Emmy And Me

After that second day, Emmy’s wardrobe varied wildly. Most of us in high school wear basically the same thing every day with only minor variations, but that just wasn’t the case for her. Emmy was just as likely to wear high heels, stockings and a pencil skirt with a silk shirt as she was to wear cargo pants with a T-shirt and Doc Martens.

The first time she wore what I would call a “high fashion” outfit to school it seemed to short-circuit what passes for brains in all the boys’ heads. They just couldn’t stop staring, practically drooling on themselves whenever Emmy walked past with that sexy model’s walk of hers. I have to admit she looked incredible in the high-waisted black silk pants and zigzag black and white patterned high-collar jacket over a white silk blouse. The black and white checkered boots must have had a five inch spike heel, but Emmy walked as comfortably in them as if they were a pair of tennis shoes. I never would have believed that a Fallbrook High School student could wear something straight from the runways of Paris or Milan to class and make it work, but Emmy somehow did just that. She had a way of making whatever she wore seem as if it were somehow completely natural for her to be dressed that way, whether it was Oscar De La Renta or Hot Topic.

Whatever it was that she wore, somehow Emmy made it seem sexy, too. She didn’t have to dress up to catch the boys’ eyes. Dressing down did the job just as well. I remember the day she first wore her gray yoga pants to school. The way they showed off her slender, muscular legs and bubble butt (She’d told me she was a dancer and practiced all the time) practically sucked all the guys’ eyes right out of their heads like a magnet. To be honest, I found myself staring at her perfect, round ass more than I’d like to admit, too. People just don’t have butts like that in real life.

In retrospect all her varied outfits affected me, too. Subconsciously, I guess, I started to break out of the jeans, T and hoodie outfit that was pretty much my daily wear back then. In fact, Mom even commented that she’d noticed I was wearing skirts more often than she was used to, and complimented me on it. As much as I appreciated the little bit of extra attention dressing a little bit nicer got me, there was no way I was going to wear heels to school. I mean, I’m too tall already, so why add to it, right?

Near the end of Emmy’s first week, something funny happened. As we were leaving Home Room a nerdy guy named David Bernstein came over to talk to Emmy. He was very shy about approaching a girl, but something was pushing him to actually work up the courage to talk to her.

“Umm…” he stammered, once he’d gotten Emmy’s attention and she’d stopped to talk to him. “Emmy, I was just wondering,” he said, staring at his shoes, the gym building, people walking by- anything but looking Emmy in the face. He was turning red, too. I would have felt sorry for him but his discomfort was just too damned funny to be pitiable.

“Yes, David?” Emmy asked. I was surprised she knew who he was, and evidently, so was he. He looked at her then, startled to hear her speak his name.

“Emmy, I was just wondering,” he mumbled, again having a hard time looking at her. “Can I see your ears?” he finally blurted out.

Emmy laughed, in that clear, sparkling laugh of hers that somehow reminded me of bells or wind chimes or something. “My ears?” she asked in surprise. “Why would you possibly want to see my ears?”

Seeing that he was too bashful and embarrassed to answer, she continued. “If you want to see them, I see no harm in showing you.” She pulled her unnaturally white hair aside and turned her head a bit so he could see her left ear. He stared at it for a minute, then looked disappointed. Emmy picked up on this, and asked David “What were you expecting to see?”

“I thought… No, it’s stupid,” he said, clearly crestfallen.

“You must tell me, David. I am very curious now,” Emmy chided. “What did you expect?”

“I thought, I don’t know. I guess I thought they’d maybe be pointy, or something.” He looked ashamed to admit it, and again was doing anything to avoid eye contact.

“Pointy?” Emmy asked, puzzled. “Like Mr. Spock?”

“No, like the dark elves in Boromir’s Mines.”

“The dark elves in what?” Emmy asked, perplexed. She clearly had no clue what this guy was talking about.

“Boromir’s Mines is a series of video games,” David confessed. “There are these dark elves, and they kind of look like you. But they have pointy ears, and I was thinking that maybe…” he trailed off, well aware of how idiotic it was all making him sound.

Emmy just laughed again, and put her hand on David’s chest, surprising him again and making him look up at her face. “Elves are just make believe! They are nothing but faerie tales to amuse children and perhaps scare them into being good. That is all.”

David, feeling every bit the complete idiot, just nodded, looking down at the ground again.

“I would like to see these games, David. I am interested to see these elves who look like me. Perhaps you could show them to me some time? When you get a chance, of course,” she added.

This seemed to cheer David up, and he looked a lot better when he left to go to his next class.

“He’s probably going to tell his nerd pals that he’s got a date with you,” I commented. It was a bit mean of me, I know, but there it was.

“Yes, I expect he will,” Emmy agreed. “But I would like to see this game he mentioned. I think it is funny that he and his friends thought I might be an elf.” Then turning to me, she asked “Elves are very small, are they not?”

“Well, I guess it depends on who is doing the describing, doesn’t it? I mean, the elves in the Lord Of The Rings are just as tall as everybody else, right?” I pondered. “But then again, those elves that make those cookies seem to be pretty small…”

We reached our first period class about this time, and that was the end of that discussion.

“You take the bus home, no?” Emmy asked the next day, looking at me. “I could give you a ride home, if you would like.”

“No, it’s all right. The bus usually comes pretty quickly,” I responded.

“Are you certain? My car is just here.” She waved over at the curb where parents pick up their kids.

Actually, a ride sounded good. I didn’t have workout that day and the time saved by not taking the bus would mean I could get a nap in before Mom got home with Tiffany.

“Sure! That’d be great. Thanks a lot,” I said, gratefully.

We walked toward the end of the line of cars, towards a big midnight blue BMW sedan. As we neared the car, a big muscular blond man in his late twenties (I guessed) wearing a dark gray suit with a tie the same color as the car got out of the driver’s door. It’s funny how sometimes the little details like a tie can stand out like that.

As he opened the rear passenger door for us, Emmy said to him “Edouard,” (it was definitely not ‘Edward’), “this is my friend Leah Farmer. We will be giving her a ride home today.”

Emmy slid into the car and across to the other side so I could get in. Edouard shut the door when I was seated. My first impression as the door closed was that this is what money feels like when it’s shut in the bank vault. All outside noises- the school buses, kids shouting, all of it- just vanished. The quiet inside the car was amazing. The outside noises returned for a moment as Edouard got in the driver’s seat, but silence returned when he shut his door.

I’d never been in a car like this one. The caramel colored leather seats were so soft I thought to myself that I never wanted to get back out. I could live in happiness in this car.

Edouard started the engine, which made a low rumble as we pulled away from the curb.

“Go down to Mission Road and make a right,” I told him, and he nodded he understood.

“This is a nice car, Emmy. I mean, really, really nice,” I said admiringly, running my hands over the glove-soft leather.

“Yes, it is nice, but I would rather my father would let me drive for myself. If I had my own car I wouldn’t need Edouard to drive me. But now, when Edouard is driving my mother, I am stuck at home. I miss the freedom I had in Paris.”

“You had a car in Paris?” I asked, a bit surprised.

“Yes- a nice little Z4. My father likes BMW motorcars very much, and so that’s what he bought for me, even though it was not legal for me to drive,” she replied.

“Wow. That’s a nice car, too” I said. I’ll admit, it sounded stupid even to me at the time, but there it is. “What do you mean ‘not legal’?”

“I am under eighteen years of age,” she replied simply, shrugging her shoulders as if it was just one of those things. “What kind of auto do you like, Leah?” Emmy asked.

“What do you mean? I like plenty of cars, I guess. I mean, I’d be happy with any car at all. It would sure beat riding the city bus to school and back.”

“My father has said that when I get my California driver’s license he will buy me a new car. I am not sure what to get,” Emmy said.

“Any new car? How about another Z4?” I asked.

“That car only has two seats. It is too limiting. Yes, it was fun to drive, but I could hardly even fit a shopping bag in the car with me. I would like something a little larger.”

“You said your dad likes BMWs, right? How about a Mini, then?” I suggested.

“You like those cars?” Emmy asked, dubious.

“Heck yeah! They’re cute, and small so they’d be easy to park. They have four seats, plus a little bit of room in the back. They’re totally killer!” I gushed. “Oh- turn right at the light,” I told Edouard. “Then the next left.”

As we pulled into my apartment complex, Emmy said “This is the road we take to get to my house” with surprise in her voice. “We drive right past your home every morning and every afternoon. How amusing that I did not even know.”

When Edouard stopped the car, he opened the door on my side to let me out, and Emmy slid out behind me.

“Leah, we pass by here on the way to school. Would you like a ride tomorrow morning?” Emmy asked.

“Really? That’d be great! I’d really appreciate it.” Riding in that amazing chauffeur-driven car instead of the crappy city bus? What kind of choice is that?

“We will be here at 6:10 tomorrow. See you then!” With that, she stood on her tippy toes and gave me her usual goodbye kiss on the cheek. She slid back into the car, her driver shutting the door behind her. As the big blue sedan purred out of the driveway, I watched it go with a little bit of envy. It must be nice to live that way, I thought to myself as I climbed the stairs to our apartment.