The Sisters

by Kate Forster

  It was Spencer’s insistence that he draw up a contract to protect Birdie and the Blackwood money from Leon and to help her start her new fashion design company. She had gone to see him on her last night in Atlanta; no Leon, just the two of them on the porch. They sat in his swing chair, looking out into the night.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as they rocked back and forth.

  ‘For what?’ he asked.

  ‘For hurting you.’

  ‘I’m fine. Just a crush, nothing I can’t get over,’ he said lightly.

  Birdie took his hand. ‘I do love you, you know,’ she said to the man who had been her best friend when she was growing up.

  ‘I love you too, Birdie,’ he said.

  She jumped from the seat, kissed him on the cheek and ran into the darkness towards her property.

  That was the last time they spoke. Not even on the phone or via letters. Nothing, and Spencer didn’t ask about her when he saw the Blackwoods from time to time.

  Her marriage had driven a wedge through the Blanchard and Blackwood families, and since Birdie’s wedding his mother had died, his father had been moved to a nursing home, and still no word from Birdie. She must have known, her mother would have told her, but no communication came his way.

  Spencer had devoted himself to his law and was a successful junior associate at one of Atlanta’s most prestigious firms. He worked long hours and hard; it helped to forget this way. But at night he dreamed of Birdie. When they used to ride their horses backwards, go fishing together, practise kissing on their hands. When he had first kissed her at the prom. When she left him for Leon.

  Spencer sat in his car and sighed. Another night alone, he thought, both thankful and tired of the monotony.

  He opened his old Mercedes that had belonged to his father and, taking his briefcase, walked towards the house. He walked up the stairs and just as he was about to put the key in the lock, he heard the swing seat on the porch creak.

  He turned and there she was. ‘Hiya, Spencer.’

  ‘Hiya, Birdie.’

  It was as though he had seen her yesterday. He put down his briefcase and sat next to her on the seat. Swinging back and forth with their feet, she put her head on his shoulder.

  ‘I’m back,’ she said.

  10

  Grace sat in the small coffee shop waiting for Frank. She had agreed to meet him for a coffee. This was the best way of seeing him without having to commit to hours of wasted time at a restaurant. The small café in Soho that Frank had asked her to meet him at was busy but she had managed to get two chairs out the front. Frank had called her after she left Violetta's apartment. It was a Saturday morning. Carlotta had gone to ride her horses, and Violetta was clearly in no state to do anything. Grace was alone. Perhaps that’s why she decided to agree to meet him. What else did she have to do?

  Birdie’s condition was still the same, and the doctor was still talking about operating. Spencer was with her most days. Grace was sick of the hospital and she welcomed something different with someone who didn’t know her. No one to ask how she was or how Birdie was doing.

  Sitting outside the café in Soho, she felt dowdy compared to the people inside, laughing and chatting, reading the papers. In her tailored black pants, her Marc Jacobs’s duffel coat, black turtleneck and orange Tods loafers, she realised she was over-dressed, maybe over-stuffed. She reached up and pulled the velvet headband out of her hair and stuffed it into her Hermes bag.

  As she looked up she saw Frank riding towards her on his bike. He chained it up and came and sat beside her.

  ‘Morning,’ he said.

  She looked at him again. He was pleasant looking, a little too frat boy for her taste though.

  ‘Hello,’ she said.

  ‘Coffee?’ he asked.

  ‘I have one,’ she said, gesturing to her cup.

  ‘OK, I’m going to order one. Want anything to eat?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  Grace smiled, put on her Fendi sunglasses and watched him inside laughing and talking with the waitress. Tall, slim, wearing the same jeans and sneakers but this time with a dark blue sweatshirt with 'Atari' written across it.

  Grace sighed. At least the coffee was good, she thought. Frank walked out, holding a plate of pastries. ‘Starving,’ he said and offered one to her.

  ‘No, thanks,’ she said.

  ‘I’m glad you decided to meet me,’ he said, his mouth filled with apple Danish.

  ‘Thanks for inviting me,’ said Grace, wondering how long she had to stay.

  The waitress bought Frank’s coffee out.

  ‘Thanks, babe,’ he said.

  Babe, thought Grace, trying not to roll her eyes.

  ‘So Grace, how’s life?’ he asked.

  ‘Interesting,’ she answered. ‘How’s your life?’

  ‘Mine later, yours first. Why so interesting?’

  Grace thought for a moment about everything in her life and then smiled. ‘Well, maybe not so interesting to others. You know, family stuff, new job…’ her voice trailed off.

  ‘Yeah, I get it.’

  ‘What do you do, Frank?’ asked Grace, trying not to look at her watch.

  ‘Nothing really,’ he answered.

  ‘You don’t work?’ asked Grace.

  ‘Nah, I did but not at the moment,’ he said vaguely.

  Grace tried not to get up and run. An out-of-work, ex-bike courier who called waitresses babe. Not a chance, she thought.

  They sat in silence while Frank stirred his coffee.

  ‘So, I was thinking we could go to the Cartier Bresson exhibition at MOMA after this,’ he said.

  Grace paused. She had wanted to go to the exhibition but with everything that was going on she didn’t have time. Damn it, she thought, do I have to go with him?

  Frank waited. ‘Or not?’ he said, laughing.

  Grace felt ashamed. Birdie had taught her better than this.

  ‘Oh, of course, that sounds lovely. I love his work. How are your new photographs?’ she asked politely.

  ‘Great, although I haven’t hung them yet.’

  I’m sure, thought Grace. Probably in his tiny hallway in between his gym bag and his spare bike wheel.

  Frank drained his coffee. ‘All right, let’s go,’ he said, standing up. ‘Hey babe, watch the bike, OK?’

  The waitress waved back at Frank. He left some money on the table and waited for Grace.

  Grace winced at his words.

  ‘What’s with the face?’ he asked, seeing her reflection in the glass window of the café.

  Shit, thought Grace. Then she decided to be honest. She wasn’t going to see him again.

  ‘Why do you call women babe? It’s a little insulting,’ she said primly.

  ‘What? The waitress?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, putting her hands in the pockets of her jacket.

  Frank tried to hide a smile. ‘Babe, come here,’ he called.

  The waitress walked out and he put his arm around her. ‘Grace this is Babe, Babe this is Grace.’

  The girl smiled at Grace. ‘Hey Grace.’

  ‘Your name is Babe?’ asked Grace.

  ‘Dad was a Yankees fan,’ she shrugged.

  Frank smiled at Grace as Babe walked inside.

  ‘All right, I consider myself told off,’ she said, blushing.

  Frank laughed. ‘OK, babe, let’s go look at art.’

  She punched him in the arm as they walked up the street together. He surprised her. She found she quite liked him. More than she’d thought she would.

  *

  ‘Hold the reins steady,’ said Carlotta, as she called from the side of the ring.

  Jessica Berconi was attempting jumps on her overpriced horse with an attitude matching its owner. Every time the pair came to a jump, the horse stopped in its tracks, nearly sending Jessica over a few times. When Carlotta left Violetta’s, she’d left New York and driven a little out of town to New Jersey to ride her horse. Jessica was
there along with a few other teens of New York’s finest families having their lessons. Carlotta had felt bad after screaming at John on the phone and she thought the best way to make up for her temper was through Jessica.

  Jessica’s riding coach was in deep talks with Chessy, Jessica’s mother. Carlotta knew the coach, an ex-East German riding champion, a lesbian and a hard taskmaster. No doubt telling Chessy what a waste of time her daughter was, Carlotta thought, as she saw them talking expressively in the corner.

  Carlotta needed the Berconi money for the horse show. She had already booked the venue and the plans were underway, so acting like she gave a shit about Jessica was the best way to get back in the good books with Berconi.

  Jessica didn’t listen to Carlotta though and Carlotta was losing her patience. ‘Jessica?’ she yelled. ‘Do you want my advice or not?’

  Jessica trotted over.

  ‘Honestly?’ she asked in her affected teenage drawl. ‘I don’t. I know you are only here because you are fucking my father, so don’t try to win me over. I don’t give a shit about you or Dad.’

  Carlotta was furious but said nothing. That girl was too much, she thought. As she turned to leave she saw Chris standing behind her, with a teenager about Jessica’s age in a wheelchair.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, surprised.

  ‘Hello,’ said Chris tersely.

  Carlotta looked down at the pretty girl in the wheelchair. ‘I’m Carlotta.’

  ‘Hi, I’m Alexia,’ said the girl, smiling.

  ‘I didn’t think you gave lessons,’ said Chris sarcastically.

  ‘I don’t, just a bit of friendly advice,’ said Carlotta, her face reddening.

  ‘I would love some advice,’ said Alexia. ‘Dad says you are like a super amazing rider.’

  Carlotta paused and looked at Chris. ‘Sure, as soon as you get out of that chair and back into the saddle, then I could watch you and give you some pointers.’

  Alexia looked at her father, and then back to Carlotta.

  ‘Right, sure,’ she said. ‘Anyway, nice to meet you.’

  As she wheeled herself away expertly Carlotta realised what she had said. Alexia drove the chair with precision across the ground, like she had been doing it for years.

  ‘Shit, Chris, I didn’t know. Fuck,’ said Carlotta, staring after the small figure in the wheelchair.

  ‘She’s a paraplegic. She rides horses though, loves it. She is very good, they are talking about her for the Para Olympic Games,’ he said, not looking at Carlotta.

  ‘Of course I will help her, anytime,’ she said quickly, feeling terrible.

  Chris started to walk away and then turned back. ‘Listen, she is not some fucking charity case. Do not feel sorry for her, do you hear me?’

  Carlotta nodded, his face was inches from her.

  ‘While you waste your time with that idiot child Jessica for the reasons she probably mentioned, I am trying to save your fucking company, so do me a favour, all right, and stay the fuck away from my daughter. And if I were you, I would stay the fuck away from Berconi too. He is trouble and if you have him in your bed, then he has you in his pocket and you are a silly, silly, little girl,’ he spat, and then walked away.

  Carlotta watched as he tenderly lifted Alexia into his Range Rover and packed her chair into the back of the car.

  Carlotta walked back to her car and sat in it for a while, thinking.

  ‘Fuck,’ she said, putting her head against the steering wheel and bursting into tears.

  *

  Violetta wiped her mother’s face with a soft muslin washcloth. She took out a jar of Italian face cream, her mother’s favourite, and dabbed a little on each cheek and on her mother’s smooth forehead and gently rubbed it into Birdie’s skin.

  ‘There you are, Mom,’ said Violetta. ‘Gorgeous.’

  She tidied up her mother’s bedside table and the things that Grace had brought in from her mother’s apartment.

  Violetta had spent all day and evening at the hospital, trying to make up for leaving Birdie alone and vulnerable to the prying media. She had spent thirteen hours straight by Birdie’s bedside. She read to Birdie, talked. Napped in the uncomfortable chairs and rubbed her mother’s feet, something she remembered her mother had loved when Violetta was a child.

  She remembered Birdie’s words to her. ‘You have such lovely hands, Violetta, as though they are separate from the rest of you, wanting to do something else. I can feel their energy when you use them. I look forward to seeing what they will create, my darling.’

  What had she done with those hands? Nothing so far, she thought.

  Standing up and stretching, she spoke to the ever-silent Birdie. ‘Mom, I’m going to stretch my legs, back soon.’

  She wandered up the quiet hallway towards the light of the nurses’ station. All the patients were asleep and there was an eerie silence in the night compared to the day, thought Violetta. Leticia and another nurse were sitting at the station.

  ‘Hey, how are you? Your mom need anything?’ asked Leticia.

  ‘No, thanks,’ smiled Violetta, and she walked to the large collection of magazines on the table nearby to search for something new to read.

  Leticia continued her conversation with the nurse. ‘Well, he must have a girlfriend now. The man’s wearing Prada. I know because I saw the label in his tie.’

  Violetta smiled as she leafed through an old copy of Good Housekeeping.

  ‘It’s no one here, he must have met her online,’ said the other nurse.

  ‘I saw that, Judy from emergency showed me. What does a handsome man like that need to go online and search for a lady friend for? I tell you, it makes no sense.’

  Violetta started to listen closely. Jeff online? What?

  Leticia continued. ‘Nobody’s gonna say anything here but a few of the nurses who are already members have sent him kisses or butterflies or whatever they send. He’s probably got hundreds of emails now.’

  Violetta suddenly felt jealous of nameless women with email addresses who had a direct line of contact with Jeff.

  The other nurse spoke. ‘He seems quite sweet in his profile description. If I wasn’t married, I would go for it.’

  Leticia laughed. ‘You and the rest of New York City, baby.’

  The phone rang, interrupting their conversation, and Violetta walked back to Birdie’s room.

  Jeff online, looking for a partner, it made her somewhat sad and yet fascinated.

  ‘Mom, I’m going now,’ she said in the darkness. ‘I have to go and do some research. I love you.’

  She kissed her mother and wondered if her hand was in the same position as it had been before, or was she imagining that it had moved? Probably imagining it, she thought as she rushed back to her apartment. The idea of Jeff being online was too tempting not to snoop on, she thought.

  But which site? Leticia and her cronies didn’t mention it. She remembered them saying something about kisses or butterflies. Once inside, she didn’t even take off her coat, instead grabbing her laptop and opening it up, searching for internet dating sites. Jesus, there were hundreds of them, she thought as she trawled through them.

  Butterflies, she thought and typed into the search engine, ‘Butterflies, internet dating, New York.’

  A new search came up and then she saw Togetherforever.com

  Terrible name, she thought, as she clicked on the link.

  Typing into the site’s search option, she thought about Jeff and filled in the particulars, guessing his height, weight… star sign? She realised she knew nothing about him. A list of potential candidates came onto the screen and Violetta scrolled down them. Twenty pages, she read. Shit.

  Trawling through them, she thought she found him a few times but was disappointed. Why did men put up photos of themselves where they have clearly cut out their old girlfriend? And why did men allow themselves to be photographed in front of a cat scratch pole?

  Violetta briefly thought she could make a living giving advice t
o men online about their profile pictures, but had just decided against it as a photo of Jeff came up.

  White T-shirt, smile, backpack, Machu Picchu in the background. The travel photo didn’t thrill her but seeing his lovely face online made her smile. Trying to click on the link to read more, she realised that she would have to sign up to continue into the site further.

  Violetta sat and thought for a moment and then grabbed her credit card.

  She clicked on his picture.

  Name – Jeff

  Age – 39

  Occupation – Doctor

  Star sign – Aquarius

  Height – 6’ 2”

  Body type – Slim

  Eye colour – Green

  Hair colour – Light brown

  Relationship status – Single

  Want children – Yes

  Pets – None

  Smoker – No

  Drinker – Occasionally/socially

  About me:

  I am a doctor who needs to get a life. I am single but not happily. I would like to go out more but my long hours mean I can’t always summon up the energy. I do prefer nights at home when I am off duty. I like watching detective shows, especially the English ones and embarrassingly romantic comedies. I read poetry and biographies. I like running in rain or shine and I love walking through New York. It is the best walking city in the world.

  Violetta felt her heart beating faster as she read his profile. He was so sweet and shy, even online, she thought.

  He was number three on the most popular men of the week, she noticed in the chart. Better than her ranking on the Daily Socialite, she thought wryly. She felt jealous of the women who had emailed him already. Was he out on a date tonight, she wondered.

  She sat staring at the screen for a moment and then quickly started typing.

  Hi there, Jeff,

  Wrote Violetta.

  How was Machu Picchu? I’ve never been there but it looks amazing. Nice T-shirt? American Apparel?

  Violet x

  She chose a profile picture that didn’t show her face, one with her hair over her face and her hand up. She was wearing a black singlet with her gold snake bracelet the only adornment in the picture. No one knows this photo, thought Violetta. She had taken it herself, by mistake when trying to fix her camera. It was oddly flattering, showing off her toned arms and gorgeous hair, yet gave away nothing of her face.