Diamond Dogs
Chapter Eleven: Lead Us Not Into Temptation
Al studied Tay in fascination. Her friend was sitting opposite her while chewing on a piece of lettuce sensibly. Al had never seen anyone eat so neatly as this shy, innocuous girl who had promptly been waiting for her at 2 o'clock sharp.
Picking up her chicken burger, she stuffed two fries into her mouth before taking a bite into the divine cuisine. Soft sesame seed-covered bun and crispy tender chicken had never tasted so good.
"I envy you," Tay was saying. "You can eat all that and still remain so skinny."
Al eyed the Caesar salad and fish fillet in front of Tay and held in her disgust. "How can you eat that?"
"I just got used to it. Mama doesn't like fast food or take-away much."
"That's crazy!" she said bluntly, but remembered that most women in the elite societal circles dined in style and class. They followed Lianne Conte's example perfectly and with pride. "I don't know how I'd ever survive."
"That's you though, Al. You'll get accustomed to it soon enough."
Al swallowed. "What does that mean?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Tay asked softly. When Al only looked at her blankly, Tay sighed. "You're going to be spending a lot of time with Jon. Dining and socializing are also included in that. I know Mr and Mrs Conte are pretty old fashioned, so you can definitely rule out KFC or Chinese for dinner. I heard they even have their own chefs to choose from!"
So she was going to be left to eat grass and… that caviar stuff? "But I need to have proper meat!" Swimming and volleyball required her to maintain a somewhat normal menu. How would she function properly without all the protein and carbohydrates that she got from burgers and snacks?
"You're so silly," Tay chuckled. "Of course you'll have proper meat. Just not served with what you're used to eating."
Al took a loud sip of her Coke and Tay got the message. Al needed more time to think about this and personally evaluate how much she'd be sacrificing once she didn't get to eat fries and burgers and normal food every other day. Such issues were always important to Alanna Trebond.
They ate the rest of their meal in silence and then Al bought herself and Tay soft cones from McDonalds "for dessert" despite the other girl's protests. When they got up from their table, Al hooked her bag across her shoulders and ignored the way that the top of her head only reached Tay's chin.
They roamed around for ten minutes as Tay cooed occasionally at things she found cute or pretty in the store windows. Al herself hadn't found anything interesting that caught her attention, but she did marvel at the endless amount of people they bumped into that seemed to know her companion.
"Is there anyone you don't know?" she huffed.
Tay grinned and revealed her perfect pearly whites. "A lot of people! I only know most of those people just then because my parents are associates with theirs."
"That'd be such a chore. I can't imagine ever—never mind." A knock rapped on her brain soundly. She herself had become acquainted with too many people in the past few weeks, and she doubted it would stop any time soon. She still had Jon's extended family to meet after all, and that probably included friends of the Contes that mingled with them regularly.
Could someone remind her as to why she had agreed to this engagement again?
Oh hadn't agreed; how stupid of her to forget that she had been forced.
"No one's expecting you to change how you are," Tay informed her. Well, Al thought. Was the girl a mind-reader, or what? "At least, not much anyway. So cheer up! We're here."
Here?
Al's eyes widened when she looked up and found a most despicable sign.
"Whatever happened to 'not changing who I am'?" she accused. Tay only turned red in reply.
"That wasn't so bad!" The Enemy insisted an hour later as Al power-walked her way to the exit. The faster she got out of there: the better!
"Aaaaallllll," The Enemy whined.
Al snarled in distress. "You're more devious than I thought, Taylor Wilima! I can't believe you actually paid for that in advance just so I would do it." Al refused to listen to the voice in her mind that pointed out that she had been craftily guilt-tripped. You're such a loser to have fallen for it! the voice continued.
Tay twisted the silver necklace around her neck and it distracted Al for a split second enough for Tay to lay an imploring hand on her arm. "But you look even better because of it."
Al folded her arms over chest. "It was a violation."
"It was a haircut!" Tay cried and Al could have wept in despair.
"That's why!"
"Hey!" A security guard barked from behind them. It startled Tay and caused the taller girl's chest to bump straight into Al's face. "Keep it down, ladies. Don't want to keep ya for disrupting others."
Tay twirled backward to clasp her hands in front of her in remorse and mortification. She was clearly oblivious to Al—whose slight antagonism had turned into offense at the way Tay's clearly developed boobs had bumped her nose. Sheesh! Just rub it my face. "I'm deeply sorry, sir. We hadn't realized how loud we were getting. My friend and I are just leaving now," Tay said in a surprisingly clear and levelled voice.
Without warning, Tay grasped Al's elbow strongly and pulled her quickly after.
"I can get there myself, you know," Al told her.
The Enemy let go and took a deep breath. She appeared to be trying to relax herself. "As I was saying, the cut suits you. After some blow-drying, it'll be as good as new!"
"Why did you do this? I'm not inclined to believe that you'd just arrange and pay for me to get a haircut at Chitral's Quick Snips just because you're my friend."
"I thought you needed a change, that's all."
There was something fishy going on. Tay wasn't the kind of friend to do this kind of thing out of the blue. Not unless…
"Who got you to do this?" Who wanted to chop off her long, lanky (and dull) hair?
Tay's eyes averted quickly, but not quick enough. Aha! Al crowed inside. "Who, Tay?"
"No one did!" At Al's unimpressed expression, Tay's shoulder sagged. "Mrs Conte."
Al tapped her foot on the linoleum floor of the mall. Somehow, it didn't surprise her. "I would have done it eventually if she'd asked me. It's not like I'm attached to my hair or whatever." It had needed a trimming anyway. It was probably full of those splitting-ends that Cythera kept nattering on about before homeclass. But the hairdresser lady didn't have to cut off that much.
"Would you have really?" The Enemy asked and then faded as she turned back into Al's sly, but understanding pal.
Al pouted. "No. Dammit, but now I sort of look like a thing. Lianne was probably aiming for that anyhow." And the woman knew to ask Tay to get the job done.
"A thing?"
"You know… likeagirl."
Tay giggled and Al noticed the admiring male glances that were sent their way because of the green-eyed creature beside her. "It must be horrifying for you," Tay said shyly.
"As long as none of that chalk goes on my face or anything, then I'll be alright. I have a worn a dress before, you know." And it was one of the most degrading (and not to mention) painful experiences of Al's seventeen years. The people she considered family—namely Thom and George—hadn't let her live it down for weeks after. She shuddered just recalling it.
Tay put a sympathetic arm around her stiff shoulders. "I don't think they'll be expecting that much. You just have to dress well tomorrow. Mass is always a solemn time, and they'll more than likely be introducing you to some important family members. Though, we might need to pluck those bushes you have for eyebrows!"
Al glared and shrugged Tay's long arm off. "No way are you or anyone going to be plucking a single thing off my face. Everyone's lucky that I'm not too worried about my hair... but that's as far as I'm letting this circus go!"
"Circus?"
"Shuddup. Don't you have a movie to watch with George?"
"Really? I don't remember…"
"Well, you do now. Call him and tell him that I want to go home."
Al hadn't thought of how important attending church would be for the Contes. She knew they went; it was common knowledge that Roald Conte and his family were devoted Catholics, just like the many other high-profile families in Corus city. Al hadn't stepped inside a church since she was in fourth grade when her father had decided to pick up his travel-based career.
Thom and she had spent the rest of their pre-teen years hanging out at George's house on Sundays, with his mother—her Aunt Eleni—whipping up stacks of pancakes or creating artistic fruit smoothies and milkshakes for them to endlessly indulge in.
Instead of having Sunday brunch at country clubs like the Wilimas, Contes, Eldornes and Naxens… George, Thom, and her would snack on Twisties and Jellybeans while they wrestled, terrorized the neighbour's pet pigeons, or played "trenches and war" in Aunt Eleni's living room. Her aunt would be in the garage (that had been neatly refurbished to work as her GP clinic), completely oblivious to the racket going on inside her home.
Now, as Al sat on her front porch and watched as the impressive Honda CR-V Luxury pull into her driveway, she knew that her Sundays would change. Instead of lazy, relaxed mornings spent in front of the TV at Aunt Eleni's; it would be consumed at morning mass amongst a family that was not hers and in an environment that she barely tolerated.
Standing up, she consciously wiped the back of her pants and straightened the black cardigan thing that Tay had lent her. Checking to make sure she had her mobile and wallet, she made her way towards the jeep.
"My goodness," she heard Lianne whisper.
She smiled pleasantly at the knowledge that they would not be travelling in the limo with a host of chauffeurs. "Hello." And was that Principal Conte in the driver's seat? "It's just going to be us?"
They both ignored her question as they stared at her in puzzlement. Cracking a knuckle, she opened the back door and struggled to get into the vehicle.
"You look very nice, Alanna," Lianne gathered while her husband laughed at Al's attempts to champion the monster height of the car.
"Hold onto the handle there—yes—and jump."
Al grimaced, and tried two more times before she finally landed her butt on the seat. Checking the legs of her white jeans, she was bemused to see not a single dirt mark.
Lianne had turned around in her seat to inspect Al. "I knew I could trust Taylor. But next time, try to avoid wearing denim."
"There's plenty of time to fix those things," Roald placated his wife. Then he winked at Al through the rear-view mirror and she squirmed a little. It reminded her too much altogether of his son. "Your hair suits you, Al."
"Err, thanks." Al promptly turned her attention outside her window as they reversed from her driveway and got on their way. "Where's Jonathan?"
"He'll be meeting us there," Roald explained. "There were some last minute favours he had to do for his aunt—Gareth's wife."
From the backseat, Al saw Lianne pull out a small mirror and expertly (at least what Al assumed was expertly) applied a coat of lipstick on her mouth. Uninterested, she gave the vehicle a quick once over and smirked at the fact that Principal Conte knew how to drive. It was a detail she found worthy of noting.
Accordingly, public figures like Roald Conte, who had a host of staff to service him, was sort of normal too. Was this the kind of life and family that she was "marrying" into?
Francis had remarked to her the other day that when he thought about it, Al was more suitable to be the groom and Jonathan the bride. It made her feel odd when she thought about how quickly she had come to accept half the things that had happened to her ever since the small chat she had with Mr Olau.
But perhaps that was guilt too. She wasn't blind to some of the crude and spiteful things being said about the Contes now that they had "lowered their standards" and allowed "a ratty tomboy" who wasn't fit for their son—or their family—to enter their ranks. While it didn't offend her, she considered herself a lot smarter these days about her perception of this community around her.
The world of the rich and famous wasn't as shallow as she had believed.
While the non-rich and non-famous alleged that the elites were controlling them… people like the Contes were just in the same boat. They might not be restricted by money and power—but a family controlled by the legalities and senile wishes of their late patriarch and yet also by the media and scrutiny of those 'below' them—was that not politics in itself?
Focusing on the houses they drove past, Al's eyes narrowed as they slowed for the traffic lights and stopped in front of a colossal four-story mansion complete with pillars and a wrap-around veranda.
It was colonial and sat at the very centre of the intersection like a throne. Al knew that the name engraved trimly on the plaque beside the double front doors read Eldorne. She had only been to this place once before, roughly two years ago if she estimated right, but it had left a lasting and confusing impression on her.
Even at seventeen, Al still didn't know what Delia Eldorne had against her. It went beyond distaste for a girl who embodied everything Delia was not. And it couldn't be because Delia was jealous of her: that was absolutely ludicrous.
"We're nearly there," Principal Conte said in relief. Al sunk lower in her seat and wasn't too bothered that the action crinkled her ironed shirt.
This will not be fun.
She was right. As soon as she stepped (read: leaped) out of the CR-V, many of the faces in the parking lot turned to look at her in curiosity. She saw a few expressions of wariness and aversion, and others of open humour.
This was, nevertheless, her first public event with the Contes as a four-unit family.
Tugging her shirt and cardigan down, she resisted the habit of adjusting her baseball cap whenever she entered a place. There was no hat today, only dark red hair that did her no favours in terms of eluding attention. She briefly contemplated getting her hair cut even shorter in the hopes of resembling her brother much more. But Lianne would have her head and she wasn't partial to exposing her neck or her face.
While long hair was traditionally the mark of ladies and feminine girls, Al found that it concealed the parts of her that she deemed personal. Neck, face, shoulders. Even when she mainly tied it up into a ponytail—her long hair had been a trademark consolation and comfort… like a teddy-bear of sorts.
Not that she liked or owned a teddy bear.
Rubbing the soles of her barely-used black flats on the cement, her awareness was irritatingly drawn immediately to the sight of a familiar midnight-blue Porsche parking smoothly in the space besides the CR-V.
When its driver's raven-haired head popped up, Al grunted. The loud noise of the doors being locked grated on her ears mockingly and she racked her eyes quickly over Jonathan's approaching figure. The black slacks and light-blue dress shirt were awfully fitting.
He went to greet her but Al felt a tiny bit smug at the way his eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Good morning, Alanna," he said quickly and turned to whisper something in his mother's ear.
Lianne smiled vaguely and patted her son on the arms gently. "We'll be fine. Don't take too long."
Jonathan faced her again. "You look… different. No dress?"
She scowled. "You have a better chance at killing me first." She shifted uncomfortably as the boy opposite her stared at her shoulder-length locks.
"Is your hair that naturally straight?"
Her eyes darted around at the people milling around to view them like a soap opera. "Would you quit staring?" she seethed. "And since when did my hair concern you anyway?"
If he was surprised by her sudden fire—he didn't show it. The idiot probably knew that it was to cover her embarrassment.
"You always have it tied up. And it looks good different. The fringe was a nice touch."
Her jaw dropped. "You're shitting me! Geez, it was just a haircut!" Twirling around, she rushed to the closest car and checked her appearance in its reflection to make sure it didn't make her look funny. She fussed around with her fringe, but it refused to cooperate.
It fell over her purple eyes to the side and remained as straight and friggin' shiny as the red hair that just touched her shoulders in a straight, clean line.
Crap. "I look like a girl." At least before she looked like a masculine girl. Why didn't anyone warn her that cutting off nine-inches of dry, dull hair and adding in a fringy-thing would make her a freak!
"Are you finished admiring yourself?" Jonathan quipped from behind her. "I need you to put the ring on so we can go inside and actually attend the service."
She ignored him. She was too busy looking this way and that. The lace-and-satin violet shirt had short sleeves and had a string on the sides that tied at the front into a ribbon-like contraption. It brushed the top of her white jeans—that proudly sported her new bling-belt from Doug—and she regretted following Lianne's order to keep the black cardigan-jacket in the car.
It wasn't that hot outside, was it? It was only late September.
Jonathan cleared his throat. "Today, Cinderella."
"Alright, dude," she huffed. "Hold your horses. And I wasn't admiring myself. I was simply checking my appearance and making sure there wasn't anything strange on my face."
"Why would there be? Your face is already strange." Was that humour in his deadpan expression?
Her eyes narrowed. "If that's so, then you should stop smiling. It makes my eyes hurt. Oh! And don't wear blue. It makes you look repulsive." Yeah, smooth comeback, Al, a sarcastic voice jibed. But what she had said was true! His smile and his shirt were mashing her insides to a point that she thought she would be nauseous.
He grinned. The action emphasised the smooth jaw-line that had not a single prickle of hair and showcased his most annoying feature: the dimple on his right cheek.
Looking away, she bitched about life under her breath as she unhooked the gold chain from around her neck. Undoing the clasp, she let the solid gold ring fall into her palm at the same time that Jonathan fished his out of his pocket.
The smooth red ruby and intricate gold cat design stared back at her tenaciously. Al could still hardly believe that the two promise rings she had snooped around and found in her father's study a month ago now resided on the fourth finger of her and Jonathan's hands.
The same rings commissioned by Jasson Conte in his final years. Al didn't doubt the old man's senility.
"Ready to face an hour of sermons?" Jonathan questioned, before he approached his car once again to check the doors and his own pockets. Not knowing how he would react if she pointed out that she was already aware of his condition, she chose to wait patiently as he unlocked, then relocked his car three times.
By the time he was done, she was pretending to admire the physical patterns of the church. She heard his sigh of relief that she hadn't noted anything out of the ordinary. Shaking her head, she silently reprimanded him for not knowing her enough by now that she wouldn't intentionally pick on his OCD.
She might be rough, but she wasn't cruel. And especially not to people who didn't deserve it.
She walked beside him easily as they made their way to the church's entry. "I thought it was more to face a pack of tigers for an hour while in holy ground."
He chuckled. "Figures you'd see it that way."
She replied by poking her tongue out at him. Jonathan Conte was easy to please, but in a difficult way.
"Blessed are you Lord, God of all creation. Through your goodness, we have this bread to offer, which earth has given and human hands have made. It will become for us, the bread of life."
Al looked straight ahead and replied automatically, "Blessed be God forever".
"Blessed are you Lord, God of all creation. Through your goodness we have this wine to offer, fruit of the vine and work of human hands. It will become for us, our spiritual drink."
"Blessed be God forever. I had no idea that you knew any of this," Gary whispered into her ear from her left.
She didn't dare spare him a glance in fear that the hundreds of eyeballs behind her would zero in. "I used to go to church when I was little," well little-er, "so it's a sweet deal that I can actually still remember."
Mr Naxen made a polite sound from Gary's other side to prompt them into being quiet and solemn again. Al obeyed without complaint. Even though she didn't remember mass being this strict (maybe it was just the change of church?), she kept her body still and her breathing relaxed.
It was one of the hardest challenges she had ever faced.
But the familiar presence of being ensconced between two of her friends gave her reprieve. Though, being stuck between two towering giants (again)wasn't her ideal vision—with Jon on her right and Gary on her left—she felt special in a sense being in the middle of the Contes and the Naxens. The seven of them took up and had a pew all to themselves right at the front, save for the four old matriarch-like old women before them.
"Let us pray with confidence to the Father in the words our Saviour gave us."
Schooling her face like stone, she hesitantly lifted her hands and gripped the hand on either side of her. As she recited the prayer she knew since birth, she squeezed the cold hand of Corus High's resident entertainer as he playfully gripped hers tightly.
Moving her left foot to the side, she raised it gently and crushed the foot soundlessly. Gary gave an evident twitch and turned a glare at her from the corner of his eyes before he loosened his grip. She knew that he'd rather have Cythera here, but she doubted they would be demurely holding hands. Those two were like frisky dogs in heat.
Great. Now her name would definitely be engraved on the book for future Hell-residents. Having such indirect impure thoughts was not appropriate. Leaning to her right, she froze when the warm hand of her partner-in-engagement-crime shifted to better slide their fingers together.
Throat swallowing nervously, she focused on the blessed words she was saying and tried to block out the flesh beneath her hands. "Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us…"
What the f---.
Why weren't the air conditioners turned up cooler? At the rate mass was going; she'd be sweating buckets by the time it was over. A painful sensation was tickling her left arm and moving rapidly to the rest of her as if her nerves had been shoved into an electric socket. It reminded her of that time in second grade when she had accidentally electrocuted Thom and herself.
"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."
Were they supposed to let go now?