We were silent in the elevator.
Feeling naked
I clutched the fur I’d borrowed
Summoning up the nerve for
Questions but
Mirabel’s mood seemed depressed.
Encumbered, perhaps?
With me? With Verne?
With family – obligation –
Tradition – without her help
I couldn’t map it out.
“When did he propose?”
My query’s girlish gaucheness echoed
Off the shiny doors
That bent our reflected beauty so
Unflatteringly we seemed
Haunted.
“It’s not when he proposed,” she said
“It’s when I accepted. He
Proposed the first night I met him –
Five years ago.
Said he’d marry me
If I’d change from blonde to red.’”
Wow. I didn’t know what to say
To that except
Why was he never in her pictures?
What shame could there be?
“Was it a secret?”
“He hates the press – it
Treats him so unfairly in his own country –
And he wants me to himself. I was so unready –
Seeing other people,
Savoring my options.”
We nodded at the doorman
And the driver of
The waiting limo –
“He slowly won me over.
He was so suave, so
International. Adoring.”
She let me climb in first,
Then backed away as if she’d seen a ghost.
“I forgot something. Tell Verne I’ll be along.”
The car swept away, leaving Mirabel
Huddled alone, by the curb in her mink coat.
Chapter 4 – Cocktailing
Had I been played?
It’s what you do to children.
I couldn’t shuck the memory of
My own mother through the years –
Lofty & deceitful –
Briskly turning “road trip” turned into
“Summer camp” and “one night”
Into seven.
I hated being “managed”, but really
Who could blame Mirabel?
Quoting Mom: “Guests must
Be adaptable, obliging – a guest has
No one to blame but herself
For her bad treatment.”
Was it something I’d said? Or
Something I’d done?
Or simply one more humiliation as
Baby sister. Why did she keep throwing me
Alone together with this man?
Did I want to get to know him?
I wanted to get to know HER.
The driver helped me out of the car
And I saw his frank expression.
Another stunner. It was
Admiration. I looked too good. I
Was too tall. Had I insulted the bride
By overreaching?
I blame the heels – when
I towered over her –
She must have hated it.
She’d gone back to reposition –
To pivot, as they say,
While Verne sat in comfort at the bar.
He rose at the sight of me and once again
I saw that face. Tribute
To my manufactured beauty and yet
I saw the calculation – was he
Managing me too?
Naturally, he’d have to be –
They had a goal of some kind
Inviting me here –
Weaseling their way back into the
Famiglia, the family that gave up on them
For whatever purpose.
He seemed satisfied that
I was alone –
The arm that contained me
Was decidedly un-brotherly:
Squiring me away from his
Desultory conversation –
He didn’t bother to introduce me.
He enjoyed them seeing he was meeting
Some strange woman.
“Let’s get you dinner.”
Anything better than a bar
That looked me over as if
I was some Russian call girl.
As we turned I was confronted
By the mirrors: I looked like
Some Russian call girl.
Can I blame champagne, allowing
Mirabel to paint me up?
Or the society that wants –
Expects me to look this way.
None of this is my fault.
I said in my best-guest manner,
“Should we wait for Mirabel?”
He demurred.
“Waiting for Mirabel’s never a good idea.
Putting yourself out only encourages her.”
He snuck an angry glance at his phone
As the headwaiter flashing menus
Manhandled us
Towards a darkened booth.
Perhaps this engagement was far too long –
Were they tired of each other already?
“Turtle soup’s very good here,”
Said Verne: I longed to claim
To be a vegan but also yearned
To sample everything.
Sucked my water greedily
As a martini-bearing waiter
Assessed me so attentively.
“A Virgin Mary?”
Verne seemed startled but
The more knowledgeable waiter sped away.
“Without the vodka.”
He seemed relieved.
“Something Mirabel said let me
Feared you were religious.”
It was too complex to enlighten him.
Famiglia’s religious but
I’m free choice. I’ve yet
To make up my mind about
A lot of things. Switched it up.
“What kind of ceremony will you have?”
He seemed stunned as if I’d proposed
Barbarian rites, then vague.
“Some judge. A ballroom.”
Shrugged his shoulders.
“Mirabel says you proposed
First night you met.”
He laughed sharply.
“I was young and stupid.”
Well THAT was tough to follow up.
Could both be afflicted with
Cold feet? But Verne could
Switch it up as well.
“I recognize the signs,” he said.
“What signs are those?”
Struggling to regain my footing.
“Mirabel can be very shattering, can’t she?”
I shrugged, dismissed
Disloyalty, opting for
Vagueness. As he did.
“Life comes at us so fast.”
“I tried to free her from the life,” said Verne.
“I don’t believe she’ll really let me.”
Which life was that?
This was depressing – my parents hoping
For good news, find a bride and groom stuck
In mutual complaining.
“Mirabel proposed to me.”
He said coldly. “It’s the title.
They all do that.
She was no virgin when I met her.”
I was stung on her behalf – who wants his
Moth-eaten old royalty?
And what cretin expects
Virgins among New York models?
“She said she accepted
The proposal you’d made long ago.
And you said yes!”
My Virgin Mary was
Too spicy to be truly virginal. I
Almost choked.
Sipping slowly to wonder
If I liked it. Doesn’t hot sauce
Wreck your palate?
As the waiter manifested a fresh martini,
I assessed Verne’s subtle desire
To put me in the “wrong”.
Lack of breeding?
Was my hair not red enough?
Too bad for him –
I am well used to disapproval.
“Mirabel said you like red hair,”
I teased him.
“I wanted her natural color –
Yours, I assume?”
Who could say?
My memory was of long ago.
“I think people should make themselves,”
I defended, arguing
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.”
“So you have a castle?”
I asked through my full mouth.
Turtle soup OK. Too much sherry for my taste
Or was that stuff curry?
Are turtles seafood? Just like my sister
I got a bored “I do.”
He checked his phone.
“It’s a bit of a ruin with tourists crawling
Everywhere. Mirabel doesn’t care for it.”
Phone again. Was Mirabel texting?
I studied mine to be
Companionable. My folks again.
Always, with the questions.
“She’s not answering,” he sighed.
We’re not as attractive as
Her double life.”
This gave me a jolt.
“She has a double life?”
“Probably triplicate by now.”
He snorted.
I tried my father’s ploy.
Get ‘em talking.
“Why don’t you just tell me about it?”
Alysse Aallyn 