Part 1
No one understands me.
I'm not really complaining, because I don't understand a lot of people, and I think that I would not want to have the kind of personality that could be understood by just anybody that walked by. Regardless, it just seems as though I am in a constant state of being misunderstood. Example: today I was sitting next to my aunt and her sister-in-law, and the sister-in-law said, "Why don't you get married, and stop being a drain on your family?" My aunt replied for me, "Oh, she doesn't want to leave us, do you? She wants to stay single." Which is partly true, and partly nowhere near the truth.
Maybe I should explain.
My name is Fauve Price; my father is an artist, and greatly admired the Fauvists (who were a school of painters who are basically famous for using lots of bright colors). Believe it or not, Fauve is listed in several Baby Name lists-it means "wild and unrestrained". Sorry, Dad, but you picked wrong.
It doesn't matter anyway, since (almost) everyone calls me Veli, which rhymes with "belly". Hey, I don't make fun of your nicknames.
My mom (Sara Price, nee Claridge) disgraced herself by marrying my dad (christened Jim, later renamed himself Matisse Price; yeah, my dad has a thing for odd art-related names); she was born into the society of the rich and powerful, but ran off with a penniless painter, with every expectation of him making it big very soon, and then her family would eat their words. Somehow, despite an undeniable talent (though I am a bit biased), he managed to remain penniless. I never questioned my parents on this point, since it's not really something you discuss with your parents, but either they were very forgetful, very unlucky, or just don't believe in birth control. Whatever, anyway, there are (at last count) 7 of us little Prices: Fauve, Rembrandt, Michele Angela, Jane, Sam, and the twins, Tim and Tammy. You can see that my mother took over the naming about halfway through. Lucky me, I was first!
Since we were always so poor, and there are so many of us, I was sent away. It's not really like it sounds; they come here for holidays and my birthdays, but they couldn't support all of us, and so my mom's best friend, Letty Bertram, whom I have always called Aunt Letty, offered to take one of us in. By virtue of my age (I knew there had to be something good about it), I was selected. So, on my tenth birthday, I got on a plane for the first time. I was to travel all alone from California to the suburbs of Boston, where I entered The Park, I mean, Parque. For some reason the Bertram family thinks that the latter spelling is much better. I don't know, it just seems confusing to me; I always want to say "Par-kay", just like the margarine commercial.
So, I'm getting off the plane, and I'm really nervous, and I am driven by a chauffeur to the biggest, fanciest house I've ever been in. The Bertram family had always come to see us in Cali before. I mean, they were the ones with the money, right? However, it had been a few years since they had come, for various reasons. One year, Aunt Letty was too ill to come, another year, some Price relatives had shown up, so we had no room. I should mention that the Prices usually ignore us, so you won't hear much about them in this story. I think the reason for their appearance in this last instance was that Dad had just sold a rather valuable painting. Sadly, with all of our debt, the money didn't last long; we haven't heard from these 3rd cousins, twice removed (or whatever they claimed) since that year.
I entered the huge front door, and couldn't believe the beauty of this building. It wasn't very ostentatious, but rather was elegant and tasteful. I turned around and around, feeling like Maria in "The Sound of Music"-and I was startled by a similar interruption to my admiration.
"Veli? Is that you, darling?" It was Aunt Letty's high, frail voice. Now, I know that some people are really very sickly, but sometimes I think that Aunt Letty just needs to get out and about in the fresh air more. She's the same age as my mom, which on this occasion means 31. In her appearance, though, where Mom has aged, Letty appears around 20 years old, although she moves like a 70-year-old. She was definitely a beauty, as was Mom (I've seen photos), and still retains much of it. Personally, I think she's a bit too yellow from lack of sunlight...but her features remain gorgeous, and her blond cloud of curls still shines.
I ran to give Aunt Letty a big hug (being careful not to crush her dress or her person, of course). "Aunt Letty! How are you feeling today?"
"Oh, tolerable, but nothing to brag about. But how was your journey?"
See, that's the wonderful thing about Aunt Letty. She may be a hypochondriac with many annoying habits, but she never complains much. Just tells you that she's under the weather today, or something equivalent. "Fine. I found my way just fine."
"That's wonderful, dearest. Now, we have decided to put you on the 3rd floor. It's not the best room in the house, but the best that was unoccupied, and anyway..." She left unspoken the idea that anything would be better than where I had previously dwelt, but I caught the implication, anyway. "Mrs. Ellis! Could you come here and show Fauve here her room? I would come, dear, but climbing all the way to the third floor...you understand."
"Sure, Aunt Letty," I replied, though I was none too eager to be left alone with a stranger. I was pretty shy at age 10. Come to think of it, not much has changed.
"Now, little Fauve, I think I heard a nickname come out of Mrs. Bertram's mouth. Could I use it, too?" I had to think for a minute, both to remember that Mrs. Bertram was Aunt Letty, and to decide if I trusted this lady enough to let her use my nickname. I decided that I liked her and nodded. "You can call me Veli."
"Wonderful. Let's see that room of yours, eh?"
Part 2
Mrs. Ellis and I made our way up to the 3rd floor, but not without several interruptions. First, we ran into Tom, Julie, and Marie on the stairway up to the 2nd floor. Tom was always a bit too old to play with me, although he used to hang out with Bran (the preferred name of my brother Rembrandt); apparently it was cooler to play with a boy eight and a half years his junior, rather than a girl only seven years younger. However, until that very moment, I had had no reason to dislike him.
"Hey, Jule, Mare! Look, it's the charity case! How you doin', little Fauve? This place is a bit fancier than your tiny hovel, isn't it? I don't really understand how anyone can live in such abject and miserable poverty, but I suppose everybody has their level. Well, I hope we can raise your consciousness of what real life is like. You may not recollect making my acquaintance--it's been a few years--but I am Thomas Francis Trumann Harold Bertram the Third, heir to the great Bertram establishment."
Now, I may not have understood all of the words in this speech (I was only ten), but I certainly understood the condescending attitude behind the words. So, I ignored the courtly bow that Tom placed at the end of this arrogant piece of oratory, and gave him a frosty nod. "Tom." Surprise blossomed on his face, and I savored every second of it. Sadly, he recovered quickly.
The worst part of his behavior was that Marie and Julie were guided by him; I had been counting on them as friends. After all, we were all girls, and Marie was only thirteen, and Julie twelve. Naturally, since we were so close in age, we would get along, as we always had before; but Tom's elder status guaranteed their compliance with his attitude. "I am Marie," the aforementioned introduced herself. The look on her face was not promising for the forming of a friendship.
"I remember perfectly well whom you are," I replied, smiling with an effort. "And you're Julie," I added, turning to my last hope, the smile more genuine this time. She turned up her nose at me. "Hello, Fauve, and the name is Juliette (which she pronounced Juliet-tuh). Can't you even remember my name correctly? But, then, what can you expect from someone raised as she was?"-This to her siblings, who both cackled nastily.
"Well, if you want to know the truth, although Fauve is my proper name, I much prefer to be called Veli. That's V-E-L-I. Thank you. Can we go up to my room, now, Mrs. Ellis?" She nodded, and as we turned to go up the stairs, I heard Marie say, "Veli? What a vulgar nickname. But, as we all know, we have to make allowances for her upbringing. Didn't Dad say so?"
You can imagine how this made me feel. I could understand prejudice from the children, even though it saddened and confused me, considering our earlier interactions, but for the adult to be making these sorts of statements ... and if Uncle T felt this way, what about Aunt Letty?
I should probably explain the name. Tom had introduced himself as "the Third", and so Uncle T was also called Tom, but for obvious reasons, shunned the appellation, "Uncle Tom." Therefore, he was always Uncle T to my siblings and me. But Uncle T had always shown every indication that he liked, even loved my family, and every year he made a point of spending time with us, the children. How could he then feel that I was inferior-enough so that he would warn his children against me?
I was still puzzling over this when Mrs. Ellis and I ran into the one remaining "cousin". I learned later that there had been some misgivings on the part of Uncle T and his sister-in-law about the possibility of Tom and me falling in love (they needn't have worried!) or alternatively, Ed and me. They decided that being raised as if we were cousins, or even better, siblings, would all but eliminate this possibility. I will let the reader judge for him/herself, using the material that follows, whether this helped. So, we encountered Ed on the stairs. Ed was eighteen months younger than Tom, but again, he had usually followed his older brother in choosing Bran rather than me as a playmate.
After my recent experiences, I was all ready to sweep past him majestically (as would be proper for a heroine who has been grievously offended) without even acknowledging his existence, but he stopped us. "Mrs. Ellis, how are you? Is this Veli? It's been a few years, but I daresay you remember me anyway, right, Veli? If you've forgotten, I'm Edward James Franklin Bertram, but everyone just calls me Ed."
"Of course I remember you," I said, still a little stiffly. I was expecting the punch line any second now.
"Where are you staying? All of our bedrooms are on the second floor, but there aren't any free ones, except for the one that is always reserved for Aunt Grim. I don't suppose Mom gave you that one, so you must be up here on the third floor. Here, let me help you with your bag." Of course, this is common courtesy to a guest, and nothing in his manner really suggested any sort of feeling beyond duty and mild interest in a novelty, but compared to the offhandedness of Aunt Letty and the absence of Uncle T, not to mention how Ed's siblings had received me ... well, let's just say that this welcome led to several years of hero worship on my part.
When we reached the room assigned to me, I couldn't believe how large and fancy everything was, especially since I had it all to myself! It was at least three times the size of the room I had shared with my three sisters at home. I did not wish to ruin Ed's favorable reaction to me, though, with exclamations that would make me appear poor or inexperienced girl, so I restrained my comments and simply said, "It's nice. Thank you for carrying my bag. It was nice to see you again after so long," and held out my hand for him to give me the bag--an obvious hint--and then leave. But he held onto the bag-and stayed.
"I've always liked the view from this room and kind of wondered why we didn't use it. But I guess we were using it, weren't we? I mean there is a lot of old furniture in here, and none of it matches, does it?" He went on and on. Later I found out that this volubility was anything but typical for Ed, but he was excited to learn about his family's act of charity, and was interested in me for philanthropic reasons as well as catching-up reasons.
Mrs. Ellis finally had to chase Ed away from my room. "She's tired, Eddie, and she needs to unpack and take a nap. You go now, you'll see her at dinner." Then she helped me unpack and left me to sleep, but I really couldn't nap, I was so excited to look at every single item in my new room, a room of my own!
Things went pretty much the same way for years. I was treated with loving indifference (if that makes any sense) by Aunt Letty, Uncle T was almost never there, Aunt Nora (the aunt that I mentioned at the beginning of this tale) was disdainful, and Julie, Tom, and Marie (as I have always insisted on calling them) took their cue from her. Well, I should say that they have mellowed out somewhat from their original meeting; I know them well enough now to know very well that they were only trying to impress me. They still make it clear in body language and tone of voice, etc., that they believe I am below them or something like that. All of the people I've mentioned treat me a bit like a servant. I put up with it partly because I really don't mind being helpful (to a point, anyway), partly because I'm grateful, but mainly because I really don't know how to stand up for myself.
Ed is helping me with that, though. Now, I don't want to give the wrong impression here; Ed is not perfect (my belief from ages ten to thirteen or fourteen notwithstanding). Sometimes he gets caught up in trying to be like his siblings, or whoever else he thinks is "cool". Then he often forgets me-he's not mean, he just doesn't think about me. But most of the time, he's really thoughtful and helpful and sweet. For example, once Julie and Marie were teasing me about being ignorant (you'd think that if they were so intelligent, they would come up with some variety in their insults, wouldn't you?), and even though I knew I shouldn't, as soon as they left, I burst into tears.
So, Ed comes along, finds out what the trouble is (he's really good at listening and finding out troubles, too), and helps me to learn the kinds of things they know. Like, high society manners, and high fashion, and...oh, lots of highs. Although Ed was never a habitual pot smoker (or anything harder), I do know he did try some once or twice. Anyway, he warned me against it, and to be honest, I didn't really have a great desire to try.
He told me once that I was really much better than the debutantes like Julie and Marie, because not only was I able to fit into their world if I so chose, I also was intelligent and educated about art and literature-more traditional forms of knowledge. I'm not sure that he was right, though. I could fake my way through an evening when they needed someone extra at the dinner table, but I don't think I ever could have fit in to High Society.
Enough with exposition, now comes the real action...