Aunt Theo’s bedroom was painted red but a red that had a lot of dimension to it, a lot of roses and oranges enfolded in it. A mysterious red, something I had never seen before, because I’d always thought of red being kind of obvious. On the floor was an Oriental rug that was all olive greens and golds. And on the bed itself was a leopard-skin blanket, soft and touchable and yet kind of dangerous looking at the same time.
“Cool,” said Valentine, and I knew it was the leopard-skin she was referring to.
As in the rest of the apartment, there were lots of old books and paintings, and the paintings were mostly of nudes.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s keep looking. Clover might be back any minute.”
We got closer to the bed, where Clover’s pet turtle, Carlo, was snuggled up in a fold of the leopard-skin. We were surprised at first to see a turtle out of its a cage, but looked down only to notice his tiny cage at the foot of the bed.
“Ah,” said Valentine, leaning over to stroke him. Then she said, “Hey, I think that one’s of Aunt Theo, isn’t it?” and pointed to the painting above the bed.
It was yet another nude and showed the tall, willowy lines of a beautiful brunette captured in a pale blue light. What was interesting about the portrait to me was that Aunt Theo was looking straight ahead without apology. Her body was less developed than many of the other nudes, but next to her, they looked like schoolgirls and she looked like a grown woman.
I wondered if I’d ever look like that.
“That picture was painted in Paris,” Valentine said.
“How do you know?”
“I just can tell. Paris in the morning. Something about that shade of blue, that light.”
A title was written in cursive in the bottom corner of the painting. The title was: L’heure de la lavande, “The Lavender Hour.” I read it out loud.
“Can you imagine letting someone see you naked?” asked Valentine.
“Oh my God, no. Can you?”
What she said surprised me: “Sometimes.” And I saw that this must be one of the differences between being fourteen and being seventeen. Because I couldn’t imagine letting someone seeing me naked: I blushed, I almost wanted to throw up, just to think of it.
Then Val opened the door to Clover’s private bath, which is where we saw her lacy blue bra and undies dripping over the side of the claw-foot tub.
“I’m so going to wear sexy lingerie as soon as I have a guy who’s going to see it,” said Valentine. “But I wouldn’t wear blue, I don’t think. I’m going to wear black! Black lace and what are those things called, garters, God, I can’t wait. Franny, Do you think Clover has someone?”
“She told that woman in the shop that she didn’t.”
Valentine said, “Well not now, but she has. She has in the past, and I’m going to get her to tell us all about it. I need information.”
“About what, Val?”
“Sex, dummy.”
“Oh.”
“I mean,” Val went on, “it’s New York City, there have to be so many men around! And Mom and Dad aren’t here to bug me, and another thing: I can totally pull anything over Clover.”
“Val. Clover’s our chaperone.”
“Whatever, she’s shorter than both of us! I know what we’ve got to do, Franny. We’ve got to get dressed up and hit the town and meet some men.”
I didn’t want to let on in front of Val, but the truth was, the whole idea kind of embarrassed me. I got shy even just talking to boys at school.
“Enough of that, Val,” I said. “Come on, let’s look around up here before Clover gets back.”
The bathroom was all white, or rather antique white, with chipping white-painted furniture and more of those brown-and-white diamond parquet floors. I had never seen so many beauty products in one bathroom and all with the most delicate hand-printed wrappings and labels. White Almond Talcum Powder. Hyacinth & Bluebell Bubble Bath. Bars of French soap: Mielle, Violette, Pepins de Raisins, Fleur D’orange.
We were so busy looking at the beauty products that it took us a while to notice that there was a rickety door leading outside.
“Does Clover have her own balcony?” said Valentine. “Jealous.”
By now, Carlo had gotten off the bed and was following us, waddling across the parquet floor.
“Oh, Carlo,” I said, and scooped his silky green body into the palm of my hand while Valentine twisted the doorknob.
And then we were outside. It wasn’t a balcony, it was a whole roof-deck, a secret roof-deck.
“Oh my God,” said Valentine, “Clover was keeping this from us? I hate her.”
“Quiet. She might be back at any minute.”