The autumn air was crisp and the sky overcast. The tall white and grey trunks of the birches were beginning to show as the leaves dropped from the trees.
Dorian Lord's mood matched the underlying bite in the climate. She smashed her purse onto the small table in the foyer of La Boulaie as she clutched a copy of Craze magazine and shouted into her cell phone.
Her unaffected but concerned campaign manager, Amelia, followed behind her, a sleek black briefcase in one hand and a day planner in the other. The younger woman noted that the floor had been mopped and the room smelled of citrus. She looked around as she waited for Dorian to get off of the phone.
"I told you to print the Nuage Onze layout! … Well, we could have delayed his until after the election! I don't care. … Then I would have told him to shove it, which is exactly what I'm telling you! … No, I don't want … you know what? Neh-eh-eh! Don't even! … You're fired!"
Dorian didn't even bother to hang up. She tossed her phone to the corner of the room. It remained intact as it hit the wall, but busted open, sending the battery flying, as it hit the floor. She clenched her fists and half-growled, half-screamed in frustration.
Amelia blinked at her in astonishment. "Is there a problem?"
Dorian calmed enough to sigh at the magazine in her hand with a glimmer of regret, feeling her blood pressure drop a little. "They featured the designer Jean Binnot."
"So?"
"So-ooo," Dorian explained, exasperated, "He punched another designer at a fashion show last month. The man hit on him … and he hit right back!" She looked around on the table for the mail and didn't find it.
"So the man isn't gay," Amelia smirked, somewhat amused and to some extent annoyed by Dorian's over-reaction to the situation. "That has nothing to do with you. You're really going overboard with this gay thing, you know."
"Oh, this is not as much about 'this gay thing' as it is about the fact that I seem to have lost complete control over anything I'm invested in." Dorian smacked the copy of Craze against the tabletop as Amelia went to retrieve the pieces of Dorian's phone. "But you're absolutely right. A random act of violence has nothing to do with me." She paused, glaring at the magazine as if to pounce on it. "Except that I publish a magazine that lauds the accomplishments of a designer who beats up gay men! That's what they'll print in The Sun!" She threw her hand over eyes, rattled. "I can see the headline already."
Amelia sighed as she tried to piece the cell phone back together. "I sincerely doubt Todd Manning follows what happens behind the scenes of fashion." She turned the phone back on and it chimed a few times, off-key. "I've seen the man wear a plain white tee-shirt with a tuxedo jacket, and garden loafers with blue jeans - in public."
Dorian allowed herself a small smile, entertained by the Todd-bashing. "Amelia, I had no idea you were such a critic." She shifted her feet, nodding her approval.
"Oh, please. Even the least style-conscious people I know could out-dress that man any day of the week." Amelia tucked Dorian's phone into the side pocket of her boss's purse and picked up the magazine, flipping through it, disinterested. "The point is - don't worry about it," she smiled, then laid the magazine aside to put her arm around Dorian's shoulders in an encouraging gesture.
Dorian, who was just shorter than her campaign manager, looked up at Amelia's face as she reached up and patted the hand on her shoulder. "You know what? I'm not going to. That's your job."
She pulled away and headed through the double doors to the sitting room, which had been overtaken by campaign posters, flags, buttons, hats, and yard signs. "Oh, dear," she whispered to herself at the sight.
Langston looked up from the sofa as they entered, turning off the television with the remote. "Should I even ask what all that yelling was about in there?"
Dorian diverted her gaze as if innocent. She spotted the mail and sifted through a few envelopes on the desk near the French doors.
Amelia looked back and forth between Dorian and Langston for a moment, until it was clear that Dorian wasn't going to answer her daughter. "It was an employee issue with Craze," she explained with all casualness, as unfazed by Dorian's yelling spell as Langston seemed to be.
Amelia stepped across the room to watch over Dorian's shoulder as her employer sliced the envelopes open with a sharp letter opener. She allowed Dorian to read the contents of the mail, but claimed each piece of mail pertaining to the mayoral campaign after Dorian was finished looking over it.
"So, you wanted to talk to me about something?" Langston asked, placing the remote on top of the coffee table and leaning forward.
Amelia and Dorian looked at each other, each silently asking the other if they wished to answer first.
"We need more photographs together," Dorian offered in response. "And I don't just mean for the campaign. I mean I'd like to have some pictures of the two of us together. Wouldn't you?" She flashed a bright smile.
"Sure," Langston hesitated, "but you said not 'just' for the campaign. That means you want to use pictures of the two of us together. Why?"
Amelia and Dorian exchanged another glance before Amelia took her mail and sat down across the coffee table from Langston, popping open her briefcase and organizing her papers into stacks.
She explained, "We need to bring out some other good, relatable characteristics about your mother - like her devotion to her family, her medical expertise, her diplomatic skills. I thought maybe we could start with an editorial about how you came to be part of the family … that is, if it is alright with you?" Amelia flashed a warm smile in Langston's direction.
Dorian came around the back of the chairs and sat down next to Amelia, facing Langston with an enthusiastic nod as she crossed her ankles. "This would be the perfect opportunity to bring more attention to foster care - and inspire people to adopt children in foster care."
Langston folded her arms and blinked. "And use your own adopted daughter to scare up a few more votes?" She knew Dorian had never been opposed to thrusting her girls into the spotlight – especially when it benefitted her. Langston had to get a jab in. "Are we going to include the part about my uncle getting shot and you being charged with attempted murder?"
Amelia's eyes widened. "Wait, you didn't tell me that part of the story." She shifted in her seat to face Dorian with direct concern. "How recent was this charge?" She was a bit panicked by this new revelation. She knew Dorian had history with the other side of the law but she had been under the impression that Langston's adoption was a good story. Not only could Dorian's campaign tank over such an allegation, but it could also hurt Amelia's credibility by association.
Dorian took a deep breath and looked down at her lap, a sort-of sick feeling in her stomach and a hot feeling in her cheeks. "That was just a big misunderstanding. Your uncle's ex-wife shot him - and besides, he obviously forgave me for any … unpleasantness. Just like I forgave him for trying to take you away…." Dorian frowned, her arm draped over her middle as she gestured with the other hand.
"Listen, we're not even going to discuss that man. We just want to talk about how you ended up in my care … initially … and how much we love each other." Her smile at Langston conveyed her affection. She was so thankful that, despite any past trouble, the girl was still part of her life. She kept her eyes on Langston as she leaned over toward Amelia and spoke in a low tone. "There were no charges."
Amelia looked back and forth between the two again, wanting to hear the story they weren't telling, but focusing on the issue at hand.
Langston shook her head at Dorian, offering a knowing smile in return for Dorian's. "So you want a picture of us together to go along with an article you're having someone write about how you 'saved me' and brought me into your family," she clarified. She used her fingers to put quotations around the words "saved me."
Dorian started to answer but Amelia spoke first. "Actually, she was kind-of hoping you would write the article, Langston. She says you're good."
Dorian lifted her eyebrows at her adopted daughter and nodded, agreeing and encouraging.
"Oh," Langston said, fidgeting on the soft cushions of the couch. "You want me to write it?"
"Would you?" Dorian's voice was sweet and low. "I'll pay you. You'll be a professional writer!" she grinned.
"Um, no," Langston protested. "I mean, no, I don't want you to pay me. I'll do it. But you shouldn't have to pay me to talk about how much I appreciate you, Dorian. … If I agree to do this, I want complete creative control. I don't want you to tell me what to write."
Dorian blinked at Langston and then looked at Amelia.
Amelia was nodding and smiling. "Of course. As long as you'll let me go over it with you when it's finished?"
Langston stood and started to leave the room, but paused in the doorway, turning back to the two women. "Just let me know when our appointment with the photographer is."
Dorian nodded agreement as Langston spun and left. She turned to Amelia and shrugged, letting out a breath of relief. "Teenagers." On one hand, Langston had grown comfortable enough as Dorian's daughter to demonstrate her attitude and it could be trying at times. On the other, Dorian very much admired Langston's spirit.
Amelia turned her attention back to her stacks of papers. "You two do well together," she offered with nonchalance.
Dorian stood and went back to the desk. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"She seems to keep you grounded," Amelia stated. "She knows you too well to let you get away with anything."
Dorian's head jerked toward Amelia. "I don't know what you're talking about," she denied. "Langston's just headstrong."
"Headstrong and smart," Amelia agreed, keeping her eyes on her work. "Like mother, like daughter."
Amelia wished she knew Dorian as well as Langston. If she did, it would help her deter any unexpected actions or announcements that might affect the campaign.
"Yes, well…."
"So who is this uncle you don't want to talk about?" Amelia let her curiosity get the better of her.
Dorian's sigh was heavy and she gazed out at the terrace, frowning at the stray leaves that had made their way into the greenery. Uncle … what uncle? she forced herself to think, instead of facing the answer.
Amelia paused when she heard the obvious sigh and examined Dorian out of the corner of her eye.
"I mean it when I say … I don't want to talk about it." Dorian shook her head. "Him," she corrected herself.
"I take it you two did more than forgive each other…?"
"Amelia," Dorian emphasized, staring at her campaign manager. "I don't. Want. To talk about it." She turned back toward the doors to the terrace and noticed some fingerprints on the glass at about Sam's height. She tried to wipe them with the end of her sleeve.
"Mm-hm." They both distracted themselves in silence for a moment as Amelia considered how to broach another topic without seeming obvious about it. She spoke up again. "Would you rather talk about Mel?"
Dorian spun, wide-eyed. "What?"
"Well, it's just … when we first met, you mentioned a Mel?" Amelia had been intending to get to the bottom of their initial introduction.
Dorian was not amused. "Mel was my husband's name." She made an uncomfortable face and turned back to the doors, stepping back to examine them for more smears and fingerprints. As she did, she had to close her eyes for a moment. Her mind began to spin back in time, in this very room – past the night Ray had left to the night Mel's plane had crashed. Amelia interrupted before the memory took a complete form.
Amelia had only taken enough time to give a nod of acknowledgement – more to herself than Dorian - and then continued their dialogue. "Before David," she affirmed.
Dorian snapped back to the present and remembered what they were discussing. "Before … and after," Dorian corrected. "I loved him a great deal."
Amelia hid an eye roll at the correction Dorian had made. She also surmised from Dorian's tone that Mel meant more to her than just any former husband. She took out her laptop and tried to look distracted as she opened it. She remained nonchalant as she inquired, "So you still hear from him?"
Dorian tried to look busy as she turned and sifted through a box of packing peanuts to retrieve bundles of multicolored "Dorian Lord - Yes She Can!" ink pens. "Occasionally," she frowned.
Amelia contemplated as they worked in silence for a time. That made sense.
"David said you left him for a Ray Montez?"
"Amelia!"
"Oh, so he's Langston's uncle," she acknowledged in response to Dorian's scolding protest. A glint in her eye revealed her own self-satisfied amusement in having at least figured that much out.
"I said I didn't want to talk about it," Dorian growled. "Don't push me. I excel at firing insolent employees."
"You won't fire me," Amelia smirked. "You need me on this campaign too badly." She shot a glance at Dorian both to evaluate her response and communicate a sense of casualness. "So what happened? David came back?"
Dorian furrowed her brows at Amelia in slight confusion.
"To Ray Montez - what happened?"
Dorian gritted her teeth, setting her jaw. "It doesn't really matter, does it?" she asked. "He's gone. End of story. C'est fini."
She turned and began digging in another box. Ray was irrelevant.
Amelia watched her for a moment, careful and compassionate. "You say you don't want to talk about it," she offered after a few moments, "but you're awfully adamant about something that happened a while back. It's okay, you know."
Dorian jerked her head at Amelia. "What?" she snapped.
"It's okay to talk about it. To me, I mean - the outsider, the impartial third party."
Dorian had found something that mattered. "These envelopes are not self-adhesive," she scowled, frustrated, pulling a small box out of a carton. "I specifically asked for self-adhesive envelopes!"
Amelia sighed. She refused to make any suggestions about licking envelopes, lest it backfire into a lesbian comment.
"Ana!" Dorian called out, relieved to have found an opportunity to drop the subject and leave the room. "Ana!"
Amelia watched her go, shaking her head. She knew Dorian was impulsive, perhaps even a little bit wounded, but the more she tried to figure her out, the more questions were left unanswered.
She clicked her search engine and typed. "Ray Montez."