Wrangler (34 page)

We are in my bedroom. Tapestries hang on the walls beside oil paintings framed with ornate gold-leaf. And among them hang my posters and torn off magazine covers. When I was younger it was all boy bands, but now they have been replaced by covers of Bon Appetit and a truckload of retro ‘80s band posters I found in the attic.

Simon, our guardian, took the posters down over and over as I grew up, but I would usually get one of the staff to get me more. They feel sorry for us. Most of the estate staff stayed on after the accident, and Miss Henrietta and Mr. Fredby are like grandparents to us.

I would get more posters, save them up, then stay up all night covering my walls all at once, because seeing Simon’s stupid face turn fire-engine red when he would see it was almost as good as having the posters back up.

He was my father’s right hand man. His confidant and advisor. Now, he’s just an asshole.

“Shhhh!” I hiss as I pull on my thigh-high white socks and take a deep breath. “You’re going to get us both in trouble.”

My sister, Leah, gives me her best motherly glare. She looks so much like Mom it’s spooky. I mean, I don’t remember Mom that well, but from what I do remember –and from the scrap book pictures I’ve worn out over the years– it’s almost like looking at my Mom’s face when I see my sister.

“No, you’re the one that’s going to get in trouble.” She lowers her voice to an agitated whisper and inches her wheelchair forward in an attempt to intimidate me.

It doesn’t work, I’m determined.

“No one is coming to check on us. Besides, they are out for the night.”

You would think it would make me mad that my fiancé is out almost every night without me, but ours is not a match made in any sort of heaven. Couple that with the fact that he’s the son of our guardian, who hasn’t been the most nurturing soul over the last twelve years, and the weirdness factor is off the charts.

“This will never work.” Leah presses her palms down and rubs the tops of her thighs with a wince. They get sore during the day and by evening she is in the chair, which I know she loathes.

“It will work.” The tenacity in my voice is as much to convince myself as her. “It might work.” I temper my bravado and slip my feet into a pair of sparkly, pink and purple, patent leather ballet flats. I pop up from the edge of the bed and grab my favorite sweater, which I picked out just for tonight.

“You are
not
wearing that.” Leah groans.

“What? I love this sweater.” I pick up the lime green, polka-dot cardigan and hold it out, regarding it. “It’s fun.”

“Like we would know what fun is?” Leah snorts and spins in a slow circle in her chair.

“Like you would know what
style
is? For all we know, striped kimonos and chef’s aprons are what girls our age are wearing.” I look at the sweater again. “Dad would have liked it.” I push one hand into the cashmere sleeve and pull it up over my shoulders and the opposite arm. Before I start to button it, I walk over to the enormous mirror which stands above the antique dresser, flanking the door to the ensuite bathroom. I’ve got on a white bra and panties. At least they match. And they are as fancy as anything I have. But they do not say ‘stripper.’

I do my best not to focus on the way my collarbones don’t stick out or there isn’t a rib in sight. I realize I may not be the pinnacle of every man’s desire, but maybe there is some demand for the novelty, dancing chubby girl.

This is as sexy as I’m going to get, so I hope it’s enough.

“Dad liked everything you did.” Leah’s voice is softer.

I snap my head around and see her bright smile. She’s beautiful, like magazine cover beautiful.

I always wished I could look like her. If we were in a movie, she would be the glamorous leading lady and I would be the plain Jane sidekick with my too-round center and my inability to keep wild, inappropriate things from tumbling out of my mouth at the worst possible moments.

“He loved everything about everything. Especially us.” The melancholy hangs like a mist for a moment before I finish buttoning my sweater to the top button and clutch my arms around myself, running them upward over my upper arms to my shoulders.

“How are you going to get there?  If you take a car they will know.”

“I’m taking the bus.” I stand up, stretching every inch of my five feet, grinning as I drop my arms and face my older sister. She’s still giving me that protective stare.

“The bus? How do you even know there is a bus?” She’s mocking me now.

“It’s called the
internet
.” I roll my eyes, turning back toward the mirror and grabbing a hair band from the top of the dresser.

How would a stripper wear her hair to a stripper interview?

“The
internet
? When were you on the
internet
?” Leah’s eyes widen.

I tip my head back and forth like a metronome before I squint my eyes and tell the truth. “I grabbed a bus schedule out of Mariana’s purse.”

Mariana is one of the kitchen staff here at the estate.

I see Leah behind me cover her face with both hands and shake her head, snorting.

“I’ll be fine. It’s like less than a mile from here. I mean, where else can I work and Simon won’t know? They never come around up here at night. It’s just been the two of us up here for months. I can sneak out at eleven, be back by four-thirty, and hopefully get some money in my pocket. We are not living here forever, Leah. I’m telling you.” I spin around as I throw my auburn hair into a ponytail on top of my head. “We are leaving here and getting our own place at least for a while. I want to be out in the world, see things. I want to
do
things.”

“I told you, just go, leave me here. I have no life anyway.” She drops her eyes to look down at her legs. When she’s not in the chair, she has to use her forearm crutches. Both her legs were crushed in the accident and she’s lucky they were able to save them at all.

She eyes me with hope and it hurts to look at her as she continues. “It’ll be so much easier for you to just go get a place on your own. You can get the money together for that if you don’t have me around. Taking care of me is not your obligation. I want you to be happy, May. That’s what I want more than anything.”

“I
will never
leave you,” I snap. “And
I
want
us
to be happy more than anything. I’ll figure this out. You just have to trust me.”

“How do you even know about this Monarch place? What do you even know? It could be dangerous.”

“I’ve been reading about it. Simon lets me read the business section of the newspaper and I’ve been following it for a year. The city council tried to block the entire project, but finally they got their zoning approvals and it’s been the big talk around, because who would have ever expected there to be a nightclub –let alone a strippy type club– around here? Everyone was just all gaspy and not-in-my-neighborhood about it.” I smile because it made me oddly satisfied when they won the battle and were able to build the club. This stuffy neighborhood needs some shaking up.

“What about Victor?” She screws up her face as she says his name.

“What about him?”

“You’re supposed to marry him. If your plan is to go out and make money so we can move out, are you not doing that? Because, you know what that means.” She shakes some hair out of her eyes. “Do you love him? Like Mom and Dad kind of love?”

I don’t want to have this conversation right now and we both know the answer anyway. I play with my ponytail then try to loosen the waistband of my skirt so not so much muffin top is hanging over. It doesn’t work so I just pull my sweater down farther, which also does no good.

I swallow hard and do my best to stay focused. I’m doing this, and yes, it may be silly but I don’t care. I lean into the dresser and play with a sterling silver hand mirror that used to be Mom’s.

“That’s not what everybody gets. Mom and Dad were lucky. I just want some freedom before I get married. I won’t lose this place either. I’ll marry Victor. But this place is our home even if it doesn’t feel like it right now with
them
here.” The last time we saw our mother, in the hospital before she passed away, she made us promise to keep this house in the family.

Dad built it for her and everywhere we look, we are reminded of the love they’d had for each other.  “I just want Simon to see we can do things on our own. That he can’t control us forever. I mean, we don’t even have any friends. We have never been to a nightclub. We haven’t even been to the stupid mall. I want to go to school and be a real chef but they won’t listen to me; they’ve got all the power right now and I want to shake things up. We need money of our own. We’re like two princesses shut up in the tower. I want to live a little before I’m Mrs. Victor Galetti.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She lets out a long breath. “You’ve always had the craziest ideas. Lord knows I’ve doubted you before and you’ve made me eat crow. But I don’t see how this is going to get you anything but in deep trouble.” Leah pulls at her hands in her lap. The shimmer in her eyes reminds me just how lost we would be without each other.

“I’m nineteen years old, how much trouble can I get into? I’m an adult.” I hold my head high in preposterous bravado.

She snorts out a laugh with a shake of her head. I push off the dresser and close the space between us, skipping as I go.

I crouch down in front of her, the hem of my pleated, navy-blue uniform skirt riding high enough to show the tops of the thigh high socks.

“I’m going to get us out of here.” My voice is steady and sure. “I’m going to get into that culinary school and become the most famous pastry chef and baker
evah
.” I toss my head back then settle my eyes back on her with raised eyebrows. “Did you like that raspberry napoleon I made tonight?”  I bob my eyebrows and nod at her.

“Yes. It was amazing. As usual. How do you just know how to make stuff like that? You never even follow a recipe.”

“Magic.” I grin and wrinkle my nose at her. It’s true though. When I’m baking I’m as happy as I ever can be. I feel peaceful, and forget that I’m engaged to a man I barely know – and what I do know I don’t like.

I forget the charmed, blessed life we’d had until a drunk driver exploded our world. I don’t dream of much, but I want that peace, that sense of being alive I get when I bake. It’s stupid, I know, but it does it for me. Takes me away from this suffocating, isolated world.

I rise to my feet, wondering if I should lather on some make-up. I don’t have much, but I decide I can toss it in my bag and apply a coat of paint on the bus.

The reality of what I’m about to do hits me and I feel my stomach clench. I suddenly feel so stupid. What makes me think I can make money dancing?

Because you can’t think of any other option that will actually bring home money and let you work during the hours when no one will notice you’re gone. And, you’ve got moves.

Leah would have been the stripper. Legs that end at her neck, cheekbones set in a way that would make any Vogue model jelly, and the way she carries –
carried
– herself, was like royalty. She would have had every chin drop to the floor when she took the stage.

I, on the other hand, am none of those things. But my legs still work, and that means I need to do this. My stomach tightens, knowing eventually I will have to take off my top and they will see the imprint the accident left on me as well as my six-pack abs covered in a couple layers of cupcake calories, but I shake it off. My plan is to amaze them with my novelty, or at least feel so sorry for me that they will give me a shot.

I know I just need a chance. I will do whatever it takes to teach myself to dance. Or anything else. I don’t care. I’ll do whatever I need to do to get us out of here. We may both carry the memories of that horrible day on our bodies and in our hearts, but we still have each other and that will never, ever change.

Simon, our legal guardian, has practically kept us prisoners here since the accident. He still insisted we wear school uniforms Monday through Friday when the tutors came. He said it provided order and structure. Just what two young girls who lost their parents needed, uniforms and structure.  Never mind hugs, kindness and understanding.

We are both over the age of legally needing a guardian now. I turned nineteen a couple months ago and Leah is fifteen months older than me. But somehow we are still under a conservatorship, which Simon is of course in charge of. The only way out of it is to go to court and have it removed.  But that requires money and freedom, two things the poorest rich girls I know don’t have.

“So.” I stand taller, throwing my chest out and grinning from ear to ear. “You want to see my moves before I go?” I spin around and hit the play button on the CD player sitting on the desk next to the window.

“
Noooo
,” Leah exaggerates, rolling her eyes as she turns her chair away from me.

Her glossy, sable hair falls to the middle of her back, so shiny I practically see the outline of myself looking into it. It’s not the only contrast between us – she’s a head taller than me; my face is more cherub than Kate Moss, and I fill out every possible available inch of my clothes.

Mind you, that doesn’t stop me from sampling all the yummy goodness of the things I bake. Besides, it’s not like I’m ever going to actually date. My future has been decided and Victor shows about as much interest in me as a chunk of broken concrete.

OK, that’s not entirely true. He tried to kiss me once. The day we got engaged. He slipped the ring on my finger after Simon explained to me that I was getting married and to whom – and why I would do it without question.

Well, that’s not fair, he gave me a choice. There’s always a choice. He made it very clear that if I didn’t marry his son, that was fine. I would be granted my freedom.

But I would also never see my sister again.  Or this house.

Leah doesn’t know that part, and I will never tell her because she would tell me not to marry him. Not only would I lose her, we would lose this place and I couldn’t bear that.