Rouge(52)

The door bursts open. I lose my balance in the shoes and fall to Mother’s floor. I smell violets and smoke. And there’s Mother in the closet doorway.

“Belle!” she hisses. Lips a tight line. Eyes flashing with anger. She’s looking at me sitting in a heap on the floor. Her red sex shoes slipping off my feet.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

“Nothing.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What did I say about coming in here?”

I’m silent.

“What. Did I just fucking say about coming in here?”

I stare at the floor. My whole body ringing with the anger in Mother’s voice.

“Tell me what I SAID!”

“Not to,” I whisper to the floor. I see the gold bracelet lying there. Father’s lidless eye staring up.

“And did you listen?”

I shake my head. Tears fall. Drip, drip onto her blue carpet. The bracelet is a glowing, blurry circle by my feet.

“Who were you talking to in here?”

“No one.”

“I heard you talking to someone.”

“I was playing.”

“Why is this mirror turned around?”

“I just wanted to see myself.”

She looks at the mirror, then at me. She reaches down and picks up the gold bracelet. Your father’s bracelet. On the floor.

“It fell off,” I whisper.

Mother’s shaking her head. “You’re not to come in here again, do you understand me? Ever.” I hear a rustle and look up. Chip now behind her in the doorway, grinning at me over her pale shoulder. He loves this. That I’m finally getting what’s coming to me. Feeling Chip behind her, Mother’s face softens, remembers itself. Puddles back into its usual Beauty. She pats her S hair, disarrayed by her shouting, into place. “Well?”

Her Beauty is a lie. A trick. I nod.

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.”

She turns away from me and grabs her white hat from the bed. That’s why she’s back. Can’t forget the hat that keeps out the sun. That will keep her from ever being tan like me. That will keep her Beauty a lie. From the doorway she looks at me, her hat in her hand.

“Go wash your face and then go to your room and stay there. Until I come back.”

She looks at Chip, shaking her head—what is she going to do with me?—and slams the door. I hear the sound of laughter in the hall. The click of their footsteps fading. And I’m alone in Mother’s blue bedroom. Staring at the floor-length mirror in the closet. No more crack. No more dust. The crack’s sealed up and the glass gleams. Empty now. Tom’s not in it anymore, though the ocean animal smell is still all around. Just my reflection. Same old face slashed with Mother’s lesser red. Except I look a little flushed, like I’ve been running or something. My heart’s pounding in my chest. My heart is full. With what?

A new secret. Our secret, Tom said.

Seth.

I close my eyes, the better to savor it.





Part III





14


Bright afternoon seeping in through a crack in the red velvet curtains. Slept long. Slept deep. Now the sound of birds and waves outside. What a sky that is, I think as I lie here. I’m in a bedroom. Whose bedroom? Oh yes, that’s right: Mother’s. Mother’s dead and I’m here in California, wrapping things up. That’s why there are palm trees outside the window. Look at them waving in the blue breeze, almost like hands waving. I wave back a little. Hi. That’s why there are wave sounds too. Mother lives by the ocean, remember?

Lived. Right.

There’s another sound I hear along with the waves. Vibratory and celestial, like chimes or the endless gong of some great sacred bell. Sort of like there’s spa music playing somewhere, funny. Nearly brings a tear to my eye, though it’s quite pretty. I could lie here listening to it all day, actually, just that there are things to do. What things? Funny, can’t remember just now. When I try to think, there’s a kind of mist over my thoughts. I can smell it, if that makes sense. Like eucalyptus almost or sage surrounding me, burning. It’s pleasant like a perfumed fog. All I see in my mind is a tall black vase of pretty red roses. White, red-nailed hands arranging the stems. Huh. Maybe if I shower or something it’ll all clear and the things I have to do will come back to me. That sounds really nice.

But I hear voices out there now, beyond my bedroom, over the chimes and the waves. A man’s voice and another man’s voice. Both familiar. Both distressed-sounding. Rising in pitch like the gulls outside. Who’s out there? Better go see. I grab a robe from the back of the door, white silk with black roses, very pretty. It gives off a violets-and-smoke scent, also pretty.

Just as I’m putting on the robe, I remember last night. Went somewhere, where did I go? Oh yes. The house on the cliff for my free treatment, that was nice. Very nice of Rouge to offer me that. I remember the red waiting room and the white faces in the walls and the glowing woman staring at her many mirror selves in the dark. I remember the lovely sound of chimes, like the chimes I’m hearing still. I remember a cold white paste being lathered onto my face, a marine algae mask, maybe. Pretty conventional stuff in the end, for all the baroque trappings. Probably drank too much of that red champagne, because I’m drawing a bit of a blank after that. You might find you have a few blanks after this, didn’t someone say that? I recall a hand leading me down a dark, endless hall. I held the hand like I was blind. You might find you’re in a bit of a fog. But you’ll see the results in the mirror quite clearly. Letting go is so worth it.