"Don't grunt, Rhiannon, and sit up straight. Now, what happened at school to make you bust your knuckles so badly? Does it have something to do with that boy?"
Rhi sighed. Her teenage instincts--those she shared with nearly every other seventeen-year-old in the world--resisted telling her mother things with the stubbornness of a slighted two-year-old, but having no one else to talk to....(you could always talk to Matt, her brain hissed; she mentally told herself to shut up) Mom wasn't a bad choice.
"Matt's girlfriend doesn't like him to have female friends. It's not a big deal, really, she's just being..." immature, selfish, snotty, bitchy, piggish, blonde, dumb, ridiculous, infantile, bratty, impudent, idiotic, self-centered, a jerk... "obtuse," Rhi finished, popping a fry into her mouth. "And she and I don't get along, so it's not easy hanging out with him."
"No, I suppose not." Ms. Abernathy didn't sound convinced or unconvinced either way, and Rhi hoped she'd change the subject. She hoped for too much. "Isn't it about time for Prom, or the Spring Debutante ball or something like that?"
"Something like that, I'm sure." Rhi took another big bite of burger to avoid being made to say more.
"Are you going?"
"Prol'ly not."
"Why not?"
"Who would I go with?" Rhi retorted, swallowing.
"What about this Matt?"
"All well and good, Mom, except, remember that whole bit about his girlfriend?"
"Is she bothering you, Rhiannon? Is there trouble with you two at school?"
"April is absolutely nothing I can't handle," Rhi growled, like a hunting cat with steel teeth.
"That's not what I asked. I know you can handle yourself, and anyone else besides. What I asked--"
"It's fine, Mom. Please, believe me--it's nothing."
"All right." There followed a few moments' silence while Ms. Abernathy finished her french fries. Wiping her fingers on a paper napkin, she took a deep breath and said, "Well, maybe I have something that might make you feel better." She retrieved her purse from the kitchen and produced a glossy magazine, which she flipped through expectantly and presented to her daughter. An estate catalogue, Rhi saw, with some very impressive antiques in it. Ms. Abernathy pointed to a Tiffany-style lamp with a shade decorated in jewelled flowers. "I saw this at the collector's preview of this sale today, and thought you might like it. What do you think?"
"It's very nice, Mom--" Rhi stopped, her attention inexplicably drawn to a tiny thumbnail photo on the opposite page. Squinting, she asked, "What's this?"
Ms. Abernathy bent over to look, then sighed. "Magnificent, isn't it? None of the other appraisers could agree on how old it must be, but I'm sure it's from beyond the eighteen hundreds. There's nothing in the house quite like it, though the previous owners had several old chests--steamer trunks and hope chests and whatnot--in the same style, but none of them were half as old. The frame says baroque, but there's no way that mirror can be that young."
"Are there flaws in the glass?" Rhi asked, almost startled to hear herself speak. In the photo, the full-length dressing mirror looked absolutely perfect, its silvered surface gleaming like water in the flash of the photographer's camera. The frame was dark and moody like oak, but soemthing told Rhi it was made not of wood, but metal.
"Strangely enough, no. The materials used, however, went out of fashion in the late eighteen-fifties. Of course I couldn't open it up, but I'd almost bet money that the back is either mercury or pure silver, not polished tin or nickel."
"Who bought it?"
"No one, isn't that odd? It's a monster, to be sure, taller than you--but there's structurally and design-wise, nothing wrong with it. Carol could barely tear me away from it, it was almost mesmerizing. I wish you could see it, but there's light etching and chasing along the frame in a very distinctive pattern. I sketched it--" Ms. Abernathy produced a steno pad with a couple pencil-line drawings on it-- " and I swear, I was nearly hypnotized by the time I was done."
Rhi stared at the skeletal drawings, strangely fascinated. Though Ms. Abernathy had the same precise and detailed eye all of her colleagues when it came to the items they bought and traded, these drawings were unusually fine, as though the graphite on the page could at any moment rise into the third dimension and become real.
"It's still up for sale, Rhi..." Mom's voice broke in, and Rhi was startled to realize her nose was inches from the notepad.
"Really?"
"Yeah, and since tomorrow's the last day of the sale the lawyers will want to get rid of a lot of things...do you want me to see if I can't get my hands on it?"
"Sure....wow, Mom." Rhi laughed, a trifle embarrassed. "It's...kinda wierd, but I really really want that mirror."
"Oh, hon, if you could have seen the looks some of the other appraisers gave it--one of those Pottery Barn snobs was staring at it like a side of beef! It's that style that isn't really appropriate for many of the mainstream catalogues, but I think our firm will ok my nabbing it."
"Ok, cool..." Rhi popped one of the few remaining fries into her mouth, eyes still on the sketches and the little photo in the sale catalogue. She couldn't remember being so excited about an object in a very, very long time.
Rhi sighed. Her teenage instincts--those she shared with nearly every other seventeen-year-old in the world--resisted telling her mother things with the stubbornness of a slighted two-year-old, but having no one else to talk to....(you could always talk to Matt, her brain hissed; she mentally told herself to shut up) Mom wasn't a bad choice.
"Matt's girlfriend doesn't like him to have female friends. It's not a big deal, really, she's just being..." immature, selfish, snotty, bitchy, piggish, blonde, dumb, ridiculous, infantile, bratty, impudent, idiotic, self-centered, a jerk... "obtuse," Rhi finished, popping a fry into her mouth. "And she and I don't get along, so it's not easy hanging out with him."
"No, I suppose not." Ms. Abernathy didn't sound convinced or unconvinced either way, and Rhi hoped she'd change the subject. She hoped for too much. "Isn't it about time for Prom, or the Spring Debutante ball or something like that?"
"Something like that, I'm sure." Rhi took another big bite of burger to avoid being made to say more.
"Are you going?"
"Prol'ly not."
"Why not?"
"Who would I go with?" Rhi retorted, swallowing.
"What about this Matt?"
"All well and good, Mom, except, remember that whole bit about his girlfriend?"
"Is she bothering you, Rhiannon? Is there trouble with you two at school?"
"April is absolutely nothing I can't handle," Rhi growled, like a hunting cat with steel teeth.
"That's not what I asked. I know you can handle yourself, and anyone else besides. What I asked--"
"It's fine, Mom. Please, believe me--it's nothing."
"All right." There followed a few moments' silence while Ms. Abernathy finished her french fries. Wiping her fingers on a paper napkin, she took a deep breath and said, "Well, maybe I have something that might make you feel better." She retrieved her purse from the kitchen and produced a glossy magazine, which she flipped through expectantly and presented to her daughter. An estate catalogue, Rhi saw, with some very impressive antiques in it. Ms. Abernathy pointed to a Tiffany-style lamp with a shade decorated in jewelled flowers. "I saw this at the collector's preview of this sale today, and thought you might like it. What do you think?"
"It's very nice, Mom--" Rhi stopped, her attention inexplicably drawn to a tiny thumbnail photo on the opposite page. Squinting, she asked, "What's this?"
Ms. Abernathy bent over to look, then sighed. "Magnificent, isn't it? None of the other appraisers could agree on how old it must be, but I'm sure it's from beyond the eighteen hundreds. There's nothing in the house quite like it, though the previous owners had several old chests--steamer trunks and hope chests and whatnot--in the same style, but none of them were half as old. The frame says baroque, but there's no way that mirror can be that young."
"Are there flaws in the glass?" Rhi asked, almost startled to hear herself speak. In the photo, the full-length dressing mirror looked absolutely perfect, its silvered surface gleaming like water in the flash of the photographer's camera. The frame was dark and moody like oak, but soemthing told Rhi it was made not of wood, but metal.
"Strangely enough, no. The materials used, however, went out of fashion in the late eighteen-fifties. Of course I couldn't open it up, but I'd almost bet money that the back is either mercury or pure silver, not polished tin or nickel."
"Who bought it?"
"No one, isn't that odd? It's a monster, to be sure, taller than you--but there's structurally and design-wise, nothing wrong with it. Carol could barely tear me away from it, it was almost mesmerizing. I wish you could see it, but there's light etching and chasing along the frame in a very distinctive pattern. I sketched it--" Ms. Abernathy produced a steno pad with a couple pencil-line drawings on it-- " and I swear, I was nearly hypnotized by the time I was done."
Rhi stared at the skeletal drawings, strangely fascinated. Though Ms. Abernathy had the same precise and detailed eye all of her colleagues when it came to the items they bought and traded, these drawings were unusually fine, as though the graphite on the page could at any moment rise into the third dimension and become real.
"It's still up for sale, Rhi..." Mom's voice broke in, and Rhi was startled to realize her nose was inches from the notepad.
"Really?"
"Yeah, and since tomorrow's the last day of the sale the lawyers will want to get rid of a lot of things...do you want me to see if I can't get my hands on it?"
"Sure....wow, Mom." Rhi laughed, a trifle embarrassed. "It's...kinda wierd, but I really really want that mirror."
"Oh, hon, if you could have seen the looks some of the other appraisers gave it--one of those Pottery Barn snobs was staring at it like a side of beef! It's that style that isn't really appropriate for many of the mainstream catalogues, but I think our firm will ok my nabbing it."
"Ok, cool..." Rhi popped one of the few remaining fries into her mouth, eyes still on the sketches and the little photo in the sale catalogue. She couldn't remember being so excited about an object in a very, very long time.