Gabrielle (15 page)

She sounded shocked, not so much about the mistress part, but more the idea that I was standing there in her living room asking the question.

“Yes. He did,” she said and my breath caught in my throat, turning to a full-fledged choke when she added, “And you are his daughter, aren't you?”

I guess part of me had been hoping there was some mistake. That there was another Cameron Ellis Porter in the city and the one who had been married to this woman had nothing to do with me.

“You look just like him.”

I was crumbling to pieces on the inside. And yet, the oddest thing was that I almost felt stronger at the same time.

Because I knew the truth for sure now.

And some answers had to come from the truth, didn't they?

At this point it seemed natural for both Bradley and I to sit down. If the woman my father had been cheating on hadn't already thrown us out, she wasn't going to now.

“How long have you known?” I asked.

“Cameron was always very honest.” Her eyes raked over me again. “Even though I might have wished that he were less upfront, it wasn't his way.”

Honest.

What an ironic word for her to use in reference to the man who had cheated on her.

Maybe, I thought, she was just saying it to try and sugarcoat his behavior on my behalf so that I wouldn't think my father was a total monster.

Honesty. That was what I wanted from now on. From everyone. Starting now.

“You don't need to say nice things about him because you're afraid of the way I'll react. I never knew him. He died—”

“Before you were born,” she said, finishing my sentence with perfect accuracy.

“I'm sorry,” I said, a little bit surprised by the words coming out of my mouth, but hadn't she been a victim, too?

She wiped at the corners of her eyes with perfectly manicured fingertips. I felt terrible that I'd come here and reminded her of how badly she'd been treated.

By my father. And my mother.

“I shouldn't have come. I won't bother you again,” I promised her as I quickly stood up.

I was halfway across the room when she said, “It was my fault, too. I never wanted children. Never liked them. Couldn't stand the thought of losing my figure. I refused to let him into my bed.”

So many times over the past couple of weeks I'd wanted to cover my ears with my hands.

Now a virtual stranger was sitting here talking to me about her sex life. It didn't matter that it was past tense, it was still much more than I wanted to know.

“I know this is probably all too much for you to take in right now. But you have to know how much Cameron wanted you.”

It took everything in me to fight back tears. The last thing I wanted to do was stand there and cry in this woman's living room.

When I felt that I had it together enough to speak again, I turned around and said, “Thank you for telling me that. I know seeing me, here in your house, must be a total shock.”

“I wondered if the day would ever come when we would meet. I should have known that it would. Because you're his daughter.”

I could feel tears welling again, but before I could let them spill, I had one more question for her. “I know this is a lot to ask, but if you wouldn't mind, could I come back sometime to ask you more about him?”

Her unnaturally inexpressive, unlined face almost showed some emotion. “Of course.”

Minutes later, Bradley and I were back outside. I had no idea how I'd gotten from her living room back out to the sidewalk. He must have shown me the way, every step.

“It's true,” I said as he enveloped me in the safety of his arms. “It's all true.” My tears started falling. “But he wanted me.”

The father I had never met, this same man who had made my mother be his courtesan, had loved me.

Bradley held me tight as the tears came. And when I was finally empty, he lightly brushed them away from my cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

We stared at each other like that for a long moment before he said, “You have a boyfriend.”

At the same time I said, “You're going to have a wife—and a mistress.”

We pulled apart and I said, “I don't think I'm up to Dixieland tonight.”

“We'll do it another time,” he agreed. “Can I walk you home?”

I shook my head. I needed some time to process things on my own.

“No. I'll be all right.”

And hopefully one day soon it would actually be true.

I was shocked to find Dylan waiting for me on my front step when I got home. Of course I was beyond glad to see him, but at the same time I couldn't help but think, what if Bradley had still been with me? What would happen if the two of them came face to face? If I had to explain to Dylan about Bradley—about why I was spending part of a Saturday night with him?

He was smiling and it was so good to see him, to feel his arms around me, to breathe in his scent, to feel his pulse against my lips where I pressed them against his neck.

For a second, when I was with Dylan, I could actually forget about where I'd come from for a few minutes. I'd never been happier that Dylan had no part of that world.

“This is such a great surprise,” I told him. “I looked for you all day at school yesterday, but you weren't—”

He kissed me before I could finish my sentence. “I have something to show you.”

Working to shake myself out of my own thoughts, to push aside what I'd learned at my father's wife's house for a few minutes, I finally saw how excited he looked.

“A surprise? For me?”

He pulled two tickets out of his pocket. “You and me. Metallica. Front row.”

“Wow.” I looked at the tickets to a show I never would have had the nerve to attend without him by my side. How had I never realized before now—before Dylan—just how badly I wanted to let this loud, wild side of me loose?

His arms came around me and I wanted to lose myself in him, and his mouth on mine, and his strength, his heat. I wanted so badly to believe that he was the only real thing. Because with Dylan I was a normal teenager about to blow her ears out at a heavy metal concert that my grandmother would never approve of. With Dylan, I was just another good girl gone bad with the help of a sexy bad boy.

With him, I could pretend that there were no big decisions to be made.

“You're so great, Gabi,” he said against my forehead. “So perfect.”

Oh God, if he only knew just how imperfect my life really was.

And that was when it hit me—hadn't I just decided I wanted total honesty from now on?

Which meant I also needed to be honest with Dylan, no matter how difficult it was.

Or how much I stood to lose.

“There's something I've got to tell you.”

I would have liked to drop my bomb on him from within the protective circle of his arms.

But that wasn't fair to him. I needed to make it easy for him to walk away if he wanted to.

Stepping back, I took his hand and led him across the street to the small park where there was a playground full of parents and kids. I was struck by the innocent picture in front of us at this juncture, when I was about to destroy any visions Dylan had of my own innocence.

“It's about my mother and father.” I wished I could leave it at that. But I couldn't. “And me, too.”

Maybe another guy would have started freaking out at my weird behavior. But not Dylan.

“After what I told you about my father, about what I had to do, you know you can tell me anything.”

He was being so great. It was a huge relief that Bradley wasn't the only one who could be supportive.

Of course, that didn't make what I was about to say any easier.

“So, you know how my grandmother was a courtesan back in France? And my great-

grandmother before her?”

“I'm cool with that. It was a long time ago in France. Things were different back then.”

I took a shaky breath. “Not that different, as it turns out.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you asked me if my mother had been one, I honestly thought she hadn't. But then my grandmother told me that she had.”

“So your mom was a—”

I didn't blame him for not wanting to say the word. I simply scrunched my eyes closed and nodded.

“Yes, she was. Which made my father her protector.” I hastily corrected myself. “I mean, her companion.”

He was sitting there shaking his head, a stubborn look on his face. “None of this is your fault. You were just their kid. Whatever they were, whatever they did, it isn't your fault. It's just like the therapists are always saying to me about my situation. That I didn't choose to get born to those people, and that it was just doing what I had to do to survive.”

If anything, his understanding and concern, how hard he was trying to make me feel better, almost made everything worse.

“But there's more. It's not over, Dylan. It didn't end with my mother.”

Nausea roiled in my belly as he shifted on the park bench, moving almost imperceptibly away from me.

But I noticed.

“It's over,” he said in a hard voice. “There aren't courtesans anymore. That's ancient history.”

He was supposed to be the bad boy. I was supposed to be the good girl he corrupted. Not the other way around.

“They still exist, Dylan. There's a whole society here in New York City.”

“That's disgusting.”

What, I found myself wondering, did it say about me that I wanted to leap to that society's defense? Especially when I'd spent the past few weeks being just as disgusted by it all as he was right now?

Clearly, it was easier to be disgusted with other people. It was a whole lot less fun when that disgust was coming straight toward you. My mother and father had been a part of this world.

No matter the rules of society, I couldn't let myself think that they'd been bad people, that they'd been lacking in morals.

Trying not to show him how much his reaction was hurting me, I said, “I'm supposed to make a decision. When I'm eighteen.”

He was angry now, I could see it in his eyes, in the way he was clenching his hands into fists. “A decision. What kind of decision?” His words were even harder now.

I took a breath, and then another when the first one didn't make it all the way into my lungs. “About whether to join them. About whether to become a courtesan, too.”

“There's no decision. You can't become a prostitute.”

“That's not what it would be like, and I wouldn't anyway, but—”

“Jesus, Gabi, you're not actually thinking about this, are you?”

“No, but—”

“Stop saying
but
! It ended with your mother. It's done.”

His reaction shouldn't have hurt my feelings. He was just saying what any normal person would have said. But I was powerfully struck by the contrast between him and Bradley.

And the fact that Bradley had never judged me for this choice I had to make. Instead, he'd supported me, helped me do something incredibly difficult and painful by going and confronting my father's wife.

So maybe that was why I said, “My grandmother doesn't believe it's done. She says there's a curse. And that I'll never find true love any other way.”

He was off the bench now, his hands jammed into the pockets of his black jeans. “This is crazy, Gabi. You don't really believe in some stupid curse, do you?”

I wanted to say no, but the full truth was that I didn't know what to believe anymore. “I don't know what to think. I don't want to believe in a curse. I never thought I would, but you should see my grandmother when she talks about it. She thinks that's why my mother and father died—because they were breaking the code and were going to get married.”

“I've never heard anything so stupid.”

Was this how I'd been when my grandmother had told me? Totally belligerent? Not at all receptive to even listening to what she had to say?

“I thought something seemed weird about you recently.” His eyes narrowed. “Especially this past week.”

What was the point in holding anything back now?

“There was a party,” I admitted. “Last weekend. That day I couldn't go out with you, that's where I was.”

He didn't say anything for a long moment, just stared at me in disbelief. “This wasn't a normal party, was it?”

“No.” I wanted to curl up into a ball and roll away. “Kind of like a debutante ball for future courtesans.”

“What the hell! Why did you go to that, Gabi? How could you have let yourself be dragged into that kind of crap?”

My shoulders went back, my chin lifted. “All the women in my family were part of that world. I had to see it with my own eyes.”

“No. You didn't.”

“Yes,” I countered. “I did.” Despite his clear fury, I continued, saying, “And it wasn't anything like I expected. Some of the people were nice. And it turned out that they had their reasons why they had to be there, too.”

“You've got to stop this. Just end it, Gabi.”

I heard what he was saying. And I didn't disagree with him, not really.

But what about the curse?

“I couldn't keep it from you anymore. Now you know.” My voice sounded strange.

Strangled. Tight.

Scared.

Finally, he moved back onto the bench and sat beside me. He picked up my hands, and I realized they were ice cold in his warmth.

“What did you think I was going to do?” he said softly, “Did you think I wouldn't want to see you anymore?”

I shrugged, knowing this was his way of apologizing to me without actually saying the words. It shouldn't have been enough. But I felt so twisted up inside about everything – so confused, without any sense at all anymore of which end was up and which was down – that I pushed the thought away.