Russian intelligence kept a close eye on him. Her father, who’d despised Ceausescu, had been instrumental in passing information along to them. Predictions of Ceausescu’s demise were sent back via her father. Ceausescu heard the rumors of betrayal and murdered her father and mother.

  Maria was sent to the orphanage. She knew her parents had been executed but not why. On her recent visit to Romania, she’d learned the details. Her mother was raped repeatedly in front of her father. Not to make him talk. They knew everything. As punishment. It had been a bitterly cold morning when the strangers took her to the orphanage, making the bleak landscape surrounding it seem even more like a wasteland. She’d worn her little white coat with a fur hood, and the red dress and princess shoes her parents had given her for Christmas. One of the orphanage caretaker’s first actions was to remove her clothing. She had no lice but they used a soap harsh with lye to scrub her and sprayed disinfectant on her hair. She resisted them in the small, ineffectual ways of a child. Shouting at her didn’t work so the caretakers tied her right wrist to the crib and let her wail.

  And before long the Blackbird came. Always at night, crank-ing down the crib railing, waking her up from a fitful sleep, putting his hands on her body in places they didn’t belong.

  Lillian was out on an overnight visit with a friend when she reached home. The tears she’d held back flowed the minute she walked in the door. She flung herself down on her bed and wept.

  CHAPTER 14

  GENEVA

  She always felt freer away from home and this time, traveling to Europe would give her some much needed distance from the confrontation with Jewel a week ago and the abrasive memories it revived. What better place, she thought, than the picture postcard city of Geneva, a mountain Riviera cradled by two landmarks, Mont Blanc and Mont Salève. She loved that one of city’s best-known features was ephemeral—a fountain, the world’s tallest water plume. The air was crisp and clean and Lake Geneva itself had been restored to the pristine beauty of centuries ago.

  Marcus Constantin had hired her to pose as La Grande Odalisque, a living reproduction of one of the most famous nudes in the world, Ingres’s painting of a harem concubine. She would be featured at the launch of his new art show. In Geneva, a magnet for the global wealthy and influential, museums and galleries were as common as secret bank accounts. Constantin specialized in neoclassical art, and his gallery had earned a place among Europe’s most respected establishments. After her public performance, he’d requested an after-hours session alone.

  Marcus’s gallery was in the old city, a gothic ramble of ancient buildings and picturesque cobbled roads. She wished she had time to wander those streets, browse through the boutiques and museums, or saunter along the waterside promenade before her assignation.

  Transforming Claudine into a living Odalisque was a big creative challenge for Lillian. She could not rely on costuming or extreme makeup. The transformation called for a very subtle hand with cosmetics. She began working on Claudine at noon even though the doors to the launch wouldn’t open until six P.M. She’d refused to use a print as a guide because even the better reproductions were notoriously “off” when it came to representing a painting’s true colors. Instead, they’d hired a French photographer to snap a photo of the original in the Louvre and mail it to them.

  “It’s impossible to get your body to look like that,” Lillian said, exasperated, as she bent over Claudine, who lay upon the portable massage table. “Why is the woman’s figure so odd?”

  Claudine regarded the photo. Pictured with her neck twisted to look over her shoulder, and painted from the rear, the concubine had an elongated back and pelvis that experts speculated would only be physically possible wi
th five extra vertebrae. Her right arm and leg too were much longer than the limbs on her left side. The concubine’s body almost seemed to flow, as if no bones supported her flesh. It reminded Claudine of the sex doll splayed on her hotel bed and she shuddered.

  “It’s a seductive posture, but not blatantly so. You see her bottom turned almost fully to the viewer. The artist makes you desire to see more. That’s truly erotic.”

  “And the concubine’s skin looks like it was made from moonlight,” Lillian said. “I wonder how Ingres created that effect.” She brushed a pearly iridescent powder over a patch of Claudine’s pale skin. She stood a few feet back, squinted her eye and nodded, satisfied with the effect.

  After powdering every inch of her, Lillian fitted her with dark contacts and carefully applied gray-brown shadow into the creases to deepen her eyes. Lillian checked the photo of the painting and then dipped into her palette of colors with one of her smaller brushes to adjust the look. A touch of blush on the flat of her cheeks and pastel lipstick to color and shape petallike lips completed the image. In the painting, only one baby fingernail showed, but Lillian buffed and polished all her nails anyway. It took a whole half hour to hide the feather scar. By the time she finished, the real courtesan had virtually disappeared; Lillian had created the painting anew using Claudine’s body as a canvas.

  Lillian adjusted the brunette wig last, then packed up the case and helped her on with a wraparound sleeveless dress while Claudine slipped her feet into a pair of flats.

  “How about something to eat?” Lillian asked.

  She shook her head.

  “You can’t go all afternoon and through the event with nothing in your stomach.” She gave Claudine an energy bar packed with almonds, raisins and chocolate.