The Opening Scene of Chapter 13 of “Baby, Mine.”
For Valentine’s Day (it stills needs polishing). Not able to write today because still doing Pre-Spring Cleaning. Apologies to those waiting for this chapter!! Thank you for waiting!!
Colette beamed. “Tu es magnifique.”
Milly didn’t know enough French yet to translate it in her head. But the woman’s shining eyes spoke as much as her words.
Is that me? she thought, astonished.
Though her entire life she’d witnessed the transformation of perfectly normal faces into magical, frightening, and comedic ones, Milly Farrier had never personally experienced it, with the exception of Halloween makeup with tiger stripes or a ghost’s white face. But the entire point of that was to been seen as something she absolutely wasn’t.
But this…. Colette’s touch with powder and rouge had been light. Yet the face Milly saw was so different from what she expected.
When did she ever look in the mirror? Even when brushing her teeth or braiding her hair Milly was always preoccupied with her thoughts. What reason did she ever have to look at herself?
Until now her mental image matched how her father treated her, a young teen, all elbows and knees. She never considered how her body had changed, even when answering its demanding Call.
The emerald dress revealed how lush her breasts and hips had become. The makeup flattered the definition of her high cheekbones, large eyes, and full lips. She felt naked without a brasserie under the dress’ supportive bodice, with panties, not bloomers, which were no more than a whisper of silk.
Colette had said her legs had no need of stockings. The open shoes covered in green sequins made her two inches taller, emphasizing the curve of her calves and giving her a heightened perspective in more ways than one.
Her freshly washed hair fell loose almost to her waist. When had it grown so long? Milly realized she’d worn it in braids nearly her entire life, partly to keep it out of her way, and partly because of Mom’s warnings about its tight curls drawing hostile attention. It hadn’t been cut since before Mama died.
“I look all right?” she asked.
“Milly, you are already a girl to gather the praise of men’s eyes. But now, you are Cendrillon of Charles Perrault. Non, this one you do not know by that name. In English, the girl of the cinders.”
“I don’t want to be Cinderella,” Milly blurted, blushing. "I don’t want to be saved from my life. I love my life. I don’t need a prince.“
Colette watched the girl chew her lower lip. She recognized the turmoil, though she herself had eagerly and happily embraced her coming of age. God knew her family of devout Catholics had given her every warning, but Colette had never hesitated to pursue all her passions. From the age of seventeen she’d had lovers spanning from her own age to men older than Vandevere. Heartbreak and joy came and went..It wasn’t religious dictates or fears of society’s condemnation that Colette saw in Milly’s merciless judgement of her reflection. It was the terror that this would now be the definition of her, with all its limitations.
”Oui, you are you, not a fairy tale,“ said Colette. "Now! The piece de resistence.”
Colette took a square, black velvet box from Milly’s bed and opened it.
Sparkles exploded from it. Lying on black velvet was a diamond necklace with a large emerald pendant surrounded by more diamonds, and matching, dangling clip earrings.
Milly’s eyes widened at the magnificent jewels. But her hand instinctively, protectively, touched the key at her throat.
She hadn’t removed the key since Mama, with her dying breath, gave it to her. Not when washing in the tin tub in Joplin before Max bought Mrs. Jumbo, not bathing in the white porcelain tub here, not when she swam in his pool. In the mirror, Milly watched her fingers trace the key, over and over.
She had carried grief for her mother for almost two years. If she removed this, was it a betrayal? Would she lose the memory of her mother, and of her father before he was broken?
Mom said there’d be times when my life felt locked behind a door. She said when I have that feeling, imagine that door and just turn the key.
The key didn’t help in deciding which door to choose. It was a symbol of a time before. Before Dumbo. Before him.
If I truly choose to go through that door…there’s no going back. Who I was when Mama gave me this will be…not gone. Evolved. Isn’t that what Darwin would say? I’m not losing who I was. I’m…adding. I change, and I can’t know exactly how. I’ve imagined over and over how bad it can go wrong. Because things went wrong for so long I can’t dream of things going right. There’s only one way to learn. I can stay ignorant and stuck. Or…. I can answer the Call, finally.
Colette dared not speak while she read conflict in the young woman’s face.
“Did he give these to–” Milly began.
“Non. These were not a gift from anyone. Except from myself, to myself.” Colette grinned with satisfaction as she raised her chin. "The Queen of the Heavens can buy herself treats. But these, like the dress, he has never seen.“ Softer, she assured the girl, "They will be new to his eyes.”
Milly griped the key. "Please help me take this off,“ she asked, quickly, before she lost her resolve.
Deftly, Colette reached under Milly’s hair and unclasped the chain. As it slipped from her Milly realized that, for the first time in almost two years, her neck was bare. She closed her eyes and felt the cool weight of the new necklace embrace her, the tight pinch of the earrings on first one, then the other earlobe, and the slide of the ring on the middle finger of her left hand.
She had locked herself in a chrysalis of mourning and foreboding. She opened her eyes to what had emerged. Blinking rapidly to avert the moisture threatening the light touch of mascara, Milly grinned from ear to ear.
Colette smiled, relieved and pleased. "Your hair. How shall we do?”
Milly inhaled and set her jaw. "I want to keep it like this.“
In Paris Milly’s hair would have caused exclamations of admiration. Men would have followed her down the streets, begging to kiss it. The French woman well knew what reaction it could evoke in Dreamland. Milly’s determined expression proclaimed she knew even better, and refused to be afraid.
Milly sat at her desk as Colette combed through her hair with the pick Vandevere had given the girl when she used his shower.
Colette placed an iridescent peacock blue cape on Milly and raised its hood. She peered inside. "Are you ready?”
Milly nodded, trying not to nibble away the gentle touch of Vaseline on her lips.
When the door opened at the appointed time Sotheby looked professional and polished, his hat set level on his head. "Good evening, Miss Farrier. Mr. Vandevere wishes you to ride to the Colosseum —“ His mouth dropped open.
From the depths of the silk hood huge, green eyes blinked back. Her lips shimmered as she said, "Oh, Mr. Sotheby, thank you. But it’s not far. I don’t want to put you out.”
“It is not an inconvenience.” Sotheby found it extremely difficult to speak. "It is an honor.“
Sotheby’s strange tone made Milly squint. His behavior around her had changed, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly how. She smiled as reassuringly as she could. "Thank you.” Self-conscious, she shrugged and laughed. "I’m as ready as I’ll ever be!“
.
Oh, you are very ready, Colette thought, watching them depart. But is V.A. ready for you? Knowing she’d done well, Colette chuckled, then set off for her own transformation.
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