Marcus finished his champagne and followed Roland out of the study to rejoin his guests. Once again the room erupted in applause.
For the next two hours, Marcus made his way around the room. He heard the word congratulations so many times he felt like slapping the next one who said it. But that would be bad for business. So, he talked about the high points of the case and his law firm. There were even a few ladies who inquired about his marital status. A conversation he had little interest in having. The first chance he got, Marcus headed for the door.
HOME
Carmen Taylor parked her rental car in the driveway and turned off the lights. This would be the first time she had been home since Desireé's funeral. She missed her sister, missed her more than she ever let on. It had been more than a year since the murder. Carmen had been shooting a layout in Tokyo when she got her father's call. She knew something was wrong when she hadn't heard from Desireé in two days. The news of her sister’s death was devastating to her. She spent the better part of the next two days traveling. From Tokyo, to Hawaii, to San Francisco, to Chicago, to Atlanta and arrived the night before the funeral. After the funeral Carmen went back to Tokyo, and went back to work. She didn't want to give herself any time to dwell on Desireé's death. So Carmen did what she always did when things became stressful. She worked; print ads, shows, commercials, anything to keep busy.
From the moment her father, Carlton, snapped that first picture, everybody knew, Carmen Taylor was going to be a model. Her
mother Dominique had planned it all out for her. Her every waking moment was dedicated to accomplishing that goal. As young girls, Carmen and Desireé were taught to walk a certain way, talk a certain way. Dominique saw to it that they even looked a certain way. Dominique controlled everything. Dominique always had control of everything.
She sat quietly outside of the house she’d grown up in, and thought. Thought about what she was about to do. First she had to decide if she was going to do it at all. Was she going to walk up to that door and ring the bell? If she did, Carmen knew that her mother would answer the door and she would have to talk to her. And she didn't want to. Carmen got out of the car and walked toward the door. She rang the bell and as she expected her mother answered.
“Hello, Mother. Can I come in?”
“Carmen?” Dominique said, not believing her eyes or ears as she stood blocking the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Can I come in?” Carmen asked again, staring impatiently at her mother. Dominique stared back, only her look was not one of impatience, it was more shock than anything else. It had been four years since she'd seen her daughter and these were the first words they'd exchanged in seven years. Finally, Dominique took a step to the side, but just enough for Carmen to pass.
“Thank you, Mother. How are you?” Carmen asked as she walked through the foyer into the living room.
“I'm fine, Carmen.”
For Carmen it was like stepping into a time machine. Nothing had changed in all the years since she had set foot in the place she'd called home for nineteen years. She could almost see herself and Desireé as kids running around the room. Playing in front of the Christmas tree. She'd been around the world. Lived and worked in New York, Los Angeles, London, Paris, Madrid, and Tokyo but there was no feeling like this in the world. In her mind’s eye, this was still home to her. She took a deep breath and could smell the scent of her father’s cigar in the air.
“Where’s Daddy?” she asked, as she continued to wander around the living room.
“He's downstairs.” Carmen started to walk away, heading for the basement door, but Dominique grabbed Carmen by the arm. “You still haven't answered my question, Carmen. What are you doing here?”
Carmen jerked her arm back. “I came to see daddy. - - - And you.”
“You couldn't come to pay your respects to your sister, but you can show up now. You’ve got some nerve.”
“What are you talking about? I was at Desireé's funeral.”
Dominique looked at her daughter. She didn't see her at the funeral and would have sworn she wasn't there.
“You were there? You were there and you couldn't come and say something to me and your father?”
“I talked to daddy.”
“When?”
“At the funeral, Mother.”
“I didn't see you there.”
“I saw you,” Carmen said, apparently frustrated by her mother’s questions. She slid into her father's chair. “My sister had died, Mother. I knew that I couldn't stay for long and I didn't want to spend that time arguing with you.”
“We wouldn't have argued, Carmen.”
“Of course we would, Mother. That's all we ever do.”
“We're not arguing now,” Dominique sat down on the couch.
“No, not yet. But we will before I leave this room. I know it. I know you, Mother. You can't help yourself.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”