My brush with royalty
So I told Grandma Alex that the Star Wars remake was really pretty good. She looked completely offended. "Lys, dear, I don't think you have the proper respect for the original. When it was first released--"
"You weren't even alive then, Petal," Grandpa Damian said, winking at us. Man, I wished his eye color hadn't washed out of our gene pool before I dipped in. She rolled her eyes. "I hear that you got the lead in your school's version of The Nutcracker, Lys. Congratulations; I'm really looking forward to seeing you perform."
"As am I, sweetheart," Grandma said. "We're very proud of your accomplishments. How is school going?" So I got to tell about my classes and the grandparents seemed interested. But then, as Miles and Iris had reminded me, this wasn't their first rodeo and they would be very skilled at feigning interest. I can't imagine that high school is very interesting if you're not in it.
"I'd like to see your photos some time, Lys," Grandpa Bruce said, coming in late for dinner. Alfred gave him a cold stare and he sat down hastily. "And Deri, what are you doing in class?" I could have sworn I saw Alfred roll his eyes. But that wasn't possible, it was beneath his dignity. And Deri perked up, started chattering about classes and the swim team tryouts, which had been Friday afternoon.
"Deri, we're a little disappointed in you," Grandpa Damian said, sternly but gently. "The incident in the sewing room, invading your sister's privacy, quitting dance because you didn't get what you wanted... that doesn't sound like the girl I know and love." I sat there in awe, listening to him working his technique.
"Lys is getting everything!" Deri burst out. "It's not fair! She gets a pod, pretty jewelry, nice clothes, a whole second room to herself."
"Deri, honey," Grandma said with compassion, "there are things you get when you're sixteen that you don't get at twelve, or thirteen. You can't have a pod until you're sixteen, legally. It's appropriate for a sixteen year old to start acquiring some nice pieces of jewelry, and you will too. She doesn't have a uniform at school, of course she needs something to wear, and why shouldn't she have pretty clothes? She's got a hobby that is going to require some space, and she fixed up the... it's the old closet, isn't it Lys?" I nodded. "A twelve by six closet. With no windows. It's hardly a room, Deri. But even if it were, she has the right to fix it up and use it for her projects. There's a lot of space in the mansion."
"First in time, first in right," Grandpa Bruce muttered as Alfred set his plate and place setting down. "It's an established legal principle." Grandpa Damian gave his dad a 'you're not helping here' kind of look. Grandpa Bruce shrugged. "Look, Deri, I'm sorry to see that Damian's brattishness has skipped a slew of generations only to resurface unpleasantly, but if he can be corrected, you can be too. And you will, one way or another. I'd think you could have some compassion for your sister, after that disaster of a party. It was so bad that she had to switch schools, she lost her friends, she lost pretty much everything. She got some equilibrium back this summer, which you've been chipping away at with your whining and actions. You have things she doesn't, but she's not trying to take them away from you. You will get the things you desire in time, if you're patient and earn them. Your parents are fair, too lenient with you, but generally fair. And there's this whole thing with the bedrooms." He shook his head, baffled. "I'm the first to say that apparently I don't understand little girls. Why would you want your parents to spend all that money on an outsider when your sister had agreed to help you and did such a good job on her own?" He took a drink of wine, savoring it. "Miles and Iris said that your room is nice, but Lys's is lovely and attractive. In the literal sense of the word, it attracts them, makes them want to stay put."
Deri's face got red and she stuck out that lower lip again.
"Careful, kidlet, you're going to trip on that thing," Grandpa Bruce advised. "Deri, you have a slew of your own talents. I'm hoping that you're not so insecure that you begrudge your sister her skills and abilities." His voice acquired some of the razor-edged gruffness that he used as Batman. Grandma caught my eye and flicked her gaze to the door. I kind of oozed out of my seat and out the door, followed stealthily by her and Grandpa Damian. We faded down the hall to the library. Grandpa went right to the conversation sofa, dislodged a cat, and sank down on it.
"Gods, my dad," he muttered, shaking his head. Grandma smiled, drew a chair closer for me, then sat on the opposite side of the sofa, taking Grandpa's hand over the division.
"Well, maybe Bruce will be able to get through to her. Someone's got to. Aslyn told me that there's been a breach in Deri and Van's friendship, and it took a crap ton of prying to find out that Deri's been a troublemaker, a ringleader with her little band of friends, but somehow she's skinning out of the trouble and leaving her friends to face the music while she gets off with a slap on the hand. I'm worried that she's misusing that power of hers. Can you tell, Lys?" My jaw had dropped at this intelligence, just like my heart.
"Not unless I'm there," I said, biting my lip. "But she tried it on Mom and Dad when they first grounded her." Both grandparents exhaled gustily, and Alfred came in with a tray. Honeycakes, a pot of Grandpa's bland white tea, and a French press of coffee.
"It's decaf, Miss Lys, if you'd like to switch from tea," he murmured, then handed me a cup with a wink when I brightened, adorning the saucer with three little cakes. I thanked him and he served my grandparents. We chatted about other things and were having a good time when Deri came in with Grandpa Bruce. He was holding her hand and she looked like she'd been crying. I knew the feeling after talking to him sometimes. I rubbed my eye.
"Deri, do you want to come sit by me?" I asked. There was another armchair that could be easily drawn around, and this might be the last kind thing that happened to her after our parents heard what Grandma had to say. They were going to blow a gasket, whatever that was. She hesitated, looking up at Grandpa Bruce, who nodded encouragingly, and she came over, adjusting the chair. I offered her the last honeycake on my saucer as Grandpa Bruce sat on the regular sofa. I imagined that the new coffee press that Alfred was wielding had caffeine. Deri tried some of Grandpa Damian's white tea as Alfred set a plate with more honeycakes between us.
"Hot leaf water," Grandma said, shaking her head and sipping her own rich coffee. We smiled at each other. When Grandpa Damian wasn't looking, Deri made a face at me and it was hard not to laugh.
But whatever humbling Deri had accepted from Grandpa Bruce faded over the next couple of days. She wasn't as overt about it, but she was on that downhill slide into mean girls territory. I just tried to keep my distance. If she wouldn't listen to Grandpa Bruce, she sure wasn't going to listen to me, and I had my own things to do. I was getting to know the new group of friends better, but it was a slower go than I'd experienced before with the girls from my other school. But then, my new friends had jobs too, and other activities, and nobody seemed to hang out at each others' homes. That was totally ok by me; there was chatting on our communicators or texting outside of school. The choreography for the Sugar Plum Fairy was easier to pick up than I'd thought it would be, so I was glad that Mr Cal would make it more challenging. Meanwhile, it was announced that Miles' first performance with American Ballet Company would be in October, and we were planning to go in support, along with most of the family.
Work was enjoyable. I liked helping the customers, and it was wonderful to work with all the beautiful fabrics. My coworkers were fun, too. The tv show had wrapped up so things were back to normal, and I was learning a lot. On Thursday, I encountered two men in the special occasion fabrics; one was into the fabrics, his friend seemed to be along for the ride, waiting patiently for his friend to find what he was looking for. "Darling, could you help us, please?" the interested man asked in a British accent, but it wasn't a put-upon tone, like he was demanding service from the peon, just asking for help. I popped the two bolts of brocade back into place and waked over.
"Of course. What kind of fabric are you looking for, sir?"
"I want something spectacular for a suit coat, or a jacket. Really kind of wild, but not really vulgar. It's for a public appearance. People have expectations, you know." He winked at me. He wasn't terribly concerned about color, and I showed him several different types of fabrics, darting into the back to see if we had anything new, but we were between shipments. I felt bad that I couldn't come up with anything really cool as he stroked his fingers through the velvets. "I'm sorry, darling, but these are just bland," he said, frustrated. I thought hard, then smiled.
"One more thing, sir. It's in the upholstery section." I led them over to the sales rack. "This is actually a manufacturing defect, the pile is almost twice as long as it should be, so it's not really useful for upholstery, but it's so beautiful. It's stiffer than velvets for garments, but if you're making a jacket, that structure could be used for your benefit. The color's a little out there" it was a rich flashy crimson "but it is pretty special." The man stroked it, evaluating it against his vision.
"Come on Fred,' the other man said. "Get it or not, but we need to get moving. John and Roger are waiting for us." He had long curly hair like Isaac Newton's and was taller and rangier than his friend, who had short black hair, a determined mustache, and a pronounced overbite.
The man named Fred broke out a sunny smile. "How much on this bolt, love?"
"Ten meters, sir. It's a meter and a half wide." He started to cackle.
"Do you have any heavy white satin for a lining?"
"We sure do. Both in upholstery and fashion fabrics."
"I'll take the lot, then, and enough lining for the whole thing. It's been a long time since I've had a robe. A mantle, darling." I blinked at him. The other man turned his eyes to the ceiling. "Oh, come on, Brian. It's for the show." To me, he said, "We're getting ready to go on tour. All the old favorites, new material too." So we found a red lining that he liked, his friend having pointed out that white shows dirt, white fake fur for the trim around it--he was a little disappointed we didn't have anything that looked like ermine, but I suggested large black beads that would also add some sparkle, and he was thrilled. The taller fellow looked resigned as I measured everything--there was actually a little more of the velvet than expected, ten and a half meters, so that plus fifteen meters of the narrower lining fabric and thirty of the trim, plus all the oval centimeter-long black beads we had in the store, and the purchase was close to a thousand dollars, even with the sale price for the velvet. But the man didn't blink and I helped them carry the bags out to wait for their taxi. I had the names of a couple of costumers who used the store as recommendations to make the robe thing as well.
"Dear, you've been super, I can't thank you enough." He smiled at me engagingly. "Now, can you keep a secret?" I nodded. "We're kicking off our tour tomorrow night at the new Rosebud Ballroom." He patted the pockets of his jacket, pulling out an envelope and counting out four pieces of paper. "It's a surprise, nobody yet knows that we're the performers." Brian smiled at me, then turned away as a taxi pulled up. "Here you go. VIP section. For you and some friends."
"Thank you, " I said, astonished, and they disappeared into the cab. With the bulging bags, it was a tight fit. I turned back toward the store and looked at the tickets. Along with the date and time was a detailed design in holographic ink. It looked familiar, and I let it sit in my head as I quickly sent a group text. "Who's free tomorrow night? I have four tickets for a concert at Rosebud Ballroom. Performers a surprise, customer gave them to me, the three first responders get to go." Imogen, Jinx, and Ari were the first positive responses. Justine couldn't go, and Mark and Nix were just late.