Magdalena's Shadow, page 3
Coco drank in the words, each one an education in child care, respect, and kindness. In the past, her teachers had spoken to her in a similar way, but they had never come home with her, never lived with her.
At the end of the day Tia and Coco set up the baby swing and unloaded the formula into the kitchen cupboards. At that point Coco began to cry.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Tia said with real concern when she noticed Coco’s tears. Coco shook her head and smiled, but Tia didn’t look away. Her eyes shone with that same steadfast look of caring determination that made Coco eat; now that look made her talk.
“Don’t leave….” Coco’s hands began to shake. She wanted to lift the last tin of formula into the cupboard but found she couldn’t. The room was silent except for the click of the swing and the rattle of Bebe’s new toy as she swung it happily over her head.
Coco felt Tia’s touch on her arm; she felt herself being turned to face the little woman, her thin shaking fingers held tightly in Tia’s warm grasp.
“I have to go home. I have people who need me, but I’ll be back tomorrow morning. I promise.” Coco nodded, unable to look Tia in the eye. She was shocked that she had asked a keeper for something on the very first day.
Tia took Coco gently by the chin, lowering Coco’s gaze to her own, trying for eye contact. “Everything’s okay now,” Tia assured her quietly.
“No, it’s not, Tia. Sooner or later everyone leaves.”
“Not me.” Tia’s voice was steady with certainty. “I don’t leave, not unless I’m told to.” After a long moment, Coco began to relax. Her breathing became less strained as the grief passed.
“Tomorrow morning?” Coco nodded her head. “You’ll come back tomorrow morning?”
“That’s right. I’ll come in the morning. We’ll have breakfast together.”
“Okay.” Coco looked away momentarily, her shoulders sagging.
The old woman held her hands until the shaking lessened and Coco was able again to make eye contact.
“Now,” Tia buttoned her coat and shouldered her purse, “I’m going to go home to my people, and I’m going to tell them that I met a good person today, and at dinner we’ll thank God for the introduction and ask him to bless you and….” Her voice trailed off as she turned her eyes to Bebe, “and your baby.”
“Thank you.” Coco’s voice was no louder than a whisper. She followed Tia to the door beyond Bebe’s line of vision; immediately they heard the baby sniffle and then cry. Coco turned back but Tia caught her arm.
“Let her cry, that baby has got you spinning in circles. You’ll spoil her if you run every time she calls.”
Coco nodded and saw Tia out. Once the door closed she hurried to Bebe and scooped her into her arms.
Tia came back as she had promised. On the following morning, she arrived with a chrome basket on wheels filled with fresh produce and lean meats. When Coco walked out of her bedroom the kitchen simmered with the scent of good things cooking. The table lay set with new linen napkins, cups, saucers, and silverware all perfectly placed. There was even a pot of tea. Coco ate whole grain toast, fried zucchini, and fried tomatoes with smoked salmon. It was the best breakfast she could ever remember eating even though the guilt of eating tore at her unmercifully.
“Thank you for breakfast, Tia.” Coco looked to where Tia sat reading her paper. They had eaten together again that morning, an experience Coco enjoyed. She liked it when Tia read out interesting articles. She enjoyed the rustle of the newspaper when Tia turned the pages.
“I’m glad you liked it.” Tia set down the paper and smiled at Coco.
“Can I ask you a question?” Coco asked.
“Yes.”
“How did you pay for the formula and the crib and diapers for Bebe?”
Tia frowned, her eyes suddenly sad, her lips pursed as she regarded Coco. “Your mother gives you four thousand dollars a month for household expenses and four thousand dollars a month for personal use.”
Coco stared at Tia for a long time, unable to comprehend what she had said. “But….” Her voice trailed off. “I thought… I was told….”
Tia nodded her head, encouraging Coco to keep talking. “What were you told, Coco?”
“I was told I was a poor girl, that there was hardly enough money to feed me let alone keep Bebe. The Keeper, I mean…the last housekeeper who worked here…she told me that Mama had mostly forgotten about me…and that I was poor. Where was all this money before? I’ve been living on nothing for years.”
“It was always there; it’s just been going to other people and not to you. If your last housekeeper hadn’t been caught selling your painting no one would have known she was taking thousands of dollars a month from your household account. Only you can draw from your personal account though I’m sure she tried accessing that, too.”
“She said I was poor. She made bad formula for Bebe; it made her thin and sick. It was only when I told her she could sell the painting that she started buying the good formula.” Coco went quiet with rage. “I’ve been washing diapers,” she added breaking the heavy silence.
“You have been washing diapers.” Tia nodded her understanding. “It’s built character I’m sure, but it’s not a pleasant thing to have to do. There was no reason for you to ever have to go without, Coco. You were being robbed.”
Coco nodded, her heart filled with anger as she realized that she had never dared to complain, and that Bebe had suffered needlessly. “I hate the Keeper.” Coco glared at the table. “I hate her.”
Tia watched quietly. “Yes,” she nodded. “But I’m afraid hate is something other people do. It’s something that ‘the Keeper’ does. Leave it to her and people like her to hate. You should pray that someday she feels remorse for what she’s done to innocent children. You should pray that she can find forgiveness for her cruelty.”
Coco looked angrily up at Tia, but when met by the older woman’s soft sad eyes, all her rage melted and she was left with the simple wound of injustice, an ache she had known her entire life. Her eyes filled with tears and she cried noisily the way Bebe often did.
Bebe awoke in her nice new crib. The sound of the baby’s babbling voice took Tia from the kitchen, leaving Coco alone to grieve. Raising her head, Coco listened for Bebe’s voice, watching the elderly woman walk quietly to the room where Bebe fussed.
Coco’s rage-filled crying stopped long before Tia returned to the kitchen. Though her eyes were red, Coco was up making Bebe’s bottle. Instead of tears she sniffed the sniff of an injured woman who has decided on action instead of self-pity.
Tia saw the dishes sitting pre-washed in the sink along with a total lack of any of the kitchen items that had been used with breakfast. “Good,” Tia said, placing Bebe in the new swing. “Always turn your rage into good works. Rage turned inward becomes sickness. You’ll feel better soon.”
Too angry to reply Coco walked to Bebe, reclined the seat, and gave her the bottle. The baby held it tightly between her hands and began to drink deeply. There was something relaxing in the sound of Bebe feeding. The noise settled over the room like a warm blanket, taking with it the last shreds of Coco’s indignation. Leaning back, she sagged against the counter, the heels of her small hands resting on the granite behind her, her eyes fixed on the floor. Tia was right, she felt drained and tired but better than she had felt in years.
Already the world seemed less closed to her. She had money, a friend, a child she loved, and the hope that life could be more than the small existence she had been confined to. Anger replaced the fear instilled in her by the Keeper – the woman who had told her she was too stupid to leave the apartment, too poor to go shopping, and too naïve and skinny to defend herself in the world outside. Coco remembered now that there had been a bagel shop around the corner that she had loved to visit, and a hair salon, and a lot of fun shops she had enjoyed with her nanny. Three years had passed since Eva Clark had gone. What would the world look like now?
“Coco, Bebe needs new clothes.” Tia spoke without looking up. “Someone cut the feet off her sleeper.”
“That’s the sleeper she came in,” Coco answered, looking at where Tia folded the baby’s ragged pant legs into cuffs. “I had to cut the feet off to make room for her long legs.”
“Came in?” Tia asked. “What do you mean, came in?”
Coco didn’t answer. In a panic, she stared down at her pink slippers trying to think quickly.
“Coco?” Tia asked with an authority that sent shivers down Coco’s spine. “Where did Bebe come from?”
“I meant came home in… from the hospital….”
Tia only stared at her. “Coco, you didn’t have Bebe yourself, did you?”
“No.” Coco shook her head, her eyes leveled at the floor. After a moment, she left the kitchen to get the bag that held the document.
When she returned, Tia held Bebe over her shoulder, patting her back. Bebe burped loudly and happily before being returned to her swing with a graham cracker.
“This came with the woman who brought Bebe to me.” Coco handed Tia the document. “She was still learning to sit up when she came; if the date on this document is her birthdate then she was only seven months old when she came.” Coco ran her finger down the page, stopping on the date she believed was Bebe’s birthday. “If this is right she’ll turn one next month.”
Tia studied the paper carefully before turning her eyes on Coco. “Why do you call her Bebe?”
“It says Bebe right here.” Coco leaned over the document a second time, her honey brown eyes searching the page for the name she had recognized from her fashion magazines. “See.” She pointed to the four small letters.
Tia smiled. “That’s the Spanish word for baby. You have been calling her baby all this time. It’s pronounced bay-bay.”
Coco frowned. “Then what’s her name?” She looked over the paper with worry.
“They didn’t give her one. It just says ‘Baby Rodriguez’ – or to you, Bebe Rodriguez – ‘born the seventh of March to M. Rodriguez of Miramar, Argentina.’ Do you know an M. Rodriguez?”
Coco nodded slowly. “My mother is Magdalena Rodriguez, the fashion model. She has a beach house in Argentina, in Miramar. I used to visit there when I was little.”
Tia nodded, looking at the baby who swung on happily. “So,” she said with deliberate slowness, “Bebe is most likely your baby sister, Coco. You have given her such good care even though you didn’t know she was related to you. Few people would have been as selfless.”
Coco’s eyes misted over with fresh tears. “That explains why the Keeper didn’t give her to some orphanage. She knew Bebe was Magdalena’s.” Coco watched her tiny sister without words. Never had she dreamed that Bebe could be her sister; she had always seen her as the baby God had sent to help her in her loneliness.
Chapter Three
“We don’t have to leave the lobby today if it feels too soon,” Tia said. “This could just be a practice run. We can shop for Bebe’s clothes another day.”
“I’m okay,” Coco answered, her eyes fixed anxiously on her image starkly reflected in the elevator’s mirrored walls. Her hands shook while she listened to the sound of the floors rushing by. She had spent two hours dressing for her first day out yet she still felt unprepared. Looking down she noticed her oversized feet, one of her two embarrassing features. Today they looked almost pretty in nude-colored sandals. Glancing up again she surveyed the scarf she wore over her ugly ears, her second embarrassing feature because of her attached earlobes.
“I’m okay,” Coco murmured a second time, her eyes still trained on her reflection. With her two ugly features dealt with she almost felt okay.
Bebe sat in the stroller wearing Coco’s wool barrette pulled jauntily down over her forehead. The barrette fit Bebe well, though it was meant for an older child. A silk and cashmere wrap concealed the outgrown baby clothes she wore.
The color of the wrap matched Coco’s silk scarf and Stella McCartney dress. The dress was new. Like all the clothing that came to #2, it was tailored for Magdalena but fit Coco just as well.
Boxes arrived at the apartment each week. They came in every style, in every color, and from every corner of the earth – some from major fashion houses, others from labels just getting their start – small boutiques and designers who worked out of their basements. The boxes were gifts to Magdalena filled with hope that maybe Magdalena would wear their garments and put their designer on the map.
The downstairs lobby stood empty when they reached it. Outside, Coco discovered that the bagel shop was gone, replaced by a busy Starbucks that teemed with well-dressed Chicago natives looking for a caffeine fix. Coco was transfixed by the busy atmosphere of the new café, her eyes scanning the Starbucks’ mermaid, the lights, and the people coming and going in a constant flow of movement.
While Coco took in the world, the world took in Coco with its usual hunger. Her natural beauty shone like a beacon in a sea of mediocrity. When still a child she had confused admiration with ridicule. Now, as a man twice her age looked on her with fixed admiration, she wished she had worn her red hoodie and jeans instead of the delicately beautiful Stella dress. Walking past the café, they turned down a side street toward the high-end boutique that sold baby clothes. Coco stuck close to Tia, never moving more than a few steps away from the baby stroller.
Halfway to the boutique, Coco stopped suddenly before a window to stare at the manikin behind the glass. It wore Dolce & Gabbana slacks, similar to a pair she owned. Coco admired the sight, her fingers grazing the surface of the glass. Posters of supermodels wavered in an artificial breeze, set in motion by the air conditioning inside the store. Coco passed manikin after manikin looking lovingly at the clothes until she stopped, turning a bright smile on Tia and Bebe.
Tia looked up at the window where Coco stood. A manikin dressed in Prada posed gracefully above them, back-dropped by a poster of a glossy-eyed sex-kitten of a model wearing the same outfit. She lounged lazily on a blisteringly bright rock, an expanse of endless desert sweeping out behind her. Tia noticed her cocoa-colored skin and thick, wavy dark hair, all too familiar to be mistaken. From the full lips to the heart-shaped face…this was Coco’s mother, no doubt; this was Magdalena.
“Mama.” Coco spoke the word with a touch of the Latin accent she had heard her mother speak with. “Look, Bebe, that’s our mother.” The baby rattled her toy and stared at the flow of cars reflected back to her in the glass. What did she know of scrawny supermodels and store front windows? Tia smiled at Bebe’s innocence, while the look of unsurpassed admiration on Coco’s young face drew her pity.
“Bebe will be tired soon,” Tia said, hoping to refocus Coco’s attention. “We need to get to the baby store.”
Coco nodded, pulling her eyes from her mother before they walked down the avenue toward Bebe’s new wardrobe.
Once inside the store Coco was immediately approached by a friendly salesgirl. One look at Coco and the girl’s face lit with an expression which screamed, “Money, money, money!” To someone who worked on commission, Coco was a walking miracle. She bought sleepers and jumpers, dresses with matching hats and booties, as well as silk sweaters with matching silk lined pants all embroidered with silk and cashmere flowers. With a point of her finger or a quietly whispered request every dress was matched with tights, shoes, hats, and a stuffed toy in a matching outfit.
To Coco, fine clothes were a necessity; to Tia it was a shocking waste of money as Bebe would outgrow everything in no time.
Coco was in heaven. She sat on the living room floor and untied all the ribbons on the boxes of baby clothing that had been delivered to #2. In her newfound confidence, she had even allowed the delivery boy to bring the boxes through the door instead of leaving them with the doorman. Bebe slept soundly in her swing while Coco unwrapped each piece of clothing from its tissue paper. When she had finished, she surveyed Bebe’s new things with a growing sense of pride.
The moment felt like Christmas as tissue paper and ribbon lay in piles on the floor around her. Coco glowed with confidence; she had gone shopping, braved the outside world, and returned home with her treasures. As she flung another empty box on the pile of tissue paper, she slowly became aware of the faraway look in Tia’s eyes.
“This is my favorite.” Coco raised the little pink dress up before her. Yet even this statement didn’t draw Tia into the moment. “Tia, are you okay?”
The old lady laughed in a sudden startling way. “I was thinking… it’s odd how being around you brings back old memories. The way you’re sitting there now, surrounded with pink tissue paper and boxes – it reminds me of a time when I was little….” She shook her head, her thoughts fading off into the distance.
“Tell me. I don’t know anything about your childhood.”
“It was Christmas, and I had hidden to watch my mother’s employers open their Christmas gifts. I could hear my mother calling me from the back garden but I ignored her. I wanted to see what rich people bought each other.”
“Were you very poor?”
“Yes. I had one skirt, one shirt, and one pair of panties and that was all. My mother was a maid in this huge stone house in Nicaragua and I was not supposed to go near it. Unfortunately, I was headstrong and disobedient; I was always in trouble.” Tia laughed again, the same quick, slightly uncomfortable laugh.
She leaned over and started collecting the tissue paper, folding it into fours, laying one piece on top of the other. Coco would have tossed it all, but Tia was going to keep it. In that moment, Coco glimpsed poverty for the first time. Even though she had been abandoned and neglected she knew she had never been the “poor girl” the Keeper had told her she was.
