Free Birthdays of a Princess by Helga Zeiner Page B

the 7-Eleven
and asked for another week’s leave.
    Now a whole week lay ahead of her. Enough time to convince Tiara to
see her and make her understand what she could say and what she should keep mum
about. Why didn’t Tiara want a visit from her own mother? Did she still pine
for Gracie?
    Gracie had always been jealous of her. That’s how barren women reacted.
Sometimes they even stole babies out of hospitals, that’s how badly they wanted
one of their own. Gracie had had it easy, with her being so weak and desperate
after the birth. Gracie had stolen her child and turned it against her from day
one. It was her fault that Tiara never respected her as a mother. Tiara would
have to understand that she was in charge now.
    She went to the window and looked down. A white van was parked on
the curb opposite her block. She couldn’t read the logo on its side, but it
could be a press vehicle. Sure enough, a man with a camera around his neck got
out and looked up to her window. As soon as he saw her, he raised it and
clicked away. Instinctively Melissa moved aside, then, after a very brief
moment, she positioned herself in full view again. She raised her hand. The guy
dropped his camera and stared at her.
    She waved at him.
    His head jerked from left to right, making sure he was the one she
meant, then he put his thumb up in an awkwardly displaced gesture, climbed in
the van and came out again, carrying a much larger camera and a tripod. He
shouldered the equipment and raced toward her entrance as if he had to win a
medal.

 
     
     
    Chapter
19
     
     
    After lunch, which I’m allowed to eat in blissful solitude in my
Living Unit, I have an unexpected visitor. By the way, the food here is plain
but quite acceptable. I’m not a foodie anyway, not since I’ve outgrown the
usual juvenile hankering for sweets. Nowadays I eat to stay healthy and fit,
and as I am a rather small person, I don’t need much to keep me going. Would
hate to turn into a flesh-mountain like some people I know.
    The visitor is the Director of this facility. I’m a bit surprised
that they, whoever they are, have chosen a female to rule over us.
Somehow, I always thought a man would hold this position of power. She seems
pleasant enough, very courteous in a formal way, but I’m immediately on guard.
    The community area in my unit is large enough to accommodate several
easy chairs. She sits down opposite me, legs in straight line, hands clasping a
file on her lap. My uncomfortable feeling increases. There is a prescient
warning in somebody sitting opposite me, mustering me with a camera eye.
    She breaks her inspection, looks down, opens the file, looks up
again with a smile and tells me that she has a concern. Her voice is clear and
light, warm. My muscles relax a little and I start breathing again.
    “The Center functions on giving the residents rights and
responsibilities,” she explains to me. “You earn points through good behavior, and
the more points you earn, the higher your level will be.”
    “I’ve read the manual.”
    “You are currently on level one, the lowest,” she says. “I’ve been
informed by your psychiatrist, Dr. Eaton, that you find it difficult to
interact with others, and I have therefore issued instructions that new
admissions will be moved to other Living Units first, as long as there is room
available.”
    I feel a small surge of warmth towards my psycho-doc.
    “He also mentioned that we should keep the afternoons free for his
consultations with you. I’ve agreed to his request, but this means that you can’t
participate in our extra-curricular activities. You won’t earn extra points.”
    I shrug.
    “I’d only use them for the vending machine.”
    “Good.” She smiles. “We can’t make too many exceptions. I’m willing
to make allowances in the Incentive Program and excuse you from those afternoon
classes, but you need to understand the implications of it and indicate that
you accept them.”
    I try to smile