Where To Run
In A Room Of Mirrors
One:
An Ideal
Time To Come Out
"The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails." - William Shakespeare
"Dea!" Picia declared. The old hag looked up, eyes questioning as she laid out her mistresses clothes.
"Yes Miss?" she spoke strongly with her native tongue coloring her words, her Italian accent unmistakable and her very mannerisms suggesting it.
Picia turned at her dressing table to face her servant, and truest, if not best treated, friend. "I have decided that the thing to do- oh," Picia pulled at one of her voluptuously full petticoats and saw it move too much at her waist. "My corset isn't tight enough, look," She showed Dea, "It moves a full inch!"
Wordlessly, like countless times before, Dea came behind Picia as Picia turned her back on her helper. Dea's quick fingers untied the knot in the corset strings, and loosened the tight weave slightly.
"Breath," the old women said, and the young one followed her order. They repeated the process till the corset's laces were so tight they bunched the fabric of the wearer's chemise.
"There," said Picia, finally pleased. "That's better." she walked over to her dress, and Dea followed. Picia raised her arms, and Dea helped her into it. It was a pretty cream one, with soft pink ribbon tied at her waist and trailing down her side, nearly to the floor. Dea laced up the back with the skill of an old, and well trained ladies maid. She did most of her work by feel, her old eyes half blind from all the work her body had been put to over the years.
"As I was saying," Picia sat on her fainting couch, resting a bare foot on the stool before it, and handed Dea one of her stockings. Dea pulled it up her mistresses leg to the thigh, tucking it under Picia's undergarments, and attaching it to her garter belt for safe keeping.
"Yes miss?" The other leg followed suit, and Dea when over to get Picia's shoes.
"That- oh Dea, the pink shoes! The pink!" Dea again fetched the shoes and put them on for Picia, as she couldn't reach them through the petticoats and corset, and helped her up to stand.
"That miss?" Dea, followed Picia to the full length three view mirror to select the jewelery.
"That sixteen, which is my age, I'll remind you," Picia took out the diamond dangle earrings and put them in, and then a smaller diamond on a brown velvet choker strand and had Dea tie it at the back. "Is a fully respectable age," Picia walked across the room to her dressing table, sat, and began to powder and paint her face sweetly. "To come out."
"Come out!" Dea's strangled cry broke the serenity of the process. Picia could tell that the old woman was outraged, surprised, and even a little hurt. So little did the two bicker that a tone of voice like that was a sure sign someone was ill. "But you are not yet sixteen! Three weeks still!Too young-"
"No I am not!" Picia continued to powder her chest, while quieting her voice. Shouting was only vexing the woman more. "My dear cousin Cecelia is already married, with a child coming! And she got married at sixteen."
"Yes, but-"
"I'll hear none of it!" Picia took up her rouge, and dabbed that across her cheeks delicately. "If she was married, then I will be too!"
"Too young!" Dea began pulling back Picia' fair, snow shite curls. "Your great great great great-"
"great great great great great cousin Antheodora got married and got killed, yes, yes I know!" Picia laughed at the old women, and stopped her painting. " Honestly, do you think I'd pick someone so violent?"
"You may not mean to," Dea began again with Picia's hair, as her turning had undone all her work. "Un uomo mostra il suo vero carattere di sua moglie, cinque anni dopo il matrimonio di lei."
"What was that, Dea?"
Dea looked up, panic in her gaze for an instant. Picia knew that she was afraid to answer. She looked down, putting the silver combs in Picia's hair. Finally, she responded.
"A man shows his true character to his wife five years after wedding her. Sulpicia, Be careful."
" I hate to be called that!" Picia exclaimed. After the echo had left the room, Picia finished. "You see, My dear Ildea, I am a fabulous judge of character!" Picia stood up, and walked out of the room, calling back, "And I know my husband will be too!"
Picia sat In her piano room, at the couch, drinking her tea, waiting.
Everyday, Picia did the same thing. Ever since the night of her first concert, she had waited. She didn't touch a key until her wait was over.
Really, it didn't matter to the sender, but it mattered to Picia. After that concert, after she'd gotten the first thing to wait for, she'd fired her teacher. She knew enough, really to teach herself.
And did she ever! She played every morning, and it was beautiful. The street said so every day. People, hearing it as they drove, came to the door even, to meet the player. Picia was flattered that they thought to complement her so, but she did not play for any of them. She played for herself, and her stranger.
Thinking of it, Picia looked to the clock. Ten past ten. Her waiting would be over in three minutes.
One.
Two.
Three
A maid heard the door ring, and fetched it. Then, the maid came softly into the room.
"Letter for you, miss. And a parcel." Picia thanked the maid, and her to set the letter and package down on the piano's cover. She drank her tea till the maid left, and then, she jumped up so fast the tea cup spilled out. Picia cared little for it, as it hadn't stained her dress.
She raced to the letter, tore open the seal, and read happily.
My dear Sulpicia,
Inclosed is a piece I think you'll find quite enjoyable. I know you'll play it beautifully.
It is a rare day, an implausible one, when you don't play amazingly.
I think you're quite correct, sixteen is the right age to be married, or at least start trying.
For Dea to be worried about something so pointless just shortens her lifetime.
Also inclosed is enough money to buy a book which I think you will find
most intriguing. Go to the bookstore on Bronx street, and ask the keeper about a book
set aside by Polidori. You'll just have to give him whats inclosed, and anything left is
yours to keep.
I hope to hear you play soon.
Signed,
Your Stranger
Quickly, Picia picked through the box to find the sheet music. It was always hand written, but neat enough to read well.
"Chopin," She read aloud, "Waltz in C sharp minor." Picia sight read the piece before playing. Once confident, she placed the music on the stand, and began to play.
The piece started quite peppy, lively yet still poetic. Runs led into a more mellow sound, though it still retained the speed and life of before. It grew fainter, slower, and then could you see the true beauty in the piece. This sections simplicity created an emotion deeper then the other. It picked up again, faster and faster, almost out of control, till finally, it returned to the original. This time, though, It was more pointed, more, full. It faded again, into a soft run of sheer complexity. The scale was left, incomplete. It left the player, the listener, waiting for more.
She played it again and again, till it was perfect. Memorized, and completely one with her. And then, slowly, she took the music to the fireplace, and dropped it in the flames. Next, she took the box, opened the widow, and set it outside on the ledge.
Picia then turned, holding the letter and the enclosed money tightly, and walked to prepare to go out.
"Dea! Kitty!" she called, rushing up the stairs, "Come help me with my clothes! I'm going out!"
The bookstore was filled with dusty tomes and newly bound novels, everything possibly written could be found here, among the shelves and shelves of words and countless pages. Though Sulpicia was interested in all the books, there was only one she was there for.
His.
Picia walked boldly to the shop keeper.
"Goodda'i, miss," he said, turning to greet her. "An' what may I do for you t'day?"
"I have had a book set aside for me, and I'd like to buy it now."
"Right yer are. What's it called?"
"I don't know the name, but the author is Polidori."
"Eye! Here it is." The keep ducked beneath the counter, and came up with a red bound book with black lettering.
"How much?" Picia handed him the money. The keeper's eyes widened.
"Miss," he said, "This is far to much."
"Then take what it costs."
"This here you handed me is over two hundred more then I need!"
Even Picia was shocked at that. She knew though that the shop keep was perfectly honest, quite kind of him, as he could have taken it all and bought his family a good meal, or himself a drink.
"Well then," She took the money back. "How much is it?"
"Five and a double quarter." he took the money and began to wrap the tome in brown paper, customary in stores. Then, once his task was complete, he handed her the book, which she took.
"Thank you, for both your help and your honesty."
"Welcome, miss. G'day now."
"Goodbye."
Picia then walked out to her carriage, and after directing the coach to go home, gladly tore off the paper, and quickly cracked opened the book. Again, out fell her letter, a short note, small and to the point.
It read,
Sulpicia,
It's quite a fine day, at least, to my knowledge it is. None the less, there seems
no chance of rain. Why not take your lunch at the restaurant in the park in the afternoon?
I hope you enjoy the novel, I believe it to be one of my favorites, and maybe
Yours as well.
Signed,
Your Stranger.
Ps.
As I said before, the exes money is yours to keep. But on further thought, why not buy a
ballgown? If you're to be coming out, you will need a pretty dress. Just go to the boutique
ask about the clothes set aside for yourself, and buy whatever you feel is fitting. I realize that the
money given may not be enough, so an account is opened there, the expenses covered on my behalf.
Go before you go to the park.
As always, Picia knew she would follow stranger's advice. She always had before, and there was no reason not to now. She tapped the top of the coach, and opened the small window at the front.
"Excuse me, driver," Picia asked, "But can we go instead to the boutique in town?"
"Is the misses buying a dress?"
"Yes." She sat back, the window closed, "I think I shall."
When the coach reached the boutique, Picia was nearly done the first chapter of the the novel. It was not a long book, but was one of the supernatural. The last was a book of fairy-tales from Germany, something by Grimm, she thought. The letter for that had directed her to read 'Cinderella', and then the rest, which is exactly what she did.
The coach driver came to the door, knocked and then opened it.
"Miss Picia," he said, offering his hand, "We've reached our destination."
"Thank you." Picia closed the book, using the letter as her bookmark, and was handed out with poise.
Once on solid ground, Picia flounced out her dress, straightened her bonnet and took her para-cell when the driver handed it to her.
"Thank you." Picia said, sweetly. "Please park the coach close, as I'll be out in but a moment."
"O' course, miss. Will you be needing an escort to the store?"
" I think not." Picia walked off, the coach driving to find the nearest space, and if that failed, would circle the block.
Picia started walking the small distance, enjoying the weather.
"Stranger," Picia said, to herself, " You're right, the weather is quite fine."