Gabrielle (6 page)

Only this time, there was more to the secret.

So much more.

“This is going to sound crazy, but I just found out that my mother was a courtesan.”

The words fell out in a rush, with hardly any space in between. Only someone who had known me almost my entire life could have understood me.

Missy stared at me, a look of total disbelief on her face. “Oh my God. Did you just say that your mom was a courtesan?”

I nodded, not any closer to crying now that the words were out than I had been before. In fact, it was the exact opposite. I almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, that's how shell-shocked I was.

“I never told you this, but I knew my grandmother had been one. Back in France. And that my great-grandmother had been one, too. But I never thought in a million years that my mother would have done it. That she would have chosen it.”

Even as I said the words, I had to acknowledge that I barely knew a thing about my mother apart from what my grandmother had told me as a child. After all, she'd died when I was five years old.

Missy was standing up now, pacing on the top step. “I'm trying to stay with you here, but you're moving way too fast. Let me see if I've got this straight: You come from a long line of courtesans?”

“You got it.”

“Oh my God,” she said again. “In a million years I don't think I could have predicted you would say that to me, Gabi.”

I scowled at her. “You're really not helping.”

She shook her head quickly. “I'm totally dying here, but I swear, I'm so not judging you.

Or your family.” She bit her lip. “Actually, I think it's pretty cool.”

“Cool?” The word came out as a shriek. “Have you lost your mind?”

She cocked her head to the side. “Do you have any idea how well respected courtesans used to be?”

This time it was my turn to be surprised. Along with irritated that not one single conversation I'd had that day had been remotely normal.

“What are you talking about? How do you know anything about courtesans?”

“Remember that feminist lit class I took junior year at NYU? Well, we spent a lot of time reading about geishas and courtesans.” She fell silent. “You know, now that you've mentioned it, I can totally see your grandmother as an awesome cour—”

“Stop it!”

I'd thought Missy would be a shoulder to cry on. Or at least that she would commiserate with me about the skeletons jumping out of my family's closet.

Instead, I was getting a lecture on how fantastic and amazing it all was.

Which is probably why the next thing out of my mouth was, “Then you're going to love this, Missy. Because there's more.”

“More?” She swallowed and sat next to me.

“Guess what I'm supposed to become when I turn eighteen?”

Finally, her mouth dropped open, the shock that I'd expected to see all along landing across her face. “No fucking way.”

I shrugged in a strangely nonchalant way. Now that I'd said it, it seemed less frightening.

Less possible. Like I was talking about someone else, a girl I didn't know who had a really weird family that said crazy things about
destiny
to each other.

“My grandmother said there's a party I'm supposed to go to.”

“Holy crap. A party? To pick out a companion?”

I scowled at her. “You mean owner.”

She shook her head. “Seriously, I think you should read some of the textbooks for my class. As far as I could tell, the great courtesans were never owned by men. If anything, they owned the men.”

Before I could tell her she didn't know what she was talking about, she got this funny look on her face and said, almost hesitantly, “Can I come?”

My mouth flew open and I jumped to my feet. “No. What's wrong with you tonight?
I'm
not even going.”

“Then maybe I can take your place.”

I was as angry with her now as I had been with my grandmother. “I came here because I was upset, because I thought you were my best friend, because I thought you would understand how weird and horrible this is.”

She grabbed my hand and pulled me back down to the step. “Sorry. You're right. I'm being a really shitty friend. I can't imagine learning something like this about my mother. It would be totally weird.” But then she shrugged again and said, “But I don't know, I just can't help but think that maybe it isn't all bad. I mean, look at my mom. After my dad died, she got married four more times and none of those have worked out. Honestly, I don't know if marriage is all that great. At least if you're a courtesan, then you control the terms of the relationship.”

She was being absolutely no help at all. I stood up again. “I should go. My grandmother is probably worried about me. I was kind of mad when I left.”

“Wait a sec.” Missy ran inside and came back out carrying a bag. “These were my textbooks. Maybe later you might want to look at them. You should at least read
Gigi
by Colette.

It's about a girl who comes from a family of courtesans.”

“You seriously think I want to read a book about my life?”

I didn't take the books. How could I? If I took them, it would mean I was giving in, that I'd have to try to have an open mind about something I was not going to change my mind about.

Ever.

Fortunately, Missy knew better than to push me, especially when I was perilously close to the edge of losing it. “If you ever want them, at least you know they're here.”

As soon as she backed off, suddenly I felt like the coward. Was I seriously worried that reading about courtesans would change whether or not I became one?

I wasn't going to become one. It was the twenty-first century. The guys at this courtesan coming-out party my grandmother wanted me to go to were probably a hundred years old. What would it hurt to flip through the books? Maybe, I even thought with a tiny glimmer of hope, what I read would help me reconcile what I had learned about my own mother.

If, I reminded myself, it was even true. Maybe my grandmother had been mistaken about my mother and father and their relationship.

I grabbed the books from Missy and was about to leave when I realized I hadn't told her what I had thought to be the most important thing in my day—possibly my life—before my talk with my grandmother.

“He kissed me.”

She looked confused at the quick subject change for a moment. “I seriously cannot keep up with you tonight,” she muttered, and then as realization dawned, “Wait ... Dylan? He kissed you?”

I nodded.

“And? Was it great?”

I was glad I could think about something other than the whole courtesan thing for a minute. But at the same time, I almost didn't want to tell her. In fact, a part of me regretted mentioning it at all. As if talking about it would take away some of the magic. But now that I'd started, I knew she'd never let me get away with saying nothing.

“It was amazing.”

She clapped her hands and laughed. “Honestly, at first I didn't think you were his type.”

“That's what he said, too.”

“But then when I thought about it more, I realized a girl like you is probably exactly what a guy like him needs.”

“A girl like me?”

What was with all these people thinking they knew me so well? Sure, Missy was my best friend, but it still sounded like she had me pegged in a certain kind of box with a certain kind of hole on the top.

“Oh, come on, Gabi, you know exactly what I mean. I'm not saying it's a bad thing to be all butterflies and sunshine. Just that you definitely are.” She grimaced slightly, clearly remembering my courtesan legacy. “Or were, anyway.”

“I still am,” I said, even though I had been so desperate to prove Dylan otherwise that afternoon. I sighed.

“This has been a really confusing day. I've got to go.”

Missy gave me a hug, but just before she pulled away, she said, “Okay, so don't kill me, but it just occurred to me that if you're supposed become a courtesan when you turn eighteen, can you even date Dylan? I mean, unless he buys you jewelry or something?”

“Seriously, Missy, that might be the stupidest thing you've ever said.”

But then she asked the million-dollar question. “Are you going to tell Dylan any of this?”

“He already knows some of it. Not about me, or that I could be one if I wanted to, just that my grandmother used to be one.”

Even that had been more than enough to shock him. What would he think if he knew I'd been groomed for the position my whole life?

She hugged me again. “This must suck for you.”

“It does.”

* * *

On the walk home I looked up into strangers' windows. I'd made this trek from Missy's house to mine countless times over the years, but tonight everything looked different.

There was an entire world out there that I hadn't known about. A courtesan/protector underworld in the shadows of New York City. One that my grandmother was obviously still involved in.

Maybe, I thought as I saw a man and woman embrace behind a window, I wasn't the only one who knew about this. Before today I would have assumed that the man and woman in the house were, if not husband and wife, at least boyfriend and girlfriend.

For the first time ever I wondered if maybe, instead, they were a man and his chosen courtesan.

That sick feeling I'd had in my stomach all night intensified.

Letting myself into the house, I expected to find my grandmother waiting nervously by the door. Instead, our house was empty and she had left a note on the kitchen counter.

Please eat. I left dinner for you in the fridge. I am at Marianne's house. I love you. We
will talk more tomorrow.

Marianne was my grandmother's best friend. I called her
Tante
. I wasn't surprised that my grandmother had gone to talk to her, but at the same time it made me think, did Marianne know about my grandmother's past? And about my supposed destiny?

Far more antsy than hungry, I wandered through the house, and the new eyes that I had developed when I was walking home from Missy's house made me see everything differently even here.

When had the fabric on the furniture gotten so worn? And that space on the wall where a large painting used to be—what was the reason my grandmother had given me for selling it?

There were several other things missing throughout the house. A Chinese vase. A crystal sculpture. Several paintings from the den that I rarely went into.

Suddenly I wondered: How much would the path I took in the future impact my grandmother?

* * *

I was drawn by some sort of magnet to the piano in the corner of our living room.

Comfort. That's what the piano was to me. A place to lay my fingers, my fears, my joy. Whatever came, the piano could take it. No matter what I did, no matter what I felt, it would still be there for me.

I slowly opened the keyboard cover, laying back the glossy black wood. I could see myself in the reflection of the shiny ivory keys, but after sitting in this exact spot so many times before, after seeing that same reflection, the girl looking back at me looked different.

I wasn't sure I recognized myself anymore. Not after everything my grandmother had told me about my mother. About my
destiny
.

I had a choice to make. I could slam the piano shut and walk away from it.

Or I could try and face what I was feeling.

My decision came between heartbeats, my fingers pressing down on the keys, first one, then another, until a complete chord was ringing out into the dark living room.

I am wondering who I am today

I've been wondering who I am all week

If I'm wondering who I am all month, all year, is that okay?

I'd never written a song like this before. I'd never been a particularly confessional person, either in real life or in music. But tonight, I just didn't have it in me to hold back anymore.

Because that's what I suddenly realized I'd been doing my whole life: Holding back.

That was safer.

This was scary.

I hated being scared, hated feeling like that little five-year-old girl whose entire world was falling apart.

Only, now that the music, now that the words had started coming, I didn't know how to turn them off.

I feel like I used to know my dreams

Now they're wrapped up in my tears

And when I hear my voice, it's not my voice I want to hear
When I look for my dreams I find it's not that clear anymore
All I needed to do was lift my fingers up off the keys. All I needed to do was shut my mouth and get up off the piano bench and then I could try and stuff the song away. Far, far away.

But before I could do any of those things, I made the mistake of looking down at my distraught reflection in the keys.

I am looking at myself today

I've been looking at myself all week

If I'm looking at myself all month, all year, is that okay?

I feel like I used to know my dreams

I wrapped them up and I held them close to me

But now they're escaping me

What am I doing here?

What am I doing here?

What am I doing here?

The notes slammed out from my fingertips, the words rang out from my lungs.

But it didn't help.

It didn't help.

I am wondering who I am today

I've been wondering who I am all week

If I'm wondering who I am all month, all year, is that okay?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1p4hOqs71jk

http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/wondering/id427761572

WONDERING by Gabrielle LeGrande / Lucy Kevin © 2011

I wasn't surprised when Dylan tracked me down at school the next day. Things between us the previous afternoon had been left on a really weird note.