I thrilled to this new Experience. “Subway’s fine with me,” I said. “I like to be anonymous.” “I know the feeling,” said Derek. “Escaping their surveillance.” Had Mirabel felt that? We clutched straps and enjoyed Studiously ignoring people Studiously ignoring us. “So, what’s the deal with that guy?”
Hissed Derek. We had to lean together to Conspire and I liked that. I Was dazzled by his dragon energy; just what We apprentice sorcereens Require. “You acted like He murdered her!” See! He’s psychic too! He read my face and Saw the fear. “Don’t worry,” Said Derek. “He couldn’t tell.
His kind’s just too self-involved. His world is him And whoever he’s picked To be his mirror. That guy Needs too damn much Gender-affirming care.” How did snotty Derek Get to be so well-matured?
“He was with me all the time –“ I excused him – “Unless They met by night. He Sneaked out once, I know it.” “Then he is a suspect,” Derek mused. “That’s what police will think. They always start With the fiancé. Nothing turns folks murderous Like the prospect of getting Hitched.
What I want to know is If he hired a girl To impersonate your sister. That would be the perfect crime – Disguise time of death, Confuse crime scene, erase The body. I study Forensics at the College of John Jay.” Wow. I’m Impressed, aren’t you?
We exited the car and rode upstairs. “I feel that was really Mirabel,” I told him haltingly, “Sending coded messages. If only I could Read them.” In my mind she swelled To Goddess shape, swirled Through the air a demi- Sorcereen.
Speak to me, Mirabel. Speak to me. “We’ll check her friends,” said Derek. Did Mirabel have friends? That didn’t sound like her – I must have looked like a stopped clock As he dragged me out the double doors.
“We change trains.” More waiting on dangerous platforms – Hovered over electric holes. Had I always been this scareable? Derek was so Reassuring. Had Mirabel ever felt this impressed By Verne? I think she went by title, Cash in hand, rather than cultivate Her gut instinct.
But climbing into trains is A skill I didn’t have. We could sit this time. I mused aloud “He wouldn’t let me see his laptop When I tried to track her phone.” “We should get our hands on that,” Suggested Derek but I was Free-associating.
“I had the most awful dream.” “You believe in dreams?” I almost hit him. Our first quarrel! But school prepared me well, Arguing my point. “People know things subconsciously before They know them consciously.”
“OK. Please Explicate this dream.” “A ruined house – Downtown Abbey on the skids. Sad and… threatening with lots of Broken stuff.” “What prompted that? Was it Something that he said?”
“He told me Mirabel wouldn’t live there – Didn’t like it.” “Intriguing,” Murmured Derek. “Maybe the secret lies in England. Let’s research this guy when we get home.”
“Bioceutically Renewed ” was so far east It was almost in the water. At the door a Sweet-faced Asian lady Expressed almost comic dismay. “Customers privacy sacrosanct! You understand.
Sacrosanct.” But Just when I would have recommended Verne get more friendly He went haughty. “We’re talking about a missing person!” “Are you police?’ “He’s the fiancé.” I tried reaching out to touch her arm – Too naïve! She shrank away.
Verne swelled. “I’d like to see The manager!” We filled the tiny waiting room. The employee backed away, alarmed & Scurrying. I was embarrassed. “She’ll call the police on US!” I hissed at Verne.
“Flunkies never do. A British title excuses Everything.” The frosty-eyed manager was neither young Nor Asian, but when I said, “This is Lord Verne, Mirabel’s fiancé and I’m her sister” Her expression changed most notably. How in our democracy could Aristocrats be worshipped? “Have you told the police?” “There’s a waiting period,” Verne said Smoothly. “We don’t want to wait.”
I put in, “We just want to find her! She was carrying Valuables. We’re afraid that she’s in danger.” Verne’s eyes raked me over, As if I’m the enemy – Willing me to pipe down. We were ushered to the inner sanctum, Unromantic room where filing cabinets threatened Wooden chairs. Not much cash here.
Ms. “Operations Manager” Consulted the computer. “She signed up for our Wedding Package But only made the first appointment. That was Days ago. I understood – er – her fiancé Was…someone different altogether.” Verne paled, lost his breath. Fell into a punitive chair.
Up to me to ask the questions. “Short, fat, bald?” “That’s the one.” The woman panicked At her own audacity. “Tells us what we need to know.” Verne was gasping like a fish And he was not a good color. I thought he might stroke out. “Contact numbers?” “Contrary to policy. I’m sorry. Her voice was cold, but her eyes were warm.
“May I get you a water?” “Please,” said Verne. “Bottled, if possible.” The moment she was out the door I raced To the computer. “Last appointment was three days ago!” I took a screenshot with my phone. Ms. Harvey returned with a bottle of chilled water which Verne accepted. I was rescued By the ringing of my phone.
“I’ve got to take this.” Stepped into the hall. “Hi,” said a deep masculine voice. “This is Derek Lowther. Is that Richenda?” Derek Lowther? Last time I saw him he was a Nightmarishly jerky twelve year old brat. (And I an eleven year old sophisticate.)
He was NOT the person I’d hoped to speak to. Pushed out through the anteroom and into The pale winter sunshine. Maybe Verne was right and he’d get further Without me. “Yes,” I told Derek unwillingly, “it’s me.” “So what’s the emergency question?” “Have you heard from Mirabel?”
He was genuinely astonished. “Has anybody heard from Mirabel? I certainly haven’t. I’m at the apartment. Do you mean, did she call here?” “Maybe you could find out If your parents have heard anything?” “They’re at a retreat in Sri Lanka. You can assume The answer’s No. What’s the hurry?”
“Mirabel is missing.” A beat of silence. I could hear his struggle to be polite. “Wasn’t Mirabel always missing?” “She came back. She was getting married. Then she disappeared. Again.” I have to admit it did not sound like an emergency.
Impossible to explain anything to a guy I haven’t seen in 3 tumultuous years Already I was angry at him. “Sounds just like Mirabel to me. Wasn’t Disappointing people stock in trade?” That was impossible to argue with. “Maybe something’s really happened to her this time. She seems to have been juggling two fiancés – Stealing diamonds and God knows what.”
I shouldn’t tell him anything. Why couldn’t I seem to help myself? Because I needed backup? Because He was my age and would look At Verne the way I did? I required A human being to speak to In this world of artificial masks.
“God. I’m sorry.” His voice really did Sound sorry. “Do you want to come here? Should I go there?” “What could you do?” I sounded like a five year old Quivering on the edge of tears.
“Help you look? I’d do anything I can.” I gave Derek the bridegroom’s address. Speaking of the bridegroom, he burst through The doors, arms full of literature and bottled water. “Hotel coupons, flight discounts Suggest where Mirabel might go. Or where Ravi might stash her. Liar! Bastard!”
I felt I must re-focus him.. “But did Ravi actually come to an appointment Or did Mirabel only use his name?” Verne paused to drink from his Chilled bottle, flicking Drops. “The appointments Were just for her.” So we were back to Lying Liar Mirabel. Not so different – As Derek pointed out – From the way she’d always been.
We climbed dispiritedly into the car. “Maybe she just wanted anonymity,” I suggested, “And used the first name she thought of. She didn’t want them to Look you up.” “But why keep it secret?” Lord Verne argued. “Have you announced your engagement Formally?”
“No. We just thought of it. No details yet.” “Well you’re press-worthy,” I suggested “And Ravi is not.” Plus married! I was guessing but Verne’s face relaxed. “True,” he smugly said. But eyed my phone suspiciously. “So who was that?”
He seemed to yearn to take my phone Check my calls. Poor Mirabel I thought. But I was seeing a way out. “Old friend of mine. He might be able to help – He’s hacker smart,” I said Sounding clueless, Meeting us at the apartment.”
A storm settled between Verne’s eyes. He needed to be My focus of attention with No competitors to mute his power. Poor Mirabel.
Over breakfast I braced myself With questions. “If Mirabel was a scout for porn – What does that mean She actually did?” Verne moaned. Why would he pretend “Shock the Virgin” is so distasteful? It’s Usually everyone’s favorite game.
“I tried so hard to make her quit,” He sighed pointedly Reminding who’s the victim here. “She looked for investors at Openings and parties.” Angry and increasingly incensed, Working himself up, He pushed his plate away. “Is that how she found you?” First question he refused to answer, Playing with his fork as if he’d stab me. I summoned up my calmest adult voice.
“Mirabel’s not where she should be. Let’s call the police. I think it’s time.” He dismissed this: “Too humiliating. They don’t know her well enough To find her. We do.” I felt just the opposite. The police look For the actual person; Verne Only wanted certain Mirabels – others It seemed, he needed to stay gone.
On a sudden inspiration – “The trash!” he raced to collar Overflowing baskets and Upend them on the counter. Good idea, I must admit. She had left with something he required That much was obvious. We attacked the problem like an archaeological Dig; separating Paper here and garbage there.
Since what we really needed was her phone – Phones more intimate than poor fungible Bodies – I considered ways To break into her account. Still, we turned up intriguing items; a “Welcome new members” card for “Bioceutically Renewed Day Spa” and a crumpled pack Of ginger parsley tea. I knew the tea Through schoolgirl gossip – Never tried it myself; Supposed to cue overdue menstruation.
Surprise! Mirabel bothered With menstruation: tiny as she was? It perhaps had other uses. Levered out the members’ card – No need to mention the tea – and tidied up the mess. Verne’s shoulders curled in Frustration. “There’s nothing here.” “I found something.” Offered him the card. He was rude. “How’s this help?”
He was tough to help And something about that made me mad. But if my school teaches anything it’s Disguise your feelings. So I said coldly, “We should check her phone.” “How can we – if she’s taken it with her?” “There might be a way if you pay the bill.” He rolled his eyes. “Now where’s my laptop?” Really, he was helpless.
“I think I saw it beside the sofa.” He blocked me from retrieving it. “You finish breakfast. I’ll get it.” I couldn’t eat with him typing In the other room. “What are you finding?” “Nothing.” He turned away.
Now we play “Baffle the Virgin”? “Mislead the Virgin?” But I had to give it to him – Verne was realer than disappearing Mirabel, fast becoming legend. There was a lot we couldn’t Tell the fuzz. For example, let’s say You wanted to kill someone But create an alibi.
It would help to have the person Seem to disappear all on their own. What if the Mirabel I’d met Was an impostor who’d somehow Managed to muster Mirabel’s Special look? If it was time for cops then It was time for parents; what On earth to tell the folks? Thinking of my parents caused My phone to buzz.
Damn that psychic link. Pressed “Ignore” but knew it wouldn’t Work for long. “Nope,” said Verne, hardboiled American – “Can’t get in.” “Does she have a “find my phone app?” Should have brought my laptop! My tiny phone screen Renders map apps useless. “We don’t have it.”
This man was a death-ray. I contemplated ways To lessen all this tension. “Well at least we’ve got Bioceutically Renewed to try. But first I must call Mom and Dad.” I closed the door for Privacy but Dad only wanted To speak to Verne.
More interested in talking to a man he’d never met Than his own kid! “Ignore the Virgin?” Verne said Mirabel just pulled a “Mirabel.” “Wedding’s off, I take it?” asked my Dad. So relieved! “Not because of anything I’ve done or said,” Verne emphasized. “She just can’t seem to cope.”
Handed back the phone. “He wants to talk to you.” “Take the first train home.” “Dad, it’s only Saturday!” “You can’t stay in some young man’s apartment. It won’t look good.” “Who’s looking?” I demanded. “Besides, he’s staying at The Stanhope,” I winked at Verne. “I can help the cops!”
“Don’t call police over a case of bridal nerves. You can’t stay there alone! Must I put your mother on? You know she’ll back me up.” “Let me call the Lowthers. Maybe they’re in town.” Longtime family friends. He subsided. “Parents are so awful,” I said out loud after Severing connections.
“They think I’m a baby.” “They want you to never age And Verne smiled wickedly. I found the Lowthers’ number and got only voicemail – Should have figured that would happen!
They were at the Cold Spring house of course! I enunciated clearly, “This is Richenda Marshott With an emergency question. Please call back As soon as you get this.” This granted me another day at least Till someone might check in.
If I spoke to any member of the family – even barf-inducing Sierra – I could fend off Dad For the full weekend. Verne looked hungrily at my phone. “What question will you ask?” “Why, if they’ve heard from Mirabel of course.”
Dropped it in my pocket. High-waist jeans Have deep, deep pockets. “I’m going to the Day-Spa,” I said, allowing him to bail. But naturally he said, “I’m coming.”
Somehow I became convinced that Mirabel was dead – murdered by Lord Verne – he must have done it because I was his perfect alibi.
If I stayed here I’d be his Mirabel forever – in my dream I Fled through shattered French windows where Sheer white curtains blew across my face and Danced like wraiths, daring my embrace. I burst out to a stone terrace littered With the broken glass Of Piper Heidseck bottles – picked my way Between the broken statues – horny Pan
Whose face had split, where cupids gaped with Fractured mouths, Vulcan lobbing Stone pineapples down the mossy garden steps. Pursued by something Too terrifying to look behind and see I saw the shadow of A naked man with antlers. At least the distant view Was glorious – pond encircling island Ornamented by gazebo – forests crowned By snowy mountains.
Surely he could not pursue me here. Something amiss about this lighting – Bleached too white – bad weather or Apocalypse; eclipse or World’s end? I can always revert to The “helpless bystander” dilemmas of childhood – Or force myself awake. Dreams multiply enigmas –
I can’t leave Mirabel Either because she’s in danger or I was. In the mirror I’m Richenda Marshott complete with morning mouth – Sunlight exacerbates a hangover – Not from overdrinking but From over-dreaming. Verne’s door was closed – It would be awkward if I’d killed him With my Benedryl But I refused to check. Men Should not be so dangerous.
Mirabel had not shown up so I controlled the empty kitchen. Some bad person – probably myself – Left out the cake – stiff and Ruined now – cardboard sugar Which I guess it always was. Tossed that out, Put the last espresso in the Microwave and Opened cabinets sadly.
Here’s the place where guests could Unpack clothes; Nothing, nothing, nothing. Empty, empty, empty. The front door unclicked – I jumped so hard I banged my head. “Ow!” And Verne cried “Breakfast!”
I hadn’t killed him after all. Seems I’m the one who overslept. His story was: “I haven’t slept so well in ages. What was That stuff?” he Eyed my mug with disapproval. “You can’t drink yesterday’s.” Lords can’t comprehend The hoi polloi.
“I brought everything.” He went on, Impossibly cheerful Considering yesterday. Waffles, eggs, fruit. Coffee. No milk? “It’s OK,” I said to his Self-recriminating face “I noticed you have ice cream.”
Vanilla works as well as milk or Even better. “Mirabel never drank milk,” said Verne. “She says it makes cowbones And soy makes man-boobs.” She would say that. Charming, charming Mirabel.
“I drink oat milk,” I told him Snootily. One-upping’s such An endless game. But when he sighed I grabbed his sleeve – “Ice cream is better.” Hard to one-up when one is Drooling. This is how one’s Compromised.
We opened the door all baited Breath as through Mirabel might be waiting but
She was not. His cold apartment Felt forlorn. Did we long for her or Fear her? Somehow, Same. Walls sucked us into Darkness, blandness. Silence. Yet if I closed my eyes I could now Summon her up as I Couldn’t have before – Not a stranger but now Part of me, a past life Alter. In her bedroom her Perfume teased us with its sexy cloud As if somewhere she was Watching. Listening. Laughing. “I’m terminal,” yawned Verne.
There’s an odd expression. “I could sleep.” I scanned the two Bedrooms, yoked by unlockable Double doors. At least my bathroom Had a lock, I could Always sleep in there. Would it be rude to remind him He was supposed to have rented A hotel room?
But if I sought politeness He did not. “Sorry there’s no telly,” He insulted me. Ignoring the fact that I possess a phone; World-portal. It’s A different generation. He lifted a hand – where would It fall? I watched with Frozen fascination as he dumped it heavily Upon my shoulder.
He stumbled words – “This has been a horrid homecoming Holiday for you.” Homecoming? No more a Homecoming than a holiday. Luckily, I’d never considered this mission A vacation. “No worries,” I tossed off lightly, “I’m getting copy for my end-break-essay.” His hand tightened painfully. I shook him off but he clenched harder. “You can’t write this!”
I am NEVER ready for this reaction Though God knows I should be – Parents and school seem equally aghast By my take on things Refusing always to grant me The power to call them out – That I was born with it. It’s my Superpower – Don’t Reject a superpower. I used both hands to de-clench His grip. This would Leave a mark. I’d no wish to rile him but He could never stop me.
“It’s all grist,” I quoted, lightly, “You know, sweet mystery of life.” He literally spat with rage. “That’s so American! Maundering on about your tiny lives, as if Gossip is the better part of Being!” I backed away, trying to control my face; Who died and made him God? I know They hate it if they think you’re laughing.
“It’s a mystery to be solved,” I reassured, “Use all the tools we get: Hypothesis, antithesis and Synthesis. Refine All possibilities.” What worked at my school didn’t Work with him. He snorted. “Here’s what comes “Of never teaching Classics! Confession substitutes for mastery!”
In my small experience Those who try to “master” Truth Will never understand it; Uncover deepest questions – Invisible to us now. Managing me, Controlling truth won’t locate Mirabel. I threw him a successful bone. “Poetry’s my specialty.”
A thing literally No one understands. He seemed relieved. “You mean like – metaphors? An allegory?” This man wouldn’t know a poem If it chucked him on the cheek. Poor Mirabel! Of course she had to leave! He’d cleared it up in Just that second; guaranteeing me Some sleep. “Good night,” He told me as he closed the door.
Another strange expression: this night Was anything but good. I chewed my lip. It’s a bad habit of mine. Let’s hope He doesn’t sleepwalk. Mother wants me to unpack first – No hope of that – these Drawers and closets were jammed With gaudy accoutrement Complete with price tags.
Because what’s the good of Acquisition without Provenance? My clothes would stay Jumbled together in their Carpetbag. I should film all this – Make a video – But where to share it?
And that’s the trouble with My school – they’re never interested in What intrigues me. And what Is that? The thing I cannot know. I’m always In the process of finding out. Behind the locked bathroom door I soaked myself in Dead sea salt. Washed My hair in watermelon mint & Rubbed myself with Mirabel’s Mango chutney cream – Still I couldn’t approximate Her clingy floral scent.
Pulling on my jammies I Welcomed this new self of mine – Solving grownup disasters by Avoiding the reasoning That caused them in the first place. There was a knock at my bedroom door – I said nothing but it opened slightly Verne’s face poked in. “Ok if I sleep in here? I just Can’t be alone tonight.” “No,” I said. “I wouldn’t sleep A wink.” The nerve of him!
“Then can I leave this door open?” He begged, “Just until I fall asleep?” Why did I feel this was some Miserable recap of many nights With Mirabel? “I have some pills to knock you out.” I Double-dosed him with Benedryl. Closed the door and Disappointed myself by falling Asleep before I could sort my Jumbled thoughts:
Cycling my museum of dreams – Christine, threatened forever by A hideous Phantom, Daphne Sprouting as a laurel tree. Was that what Verne meant by Classics? In the night’s dark heart I woke and thought I saw him standing there or Was it Mirabel – reaching through a gold-framed Mirror to warn me?
Power is a heady thing. Maybe it meant I’d get some
Questions answered. “You really think she stole his jewels?” He pulled away.
“He her diamonds as a wedding gift.” Well, THAT seemed weird. I recalled the rock weighing down Mirabel’s left hand. If he threatened prosecution Would that make her disappear? “At least he gave one lead. Jacobson’s.” Verne’s face set Mulishly. “A toady.” If I was in charge I must be Boss. No more of this false modesty. “How long’d she work for him?” Sore subject! He thrashed in his seat Like a captured cat.
“Years. I took her to England So she’d break things off Only to discover He was still hounding her with Requests.” Requests? “What requests?” Fingers drummed. “Scouting.” “Scouting for what?” “Well, he’s a porn producer.” Verne touched my knee to See into my eyes. “I’m sorry.” Was this the secret Mirabel Did not want me to know?
Was this why she disappeared? “Was there…anything between them?” “Definitely at first. I wooed her away.” He considered. “He disappointed her somehow.” Not hard for married men to do! Verne looked at his hands. “He asked her to launder money Buying diamonds. I think it was a trap.” I caught on quick.
“He set up the theft?” In Ravi’s mind was he the only Rightful owner and Everyone else a thief? Verne explained: “He wanted people around Who couldn’t get away.” Why did that sound like such A perfect description of Verne?
Here’s Mirabel surrounded with Men wanting to possess her Utterly. I shuddered. It made ME long to disappear. It also made it less likely she escaped To be with one of them. “Where’s Mrs. Ravi?” “He SAYS his wife lives in Paris. But No one’s ever seen her.” Could we have two, not just one Missing brides? Was marriage itself A disappearance?
As we conversed Another limo pulled up, Beaver-coated man rushed out – Ravi! And off they went. I made my decision. “Follow that car.” Back to Brooklyn! Obviously that address meant something After all. “Stop here,” I ordered At the final turn. Now that we knew His destination why risk Confrontation? “But he lied to us!” Swore Verne.
“Just watch,” I argued, “He’s one step behind.” Ravi vaulted from the car Phone clutched to ear, Shaking his fist at the darkened sky. “Look. He’s blowing up her phone. And see? She’s not answering,” Unwillingly Verne traversed My argument. “She’s long gone. Maybe She kept a vehicle here.” “She didn’t have a license,” quibbled Verne. But he seemed oddly cheered That Ravi didn’t have her, either. And maybe, even late-arrived I was his authority on. Mirabel.
That’s not nonsensical I already felt I knew her Better than he ever could. Why bother telling him How easily fake licenses are obtained – Girls must have some secrets. “Maybe it was my mistake to insist We meet her family.” He chewed his lip. I saw His sly technique – HE was responsible For my presence here, not Mirabel!
He was a liar too. “Let’s sleep on it,” I suggested. “Give her a chance To contact us.” It would take Benedryl To sleep with all this buzz. I wished He’d take his hand off my knee But why say that Just when we got along So splendidly? She wasn’t here. She’d get as far as possible From anywhere associated With these two men. But why WAS I involved?
That’s the deepest mystery here. Now Verne was trying to hold My hand, laying his head Awkwardly along my shoulder. “You’re such a comfort. Did you share her sister secrets?” I could feel him luring Me to play fake with him.
My parents do it all the time Begging for that Opiate of reassurance. I can’t do it with them And I couldn’t start now. “Buck up –“ I braced him, “We’ll Know more tomorrow.” He unleashed my hand and Glared at me distastefully.
“I blame this new androgyny,” He complained. “Girls have lost the art Of coquetry.” And a good thing too, I thought.
In the elevator Verne commanded: “Game face only.” I was bemused. Which game is that? Bride and Seek – ancient party game – Does not end well, as I recall. We decanted at the penthouse floor. Battle of Rich Men, I thought, Who forecast how my Weekend would devolve?
But this man’s apartment seemed really his – As opposed to Verne’s Antiseptic rented rooms – Each gaudy piece was carefully curated, Trucked in from God knows where; Art deco friezes, Naked ebony statues Bows & arrows Brass and torchieres. And that’s just the hall!
Leather paneled, copper nailed door Broached before we even rang the bell and A handsome, shorter, older man stood before us in silk robe and slippers. Mirabel with this guy? I froze my face – What’s the use of beauty If this is all it gets you – Verne’s at least good-looking.
“Why, Verne,” he said in a voice even I Recognized as jovially false: “What brings you at this hour? Please come in.” Bizarre foreign accent I couldn’t place. He took my hand, mauled it like many An unbalanced teacher at my School for Introducing Adolescents to Adult Subject matter Looooong Before They’re Ready.
I am practiced at mind-closing Even as they woo me. “You can only be Mirabel’s lost sister.” “That’s just it,” I said, “It’s Mirabel who’s lost, not me.” “I’m Ravi Krutupian,” said the man, refusing to let go. I felt my first flicker of Actual fear – I was alone in the world With two strange men who wore Compulsive need like designer logos.
I don’t blame Mirabel for Disappearing rather than marry among this ilk but Where does that leave me? Krutupian’s inner rooms weren’t reassuring. Dark, hand-carved, probably fake Tree branches projecting from the walls Displayed a riot of glittering objects. “Welcome to my enchanted forest,” Says the man in sleeper gear.
“Please leave your shoes by the door.” He slid the bolt as We came through. “I know it’s late,” Verne began, Ravi said, “I never watch the time. Drink? Pot of coffee?” A steel black kitchen offers coffee from A wall recess, so why not? Spiked mine with hot milk and brown lump sugar.
“Where did Mirabel SAY she was going? Shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon?” Was that a tinge of glee I heard? I’m sure Verne heard it too. He might go off on any moment – I didn’t think he was coping well “Game face” was not in evidence. We sat in an upholstered leather booth Dragged from some café. “She didn’t say,” said Verne.
“She was late for dinner,” I told this strange new man. “I just arrived at six o’clock.” “Sisters can be difficult,” said Ravi. “Or so I’ve heard. Your relationship was good?” Wow! Mirabel wasn’t great at giving folks The basic facts about her family. Was he implying Mirabel left because of ME?
Two Marshott girls can’t breathe at once? I decided not to go there. “She seemed fine when we tried on clothes together,” I allowed. I began to feel hopped up on coffee. Better quit before the shaking hands. I Banged my mug upon his shiny table. Verne seemed content to let me Handle this.
“I heard you knew her well.” Let him think she’d squealed – I smiled in a way that forecloses Further questions and He blinked at me indulgently. “I haven’t heard a word Since her going away party.” Ripple of surprise from Verne. “Going-away party” unknown to groom? Ravi kept smiling. He had a lot of teeth.
Too many, I’d say. Must be A rich man thing. “Maybe she needs a honeymoon alone,” He offered – “I heartily recommend Falling in love with yourself first of all.” We did not believe him for a minute – He was needling Verne. This bad conversation Kept getting worse.
“She certainly had the means – I gave a generous parting gift Then found she helped herself to more.” His face hardened, steely-eyed. “I didn’t know until she tried to fence my stones.” “Mirabel stole from you?” Verne spluttered. “Who knows what was going through her mind,” Ravi spread his hands – “She may have been confused about my gift. No harm done. Jacobson returned my stones.”
What did all this mean? Don’t concern yourself with Mirabel, she’s just a petty thief? Disappeared from exposure, vanished From the shame? I felt surge of prosecutorial passion: Was it possible to get to the bottom of this? Never had “game face” seemed so Dangerous and unappealing. “She worked for you?” I tried to clarify.
“She was my scout. She brought me – Things I might want to buy.” Verne’s boil burst. “She never needed cash to flee!” He sounded ready for a fight But in defense of his money and his charm and Not my sister. Ravi skirted the issue With old-world politesse.
“Women always keep some expenses private.” My mother calls it “mad money”. A hundred-dollar bill tucked inside Your bra. Verne would never best this man Except in hotness and Eligibility. Although someone Needed to tell him he was plenty I’m not the one to explain to him. Instead I pursued my investigation.
“Did she call you?” Ravi pulled out his phone. Flicked through content. “I don’t see it.” “She took a car to the wilds of Brooklyn,” Verne asserted, coming back up A feisty Bobo doll. “Know anything about that?” He was too combative – this Wouldn’t get us anywhere. “What address?”
Ravi seemed interested. Luckily Verne recalled it. “Gravesend.” Ravi agreed impassive. “I’ve got no information.” Verne stood up. This felt bad. “Sure she isn’t hiding here? Using some old key?” Ravi rose too. Short but still impressive.
“She never had a key. She couldn’t enter Without my knowing. I’d rather My house guests weren’t disturbed.” Verne veered away. Fisticuffs avoided. Ravi walked us – still miming helpfulness Towards the door. “I suggest missing persons. Get police involved.”
He seemed to know this would insult Verne further It did but Verne could shake it off, Punch-drunk as he was. “What good are they?” Ravi pushed his luck. “Troll the basics – hospitals and morgues.” Verne’s face melted like a gargoyle.
Turning to me Ravi backtracked – “Bridal nerves? Their engagement was So sudden.” “We’ve been together forever!” Verne barked. I took his arm. “Sorry we’ve inconvenienced you.” Somehow that door got opened. “No problem. Let me know if she turns up.”
I shoehorned Verne outside. “You’ll tell us if she calls?” “If that’s what Mirabel wants.” I got the door shut before Verne Attacked him. “I hate that guy! He’s so disgusting! How I wish we hadn’t come!” I thought he might weep.
The elevator opened without being Summoned. This whole place Intent on ridding itself of us. But Verne resisted. “I bet she’s in there.” He looked back longingly. “I bet she’s not.” I muscled him Into the elevator. “How do you know?” He looked to consult my Magic powers.
“He accused Mirabel of stealing!” Verne blew that off. “Mirabel’s light-fingered. He steals from the world, she steals from him.” He didn’t seem to realize This philosophy could apply to him.
Why marry someone you can’t trust? One more thing I still don’t get About Adult World. I reassured politely. “She’s burned that bridge. I could tell.” Verne taxed me how I knew – Sneering, “Woman’s intuition?” Since he couldn’t trust Mirabel How could he trust me? Needing me made him hate me. I would have to manage him Like a parent. Luckily He relaxed into the car without fuss. I said, thoughtlessly – “I’m psychic.” I say that to my parents because They’re so clueless about Others’ vital signs – If you have to explain the obvious! His whole face changed. He became Pathetically excited. “Of course!” he said. “The sister thing! It creates A Psychic link. I have no siblings. So Tell me what you feel? Where’d she go?” The driver also needed to know: Where to? We put him on pause while I equivocate. “I haven’t seen her in so long, Our connection’s fogged.” The only thing I knew for sure was Mirabel hated Ravi as much as I did. “I need to get to know her again.” “Tell me where to go,” said Verne. Then he spoke the magic words. “I’ll do anything.”
Too many emotions To remember — Depression, disgust, anger, Amazement. But am I safe to say I’m not “alt-Mirabel” And I never will be?
When this journey began I sort of envied Mirabel – I think We all enjoy imagining A Perfect Life – I’ve even caught parents & teachers doing it. How delicious doing only Everything you want!
Relief to feel above it all! But now I saw her slavery. When had Mirabel learned to pretend? It must have happened early – why She and never me?
Thesis, antithesis Synthesis – if I’m not Mirabel, then I’m her rival. Of course he tried to kiss me. “I’m changing,” I said abruptly. I saw by his face he thought My statement transcendental – but – “Getting out of this idiotic dress.”
“He’s downstairs,” said Verne. “You don’t have time. He’ll take us where she went.” “Then go without me,” Of course he waited- I knew he would – This rigamarole Could be staged for me alone.
When I joined them downstairs I wore my oldest jeans and Three Mad Cats t-shirt. Turned out she’d gone to Brooklyn, – a long, long way away. The driver was unhelpful – Mirabel’d said nothing and He was a glum fellow by himself. We halted in the warehouse district. Verne coaxed him to wait while we stepped out of the car. Pessimism back.
“Nothing here. I was hoping she’d get sloppy.” I had my own ideas. Behind one of these doors could be a place Where Mirabel changed In that transcendental way From one facade to many? Unlabeled doors were locked – Loading docks bereft.
No numbers, no bells, no camera and No speaker phones. I began gaining a special sense of her – Inhaling like faint perfume – Lending me a heady sense of Power I had never known.
I wasn’t alt-Mirabel But I did know her In a way denied to others – Because I’d seen her Just beginning – before She polished up her act And took it on the road. I knew what shaped her – Knew what it took to make her cry.
The question was never – When did Mirabel get wily? Because She’d always been this way – but Now I wondered Whether her plans had Ever included us. “Maybe she met another car,” Verne offered, hopefully “Parked in there.” I smelled his nemesis again – He preferred to live in a world Of dastardly rivals.
“One chance left,” said Verne. “Humiliating, but What’s to lose?” I looked him up and down Thinking how many on this planet – Would change places right this moment With this guy. My mother’s drill-sergeant snapped Inside my head, demanding we “buck up.”
Verne gave the driver another address The Upper East Side this time, and We settled in for another ride. “So…what’s this place?” “Mirabel had a job – personal assistant to… This man and they Were friends. Too close for me. They shared secrets, I just know it. He might know something.” “Was he invited to the wedding?” I inquired all ingenuous.
“No. His wife thought they Were too close too. Let’s say he gave Mirabel Too many gifts.” Aha. Torn between two rich men, Only one of them Unmarried. Picture becoming clearer. Verne drummed his fingers, Grim but cheered. “She might be there. If we take him by surprise.” His eyes raked me over.
“You were smart to change. I apologize for rushing you. Button up your coat. I want you Front and center.” I understood he Planned to use the Adolescence he’d Once forgotten – Most would blame my “sexy dressing” – But now he wanted me young and Vulnerable.
“I’m just the jilted groom. He won’t care About me – I’m the person she complained about – But you’re the abandoned sister summoned up to town.” Both would look to me for clues to what Mirabel had been.
As it happened Surprise was impossible. At another golden barracks Doorman demanded purpose for our visit. Verne said, “Emergency.” He flashed a picture From his phone. “Seen this girl tonight?”
Doorman shook his head, listening to the phone. “Penthouse Suite on the top floor. Mr. Krutupian will see you now.”
She must have known we’d come After – the apartment was empty. Furniture gazed Forlornly as I wandered through – Expensive accommodations crying out For individuality, for life. Closets still packed but Some clothes could have disappeared; How could I tell?
Bathrooms littered with impersonal cosmetics – Everything replaceable. In the long, bare white kitchen I Ignited a pot of coffee. The refrigerator was particularly sad: champagne, A month’s supply of celery juice.
And three kinds of wedding cake in origami boxes. Mirabel must have returned – however briefly – Because someone drank the last champagne. Her dress lay discarded on the floor One flounce torn, stepped on, Ground beneath a fleeing heel. When the coffee was ready I sampled cake – Choosing lemon though Everyone likes coconut and Some people cleave to raspberry. Verne was collapsed in the bedroom, Clutching Mirabel’s dress.
“I didn’t think she’d really do it,” He said. “I suppose the wedding’s off.” “Maybe she had an errand,” I stupidly proposed. “She’ll be back.” I bundled the fantasy dress into its slick bag; a glittering Promise too fragile to stand up to actual wear. “Don’t you see what’s happened?”
Verne demanded. “She doesn’t want to marry me. Probably she never did. All along There’s been this game. Some other man; Using me as leverage.” “What other man?” Was this the double life he’d mentioned?
Crazy stuff. I sat beside But not to comfort him. Let’s get some facts. “Who?” I demanded. Those fiancés were bad at facts. He held his head. “There were too many.” Now seemed the time for Comforting. “She’ll return – of course she will – Or why on earth invite me here?”
He turned to me a tear-stained face – Grabbed my shoulders and Sucked me into a kiss – That real “adult” kiss I’d pined for – Dreamed of – Oh those lonely nights After Ricky Stoekels ghosted me – But not this one – A probing invasion Shutting off my air.
I jerked away with so much force I landed on the floor. Verne threw himself On the bed, face down Wracked with sobs While I wiped my face Amazed. Kisses you don’t want Are no reward. “Love the one you’re with” – Isn’t that what Ricky Stoekels says? “She cheats, you cheat,” Bastards all. I’d received No compliment.
“Forgive me,” shuddered Verne, “I’m out of my mind. I don’t know what I’m doing.” Maybe. I recognize excuses. Having used them. “Don’t do it again,” I said. “Where would she go? You have some guy in mind?” “Maybe,” said Verne. He looked so childish, shoulders dropped, Unresponsive iPhone fallen to the floor.
I felt sorry for him but also Old; sophisticated; Like he was fourteen and I was thirty-seven. I pushed coffee. Always been my favorite panacea. He sipped in new docility. “You know the way I like it.” I corrected brusquely, “There is no cream or sugar.” “I mean strong. I like it Strong.”
There only was espresso in the house but Why proceed with this? Trying to apologize? I muted so He studied me ironically. “I suppose you’ll go home to Mama?” I felt a chill. Unconsidered horror. After grasping at Independence – Something to actually write in my break essay – I’d return A powerless teenage nobody.
And there were Further Problems were My folks convinced I’d screwed this up somehow. Or I could stay here, Indulge my favorite sport; Figuring out What The Hell Is Going On. It’s true that Verne A loose cannon now but I could always arm myself and Lock my door. Best to grab that bull by his You Know Where.
“No more kissing. OK?” He flushed a dirty red. “No. Hell no.” “Then I want to stay. Maybe she’s in trouble.” He shrugged this off. “Impossible. She’s just a tease.” But why tease ME? Did not feel right.
Of course, I don’t know Mirabel – must Remind myself – But realizing Verne was Verne he’s Probably the last to know. I’m only second-last. “You really think she’s left you?” He writhed. “We play hurt To the top of our bent. This could Be her winning shot.”
So why keep score? Did she owe me or – Did I owe her? “Well, if she left you She left me, too.” Why couldn’t I believe Mirabel would ghost me? Wasn’t that what she’d always done? It seemed different now – We’d been “sisters” together – For one split second.
A fresh chill fevered me – what if – She was handing off her bridegroom? Those matching dresses were just too weird. On the other hand, fashion is transgressive – They always try to break the rules. No. no. Let’s not go there. “It’s on till Mirabel calls it off. This could be nothing. She might come back. She’ll call. Let’s sleep. Or try this lemon cake.” He shuddered grumpily. “I chose the Hazelnut.”
We ate companionably together. He’d fed me, now I fed him. That’s called “relationship”. He fixed me with A gnarly eye. “Did she warn you? She must have said something. What did she tell you? Anything about him?” I always hated third degree.
I blush as if I’m guilty. “She told me nothing,” I said coldly. “I “Was invited to a wedding.” “She’ll never call,” he moaned. “She’ll keep the tension up Until the victim dies. That’s her way.” “Then you should call it off.” I scraped the rest of my cake Into the trash – I only Like the frosting – Hardening myself against their Craziness.
Verne rose so decisively His plate fell to the rug. “I’m going to find her,” He said. “Game on. She chose me. She doesn’t get Another choice.” What was the matter with this man? Physically attractive – Probably wealthy – Why so insecure?
The only game is not to play. Mirabel had always coveted those She could manipulate. Was That my own knowledge – or Did my parents tell me? That’s the benefit of growing up – it slowly dawns that All you’re told is nonsense. A dose of sense is Obviously required. “I think you’re looking at this wrong, Mirabel’s frightened Of our dad. He’s your “other man.”
Verne gaped at me, Focus readjusting as if He saw me for the first time. “Explain.” “Don’t you know the story? She pretended to go to college but really cashed all Daddy’s checks and lived the high life. She got in trouble with student loans, Forging dox. We haven’t heard from her for Years and Dad’s still angry.
I thought something was up when She wanted to come home.” “I didn’t know. Quite little scamp.” He seemed cheered. “Should we wed in church? I don’t know one marriage that’s survived ten years.” This man could certainly surprise me. “Mom and Dad have been married forever,”
It was more than that – They were unimaginable without each other; A true team – like Laurel & Hardy or Abbott & Costello. I could imagine no other human Who’d put up with either of them. How to convey this? “Maybe you shouldn’t get married When you are so uncertain,” I suggested. Would I get kissed or Slapped for interfering?
Adults don’t like second-guessing but Mirabel forced my hand. “All our bridges burned,” He sighed. “The only way is forward.” Depressing thought! Cheering this guy’s mood is work.
“Let’s figure out where she Could have possibly gone. Like, How would she travel?” Verne sat straight up. “Car service,” he announced. “I pay the bills. Let’s track her.”
He worked his phone. “I’m so glad “You’re staying. We need you – Alt-Mirabel.”
I felt played. It’s what they do to children. Couldn’t shuck the memory of
My own mother– Lofty & deceitful – Briskly turning “road trips” turned into “Summer camp” and “one night” Into seven.
I was being “managed”, but Could I blame Mirabel? Quoting Mom – again – “ Guests must Be adaptable, obliging – a guest has No one to blame but herself For her bad treatment.” Was it the expression on my face When she showed me that dress? Snarky baby sister punished for it now.
Mirabel had something Better to do than me. I was startled by The driver’s admiration As the Stanhope – he looked at me As if I’d matured. Had I insulted the bride By overreaching? I blame those heels – She must have secretly hated them.
Regretted her choice of bridesmaid. I was chastened as I joined Verne in splendor at the bar. He rose at the sight of me His face a tribute To a beauty that I didn’t want – I felt on the edge of a childish scene. Why didn’t his jaw set at the sight of me alone? Were they sick already Of each other?
His arm was decidedly un-brotherly: Squiring me away – He enjoyed them seeing he was meeting Some strange woman. “Let’s get you dinner.” Anything better than a bar That looked me over like Some Russian call girl.
As we turned I was confronted By the mirrors: I looked like Some Russian call girl. Blame the champagne that allowed Mirabel to paint me up. In my best-guest manner, I said, “Should we wait for Mirabel?” He demurred. “Waiting for Mirabel’s never good. It only encourages her.”
As the headwaiter flashed his menu Verne snuck angry glances At his darkened phone. “Turtle soup’s good here,” Said Verne: he knew my weakness – I yearned to sample everything. I sucked water greedily As martini-bearing waiters Smothered and assessed. I ordered pineapple juice before Verne could countermand.
He insulted me – “I heard you were religious.” I enlightened him. “Famiglia’s religious but My life’s my own free choice.” He breathed relief – I switched it up – “What kind of ceremony will you have?”
He seemed stunned I’d propositioned Then vague. “Some judge. A ballroom. Mirabel’s in charge of that.” I teased, I needled – “Mirabel says you proposed The first night you met.” Let him fear our confidence! He laughed sharply. “I was waiting for trustees to die.” Well THAT was tough to follow up.
Verne could switch it up as well. “Mirabel can be very shattering, can’t she?” I shirked disloyalty at this God’s honest truth. Chose vagueness as He had. “Life comes at us so fast.” “I tried to free her from the life,” said Verne. “I don’t believe she really let me.” This was depressing – parents hoping For good news, bride and groom stuck In mutual complaining.
“Mirabel proposed to me.” He said coldly. “It’s the title. They all do that.” I was stung on her behalf – who wants his Moth-eaten aging royalty? I almost choked On sugared juice: doesn’t sugar Wreck your palate?
I braced myself against Verne’s Un-subtle desire To put me in the “wrong”. Too bad for him – I was used to disapproval. “I think people should make themselves,” I argued everything Too fiercely.
Soup arrived, bread slathered with Mozzarella, pesto & tomato. Mini-pizzas! I sighed ecstatically and felt from him An answering thaw. “When you inherit an ancient world,” He pontificated, “you learn to value the past.” “Do you have a castle?” I asked through my full mouth.
Turtle soup OK. Too much sherry – Too much curry – He checked his phone. “It’s a ruin with tourists crawling Everywhere. Mirabel doesn’t care for it.” His phone lit up. Mirabel ‘s texts? I studied mine to be Companionable. But it was folks again – Always, with the questions. “She’s not answering,” he sighed.
“We’re not as charming as Her double life.” This jolted me. “She has a double life?” “Probably triplicate by now.” He snorted. I tried my lawyer father’s ploy; Let ‘em talk. “Tell me about it.” “She’d been so hard to pin down lately.” Did he blush or blanch? His throat was raw With pent emotion.
My face betrayed my armoring. “She seemed so ready To be a wife. Said my time Had come to meet the family.” Did he know of The Great Silence? Perfidious to squeal yet how else Could I find out What was going on? Beef wellington arrived But I was full.
“I’m amazed you were real, most frankly. I thought “the little sister” Was another of her stories. Kudos to your parents.” This – and the beef wellington – Maybe I’m vegan after all – Made me gag. “I was afraid she’d hire stand-ins but, “You’re just like her yet so Unspoiled.”
Never had a compliment Felt more like an insult. Creepy and revolting. “Mirabel and I are opposites,” I stressed Angrily before I thought. “How can that be?” He was smug. Superior. “You’re litter-mates.” “She cares what others think and I just don’t.”
That should have stopped him but – He smiled. “Sisterhood is powerful.’ Unable to read him, Know him, change him, I felt the dawning of Despair. It makes me hate The grown-up world.
“I’m becoming vegetarian,” I said. And pushed my plate away. I was trying to be polite and now I’d stopped. “Americans think food fuss Makes them interesting,” He snarled. “It doesn’t.”
But it turned out His disgust was not for me. “Imagine that,” snorted his Lordship scornfully, Still looking at his phone.
“We’re on our own, Mirabel can’t make it. And now her phone is locked! We’ll see about that! I’m ordering the car. Time to find out just what Our bride is playing at.”
Alysse Aallyn 