493This chapter was revised on 02/26/08. I apologize for other chapters that haven't been revised, as my earlier writing may seem different (read: not so smooth, very simple, and a little naïve.)
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Not What It Seems
Ch 2 (Revised) Meet the Parents
"Come on. We have to hurry," Mr. Chapman said loudly.
I grumbled. "You don't have to shout, you know. I'm only ten steps behind you."
I hate buying clothes. They were all the same anyway. Wear one and you've worn them all. I didn't see the point of buying new clothes when my old ones would do just as well.
And, even though this is totally out of context, I hate having quick lunches. Leisure lunches are the best part of going out. As I always say, shoes and dresses go out of style the next day, but a good meal stays inside for at least a week.
Besides, a girl can't shop properly if she doesn't have a full tank of gas. Mine was almost out!
Grumbling to myself again, I kicked a stray pebble in the sidewalk. It hit a bald, middle-aged policeman, making him drop the sugared donut he was eating. He turned, rubbing his butt, and began to scan the crowd around him suspiciously.
Oops. Sorry about that. Don't look at me, please. I was just trying to stop you from gaining weight.
I peeked at Mr. Chapman, hoping he hadn't seen what I just did. He was waiting far ahead of me, arms crossed and eyes disapproving. Damn, he saw.
"Quit fooling around and hurry up!" He called out and promptly disappeared into one of the clothing boutiques on his right.
If he thought a girl like me would enjoy my last day of womanhood shopping for men's clothes, then he wasn't terribly smart. And if this was how he handles his business, I feel bad for him. He'd probably become bankrupt in five years.
He was in deep discussion with a young, slim, dark-haired woman by the time I reached his side. The woman had long, straight, inky black hair and looked pretty enough to be in a billboard ad. Fashionably inept that I was, I didn't know how to describe her clothes, but there was a billowy dress, tons of accessories, and cowboy boots involved.
Seeing me come in, they abruptly stopped their chatting. Mr. Chapman cleared his throat. "Alissa, this is Rebecca Watson. She is the personal shopper I hired for today. She will help us choose your clothes."
"So this is her?" She turned to acknowledge at my presence, her eyes carefully skimming my messy ponytail and my ketchup-stained shirt before turning back to Mr. Chapman. "Let's get to work then. What kind of style did you have in mind, sir?"
"Yes, about that. Like I've mentioned, she's not that… knowledgeable… about the current fashion trends. I was hoping you could help us decide the kind of clothes that would suit her. Clothes according to the situation we talked about earlier in mind."
"Yes, yes. I understand. Some young people do neglect to keep up-to-date when it comes to new styles."
Uhm…thank you for including me in your conversation. Nice to meet you too, Rebecca!
"Well, with her circumstances, I personally think it's best to stick with the basics. Loose shirts, baggy jeans, two pair of sneakers…" she trailed off, slowly circled around my 5'5 frame. "She has a good height and she looks slender enough. A few preppy pieces, maybe? Not anything tight, because that might reveal too much. Definitely some Ralph Lauren polo shirts and a nice sweater or two."
Finally, she smiled at me. "Do you wear loafers?"
I frowned. "That's a kind of hat, right?"
"No, it's not. But we'll add some hats in, if you want. How about Bermuda shorts? Do you wear those?"
"Oh, shorts! Of course. I don't like the short shorts, though. You know, the ones that stop right below your underwear and itch like…" I slowed my mouth to a halt, catching the silent exchange between my guardian and my personal shopper.
"I see what you mean, Mr. Chapman." Her voice was a touch sympathetic.
What? Did I say something wrong? Weren't they asking me about the kind of shorts I like?
Rebecca took me by the shoulder and looked at me directly in the eyes. "Don't worry, Alissa. Just leave it up to me. I'll take care of everything, and I'll make sure you look like the stylish-…" She gave me another once over. "I mean, the ordinary young man you're capable of becoming."
Stop fidgeting.
Okay, you can stop fidgeting now.
I glared at my hands. I mean it! Stop fidgeting or I'll pinch you guys until it hurts.
I was nudged by Mr. Chapman just in time to look up and see a couple walking through the restaurant doors.
Mr. Chapman stood up and waved at them while pulling me up to stand beside him.
They waved back excitedly.
When all the 'how-have-you-beens' and 'we're-quite-goods' were done and everyone was seated, Mr. Chapman put an arm around me. "This is her. This is Alissa, the daughter I've never had. Alissa, I want you to meet Mr. and Mrs. McIntyre. They will be helping us keep you safe."
They made a striking pair. Mrs. McIntyre, with her lustrous red hair, her matching little red dress, and her sparkling emerald eyes. Mr. McIntyre, with his silver-streaked raven locks, his expensive suit, and his classical features. They looked so elegant and beautiful that I began to feel inferior in my ketchup-stained shirt.
And then they did something worse. They smiled at me. Big, warm, youthful smiles that crushed every silent hope lurking within me.
They were nothing like I had imagined. I thought they would look like Henry Chapman, my fifty-five year old guardian. Old, wrinkly, white-haired and well… basically, just…old.
Old enough to bribe with hefty pension plans. Or old enough to push around. Old enough to not to notice me escape while they rock themselves to sleep in their quaint little rocking chairs.
You know, that kind of old.
I had been holding on to the tiniest hope that I would find a way to stop Mr. Chapman from making me leave. The knife that had been lodged painfully inside my stomach since yesterday twisted a little further.
"I am so glad to finally meet you, Alissa. We've heard so many charming stories about you from Henry." Mrs. McIntyre clasped her hands in genteel delight. "We're so excited to have you. We only have two sons, you see. Christopher and Matt. Christopher is a year older than you and Matt is in the adorable age of eight. I've always wanted to know how it felt like to have a daughter of my own. Oh, you can call me 'Mother' if you want! That's what Christopher calls me."
"Dear, I think you're overwhelming her. We promised to take this slow, remember?" her husband gently reminded her.
Mrs. McIntyre's embarassed laughter tinkled in the air. "I'm sorry. I tend to go off when I'm nervous or happy."
Mr. McIntyre shot me an apologetic look. "Or both."
"It's okay." I looked down. My hands began to fidget again.
"You can call us Jimmy and Martha. We're not your real parents so you don't have to…" He noted Alissa's awkward movements and tried to make it easier for her. "And just to keep the record straight. We're not as ancient as your old man there. We like hearing people call us the way they used to twenty years ago."
I managed a weak smile.
"Unfortunately, they'll never be able to erase those wrinkles. And besides, yoga keeps me young. I'm as limber as a rubber band," Mr. Chapman leaned in to whisper. That comment earned him a more genuine giggle from Alissa.
"Now then, shall we start dinner?"
I was feeling a bit more myself as I scooped the last remaining ice cream with my spoon and slowly licked at it. This wasn't so bad. The McIntyres seem to be nice people. A bit too rich and a bit too perfect, but quite acceptable. They weren't as high up as I first thought. In fact, they so nice that this calls for a celebration.
I smiled. And that includes more chocolate goodness for me! Yay! I ordered another bowl of chocolate and ice cream and was halfway throught it when I glanced up to see both of them staring at me intently.
I quickly wiped my mouth with a napkin. I hope they weren't checking to see if my lips were brown. And then, as precautionary measure, I took a big gulp of water. Just in case my teeth were brown too.
Mrs. McIntyre smiled. "Oh, don't mind us. We just didn't know you had such a good appetite, dear. It's quite refreshing to see a young woman who isn't on a diet."
"Yyou mean the three bowls of ice cream?" I grinned proudly, forgetting all about my stained teeth. "That's no big deal. Once, I ate a whole bucket in three hours!"
Mr. Chapman kicked me in the shin. "I'm sorry. I haven't always had the time to teach her proper eating habits."
I kicked him back hard. Yeah, but you had enough time to pig out on ice cream with me, huh? You ate 5 bowls only the other day!
He grimaced from the pain. "It is my sincere hope you will be able to instill that in her."
They both nodded immediately.
"Why don't we talk about your son?" I suggested brightly, eager to change the topic. No one was going to touch my ice cream habits. If that day ever came, it would be a gory fight to the death.
"About Christopher?" Mrs. McIntyre beamed. "He's such a darling son. He's in Hawaii right now with his friend Lance. And he is a wonderful brother. If you could only see how he spoils Matt. He has quite a charming face, if I may say so personally. I don't know much about his love life, but if he's anything like his father, he'd be very popular with women."
"Martha…"
"Oh, don't deny it. You had women eating out of your hand! Just like my Christopher would," she faltered. "If he was at all interested in women."
I blinked. "You mean I have to pretend I'm gay?"
Mr. Chapman pinched me on the leg.
Ouch. Ouuch. Oouuch. I rubbed at the reddish portion on my thigh, glaring at Mr. Chapman. What did you do that for? I was simply asking a question!
He glared back at me. "I'm sorry for Alissa. She tends to speak before thinking."
Mrs. McIntyre laughed heartily. "I can see how you would have interpreted it that way but no, my son isn't gay. He already has a girlfriend. He's just not interested in… playing the field, so to speak."
Gee, he's probably a very ugly person then. I wonder if his eyes bug out. Or maybe he has big nose holes?
"Oh, before we forget! We brought something for you," Mr. McIntyre said, bringing out a paper bag. "We thought you might need these."
Ooh, a gift on our first meeting! How generous. I wonder…if I asked them for a new Mac laptop, would they give me one?
I opened the bag and dropped the contents on the table. Hmm. Washable black hair dye, an earring, a remote, and… a long, rectangular piece of cloth? I gingerly picked up the last object and eyed it critically. Now what do I do with this?
"That goes with the small remote. It's your chest-binding device, dear," Mrs. McIntyre told me gaily.
"My what-…?"
Mr. Chapman coughed. "You didn't think your chest would just simply go unnoticed by people, did you? Haven't I already mentioned this to you?"
Uhm, no. You never told me about the part where I have to flatten my breasts, you scatty old man. What else are you hiding from me?
"Don't worry. We made sure it's painless for you to wear." She motioned to the small silver hoop earring. "Now that, Alissa, is what we call a voice emulator. It will basically deepen your voice, just enough for your speech to obtain a masculine quality. Pretty expensive, but I believe it was well worth the price. Earrings are all the rage for young men now. They put it in their left ear for style."
I glanced at Mr. Chapman, who was firmly avoiding my eyes. And I guess you've already mentioned this to me too, huh?
"So if I dye my hair, use the earring, and bind my chest, no one would suspect I'm not Christopher? Not even his friends at school?" I inquired slowly.
"You will enter a different school and no one will know any better."
I tilted my head, doubtful. "What about your family friends? Acquaintances? Business contacts?"
A tense visible silence settled around our table.
It was a minute later when Mr. McIntyre spoke. "Well, Alissa, I'm not sure how to put this into words, but we've never exactly told people that… we had sons."
I stared up at the hundreds of glow-in-the-dark stars dotting my bedroom ceiling.
Two years after my parents died, my eight year old self read from a book that when a star twinkled, it meant her Mama and Papa were winking at her from heaven.
Eager to be under the constant presence of twinkling stars, the young Alissa then had bought as much star stickers after that and began the strenuous hobby of filling her bedroom ceiling in her free time. At the age of eleven, she realized her naiveté in believing a foolish storybook and promptly ceased, never to see the completion of the childhood dream that had given her purpose and hope for three long years.
And because of that, a fourth of my ceiling remains bare of glow each night. Now, as I gazed at the green little shapes above me, the back of my eyes began to sting. I had been left alone in the world when I was six. Now I was being forced to leave Uncle Henry's side and be alone again.
Maybe when this whole mess is done and I'm back home, I'll finish my ceiling as a symbol of independence. A symbol that signifies I had tried and succeeded in standing on my own, without my parents or Mr. Chapman.
I rolled off my bed and walked towards the mahogany glass cabinet in the center of my room where all of my treasured childhood toys were displayed and carefully opened one of the delicate glass doors. I fingered the mangled ear of my favorite stuffed dog when I was seven, skimmed my hand through the dozen Polly Pockets I collected at nine.
The box of plastic soldiers I shared with neighborhood boys at the age of ten… the stack of board games I played with servants when I was twelve… the handmade slingshot I used on ignorant strangers on the sidewalk at fifteen…
At last, my hand rested on the only picture frame I allowed on my room. It had been taken when I was five. Papa was carrying me in his strong, solid arm, and Mama was leaning in to kiss my cheek. Uncle Henry, with more hair and less wrinkles than he had now, was smiling at us from the side.
It was the only picture I had with everyone I loved on it. And like everything else in my life, I had to leave it behind tomorrow.
A tear trickled down and splashed on the frame. Another streaked down my left cheek. I had been near to tears many times in my life, but the last time I let them fall was ten years ago, on the day of my parents' funeral. As one more tear dropped on my hand, I let out a little moan. When had I become so damn weak?
Mr. Chapman found me an hour later, rolled up in bed and still unable to stop the tears from flowing.
"Alissa?" He sat quietly on the foot of my bed. "Is there something wrong?"
I lifted my head up, eyes red and swollen. "Yes. Everything. Everything is wrong."
He raised both hands and wiped my wet cheeks. "I can't remember the last time I've seen you cry. Don't be so sad. You make it harder for me to say goodbye."
"Do I really have to go?" I asked hoarsely. "Can't I stay here with you? I'll do anything you tell me to. I promise."
He chuckled cheerlessly. "Anything? Well, that's a first I've heard from the pig-headed, stubborn Alissa Cartland."
"I wasn't making a joke, Uncle Henry." I stifled a sob.
"I know." He sighed, looking up at the starry ceiling. "If I could keep you safe beside me, I would. I didn't want to tell you this but… I started getting threat messages a month ago. The letters said they were going to take something precious from me and I wouldn't be able to do a thing. I thought it was all a prank, but three nights ago, someone broke into your room. If Mrs. Morris hadn't been walking down the hallway and heard the noise, you would have been dead by now." His voice cracked. "Do you understand, Alissa? If things had gone differently, I would have lost you. I'd rather have you alive and somewhere far away than see you everyday and have you on the edge of death."
"Then I'll sleep beside you at night. Let me stay! I'm not afraid." I leveled my gaze with his, hastily wiping my tears away. Even though I didn't remember a thing, I knew he wasn't lying.
"You're not afraid, but I am. I don't want to risk your life."
When he saw me open my mouth to argue, he firmly but gently cut in, "I'm not changing my mind."
I sat up. "Fine. But this is your last chance. Once I go away, I'm not coming back until they catch the bad guys. Even if you beg me to."
His comeback was filled with tender affection. "You are a professional trouble-maker. After a few months, no one will want you except me, you know."
"Uncle Henry, I want to tell you something," I started hesitantly.
He smiled, urging me on.
"To be honest, I lied earlier… I'm really scared. I don't think I'm ready to die yet."
He wrapped me in a warm hug. "It's going to be okay. We're going to get through this safely."
I rested my head in his shoulder, taking a deep sniff of the familiar, musky scent of his shirt. "This is probably the first time you ever hugged me first. I think I'll miss you very much, Uncle Henry. Take good care of yourself. Don't forget to write to me, okay? And-" I suddenly sneezed. "And...you know what? I think you should change your cologne. It smells really old."
He chuckled, a low and deep rumble in his throat. "I'll miss you too, Alissa. You're the only one who can make me laugh even when I don't want to."
End of Ch 2
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