A Palette for Love

by Charlotte Greene

  “You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you.” I laughed. “After all, you told me that was the best thing you’d ever seen.” I pointed at one of my oldest paintings.

  Meghan rolled her eyes. “Forgive my sixteen-year-old tastes. I hadn’t seen much of the world yet. And anyway, no matter what you think now, it’s still good. Most people can only paint stick figures. You have a gift, you know. I wish you could see that.”

  I didn’t respond and instead walked over and hugged her. “How are you?” I asked. “You’re positively glowing today.”

  “I have every reason to be. Zach asked me to move in with him, and I said yes!” I hugged her again and we jumped up and down a few times, squealing.

  “Wow! That’s fantastic news! What made you decide to make the big leap?”

  “We spend almost every night together anyway. After three months, I’m not sick of him and he’s not sick of me. It seems like the right time to do it.”

  “So romantic.” I rolled my eyes.

  She pushed my shoulder playfully. “You know what I mean. The spark hasn’t, you know, fizzled. I think he might be the real thing.”

  “I’m so happy for you, Meghan. I really am. We should celebrate.”

  “You’re damn right!”

  We found Aunt Kate on the phone downstairs, her face alight with mischief and happiness. It was obvious she was talking to Jim, her new boyfriend. Meghan winked at me knowingly, and we went back to the kitchen for some wine. I was surprised to see that it was already late afternoon. I’d gotten up at eleven, and somehow almost six hours had passed. Though I often lost myself in painting, it was rare that a whole day passed without my notice. I was, I realized, completely famished. I hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday.

  I found a nice Prosecco in the fridge and popped the cork, pouring both of us a tall glassful. Aunt Kate joined us a few moments after this, and I got out another glass.

  “Oooo, what are we celebrating?” she asked.

  “I’m finally taking myself off the market.” Meghan laughed.

  “You’re getting married?” Aunt Kate asked, her eyes lighting up even further.

  Meghan laughed loudly. “No. We’re just moving in together for now.” She paused and said dramatically, “But who knows what time will bring?” Aunt Kate hugged her happily and Meghan filled her in on the details as I poured her a glass.

  “To the future!” Aunt Kate said, holding her wine.

  “To the future!” we responded, toasting and drinking.

  “Soooo,” Meghan said after a moment, winking at me. “When are we going to meet your new beau, Aunt Kate?”

  “He’s been in Florida this week, but he’ll be back tomorrow. I was going to see if you could join us some night this week for dinner. You could bring your Zach with you.”

  “Well, I’ll ask my Zach when he’s free and get back to you,” Meghan said. “Maybe Chloé will bring her Charles.”

  My face fell, and I turned away quickly. “That’s not going to happen.” I opened the fridge.

  “Oh, no!” Meghan said. “Why not?”

  “I’m just not interested in him.” I shifted some things around on the shelves. My stomach turned fitfully, and I was suddenly no longer hungry. I stood there for a long time, trying to calm myself before turning back to them and closing the door. Both were looking at me critically.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Meghan finally said. “Charles is friggin’ man-candy. How could you pass him up?”

  I blushed and looked away. I wasn’t about to spoil the happy mood with any details. “Let’s talk about it some other time, okay?” I asked, looking at Meghan, hard.

  Meghan acted like she wanted to argue, but luckily, she seemed to sense something and, after glancing at Aunt Kate, she agreed. “Okay.” She looked troubled for a moment longer and then appeared to remember something. “Oh, hey, that’s right. How did the shopping go with Miss Winters yesterday?”

  “It was fine,” I answered, a little too quickly.

  Meghan laughed. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Just that. It was fine. We went to a bunch of stores. We bought a lot of things. I got my hair cut.”

  “I can see that,” Meghan said, sharing an incredulous look with my aunt. “What else?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, heat rising to my cheeks.

  “You’re being awfully cagey about it, girly,” Aunt Kate said. “You were acting funny last night, too.” She turned to Meghan. “You should see all the stuff she got. She could open her own boutique.”

  Both of them were staring at me, eyes wide with curiosity, and I finally laughed, breaking the tension. “I did get a lot of really nice things. In fact, I’m wearing an evening gown tonight. It’s Armani but just a rental.”

  “Oooooo!” Meghan said. “Armani. Wow. So fancy.”

  “Fuck you,” I said playfully, throwing the paper towels at her.

  “I want to see you in it,” Meghan said. “In fact, I want a damn fashion show, if you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, gracious, so do I,” Aunt Kate added, eyes glowing, “though it’d probably take all night to show us everything.”

  Embarrassed but pleased with their request, I finally agreed. Both of them clapped excitedly. “I’ll show you a couple of my new work outfits, okay? Then I have to start getting ready for dinner.”

  “Where are you going?” Meghan asked.

  I swallowed. “Broussard’s,” I finally admitted. Not only is Broussard’s extremely expensive, but it is also known as a romantic restaurant for couples.

  “Just the two of you?” Aunt Kate asked, sharing a look with Meghan.

  “Yes,” I said, exasperated. “Just the two of us. We have to talk about business.”

  They both looked uncertain, but I didn’t want to argue with them and excused myself to my room.

  I ended up trying on several outfits for them, finding that I enjoyed the attention more than I thought I would. Aunt Kate made popcorn, and they treated the experience like they were at a show, cheering loudly with each outfit. I also enjoyed the clothes even more now that I realized they were actually mine. As I changed from outfit to outfit, I decided to ignore my nagging thoughts about Amelia yesterday. I’m just nervous about the new job, I told myself. Nothing else.

  Finally, it was time to get ready for dinner, and Meghan insisted on staying to watch me get ready. She sat on my bed, holding one of my old stuffed animals as I did my hair. I decided on one of the simple twists Lizbeth had shown me yesterday and was surprised to see that it was looking as I expected it to and staying in place.

  “You’re acting really strange about all of this,” Meghan finally said.

  I sighed. I’d known this conversation was coming for hours now. “No, I’m not.”

  “I don’t get it. She buys you all this stuff and you don’t have a problem with that? It doesn’t strike you as strange?”

  “Of course it does,” I snapped. “But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about feeling strange about it. She’s my boss. She insisted.”

  “Okaaay,” Meghan said, shrugging, “if that’s what you need to do to feel okay about it.”

  “Yes. It is,” I said, hoping that was the end of it.

  “But what happens if she—”

  “Listen. I don’t want to talk about her. She’s nice, and yes, she bought me a shitload of clothes and I don’t understand why. Rich people are weird. Can we just drop it?”

  Meghan lifted her eyebrows and lowered them. “Sorry,” she said quietly.

  I sighed. “And I’m sorry I snapped at you. There are no ulterior motives here. She has a certain style, and she insists I share it since we’ll be in public together. That’s all.”

  “Okay. If you say so.”

  “I do say so. Now drop it.”

  We sat there in silence for a while as I applied my makeup, my hands shaking slightly with anger. I managed to cool down by the time I finished, and when I turned around, Meg
han no longer looked upset.

  “You look amazing,” she said. “Where did you learn how to do that? I’ve never seen you wear makeup like that before.”

  “Just here and there,” I said, not wanting to start another argument. “What time is it?”

  “About seven fifteen,” she said, glancing at her phone.

  “Jeez, I’m cutting it close.” I stood up. “Help me pick a pair of shoes, would you?”

  “What are the choices?” Meghan said, getting up too.

  “Those over there.” I pointed to a pile of shoeboxes.

  I flushed as Meghan examined all the shoes, gasping and looking incredulous with each revealed pair. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked.

  “Come on, Meghan. I don’t want to get into this with you again. Which ones should I wear?”

  “These would look best, I guess,” she said, handing me a box. “I can’t believe you own heels, for God’s sake.”

  “I know, too weird,” I admitted. “Who would have thought?” I slipped on the shoes and stood there for a moment, letting Meghan take in the full effect. “How do I look?”

  “Like the world’s most expensive prostitute,” she said. I picked up a pillow and threw it at her and we both laughed, my anger finally melting away. The truth was that it was weird, and I did feel very strange about all of this. I just wasn’t sure what to do about it except go along with everything for now.

  By the time we finally made our way into the living room, the Rolls was waiting for me outside. Meghan, Aunt Kate, and I looked out at it through the curtain and watched as George opened Amelia’s door for her. I heard myself gasp when she stepped out. She looked absolutely gorgeous.

  “Wow,” Meghan said, “what a knockout.” She looked at me curiously, as if trying to gauge my reaction.

  Aunt Kate touched my arm and I turned to her, one eyebrow raised. “Please be careful,” she told me.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said, face flushing again.

  “I think you know exactly what I mean,” she said quietly.

  Chapter Six

  Amelia smiled warmly when I opened the door, and I saw George’s eyebrows rise in surprise again. I winked at him and held out my hand to Amelia after I carefully walked down the stairs. While I’d worn heels once or twice in the past, I was by no means an expert and fairly certain I’d trip at least once tonight.

  “You look incredible,” she finally said, squeezing my hand in both of hers.

  “Do I meet with your approval?” I tried to keep my tone light, as I wanted to let her know I was kidding, but the question ended up sounding earnest.

  “Completely. I know it sounds terrible to say this, but when I saw your clothes during our interview the other day, I was afraid it would never work out.”

  “My appearance means that much to you?” I asked, sliding into the car.

  Amelia climbed in after me and then nodded, somewhat sheepishly. “I’m afraid it does.” Seeing my face, she looked embarrassed and began to explain. “In sales you’re doing more than selling a product. You’re also selling an image. At first contact, this image is actually more important than whatever you sell, because it creates a fantasy for the buyer: if I buy this thing they’re selling, I can be like them.” She paused, obviously trying to read my expression. “I’ve worked very hard to cultivate the Winters Corporation image, and my clients know what to expect.”

  She paused again. “Anyway, I’m sure you’re tired of talking about clothes at this point, and that’s not what tonight’s about.”

  “What is it about?” I tried to keep the mounting impatience out of my voice. “You said something about table manners?”

  “Yes. Fine dining requires that you follow a lot of rules. As we’re attending a dinner on Friday together, I thought we should practice first tonight.”

  I sniffed and looked out the window, more than a little peeved. Who does she think she is? I asked myself. More to the point, who does she think I am? Does she think I’ve never eaten out before?

  “I can tell you’re becoming annoyed with me, Doctor,” Amelia said, squeezing my hand again. “I simply want to see how you approach the table. Perhaps we don’t even need the practice.”

  I turned to her and tried to make my expression calmer to reassure her. “I’m sorry—I’m being incredibly rude. You’re taking me to one of the nicest restaurants in town, and I’m pouting like a child.”

  “An incredibly beautiful child.” After this compliment she stared at me, almost boldly, as if waiting for a response.

  My heart skipped a beat, and I tried to smile. “Thank you for saying that,” I finally said, not meeting her eyes. My face was hot.

  “It’s completely true. You’ll have clients eating out of your hand in no time,” she almost whispered.

  “That explains why you’re so successful.” I looked up at her, and her cheeks colored slightly.

  We rode the rest of the way in silence, looking out our separate windows. My heart was racing, and I wasn’t sure if was nerves or something else. What the hell has gotten into you? I asked myself. Were you actually flirting with her? I glanced over at her again and my stomach dropped a little. Flirting with her had never crossed my mind until it happened. Or at least that’s what you want to tell yourself, I thought. The truth is, you were waiting all day yesterday for her to make a move. I realized that was entirely true, but I also wasn’t sure what it meant. Except perhaps in jest a few times with friends, I’d never even considered flirting with a woman before. And what happens if she takes you up on it? I asked myself. The thought was too much to deal with, and I was happy when George finally pulled over next to the restaurant.

  Broussard’s is a New Orleans institution. Located in a seemingly incongruous place a block off the party capital of Bourbon Street, its elegance and fine food are world-renowned. When we entered, the dim lights cast a dreamy ambiance over everything, suggesting candlelight kisses and intimate privacy. The host knew Amelia, and without being asked he escorted us to a remote part of the dining room, far away from the rest of the tables. My chair was pulled out for me, and I sat down, the excitement of actually being here finally catching up to me. That’s the thing about a lot of cities—when you live there, you often don’t get to go to the very places that make them special. It was obvious from the start, however, that Amelia was a regular.

  Almost before I’d had time to get settled, a sharply dressed young man appeared next to us, almost as if out of thin air. “Madam and mademoiselle,” he said, bowing slightly.

  “A bottle of Perrier-Jouët’s 2004 Belle Epoque Rosé, please,” Amelia told him. He nodded and dashed away, and she turned back to me. “It seems as if you’ve never been here,” she observed.

  “No, I haven’t. My aunt would never have taken me here as a child, and I didn’t exactly date the kind of guys who could afford this when I was in college.”

  “What kind of guys did you date?” she asked.

  I swallowed a sip of my water and almost choked on it, more than a little uncomfortable with the question. Still, she’d suggested that we should become friendly, and friends shared things like this. Trying to sound breezy, I said, “Oh, you know, the scholarship kids like me. There was a distinct separation at Loyola between those that came from money and those that didn’t.” I took another sip of my water to avoid making eye contact. Still not looking directly at her, I steeled myself and asked, “What about you? Did you date a lot in college?”

  “Not a lot. I may have had the opposite problem, Doctor, and still do. My name always precedes me, and it usually intimidates people.” I could feel her eyes on me but couldn’t meet them. “Do I intimidate you?” she asked quietly.

  I looked up at her hastily and felt myself blush. “Of course!” I said before I could stop myself.

  She laughed at my candor, and after a moment I joined her. The laughter helped me begin to relax with her, but I was grateful for an interruption when the waiter reappeared with
the wine. Amelia went through the process of approving the bottle with a small sip poured in her glass. “It’s delicious,” she said, and the waiter filled our glasses before putting the rest of the bottle in a small bucket of ice.

  She held her glass aloft and I did the same. “To the future,” she said.

  I almost laughed, hearing the echo of an earlier toast, but managed to respond, “To the future.” The wine was tart and light, the bubbles kissing my palate. I closed my eyes, rolling the taste of it on my tongue and savoring it. When I opened them, Amelia was staring at me, her eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite recognize.

  “Do you like it?” she asked softly, swallowing.

  “I love it.”

  “It’s one of my favorites,” she said, visibly relieved. “I actually asked the sommelier to carry it here when I discovered it in Paris a few years back.”

  I couldn’t keep the surprise from my face. A few years ago, judging by her face, she would have been too young to drink. She raised her eyebrows. “You look surprised. You’ve never special-ordered a wine before?”

  “No, I haven’t, but it’s not that,” I said, embarrassed. “It’s just, well, to put it simply, you barely look old enough to drink now.”

  She laughed loudly, throwing her head back in her amusement. I glanced around the room and saw several other tables look over at us curiously, but it was clear that she didn’t care who looked at her.

  “Just how old do you think I am, Doctor?”

  “Twenty-two, twenty-three?” I suggested. In truth, she could pass for younger.

  She laughed loudly again and for a long time, finally clutching her stomach and doubling over. I tried to smile at the other tables, embarrassed but strangely pleased by her reaction. Her laughter seemed, from the short time I’d known her, uncharacteristic.

  She finally managed to calm down and wiped her eyes. “You kill me, Doctor,” she said. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were flattering me on purpose.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know. Why would you?”

  My stomach dropped again and I blushed under her shining gaze. Luckily, before I could say or do anything stupid, the waiter appeared again. Neither of us had a menu, but of course Amelia knew it by heart.