by Tara Brown
I feel silly and slightly turned on by the fact he is a lord or a duke. "Lord Whitlock. Sounds stuffy and stodgy. I didn’t know there were American Lords and Dukes." My mocking tone is not missed.
His eyes meet mine and for a moment I think he is about to reveal something to me. Something very secret. He sighs and his face relaxes, "I'm from Scotland."
I knew I heard an accent. It's much stronger when he says Scotland.
I cross my arms and forget to cry or be sad. "A Scottish lord? I never knew those existed anymore; well, beyond the ladies’ romance novels my grandmother liked to pretend she didn’t read. She had a secret cupboard that she stashed them in. The covers were all men with kilts and such."
His eyes light up for a moment. "We exist. Very common back home in fact." His lazy grin grows devilish, "We also favor appearing in the odd romance novel. Got to keep appearances up. I try not to wear the kilt unless I absolutely have to. Bit breezy, if you get my drift."
I roll my eyes, "Gross."
He laughs harder but then leans in and smirks, "Tell me Lorelei, did you like those romance novels you read in secret?"
His bold question seizes up my chest and throat. I stifle a giggle as Mrs. Kirsch returns with my pudding. I can't believe my sister is still asleep and missing the intensely interesting conversation. I can't believe how much I like him or how bold he is with me. I don’t even know what to say to him, but it's almost as if I am able to relax around him. Like I would with Angie.
"Here you go, dear girl. Want a little more water or tea?" I nod but my eyes don’t leave his. Again he has my gaze hostage. His last statement has me captive.
She clears her throat and leaves the room. I realize how rude I was to her and blush. I look down at my pudding and grimace.
He slides the chair closer. It's right up against my bed.
"Allow me. It's my fault you're here."
I frown, "Your fault." I'm pulled out of the feelings of safety and comfort when his eyes leave mine. Instantly I'm uncomfortable with how familiar he is to me. He is bold. I'm being bold back. Something isn’t right with it. My stomach is going off but then I look into his eyes and I see it again.
He smiles and pulls me back into it, "I should have found you sooner. I should have left the house earlier. I might have spared you this stay had I not been delayed." He pushes the spoon in and makes a face. "Awfully thick is it not?"
I laugh awkwardly, "It's how they inspire you to get better in America. If the food scares you, you're more inclined to want out. But I've seen the cook's food for the nurses. She puts her foot in the food for them. We get the slop."
He grimaces, "She puts her foot in the food?" He is being charming and sweet again. His cheeks blush when he smiles. I don't know how to be around him, he changes like a chameleon.
I watch him and answer softly, "No, like she does a good job for them all and for us she does the bare minimum. What's the matter with you? Of course she ain't putting her feet in the food."
"You say weird things." He shakes his head and scoops a bite, holding it up for me. The act is simple and sweet and I am falling for it again.
I shake my head but don't leave his stare, "I can't eat that. I might die."
His eyes flash, "You might die without it too. You're weak. I can tell." He's right, but I'm still not eating it.
"If I bring games will you play?" he asks me like he's nervous suddenly.
I nod.
He puts it down on the tray and stands, "I will be right back." He leaves the room. I look at the congealed mess of chocolate pudding and shudder.
I lie back in the bed and replay every instant he was in the room. My heart flutters with delight and fear. I don't fear him, not the way I should. He is bold and yet I find myself imagining the possibilities. I like the way I can't guess how he's going to act in between the seconds where we don’t say anything. He's inconsistent and fun, and some small part of me knows he's dangerous.
A voice interrupts my daydreams, "Lorelei." I look up to see Angie. She runs to my side. "Are you alright?"
I nod. Her hands squeeze mine and her eyes water, "I'm sorry about Ramón."
My eyes fill with tears as well. "Me too. I miss him. I wish I coulda talked him into staying and waiting with me. I don’t even understand why he went into the woods."
"His grandmamma is gonna be so sad."
I swallow, "I know. I'll need to go see her right away."
She wipes her face, "He really was the best."
"Yup."
"Want me to get you anything?" She asks.
I shake my head, "No. I'm not hungry. I'm still so tired."
She looks around suddenly, "Where is he?"
I frown, "Who?"
She grins, "Why, Mr. Whitlock, of course. Mrs. Kirsch hasn’t shut up about him since the moment he found you."
I laugh. "He was just here. He said he would be right back. Something about games."
Her eyes are sparkling with curiosity. "The nurses was saying he's handsome."
I sigh, "Handsome doesn’t describe him. He's perfect. In every way. Except his name. Lord Jameson Andrew Whitlock. Gross. He's from Scotland."
She squeezes my hand and contains a squeal, "He's a lord?"
I nod. "A Scottish lord. It's weird. I think he's lying maybe. He tried to feed me pudding; can you imagine a lord feeding you pudding? Diet pudding at that. He's erratic, one minute he's sweet and blushing, and the next he's asking me questions and I swear I'm naked and vulnerable the way he's looking at me. He has no proper manners. He just does what he wants when he wants to. Like rules and good society don’t apply to him."
She raises her eyebrows like she is wagging them, "Maybe that could be fun. Lord Whitlock who doesn’t take no for an answer and takes what he wants."
I snort and swat at her, "You are positively vile." I wipe my eyes.
She shrugs, wiping her own, "Has Martin come to see you?"
I nod, "Once, a couple days ago. I was sleeping I guess. Mrs. Kirsch said he stayed for a couple minutes but refused to wake me."
She raises an eyebrow and nods once, "Well, that’s convenient for him that you was sleeping."
I swat her again, "He was being a gentleman."
"He was probably late for a date with some harlot," her tone is bitter. I don't get her hatred for him or her jealousy. She has never been this way before.
I laugh through the sting of the words. Deep down I have to admit Mr. Whitlock has kept my mind busy. I haven’t had much time to think on Martin.
She sighs, "So, if you are still bent on marrying Martin and you don’t like Mr. Whitlock, then you don’t mind if I make a play at him?"
I feel my face redden, "I never said any of that. I just said I didn’t think the great lord was telling the truth. There's a difference. And Martin and me isn't finalized yet either. Nothing is set in stone. Besides, what about Marcello?"
She shrugs again, "I let him touch me again yesterday. It was fun but he's going so slowly. I tried to undo his pants and he started backing away and saying no and blah blah blah. He's a square. I think I need a lord to straighten me out. Maybe Lord Whitlock has some friends."
I roll my eyes and look over at Emily and frown, "Check her temperature. I seriously think she's dead over there."
Angie walks over and put a hand to Emily, who instantly stirs and stretches. "What time is it?" she asks making sleepy sounds.
"Nine at night. You sleeping over?" I point at the clock.
She nods and stretches into the chair to get more comfortable. She blinks several times and looks up at Angie and frowns. "What are you doing here?"
Angie sighs, "Yup, she's fine. Saucy and rude but fine. Anyway, when are you coming back to school? You missed how to run your own home and what to do when certain aspects of your home are not what you want them to be. Oh, and we had how to dress your maid day. I wish for death every hour you're not there. It's like prison but worse. That woman would talk a deaf to death."
&nbs
p; I laugh, "Then, I guess never. I'm too sick to finish out the year."
Angie snorts and stands, "Yeah, the five days left. I hate you. Have a good sleep and don’t forget to mention to his lordship that I'm in the market for a new boy toy." She turns and walks out waving backwards.
I look at Emily who shakes her head, "What?" I ask.
"You have the weirdest friends and you look like something drug out from under the porch." Her voice sounds raspy.
I furrow my brow, "Thanks. You getting sick?"
She shakes her head, "No, I had choir today. It always makes me sound funny." She looks at the floor and then up at me, "Did she really let Marcello touch her?"
I laugh and nod, "I guess so."
Emily smiles, "I wonder what that would be like. Sometimes I wish that Greg would try something, anything. He is so polite. True Southern gentleman."
"Em, nice boys are the ones you want to marry. He is sincerely nice. You know how many of those exist in our world? We have the cold-mannered men like Martin and the players who smile the right way, but really have ten women falling all over them."
She grins at me, "I'm only marrying if my husband agrees I can work."
"Oh Greg will let you work. He is so mellow and sweet."
She closes her eyes again and moans, "I hope so. I hope he asks me to marry him tomorrow. I would do anything to leave that house and get away from her."
I look back at the door. He never came back.
"Yeah well, her and daddy are in the middle of signing me over to the Ryan's. We both know once that's done she'll be coming for you too." I don't tear my gaze from the doorway. Suddenly the prospect of Martin Ryan feels horrid.
"I have a terrible feeling she ain't never gonna let me marry, Lorelei." Her voice is hollow.
I look at her and shake my head, "You ain't that lucky, Em."
Chapter Four
My dress is too tight. Hospital food should have thinned me out and yet I think I'm thicker than ever. I think about the snacks and treats Mr. Whitlock brought me every evening and wonder if that was what has ruined my figure. I feel my body, I don’t feel different but the dress fit only weeks earlier.
I look at my reflection and sigh. She is gonna kill me. I snap my fingers and make the spark, I see myself in the small flashes of light I'm making.
My day has been painful in every way. Ramón's funeral was awful. His grandmamma told me to come and visit her and squeezed my hands. She was trembling and sobbing. It made me sick. I felt like I killed him; like he should have stayed with me. She kept asking if I was okay. I felt sick lying to her, but I couldn’t let my pain be worse than hers. Watching his casket go into the vault almost killed both of us.
Coming home was much worse. Everyone in our family acted like we hadn’t just been to a funeral, except Em. She loved Ramón and was properly destroyed by it. But Momma nagged us about dresses and hair the minute we got home and Daddy ran for his study, no doubt hiding out until the party.
I was cleaned and dressed, wishing I were staying home to cry over my dead friend. Instead I am being forced into a party I don't want to attend, in a dress I don't fit.
I pull my hair back and look at the dress with a scowl. Sweat glistens on my brow from the struggle of getting into it. My breasts are almost heaving out the top and my bottom feels like it's lifting the dress a foot off the ground. I look like two hams under a picnic blanket.
Momma walks into the room shaking her head in disgust, "Lorelei, that's obscene. Put a wrap on over it. You have got to cover up that fat, child." She grabs a pale-yellow silk wrap to go over the cream dress. I feel like I'm busting out all over.
I look at her and frown, "Momma, I need to change. This ain't comfortable. Can't I just stay home?"
She crosses her thin arms and laughs, "That is the size you should be. You ate too much, as usual, Lorelei. You always eat too much. I can't help it if you can't control yourself with food. Now cover those up before someone gets the wrong idea, and get downstairs. You father is waiting." She turns on her high heel. She looks back at me as she crosses my carpet to the door, "No food at the party. That’s not why you're going."
I hate her. I look at the yellow wrap and know I will be sweating like a pig the entire night. The pig I am. I grab my pale-blue fan and leave the room.
My pride stays behind. I won't need it anyway.
The ride over is painful. The new driver makes my daddy angry and he watches me in the rearview mirror, making me uncomfortable.
I see his eyes flicker to Emily in her pretty pink dress and I scowl at him.
"Lorelei, stop making that face. How are we supposed to marry off such an unpleasant girl?" Momma asks while fanning herself angrily.
Daddy glances back at her. She softens under his stare. I don’t know how he does it, but I wish I could do it.
Emily smiles at me from a sideways glance. I smile back. She makes a face at the driver, who she sees watching her. She slices her finger under her throat at him slowly. He flinches. I stifle a giggle. Emily has always been crazy.
"Creep." she mutters.
I know I don’t have to look out for her, if anything it’s the other way around. She is more sensible and more put together. I envy her that. That and the fact she is naturally thin, regardless of eating everything in sight.
Momma actually told me once she loves her more just because Emily is built like her. It's easier to love thin people. I hate her. Not Emily. I love Emily.
I'm not pudgy, but my six dress is tight and I'm probably an eight, but I'm taller than all of them at five foot seven. It doesn't matter, in my momma's world women who choose to stray beyond a size six are heifers.
I hate her.
I wish I had some chocolate or licorice or Ramón. He always said I was beautiful and she was a skinny crazy woman. He always said bones were not attractive.
I miss him. I think I will miss him until I'm dust and even then as I ride along the wind, I will miss him.
I miss the run we took everyday. We ran for miles. He said my strong thighs made me a fast runner. I could sprint faster than anyone. My momma hated that we ran, but she agreed I needed something to trim down my figure. Little did she know a lot of it was muscle.
My momma hated Ramón and he hated her.
She woulda hated him even more if she had known his secret. Ramón liked men. No one knew but me, and Grandmamma.
The car swerves sharply. I hang onto the door and feel my chest heave as we turn.
"For Christ's sake, not so fast." My daddy bellows at the new driver, who I also hate. Partly because he is not Ramón and partly because he leers at Em and me. Mostly, I hate him because I don’t like new things.
The party is at the Governor's mansion. The Governor invited us the other night. The gathering is an impromptu party, celebrating the arrival of the Governor's cousin. I don’t really know any of them that well. I know my daddy plays golf with them and we have had to socialize with them a few times. I know they have a son Daniel, who is a pervert that hunts my sister like a gazelle and a daughter named Michelle, who is a ridiculous snob.
I lean into Emily and whisper, "I heard from Mandy, that Michelle is a total slut at her new school."
Emily nods, "I heard her brother and her…well you know."
I make a face.
"Girls, stop whispering. It's rude. And don’t make faces like that, Lorelei. Your wrinkles are based on the faces you make. Soon you'll look like that permanently."
I sigh. "Momma, I'm nineteen. My wrinkles aren't gonna come in for some time. You don’t have any and you're…"
"No." She cuts me off and holds a hand up, "It's bad enough I have teenage daughters, but for you to name my age is offensive. I really thought we raised you better than that."
My daddy shoots me an amused look and then scowls, "Ladies, best behavior." His bark is nothing but a show for her. She smiles and nods, like he has told us. We know better though. We can see it in his eyes. He hates her just like we do. O
r at the very least, he knows what a joke of a mother she is and he feels some empathy for us. His empathy is always soaked in bourbon and his mistress's perfume, but it's better than nothing.
The Governor’s mansion is huge. It makes my house seem paltry, which is a feat. When we pull up, butlers and valets meet the cars. A man I think I recognize opens the door and smiles. I climb out trying desperately to adjust my dress. It's obscene how badly my breasts are swelling over the top of it.
I see the valets looking. I pull my wrap around myself tightly.
"You're gonna roast in that, Lorelei." Emily scowls. She is sweating in her slip dress.
I look at her and grin bitterly, "Roast like the pig I am."
Her face twists into the grin we are taught to speak with. "I hate it when you let her get to you. You're the prettiest girl in all of Louisiana. You have curves not fat. She could make the Devil contemplate suicide. Don't listen to her."
I laugh, "Don’t make me laugh, Em, it makes me sweat more. This silk and satin is killing me."
She grabs the back of my dress and gives it a subtle yank when no one is looking. I pull up the front again, as people mill past us, not noticing. We've managed to hide at least some of my breasts.
Momma leans in, "Don't cover up all those assets. Martin is here tonight."
I feel sick suddenly. Angie's words of being cattle sold into slavery start to ring true. I want this, don’t I? I want to be married, don’t I? I wonder if being with Mr. Whitlock everyday at the hospital has made me question things? Or was it the terrible things Angie said about Martin?
I shake it off and remind myself of my core values. Who will I be if not a wife? I don’t want anything, but to run my own home and make a man happy. Right? Confusion has settled in deep and I ain't getting rid of it so easily. I need to follow Angie's advice and get to know Martin before I make a decision.
I walk up the huge steps of the Greek revival mansion with my family. My momma floats on my daddy's arms, like a queen would. Everyone knows her as his wife. She has no identity of her own. I watch her and feel my doubts creeping in.
She looks back at me smiling sweetly, "You are very close to having my life, Lorelei. Don’t screw this up for me."