Solitaire

By Jenna McDonald

Rain pattered on the window outside. The gray night penetrated the house, despite the lamp's futile attempt to keep it out. Cold seeped in through the windows, crawling closer and closer to the middle of the room, waging a silent war with the heat from inside. In the center of the blue carpeted room, seated cross legged on the floor, was a young girl. She ignored the silent war around her, as she did the old wooden coffee table and threadbare couch that stood sentinel on either side of her. Thunder crashed, and only the most careful of observers would have seen the tightening of her shoulders. Her muscles relaxed again quickly, the tightness melting away as though it had never been. Upstairs something broke and a chorus of laughter filtered down through the ceiling to drift indolently around the girl's hunched form.

She ignored the laughter as she ignored everything else, for all intents and purposes concentrating on her game of solitaire. If one had asked her if she liked it, she would have told them heatedly what a wretched game it truly was. But no one asked, and so she played.

Black jack on the red queen.

Red five on the black six.

Lightning crashed again, brightening the room for only a moment. The lamp flickered, and went out. Several people above screamed, not truly scared, but startled. She sat in the blackness for a moment, letting her violet eyes become accustomed to the dark.

Black six on the red seven. Flip the top card. Ace of spades.

Set the killing card aside, put the two of spades on top. Other black two on the red three. Flip the card. King of spades. Black four on the red five. The whole set on the king of spades.

Flip the card. Black and white. White and red. Ace of diamonds. Put it at the top, put the two of diamonds on it and the three of diamonds on that.

Flip the card.

Laughter. The lights came back on, and there was a screech of delight. The floor thumped above her head, and she blinked as her eyes re-adjusted themselves to the light.

Black jack on the red queen.

Above, a thump. Music played, filtered through the floor-ceiling. A clock on the opposite wall of the room blinked 12:00 in morbid red light. A glance at her watch told the girl it was actually closer to ten. Long before her bedtime.

Laughter above. Three of spades on the two of spades.

More laughter. Glasses clinked. People talked. Someone was dancing.

Solitaire.

Black four on the red five. Flip the card. King of clubs. Everything fell into order, and she methodically piled the cards into their right places.

Game over.

She won.

Again.

Stupid game.

Above, light, sound, laughter, dancing.

She glared at the ceiling overhead, refusing to admit that she wished she were up there, too. "You're too young." Right. She knew that the Andersons had brought their two boys, and the Castiles had brought their girl.

She smiled slightly as she unfolded long legs, like a spider coming out of its web. Black stretch pants slid across pale skin as she walked silently up the stairs, tucking black hair behind her white ear. Her sweater dropped softly around her thighs. Something her mother had bought because it was 'appropriate.'

She hesitated as she reached the basement door.

Lightning flashed again and the lights went out once more. She opened the door, walking into the now dark room with its white carpeting and leather furniture. People milled about, some of the women pretending to be afraid of the dark.

Her eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the blackness, and she bumped into someone before backing quickly away, looking up to see who it was. Ben reached out with one hand to steady her, the other full with a tray of champagne glasses. His blue eyes were friendly as he recognized her and smiled.

"Topaz, be careful," he whispered, releasing her gently. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

She shook her head slowly, watching him. "Not for another hour, at least. It's only ten."

Ben smiled at her uncertainly, then nodded. "Your mother's over by the door."

Topaz glanced down that way, at the other end of the room, and spotted her mother, elegant in her sparkling blue evening dress, her blonde hair swept up into an intricate-looking design. She laughed, holding a flute of merrily bubbling champagne. Like the champagne, she was bubbly and pretty to watch, sweet going down, with enough snap to make you know she was there, and all very sophisticated. And like the champagne, Topaz thought wryly, if you have too much it'll make you sick.

"Thanks, Ben," Topaz whispered, then turned and went the other way. She wandered through the throngs of people, listening to the sounds as she shuffled carefully through the crowded room, ducking as much notice as possible. Eventually, she made it to the kitchen, where she stopped to get something to eat. She snuck food from one of the platters the cooks were working on, then hurried out before any of them threw a fit. Topaz stopped suddenly, glancing up as she saw shiny black shoes standing before her. Two boys slouched there, wearing stiff tuxedoes and looked bored.

"Hey, Topaz, that you?" one of them asked, stopping her.

Topaz sighed and looked up through her black hair at the blond teen. Lightning crashed in fury outside, tearing through the sky.

"I thought your mom said you were at a boarding school," Andrew said, frowning.

"I am. I'm just an illusion," she answered with a fake smile.

The boys laughed, and blocked her from going anywhere. Apparently they were bored with the adult conversation, and talking to ten-year-old Topaz was better than nothing. The three of them had met only once before, when Topaz had been five and her face had been bandaged from the fire. The boys had written a few letters back and forth to her, it was good public relations for their father if they wrote letters to poor, burned Topaz, but they hadn't seen each other again. Topaz was gone whenever her parents threw parties.

"You're an awfully good illusion," Jerry said, grinning.

Topaz hadn't lifted her head once, her hair falling over half of her face. She just smiled and went to move away, only to be blocked again by Andrew. She glared up at him.

"You're awfully pale. You sick?"

No, dimweed, I'm just pale, she thought snidely before pasting a smile on her face. "Yeah. Let me by."

The boys sighed and moved aside, and Topaz started to pass. She stopped dead when she saw her mother coming her way, and turned quickly back to the boys so that she was facing away from the woman. "You guys want to go play dominoes?" she asked, keeping track of where her mother had stopped by a group of people.

"Sure," Jerry said, the younger of the two and more easily bored.

They hurried through the kitchen and into a hallway, down that and into a playroom. "They're in here," Topaz said over her shoulder.

"What is that on your eye?" Andrew asked in surprise. He advanced, his own pale eyes wide with surprise.

Topaz was faster than she looked, and twisted away smoothly. "It's nothing," she said, slipping over to a cabinet to get the dominoes.

But both Jerry and Andrew were curious now, and they cornered her against the wood paneling.

"Give it up, Paz," Andrew said seriously. "What is that?"

Topaz sighed and turned around, moving her hair away from her face.

The two boys looked at her in silence for a minute, then Andrew bit his lip. "That's from the fire?"

Jerry piped up with, "Your skin's all white and shiny!"

Topaz glared at Jerry, who was oblivious.

"That is so cool," Jerry continued, only to be ribbed by his brother.

Andrew was about to say something when the door opened and Topaz's mother glided in, stopping at the sight of them.

"Topaz!" she said, as shock and anger warred on her face. In a sudden usurpation, charm and training won out and Adrienne smiled at the boys graciously. "Andrew, Jerry, would you please excuse us? Topaz is sick."

The two boys muttered apologies and slunk out the door.

Adrienne watched her daughter for a moment, then turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Topaz sat down slowly, her back against the wall. Outside, fire ran through the sky, brightening the room and casting eerie shadows.

The door opened again and Adrienne marched in, followed closely by Grace. "Keep her out," Adrienne snapped to the younger woman, a slim and beringed finger pointing imperiously at Topaz. A moment later she'd breezed out, the door closing behind her.

Grace looked down at Topaz, sighing. "You know you were supposed to stay downstairs," she said softly, coming to sit next to the girl.

"I know," Topaz muttered. "I just wanted to see the party."

Grace nodded, smoothing stray locks of Topaz's coal black hair away from the girl's face. "I know."

Topaz looked up at the woman, whose soft brown hair had been braided down her back. "I wish I had skin like yours," she said, touching the tanned woman's cheek softly. Grace captured the fingers and kissed them, then held them up against her own hand.

"But then you would look too much like me," she answered just as quietly.

"I look like a freak with white, shiny skin," Topaz returned bitterly.

"It used to be that women tried hard to be as white as they could. It was a sign of beauty," Grace responded.

Topaz screwed her face up. "I read that. They can keep their whiteness. I'd rather be dark."

Grace smiled slightly and ran the back of her knuckles over Topaz's unscarred cheek. "You're beautiful."

Topaz glared at the floor and ran the fingers of her free hand over her scars. "Maybe I'll get a tattoo. It'd be cooler than this."

Grace laughed, like bells chiming. "Your parents would never let you get a tattoo."

"Why not? It's not like they let me be seen anyway. They want to lock me up like . . . like . . . the Hunchback!"

"But who won in the end?" Grace asked softly.

Topaz scowled. "The Hunchback, sort of. Only wasn't he retarded?"

"Yes, and you're very smart. Quasimodo's not a good comparison. What about the Beast?"

Topaz considered, then nodded. "Beauty and the Beast? Yes, he was locked away."

"And he was kind, just like you. And in the end he won."

"But he became beautiful," Topaz muttered, standing up and walking to the hanging mirror. "And I won't."

"We just need some make-up on you," Grace said, coming to stand beside her. She opened her small purse, pulling out powder. "I don't have much, but it'll do for now." She turned Topaz toward her, then slowly started applying the powder to the girl's face. It didn't do much other than add a hint of color over the white burn scars, but Topaz was happy with the results when she looked in the mirror.

"Can I have blush too?" Topaz asked slyly, watching her keeper out of the corner of her large eyes.

Grace smiled and pulled it out of her purse.

"Now," Grace said after they were done playing with the make-up, "shall we go to bed?"

Topaz sighed and let herself be led out of the playroom. "I wish you were my mom," she said as she crawled into bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin while Grace sat on the edge of the mattress.

"I wish you were my daughter," Grace answered.

"You wouldn't tell me I couldn't come to parties because you were ashamed of the way I looked, would you?" Topaz asked.

Grace smoothed the girl's hair away from her face. "Your mother's not ashamed of you."

"Then I suppose she doesn't let me go anywhere for my health," Topaz answered sarcastically, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated motion.

There was silence for a moment, and then, "Go to sleep," Grace said, not answering Topaz's remark, which, in Topaz's opinion, was answer enough. "In the morning I'll show you the new book I bought. It's long, and it'll take you at least a week to read."

"Does it have fighting?" Topaz asked wistfully, her mind diverted from its destructive course.

"Swordfighting," Grace answered, her warm brown eyes sparkling.

"Horses?"

"Lots."

"What's it called?"

"The Three Musketeers."

Topaz thought about that. She smiled. "Sounds good."

Grace nodded and kissed the girl's forehead, standing up and leaving the room. She closed the door behind her, blocking the intrusive noise of the party out. The thunder rumbled contentedly as Topaz drifted toward sleep, rain pattering a tune against the window. Almost asleep, Topaz smiled. Someday--maybe someday soon--she would be just like one of the heroines in her books, and everyone would love her and think she was beautiful. With a sigh, Topaz slipped into her dreams.