Forbidden Sister (7 page)

Mama rattled off some French expressions so quickly I couldn’t keep up, but Papa laughed.

The tension evaporated.

What would happen when I changed my hair and wore more makeup?

All day, I was excited about going shopping with Mama. When Chastity heard, she asked if she could come with us.

“Okay,” I said, “but we’re going right after school.”

“I’ll call my mother. I have her credit card. She’ll
say yes, I’m sure. I haven’t bought anything new for a long time.” I didn’t say it, but I knew that was because she was hoping to lose weight.

Mama didn’t mind Chastity coming along with us. She was always hoping that I would have more of a social life at school and encouraged me to have friends.

I saw how she was eyeing the other girls around my age while she waited for us, checking out what they wore. I really didn’t have any stylish jeans or knit tops. The one-piece, drab-colored dresses I wore practically made me invisible. We went directly to the juniors section at Saks, and I began by trying on jeans. When I put on a pair with a tie-dye blue-and-white tunic in the dressing room and stepped out to show her, I saw the pride in Mama’s face.

“I didn’t realize what a beautiful figure you have already, Emmie,” she said. “You have a better figure at your age than your—”

She clamped her lips, her eyes watering with both pride and sorrow now. I realized that for the longest time, I had held back on being an active teenager, not because of any shyness but because I sensed that everything I would do and would want to do would stir up unpleasant memories of my sister for both my mother and my father. I knew that if Papa could keep me his little girl forever and ever, he would. Mama was caught between wanting me to do everything any girl my age could and should do, things she had done, and her sensitivity to Papa’s fears and emotions.

But whether or not it really was a result of my seeing Roxy beautiful and seemingly happy, I was suddenly
experiencing a surge of feminine appetite. I, too, wanted to be beautiful, attractive, sexy, and buoyed by the same self-confidence I thought I had seen in Roxy.

Yes, I wanted clothing that would flatter my figure, a figure I had been keeping a secret, even from myself. Yes, I wanted my face to light up, use makeup to highlight my eyes and my lips. Yes, I wanted boys to notice me, really notice me, and not see me as part of the wallpaper or something. I wanted to be invited to parties, to go to friends’ houses to gossip and listen to music. In short, I wanted to be like most of the other girls my age and be more carefree after school and on weekends. I had never gone to a movie with a boy, held hands while we were walking, teased and excited each other with looks, caresses, and stolen kisses. The truth was, I was ready to explode, and I was afraid that being kept so tightly under lock and key, I would reach too fast, try too hard, and, despite my caution, be more like Roxy than I intended.

“You should get three or four pairs of jeans,” Mama said. “And at least as many tops. We should do something with your shoes now, too, and then we’ll look at some dresses.”

Chastity, who had been fingering and sifting through a variety of garments, decided to try on a pair of jeans, but the saleslady said she had nothing in her size in the juniors section. She told her to go to the women’s section. I thought she would burst into tears, but instead, she chose a knit tank dress. I knew the girls at school would pounce on her and ask her if Omar the Tent Maker had made her new dress.

“That color doesn’t flatter you,” Mama told her, and got up to help her choose something that did more to flatter her figure.

I tried on a boat-neck knit dress with bat-wing sleeves. I knew I looked hot in it, but the hem was too high. Papa wouldn’t let me out of the house. Mama saw the pain of disappointment in my face.

“It will be our secret,” she said. “You look too beautiful in it to deny it.”

“Are you sure, Mama?”

“I’m sure,” she said.

Although Chastity was happy about the choices Mama helped her make, the envy in her face when she saw me modeling different things had an odd effect on me. I was no longer feeling sorry for her. I was angry.
Why should I deny myself just to keep her happy?
I thought.
Let her lose weight.

I asked Mama to help me with some new makeup. Despite the way she dressed and lived now, I knew from old photographs that she had been a typical young French woman who cherished anything haute couture. Her clothing in all of the old photographs was stylish and sexy. She had been and still was a beautiful woman.

She knew just what I needed and promised to spend time showing me how to do my makeup so it wasn’t overpowering.

“As someone in Paris once told me,” she said, smiling at a memory, “your makeup shouldn’t create a new face but highlight the beauty that is in it already.
And you have much beauty to highlight,
ma chère,
” she said.

Chastity listened and watched as Mama chose lipsticks, rouge, and some eye shadow for me. Chastity then bought everything I did. Mama helped her make the right choices, too.

When we were done, Mama said she would make an appointment with her hairdresser for me. “It’s time we had you looking your age,” she said with a firmness I knew she would have when Papa questioned her about anything. Chastity said she would be going to her mother’s hairdresser, too.

We took the taxi home, dropping Chastity off on her corner. I hugged my bags and boxes. For me, the afternoon was ten birthdays and Christmases all wrapped into one. When Papa came home, Mama told him about my jeans and blouses. She didn’t mention the dress or much about the makeup.

“We have to wean him into your maturity,” she whispered. “It will be all right.”

Papa looked at me with both pleased surprise and concern the next morning. I had my hair pinned up and wore a pair of blue crystal earrings Mama had loaned me. They were the first thing Papa questioned.

“Where did you get those?” he demanded. “You didn’t mention you bought her any jewelry yesterday,” he told Mama.

She shook her head. “I’m very disappointed in you, Norton. You bought me those earrings in France seven years ago for my birthday.”

“I did? Oh. Yes,” he said. His failure to remember put him on the defensive. He said nothing about the makeup I had on, nor did he complain about my jeans being too tight. “Well, okay,” he said just before he left for work. “You look very nice, Emmie. Be careful.”

Who else’s father would tell her to be careful because she looked nice? He did give me a kiss and a hug, which was something he didn’t do that often in the morning before he left for work. When I glanced at him, I thought I saw great sadness in his eyes quickly replacing his moment of joy. It nearly brought tears to mine.

After he walked out, I turned to Mama. She had seen his teary eyes, too. She smiled. “He’s losing his little girl,” she said.

And he’s already lost one,
I thought, but I couldn’t wait to get to school to see the reactions to my clothes and makeup. Some of the girls were surprised and happy for me, but there were others who looked so envious that they seemed angry. It was as if I had violated some unwritten assumption:
Emmie Wilcox will always look uninteresting,
bland, and drab. She will never be competition for me.

I so overshadowed Chastity that no one noticed her new clothes, shoes, and makeup. Right before lunch, what I had dreamed might happen, did happen. Evan Styles stepped up beside me in the hallway. I was in such a daze from the compliments I had received that I didn’t notice he was there until I heard him say,
“Parlez-vous français?”

I turned and for a moment was so surprised, I didn’t speak. He shrugged.

“I thought you were part French and spoke it at home,” he said.

“Oh.
Oui. Je parle français. Pourquoi demandez-vous?
”

“Demandez-vous,”
he muttered. “Oh. Why do I ask?”

“Oui. Pourquoi?”

“I’m in first year French. I mean,
moi les premiers francais d’année,
” he replied, pointing at himself.

I laughed.
“Je prends français premier-ans.”

“Oh.
Je prends. Oui.
I thought,” he said, looking around and then leaning toward me as if he were going to tell me a great secret, “if I could talk to you every day, I’d get way ahead of anyone else in the class. I mean, my parents know French people, but I don’t see myself talking with them much except, you know, simple stuff when they come to dinner, like
comment allez-vous? Je suis bien.
Or
Quelle heure est-il?
Like they don’t have a watch.”

“Bien. Quand voulez-vous que nous parlions?”

“When do I want . . . oh, how about right now? At lunch.”

“Mais oui,”
I said, and we walked on to the cafeteria.

I saw Chastity waiting for me near the food line. Her eyes widened when she saw me enter with Evan. I smiled at her and shifted my eyes toward him, but she didn’t react.

“Why don’t you take that table in the corner for us?” Evan said. “What do you want for lunch? Burger?”

“Just a salad and a cranberry juice,” I said.

“
Très
sage,” he replied.

I started for the table when he started for the line.

Chastity hurried over to me. “Where are you going?”

“Evan wants to practice his French with me. I said yes. He’s getting me my lunch.”

She looked back, and then her whole face seemed to begin to slide off her skull. She muttered a soft “Oh” and started away.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” I offered. She didn’t turn back.

I could feel most of the other girls and some of the boys looking our way when Evan brought me my lunch and set his down beside mine.

“So? Your mother is French?”

“Oui. Ma mère est née à Paris.”

“Let’s see. Your mother was something in Paris.”

“Born.”

“Oh, right. That makes her French.”

“Yes, it does,” I said, laughing.

“But you were born here in America, right?” he asked, as if that were a real concern.

“Yes. I can run for president.”

He smiled.
What a sweet smile he has,
I thought. It seemed to begin in his eyes and then ripple through his face to soften those perfect lips. I realized he had a much darker complexion than most of the students.

“You’re out in the sun a lot?”

“We took a long weekend in Puerto Rico. My father had some business to do for the mayor.”

“Vous êtes-vous amusés bien?”

“Huh?”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Oh. Yes. I mean,
oui.
I was on the beach most of the time.”

“
La plage.
That’s beach.”

“La plage,”
he repeated. “Were you brought up speaking French?”

“
Non. Anglais,
but my mother,
ma mère,
spoke French to me, too. She still does.”

“You really can’t learn a language in a classroom,” Evan said.

“Yes. You can learn to read it well, but holding a conversation is different. Maybe you’ll spend a summer in France.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“En français.”

“Oui, je—”

“
Pensez.
Think.
Ainsi.
”

“So?”

“Oui.”

“I knew it,” he said. “You’re just going to have to cancel all of your dates for the next few weeks and spend your weekends with me.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolument,”
he said, and we both laughed.

Was this really happening? I felt like Cinderella. I didn’t even notice any of the other students in the cafeteria. Their chatter seemed to die away. I was too intent on hearing every syllable when Evan spoke. I
wanted to memorize the movements in his face when he smiled, laughed, and thought seriously about something. I was never as disappointed as when the bell rang to end lunch period.

“So, what about Friday night? I was thinking we would go to this French movie at Lincoln Plaza. I mean, it has subtitles, but I think I could learn a lot with you beside me.”

“Peut-être.”

“Maybe. You mean maybe you’ll go, or maybe I’ll learn a lot?”

“Tous les deux.”

“Huh?”

“Both,” I said.

“Man, this is great. I’ll walk you home after school today, okay? That way, I’ll know where to go to pick you up Friday.”

“If my parents say yes,” I said.

“Just tell them it’s a school project,” he said. “See you later.”

“Plus tard,”
I called to him as he started away.

He turned back to smile. To me, it looked as if his face actually radiated. I stood there watching him walk off and didn’t even realize that Chastity had come up beside me. She had followed us out of the cafeteria.

“He didn’t ask you out or anything, did he?” she demanded. “We have something to do Friday night.”

“We’ll do it on the weekend,” I said. “I promise.”

“He asked you out?”

I nodded, hoping she would be happy for me, but
she turned away in a sulk and walked faster toward the classroom.

I felt sorry for her, but if this was the price I had to pay, then so be it.

I had never been as grateful for my mother having been born in Paris.
Vive la France,
I thought, and hurried after Chastity.

Some way, somehow, I’d get her to be happy for me, I thought, but when she discovered that Evan was walking me home from school, she was even more put out. It was as if we were still in grade school and she saw my wanting to be with a boy as something of a betrayal.

“Do you want to walk part of the way with us?” I asked her when Evan caught up with us at the end of the day.

“No. I have to do something first,” she said, and quickly walked off.

“She sounded upset,” he said.

“She’ll get over it,” I said.

He smiled. “I wrote out my cell number for you to call later, I hope with a
oui, oui.
”