Aberrant: The Middle Children of History - Portrait of an Artist

[Atomicweasel]

"Honestly, darling...how can you live in this squalor?" Helena White, better known as the White Witch, stood in the doorway of her daughter's cramped studio loft. Rolled up canvasses were littered across the floor, stuffed into corners, wedged behind precarious piles of books and magazines. The Persian carpet she'd bought just last December was askew and bore strange stains upon whose origins Helena would rather not speculate. Her daughter's inline skates, another Christmas present, dangled next to Helena's head on a twisted sculpture of corrugated iron. Someone's idea of art. Helena thought. Definitely not hers. Everywhere she looked were ink bottles and paints and palettes. Half a dozen mugs were crammed with brushes that swam in murky brown water. What a mess.

"And what is that hideous...thing...beside your door?" Helena pressed as she crossed the small studio to stand looming over her daughter. Sometimes, as now, Helena wondered if someone hadn't switched her baby with another, made off with her true child and left a little changeling in her place. It was hard to imagine that the girl sprawled out on the lime green bean-bag chair in front of her was really her own flesh and blood.

While Helena herself was long-limbed, statuesque and muscled like a goddess, her daughter Emly was a slight and delicate little slip of a girl. Helena had shocking green eyes, flawless alabaster skin and hair like fine spun gold that rolled down her shoulders in perfectly tended waves. Emily's eyes were hazel, Pretty enough, Helena supposed, but unremarkable. Her hair was a messy chocolate brown tumble. The differences did not stop there. Helena wore a shimmering black Versace dress in Eufiber, pointed toe RealSkin boots with elegant spike heels, and a long flowing blood-red spider silk shawl by Vera Wang. Emily wore a pale-gray zip-up hoodie that left a slice of her midriff bare, jeans with more tears than Helena cared to count, and a pair of laceless sneakers.

"Well?!" Helena planted her fists upon her gorgeous hips.

[Atomicweasel]

"Mom...wha..." Emi squinted up at her mother through eyes still gummy with sleep. The sunlight spilling from the studio's one tall window splashed against her mother's back, suffusing her in a golden aura, making her lion's mane of hair seem ablaze. Wow. Emi thought. It was like staring into the face of an angel. An angry angel from the look of Helena's deep and disapproving scowl. "what time is it?" Emi mumbled, rubbing her fists into her eyes. The inside of her mouth tasted like wet fur. And cabbage.

"Almost noon." Helena's lips tightened as she gestured at the rusty abomination by the door. "What is that thing?" She repeated.

"What?" Emi pushed her arms deep into the beanbag, trying ineffectually to sit up straight. "Oh, that. Daniel gave it to me. It's found art."

"Found where? A dumpster?" Helena quipped.

"Mooommm..." Emi groaned, slumping back into her beanbag chair and crossing her arms over her face.

Helena reached down and grabbed a fist-full of her daughter's collar. Emi's faint protest, "Hey--", turned into a startled yelp as Helena yanked her out of the beanbag chair as easily as one might lift a newborn kitten by the scruff at the back of its neck.

Helena dropped her daughter on her feet. "You look wretched."

"Gee! Thanks! That's sweet!" Emi shot back, wide-awake now, heart hammering at her ribs.

"Get yourself cleaned up and put something proper on."

"Why!? Mom, I don't have time for this. I have work to do."

"Oh, how rude of me to interrupt your regimen of uninterrupted discipline and labor."

Emi blinked at her mother. "What?"

"Hurry up." Helena pointed imperiously at the bathroom.

"No!" Emi answered rebelliously.

"YES." Helena thundered, grabbing hold of her daughter's arm. She had to be careful with her strength lest she snap Emily's arm like a dry twig, but even the light shove she gave was enough to propel her daughter across the floor and almost face first into the bathroom door.

Fuck OFF. Get BENT. Go to HELL. Emi would've liked to yell. Instead she rubbed her bruised bicep and muttered, "fine, whatever..." She cast a resentful glance at her mother as she opened the door and stood before the sink, splashing water on her face.

"That better not be your idea of a shower." Helena warned as she took a seat at the tiny round glass coffee table that doubled as her daughter's dining table. She swept her eyes over the plastic plates with congealing pasta remains, the empty Stella bottles, the crumpled napkins and OpBox controllers. She shook her head and heaved a tired sigh.

"Whath the big ruth ahnywhay? Wath are we dointh?" Emi asked from the bathroom, her mouth full of tooth-paste as she furiously brushed at her teeth.

"I'm going to get you exhibited at the Saatchi."

The electric toothbrush dropped with a clunk into the sink. Emi spit. "What!? How!?" No sooner had the words left her mouth than she felt a fool for asking. Her mother was the White Witch. Her mother could do anything she wanted.

"We're going to go speak with a friend of mine." Helena answered mildly, crossing one exquisite leg over the other.

"Who?" Emi stood in the bathroom doorway with the look of a child on Christmas Eve.

"Her name is Corentine."

"And she's gonna get me into the Saatchi?!" Emi was bouncing, her fingers pressed to her lips.

"Yes, darling." She just doesn't know it yet. Helena thought.

"MOM!" Emi shrieked. She dashed across the room and dropped to her knees in front of the sofa bed where her mother sat, hugging Helena around the waist. "I love you!"

"I love you too, darling." Helena grinned wryly as she stroked a hand through her daughter's thick tangle of hair. "Now go on and get yourself ready. We're meeting her for lunch."

[Atomicweasel]

Emi rushed through her shower and then had to sit impatiently, wrapped in her towel, while her mother brushed her hair until it was sleek, straight and glossy. Emi then suffered to have her head turned this way and that so Helena could work a thin and elegant wrap-around braid into her hair.

"Alright, up." Helena glanced nervously at her diamond Cartier watch as her daughter began sorting through her closet and the various piles of clothing littered around her tiny loft. "No jeans."

"I wasn't going to..." Emi sulked. She picked out a short cotton skirt and a pale blue and salmon striped top. "What about th--"

"No."

Emi gave her mother a hurt look, but put them back and dug around some more. She plucked out a mid-lenth cordouroy skirt and a black blouse with little violet flowers crawling assymetrically across the hem.

"No."

"Jesus, Mom."

"Do you not have a single decent article of clothing in your entire wardrobe, Emily?" Helena asked icily.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Emi blushed, looked defensively over her shoulder at her mother. "They're fine!"

"They're not fine. They're trashy or they're gauche." Helena strode over to look into her daughter's tiny closet, making Emi step to one side as she began to sift brusquely through the girl's clothes.

Emi stood and watched, her arms crossed over her chest to hold the towel in place, while her mother discarded skirts and tops and shorts and drawstring pants. At long last she found, and pulled free, a simple white summer-dress that Emi couldn't remember wearing since she was fifteen.

"You can wear this." Helena told her, thrusting the dress into Emi's hands. "And hurry it up, she's expecting us by one thirty."

Emi pulled the dress over her head, mumbling a muffled protest under her breath. She dropped the towel out from under the dress, not bothering with a bra--the shoulder straps were too thin, and anyway, ample breasts were another thing she hadn't inherited from her mother. She felt self-conscious dressing in front of her mother, knowing she was being judged and examined and another black mark was being recorded against her for all eternity because she'd somehow failed to meet Helena's expectations. She grabbed at a pair of orange panties with black trim and wriggled into them as she hopped and bounced from one foot to the other. She'd no sooner stepped into her sandals than her mom had taken hold of her wrist and dragged her out the door.

"Mom, could you please? I'm not a child..." Emi pointed out as her mother swept down the stairs with Emily in tow.

"You look like a child. You act like a child." Helena countered. Emi pulled against her mother's grip, but she might as well have tried to arm-wrestle a gorrilla. Her mother's hand was like steel, completely unyielding. She had little choice but to swallow her pride and let herself be tugged along in her mother's wake.

Helena finally let go of her daughter as they stepped out into the street and waited for her chauffer to pull open the door of her shiny silver Mercedes Eurocar. The man, trim and fit and wearing a charcoal colored suit that complimented his dark skin, grinned at Emi as he held the door for her.

"Señorita Palacios, siempre un placer."

"Gracias, Raul." Emi answered shyly as she stepped inside the car.

"Le luce el vestidito." Raul called after her, making Emi blush and Helena give him a warning glance. Raul cleared his throat, ducked his head and closed the door shut once Helena had slipped into the back seat next to her daughter.

"¿A donde Señora?" Raul asked once he had retaken his position behind the steering wheel and started the car.

"We're going to the Sanctum Soho Hotel, Raul..." Helena turned to her daughter. "Would you stop slouching and sit like a normal person?"

Emi pulled herself upright with a roll of her eyes. Raul answered "Si Señora," and the Mercedes purred as they merged into traffic.

[Corentine]

"And what can I get you to drink, madam?" The waiter asked, a bright smile on his face. He was betrayed by the way he fingered his palm PC nervously, and the way he did not look her in the eye.

Corentine Rouhette stared back coolly.

Why 'Lena had chosen this place to meet, she did not understand. It was nice enough, she supposed, but for God's sake, it was a hotel. A hotel. It was a jack-of-all-trades, somewhere to amuse oneself when one was new to the city, a jerk-off knock-off of a proper dining/sleeping/gaming/fucking establishment. It was enough to make one lose faith in humanity.

"Rum," she bit out. The waiter flinched, as she'd meant him to do, and glanced at her tits, which she'd also expected. Corentine was wearing several layers of gauzy, oddly-cut clothing, too minimalistic in this day and age. It was like the '70s all over again, though she hadn't seen the first bit. She ground out her cigarette. They'd asked her to put it out when she came in the building, but a few pointed, pleasant words had been enough to dissuade anything less than utterly forceless polite requests. People had forgotten how to savour a good Benson & Hedges, and if, through some miracle of second-hand smoke, Corentine was able to remind them, she would count it a blessing.

"No ice," she added, as the waiter began to turn. He bobbed his head and scurried off.

She sighed, leaning against the table and twirling her short blond hair around her finger. Bad etiquette, for anyone else, but Corentine had long since learned that as long as you do something with confidence and style, you can make it fashionable. And in this day and age, most people didn't give a damn about doing things properly anyway.

The restaurant was, like the rest of the hotel, very British, very contemporary, and very boring. Corentine resolved not to order any, though she was starting to get hungry. It would certainly be too heavy. She could have Domovoi order her a bite to eat...she had a few French chefs in mind.

Her back was to the entrance. She wasn't bothering to watch for 'Lena's arrival, letting her pick Corentine out instead. And Domovoi was watching the entrances from another table - a small, nondescript man with glasses he didn't need and eyes that never stopped moving, apparently searching for a date that would never arrive.

[Atomicweasel]

Outside the Sanctum Soho Hotel, Helena White's silvery sleek Mercedes came to a smooth slow stop. Wordlessly the chauffeur exited the car and walked around to the passenger side door. He held it open as Helena and her daughter stepped out.

"Thank you, Raul." The chauffeur nodded graciously.

"Gracias, Raul." Emi said over her shoulder as she followed after her mother.

"De nada, Señorita Palacios." Raul tossed her a wink, chuckling to himself at Emily's resulting blush, and eased himself back into the luxury sedan. He drove slowly back out into the street as the White Witch and her daughter entered through the double doors of the hotel and into the lobby.

"We're eating here?" Emi asked as her mother led her through the spacious lobby to the decadently glamorous interior of the No. 20 restaurant.

"Yes. Try not gawk." Helena whispered tersely.

"I feel under-dressed."

"You are under-dressed."

Emi was looking daggers at the side of her mother's head when they paused before a table toward the rear of the restaurant. "Corentine!" she heard her mother gush. "It's lovely to see you. You're looking every bit as beautiful as I remember you," Helena was smiling warmly at an icy eyed blonde. Emi turned to look...

...and looked. Never in her life had she seen such an embodiment of pure sex. Every curve was a line etched in spectacular sultriness. Her dress was like a wave of blue in different shades and Corentine herself was like the surf, bursting from the cloth in pale beauty. And barefoot. She was barefoot.

Emi felt her throat go dry. She desperately wanted to paint the woman.

"This is my daughter, Emily...don't be shy, Emily. Say hello."

Emi stared wordlessly until her mother nudged her forward. "Hi." she choked out.

[Corentine]

"Oh, hello there," Corentine said, gliding forward and catching Emi in a tight and totally unexpected embrace. Corentine was soft and warm, and smelled faintly of some sort of subtle, musky perfume. "It is lovely to meet you, Emily," she said in a low voice, arms still wrapped around her. She released Emi and continued. "I have heard so much about you. And Lena!" She turned, a fond, perhaps even loving expression flowing across her features. "It's marvelous to see you again, darling! And such a pleasant surprise, to bring your wonderful daughter with you."

She leaned forward and up, giving Helena a peck on the check, and turned, gesturing to her table. "Sit down, sit down, please. It's on me."

[Atomicweasel]

Emi stood transfixed by Corentine's hug. She felt the tickle of Corentine's breath against her ear, felt her small breasts pressed flat against Corentine's chest. She returned the embrace reflexively, inhaling Corentine's scent. The unexpected intensity of that electrifying contact left Emi dazed as Corentine pulled away and turned to her mother.

"I've heard lots about you, too." Emi managed to answer as she slipped into her chair. She felt boneless. Empty. She realized that she weirdly wanted Corentine to hug her again.

The sweet smile that Helena turned on Corentine made her seem five years the younger. A hint of color touched the beautiful alabaster of her skin. "Don't be silly, Corentine. It's my treat," Helena said. She took her seat, crossing one leg over the other with statuesque poise as the hem of her slinky Versace dress climbed up her shapely thighs.

Helena leaned forward to take Corentine's left hand in both of hers, cradling it palm upwards. "We really mustn't let so much time pass before seeing each other again."

Emi watched this exchange quietly, looking from her mother to Corentine and back again.

[Corentine]

Corentine laughed, a light, silvery sound. "Well, if you want to pay, I will not argue." She didn't make any attempt to reclaim her hand, and in fact seemed rather pleased with the gesture.

A waiter materialized at her shoulder. "And what can I get you, madam?" he asked politely, carefully avoiding Corentine's gaze.

"A Whiskey Sour, please," 'Lena said crisply.

The waiter turned to regard Emi. "And for you, ma'am?"

"A diet co - " Emi caught Corentine's eye and quickly changed her answer " - uh, a Reisling, please."

Corentine hid a smile behind her hand as the waiter handed them their menus and disappeared. Emily was so adorable. She turned to regard 'Lena, who still had her other hand entrapped. "We really should, you know. I miss you. I miss the old days. It has not been the same since you left." Her other hand moved to rest on top of 'Lena's and she gave the other woman an intense stare charged with emotions Emi could not quite interpret. For a moment she seemed to forget the younger woman was present.

[Atomicweasel]

"I miss those times, too." 'Lena told Corentine. Emi watched her mother's thumb rub lightly over Frenchwoman's knuckles. "But times do change," 'Lena added wryly, finally releasing Corentine's hand after one last little squeeze. "We can't remain children forever. Eventually, we all have to grow up."

'Lena laid a hand on Emi's shoulder and chuckled, "Though some of us put up more of a fight than others."

"Mom," Emi groaned, shooting a mortified glance at Corentine and shrugging her shoulder loose of her mother's hand.

"Actually, I was rather hoping I might impose on you for a bit of a favor," 'Lena explained to Corentine, ignoring her daughter's reproachful glare. "My little Emily's something of an artist, you see...only she's been struggling of late to earn some recognition. It's not that she doesn't have talent," 'Lena quickly went on, reaching out to stroke her hand through Emi's long and still wet hair. This earned another muted groan and blush from Emi.

"Only she lacks...ambition. She limits herself." 'Lena cast a sad look at her daughter. "She wastes her talent on graffiti or...or...what do you call it?"

"It's urban art." Emi defended herself. "It's huge in Brick Lane. It's the Banksy movement."

"Isn't she precious?" 'Lena asked condescendingly. As Emi turned a deeper shade of tanned pink, her mother went on, "So, you see, she needs the kind of exposure a woman with connections can get her. A woman with your connections." 'Lena smiled sweetly at Corentine.

[Corentine]

Corentine raised her eyebrows. 'Lena was still as ballsy as she remembered, at least. And here she'd been hoping the other woman had decided it was finally time to come home.

She let her eyes linger over Emi. The girl was pretty, certainly. And who knew, maybe she had some talent. Certainly, it would be interesting....if she couldn't have who she wanted, she might as well...and perhaps she could even manage to draw 'Lena in.

Corentine smiled warmly, eyes never leaving Emily. "Ah yes. Well. It would be the least I could do, wouldn't it, for an old friend." She leaned forward, catching Emi in her gaze. "It looks like we shall be spending some time together," she said silkily. "Would you like that, darling? Would you like to get your work into the Saatchi?"

[Atomicweasel]

"Yes...I would." Emi answered carefully, as if she half suspected 'Lena and her friend of setting some elaborate prank that was about to end in a peel of laughter, staring back at Corentine with wide-eyed incredulity.

'Lena did not fail to notice that the look between Corentine and her daughter lasted far longer than it ought to have. She didn't miss the way Emi was pierced and held Corentine's serpentine stare. Like a hooked fish. 'Lena thought as she kept her pleasant smile in place. But maybe that was her heart talking and not her head, spurred by an overprotective maternal instinct...and it wouldn't do to ruin Emi's chances at the Saatchi by spewing some vulgar half-formed accusation at her dear friend. So Lena unfolded her napkin and laid it on her lap and made as if she'd taken no notice whatsoever of the penetrating gaze that passed between her wonder-struck daughter and Corentine.

"See what I told you, Sweetness?" 'Lena cooed at Emi, petting her hair and rather pointedly treating her like a child. "Corentine can make just about anything happen." 'Lena turned to look at Corentine. "Isn't that so?"

"Wow." Emi murmured, utterly blind to her mother's subtext.