Emmy And Me

“Leah…” Emmy said a bit apprehensively. “May I ask you something?”

“What? Of course you can,” I replied, enjoying the calm of the ride home after a crazy day at school. “What’s up?”

“I would like it very much if you would come to dinner at my house this Friday night. My mother and father have wanted to meet you, and I would like for you to see my house, too. Please? It would mean very much to me.”

“Dinner at your house? Sure. That would be great. What time?”

“I had been thinking that we could go directly to my house after school. Would that be O.K. with you?” Emmy asked, still looking a bit concerned.

“Yeah, sure. I have to ask my mom, but I’m sure it would be fine with her. I don’t think we have any plans.”

“Thank you, Leah. Do you have any dietary restrictions our cook should know about? Any allergies?”

“No, nothing like that. Did you say ‘your cook’?” I asked.

“Yes. Her name is Marie-Anne, and she is wonderful. She is amazing.”

“You have a driver and a cook, too?” I asked, starting to wonder just how wealthy Emmy’s family really was.

Emmy nodded, and made one more request. “Leah, I think this may sound strange, but we dress for dinner at my house. Would that be too much trouble?” she asked, with that worried look again.

“What do you mean ‘dress for dinner’? Like in one of those costume drama movies set a hundred years ago, where the men wear smoking jackets and the women wear long dresses?” I asked, puzzled.

“Well, yes. It is like that,” she admitted. “We have family dinners on Friday nights, and we dress in formal attire. I usually wear a nice dress. I hope it is not too much for you to accept. In some ways my family is very, very old fashioned.”

“I guess it’s O.K….” I said, thinking about what I could wear. “Could we make a quick stop at my house on the way so I don’t have to wear my dress to school?”

“Oh, thank you, Leah!” Emmy gushed. “Of course we can stop. But there really is no reason to get dressed up until right before dinner. We can pick up your clothes and bring them with us to my house. There is no reason to be any more uncomfortable than necessary.”

“That’s cool. I’ll ask my mom tonight if it’s O.K.” I wondered just what I was getting myself into, as Edouard opened the door to let me out. “See you in the morning!”

That evening, when I mentioned to Mom that I had been invited to dinner at Emmy’s house, she seemed interested. “They dress for dinner? How remarkable.”

“Emmy said they have family dinners on Friday nights. Somehow that gave me the impression that they don’t really have dinner together on other nights, but I might just be reading too much into it. And she always refers to her parents as her ‘mother’ and ‘father’. Never ‘mom’ and ‘dad’. I think they must be very formal at home,” I explained.

“That’s a very different lifestyle than ours, that’s certain,” said Mom as she pulled the casserole out of the oven. “Very old-fashioned. I didn’t think anybody except the most traditional families in Europe still lived like that.” She thought about it for a bit, and then speculated, “Well, I guess the English Royal family still does, so maybe there are still holdouts over there.” Setting down the casserole, she asked “You said Emmy is wealthy, right?”

“Well, they do have a driver and a cook, and Emmy’s dad promised her any car she wants when she gets her driver’s license, so yeah. They have plenty of money,” I responded.

“Hmm,” Mom said. Calling out to the living room, she said “Tiffy! It’s time to wash your hands for dinner!” Turning back to our conversation, she said “Perhaps Emmy’s family is really old money. They’ve been upper-class for long enough to hold on to old ways of doing things. I’ll be very interested to hear all about your dinner afterwards.”

“Whose dinner?” asked Tiff as she walked into the kitchen, wiping her hands on the front of her dress.

“Tiffy, please. Don’t use your clothes as a towel. Here,” Mom said, handing Tiff a kitchen towel. “Your sister has been invited to have dinner at her new friend’s house this Friday.”

Looking intrigued, Tiff asked “Is it the weird looking one? Her house?”

“Yes, it is her, but it’s not nice to call anyone weird looking,” I replied.

“But everybody says she is!” complained Tiff.

“Who is ‘everybody’, Tiffy?” asked Mom. “Who is talking about your sister’s friends?”

“Well, Roberta said that there was a new girl at the high school who looks like a alien or something. Her big sister told her. And Jeremy said he heard that, too.”

“You know that gossiping is not nice, Tiffany. If your friends want to tell stories, that’s their business. Please don’t follow their examples,” Mom gently scolded. “You remember when Leah told us about the new girl at her school, don’t you? Do you remember that Leah explained that her new friend had something wrong with her skin and she wasn’t like most people? How her skin was very black, and her hair was very white?”

“Yeah, sorta…” admitted Tiff.

“Do you remember that boy, Jason, in your kindergarten class? Remember how red his face was all the time?” When Tiff nodded yes, Mom continued. “Do you remember how sad he got when kids made fun of him about it?” Tiff nodded again. “But Jason was nice, wasn’t he? It wasn’t nice to make fun of him for something he couldn’t do anything about, was it?”

“No,” Tiff said, in a small voice.

“And Leah’s friend Emmy is a bit like that. She looks different because of something she can’t do anything about. Saying that she looks like an alien is not nice, and I would like to think that you are a nice person, Tiffany. Would a nice person be mean to this girl like that?” Mom asked gently, but it still made Tiff squirm and look at her plate.

“No,” Tiff said.

“No, I don’t think a nice person would. So please, Tiffany, remember to think about peoples’ feelings when you talk about them. After all, you don’t want people saying mean things about you, do you? Of course not. That’s gossip, and isn’t nice. Now, who wants salad?” asked Mom, lightening the mood.

Friday after school, we stopped at my house just long enough for me to grab the clothes I’d laid out and then back in the car. Emmy had said that they passed by my house on the way to and from school, and she wasn’t kidding. From the apartment parking lot we turned the opposite direction from school and headed out into the back roads leading north (I think) from town. About 20 minutes of ever-narrower country roads and we turned off onto a road that was posted “No Trespassing”. As we wound our way up through the avocado groves we soon came to a big stone wall with an enormous wooden gate about ten feet tall. As we approached, the gate swung open, letting us through. Just outside the gate on the left hand side was a small guardhouse, but the guard just waved to us as we passed. A long, twisting driveway wound through more groves, but I think they were orange trees. The driveway leveled off and the house appeared ahead of us.

The house was incredible. It looked like a dream, a fantasy of what an Italian villa should be. Some parts were only one story, but a lot of it was two and some parts were three stories tall. The walls were a cream-colored stone with an ancient-looking clay tile roof and a giant pair of wooden doors that were probably originally from some European castle. Describing it like this makes the house sound ominous, but because there were so many flowering bougainvilleas, ficus trees and other greenery it actually had a very inviting look to it. The ivy climbing up some of the walls made the house look hundreds of years old, but this area just hadn’t been developed long enough ago for that to be true.

Edouard drove the car to the side of the house where the garage made up a separate building with a covered portico that connected it to the main house. He stopped the car in front of the garage and opened the door for us. Emmy jumped out excitedly, clapping her hands with excitement. Really, she does that.

“Do not worry about carrying your things. They will be brought up to my room.”

Wow, I thought. This place was a freaking mansion, and the household staff must be even larger than I had guessed. We’d passed several gardeners on the way in, and I knew they had at least a cook and a driver. How many people does it take to run a house like this?

“O.K.,” I said a little hesitantly as I left my things in the car. Following Emmy as she walked down the portico to the main house, she pointed out things as we went.

“That is our jungle garden,” she said, waving at the lush greenery on the opposite side of the portico from the driveway. I saw that it had some kind of mesh shade cover over the top and little water misters to keep it humid, just like down at the San Diego Zoo’s tiger area. “My mother adores it. I think it is why we bought this house,” she said. The giant ferns and exotic flowers were spectacular, all right.

We entered the house through a door with a large glass panel that was covered with fancy ironwork that resembled leaves of the tropical plants we’d just walked by. By this point I was so overwhelmed I think I stopped paying attention as Emmy continued her tour guide narrative. We did go into the kitchen, though, where Emmy introduced me to Marie-Anne (the cook) and her assistant Rosa. Marie-Anne was a grandmotherly French lady who wanted to make sure I would be O.K. with the planned dinner menu. I told her that I was fine with whatever she had going. Her accent was thick and her English was far from perfect, but I think we communicated just fine. Rosa, Marie-Anne’s helper, didn’t say a word. I got the impression that she was a local, not from France like Marie-Anne and Edouard were.

From the enormous kitchen we went to the front entry and up a set of curved stairs to a large upper hall. “My room is in the east wing. It is this way,” Emmy said, taking my hand and pulling me along.

Taking my hand back, I said “I’m coming, I’m coming,” but the truth is I wouldn’t have minded taking in the view for a little longer. Windows all along the side of the hallway had a magnificent view of hills and valleys stretching off to the distance. When we finally arrived at Emmy’s room, I finally couldn’t take it any more and had to say something.

“Emmy, your bedroom is bigger than my family’s apartment. You have a living room in your bedroom, for god’s sake! This place is so huge I would get lost if I tried to find my way back to the kitchen! This place isn’t a house, it’s a small town! I’ve never even seen a house as big as this before, much less ever been in one. It’s unbelievable!”

Just then my little rant was interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. “Princesa?” a voice asked from the other side.

“Si, entra.” Replied Emmy, and a maid came in carrying Emmy’s school backpack and my clothes. We waited until she set everything down, then Emmy asked me if I wanted a snack or anything to drink. When I said no, Emmy dismissed the maid, who had been waiting for instructions.

“See, that’s just what I’m talking about,” I said. “Normal people don’t have ‘household staffs’. Normal people carry their own things, and normal people get what they want from the refrigerator. This is ridiculous,” I said, waving my arm to indicate the whole house.

Emmy just smiled, and replied “Yes, perhaps it is all a bit much. The truth of the matter is I have never lived any other way, so it seems perfectly normal to me.” She sat down on the large, overstuffed couch (yes, she had a couch in the living room part of her bedroom) and patted the cushion, indicating I should sit down, too. When I did, she continued. “It was wonderful to see your house last week. It was so cozy and so full of the things that mean a lot to you and your family. Most of this,” she said, waving her arm to indicate the house, just as I had, “is just… stuff. Very little of it has any real meaning to me. There are only a very few things that I really am very fond of, and they could easily fit in your room. In truth, you have more possessions that you care for than I have.”

“It’s easy to say that when you actually have a place like this,” I said. “You have everything.” I realized this sounded more than just a bit petulant and childish, but I guess I subconsciously felt as if my nose were being rubbed in my family’s relative poverty. I’d never thought of us as poor before, but now seeing how the very wealthy live was a rude shock.

“Yes, I believe that is probably true,” Emmy conceded. “There are things I really do like about this house. Let me show you my very favorite place,” she said. As she stood up, she took my hand to follow her. We went out a pair of open French doors on one side of her bedroom onto a large roofed private balcony that was facing the setting sun. The warm late summer breeze carried the smell of the orange trees from the orchards and the chaparral from the hills beyond as we sat down on the overstuffed chairs by a low table.

“I love to sit here and read, or play the guitar, or do nothing at all. It is very pleasant,” she said, as she curled up in her chair.

Emmy was right. It was nice, just relaxing. I could hear the distant sounds of birds as well as the gardeners working down in the groves. I woke with a start, realizing when I heard Emmy gently strumming her guitar that I’d drifted off. I hadn’t even noticed her going to get it from her room. As she played what sounded like classical Spanish tunes, I found myself drifting again. The comfy chair, gentle warm breeze and Emmy’s soft melodies were all conspiring against me staying awake.

It startled me when Emmy gently shook my shoulder to wake me up. The sun had set, and it was starting to cool off. A maid was shutting the windows and doors against the evening chill. “Let us go inside,” Emmy suggested.

“Sure,” I said groggily, recognizing that I must have been out for a while. We went back into Emmy’s room, and Emmy asked if I wanted to see the rest of the house.

“Yeah, that would be great.” I responded, still a little bit snoozy.

Emmy showed me around, and the house was even bigger than I had thought. We went down into the basement first. There was a full bar down there, with a pool table, chairs and tables, large screen TV and even a dartboard. The glass wall behind the bar looked into a large wine cellar, with racks and racks of bottles.

“This is only the second time I have been down here,” confessed Emmy, as she led me to the theater room. It was set up just like a small movie theater, with a giant flat-screen TV bigger than any I’d ever seen.

From there we went back upstairs and into the living room. A large picture window looked out into a formal garden in back of the house. At one end of the room a large stone fireplace flanked by bookcases dominated the room. “I do not think anybody has ever sat on this couch since we bought the house,” Emmy said. “It is amusing, now that you have made me think about it.”

When our tour reached the stairs that led to the third floor, Emmy said “Now we are going to my father’s study. He is probably working, so if he is there we won’t disturb him. I will introduce you and that is all.”

“O.K., sure. I don’t want to bother him,” I replied as we walked up the stairs. At the top was a small landing with two large, heavy wooden doors. When Emmy’s knock got no reply, she opened the door to the right and we went in. It was a good-sized room, three sides of which were lined with bookshelves. The fourth side was mostly windows, with a set of French doors leading out onto a balcony. Unlike Emmy’s though, this balcony had no roof over it. I could see by the last rays of the fading day that it had a magnificent view. The desk was in a corner, facing both the windows and the stone fireplace.

“Is that a real tiger skin?” I asked, looking at the rug in front of the fireplace.

“Yes, it is real,” Emmy replied. “My father killed it in Borneo, I think. He was a young man at the time,” she added.

“I thought it was illegal to hunt tigers. Isn’t it?”

“I think it is,” Emmy replied. “But this was an unusual case. My father was doing some exploration for one of his businesses and the village elders told him that a tiger had been terrorizing the villagers. He wanted the help of the elders for the work he was doing, so he hunted the tiger down one night and killed it for them.” Pointing at one of the bookshelves, she indicated a large, wicked-looking curved knife. “That is the knife he used. There is a photo, too.” I looked closely at the framed picture and saw a tall, very black man standing with a bunch of villagers around the dead body of a tiger- presumably the one whose skin lay on the floor. “They were very happy he killed it, so they made it into this rug for him.”

“Wait. You said he went out at night with a knife to kill a tiger in the jungle?” I asked in disbelief.

“Yes, that is right,” she agreed.

“Wow. Just wow.” I couldn’t say any more. I mean, seriously?

Looking around at the books and knick-knacks on the shelves, I saw a number of photos of Emmy’s dad smiling and shaking hands with people I didn’t recognize, but I’m sure were probably rich and powerful. The books were in quite a few languages. French and English, of course, and I’m pretty sure Arabic and some others I couldn’t recognize. Heck, I can only read one language, and this guy had books in half a dozen.

Back on the landing, Emmy pointed at the other door. “That is my mother and father’s bedroom.” She made no move to head in that direction, so I figured it wasn’t a scheduled stop on the tour.

When we returned to Emmy’s room the maid who’d brought our stuff up was waiting outside her door. “Dinner will be at eight o’clock, Princesa,” she said.

“Gracias, Carmela,” replied Emmy as we entered the bedroom. I hadn’t really looked around the first time, so I gave Emmy’s room a quick once-over. It was all in creamy off-white and dark wood. The giant (‘is everything in this house huge?’ I wondered to myself) canopy bed was on one side, and in the corner near the door there was a couch, a big, comfy looking chair and a coffee table covered with magazines. This little ‘living room’ area also had a large TV with a component rack for the DVD player and stereo equipment. In the far corner was a collection of musical instruments including an electrical guitar in an aqua blue color and the acoustic guitar Emmy had played earlier, both on stands. There was also a full-size keyboard, an amplifier and a laptop computer. The last corner of the room was clearly a homework station. There was a bookshelf, a desk with another laptop on it, and a printer.

An open door on one side of the room led into what was obviously a walk-in closet. Opposite the balcony doors was an open doorway into her bathroom. The bathroom was all natural stone tiles and granite slabs, and the colors went with the entire theme of the house- natural materials that looked centuries old. It was all very, very beautiful, I had to admit. The bathroom (which was almost as big as the living room in my apartment) had a built-in vanity area on one side next to a long stone counter with a sink carved into it. Opposite was a giant (yes, everything in this house was oversized, after all) whirlpool tub, and a shower stall big enough to hold a party in. The shower had no door, just a small raised threshold to keep the water in. One door led to a small toilet room, and another led into the closet.

“I could live in this bathroom,” I told Emmy, admiring it all.

Laughing, she said “I think we could set up a bed in here. Let me tell the housekeepers.” I couldn’t help but laugh as well, thinking of the humor of the situation, and how lightly Emmy had treated the whole class division between the two of us. It really seemed to help set a lighter mood and get me over my overwhelmed feeling, so I was in a good mood when I went into the closet/dressing room to get dressed for dinner.

I’d brought my ‘Sunday best’ as they used to say. A nice blue dress with long sleeves, white stockings and black flats, which I thought looked good on me. A little bit Alice in Wonderland, maybe, but I liked it. To add to the look I pulled my hair back with a pretty hair clip my mom gave me for my birthday a few years ago.

“You look so lovely!” exclaimed Emmy when I emerged. Blushing, I said “Thanks. I’m glad you like it,” looking down at myself. “I’m not really used to wearing dresses much.”

“You should wear them more often. You are so beautiful in it,” she replied. “But then, with your golden hair and lovely blue eyes, you would make anything look good.” With that, she disappeared into the walk-in closet to get dressed. Unlike me, though, she didn’t close the door behind her. This made me feel a little bit uncomfortable, so I went over to her couch to sit down and wait.

Looking through the magazines, I was surprised by the variety. There were some French fashion and music mags, plus some in English. There were also a bunch of exotic travel magazines with photos on their covers of perfect tropical beaches and the like. What surprised me, though, were the business magazines like The Economist and this morning’s Wall Street Journal. Maybe the rich do have different upbringings than the rest of us. Here Emmy is reading about mergers, acquisitions, and arbitrage deals (whatever those are) while kids like me are reading about Tom Cruise’s love life or what party Paris Hilton just attended. There’s a lesson to be learned there, I think.

When Emmy was done getting dressed she emerged wearing a long, silky skirt in a very deep red color, a white silk blouse and a short jacket that was a little bit lighter than the skirt. She was sporting a dark red ribbon as a bow tie. It was an elegant look, and it seemed to suit her perfectly.

“Wow, Emmy. You look great,” I complimented.

“Thank you, Leah. Now shall we go down?”

We descended to the ground floor, and she led me to the dining room. I’d been having visions of a giant table with us at one end and Emmy’s parents at the other, but that’s not how it worked out. Sure, it was a giant table, but no candles in the middle, no high-backed chairs. The place settings were all in the middle, and Emmy and I sat on one side, next to each other.

Emmy’s parents came in a minute or so later, walking arm in arm. I didn’t hear them approach, but just glanced up to see them enter the room. Emmy’s father was tall, well built, and very, very dark. If possible, his skin was even blacker than Emmy’s. It was pretty much a true pitch black. His straight hair was black, also, and combed back and pulled into a tight little pony tail. His eyes were black as well. He wore a dark blue pinstriped suit with a brilliantly white shirt. His tie was a sapphire blue completing his well-tailored ensemble.

Emmy’s mother had skin just as black as her husband’s, but her hair was a deep auburn red that fell in waves down to her waist, loosely pulled back with a black satin ribbon. She wore a forest green dress that had a skirt so long it flowed across the floor behind her, and I couldn’t see her feet.

When they entered, Emmy stood up to greet them, and I did the same, following her lead.

“Mother, Father. This is my good friend Leah Farmer. Leah, this is my mother, Madame De Lascaux, and my father, Monsieur De Lascaux.”

Jeez, I thought. When Emmy had said they were a bit formal, I had had no idea she meant like this.

I nodded my head hello, and Emmy’s mom said “Ah, Leah. Our daughter has told us so much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.” Her French accent was stronger than Emmy’s, and if possible even more musical. Her voice sounded almost as if she were singing, it was so well modulated. She held out her hand and I shook it, not knowing what else to do. Emmy’s dad held out his hand, too, so I shook his as well. For such a large man his grip was gentler than I’d expected. Firm, sure, but not bone-crushing at all. “Miss Farmer,” he said, by way of greeting. His voice was deep and rich, with no discernable accent at all.

When her parents moved to the other side of the table, Emmy’s dad pulled a chair out for his wife, and then sat down himself. Emmy then gave my hand a little tug to indicate it was time to sit.

A man I hadn’t seen before brought out a bottle of white wine for Mr. Lascaux to approve, then poured him half a glass. He tasted it, then nodded and the waiter poured the rest of the glass. He then poured for Mrs. Lascaux, and raised his eyebrows at Emmy and me to ask if we wanted some. Emmy nodded, so I did, too.

While this was happening Rosa brought out plates of salad for everyone. I half expected some sort of grace to be said, but there were no formalities like that. Everyone just started eating, with no preamble.

Remembering that you are supposed to start with the outside utensils first, I dug in to the salad. It was very good, and I don’t usually enjoy salads much.

“Do you like the salad?” Emmy’s mom asked. “Most of the greens are from our own gardens. A few are from farmer’s markets nearby. The quality of the vegetables here is simply amazing.”

“Yes, it’s delicious,” I replied. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner.”

“It’s our pleasure. It’s wonderful to have you join us tonight. Please, Leah, don’t think of yourself as a guest here. As you have been such a dear friend to the princess, you are like family here. Think of this as your second home.”

We kept up the small talk about Fallbrook, FHS, my family, and so on all through the soup, main course, and an amazing chocolate torte for dessert. Emmy’s mom and dad were very intimidating at first, but they were both very pleasant and seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. Emmy’s mom and I did most of the talking, but occasionally Emmy’s dad would ask a question or make a comment. He always spoke with a measured precision, giving me the impression he only ever spoke exactly what he meant to say. His words seemed very carefully chosen, and he never said more than necessary. I noticed he also had that same stillness and lack of extra movement Courtney had pointed out in Emmy back at the start of the year. Emmy’s mother, though, wasn’t like that at all. She was lively, but very, very graceful in her movements. Looking at the two of them, I could see where Emmy picked up her habits and behaviors. She was almost the exact in-between of the two.

Emmy made the infrequent remark here and there, adding to what I was saying but not doing much to hold up her end of the conversation. In fact, I had the impression that she was intentionally keeping out as much as possible, but I wasn’t sure why.

All in all, it was a whole lot more pleasant than I had expected the dinner would be. The food was incredible, and the white wine with dinner and sherry with dessert all made me feel very warm and more than a little bit buzzed.

When dinner was over, Emmy’s parents excused themselves. Emmy’s dad got up and pulled his wife’s chair out for her, giving her his hand to help her up. Arm in arm, they walked out of the room. All amazingly formal, and actually somewhat charming.

Emmy grabbed my hand to signal to me to keep sitting down until she was sure they were gone, then she squeezed my hand and let it go. Once we returned to Emmy’s room with the door shut, Emmy turned to me and gave me a big hug. “You were perfect! They loved you! Oh, Leah, thank you! You were perfect, simply perfect!”

I wasn’t sure what she was so excited about, so I gently peeled her arms from me and asked, “What do you mean? What’s the big deal?”

“I was so worried, but you were perfect! You charmed them with your poise and you were perfect!”

She threw herself on the big cream-colored couch and asked, “What would you like to do? How soon do you need to return home? Do you have time to stay a little longer?” Her words came out in an excited rush. “We could do anything you would like.”

“Uh, no, I don’t have to be home until midnight. That’s still a couple of hours away. What did you have in mind?” I asked, sitting down on one of the comfy chairs.

“You choose. We could go downstairs and play billiards, but I must warn you I am no good. We could stay here and watch some television, if you want. I could play you a song- you appeared to enjoy my guitar playing earlier. We could take a walk through the orchards. They are lovely at night, and the moon is very bright tonight. We could even go swimming in the pool. We could do anything you wish.”

“Anything I wish, huh? Well, swimming sounds too cold, and walking in the dark sounds a bit dangerous...”

Emmy interrupted “No, the pool is very warm, and the orchards are not dangerous at all.”

Ignoring her interruption, I continued “How about we go down to the kitchen and see if there is any of that cake left? That was incredible.”

“Yes! Let us do that.” Emmy jumped up and crossed to the closet, taking off her jacket as she went. She emerged a moment later in bare feet and wearing a light silk camisole in place of the button-front shirt she’d put on for dinner. She’d kept the long silk skirt, though.

“Do you wish to change your clothes?” she asked.

“No, I’m fine, but thanks.”

Walking back downstairs, the house was quiet and seemed to be shut down for the night. The lights were mostly off, making it hard to see. Emmy just glided along silently on her bare feet. When she saw I was having trouble, she took my hand to guide me.

“It’s tough with no lights on,” I complained.

“Oh, I am sorry. Let me turn them on for you,” she apologized. It took her a while to find the light switch, and when she did find the panel of switches (it must have had about a dozen little buttons) she couldn’t figure out how to turn on just the hall lights.

It didn’t matter. We had enough light to get to the kitchen, where Marie-Anne and Rosa were still cleaning up. Emmy gave Marie-Anne a hug, and thanked her (in English) for the wonderful dinner. I complimented her cooking, making sure to include Rosa also. The young woman had seemed sullen to me when I’d first met her, but perhaps I had just gotten the wrong impression since she was in a good enough mood after dinner.

“Marie-Anne, Leah found your torte delicious, and we were hoping there was some left. Is there?” Emmy asked.

“Bien sûr,” the cook answered. She brought out what was left, and the four of us sat down in the warm light of the kitchen and ate the cake right there at the counter.

Rosa never said a word, which I thought was odd. I asked Emmy about it later and she explained that Rosa was mute, and couldn’t speak at all. She was the daughter of the head gardener, and couldn’t get decent work. Marie-Anne needed help in the kitchen and Rosa was happy to have a good job, so it worked out for everybody.

After we ate the torte in companionable silence, I looked at the clock on the wall and realized that time had gotten away from me. “Emmy, I need to go pretty soon. I’m sorry I lost track of the time.”

“Oh, no. It is my fault. I knew you were to return to your home by midnight. Let me call Edouard.” She reached across the counter to the big office-style phone and punched one of the inside line buttons on the left. A quick few words in French, and she was smiling. “The car will be ready in five minutes, but I told Edouard that we would be at the garage in ten. Let us go get your things.”

Walking back up to Emmy’s room to grab my stuff and then out to the colonnade by the garage, it hit me how Emmy and her mom stayed so skinny. They must walk five miles a day just getting around the dang house! The place was ridiculously huge, and going from one end to the other actually took a while.

Cocooned in the quiet interior of the BMW, I asked Emmy “How large is your house, really? I mean, how many square feet? It’s freaking huge. I’ve never seen a house so big before.”

“I think it is two thousand meters? I think that is what I heard. Of course, that does not include the garages, or the pool house, or the gymnasium, or any of the other outbuildings.”

“Your house has outbuildings.” I couldn’t get over it. “Like, how many outbuildings?”

“Let me see. Just the close buildings, or all of them? Should I count things like the guardhouse at the main gate?”

“No, never mind. I’m not sure I want to know, anyway.” Again, the huge difference in wealth hit home. The Lascaux were fabulously rich, like I couldn’t even imagine. We, on the other hand, lived in a three-bedroom apartment that could hide in some small corner of Emmy’s mansion and not be seen for weeks.

When we got to my place Emmy and Edouard both walked me to my door. Emmy gave me another hug and a cheek kiss goodbye, saying “Thank you for being so perfect tonight.”

This left me wondering what had really happened and why Emmy was so happy that it had gone well.

Mom was still up, but when I protested that I was too tired to answer any questions she just let me go to my room in peace.

The next morning I woke up late. The late night and the wine had both demanded that I sleep in, so I gave in to their wishes and didn’t get up until ten. By the time I stumbled out of the shower and into the kitchen for breakfast, Tiff had already left to go play at her best friend’s house and Mom was grading papers at the kitchen table.

“Well, look at you. Rough night?” she asked, glancing up from her work. “I can fix you some breakfast, if you want. Tiffy and I had omelets. There are some eggs left, and we have hash browns, too.”

I accepted gratefully, asking “Is there any coffee?” Mom must have heard the hopeful tone in my voice, because she replied with “I’ll put some on.”

I knew she was dying to hear about last night, but was being polite and not prodding, so I gave her the rundown. I told her about the amazing house, with its gardens, theater, and outbuildings. I mentioned Emmy’s guess of two thousand meters, and Mom did a quick mental calculation. “I think that’s a little over twenty thousand square feet. That’s about the size of an average grocery store.”

“Yeah, that sounds right. It is seriously huge. Walking from one end to the other takes like five minutes, maybe more,” I agreed.

I also told her about all the maids, cooks, drivers, guards and gardeners I’d seen. “You know what’s strange? I always thought that you’d have a lot of privacy in a mansion in the country, but really that doesn’t seem to be true. There were people all over the place. You’re never really alone in a place like that.”

“That is interesting. I guess I can see why that would be the case, though. A place like that would need a full-time staff just to keep it up and running. You say it was surrounded by avocado and orange groves, right? So that means there were also people tending the trees, too. I wonder how many people actually work at the Lascaux property? Do any of them live there?” Mom asked.

“Well, it seems like some of them must, but I didn’t see any servants’ quarters when Emmy gave me the tour of the house. Thinking about it, though, I suppose they could live in the outbuildings Emmy mentioned. Marie-Anne and Rosa were there at ten thirty at night, and so was Edouard… so I guess they probably do live there somewhere.” I replied, thinking about it.

“It sounds more like a little village than just a single-family home,” Mom said. “Very much like a European manor house, all right. Which reminds me- we had been speculating that the Lascaux are some sort of European old-money family, and that’s why they’re so formal. What were Emmy’s parents like?”

“Well, they act that way, all right. But here’s something strange- you know Emmy said that the way she looks is the result of some kind of genetic condition, kinda like being an albino in reverse, right? Well, her parents are even darker colored than she is. Her mom has long, wavy dark reddish-brown hair and these really weird dark blue eyes, and skin blacker than ink. Emmy’s dad has straight black hair, really dark eyes, and super black skin, too. I mean, when I say black, they are really, really black. Blacker than that pen there,” I said, pointing to the felt tip marker my mom was using to grade the papers with. “So I’m not so sure they are old European money after all. I mean, they act like it and all, but I tend to think of Europeans as pretty much white.”

“Hmm… Did Emmy ever mention what the name of her condition is? I wonder if it’s something like hemophilia, which became very prevalent in European royalty because of inbreeding? Interesting…” Mom trailed off, thinking about it.

“Anyway, dinner was nice. Sure, Emmy’s parents were super formal, and there were things like Emmy and I didn’t sit down until her mom and dad were seated, and we didn’t get up from the table until they’d left, but other than that kind of stuff, they were really nice. Well, Emmy’s mom was super nice. Emmy’s dad didn’t talk much.”

“What are their names?” Mom asked.

“That’s another really formal thing that happened. Emmy introduced them as Monsieur and Madame De Lascaux. She never said their names, just ‘Mother’ and ‘Father,’ and when they referred to each other they called each other Madame and Monsieur. Oh, and everybody calls Emmy ‘Princess’. Mr. and Mrs. Lascaux do, and so do all the people who work for them. I think it’s kinda cute, but it drives Emmy crazy.”

Finishing breakfast, I told mom “You know, I may not have really been giving the right impression. I mean, sure a lot of it was strange and different than I’m used to, but Emmy’s folks were really nice, and her house was absolutely beautiful. Everybody made me feel welcome. In fact, it kinda seemed as if Emmy’s mom invited me to go to Paris with them for Christmas break. I had a great time. The whole thing was really nice.”

“Would you like to have Emmy over for dinner here? She’s already seen our apartment, and she knows we don’t have a full-time professional cook, but hopefully that won’t bother her,” Mom said.

“Well, yeah, she’s been here, and she only had nice things to say about our house. I don’t think the whole money and status thing really matters much to her at all. In fact, she was joking about how ridiculously big her house is. If it’s O.K. I’d love to have her over for dinner,” I said, looking at Mom for her approval. When she gave it a thoughtful nod, I said “I’ll ask her. What day should I have her come over?”