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“Come in.” The man’s voice behind the door is low but friendly. The woman takes her post at the side of the door again, showing her back to me. I open the door and step inside. The room is an office and it reminds me of Dean’s, and I’m stunned because I haven’t thought about him in so long. A big wooden desk, a big leather chair, big bookshelves with big books, a big clock, everything is big.
Except for Francis.
He’s behind the desk, fit and trim and tan and somewhat slight, in a navy polo. Casual and smart. He smiles at me. He could be someone’s dapper dad. He’s different from the rest. No gray in his hair. No protruding belly. No unsightly features. Francis is very handsome. A first for Mother.
“You must be Fleur,” he says, standing up to shake my hand. We’re nearly the same height in my sandals. He holds my hand tight and wraps his other hand over it, looking me in the eye, so familiar.
Like we’ve met before in another life.
Like we’re friends.
Like I’m an adult.
“Welcome! Did you get anything to eat yet?” Francis asks me, and I shake my head. “We’ll fix that. How was your flight?”
“Very nice,” I reply, but it was so much more than that. Mother and I flew into New York on Francis’s private jet. Incredible. The flight attendant even offered me a small glass of champagne. Mother said I could drink it. She had one, too. We both gazed out the window as we sipped. We didn’t toast or clink glasses, but she said I should enjoy it and all that was to come because we were finally going to get everything we wanted.
“I like your dress, Fleur,” Francis says, putting a hand on my shoulder, feeling the fabric between two of his fingers, just for a moment. The dress is black and white, from the junior’s department at Bloomingdale’s. It’s my favorite. It makes me feel like an adult.
“Thank you,” I say. I rub my right foot against my left ankle. An itch I need to scratch. I almost tip over in my sandals, but Francis steadies me, putting both hands on my shoulders now.
“You don’t have to be nervous, Fleur,” he says. “You’re home now. I’m Francis and we’re all just thrilled you’re here. Your mother tells me you’re very smart and accomplished already, so I’m sure your star will only rise here in Manhattan. It’s very nice to meet you.”
That word again.
Star.
All of a sudden I’m a star?
I’ll take it.
Francis raises an eyebrow, looking behind me, and the woman has reappeared. “We’ll get you back to your mother now,” he says. “I’ll see you later.”
“Okay,” I say. “It’s very nice to meet you, too, Francis.” I trip again in my sandals, they’re probably an inch too high to be comfortable, and I immediately feel like an idiot. Why am I being so awkward? But he lets out a huge laugh and I’m relieved. Francis comes closer to me. He wraps his arms around me. He kisses me on the cheek. His lips are wet. They linger. He breathes onto my neck. Then into my ear. I don’t move. Stay still.
“You’re cute, Fleur,” he says before returning to his desk. “Really cute.”
•••
MOTHER TELLS MEall the time that she’s proud of me. Francis adores me. His friends do, too. It’s easy, isn’t it? It’s so easy to entertaina man, the right type of man, to get what you want. She always wants a full report and I provide it, proud of myself. She’s been taking care of me for so long. It’s time for me to return the favor, and she’s right, it’s quite easy. I wear little outfits at the parties and laugh and fill their drinks. I don’t mind them looking at me. Not really. Men are always looking at me. At least I’m getting something out of it this time.
Francis introduces me to his friends at his parties and expects me to remember their names, so I do. He tells me later those aren’t their real names. It’s just for fun. It’s all pretend. Just a place to blow off steam, an innocent gathering, something most people wouldn’t understand, but I understand, don’t I? Because I’m mature. One of the select few.
Of course, other girls are there, too. Some of them look older than me and act like it, too, but Francis always says I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do and that if anyone tells me differently, I should find him. That hasn’t really happened yet. I don’t mind being grazed by a hand here and there. It’s just a hug, or just a little kiss. Whatever. It’s nothing, just like Mother says. She says that’s just a part of it. Means it’s working, that I’m working.
She’s proud of me.
Some of the other girls are there with their mothers. Some are even with their fathers, but I stay away from them. Something inside tells me to, and when I tell Mother, she agrees with me. Those are the type of men to be avoided. Most of the girls are with nobody and I definitely stay away from them. They like to go far, that’s what Mother says. Alcohol and pills and powders in other rooms. I don’t want any of it and I’m always told I don’t have to, but it still makes my stomach turn. I see what it does to them. It feels like an alarm going off in my head. Francis asks me once if I want a little taste. He doesn’t say of what, but I say no thank you and he shrugs, not bothered. Whateveryou want, Fleur. Whatever I want? I feel fine and this is pretty easy, but I still wish I could pretend this is normal. I know that it isn’t. At the house. On the planes. In other places. I’m never alone. I never feel in danger. It’s just a touch. Just a hug. Just a little kiss. Just a massage. Mother is always there, or at least outside the door. Watching. Observing. Never engaging. She says she’s there to protect me so I believe her. Hasn’t she protected me my whole life?
So many men. Watching and looking and touching, just ever so slightly. Waiting for me to say it’s okay for more, but I never do.
Leave them wanting more, Mother says. Always leave them wanting more.
I’m always returned to Francis.
I’m always returned to her.
“You’re a star,” she says to me. “Proud of you.”
