15 1/2 Years Old
“I know my baby. I would know my baby anywhere.”“Mrs. Johnstontine.”
“Mr. Johnstontine. Excuse me. Mother Sidney. Where did that young girl come from?”
“Princess? Well, we don’t exactly know where she came from. She appeared on our doorstep about a month ago. However, we know via Mrs. Whitley that the young girl is the relation of some sort of touring band. The child believed their lifestyle to be inappropriate for a young lady maturing into womanhood, so she came to Huntley. She heard about the Johnstontine scholarship through Mrs. Whitley, and so she came to claim it.”
“Really?”
“She is a bright girl?”
“Heavens yes. Honestly, Mrs. Johnstontine, the academic classes that we offer at Huntley are barely useful to her. We had to create an independent study program to accommodate her. We would send her off to a College or University, but she lacks two very important things.”
“Money.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Johnstontine. But surely she will earn scholarship to the school of her choice. She also lacks couth.”
“Yes?”
“Absolutely. On more than one occasion, I have found her in the kitchen speaking languages with the help and cooking, or in the bathroom cleaning alongside the maid as they chat. She has a wonderful heart, and we encourage that, but Huntley women must come to understand--”
“--that they are to be waited on, not to wait on others. Of course.”
“Yes, Mrs. Johnstontine.”
“Mother Sidney, I have reason to believe that this young girl is a relation of mine. Have her DNA tested and submit the results to me.”
“Well…Actually since she has no parent or guardian to speak of, we should be able to get around any--”
Johnstontine cut off Mother Sidney with a belittling guffaw. He recovered quickly, “Please, Mother Sidney. Bring the girl, here.” Mother Sidney bowed slightly to the Johnstontines, as if genuflecting. She raced across the room and grabbed Princess, roughly.
“Ow.” Princess and Mother Sidney had become enemies very quickly. Mother Sidney worshipped Princess’s intellect but could not tolerate the girl’s raw nature. Princess fought Mother Sidney’s attempts to guide her growth; Princess had selected the coordinator of her bloom—Karin. Karin had Princess’ spirit but exhibited in womanly ways. Karin dressed with flourish and walked with a dramatic swish. Her voice was powerful and seductive, and everything about her was refined to ascendancy. Mother Sidney hated Karin because Karin was stronger and more important than the old nun, and everyone who interacted with them knew it. Mother Sidney hated even more that Princess modeled herself after Karin. Mother Sidney considered the Johnstontines equally ignorant. In fact, she dismissed them all as a bunch of rich, ridiculous niggers.
Still, Princess was different. If Mother Sidney could have harnessed Princess’ spirit of loyalty, duty and service, Mother Sidney could create a great missionary of the child. It would not happen. Princess would not submit. Better to let the Johnstontines try to coax Princess away from Karin and make something of her, than let Karin make nothing of the orphan girl. “Mother Sidney, why are you pulling on me like this?”
“Mr. Johnstontine,” Mother Sidney swung Princess about face to the Johnstontines and poked the girl to a stiff attention. “Princess, these are the Johnstontines. Mrs. Johnstontine has taken a special interest in you.” Mrs. Johnstontine peered deeply into Princess’s eyes. “Do you have our wedding picture in your wallet, Mr. Johnstontine?”
Mr. Johnstontine, too, stared at Princess. For a long moment he was silent. Finally he whispered, “you’re right.” He reached into his wallet, opened his billfold to a picture of a young woman underneath a lavish, pompous veil, and an arrogant young man, standing stiffly and formally next to her. His eyes were wide and full of the young woman, and though their body language revealed no special intimacy, his gaze betrayed his intense longing for her.
Princess peered closely at the young woman and compared this image to the woman in front of her. She grabbed at the old man’s wallet. He released it to Princess. She stared, held her breath; the room began to betray its orbit. Princess dizzied. Her vision clouded with tiny white stars. “Is that you,” Princess asked? Mrs. Johnstontine nodded eagerly. Princess shook her head hard, trying to reorient herself. She whispered more to herself than to Mother Sidney or the Johnstontines. “It’s me.” The room went black; Princess passed out.
Mr. Johnstontine, too, stared at Princess. For a long moment he was silent. Finally he whispered, “you’re right.” He reached into his wallet, opened his billfold to a picture of a young woman underneath a lavish, pompous veil, and an arrogant young man, standing stiffly and formally next to her. His eyes were wide and full of the young woman, and though their body language revealed no special intimacy, his gaze betrayed his intense longing for her.
Princess peered closely at the young woman and compared this image to the woman in front of her. She grabbed at the old man’s wallet. He released it to Princess. She stared, held her breath; the room began to betray its orbit. Princess dizzied. Her vision clouded with tiny white stars. “Is that you,” Princess asked? Mrs. Johnstontine nodded eagerly. Princess shook her head hard, trying to reorient herself. She whispered more to herself than to Mother Sidney or the Johnstontines. “It’s me.” The room went black; Princess passed out.
For the first couple months, Mrs. Johnstontine visited Huntley every weekend, whisking the girl to this designer or that stylist, this luncheon, that dinner. Morning to night was one long etiquette class. Mrs. Johnstontine honed Grace to be the young girl she would be if not for the treacherous invasion of fate, or karma, as one prefers. Eventually Mrs. Johnstontine brought Grace to the mansion, to try her out, as it were, for a while.
How had Grace ended up in the alley between Davis Jr. and Powell in Southtown? The Johnstontine’s would never admit it. Even the most complete story couldn’t account for time. Grace learned it from Glow, the cook. Mrs. Johnstontine had left Grace sitting in the back seat of the Johnstontine’s new car. Grace waited patiently for her mother’s return, and because little Gracie was in the care of so many people, she probably took for granted that the man who stole the vehicle was taking her somewhere she ought to be. Who knew where she went after she left Mrs. Johnstontine until Wisdom found her? Johnstontine police found the car at the bottom of Lincoln Lake—front end demolished, no bodies.
Baby pictures of Grace were all over Glow’s kitchen. There had been hundreds of articles. Grace couldn’t believe what a pretty baby she had been. No wonder Wisdom and IM had wanted her so bad. She had no idea so many people had cared so much about her being forgotten.
Grace realized, before long, that she had envisaged a mom as a woman version of Wisdom. He talked to Grace. He explained things to her about the world, and the world proved what he said to be true. He loved Grace; he told her. She wanted a Wisdom who she could ask how to make a man love her, or how long to wait to have sex before a man disrespected her for it. Did the Johnstontines have any idea the questions Princess had about the world? She felt as if, had the Johnstontines the slightest indication of the things that went through her head, they’d have her publicly executed—daughter or not.
What was the benefit of being this Grace? Grace lived in luxury. She had a bed, a real bed, not a bookcase stuffed with clothes or a bunk on a bus, or a sleeping bag on the cold, hard ground . Grace’s bed was so high off the floor she had to climb into it. It was so soft that sometimes it scared her how deep she’d sink in. It was warm, even hot, and many nights she kicked off her clothes and slept naked. It had a pink, purple, blue and yellow mosquito netting that closed her in it and kept her fantasies swirling over her head long after she woke and late at night until they slipped in through her ears to her mind. Grace bathed in bubbles, lots of bubbles if she wanted to. Grace wore a perfume that smelled like only the sweet part of a rose. She was never cold, never hungry; she never craved. She never had to face Drum again. Anyway, Grace was her. She was Grace.
Becoming Johnstontine wasn’t bad at the start. Grace loved Mrs. Johnstontine’s perfect diction. She imitated Mrs. Johnstontine’s every word, understanding, of course, that there was a time and place for all language. In the proper time and place, Grace would exercise precision in presentation. Mrs. Johnstontine wore things well. Mrs. Johnstontine must have been, as far as Grace could see, one of the most beautiful women in any room she entered her entire life. Of course, she wore things well. What she wore became the fashion. She chose things only because they were expensive, not because they appealed to her eye. Still, Alltown’s matriarch managed to make clothes look like they cost what she paid. On many of the other women, a $6,000 Yen dress looked poorly tailored, hopelessly cheap. On Mrs. Johnstontine, every Yen was an individual thread, and coins shimmered in the seams when she spun.
Baby pictures of Grace were all over Glow’s kitchen. There had been hundreds of articles. Grace couldn’t believe what a pretty baby she had been. No wonder Wisdom and IM had wanted her so bad. She had no idea so many people had cared so much about her being forgotten.
Grace realized, before long, that she had envisaged a mom as a woman version of Wisdom. He talked to Grace. He explained things to her about the world, and the world proved what he said to be true. He loved Grace; he told her. She wanted a Wisdom who she could ask how to make a man love her, or how long to wait to have sex before a man disrespected her for it. Did the Johnstontines have any idea the questions Princess had about the world? She felt as if, had the Johnstontines the slightest indication of the things that went through her head, they’d have her publicly executed—daughter or not.
What was the benefit of being this Grace? Grace lived in luxury. She had a bed, a real bed, not a bookcase stuffed with clothes or a bunk on a bus, or a sleeping bag on the cold, hard ground . Grace’s bed was so high off the floor she had to climb into it. It was so soft that sometimes it scared her how deep she’d sink in. It was warm, even hot, and many nights she kicked off her clothes and slept naked. It had a pink, purple, blue and yellow mosquito netting that closed her in it and kept her fantasies swirling over her head long after she woke and late at night until they slipped in through her ears to her mind. Grace bathed in bubbles, lots of bubbles if she wanted to. Grace wore a perfume that smelled like only the sweet part of a rose. She was never cold, never hungry; she never craved. She never had to face Drum again. Anyway, Grace was her. She was Grace.
Becoming Johnstontine wasn’t bad at the start. Grace loved Mrs. Johnstontine’s perfect diction. She imitated Mrs. Johnstontine’s every word, understanding, of course, that there was a time and place for all language. In the proper time and place, Grace would exercise precision in presentation. Mrs. Johnstontine wore things well. Mrs. Johnstontine must have been, as far as Grace could see, one of the most beautiful women in any room she entered her entire life. Of course, she wore things well. What she wore became the fashion. She chose things only because they were expensive, not because they appealed to her eye. Still, Alltown’s matriarch managed to make clothes look like they cost what she paid. On many of the other women, a $6,000 Yen dress looked poorly tailored, hopelessly cheap. On Mrs. Johnstontine, every Yen was an individual thread, and coins shimmered in the seams when she spun. Grace concluded the power lie in Mrs. Johnstontine’s dangerous beauty, which Grace could never imitate, only, with hope, acquire in age, and in Mrs. Johnstontine’s posture. The daughter concentrated on sitting straight-backed and long necked. After Grace confessed her desire to have her mother’s carriage, the woman enrolled the girl in a dance class. Grace annoyed Mrs. Johnstontine with so much thanks.
Grace had the potential for power. People heard her last name and immediately pretended to respect her. If she demanded something she knew she didn’t deserve—a gift, a favor, a secret—people acquiesced. People became transparent in a way. They gave Grace what they stole from the rest of the world.
The Johnstontines were perfectly charming. They had wonderful laughs, and Grace could not have said that they were false when they smiled. They shook hands, kissed palms, bowed politely, always said please, thank you, sorry. Princess’s brothers demonstrated an appeal recognizable only to people in low places. Eights grinned mischievously and looked perfectly adorable when he belched. Lieu could make the vilest curse word an irresistibly seductive compliment. Suave’s peace could be downright unnerving and often made people confess things to him: crimes, desires, passions, dreams. Drum…well, Drum wasn’t a charmer. Knucnuc was the meanest, meaner than Drum. Doc had charisma--any of them could turn it on. She’d seen them. They just didn’t. Most of the time, a girl had to find something in them to love. The Johnstontines courted everyone’s attention. That was why, Grace concluded, the people always turned on each other before they turned on Johnstontine. It was unfortunate, though, because the Johnstontines were evil people . If she had begun to forget all she knew about the Johnstontines from Wisdom and Knowledge, a couple months in the mansion reminded her.
The Johnstontines were perfectly charming. They had wonderful laughs, and Grace could not have said that they were false when they smiled. They shook hands, kissed palms, bowed politely, always said please, thank you, sorry. Princess’s brothers demonstrated an appeal recognizable only to people in low places. Eights grinned mischievously and looked perfectly adorable when he belched. Lieu could make the vilest curse word an irresistibly seductive compliment. Suave’s peace could be downright unnerving and often made people confess things to him: crimes, desires, passions, dreams. Drum…well, Drum wasn’t a charmer. Knucnuc was the meanest, meaner than Drum. Doc had charisma--any of them could turn it on. She’d seen them. They just didn’t. Most of the time, a girl had to find something in them to love. The Johnstontines courted everyone’s attention. That was why, Grace concluded, the people always turned on each other before they turned on Johnstontine. It was unfortunate, though, because the Johnstontines were evil people . If she had begun to forget all she knew about the Johnstontines from Wisdom and Knowledge, a couple months in the mansion reminded her.
Grace woke early every morning to help the cook prepare breakfast, though Ms. Glow had pleaded with Grace not to. Grace liked her own cooking more than Glow’s, for the first part. Gracie couldn’t believe anyone wouldn’t want help in the kitchen, for the second. Plus, Glow, the cook, was cool. She always had Southtown news, and occasionally she would bring Grace Southtown treats like cheese and caramel popcorn, red soda, or fried pies. Glow knew all the cool places to go, and see, and be seen owing to her daughter Glow Jr, who everyone called Glowbug. Glowbug was hot to trot. She spent most of her nights at Pete’s, and Grace treasured the second hand stories of her godfather, Mr. Pete, and her brothers, who were in and out of Southtown more, lately.
A singular morning in particular Grace rose extra early. Homesickness and nightmares had her sleeping odd hours. Before the sun rose, she was padding down the steps to prep the kitchen for Glow. As it turned out, Glow was ill, so she’d sent Glowbug to fill in for her. This was quite unusual, but Glow had crossed her fingers that Grace could guide Glowbug through the steps. The Johnstontines rarely entered the kitchen. The butler served the food. No one would have known Glow was gone, except…
Grace cursed herself forever for screaming that morning. Years later, in her adult life, she would run into Glow and apologize profusely, discovering that neither Glow nor Glowbug ever blamed Grace. If anything, they were sorry that this had to be her introduction to sex. Glow had even imagined she’d be the one to have the mother/daughter talk with Grace.
The fateful morning, nearing the swinging, kitchen door, Gracie heard short, angry masculine grunts, and the whines and moans of a female voice. Grace had overheard enough of the boys’ escapades to recognize sex sounds, so she wasn’t scared. Still, she’d never seen it before, and she was curious. What a disastrous misunderstanding! At first glance, what Grace saw looked like it couldn’t possibly be lovemaking. Some man was raping Glowbug.
A singular morning in particular Grace rose extra early. Homesickness and nightmares had her sleeping odd hours. Before the sun rose, she was padding down the steps to prep the kitchen for Glow. As it turned out, Glow was ill, so she’d sent Glowbug to fill in for her. This was quite unusual, but Glow had crossed her fingers that Grace could guide Glowbug through the steps. The Johnstontines rarely entered the kitchen. The butler served the food. No one would have known Glow was gone, except…
Grace cursed herself forever for screaming that morning. Years later, in her adult life, she would run into Glow and apologize profusely, discovering that neither Glow nor Glowbug ever blamed Grace. If anything, they were sorry that this had to be her introduction to sex. Glow had even imagined she’d be the one to have the mother/daughter talk with Grace.The fateful morning, nearing the swinging, kitchen door, Gracie heard short, angry masculine grunts, and the whines and moans of a female voice. Grace had overheard enough of the boys’ escapades to recognize sex sounds, so she wasn’t scared. Still, she’d never seen it before, and she was curious. What a disastrous misunderstanding! At first glance, what Grace saw looked like it couldn’t possibly be lovemaking. Some man was raping Glowbug.
Without drawing the attention of Glowbug or her boyfriend, Grace turned, sprinted the steps, and armed herself with her old utility knife. Meanwhile, the rustling woke Johnstontine, who snapped up from a light sleep. Trying to get his bearings, he studied the mix of noises--the sound of drawers opening and closing as Princess sought her knife, of grunting, panting, and giggling squeals coming from directly below him. He went to his closet and retrieved a .38. As he opened his door, he spied Grace a yard in front of him with the knife in her hand.
Grace neared the kitchen door, again. She slid the blade out of the knife, took a deep breath, and then swung open the door. Glowbug was smashed against the kitchen counter. A tall, muscled man, held her dress up with one huge hand, and with the other circling Glowbug’s neck, pushed her chest down over the kitchen counter top. Her breasts fell from her shirt top, and her legs dangled just above the floor. The man was naked from the waist down, frighteningly erect, and pulling his wet, dick out of Glowbug’s butt. Grace dropped the knife and screamed. Mr. Johnstontine burst in the swinging door behind his daughter, and without thinking or questioning, cocked the trigger on the .38 and opened fire. “Get down, Grace!”
“Mr. Johnstontine, no!”
Grace stood frozen, slowly pulling together the pieces of the scene. Johnstontine shot at the man, missing despite the short distance separating them.
“No, Mr. Johnstontine! No!” Glowbug threw herself in front of her boyfriend, who scrambled to pull up his pants.
“What the fuck are you doing in my kitchen?”
“I’m Glowbug.”
“Glowbug?”
“Glow’s daughter. She’s Glow’s daughter.” Grace looked up at Johnstontine, expecting the revelation to quell his rage.
“You are Glow’s daughter, and you dare disrespect my home, your mother, and my child?” This time Johnstontine took very careful aim. The boyfriend, recognizing that this may be his last opportunity for escape, grabbed Glowbug, turned and bolted for the door. The door was locked. Glowbug and the man fumbled at the locks. Mr. Johnstontine put a bullet through the kitchen door window, shattering the stained glass.
Grace neared the kitchen door, again. She slid the blade out of the knife, took a deep breath, and then swung open the door. Glowbug was smashed against the kitchen counter. A tall, muscled man, held her dress up with one huge hand, and with the other circling Glowbug’s neck, pushed her chest down over the kitchen counter top. Her breasts fell from her shirt top, and her legs dangled just above the floor. The man was naked from the waist down, frighteningly erect, and pulling his wet, dick out of Glowbug’s butt. Grace dropped the knife and screamed. Mr. Johnstontine burst in the swinging door behind his daughter, and without thinking or questioning, cocked the trigger on the .38 and opened fire. “Get down, Grace!”
“Mr. Johnstontine, no!”
Grace stood frozen, slowly pulling together the pieces of the scene. Johnstontine shot at the man, missing despite the short distance separating them.“No, Mr. Johnstontine! No!” Glowbug threw herself in front of her boyfriend, who scrambled to pull up his pants.
“What the fuck are you doing in my kitchen?”
“I’m Glowbug.”
“Glowbug?”
“Glow’s daughter. She’s Glow’s daughter.” Grace looked up at Johnstontine, expecting the revelation to quell his rage.
“You are Glow’s daughter, and you dare disrespect my home, your mother, and my child?” This time Johnstontine took very careful aim. The boyfriend, recognizing that this may be his last opportunity for escape, grabbed Glowbug, turned and bolted for the door. The door was locked. Glowbug and the man fumbled at the locks. Mr. Johnstontine put a bullet through the kitchen door window, shattering the stained glass.
Mrs. Johnstontine came down the steps. Gracie didn’t dare hope the woman would attempt to stop Johnstontine. The best she ever did was annoy him into inactivity. At this moment, she was the chief instigator. “ Who are they? Kill them, Johnstontine! Kill them!” Johnstontine put a bullet through the bottom door window, just missing Glowbug’s hip, and propelling, yet, more glass shards everywhere.
“Open it! Open it!” Grace dashed to the door and unclicked the lock. The door fell open with the weight of the young lovers. They scrambled across the yard, hand in hand, each dragging the other when he or she fell behind. Mr. Johnstontine marched to the door, shoved Grace roughly out of the way, and aimed square at Glowbug’s head.“No! She’s Glow’s daughter. She’s Glow’s oldest daughter!” Grace kicked Johnstontine’s knee just as he lit a shot off. Blood spurted from the back of the young lover. The boy fell, dragging Glowbug to the ground. Johnstontine turned the gun on Gracie. Her gaze and his locked. He turned back to the couple and aimed again. “Run, Glowbug! Run!” But Glowbug was determined not to leave her love. She dragged him as best she could across the yard. Johnstontine folded his arm underneath the wrist of his shooting hand. He captured Glowbug in his sight. He cocked the gun, and smiled. “Why are you doing this,” Gracie cried?
“One day you’ll understand.” He pulled the trigger. Grace braced her soul for the terrible report, but the gun only clicked. “Shit! Out of bullets.” Grace raced upstairs to her room and called for an AMP. She looked out her window and saw Johnstontine beating the young man with the butt of his gun, and Mrs. Johnstontine beating Glowbug with the pole end of the broom. Grace cried and begged the AP to hurry. Moments later AMP arrived, apparently believing they must protect the Johnstontines. By arresting Glowbug and her boyfriend, they saved the two lovers’ lives.
Grace’s behavior mortally wounded the Johnstontines' faith in the possibility of restoring her perfection. They blamed this on her for setting a casual tone with the help, working alongside Glow in the kitchen. They chastised her for running between Mr. Johnstontine and his target. They scolded her for unlocking the exit for the intruders. They maligned her for believing that Mr. Johnstontine was in any way wrong.
After that night, every moment with the Johnstontines was torture; none of it was fun. The clothes Mrs. Johnstontine bought were all itchy and ugly. The designers wanted to cover everything Grace wanted to show. The stylists burned and yanked her nappy hair into submission. Grace’s emotions were mixed about straight hair. Straightened, her thick, black hair gleamed and bounced and drove other girls wild with envy, but the price of straight hair was rollers and running from water and sleeping “pretty.” After all that, only when she was nappy did boys really notice her face. Mrs. Johnstontine, herself, wore a natural. She just wanted Gracie’s hair straight.
The luncheons were another site of submission—using this spoon, spooning in this direction, no slurping, no seconds. Mrs. Johnstontine’s luncheon invitees were better than the guests at Mr. Johnstontine’s dinners. The women at the luncheons were ridiculous, but the greatest crime they committed was social insensibility. Highly paid Alltown tailors, definitely no sweatshop seamstress, sewed these women's clothes. The women used cloth napkins and ate food from their own gardens. Many of them volunteered. When they got drunk, they suggested terrible solutions to social ills—cure world hunger by opening more fast food restaurants—but mostly they were guilty of apathy.
The people Mr. Johnstontine broke bread with were autocrats. Grace recognized them from the Strong Foundation teach-ins. Many of these men who wanted to pat Grace’s thigh and kiss her hand were featured villains in the dinner series: As the Revolution Unfolds. Mr. Johnstontine was a despot; he was one of them. Grace wondered the consciences of tyrants that allowed them to laugh, play jazz, and sip tomato soup while discussing the torture of political prisoners, and somehow the blood red soup never standing still, as it did in Grace’s throat, to choke them.
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