Magdalenas shadow, p.9
Magdalena's Shadow, page 9
“No, why should I? It’s nothing to do with reality. It’s a backdrop for a wealthy delusional!”
“I think it’s beautiful,” Coco countered.
“It makes a pretty picture but I like reality more.”
“Reality’s usually ugly.”
“Yep.” Carmen nodded, the silver gauges in her ears twinkling in the golden glow from the Victorian chandeliers. “Look at that guy for instance.” She pointed up at the central figure in the mural. “He’s got himself all painted up like his family loves him and he’s so happy and they’re so happy. Yet he was probably an abusive wife beater who stole from his employees and messed with his daughters. But because he had money he got to simply paint a picture that will outlive the reality of who he was. Instead of being remembered as a bastard, he’ll always be seen as a loving man in the center of a family who adores him. Like most things, I’ll bet it’s a lie.”
“It’s not a lie,” a voice said from behind them. “Levi Gilman was a philanthropist as well as a businessman. His wife had this mural painted after his death so that the family could remember all the people he helped.”
Glancing over, Coco saw a thin twenty-something man with thick brown hair, dressed in an impeccably cut suit. One look into his dark brown eyes and Coco knew he was a Gilman.
“And you know this because…?” Carmen questioned.
“He was my great-grandfather.”
“Hmmm.” Carmen shrugged. She didn’t blush; she seemed not to have noticed that she had insulted the man’s family.
“I’m Jack Gilman.” The young man offered his hand to Carmen who shook it without introducing herself. Jack turned to Coco. “And you’re no doubt….”
“Coco… just call me Coco. And this is Carmen,” she added, to distract the boy who was seconds away from connecting her with Magdalena.
Jack frowned, his eyes locked on Coco, obviously going over everything he had heard about Magdalena’s daughter. After a moment, he nodded. “I’m pleased to meet you, Coco. I’ve heard a lot about you. We’ll begin class shortly in the room to the left.” He smiled again before moving away to gather the students.
Carmen rose up on tiptoes to whisper in Coco’s ear. She managed to reach her shoulder. “I’m still right, the mural guy was probably a total narcissistic jackass.”
Coco shrugged, feeling nervous as they walked into what would be their classroom for the next eighteen months. If she could keep her identity quiet, then maybe she would find some peace. If not then no doubt her days would be riddled with endless questions about Magdalena, the Argentinean fashion icon she had never really known.
Coco grew to like Carmen. She had a natural urban style that was both daringly hard yet feminine, a style Coco learned to love. Carmen paired leather with paisley-print, plum-colored silk, taffeta with hard-chromed metal findings like spikes, studs, and smooth-edged dagger tips pierced with small rings. All of Carmen’s designs were new, original, and fantastically inventive. Coco felt at times so drawn to Carmen’s hard yet sensual style that she sometimes lost track of her own.
Three weeks into the new term the graduating class could no longer extend their deadline and were forced to have their show. This was a huge treat for the first-termers, who were allowed a midday preview of that evening’s event. Coco saw Turkish revival prints paired with stiletto heels, kimono-cut suits paired with heavy leather boots, and myriad other innovative and not so innovative concepts; yet nothing they saw compared with the few sketches and natural taste Carmen already had exhibited in class. As Coco watched her she felt how lucky she was to be Carmen’s friend. Carmen never needed or wanted anything from her except her friendship and advice.
“What do you think?” was Carmen’s trademark question, one she aimed at Coco a dozen times a day. Coco gave her honest opinions and Carmen took them, the good and the bad, without any effect on her natural confidence. Coco’s own creations were strikingly different from her friend’s. They were naturally soft and old world. Where Carmen might use Lycra or patent leather, Coco used roughed out suede or doeskin. Her affinity for natural fibers was expensive yet the finished products were beautiful.
For her first term project Coco submitted three color sketches of her own designs. The first was of a flowing mid-thigh sundress, totally sheer, with the illusion of orchids printed white on white over silk. The under bodice was ivory silk, sewn skin tight with matching low-rise micro-shorts. The look was finished with roughed-out beige thigh-high boots that left six inches of exposed thigh between boots and hem. All the textures were soft, natural, and almost colorless. Coco and Carmen looked at their sketches laid out on the sewing table. The sight made them smile.
“This is soooo… you,” Carmen laughed. “I love your drawings; you have got style.”
“You too,” Coco smiled, so amazed by Carmen’s brilliance she felt lost for words.
Carmen’s sketch was of a black fur piece – a princess cut floor-length gown cut with a savagely angled slit from hem to mid-thigh, finished with an enormous pink leather belt with silver studs and knee-high black leather boots with a polished finish. The design left the shoulders exposed, the fur cut to fit snugly around the upper arm to meld into a bodice that cupped the breasts in black fur and exposed pink silk lining. The look was soft… soft… soft… but with a biting edge of sensuality.
Jack was a common face at Gilman’s. He worked with the first-termers. He was no older than they were, but as he put it, he had “been born in fashion and he would always be in style.” Teaching at Gilman’s was as natural to him as breathing. His advice was never bad – he had a natural eye – and he loved Carmen practically from the moment they met. Carmen pretended not to see it, but Coco couldn’t ignore it no matter how she tried. Jack’s dark eyes lit up every time the pixie redhead walked into the room. No matter how brash or rude she was he always seemed more alive in her presence.
“So,” Coco pried one day while they looked through fabric swatches, “what do you think of Jack?”
“Hmmm…?” Carmen’s eyes didn’t move from the cloth samples she held.
“Come on,” Coco persisted with a giggle, her teenaged innocence showing through.
“Why would I think about Jack?” Carmen raised her eyes to Coco.
“Well, he’s cute, and he likes you?” Coco’s voice rose playfully on the last word.
“Please don’t be a twit, Coco. I want to take my life seriously. Do you know what happens to girls who get men? Men are walking social diseases that destroy more lives than AIDS ever will.”
“Oh…” Carmen’s words hurt her in a subtle way she couldn’t describe. “I thought he seemed like a nice guy.”
“Coco, they’re almost all nice guys, and they slowly bind you up with their love and their needs, their marriage papers and their children, until you’re driving a minivan and gossiping with soccer moms. Is that what I want? No! Women have got to be selfish if they want independence. You have one fatherless child already; I would think you would have figured out that even sweet men are trouble.”
Coco stared at Carmen in shock. She wanted to tell her she hadn’t screwed up her life yet, that Bebe wasn’t hers, that life was going along just fine, and that she had no plans of messing it up. Yet she couldn’t deny the reality that Rob was always in her thoughts. The idea of being an independent, single woman terrified her. Looking up at Carmen she realized that no matter what she said or what the world thought, Bebe was hers and she was a young single mom.
“Point taken!” Coco set down the swatches and walked away.
Chapter Thirteen
After school, Coco’s only wish was to go to Rob’s to talk, a habit she had fallen into in the months since they had attended the theater. She longed to sink into the easy friendship they had developed, to feel the flow of relaxed conversation, to forget Carmen’s earlier ferocity. With Rob, there was never pretense, nothing felt strained, and she always left feeling recharged and happy. But today as she went to make her escape, Tia stopped her.
“You’re spending too much time with that man. You go over there almost every afternoon.”
“Only because Bebe and Mila play together.” Coco met Tia’s sharp gaze without blushing. “I’m simply going over there to pick up Bebe and see how his day was.”
“I want you to tell him how old you are,” Tia pressed for the hundredth time.
“Why does it matter, Tia?” Coco felt instantly angry. “I told you we’re not dating. We’re friends.”
“You know why it matters. Promise me you’ll tell him!”
“Only when I see a reason to,” Coco shot back, closing the door on Tia.
When she entered #1, Coco found Rob sitting with Bebe and Mila in front of the fireplace roasting marshmallows over two logs which snapped and crackled on the grate.
“Hello,” he said with his usual cheerfulness.
“Hey,” Coco smiled, watching him push a marshmallow onto a skewer for Mila. The child was much too young to be roasting marshmallows so Rob had to hold the stick out of the flames while Mila watched her marshmallow turn from white to golden brown with wonder.
“Mine go poof!” Bebe yelled, leaping up to greet her. “Poof! All gone.”
“Just blue fire, huh, Bebe?” Rob laughed.
“Yep,” the toddler answered.
Coco sat down cross-legged next to Rob. Bebe jumped into her lap grabbing a fistful of marshmallows and her skewer.
“Eats, eats!” Bebe handed everything to Coco in a jumble.
“So I see,” Coco answered, trying to catch the marshmallows and the skewer as they were thrust on her.
“Like this,” Bebe shoved two marshmallows onto the skewer Coco held and then shoved the end into the fire. The marshmallows quickly grew in size, turned brown, and caught fire. “No, no!” Bebe looked at Coco with alarm. “No poof, Mama.”
“Hey, give me a break, I’m a beginner.” Coco laughed and accepted the two new marshmallows Bebe gave her.
“How was Gilman’s?”
“Strange! My drawings were all accepted and I’ve passed first term, but I have a lot to do to get ready for the next project.”
“You are still having fun? You have to like what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, I love it. I just wonder how realistic it is for me to be thinking of a career and be a mother too. It feels selfish to leave Bebe with Tia all day. I feel like I’m sacrificing her for a dream.”
“We all make sacrifices. Karen does all the parenting when I’m working. I wish it could be different but that’s life.”
“I don’t know what I would do without Tia.”
“Nannies and housekeepers are a necessity when you’re single. We’re just lucky we can afford them. So, what made today strange?”
“Carmen,” Coco said flatly. “She was in a mood. She called me a twit and then went on to say that we have to be selfish to have a career and stay in charge of our lives. The way she talks it’s like she hates men.”
“And you don’t?” Rob looked up with interest.
The question took Coco by surprise. When had she ever given him reason to think that she did? Her eyes searched his; he wasn’t joking.
“No poof, Mama!” Bebe pushed the marshmallow stick with her hand.
Coco refocused on the marshmallows, drawing them further from the flames
“I don’t know why I should hate men. I’ve never had a reason to. Men are people, some are good and some aren’t. I don’t like the concept of hating any group as a whole.” When she glanced at Rob again she found him studying her. “What?” she asked, puzzled by his sober expression.
“I look at you and Bebe and I wonder what kind of man could have left you. What kind of man leaves such a beautiful, kind-hearted woman alone with a baby?” He shook his head, his half smile turning slightly bitter.
In a way, Coco knew he was flirting, winning her by caring. He flirted the way some people worked or others gambled, with a blinding diligence as if winning her over were the best part of existence. How could a judge ever rule against him, how could a woman do anything except smile and melt? She shrugged and tried not to melt. They were friends for now, and that reality was her guiding principle whenever they were together. They were friends until her eighteenth birthday, friends until she was done with school, friends until she grew up enough to know who she was and what she wanted out of life. On no account could Rob ever know the real Coco, the stupid girl who lived in an apartment that terrified her, in a city she couldn’t handle, with a child that wasn’t hers.
“It’s amazing how desolate this place feels when they’re not filling it with noise.” Rob stared down at the two sticky toddlers who had passed out on the carpet behind them. Coco tried not to hear the wind as it howled malevolently around the building, causing the flames to leap and dance in the grate. In the distance, Coco heard Tia leave for the night, her footfalls echoing into the silence of the large entryway. “I meant what I said earlier.” Rob spoke with absolute sincerely. “Who leaves a woman as glorious as you alone with a baby? Why did he leave?”
Coco looked up at Rob thoughtfully, her brow creased. He wasn’t teasing or flirting. He looked concerned. Coco would never lie to him. That much she knew for certain. But she wouldn’t tell him the truth either.
“Why does anyone do anything?” She shrugged and looked away. “I never expected to be raising a child on my own. Nothing in life goes the way you think it will.” She shook her head, remembering the callous nanny who had signed Bebe over to a stranger she had only spoken to on the phone. “What about you?” she added. “You’re a nice guy with a great kid and your wife left. Does that make any sense?”
Rob looked away. “I am what I am,” he smiled bitterly, “and I wasn’t what she wanted.”
“What happened?”
“She and I grew up together. Our entire social network was built around the law firm. Hell, Dad was the firm. Everyone in our circle knew I was his illegitimate son born to his illegal housekeeper yet all the firm families were forced to tolerate me because they worked for my dad. I never knew how much I was despised until Chloe and I eloped. She had lived in this sort of blind state of privileged adoration all her life. When she married me all that changed. Her loving family disowned her the moment they heard. She turned pretty quickly after that, siding with them as if I had tricked her into marrying me. When Mila was born with dark skin and hair Chloe couldn’t cope. She left Mila and me for another son of the firm, one of the pretentious Allen schmucks. Her family took her back and she’s getting respectably married next month. Now everyone can pretend that Mila and I never happened. With Dad dead, no one ever has to pretend otherwise.”
Coco couldn’t believe what she had just heard. Her eyes searched his in the firelight. No one could look at Rob and see what she saw in that moment. She saw the fierce self-reliant man she knew, trod on and betrayed by his father’s people because he was of mixed race and illegitimate. Coco slid her arm through his, not knowing how to comfort him.
“The love we give is all that matters in life,” she said, her words flowing from her heart. “Not everyone deserves our love, but what matters is that we gave it. I feel God when I feel love,” Coco stared into the fire. “When Bebe came, I was immediately overwhelmed by this connection, like I could never love anything or anyone the way I loved her. It was so deep, so eternal. I think that kind of love is God working through us. It has to be.”
“I don’t know….” Rob turned away from Coco’s open sincerity as if it pained him. “I remember loving my mother on a level like that, but I think that’s hardwired into kids so they stay close.”
“What about your wife? You must have loved her at one time.”
Rob laughed bitterly. “I loved the idea of her. She was rich, beautiful, and an important member of our circle. I had this idea that if I had her I couldn’t fail. But she was never sweet, she didn’t like kids, and she wasn’t loving. Not like you.”
The last three words caught Coco off guard. “And they say men usually marry their mothers…” Coco added, remembering an article she had read in Elle.
“My mother was sweet and loving. No one could have asked for a better mother. No, I most definitely didn’t marry my mother.”
“Are you still close?” Coco asked with a touch of envy.
“Maria was just Dad’s mistress – a powerless Venezuelan illegal. She and I lived here, hidden away until I was eleven. That was the year Dad’s wife died. After the funeral, he decided to take me to New York and raise me with his daughter, Beverly. Bev hated me for her mother’s sake and still does. Anyway, Dad wanted a son so he shipped Maria out of the country, shut up this apartment, and took me to New York where I was reformed in his image. I haven’t seen my mother since.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter anymore.” Rob shrugged, but Coco could see that it did, that it tore at him still. “Dad sent me to good schools, he gave me a career; it could’ve been much worse.”
“No one should lose their mother.”
“No, they shouldn’t, but it happens.”
Coco ran her hand down his back, soothing him the way she would sooth Bebe.
“You make me a better person,” he sighed, his eyes finding hers. The smile he gave her melted her heart.
“You’re already good.” She turned back to the flames to avoid his gaze.
“I’m trying to be. Tell me about him. What was Bebe’s father like?”
Coco couldn’t meet his gaze. Tia was right. She needed to tell him the truth but the thought terrified her. Not yet, she thought, promising herself again that she would never lie to him, not on any point.
“I don’t know the first thing about Bebe’s father. There’s nothing to tell.”
Rob looked back at the fire, his brow creased.
He was speculating, Coco could tell, thinking over all the situations that could have created the fatherless Bebe: rape, one night stands, and easy sex with faceless strangers.
