Chapter 1: Here's Looking at You Kid

Sathandra self-consciously pulled her hat lower trying to further conceal her face which was already masked from mid-forehead to cheekbone by a pair of Ray-Bans. She was out shopping with her mother who insisted that they needed separate tea sets for afternoons spent indoors and those spent outdoors. I don't know why I even agreed to do this. Isn't it her fault in the first place that I can go out without being mobbed? She grumbled to herself.

Sathandra felt a tap on her arm and turned to see a saleslady smiling brightly like one of those Barbie dolls her mother liked to collect. (Well, it couldn't exactly be called collecting, because if it was then her mother would be a collector of practically anything and everything under the sun, including packs of tissue paper from the airplane!) "Excuse me, ma'am, would you like to take a closer look at these fine figurines," the saleslady asked, "They are made in France." Sathandra felt puzzled by the woman's statement until she realized that she had seemed to be staring at the glass cabinet filled with the figurines because of her shades, whenin fact she had been discreetly surveying the customers and other people in the shopping gallery to see whether they had discovered who she really was.

She quickly thought of an appropriate response that would keep the woman from being suspicious. "Oh, I think they are lovely. I've been trying to figure out whose particular design was used for the one at the top shelf. The style seems familiar."

"Ah yes. It's a masterpiece René Lalique. A very rare item. Lalique is often more mass produced, but there are only five of these in the world," the saleslady replied enthusiastically, certain that she had finally found a buyer for this extremely expensive piece of merchandise.

Sathandra felt like hitting her head on something, not excluding the saleslady's head. All she had wanted was for the saleslady to think that she was politely uninterested and was only window shopping. Oh yeah, she suddenly remembered, mentally whopping herself on the head, people don't come here to window shop. When they see something, they buy it. Why in the world did her family have to make so much money? She wanted to just cry and melt into the floor.

As if all the gods had conspired against her, she suddenly heard the voice that made her horrible day worse than horrible.

"Yoohoo! Darling! Jamesina Judith! Over here!" All the heads in the place turned to stare at the woman who was causing this loud commotion. Sathandra imagined herself melting and fervently wished that she had suddenly turned into the Wicked Witch of the West so that it could truly be possible. Definitely worse than horrible, she thought. Then as if the gods had decided to lay the final blow upon her, the trademark of their jokes, she heard the start of those blasted murmurs. "Isn't Jamesina Judith the real name of Sathandra Westlake? I just watched the interview on the Entertainment Channel last night…" "That's right. I was wondering why it was so familiar." "I want an autograph." "You think she'll agree to have lunch with my grandson?" "Or mine?"

Sathandra decided then and there that her new idol and favourite character was the Wicked Witch of the West. Even here! I mean these people are the insanely rich and they're still after me. I mean if they're so rich don't their sons, grandsons, and great-grandsons already have women to bear their children for them? Sathandra shuddered and quickly walked to her mother's side. She took a firm hold on her mother's arm and pulled her to a brisk walk heading outside of the shopping area.

"Mother," she said reproachfully. "Please don't use that name in public. I'll agree to let you call me that at home if only you'll stop yelling my name out loud for all the world to hear," she murmured vehemently.

Katharine, her mother, looked aghast. "Why, my dear! Are you not proud of your name? It is wonderful, isn't it? It was my grandmother's name. She was named Jamesina James."

"Yes, I've heard about all of this already mother. You say it every time a moment like this comes up." Secretly Sathandra wondered what kind of woman would consent to becoming Mrs. Jamesina James. I mean, come on, mother's grandfather's name is Arthur James. It's a normal name, but honestly his wife Jamesina was too in love with him to notice how it affected hers. Bleh! Love! When I get married…IF I get married…which most likely will not happen since I might end up like mother who has no romantic life whatsoever…IF I get married, I'll make sure I like how the man's name goes with mine. If I don't like it, I'll make him change it. Ha!

"Dear, what are you thinking?" Sathandra jumped back from the surprise caused by her noticing her mother's face's sudden close proximity to hers. "Uh…nothing really, Mother. Only about love and how it can ruin a person's name. What's wrong?" Sathandra was alarmed. For a moment there her mother's face was a mask of pain that had gone smooth as soon as she noticed.

"Nothing really. Just tired." Sathandra could tell that her mother was forcing the cheerfulness again. It was as if some words just triggered certain emotions that her mother never seemed to have, because most people thought that Katharine Persis Johnson was a lucky woman who was never anything but bright and cheerful. Her mother never ticked until the word 'love' came up. That was why Sathandra had a very long mental list of what she expected from love and how she would deal with these things if the moment ever arose. One day, she decided, she would write a comedy about it.

Her chauffer-bodyguard was waiting outside with the car. Sathandra quickly towed her mother into the car, hoping to escape from being recognized and therefore mobbed…again.

As they were heading back home to their wonderful mansion, the chauffer Edmund addressed her mother through the rear-view mirror. "Madam, Your sister, Miss Dorothea has sent word to the mansion that the preparations are finished." Katharine nodded and answered, "Good. Have someone watch over Dorothea's house while Sathandra stays there. Make sure they are well-concealed so as not to attract attention," Sathandra looked at her mother in surprise, "and that they guard all the entrances and exits, including the windows and the chimney," Katharine finished. Edmund nodded in reply then moved his eyes to look at Sathandra. "Miss Sathandra, your fencing sword is in the blue duffel bag along with your wrist guards and your unstrung bow—"

"Remind me again why you feel the need to bring those when you probably won't be using them for a whole month," Katharine interrupted. Sathandra rolled her eyes and answered, "Because! Hmph!" She turned away from her mother and told Edmund to continue.

The chauffer took it all in stride, already used to such exchanges between mother and daughter. He continued solemnly, "—and along with your training clothes and first aid kit—"

"First aid kit?" Her mother screeched. "Jamesina Judith, why do you need a first aid kit? Do not tell me that you will continue to do dangerous and rigorous training while you are spending time polishing your ladylike skills with your aunt!"

"Fine. I won't tell you," Sathandra answered, "But you can't make me leave my gear at home for a month. Gramps always said that if I neglect training for more than a week, I'll get out of shape and I'll start losing to Derrick in fencing, then I'll be forced to accept his dinner invitations!"

"What is wrong with accepting them?" Katharine asked coolly.

"Everything! He tries to get me to become his girlfriend so he can show me off to those no good good-for-nothings he calls friends."

"Surely, they're not as useless as you make them out to be!" Katharine said disbelievingly.

"Oh but they are, Mother. They're men," Sathandra answered with full belief in the validity of her reason.

"SOOO?"

"So…" She looked at her mother straight in the eye, "So…Isn't that reason enough?"

"I don't think so. Well at least in my book it isn't." Katharine replied steadily.

"Then isn't it reason enough that Gramps said I had to keep training."

"I don't believe he said that exactly. He left you to choose and merely strongly encouraged you to continue training." Katharine snapped open her purse, rummaging through its contents. "Oh where is that face mirror?" Sathandra pulled her mother's hand out of the purse and stuck in her own hand. She immediately withdrew it with the small item in her palm. She sighed, knowing that once her mother decided to change the subject, she had no heart to insist anymore. "Mother, just please let me do this. If not for me then for Gramps. It was important to him." Katharine looked away and gazed outside the window. Without turning her head she answered quietly, "Very well. Even if it already has been eleven years, I am not so heartless as to deny my daughter her joy in keeping alive her beloved grandfather's memory. Indeed he was more of a father to you than Stephen will ever be, but please try to do what your aunt tells you to. She only does this for your own good. If only she would consent to live with us, I would feel so much better."

Sathandra could barely stop the grin that was threatening to appear on her face. Keeping her voice under control she answered mildly, "Thank you, Mother." In her excitement, she did not notice the small smile on Katharine's lips.

After that they were silent for the whole trip. When the car finally stopped in front of the mansion, Sathandra sighed happily as she could finally relax. She stepped out of the car and took off her cap, letting her luxurious mahogany brown tresses cascade down her back. She also carelessly pushed her shades upwards to sit on her head like a tiara, revealing lovely bright green eyes that shone with golden specks in the light. Her beautiful face was further complemented by a classic aristocratic nose and high cheekbones, and many people would give anything to have her complexion, a light tan which made her look quite golden. But this was often the bane of her existence in her line of work; she was a little too popular and too envied for her looks, even among other actors. As far as she was concerned, she would gladly take up the plain Jane look any day. That way she could have peace and quiet and her mother would stop attempting to make her stop her fencing and such since she would be hopeless to work on anyway. But no such luck existed for her. Her mother was devastatingly beautiful as well, only she had auburn hair and she was quite freckled because of porcelain white skin that refused to tan. The green eyes with golden flecks were definitely a Westlake trait. Her grandfather Jarred Woodrow, alias Jarred Westlake, had eyes like those and so did her brother Jered and Aunt Dorothea. She did wonder where she got her golden skin though. Nobody in the family had golden tan skin. Not her father, not her mother, not her brother, or aunt or grandfather.

"Ah! Tres magnifique!" Sathandra looked up into the eyes of Vivienne Larivière, her personal clothes designer. (Yes, she had a clothes designer. Her mother was a little too particular with her wardrobe. As if she couldn't choose nice clothes on her own.) "When I see you, I feel…" Vivienne moved her hands trying to find the right word. It was understandable since one could tell from her strong accent that English was not her first language. Vivienne inhaled deeply then exhaled, "inspired." Sathandra felt like gaping although she should have been used to it right now, Vivienne's loss for words that did not seem too difficult to remember just seemed a little too absurd. No offence to Vivienne of course. To say that she was Sathandra's designer was too much of an understatement most of the time. For all that Vivienne was a talented designer, she was just as old as Sathandra—twenty years of age. And since the famous Sathandra Westlake could not count on other people she knew to be her real friends she had struck up a close friendship with Vivienne. They were both very familiar with the other after being friends for nearly two years, but Sathandra still could not shake off the thought that Vivienne was a tad bit too forgetful and unmindful of the language spoken by most of the people around her. Not that Sathandra did not understand Vivienne when she wasn't speaking in English. The prep school she had attended had required French speaking classes.

But putting all that silliness away, Vivienne was a marvellous girl. Always bright and sunny, she declared daily that when she saw Sathandra or Katharine she was inspired. (Weird wasn't it. She seemed to say that word everyday but still seemed to forget it every time she was trying to say it. But Sathandra had decided long ago to pay no attention to it since it seemed to be one of Vivienne's greatest joys—remembering the word, that is.) And most wonderfully, Vivienne was beautiful. No, Sathandra was not a heartless snob who only stuck with pretty people. She loved Vivienne's beauty because for once she felt normal. Among other people, she had always stood out, but not so with Vivienne. She was blond—an almost white blond—and blue eyed. Like a perfect Barbie only much prettier and she had incredibly fair skin to go with her light-colored looks. When Sathandra and Vivienne would go out together, people would often exclaim that they were seeing the princess of the day and the princess of the night—Vivienne was light-haired, light-skinned, light-eyed and Sathandra was dark-haired, tanned, and had darker eyes. Between the two, it was sometimes hard to decide who the prettier girl was. Sathandra's mother took pride in showing off her darling daughter as the loveliest girl in town, but Sathandra couldn't help but feel guilty because she was relieved every time someone declared that Vivienne was prettier than she was.

But I am Sathandra Westlake, she thought as she entered the mansion arm in arm with Vivienne, I am the Princess of Actors and Actresses, and that's what makes me different from Vivienne. I have a name to live up to because I am a Westlake.

People believed that great things were in store for her. Why not? She was beautiful, multi-talented, educated, refined, and she was Jarred's granddaughter. To be a Westlake was to be Hollywood royalty, and Sathandra was royalty in every way. Even all her viewers and critics thought so too. She did not get into scandals, she did not drink and take drugs, she attended all functions with decorum. And yet how could someone be so perfect? I am perfect, Sathandra thought bitterly, on the outside. How can I be fully perfect anyway? My grandfather who was more like a father to me disappeared without a word, leaving me to my mother who never shows me how she really feels so that I can open up to her and my father who is barely at home and when he is I barely see him. My mother and father are practically only living under the same roof just so that the money doesn't leave the family. They don't even share a room! What kind of family is this. And Jered? Jered, he was the only one in the family I had left to talk to and he's gone. It's been a month and they all say that he eloped with some girl he must have met somewhere. Couldn't take the pressure of having to live behind the shadow of his princess sister. Why would they say such things. Jered is responsible and he would never do such a thing. He loves me and wouldn't ever leave without saying goodbye. A tear slipped down her cheek, unnoticed. Vivienne who had been chatting away gaily was startled and apologized remorsefully, "I am sorry, cheri. Will you forgive me for what I said that made you cry?"

Sathandra was startled and pulled back from the arm of her friend. "Making me cry? Why, you didn't do anything wrong, Viv! I'm alright, you see."

Vivienne was not convinced. "No, there is something not right with you. I can feel it. You were like this since…Je—your brother disappear. The servants say you were like this when your granpa also disappear. You come out and tell Vivienne the truth. I will listen."

Sathandra sighed. "You keep on insisting that something is wrong with me. I'm fine, Viv," she just wanted Vivienne to stop asking, "Aren't you the one we should be worrying about? Jered's missing. And I don't see why you continue to attempt not saying his name even to his face. You're the one who didn't even tell him you loved him before he disappeared. Look at what happened. If you had, he probably wouldn't have run off with that other girl everyone's talking about!" Vivienne looked stricken, and Sathandra immediately regretted her words. In anger, she had hurt her best friend's feelings and lied about hers. Trying to correct her mistake, she placed her arm on Vivienne's elbow, "I did not mean it like that," she said hastily, "I just wanted to—" Vivienne shook her head. "No it is okay, mon cheri. You are right," she took a deep breath, "I did not tell him and it is too late. It is probably my fault that he went away. I was too pushy and clingy and I never even call him by his name. It is always 'you' or 'Sathandra's brother' or 'Mr. Johnson'. He probably hates me now." Vivienne started to sob quietly, and Sathandra in all her guilt could do nothing but put her arms around her heartbroken friend. "Shhh…It's alright. Nobody could hate you, you know. You're wonderful. You're so cheerful and helpful. You're kind and beautiful. He'd be a fool not to like you. And besides, I don't really think he ran off with another girl. He's just probably off somewhere earning his way in the world just to please you. I mean you know him, and I think he would do anything for you." Vivienne's tears subsided a little and she said in between hiccups, "You really think (hic) so? (hic) He always (hic) said (hic) that out of all the girls (hic) he knows, he likes (hic) me and you only." Sathandra nodded and held her friend close. She would not let Vivienne see her cry, she could not.