Magdalena's Shadow, page 8
“People leave sometimes, Coco. But sometimes they come back. Would you like me to try to contact Magdalena? I might be able to get a message to her through the agency.” Tia knew Coco still wrote to her mother. She had seen the girl glow with excitement at the sight of a letter, only to disappear into her room when it proved to be another autograph or generic fan letter.
“And what, Mrs. Brown, would be the point of that?” The silence that followed was broken by a sob. “If my mother gave a damn she wouldn’t have left me here to be raised by strangers. If she cared she wouldn’t have sent Bebe here to be raised by a kid.”
Tears welled up in Coco’s eyes but refused to spill. Tia rubbed her back before pulling her into a hug. Convulsive sobs rocked Coco’s body as the grief began to flow along with the tears.
When the worst of it subsided, Tia laid her back against the pillow and looked into Coco’s eyes. “When I was a little girl, I lost my mother. I know what it feels like to have no one to turn to in the world. I know what it feels like to be lost and alone, to feel abandoned by everyone, even God. I promise that I’ll never leave here angry again, that we’ll always talk things out, that you’ll always know that I’m coming back – and that no matter what happens in your life, you’re never alone.”
Tia’s dark eyes sparkled in the poorly lit room. She held Coco’s hand while she made the promise. Coco didn’t answer; she just looked into Tia’s sincere gaze and nodded.
“Okay,” Tia said, getting to her feet, “I’m going to make you some soup, so try to sleep and I’ll bring it in when it’s ready.”
When Tia turned to leave, Coco stopped her. “I’m sorry for what I said. I would never replace you.”
Tia’s smile was sad. She leaned over to smooth Coco’s hair away from her face. “I know, sweetie. Try to sleep.”
Chapter Ten
After three days of illness, Coco felt well enough to leave her room. Morning light peeked through the blinds as she ventured on unsteady legs toward the kitchen. There she found Bebe singing from her outgrown swing, kicking her feet wildly back and forth while Tia set toast and fruit on the table. Coco’s diet had consisted of homemade chicken soup for so long that the sight of fresh fruit made her smile, the one smile she had allowed herself in days.
“I would like to take you out for a tour of this place. I think you’ll love it there.” Tia pointed to a pamphlet from a place called Gilman’s School of Fashion.
Coco silently flipped through the pamphlet. Each page contained glossy photos of gorgeous gowns and smiling students. In the final photo, Mr. Gilman, the head of the school, stood in a perfectly cut suit surrounded by clothing forms displaying his students’ designs. Every piece looked completely original, fresh, and well-crafted.
“When did you pick this up?”
“The day of the ‘playdate.’” Coco’s face grew sad. “You need something to do, Coco. I think you need to study something you love. I’ve looked over two other fashion schools and this one seems to be the best. It’s close, small, and intimate. I think you’ll like it.”
“I’ll learn to sew?”
“Yes – sew, cut, draw, and design.”
“I didn’t finish school,” Coco sighed. “I doubt they’ll take me.”
“I’ll look into that. Try not to worry yet.”
Coco set the pamphlet aside as Tia spooned strawberries onto her plate.
The paperwork was staggering. Coco needed letters of introduction, character references, and an essay explaining what she felt she could offer the world of fashion. The essay was a terrifying proposition. What can I offer anything? Feeling overwhelmed, she walked away from the admittance forms to find her bed.
Coco cried each morning. There was no reason for the crying; it became something she did, like brushing her teeth or showering, just another morning ritual. For some reason the tears came after breakfast, exhausting her to the point that she was forced to take a pre-lunch nap.
Bebe saw her as a point of interest. After breakfast she watched her sister, waiting for the waterworks to begin. When the tears came and Coco retreated to her room, Bebe would invariably nod her head and say, “Coco sad baby,” her tiny voice echoing into her sister’s room.
On the seventh day after the proposed “playdate,” Coco woke from a nap feeling slightly better. She lay in bed for a long while, watching the light creep around the corners of her blinds. It shone golden like the sunlight of evening. Glancing at the clock beside the bed, she realized she had slept all day. She felt disheveled in her sweatpants and matching hoodie, both dyed a gorgeous plum color that usually offset her golden-brown eyes and bronzed Latin skin. But now her eyes were red and puffy from crying all morning, while her skin lacked its usual luminescence. Getting out of bed she walked down the long hall to the living room. Halfway down the hall her pants slipped off her hips, forcing her to retie the drawstring. She had been painfully thin before the illness, now she was a skeleton.
“You’re up,” called a voice the moment she turned the corner into the living room. Coco’s fingers froze on the drawstring, the front of her hoodie pulled half way up, leaving her ribs and stomach completely exposed. Rob sat quietly on the couch, Bebe on one knee, Mila on the other. Coco stared, a look of horror flickering through her eyes. Tia sat opposite Rob, her coffee cup resting in her hands.
Before her illness, Coco had spent days dressing and caring for herself in the hope of impressing Rob with her taste, sophistication, and beauty, yet this was the image she presented him: a sick, disheveled girl with puffy bloodshot eyes and an unattractively exposed midriff. Coco’s first thought was to apologize. Her second thought was to turn back toward her room. In the end, she dropped her shirt and walked quietly to join them.
Bebe slid off Rob’s knee, hurling herself onto Coco before she even sat down.
“Hello, you.” Coco lifted the toddler up into her lap and kissed her.
“Better?” Rob asked, sincere interest shining in his dark eyes.
“Oh, yes… better,” she sighed, the words gliding out slowly as her mind spun with the surprise of his presence. “And you? Did you guys stay healthy?”
“Mila has a cough, but I think it’s more allergy than viral.”
Coco nodded, looking at the one-year-old who bounced on her father’s knee.
“So, I have tickets to a show tonight. I was wondering if you’re up to going?”
The sudden invitation startled Coco into her usual deer-in-headlights expression. Being with Rob would be heaven, but being out in the world in her current state might be hell. Rob’s discerning eyes searched her worried face as she looked back at him, trying to gather her remaining shreds of confidence. Tia sat quietly looking at her coffee cup on the opposite couch, a purposefully vacant expression on her face.
“Tia?” Coco asked softly. She felt so small, so young that she wanted to ask permission, but she was afraid that if she did Rob might begin to put two and two together. “Do you think I’m up to it?” Tia raised her eyes off her steaming coffee. “Tia takes such good care of me,” Coco added, turning a shy smile back on Rob.
“I think the theater would be okay, just go slowly and don’t exert yourself.”
“How much time do I have to get ready?” she asked, her beauty beginning to glow past her rumpled appearance as excitement flooded through her.
“About four hours so don’t rush. If I took you as you are, you’d still be the most beautiful woman there.”
Tia clicked her tongue disapprovingly, which made Rob laugh. “She does take good care of you,” he joked, “and as for that, so will I.” The playful warmth in his eyes sent even more color into Coco’s pale cheeks.
The musical with its lavish sets, full orchestra, and costumes created an evening far beyond anything Coco had expected. Rob watched Coco more than he watched the production. The sight of her seemed to bring him more pleasure than the show. Coco couldn’t help smiling each time she caught his eyes on her.
“Are you bored?” she whispered.
“I saw it in New York a few months ago. I take it this is the first time you have seen it? You look enthralled.”
“I am.”
“So am I… just not with the show.” Rob grinned, enjoying the rapid blush that colored Coco’s cheeks.
Afterward, as they walked down the aisle with the other theater goers crushing around them, Rob slid his arm around her waist pulling her close in the pressing crowd. Coco raised her eyes to his with a quiet look of inquiry. Leaning over he placed a kiss on top of her head.
“I’m not usually this forward,” he whispered into her ear, “but you’re as familiar to me as sunshine.”
Chapter Eleven
“Tia?” Coco walked into the kitchen three months from the day of the musical. She found Tia and Bebe at the kitchen counter cutting out sugar cookies.
“Look, Mama.” Bebe waived her hands high over her head when she saw Coco. “El-e-fant.”
Coco smiled at the cookie elephant but winced at the name. It sounded so strange. “Why do you call me Mama now?”
“Well,” Bebe replied in her improved baby talk, “Mila has Dada… Bebe don’t… Bebe has Coco Mama and Mila don’t… okay?” Coco never thought that Bebe would be jealous of Mila for having a real parent.
“I like it when you call me Coco,” she pressed, but Bebe ignored her.
“What did you need?” Tia looked up, gently reminding Coco that she had had a question.
“Oh, I found this necklace in the bottom of one of Magdalena’s boxes. Can you tell me what it means?” Coco held out a little gold cross with Psalm IIII etched horizontally across it.
“That’s easy, Coco, it’s not even written in Spanish,” Tia laughed. “It’s Psalm Four.”
“What does that mean?” Coco lifted Bebe’s elephant off the counter, placing it onto the cookie sheet.
“I eats it, I eats it all up, yum!” Bebe yelled, her hands thrown excitedly in the air.
“This is a Psalm of David; it’s a prayer of protection, a request for God’s presence in your life. The last stanza is my favorite. It says basically that no matter how much money or security you think you have, without God in your heart, fear and anger and the sheer craziness of life will find you. There is no rest outside the peace one finds in God’s presence. I adore the Psalms,” Tia continued, still smiling. “When I first found God, I turned to the Psalms, first because I was angry and I wanted justice; later I read them out of love and forgiveness.”
“What did you have to forgive?”
Tia shook her head and looked away. “Maybe I’ll tell you sometime,” she answered evasively.
Coco had heard that before. Tia often alluded to her life and then answered any question Coco might have with, Maybe I’ll tell you sometime.
“I’m going to put that on your tombstone,” Coco teased. She lifted the cross off the counter. The chain was as thin as a silk thread. The little cross looked well-worn on the edges like a piece that had seen many people through their lives. The warmth of it attracted her. She liked its smooth lines and edges.
Coco couldn’t remember putting it on, but in that first week she unconsciously formed the habit of running her fingers over the lettering anytime she felt nervous or distracted. Psalm IIII became engraved in her mind, though its true meaning still eluded her.
Admittance into Gilman’s School of Fashion was not so much a question as a certainty. Tia’s character letter described Coco as “a young woman of such taste and beauty that she rivals her super model mother, Magdalena Rodriguez, in every way.” Tia also asserted that any fashion house would be lucky to have such a celebrity attend their school.
The staff at Gilman’s wasn’t foolish. They thanked Coco by phone for her consideration and hoped that she and her family would tour the school soon. By family, Coco knew they meant Magdalena. Coco was forced to explain that Magdalena was believed to be modeling in Milan and that she and her sister were the only members of the Rodriguez family currently living in Chicago.
That was how Coco came to tour Gilman’s with Bebe and Tia in tow. Bebe behaved perfectly, yet the toddler’s insistence on calling Coco Mama raised a few eyebrows. Tia stood quietly back as Coco led Bebe through the halls, looking in the design studios and sewing rooms.
Bebe stood on the floor beside Coco, watching her big sister go over the admissions papers one last time. Bebe was silently attentive, moving only when she walked to Tia to be held.
“Your grandmother must adore you.” The head of admissions directed her comment to Bebe. Bebe gave the woman a perplexed look; she was unfamiliar with the word grandmother. Tia lifted her into her arms, smoothing down her pink taffeta dress. “I’ll bet Magdalena sends you things from all over the world.”
Coco bit her lip but couldn’t remain silent. “Bebe’s my sister, not my daughter. Magdalena hasn’t seen her since she was a baby. Bebe calls me Mama because I’m all the family she has.”
“I’m sorry.” The woman looked shocked. “I had no idea. I never meant to pry.”
Coco smiled, shaking away the woman’s apology. “Don’t feel bad. The paparazzi hounds our mother so we value our privacy. It’s better if no one knows too much about us.”
“Your letter and this conversation will remain confidential. I’m so sorry. I just assumed…. ”
“Mothers abandon kids every day, and drug addicted super models aren’t any better.” Coco left without another word.
“You’re going to have to deal with that your entire life, Coco.” Tia spoke so only Coco could hear her. “You should’ve let that woman keep her delusions about Magdalena.”
“Why?” Coco turned to look at Tia. “That woman was prying into my life. Besides, I wouldn’t have been forced into that conversation if you hadn’t gone and told them I’m Magdalena’s daughter. I can’t feel any kind of fulfillment about getting into Gilman’s because I’ll always know it was the connection to Magdalena they want, not me. I hate that she’s the reason I get to study there.”
“You have an advantage. I thought you should use it.”
Coco shrugged. “Just ask me the next time you want to tell someone. I don’t like being associated with her.”
Chapter Twelve
Gilman’s existed in its own parallel world apart from the busy city outside. From the moment Coco stepped past the green front door she left modern Chicago behind and entered into a place where time passed at a different pace. People moved with more grace and greater purpose inside Gilman’s walls. Even the air Coco breathed smelled fragrant, as though the essence of high couture hung in the folds of fine fabrics, aged amid tweeds and silks before enveloping her with its refined sophistication.
Gilman’s was a hundred-year-old establishment, run by a solid family of European tailors. As Chicago clothiers, they were renowned. The interior of the building exuded rich old-world decadence, from mahogany wood paneling to twelve-armed gold leaf and crystal chandeliers. Large columns of green marble held up the decorative ceiling while the base of the columns stood encased in gold leaf grape and vine plasterwork.
Standing alone on her first day of class, Coco studied her surroundings. The ceiling shocked her to stillness – a rotunda of massive scale rose above her, decorated with images that she could spend days studying. The subject was a family, frozen in an idealized moment as they ate, laughed, and walked among fountains of flowers. Grapes hung in large clusters from delicately drawn fingers in offering from a man who sat at the center of the mural. Coco moved around the central gallery glancing at the other students, some sitting on the elegant nineteenth century sofas, others staring about, amazed at the beauty of the room.
Grapes were a common motif as were wheat ears and several other types of vegetation that Coco didn’t recognize. Plenty was the theme, and the founding family wanted the world to know that lack existed only in their memories; they had arrived at the mouth of the proverbial cornucopia and wouldn’t be vacating it again. There was nothing mean or glaringly offensive about the opulence. Instead Coco felt a welcoming aura that gently said, “We’ve learned how to live, now let us show you how.”
“Hi,” a voice called. Coco turned to see a tiny redhead in a black tank top and leggings. Her exposed arms were decorated with colorful tattoos. The girl looked to be about twenty-four and probably thought she was addressing a peer.
“Hi.” Coco’s voice echoed in the large, still room.
“You here for class or a fitting?”
“Class.”
“You look like a model. The graduating students got an extension for their final show so I thought maybe you were waiting to be fitted.”
“No.” Coco shook her head and tried not to look nervous. “I’m not a model.”
“You could be,” the girl persisted. “I mean, you’d do great.”
“I would rather design….” The words came out on their own, laced with an inexplicable level of confidence. When had she given herself permission to dream so big?
“Carmen.” The girl nodded her head to Coco by way of introduction. “I have to know someone or I’ll go crazy; I hate the whole first day feeling.”
Coco stared at the girl not sure she wanted to know Carmen. The feeling that Carmen wanted something troubled her. In her experience, friendly people usually wanted something.
“I’m Coco.”
“Cool, now I know you. So how tall are you?”
“Six foot.”
“I’m four-eleven,” Carmen laughed, turning her attention back on the room. “This place is weird.” Carmen indicated their surroundings. “I would tear all this old shit down if I were them.”
Coco turned a curious look on the girl. “You don’t think it’s beautiful?”
