Free Black Mirror by Nancy Werlin Page A

mine; they’re all so expensive”) and a very few lovely curios. On the walls she had hung many black-and-white photographs of old people. (“No, they’re not family. I have no idea whoany of them are. I buy them in antique shops.”) Finally, she had an actual sterling silver tea set, the creamer of which I had noticed her caressing fondly the first time she invited me over for tea. (“Oh, you caught me. But I can’t help it. I love this tea set.”)
    Tonight I sat on the edge of her overstuffed chair, teacup and saucer in hand, and took it all in like super-oxygenated air. It was all so civilized, so wonderful. I wanted to grow up and live in a place like this. No; I wanted it to happen immediately.
    “Feeling a little more relaxed now?” said Ms. Wiles sympathetically.
    “Yes,” I answered. And it was true. I smiled at her. “This is such good tea,” I said, knowing it would please her. “What kind is it?”
    “It’s called Blue Sapphire. It’s a special blend from the Ritz-Carlton in Boston.
They
know how to do a high tea.”
    “Umm,” I said, sipping.
    We drank our tea and ate our lemon poppy seed cake and talked about regular stuff for a few minutes. Then Ms. Wiles leaned forward and asked, “How
are
you, Frances?” Which was the awful question, of course; the one to which there was really no answer. But I didn’t mind it from Ms. Wiles.
    “I’m doing all right,” I said. I looked straight at her, and she looked straight back, and after a couple of seconds I had to look down at my tea.
    “Frances?” she said tentatively. “Listen, please. Yesterdayat the Unity meeting—I think you misinterpreted things. No one wanted to hurt your feelings about your brother. That boy—what’s that boy’s name? James Something? Anyway, he—”
    “Droussian,” I interrupted. “James Droussian.” It came out a little accusingly.
    Ms. Wiles shrugged. “Well, he’s not one of my students. How should I know what his name is?” She frowned. “Or care. I hear things about that boy, Frances. You shouldn’t go by his interpretation of things. No—no vampirism was meant. And no insult.”
    “I wasn’t going by James’s interpretation!” I was indignant. “I can take offense for myself.” I paused. It was unexpectedly difficult to defend my feelings about yesterday’s meeting in Ms. Wiles’s presence, and against her opinion. “And—and I
did
take offense.”
    “I see,” said Ms. Wiles, and took a tiny sip of her tea.
    “On my own,” I said.
    “Uh-huh.”
    “I
did
! Why would you think I’d be influenced by James? I hardly know him!”
    “Well. He’s a handsome young man.” She was suddenly studying my face.
    “So what?”
    “I just—never mind.”
    “What?”
    “More tea?”
    “
What?
”
    Ms. Wiles sat back fully on the sofa. Her expression was grave. “I just happened to notice how you were looking at him yesterday. It’s no wonder, Frances. And it’s nothing to be ashamed of either. We’re all human, and he is very—”
    “I was
not
looking at James any particular way! He—he’s a goddamned drug dealer!”
    My voice had gone shrill. My words sat in the air between me and Ms. Wiles. They could not be taken back.
    “Well,” said Ms. Wiles finally. “That’s the rumor I’d heard. Frances, do you have proof? Of the kind I could take to the administration?”
    Alarm seized me. I busied myself taking another slice of cake. “No,” I said. Which was true. James had never sold anything to me. “I’ve just heard rumors.”
    “Oh.”
    “And I’m not influenced by him.”
    “I’m glad.”
    “And I don’t understand why you would even think that. I’m not the kind of person who can’t decide things for herself.” Then I added, “Am I? I mean, do you think that about me?”
    Silence. And then: “Would you look at me for a moment, Frances?”
    I didn’t. I couldn’t. I picked up a crumb of cake with the tip of my index finger and put it in my mouth, and then