A horn sounds below, coming from the street, and she rolls over,
sighs. Another horn sounds, followed by sirens and faint shouting. Her brow
furrows in sleep and her fingers twitch suddenly as she wakes. Shifting
onto her back, her neck elongates and she stretches, feeling warm and
content and not noticing the small sense that something is different.
Traffic sounds increase and then her body stiffens; why can she hear the
cars and people so intently? Her eyes snap open and she gasps silently,
gazing at the high ceiling and warm sage-green walls. As her gaze moves
downwards she sits up, taking in the expensive overstuffed chairs and
perfect pale-wooden desk. The full-length mirror is draped with scarves and
hats and necklaces, and the closet is open, hinting at its fullness and the
rich treasures within. A beautiful guitar is propped up against the desk,
and papers covered in scribble are scattered around on the floor. A chest-
of-drawers is tastefully piled with boxes for makeup and jewelry, with
another mirror resting on top. Everywhere are colorful books and jewelry,
all organized by a firm hand but scattered by a teenager. Every direction
yields a feast of clothing, bracelets, makeup, and draping objects for the
eyes. A door leads to a yellow bathroom, and the windows are huge, offset
by deep window seats, lending gobs of light to the amazingly perfect room.
She pinches her arm absently then laughs at the cliché as the skin throbs, red and very real. As she rubs the arm her fingers curl under one another and she stops, closing her eyes and taking in a shuddering breath. Then she looks down at the arm and laughs again, in disbelief, at its size. Pulling away the heavy white covers, she leaps out of the black iron bed and runs to the full-length mirror, marveling at her long, thin fingers and arms. Suddenly she reaches the mirror, and as she gazes into it she can't believe what she sees.
A stunningly gorgeous girl looks back at her. Around 16 years old, the beauty's hair tumbles, burnished gold, into wavy locks around her shoulders. Large eyes widen, displaying their irregular jewel-toned azure and turquoise shading. She wrinkles the long, straight nose and light freckles dotting the smooth, pearly skin scrunch together as her golden brows crease. Her body is tanned, strong, and slim, with swanlike, slender limbs. Long legs with shapely calves finish the picture, as her wide mouth opens, then hangs in disbelief. She fingers the hair with trembling fingers, noticing its length (so much longer than it was before), when she suddenly sees a bright blur in the mirror. Turning around to make sure, she quickly crosses to a tall window, catching sight of the back of a lemon- yellow taxi. Then her nose presses against the spotless window as she takes in the scenes on the street.
She looks down three stories, peering past ivy-covered red brick, to the tree-lined street. Across the way, neutral-colored and brick-covered town-houses nestle against the street. Their clean stoops wait, impressive and forbidding, behind black gates. Dark, expensive sedans and small, sleek convertibles line the dark-paved street. A tall woman in designer work-out clothes walks a dog on a Burberry leash. A young man speeds past on a vermillion Vespa, and taxis dart through the lazy traffic like tropical fish. Her eyes drift upwards and her shoulders drop as she realizes the tall buildings are close, and continue up up up for many stories. Fifth Avenue, New York, New York.
Then her nostrils flare and the scent of pancakes waft into the room. Her lips curve into a slow, toothy smile and she moves towards the closet, searching for a robe. Right behind the door hangs a light, flower-patterned dressing gown and she marvels at its softness as she opens the door to the hallway. Stepping out onto the landing, the deep, bright red walls stun her with their richness. She moves past expensive-looking chairs and tables, glancing at the artwork on the walls, not pretentious in the least. Then upon reaching the stairway, she bites her lip before carefully setting her delicate hand on the oiled wooden banister. She tucks the robe around her slim frame as she descends, the enticing smells intensifying as she moves to the next level, then to the next staircase.
At the bottom, slightly out of breath, she bites her lip again, searching for the kitchen. She passes through high-ceilinged rooms filled with chairs, tables, paintings, a beautiful grand piano. Then she reaches a narrow corridor, painted in boring off-white tones. Following the smell of bacon, she reaches a gleaming kitchen, composed of high ceilings, dark granite, and a brushed silver stove. Copper pots dangle over the island, large knives nestle in their holders, and a riot of colorful fruits and vegetables spill over the middle of the countertops. A tall, dark-haired woman in a neat suit stands at the stove, cooking something in a frying pan. She turns at the sound of the honey-haired girl, and she smiles, pushing her short hair behind her ears.
"Well, good morning sunshine!" she chirps, jokingly, and turns around again with the spatula in her hand. She moves the pancakes onto a large plate as the girl's face scrunches in puzzlement.
"Mom??" she queries, her voice pitched low but squeaking slightly in bewilderment. "What are you doing?" She gestures towards the suit, but the woman turns again, waving the spatula in the air.
Laughing, she rolls her eyes. "I know, I know, when was the last time I cooked, right? But I decided I would just go in a little later today. What's the point of running your own company if you can't bend the rules a little bit? After all, it is Saturday."
The girl opened her mouth as if to say something but stopped. "Ok, mom."
"Hey, Liv."
"Mom."
"What are you doing today? Now that you are done with finals and everything. What time is that party you were going to?"
Liv sucked in her cheeks, pretending to think, then shrugged.
"Well why don't you call Sam or Keisha. You girls could go to Bendel's, get your makeup done, have lunch. Then tell Dad if you want the car or if you'll take a taxi."
Liv nodded quickly, and with an "ok, Mom," she sat on a bar-chair at the island and helped herself to a small stack of pancakes, trying not to think about what was going on. Just sit back and enjoy the ride, Liv, she told herself.
She pinches her arm absently then laughs at the cliché as the skin throbs, red and very real. As she rubs the arm her fingers curl under one another and she stops, closing her eyes and taking in a shuddering breath. Then she looks down at the arm and laughs again, in disbelief, at its size. Pulling away the heavy white covers, she leaps out of the black iron bed and runs to the full-length mirror, marveling at her long, thin fingers and arms. Suddenly she reaches the mirror, and as she gazes into it she can't believe what she sees.
A stunningly gorgeous girl looks back at her. Around 16 years old, the beauty's hair tumbles, burnished gold, into wavy locks around her shoulders. Large eyes widen, displaying their irregular jewel-toned azure and turquoise shading. She wrinkles the long, straight nose and light freckles dotting the smooth, pearly skin scrunch together as her golden brows crease. Her body is tanned, strong, and slim, with swanlike, slender limbs. Long legs with shapely calves finish the picture, as her wide mouth opens, then hangs in disbelief. She fingers the hair with trembling fingers, noticing its length (so much longer than it was before), when she suddenly sees a bright blur in the mirror. Turning around to make sure, she quickly crosses to a tall window, catching sight of the back of a lemon- yellow taxi. Then her nose presses against the spotless window as she takes in the scenes on the street.
She looks down three stories, peering past ivy-covered red brick, to the tree-lined street. Across the way, neutral-colored and brick-covered town-houses nestle against the street. Their clean stoops wait, impressive and forbidding, behind black gates. Dark, expensive sedans and small, sleek convertibles line the dark-paved street. A tall woman in designer work-out clothes walks a dog on a Burberry leash. A young man speeds past on a vermillion Vespa, and taxis dart through the lazy traffic like tropical fish. Her eyes drift upwards and her shoulders drop as she realizes the tall buildings are close, and continue up up up for many stories. Fifth Avenue, New York, New York.
Then her nostrils flare and the scent of pancakes waft into the room. Her lips curve into a slow, toothy smile and she moves towards the closet, searching for a robe. Right behind the door hangs a light, flower-patterned dressing gown and she marvels at its softness as she opens the door to the hallway. Stepping out onto the landing, the deep, bright red walls stun her with their richness. She moves past expensive-looking chairs and tables, glancing at the artwork on the walls, not pretentious in the least. Then upon reaching the stairway, she bites her lip before carefully setting her delicate hand on the oiled wooden banister. She tucks the robe around her slim frame as she descends, the enticing smells intensifying as she moves to the next level, then to the next staircase.
At the bottom, slightly out of breath, she bites her lip again, searching for the kitchen. She passes through high-ceilinged rooms filled with chairs, tables, paintings, a beautiful grand piano. Then she reaches a narrow corridor, painted in boring off-white tones. Following the smell of bacon, she reaches a gleaming kitchen, composed of high ceilings, dark granite, and a brushed silver stove. Copper pots dangle over the island, large knives nestle in their holders, and a riot of colorful fruits and vegetables spill over the middle of the countertops. A tall, dark-haired woman in a neat suit stands at the stove, cooking something in a frying pan. She turns at the sound of the honey-haired girl, and she smiles, pushing her short hair behind her ears.
"Well, good morning sunshine!" she chirps, jokingly, and turns around again with the spatula in her hand. She moves the pancakes onto a large plate as the girl's face scrunches in puzzlement.
"Mom??" she queries, her voice pitched low but squeaking slightly in bewilderment. "What are you doing?" She gestures towards the suit, but the woman turns again, waving the spatula in the air.
Laughing, she rolls her eyes. "I know, I know, when was the last time I cooked, right? But I decided I would just go in a little later today. What's the point of running your own company if you can't bend the rules a little bit? After all, it is Saturday."
The girl opened her mouth as if to say something but stopped. "Ok, mom."
"Hey, Liv."
"Mom."
"What are you doing today? Now that you are done with finals and everything. What time is that party you were going to?"
Liv sucked in her cheeks, pretending to think, then shrugged.
"Well why don't you call Sam or Keisha. You girls could go to Bendel's, get your makeup done, have lunch. Then tell Dad if you want the car or if you'll take a taxi."
Liv nodded quickly, and with an "ok, Mom," she sat on a bar-chair at the island and helped herself to a small stack of pancakes, trying not to think about what was going on. Just sit back and enjoy the ride, Liv, she told herself.