Beautiful Beast

by Dayle A Dermatis

  “Linny—Linnea—was my pageant coach,” she said finally. “Linny was the most sought-after coach and my mother wanted the best because she wanted me to be the best. I loved Linny. She was sweet and kind, and encouraging, not…” She waved a hand, and I understood the unspoken not like my mother.

  “But you still didn’t want to do pageants?” I asked.

  “After a while it wasn’t fun anymore, and my mother was also on my case so much. That’s when the lock went on the fridge and she started controlling what I ate. My teeth hurt from the bleaching, my scalp hurt from the hairstyles…. Well, Linny told me I didn’t have to do pageants if I didn’t want to. My mother blew up. So I told my mother I loved Linny more than I loved her.”

  I winced. “Ouch. But you were what, seven? Kids say stupid stuff like that all the time. I’d yell ‘I hate you!’ when I didn’t want to go to bed and they made me anyway.”

  “Well, yeah, but your parents were not mother,” Taryn said bitterly. “I was telling the truth. I wanted Linny to be my mother. But I never saw Linny again.”

  I gasped.

  “So Linny was gone, and then my dad was gone,” she continued. “I felt abandoned. And even though my mother was keeping to the terms of the agreement with my father and not forcing me to do pageants, she still controlled my food, talked about pageants all the time, did things to make me prettier.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “You lost everybody you cared about in one fell swoop, didn’t you?”

  She nodded. “The worst part was, they tell you to go to a teacher or somebody if you can’t talk to your parents about something? I tried to talk to Pastor Davison. He didn’t listen. Nobody did. Everybody thought my mother was a saint and I was acting out because of the divorce.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I slid to her end of the sofa and put my arms around her, the way she’d done for me the night of the pageant.

  “So yeah, I started hiding,” she said, her voice vibrating on my shoulder. “I did everything opposite of what my mother wanted me to do, and eventually it worked. She gave up and left me alone.”

  And then, I realized, Taryn had stayed alone.

  “I don’t want to change you,” I whispered. “I just want to help you be happy with who you are, inside and out. And I don’t want you to ever hide from me. You’re not alone anymore.”

  Twenty-One

  The next day, Taryn and I lounged in the solarium in companionable silence. I was reading an etiquette book Mrs. Wentworth had given me (there would be a quiz later) and Taryn was sketching. The doors were open, letting in the warm smell of cut grass and the late-afternoon breeze, which fluttered the leaves of the plants in pots arranged around the room.

  My phone rang. It surprised me, because I hadn’t been getting many calls, or even texts. I’d been so focused on working out and comportment and answering pageant questions with a smile that I hadn’t even realized.

  The face on the screen was Madison’s.

  “Hey girl!” she said when I answered.

  “Hey girl. What’s up?”

  Taryn got up and mouthed that she was going to the bathroom. I glanced around to make sure Mrs. Wentworth wasn’t lurking nearby, and blew her a kiss.

  “You know what weekend it is,” Madison said, drawing out the words.

  I actually didn’t; I hadn’t been paying attention to a calendar other than to know if it was Sunday (church) or the days Taryn and I volunteered at the shelter. Otherwise, the days and weeks blurred together.

  Thankfully, she didn’t wait for me to answer. “July fourteenth, girl! Time for the par-tay!”

  School, my friends, and my former life seemed a million miles away. But hearing her talk reminded me immediately of her family’s annual Bastille Day party, followed by our annual sleepover. Madison’s father swore their last name, Garner, was changed at Ellis Island from Garnier, which was French. Therefore, he reasoned, they should celebrate Bastille Day.

  I don’t think Mr. Garner had a clue what Bastille Day was about, except for an excuse to have a themed party that involved French wine, pastries, and fireworks in the backyard.

  “I can’t believe it’s the middle of July already,” I said.

  “I know, right? The summer’s going by so fast. I’ve barely had time to keep up with my Insta. Speaking of which, you haven’t been posting much lately.”

  “I’ve been busy training for the next pageant,” I said. And cuddling with Taryn, I didn’t say, but the thought suffused my body with warmth. “Not much to take pictures of.”

  “Well, you’re still coming to the party, right? We’ll take lots of snaps.”

  “Can Taryn come?”

  “Who?” Madison asked.

  “Taryn Wentworth. You know, the girl whose house I live in now?”

  “Oh, right!” Madison laughed. “I totally forgot. Sorry, you know me, head in the clouds. Anyway…it’s always been just the four of us.”

  She was right, it always had.

  But I realized I didn’t want to go if Taryn couldn’t.

  “I just thought it would be rude not to invite her,” I said. “She and I have become pretty good friends.” Understatement. I couldn’t stop the grin, most probably goofy, that spread across my face.

  “We-ell…” She sighed. “I’ll double-check with the other girls, but I guess it would be all right.”

  “Thanks!”

  She relayed the details. I asked if we could bring anything, and she said no. Madison’s parents weren’t nearly as well off as Mrs. Wentworth, but they were better off than my parents had been.

  The call ended, and I tapped my phone against my thigh. I’d made sure Taryn was included without actually asking her if she’d want to come. I didn’t actually know if she would. She was more open with me now, even wearing her hair not quite as much in her face, but that didn’t mean she wanted to hang out with three other girls she didn’t know.

  She came back into the solarium then, and saw me watching her.

  “What?”

  “Wanna come to a party with me? A sleepover?”

  She sat down on the end of my lounge chair. “Why would I want to do that?”

  I poked her with my bare toe. “Because you can’t stand to be apart from me that long.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Please. I can quit you anytime.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Can.”

  I poked her again. “Come with me. It’ll be fun.”

  “Who’ll be there?”

  “It’s at Madison Garner’s house, and Brittany Gruen and Emilia Lo will be there,” I said. “It’s a thing we do each year, because Madison’s dad hosts a big Bastille Day party. Fireworks and everything. We get to crash in the pool house.”

  “Oh, it sounds thrilling,” she said in a voice that clearly implied the opposite.

  “Oh, come on,” I said. I leaned towards her and lowered my voice. “I want to show off my girlfriend.”

  She tensed, looked to make sure her mother wasn’t around, then relaxed when she saw the coast was clear.

  “You really want me to go?” she asked.

  “I really do.”

  “I don’t know if my mother will let us.”

  That was…weird. “Why wouldn’t she? I know I’m training, but it’s one night.”

  I’d already mentioned to Mrs. Wentworth about wanting to visit Aunt Pat in the city for a few days, but she’d said that was too much time away right now. Maybe after the next pageant.

  Taryn shrugged. “If you hadn’t noticed, she’s pretty controlling. You ask her. She’s more likely to say yes to you.”

  So after my etiquette quiz and practice questions, I did just that.

  “Garner, you say?” Mrs. Wentworth asked. “John and Leanne Garner?”

  I nodded, then added “Yes,” because she didn’t like it when I only gestured.

  “I know them. And they’ll both be home all night?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Will t
here be any boys there?”

  I almost snickered, but caught myself. Boys would not be a problem for either Taryn or me. “The Garners are having a party, and I don’t know who they’re inviting. But for the sleepover, no, it’s just the four of us.”

  She quizzed me on my other friends, then said, “And Taryn wants to go with you?”

  “Yes. I made sure she was invited.”

  She hmmed. I wondered if Taryn had ever wanted to go to a sleepover. We hadn’t really talked about who her friends at school were. My guess is that she didn’t have very many. After her beloved Linny and her beloved father leaving, she didn’t have a lot of trust.

  “Well, I suppose it’s fine, then,” Mrs. Wentworth said. “But let’s not make it a habit, shall we? Remember you need to focus.”

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  The next surprise came at dinner, when Taryn suddenly looked up from her chicken veggie bowl and said, “I need a haircut.”

  Mrs. Wentworth and I both looked at her. I blinked, feeling out of touch with reality.

  “Well, yes, dear, you do,” Mrs. Wentworth said. “Will you be going at it yourself with scissors again?”

  Taryn pressed her lips together in a thin line. I winced.

  “Actually,” she said, “I was wondering if you could take me to a salon.”

  Mrs. Wentworth looked surprised, then almost pleased. Not quite, but almost. “We can go before your shift at shelter on Thursday. I’ll make the appointment.”

  After dinner, we once again went to our TV room. During the day we stayed in more public areas of the house, or Taryn stayed in her room while I was working with Mrs. Wentworth or Carlos. We didn’t want Mrs. Wentworth noticing how much had changed, so we kept things as they’d been.

  Now, I tentatively asked Taryn about her decision. I took her hands in mine.

  “Please tell me you’re not doing getting your hair cut because of the sleepover,” I said. “That you’re embarrassed, or worried that I’d be embarrassed, or anything like that. If they have a problem with you, it’s their problem, not yours. Not mine, either. A few weeks ago, you told me I should never change my looks because I felt ashamed. Let me toss that back at you.”

  She squeezed my fingers.

  “You also said something to me,” she said quietly. “You said you didn’t want me to hide from you. Well, I don’t want to hide from you anymore. I’m not going to start wearing makeup or put on heels, but you’ve let me see you, and I want you to be able to see me.”

  “That’s the most wonderful thing anybody has ever said to me,” I said, and kissed her.

  True to her word, Taryn was very specific about what she wanted and didn’t want at the salon. The hairdresser wanted to put in highlights; she refused. Shorter? Trim only. She agreed to a bit of layering, and didn’t fight the blow-out, which wasn’t permanent anyway.

  So technically, the changes weren’t huge—but they made a huge difference. Instead of hiding her face, it framed her face.

  And I thought she had a wonderful face.

  Even Mrs. Wentworth, who was clearly frustrated by Taryn’s insistence on it being done her way, seemed impressed. “Well,” she said finally, “at least it’s an improvement.”

  Not the most enthusiastic response, but what can you do?

  I made sure to be far more positive.

  The day of the party, I worked out with Carlos, took a long shower, and dressed in comfortable but stylish clothes for the warm weather: a pair of red shorts, a white eyelet sleeveless top, and sandals. It would cool down a little in the evening, so I threw a pair of jeans and a light sweater in my bag, along with a change of clothes, my pajamas, bathing suit, and all my skin- and hair-care products. I added basic makeup like what I was wearing—a light foundation, blush, mascara, tinted lip gloss—and I pulled my hair back in a loose ponytail.

  I was excited to see my friends again, but also a little…not nervous, but hesitant. I hoped once we were hanging out, it would feel normal again.

  I was happily surprised when Taryn came to my room dressed in jeans that actually fit her, and a short-sleeved, blue-and-white pinstriped button-down. It was a little baggy and she didn’t tuck it in, but it was far less engulfing than her usual sweats and oversized tees.

  After her haircut, she’d asked me for some skincare tips, and her acne already looked better. Not gone, but better.

  “What should I bring?” she asked, and I followed her into her room and helped her pack a similar bag to mine, minus the makeup and most of the products.

  “This is going to be fun,” I promised. She looked dubious, but grabbed my hand and squeezed it.

  “It’s worth it to spend time with you.”

  Mrs. Wentworth’s eyebrows raised when she saw Taryn. “I hadn’t realized the prospect of spending time with other girls would mean you’d start treating yourself with respect.”

  “Does this mean I can go out more?” she asked.

  Mrs. Wentworth pressed her lips together. “We’ll see.”

  Unsurprisingly, she insisted on coming up to the house with us and speaking with the Garners. I didn’t hear what they talked about, because Madison came flying out of the house and tackled me in a hug.

  “I’m sooo glad you’re here!”

  Madison had had her blond hair underdyed with a light teal shade—that was new. Her hair was naturally curly, and she was obsessive about straightening it. She was shorter than me, with a cute, turned-up nose and a mole on her upper lip that made her look like a vampish movie star. She was wearing the cutest belly-skimming shirt. A vein would start visibly throbbing in Mrs. Wentworth’s temple if I wore something like that outside of the gym.

  “Mads, this is Taryn.”

  Madison surveyed Taryn, and I found myself nervous on my girlfriend’s behalf.

  “Hi,” Madison said finally. “I think I recognize you from school. C’mon in; the other girls are here, and it’s almost time for carb loading.”

  Taryn shot me a confused look.

  “Along with Bastille Day, it’s also National Mac-and-Cheese Day,” I explained. “Mads’ mom makes three or four different kinds.”

  Taryn looked a little dazed. “I can’t remember the last time I had real mac-and-cheese. The stuff at school doesn’t count.”

  “It’s nothing like the stuff at school. Just you wait.” My mouth was already watering.

  We dropped our bags in the pool house after Emilia and Brittany found us and there were hugs all around for me, and polite hellos for Taryn. So far, so good.

  Brittany had cut her wavy red hair into a shoulder-length, shaggy bob that framed her face really well. She was taller than me, and athletic, playing varsity basketball and volleyball.

  Only Emilia looked the same. Short and with a round face, she liked to wear her straight black hair in braids, which were adorable with her Chinese features.

  “Annabelle!” Brittany squealed. “You look amazing! You’ve lost weight—look how trim you are. You look like a real pageant queen.”

  “That’s the goal,” I said, hugging her.

  Emilia, after greeting me, turned to Taryn. “You look different,” she said. She was always the blunt one. I winced. I didn’t think she had crossed the line into rudeness, but then again, I was used to her.

  “Haircut,” Taryn said.

  “That must be it,” Emilia agreed. “Everyone seems to be doing that lately. I like it.”

  Taryn’s hair did still look great from the blowout two days ago. I let out a relieved breath.

  “Thank you,” Taryn said—and smiled.

  It was all I could do not to pull her into my arms and kiss her.

  Twenty-Two

  I’d always thought the Garners were well-off, with the big house and pool, but they paled in comparison to the Wentworth manor. Still, their space was pretty darn nice.

  The house and backyard were filling up with people, friends of Mr. and Mrs. Garner, including families. Madison’s older brother, home from c
ollege, was in pale blue board shorts and a fitted white tee, talking to some of his friends. He saw me and gave a nod of welcome, his gaze giving me the once-over. It was weird—and relieving—to not have to figure out why he didn’t—why none of them—made an impression on me.

  Many of the people knew me from past parties or school, and a number of them congratulated me on how well I’d done in the pageant.

  I demurred. “Thank you, but I made mistakes, which cost me the tiara,” I said. “I’m working hard so I’ll do better next time.” I thought Mrs. Wentworth would approve of that response.

  Taryn stuck by my side, and I introduced her to people. Some tried to hide their surprise at seeing her—or maybe seeing the changes in her—but they were all polite and welcoming.

  We had agreed not to tell anyone we were more than friends. We wouldn’t put it past Taryn’s mother to check with the Garners after the party to enquire about our conduct, or at least my demeanor. As far as she was concerned, while I didn’t have to walk a certain way or hold a smile for hours, I was still under the spotlight everywhere I went. Reputation was crucial.

  Emilia Lo’s father, who was short and moon-faced like his daughter, and who owned a chain of car dealerships, said he might want to sponsor me. I told him I’d talk to Mrs. Wentworth. It felt nice knowing someone else had faith in me and wanted to see me succeed.

  Or maybe it was just good advertising, or a tax write-off. Whatever.

  The backyard had an outdoor kitchen, with a grill, serving stations, and prep sink. Mrs. Garner was bringing out trays of mac-and-cheese, along with mounds of other food. I was glad to see a salad and crudité platters. Eyes on the prize.

  I allowed myself one small scoop of each kind of mac-and-cheese, less than a mouthful each, along with heaps of veggies. Mr. Garner was grilling burgers, and I thought I’d have one later, without the bun, of course. I ignored the array of French pastries: macarons, éclairs, petits fours, a variety of tarts. It wasn’t easy, but I was determined.