The Sisters

by Kate Forster

  Chris sighed. It had been a long hour. Trying to keep a thread of pleasantry between them, he changed the subject. ‘So, how’s your riding going?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s not,’ said Carlotta sulkily. Didn’t he know he was the reason that she wasn’t out on her horse right now, where she could stop thinking about spreadsheets and her mother who still hadn’t made any improvement. Surgery was next, the doctor had told her sister, and she was devastated at the thought of her mother on the operating table.

  ‘My daughter rides horses,’ said Chris brightly.

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘Maybe you could give her some tips one day,’ Chris said, as he pulled the papers on the table into a neat pile.

  ‘I don’t teach kids,’ said Carlotta.

  And she stood up and left the room.

  Chris watched her leave. A shame she was such a cow; she could be quite beautiful when she wasn’t yelling at him, he thought.

  Carlotta was in the doorway of Chris’s office when her cell phone rang. Looking down, she saw John’s number come up.

  ‘Hello stranger,’ she said, laughing, her voice becoming silky.

  Chris looked up at her in surprise. Gone was the shrew that he had known and instead here was a seductive Carlotta imposter.

  She looked Chris up and down with a dismissive look and walked out of his office. For a moment Chris felt like shit. Christ, those de Santoval girls are more like their father than they realise, he thought.

  *

  ‘I wanted to say thank you. I’m sorry it’s taken me a while, I’ve been frantic,’ said Jeff’s voice over the phone.

  ‘For what?’ asked Violetta coyly. It was fun flirting with nerds, she remembered from high school.

  ‘For the shirts and ties from Prada.’

  ‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ said Violetta, as she was preparing to head out that night.

  She was dressed in a butterscotch satin cocktail dress and was about to meet the camera crew at a cocktail party to raise money for a Foundation that she had never heard of before. Lesley had been the one who had suggested she attend. The invitations to fabulous events were thin on the ground coming into the end of October and until Thanksgiving and Lesley had been trying to rustle up invitations that would actually allow her socialites in with the cameras. Invitations from the society parties that she normally attended had been thinning out since she had made her television debut. So far just her trip to Prada and work had been aired, but tonight would be her debut onto the screens in New York’s nightlife.

  ‘I didn’t send them,’ she laughed.

  ‘Well, who did then?’ asked Jeff, playing along.

  ‘I don’t know. What did the card read?’

  ‘From the Fashion Police.’

  ‘Maybe it was Leticia,’ said Violetta, as she slipped an antique gold bracelet in the shape of a snake that Grace had given her years ago onto her wrist.

  ‘I doubt it. Well, it was very generous. I wonder if I can repay them somehow,’ he said, his voice tinged with laughter.

  Was he flirting? She wasn’t sure.

  Violetta was silent down the phone and then she spoke. ‘Just get my Mom better,’ she said in a small voice.

  ‘We are doing all we can, Violetta,’ he said, his professionalism returning. ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Bye,’ she answered, wishing she hadn’t ruined the mood.

  She looked at herself in the mirror. She looked good but felt terrible. What she really wanted to do was to stay at home, eat Chinese food and watch a romantic comedy. Instead she moved her keys, lipstick, phone, credit card and perfume into her vintage clutch purse. As she opened it, she saw a small edge of plastic poking out of the inner pocket. Pulling it out, she saw it was a small bag of cocaine from a party a few weeks ago, the night she had signed the contract for Socialites in the City.

  Looking at it for a moment, she rushed into the kitchen and, after tapping out a small amount, pulled out her credit card and cut it up, quickly and expertly. Making a thin line, she opened a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out a packet of drinking straws. Cutting one in half and then half again, she bent over and snorted the line up her nose. She then turned on the tap, sniffing hard, and then ran her fingers under the water. Taking a few drops of water onto the back of her hand, she snorted the water into her nostril and massaged either side of her nose, stretching the skin and letting the drug absorb into her system.

  Violetta shook her head and felt the buzz begin. She checked her nose in the mirror and then smiled at herself. ‘Showtime,’ she said, plastering a smile on her face as she left for the party.

  *

  Grace and Carlotta both woke up with a feeling of dread. It had been a long time since either of them had that feeling. It came from somewhere else, almost supernatural. Grace checked her voice messages. Two messages. The first one was Spencer telling her to buy the Daily Post. The second was from Carlotta.

  ‘That fucking idiot sister of ours has outdone herself again,’ was all she said.

  Grace pulled on some clothes and rushed out to buy the paper from the newsstand on the corner near her building. As she walked closely she saw the headlines and her shoulders slumped. Taking the paper and throwing a ten-dollar note at the vendor and not waiting for change, she rushed up to her apartment and called Carlotta.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Did you see it?’ barked Carlotta down the line.

  ‘I’m holding it,’ Grace said.

  ‘Fucking idiot,’ said Carlotta. ‘I’m on my way to her apartment. You coming?’

  Grace thought for a moment; the last thing she wanted to do was confront Violetta, but Carlotta was even scarier than any potential confrontation with Violetta so she agreed.

  They arrived together and Carlotta rang the buzzer. Violetta stirred, wondering who it would be. She wasn’t filming today.

  She dragged herself from her bed and looked at the sleeping figure next to her. What was his name again? She tried to rack her coke-addled brain to remember her movements from last night. She remembered the party; the coke had given her a nice buzz, topped off with some champagne. All that and not eating for about twelve hours, helped her get to where she was now. In bed with a nameless man and a bad case of coke nose.

  ‘Hello,’ she said into the intercom.

  ‘It’s us,’ said Carlotta.

  ‘What’s happened? Why are you here?’ panicked Violetta.

  ‘We have to talk,’ said Carlotta. ‘Open the fucking door.’

  Violetta waited for a moment. Shit, she thought, and then buzzed them in. She stood naked in the room.

  ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ she said and ran to her bedroom. ‘Get up, get up.’ She kicked the sleeping body.

  ‘Jesus,’ she heard from under the covers.

  ‘Get up, my sisters are downstairs,’ Violetta ordered.

  The man rolled over and Violetta groaned. Simon Russo, Sabrina’s brother, her cohort from the show. Simon was the go-to man when you were alone at the end of a party and there was no one else to take home. Violetta used to laugh at women who took Simon home; now she was one of them and she prayed to God no one would find out.

  ‘Out, out, out,’ she said, almost hysterical.

  ‘Relax, Christ. I’m up,’ he said, as he stood up with a large erection.

  You certainly are, thought Violetta as she averted her eyes. Simon made her feel sick and his penis seemed to stand at attention at an odd angle. Tall, doughy, balding, with wire-rimmed spectacles – and what the fuck was that?

  ‘Is that a nipple ring?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, you saw it last night.’ He looked at her as though she had lost her mind.

  ‘OK,’ she said, shaking her head. Pulling on some tiny black shorts and a white singlet, she tried to pull the bed together. Then she heard her door buzzer. ‘Shit,’ she said and ran to the door.

  ‘Get your stuff and get out, Simon. I’m serious,’ she ordered. ‘I’ll take my sisters into the kitc
hen. You leave as soon as you’re dressed. OK?’

  Simon nodded as though he were listening.

  Shutting the bedroom door, Violetta opened the door to her sisters. ‘You better have brought me a coffee?’ she said.

  Carlotta snorted at her and Grace walked in with a newspaper under her arm.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Violetta, suddenly nervous and trying to steer her sisters into the kitchen. ‘Is it Mom?’ She felt faint.

  Grace sat on the sofa and Carlotta stood by the window, her arms crossed. Grace opened the newspaper and put it in front of Violetta. She rubbed her eyes and looked down. There were three pictures on the front of the tabloid. The first was of her mother in her hospital bed, surrounded by the machines that were keeping her alive. The next was of Violetta and Simon Russo kissing clumsily on the street outside her apartment. And the last was of her father, wearing sunglasses and a white shirt and on a street that was certainly not New York.

  Violetta groaned as she read the clichéd headline. Broken Birdie, while the little chick plays and the rooster holidays!

  ‘You are fucking unbelievable,’ said Carlotta angrily.

  At that moment, Simon opened the door. Dressed, thankfully, thought Violetta.

  ‘Sorry, ladies, I must interrupt. I have to press onto work,’ he said in his usual fawning matter.

  Carlotta ignored him but Grace smiled, always her mother’s daughter.

  ‘Hello, Simon, lovely to see you again.’

  Simon tried to kiss Violetta on the cheek but she pulled away. ‘Simon, please, as if,’ she said nastily.

  Grace noticed how Simon’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he left Violetta’s apartment.

  ‘You’re a bitch,’ said Carlotta.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Violetta.

  ‘You are a bitch and selfish little brat who thinks that the best way to get ahead in life is to be famous and fuck everyone over to get somewhere.’

  ‘You don’t know me,’ said Violetta.

  ‘Yes I do, and you’re an embarrassment,’ snapped Carlotta.

  ‘You sound like Leon,’ said Violetta.

  ‘Really? Well, I guess someone has to tell you to stop. Stop the TV show, stop the bullshit and stop embarrassing yourself and your family.’

  Grace sat wringing her hands as she watched her sisters fight.

  ‘I think we have to deal with the bigger issues at hand here. One is that Mom’s injury has got out into the public,’ said Grace.

  ‘That’s because Violetta wasn’t doing her duty on the roster with Mom last night,’ said Carlotta.

  ‘It had to come out eventually. Most of the staff at Pajaro know, the hospital, the police,’ said Grace, sticking up for Violetta who was looking stricken.

  Violetta picked up the paper and looked closely at the picture of Leon. ‘Where the hell is he? Is that a camel in the background?’

  Carlotta walked over and snatched the paper from her. ‘The police have already called me. They’re speaking to the photo agency to find out where and when this image was taken.’

  ‘So what shall we do?’ asked Grace.

  ‘About what?’ asked Violetta.

  ‘About Mummy,’ said Grace.

  ‘About you,’ said Carlotta.

  Violetta gave Carlotta the death stare and then turned her attention onto her younger sister, albeit for a mere few minutes.

  ‘I think we should speak to Spencer and the hospital about how they were allowed into the room,’ she said, thinking of Jeff banning the TV crew. ‘And as for me, well you needn’t worry about that,’ she said pointedly to Carlotta.

  ‘Really? Because I’ve had a major potential sponsor for my horse show ring this morning to pull out, saying the de Santoval brand wasn’t something they want to be associated with.’

  Carlotta was still shaking after the roasting from John that she had received over the phone at six that morning. No one would speak to her like that, she had decided. Well, maybe Chris at Pajaro, but he didn’t count, she figured. While she agreed with most of the things John had said about her sister, she didn’t want to hear them from someone else. Their conversation had escalated into a full blown argument, with Carlotta losing her temper by the end of it and launching into a poor me speech about the state of Pajaro, her mother, the lack of support from her sisters at work and how Chris was mean to her. And then she hung up. Now she was angry with John and was taking it out on Violetta.

  ‘Boo fucking hoo,’ said Violetta, walking into the kitchen and getting herself a drink of water. ‘I’m so sad about your poor little horse show.’

  ‘It may not be important to you but it is to me Violet, just like your stupid little TV show.’

  Violetta was tempted to throw the glass of water at Carlotta but decided against it, remembering the black eye she had given her when they were still children.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked her sister as she left the kitchen to sit next to Grace in the lounge.

  ‘I want you to take it seriously. I want both of you to take it seriously,’ yelled Carlotta, her face red.

  ‘I am the only one turning up. Grace, you are still between two jobs and we need you in the marketing department. It’s bad you aren’t there – everyday people are prepped for you and you don’t turn up. It makes you and us look like spoilt brats.’

  Carlotta turned her attention to Violetta. ‘You are worse,’ she accused her.

  ‘Why? I turn up,’ said Violetta, looking at her feet and thinking she needed a pedicure.

  ‘I know, but you don’t do anything. You go on Facebook or look at that stupid socialite ranking website. I know – the staff tell Chris. They think you are hilarious, and not in a flattering way.’

  Violetta crossed her arms as Carlotta went on with her tirade.

  ‘You are possibly the most stylish and knowledgeable person I know when it comes to fashion. You are so fucking smart and you are throwing it all away because Dad said you were useless or a slut or something. Well, guess what, he said shitty things to us also. I was ugly, that’s why only horses loved me.’

  Violetta and Grace looked shocked at their sister’s admission and then Violetta started to laugh. She laughed until she was crying. Carlotta stared at her, tears falling down her cheeks. ‘It’s not funny,’ she cried.

  ‘It is. It’s so funny. Not about what he said but the fact that he would say that to someone, his own daughter. Man, he’s truly the worst person in the world. He’s a cunt.’

  Grace gasped and put her hand over her mouth.

  ‘He is a cunt,’ said Carlotta, and she started to laugh a little.

  ‘He once told me I wasn’t smart enough to work in a Pajaro store,’ said Violetta.

  ‘He told me I should marry a horse, because that was the only thing that would ever like me.’

  Then she and Violetta were crying and laughing at the same time.

  Then they heard Grace’s quiet voice.

  ‘He told me I was his favourite.’ she said. ‘It was such a huge burden. I hated it.’

  Carlotta laughed hysterically and so did Violetta.

  ‘What?’ Grace asked, seemingly confused.

  ‘He said I was his favourite, said Carlotta.

  ‘Me also,’ said Violetta. ‘I used to think if this is how he spoke to his favourite then I can’t imagine how life was for you two.’

  Grace started laughing at them and then crying, as Violetta sat between her sisters on the sofa.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘I know I’m doing this stupid show, I am trying to get out of it. I feel so scattered. I will step up, I promise.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Grace. ‘I will be at Pajero, on time every day. I promise.’

  Carlotta sat for a while. ‘It’s not about the money, it’s about the company. Mom started this and then Dad took it off her. Now she is in a coma and so, it seems, is Pajaro. I want to honour her and return it to what it once was, what makes it what Mom wanted it to be.’

  Vi
oletta and Grace listened.

  Carlotta turned to them. ‘Grace, you are the most like Mom and you have the elegance to bring it back to what she would like, underneath all the crap that Leon and their lifestyle forced upon her. You are genius at marketing. Come on,’ she implored.

  Grace smiled at her older sister. ‘I’m there, you can count on me.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Violetta. ‘I promise.’

  After Grace and Carlotta left, Violetta opened her laptop computer to check her ranking on the Daily Socialite website. ‘Number 73,’ she yelled. ‘What the fuck?’

  She scrolled down and looked at the comments.

  Who goes out when their mother is in a coma?

  Who does a TV show when their mother is brain damaged?

  She needs to get a job, not just a trust fund.

  Tacky Avenue Princess

  She’s a slut.

  Violetta closed the computer.

  ‘Enough,’ she said to herself. ‘Enough.’

  She wondered who had seen the article and comments and Jeff Carson crossed her mind.

  Please don’t let Jeff have seen it, she thought. Please.

  9

  Spencer, Atlanta – 1984

  Spencer Blanchard pulled into the driveway of his house, an antebellum home that had stayed in his family since it was built. It was too large for him, he knew that, but he had been determined to fill it with children and a happy marriage. Only Birdie had broken his heart when she married that sly Spaniard under the magnolia trees at the Blackwood estate.

  He had bowed out gracefully once he saw how in love Birdie was with Leon. She refused to hear a bad word about him when her beloved father, Andrew, had raised doubts over Leon’s intentions.

  ‘You just want me to marry Spencer, Daddy,’ she had cried. ‘Well, I don’t love him. You know I thought I did before I left but then I met Leon. I know what real passion and love are now. Not some simple boy from the South.’

  Spencer had stood in the hallway listening and hadn’t taken offence. He was a simple boy from the South who simply loved Birdie, and now she was gone.