Wow, took me long enough. I apologize, seriously, for the delay. It's been a mess. I've been caught up with school, too many meetings at work, and Seth's been spoiling me. I went back to Scotland with him for a while (I love Scotland) and then we went on a sort of inside tourism through Italy (actually we were visiting my family). I come back home and my computer blows up. I have to buy a new one and start all over again. Including with this chapter. Then Seth, miraculously, recovers all the stuff from the old computer, and that was that. Really frustrating. If only I had done a backup from the very beginning… I am a moron.
Did I mention I watched the season finale? I was going nuts, I couldn't wait for it to come out over here, so I downloaded it! It was so goooood. Can't wait for next season.
This chapter's soundtrack: "Clarity" by John Mayer, "La valse d'Amélie" by Yann Tiersen (from the Amélie score), "Mary" by Supergrass, and "You're the only one" by Maria Mena.
And by the way, if you're wondering about any underlined terms, the definitions or explanations you will find at the end of this chapter in respective order.
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The Beginning of the End
-by La Gioconda
Chapter Six – The Devil on the Wall
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All the way to Jordan's house, Joan had to endure Erika and Grace arguing about something very, very stupid, Jordan talking about how much she missed her hometown, and Adam being his usual silent self. When they got on Piedmont Street, Joan instinctively took a quick glance around the garden of the yellow house, where the past weekend God had passed as a gardener. Of course, no one was there.
Jordan pushed through the door of the fence surrounding the property, leading her mates into the well-kept garden of her house. Joan looked around in awe, momentarily forgetting the recent events she was still grumbling about. It was as if they had stepped into the Secret Garden, except that it had been compressed into some 1400 square feet.
"Your house is big," Erika exclaimed, looking up at the edification. The house was a light yellow three-story Victorian-style house.
"Too big," Jordan said with a shake of her head. "Requires too much maintenance, and we can't afford help. We have a cleaning lady, but she only comes twice a week."
"Then how come you bought this place?" Adam asked.
"It was a present from my grandparents. They sold the family villa in Toscana for a really good price, so they bought this place for us. They said we had to have a roomy place for when they come visit."
"Roomy is an understatement," Erika said.
"I wish my grandparents gave me presents like this," Joan said with a chuckle. They walked onto the front porch and Jordan pulled out her key to open the stained glass-paneled door. Once inside, they took their coats off and hung them on the coat hanger. Joan looked around the foyer. The decoration was simple but according to the style of the house, and she noticed mostly the paintings hanging from the walls, and many valuable-looking objects. She got a very odd feeling, like she was in a museum, and she had to be very careful walking around.
Piano music floated from some other room in the house. Jordan slid open the double doors on the right and led them in. It was a large study room, with the opposite wall covered by shelves of books and more valuable objects, comfy armchairs, a computer area, and a glossy black grand piano near the tall windows. From one wall hung an abstract painting that Joan recalled from one of her mother's art books. Kandinsky, she thought, still not seeing what the big deal about those multi-colored circles was.
A girl was sitting at the piano, eyes closed, obviously very focused as she played a beautiful piece that sounded familiar, but Joan couldn't quite tell where she'd heard it before. Jordan approached the piano and looked at the girl.
"Ciao, Giulia," she said.
The girl's eyes snapped open, and she stopped playing and looked at them. Joan and the others nearly gasped. She was identical to Jordan in every possible way, with the sole exception that her dark blond hair was straight. She surveyed the group with her green eyes.
"Buona sera. You interrupted me," she replied in an even tone.
"Sorry," Jordan said with a grin.
"You do not interrupt me when I am inspired."
Jordan cocked an eyebrow. "You were playing that theme from Amélie."
Giulia's steely eyes narrowed. "Are you done?" she asked with a polite coldness.
"Dove sta mamma?" Jordan asked.
"Galleria di arte," replied Giulia, and before Jordan could say anything else, she launched into Mozart's The marriage of Figaro, pounding the keys in a frenzy, which clearly told them "go away". Jordan, however, wasn't done nagging her.
"My friends: Grace, Adam, Joan and Erika," she said over the music, pointing at each of them. "Guys, la mia sorella, Giulia."
"La what?!" Erika raised her voice over the music, too.
"My sister!" Jordan answered as loud.
"Oh! Nice to meet you!"
"Affascinato," Giulia replied, still playing. Jordan finally rolled her eyes and beckoned her friends to follow her up the stairs.
"You guys aren't twins, are you?" Adam asked as they climbed the staircase to the second floor, the music getting farther. Joan thought it was pretty obvious they weren't. Jordan made a face, as if scared by the very thought of it.
"No. Giulia is two and a half years older," she replied. "She's in the music conservatory. She's a pianist."
"No shit," Erika said in mock shock.
"I don't know much about music, so I can't really tell. Is she good?" Grace asked.
"Well, she's no Bach, but she's great. Her mentor says she's the most likely to get a scholarship for one of the big orchestras."
"Joan plays the piano, too."
Joan froze on the spot and turned to look at Adam. He had something of an omniscient smile on his face, and Joan tried to smile back politely. "It's a hobby, Adam. I'm not a pro," she answered through gritted teeth. Jordan gave her an appraising look and opened the door to their right.
Upon entrance to Jordan's room, the first impression was that it was far from a stereotypical teenage girl's room. The decoration was calculated and sober, quite in accordance to the rest of the house, but fresher and brighter and a bit girlier, what with the lavish light yellow on the walls, the burgundy accents and the eclectic mix of artwork. Part of one wall was a mural of framed black and white photographs, beneath which was a desk cluttered with books and sketchpads and several pencil boxes. There was a comfy-looking armchair near the window, cluttered with burgundy cushions, and a large travel trunk that doubled as a table. Sitting on a space above the closet were three foam mannequin heads wearing various jester hats, Mardi gras masks and colorful feather boas, and next to the closet, on the corner, was a full-length stand mirror.
"Ladies and gentleman, welcome to my Arcadian sanctuary," Jordan said, and proceeded to throw her bag onto the bed, where it landed on a pile of clothes. The double bed had a wide and tall headboard and a bedspread a darker shade of yellow to match the curtains and carpeting.
The others put their bags on the floor near the door and stared around. If ever Joan thought her room was eclectic, it was nothing compared to Jordan's. Apart from the black and white pictures, there was an original-sized copy of the Mona Lisa hanging over the headboard. The closet doors were covered in posters of all sorts, including Foo Fighters, Sum 41, Coldplay, Grand Tomahawk and some Italian bands she didn't know, and a large team picture of the Juventus, plus a fairly big poster of one good-looking player called Del Piero. On top of a stout bookcase sat a wrought-wire figure that looked like a leafless tree, and on the wall beside it hung a Pop art-looking painting of (Joan did a double-take) a devil, and a round silver disc about the size of a dinner plate, which turned out to be an Aztec calendar.
"Okay, make yourselves comfortable," Jordan announced.
"Sure thing," Adam said, and promptly plopped down onto the armchair, knocking off a bunch of burgundy cushions. "Oh, sorry," he said, but didn't move to pick them up.
Jordan leapt onto her bed, knocking off some cushions herself. There were so many. Joan came to sit at the edge of the bed.
"Hey, you play the violin!" Adam said, pointing to a violin case sitting on the trunk. Jordan shrugged and smiled humbly.
"Well, I'm no , that's for certain."
"Wow, this is one artistic family. What does your mom do?"
"She's a curator. Art is her specialty. That's where my affinity comes from, I suppose," Jordan replied. "And that's where the decoration of this house comes from, too."
"Wow, I'm gonna have to talk to your mom," Adam commented. Jordan grinned.
"I've told her about you. And your work, of course. She says she has got to see it, because it sounds awesome."
Adam blushed slightly. Joan frowned at him. She turned her attention away from him and stared in fascination at the Mona Lisa.
"That," Jordan began, noticing Joan was looking at it, "was a present from Dante. I don't know why, he calls me La Gioconda. Last time we were at the Louvre was the day before we went our separate ways, and he bought it for me."
"I hope he doesn't call you that because he thinks you look like her," Grace commented. Jordan shook her head vigorously, as if not even wanting to think about it.
"That would be mean; the Mona Lisa is quite ugly, don't you think?" Erika put in, examining her reflection in the mirror.
"No, don't say 'ugly'. Say… 'rare beauty'," Adam suggested. Erika and Grace smirked in his direction. "Okay, Rove," they said almost in unison. Adam pouted.
"Who painted that?" Joan asked. Jordan looked at her a bit strangely.
"Um, I think his name is Leonardo da Vinci."
Joan realized she had still been staring at the Mona Lisa when she made the question. "Actually, I was asking about that devil," she corrected, pointing at the painting beside the bookcase.
"Oh. I did," Jordan replied with a proud grin.
"Mystic," Adam said, taking a closer look. Joan went to look at the photographs. They were all amazing. She was able to recognize Jordan in some of them.
"Did you take these?" she asked. Jordan stood beside her and shook her head.
"All these are Dante's work."
"How come you have them?" Grace asked. Jordan didn't reply. Joan and Grace looked at each other awkwardly.
"Oh Dio, where are my manners?" Jordan said suddenly, shaking her head slightly. "Would any of you like anything to drink? I have Pepsi, 7up, Fanta, Yoo-hoo, whole milk, half-and-half, non-fat, non dairy, raspberry juice, orange juice, tomato juice, coffee, mocha latte, cappuccino, espresso, black tea, herbal tea, tap water, bottled water," she paused to take a breath, "you name it, we have it. Just use your imagination."
"O…k…" Grace said, pretending to be dizzy. "So not to complicate you, I'd like a Pepsi."
"Same here," Erika said. Adam and Joan nodded in agreement.
"Wow, you guys have no imagination," Jordan teased. "How about something to eat? We've got pretzels, tortilla chips, dips, crackers, cookies—"
"Ok, Jordan! You bought the whole supermarket. We get it. Pepsis will be just fine, thank you," Erika interrupted. Jordan pretended to be hurt.
"And here I am, trying to be a good host."
"And we appreciate it, but don't overdo it. Need any help?" Erika asked. Jordan grinned and said no. "I'll be right back," she announced, then exited the room.
Joan continued to stare in fascination at each picture individually. They were good, and remarkably beautiful. Joan didn't know much about artistic photography (or any other sort, for that matter), but she knew what she liked. And she had always thought black and white photography was cool; it seemed more poetic than color photography. Joan found herself thinking back to the day she had seen God in the park, with His fedora hat and large format camera. The things He had said about photography, she had only just figured out what He'd meant, about the eye of the beholder. Joan realized, with a tinge of pride, that maybe she was finally beginning to understand art.
"Wonder who that is," Adam said. He was looking at a framed picture sitting on Jordan's nightstand. It featured Jordan herself and a dark-skinned boy with short dreadlocks, hugging and smiling. Joan wondered who it was, too, but she was not going to ask; she had bad past experiences butting into other people's lives. The guy could turn out to be a dear friend who died, and Joan could be responsible for upsetting Jordan by reminding her of him.
It's possible, Joan thought. I am that unlucky.
"Well, we should get down to business. We don't want to have zero work done, should some unforeseen commitment arise later," she said, trying to sound commanding, but unable to hide the boredom in her voice.
"Like what? Piano lessons?" Grace joked. Joan didn't even have the energy to think up a comeback. She went to Jordan's desk to get a pen, and caught sight of two printed sheets of paper sitting there, on top of a teetering tower of books. One was written in Italian, so she couldn't understand it. The other one was in English; it looked like an essay. The title read "The Lost Man." Out of impulse, Joan began to read the contents.
"Ahem," someone cleared her throat. Joan froze and turned on her heel. Jordan stood there. She hadn't even heard her come back into the room.
"That's private, Joan," the girl said in almost a whisper. Her expression was serious, but she didn't look mad. Nevertheless, Joan felt bad for being nosy.
"Sorry," she muttered, avoiding her eyes. Jordan smirked and said it was fine. The others didn't even notice what was going on. They were busy arranging Jordan's numerous cushions into makeshift seats around the tray of drinks and potato chips Jordan had brought in. The girls joined them and they got to work. But Joan couldn't help thinking about what she had read.
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A little over an hour later, they were all getting ready to leave. They had surprisingly gotten all the work done, and even been able to type most of it in the computer. But closing in on six o'clock, they began gathering up their stuff. Jordan's mom was at the PTA meeting, so there was no dinner in the house, and since no one had any money to order takeout, they had to go to their respective homes now if they wanted to catch supper. Joan groaned, assuming there was no food in her own house, either, since Helen was at the PTA as well, and everyone had bolted the house after the big blue cheese bomb.
"Well, I'll finish typing up the assignment and bring it tomorrow to school," Jordan was saying as everyone got their coats and made for the front door.
"Alright. I gotta go see Troy," Erika said stepping outside.
"Your 'undercover' boyfriend?" Grace asked with a smirk.
"No, the movie," Erika replied. "Gotta go catch it before they stop playing it in theatres."
Grace was dumbfounded. "Oh."
"But Troy's coming with me. Oh, I see the irony now!" Erika exclaimed rather comically. The others smiled in amusement.
"Ciao, then. See you tomorrow," Jordan added, waving as they walked down the path and crossed the garden. Joan reached the fence and pushed the door open, letting Grace and Erika through first, as she looked back to have Adam catch up with her. He was still standing with Jordan on the porch, and they were whispering. Involuntarily, Joan twitched. Jordan reached for something in her pocket and discreetly handed it to Adam. It looked like a folded piece of paper.
"You coming, Girardi?" Grace asked.
Joan unclenched her jaw momentarily.
"Be there in a second." Her eyes were glued on the scene taking place on the front porch of the Canavaggio residence. For what seemed like too many minutes, Jordan and Adam looked at each other, smiling. Then he finally turned and waved goodbye over his shoulder. Jordan lingered for a moment, then went back inside the house.
"I'm starving," was the first thing Adam said as soon as he reached Joan on the curb. Joan stared at him, disbelieving of what just happened. What had just happened?
"I need food. I'm going home," Grace said.
"Same here," Erika agreed, and the group set off down Piedmont Street. They chattered sporadically until they reached the main road, where they unceremoniously said their goodbyes and went separate ways, each heading to their own home. Joan hadn't even walked ten feet, when a black Mercedes nearly rammed her as she was about to cross the street.
"Hey!" she yelled automatically, gesturing furiously at the driver. "I'm walking here!"
As expected, the driver jumped out of the car. It was more like a limousine chauffer, outfitted with suit, kepi and all. He looked worried, mumbling an apology as he approached her, but stopped as the back door of the car popped open. A boy about a year older than her stepped out, straightening to a height of nearly six feet, wearing a catholic school uniform and a snobbish look on his face.
"No worries, Tom. I'll handle this," the boy said, patting the chauffer on the back. Tom, the chauffer, turned on his heel and promptly went back into the car.
Joan glared daggers at the boy. "Your driver's nearly run over me."
The boy shook his head. "Didn't your mother teach you to look both ways before crossing a street?" he responded smugly, a slight accent to his voice.
Joan's nostrils flared slightly. "Are you calling me dumb?"
"I'm saying that, after she's been telling you since you were six, you should know it very well by now. Mother knows best, right, Joan?"
Before Joan could recover from the shock, God was leaning on the hood of the car casually. "Good thing Tom's still got sharp reflexes. Now, where were you going exactly?"
"Gee, I don't know. Home?" Joan retorted, getting her voice back, and crossed her arms firmly, perhaps to keep herself from punching Him.
"In that state? No wonder you nearly got run over."
Joan took a deep breath. This was turning into the worst day. "What do you mean 'in that state'? What state am I in?"
God shrugged. "You tell me," He stated simply. Joan snorted. "Oh, ok. Because you don't know," she replied cynically.
"It doesn't matter if I know. It matters if you do."
"What am I supposed to know?"
"That it's better to know for sure than to be in doubt."
Joan blinked a couple of times. "Okay. I'm lost."
God sighed. "Why do you like to make assumptions about everything? It's neither good nor healthy. You have a knack for misinterpretation." Joan blinked again, but she was only pretending not to know what He was talking about. She knew very well.
"Misinterpret? What is there to misinterpret?"
"You know, for someone who's been studying and doing homework all afternoon, you have learned nothing."
Joan glared at God again. With the blond hair and the uniform's dark jacket and tie, He looked remarkably like a Prince William of sorts. Though much more obnoxious; and not as cute. "Just for your information, it's very difficult to take you seriously when you look like a pampered little brat prince."
God smirked. "You wanna know what's going on? Maybe you'd want to stop beating around the bush and ask the person you say you trust," He said, emphasizing the word 'say'. Joan took another deep breath.
"Adam?" she asked, knowing that was whom He meant. "You're not serious, are you? Why would I want to butt into other people's business? Everyone keeps pointing out what a bad habit of mine that is."
God didn't reply. He just turned on his heel and made to get back on the car. "Need a ride?"
Joan looked to her left, in the direction Adam had gone. She could still see him, getting further away.
"No, thanks," she said. "Tell your driver, wherever you might have gotten him, to be more careful. Or I might have to sock him next time."
"Why? Do you plan to continue crossing streets recklessly? I'm telling you to be careful."
Before she could snap at Him, Joan willed herself to leave and she sprinted after Adam. God stared after her for a moment, then climbed back into the car and told Tom to take it away.
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I did a little research on this term or name. It is actually both. Arcadia is a region of Greece, in the Peloponnesus, where people lived a simple, content life, mostly because they were disconnected from the rest of the world. Also, Arcadia is the name of a bunch of cities in the United States, for example, there is one residential suburb called Arcadia City in Los Angeles, (that's southern California, people, I used to live there and I actually had a few friends who lived in Arcadia, one who, freakishly enough, is named Joan. I suppose she gets teased a lot now, but I wouldn't know, haven't spoken to her in ages). But Arcadia, as a concept in a religious or supernatural context, is a synonym for heaven, utopia, paradise, Eden, the afterlife, Shangri-La, wonderland, Zion, kingdom come, nirvana, promised land, seventh heaven and many, many, MANY more. So in this case, what Jordan said has a sort of double meaning.
I just had to put that in. Grand Tomahawk reigns!!! (For those who don't know, it's a band formed recently by a group of friends, including Gavin and Cristina a.k.a Tough Cookie, both of whom partially inspired a couple of characters you'll meet later.)
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Again, I am soooooo sorry for the delay. I've had so much going on, but I was determined not to put this story in hiatus (though, technically, I did). So congratulate me for persevering (I mean that, please. I could use a boost of confidence).
Thanks to Mike, as always, for his help and support. Thanks to Seth for fixing my computer. Thanks to my friends for keeping me sane. Thanks to Joey for reminding to continue with the story (God knows, I need a human agenda to remind me of things, I should start paying her for it). Thanks to Anne for keeping in touch. Big thanks to Jake for the inspiration and compliments (and for being so darn cool). And last but not least, to the reviewers. My fellow JoA fans, you're the best.
[ In the darkness ]