With the gauntlet laid down, the twins’ future was in their own hands. Friday came and went and there was no drama between Portia and her sister.
Portia spent the afternoon getting ready for her Valentine’s night with Marcus. She sat in front of the vanity for over an hour, carefully curling her hair.
“Portia, can I borrow your curling iron?”
“When I’m done.”
“Hurry up, I’m going out to dinner with Nate.”
“Nate Perry? You don’t even like him.”
“Whatever,” scoffed Phoebe, "you don't know anything about me at all."
Portia readied herself for Valentine's and then went downstairs to wait.
"Woo-wee," exclaimed her father, "don't you look beautiful?"
"Why, thank you, daddy."
Portia carefully situated herself at the edge of the recliner, careful not to wrinkle her dress. She patiently waited for Marcus, seated awkwardly on the chair.
Compared to the afternoon-long preparations of Portia, Phoebe's hour in front of the vanity seemed fleeting. She half-skipped down the stairs, posing on the landing.
"How do I look?" she asked.
"I've got two princesses right here in my living room."
"Yes, but what about me?"
"I just said you look like a princess."
"But what about ME?"
"You look beautiful."
"I know."
Phoebe made a call on her cellphone.
"Is Nate there?"
She paused a moment.
"Hey, it's me. I'm ready whenever you are."
After a moment, she spoke again, "Okay, I'll see you in a few minutes."
Nate's black mustang rolled to s stop in front of the house.
"Ta ta," said Phoebe as she flitted out the door.
Portia's legs fidgeted as she watched television with her father.
"Go ahead and call him."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"I'll look desperate."
"Just call him to see when he'll arrive."
Portia thought about it for a moment, then decided to text him again. A reply came about ten minutes after her first text.
"He says he'll be here in about fifteen minutes."
Portia leaned back into the recliner as she waited. Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five minutes passed before Marcus arrived. When a knock came upon the door, Portia jumped to her feet.
"Sit down, I'll get it."
Mr. Gatteau opened the door. As he opened the door with one hand, he checked the watch on his other.
"Just a little late. Where have you been?"
"Time got away from me."
Marcus invited himself into the house, squeezing between Mr. Gatteau and the side table next to the door.
"Let's go," he offered a hand to pull Portia to her feet. As she looked to his hand, he offered up a single pink rose.
"Aww, that's so sweet."
Marcus kissed her gently on the cheek as he escorted her to the door.
"Bye, daddy," said Portia.
The ride to the restaurant was strangely romantic. Portia leaned her forehead on the window and counted the streetlights passing overhead. Smooth jazz played on the radio.
"Do you know who's p laying on the radio?"
"Nah."
"I really like it."
Marcus turned the car onto a secluded drive, passing a security guard at the gate. Portia lifted her head to look across the parking lot. Dull orange light from mercury lights reflected off the surface of the Allegheny river. Square spots of light dotted the windows of skyscrapers in downtown Pittsburgh. Marcus pulled the car to the front of the restaurant and gave his keys to the valet.
"Snazzy."
The interior of the restaurant was opulent, with dark teakwood, Chinese lanterns with white cotton gauze, and constructed steel chairs.
"If you will follow me," instructed the Maitre'd.
White linen tablecloths were adorned with all forms of silver and china. Two forks and two knives sat upon a cloth napkin. A soup bowl was stacked upon two serving dishes. A soupspoon was balanced facedown on the bowl's lip. A saucer and coffee cup sat to the right. A champagne flute, wine glass, and drinking glass bordered the top edge of the place setting.
"Oh, thank you," replied Portia as the Maitre'd held the chair for her.
Portia felt as if everyone were staring at her. She also felt like she did not belong. The place was 'uppity' in her opinion. Still, she liked being pampered for once.
The menus were tall and lean. Entrée prices were written out – fifty, sixty, seventy, seventy-five. Portia picked one of the cheapest she could find at forty-five: Veal Scaloppini.
“She’ll also have the Shiraz.”
“No, I want a large soda.”
The waiter was pleasant enough, but Portia knew he was looking down at her.
The maitre d' said nothing as he served the veal and soda. Portia quietly ate.
“How is it?” asked Marcus.
“Good.”
Portia thought about the college admissions office as she sat in silence.
“I want to take Biology this spring.”
“Aren’t you in Biology already?”
“I mean Community College.”
“There you go again.”
“This class is only $50.”
“Fifty dollars for one Biology class?”
“That’s what it said in the admissions office: lab fees $50.”
“That’s just the lab fee. You have to pay for the all five credit hours plus you have to buy two textbooks. That’s closer to $500.”
“Oh.”
"It isn't cheap, even if it is community college.”
Portia was relatively silent for the rest of the meal. She wondered how she could ever afford college if it was $500 for just one class.
“I’ll need all kinds of financial aid. Could you help me?”
“You need to just wait, Portia.”
Portia tapped her fork on the ridge of the plate. The noisy clanking filled the empty restaurant. Many of the other guests glared at her. She carefully returned her fork to its place beside the knives and placed her hands on her lap.
“Let’s go,” said Marcus.
Portia nodded meekly.
The ride to Marcus’ apartment was quiet, too. Portia was consumed with thought. She took his hand as they crossed the parking lot to his apartment. He held it only briefly, digging his hands into his pockets.
“I’m cold,” he said.
His brother Darren was in the living room, sitting on the couch. Marcus sat beside him and Portia sat beside Marcus.
‘You want to go to my room?” asked Marcus.
Portia shook her head.
“You want something to drink? Beer? Wine?”
“Maybe some water.”
Darren dug a small plastic bag and a hash pipe out of his pockets. He reached over to the end table and picked up a small knife. He used the blade to clean out the pipe before packing it with a fresh pinch of weed from the plastic bag.
He inhaled deeply as he lit the pipe. When Marcus returned, he stood next to Darren.
“What are you doing?”
“Come on,” said Darren with a cough.
“You know she doesn’t smoke. Besides, you know I don’t like it and it’ll ruin her voice.”
“It’s just a little smoke. It’s not going to hurt anything.”
‘Take it to your room.”
“It’s alright,” said Portia.
Portia breathed carefully. The pot smoke tickled her throat until she let out a tiny cough.
“Come on, Portia, let’s go to my room.”
Marcus took Portia by the hand and led her to the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed and turned on the television.
Marcus sat next to Portia and grabbed her by the chin. He turned hr face to his as he kissed her firmly.
“Come here, baby.”
Portia turned away.
“What’s the matter?”
“Your brother is in the other room.”
“He can’t hear us.”
“No, Marcus.”
Marcus pressed up against her, moving his hand from the bed to her knee and up her thigh. Portia squirmed a bit, then relented. Marcus moved his hand further up her thigh until Portia jumped up to her feet.
“What’s the matter?”
“You know I’m not ready.”
Marcus stood up.
“Then I guess you’re not ready. Come on, you gotta go home.”
“What? Just because I said ‘no’?”
“Yes, just because you said ‘no.’”
They cut through the living room, Portia following Marcus as he made a beeline for the door.
“See ya later,” said Darren.
Portia waved back. Marcus impatiently waited with the front door held open. Portia went outside and he slammed the door shut. He led her to the car and turned it on, hardly waiting for Portia to get inside before driving away.
“Marcus…”
“No,” he interrupted.
“I keep telling you this, Marcus.”
“Shut…it…off.”
The rest of the ride, Portia remained silent. Marcus pulled in front of her house, let her our, and then drove off without another word. Portia went to her room, also without a word.
“How was your night?” asked her father.
She ignored him. He did not ask her again. He was either too drunk or too involved in watching whatever was on the television. It all made Portia so mad. She grabbed her bird book and went to her little reading corner. Tears filled her eyes as she tried to read.
She was only a dozen miles and three hours from where she had been, but it was a totally new world. There were no fancy table cloths and paper lanterns. There was no romantic boyfriend. Instead, there were bars on all the first floor windows and a cramped bedroom she shared with her sister.
She had not even taken off her fancy dress. Now it was wrinkled and stained. She was Cinderella at five past midnight.
She buried her head in her arms and sobbed until Phoebe arrived.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Yeah, nothing,” repeated Phoebe. She sat beside her little sister and moved Portia’s head onto her shoulder.
“There you go. Now what’s wrong?”
Portia knew this other side of Phoebe, too. This was the sunlight between clouds. The part that said ‘no matter what, I’m still your sister.’
“Can I just tell you later?” asked Portia.
Phoebe nodded as she squeezed Portia tightly. They sat there in the dimly lit room until Portia fell asleep. Phoebe helped Portia into her bed and then she went to bed, too.
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