Faking A Family

Chapter 1 

Rochelle

"Do you need me on the piano in the morning while Allen’s out?" I ask Edgar, my boss, standing at the hostess station. "I have some new etudes I think the guests will like."

He’s rummaging through a large envelope, distracted.

"You're a marvelous pianist, Rochelle, and the patrons love that you take requests." He looks up at me with his tired dark eyes. "But you're also a fabulous hostess. And I need you on podium duty."

I frown. It's true, I have a mind for organization that helps keep things sorted and the waitstaff happy, but it isn't necessarily what brings me joy.

“I can find a dozen excellent musicians in a heartbeat. This is New York, for crying out loud. But finding a hostess with a head on her shoulders, a consummate professional, someone who can handle these crowds? That’s hard." He shakes his head and smiles.

"Thanks, Edgar." I should be grateful he values me, even if it's for something I'm not as enthusiastic about.

"Now go enjoy your afternoon." He hands me an envelope with the tips from this pay period with a smile and a nod.

I glance into the envelope. It’s more than I expected. Not a lot, but it means that I will actually have some left after paying rent this month.

I smile and shake my head. It's a small victory, but it's still a positive step.

Le Printemps, the flagship restaurant of  L’Hotel des Saisons, or The Seasons Hotel, is known for its incredible champagne brunch and stained-glass windows that are almost 150 years old, imported straight from a village on the outskirts of France.

It's a regal old place, and I try to appreciate the beauty in it as I walk to the back to get my things and clock out. It lifts my spirits a little bit to see the pools of color cast by the windows onto the wooden floors, but I'd hoped for some piano time. But that’s what busking in the park is for.

Remember to count your blessings, Rochelle.

I grab my bags and coat, and then I head out the back into the cool air of the city alley.

The smell of the garbage cans and exhaust from an entire hotel's worth of heating and cooling fill the alley, and I quickly walk toward the fresher air of the street.

It's a pretty day, perfect for playing a little set in the park. Even if I’m just playing for the pigeons and old men dozing on park benches, I live for this.

First, home. Then, my own personal recital for the city in the park.

By the time I get to my place, I notice the smell outside my building’s front steps is less horrible, as the street cleaners came this morning. The building elevator is even working. It may be just a tiny one-bedroom with a bathtub in the kitchen, but it’s mine.

I see them before they see me. Two dirty-blonde white kids in slightly shabby, enormous coats linger outside my door. The older boy is lecturing the younger girl about how to leave her card in the door so it won't fall out.

“Rochelle!” They turn at my footsteps, and I'm struck by the startling hazel eyes they share. Their wide smiles are infectious as they hug my waist.

“Hi, Sigourney, hi, Walken. I missed you, too.”

I’m pleased to see them, but I wonder how long they’ve been roaming the halls alone.

"We made things for you!" Walken is older by two years and takes his status seriously. He holds up his little sister's wrist so I can see the card she is holding, which looks like a group of witches in pointy hats, but I can’t tell from the dim light of the hallway. I have no idea when the bulbs were last changed or if they’re just filthy.

"Well, isn't that magnificent!" I unlock the door and hold it open for them. "Come inside so I can see it better."

The kids know the routine. They put their things on the table, then return to the door to hang up their coats, and, in Sigourney’s case, a red knit cap.

I sit at the table and pick up the card. Figures in a rainbow of skin colors with long red and black dotted clothes are on the front. They have pointy hats, so I make a wild guess.

"Are these witches?"

Sigourney shakes her head. "Wizards!" She points at a stick figure in the corner. "That's me."

"And are you a wizard, too?" I ask, noticing that she isn't wearing a robe like the others.

"Not yet, but they're about to give me my invitation to wizard school.” She is about to go on, but Walken cuts her off.

"And I made this for you!" He holds out a red clay mug with black dots. "It's a ladybug."

"Wow! It's beautiful. I love it."

"Sigourney wanted her wizards to match the mug, that's why they have dots on their robes."

"This is so generous. Thank you." I wonder to myself if the mug will actually hold water, but even if it leaks like a sprinkler, I’ll love it just as much. "I feel like a queen."

And a second after saying it, I realize that it's true.

Both children smile.

"Where's Duplex?" Sigourney asks, looking around for my cat, so named because of the orange and white colors that divide his fur almost in half. I discovered after moving here, serendipitously, that it’s also the name of a legendary piano bar on Christopher Street.

"That reminds me." I rummage in my bag and pull out a key on a cat keychain. "I want to ask you both something that's kind of serious."

Both children turn their wide hazel eyes on me.

"Sometimes, I have to work late or am in the park playing." They nod. They know my routine. "I can't always get to Duplex as early as he needs, so I want to give this to you, and you can come over here whenever you want. Maybe if I'm not here and you think Duplex is getting lonely, or even if I am here, whenever you'd like."

Walken nods seriously, and I put the key in his hand. "And I mean it. Any time you two want, okay?"

I know how it feels to live in an apartment that feels too small to hold all of the chaos of the adults in your life.

So many times, I'd wished for a place to escape to when the shouting started. I want them to have what I didn't. I want them to have a refuge.

"Promise not to lose the key?" I ask. “I know you kept the P.O. box key safe, so I’m sure you can.”

Walken’s eyes light up. "Oh, right! I also got your mail from the P.O. box. The mailman was there and gave it to me instead." He proudly pulls my mail from his backpack.

"My goodness, you are so helpful."

Sigourney is dangling a teaser wand behind the couch, looking for Duplex.

"Okay, who wants peanut butter and apple slices?" I ask.

"Me!" they both say in chorus.

A half-hour later, there's a knock at the door. I look out the peephole and see the same hazel eyes as the children but on a rounder face.

"Caroline." I open the door. "Come in."

She looks exhausted and simply nods at me.

"They weren’t too much trouble, I hope."

Walken’s doing homework at the table, and Sigourney is playing with Duplex.

"Little angels, as usual."

This makes her smile, and she looks young and pretty rather than defeated. "Ready, kiddos? Terrance brought a pizza." She looks at me. "He's in a celebratory mood. All the mechanics got bonuses."

I think of the machines in the factory he works at. Enormous things that chop, crush, and blanch nuts. It must be dangerous and exhausting work.

"Awesome," Walken says, barely looking up.

"He bought pepperoni," she says to the kids without much enthusiasm.

They look cautiously optimistic upon hearing this and begin to clean up their things.

"Rochelle gave us this," Walken says, holding up my key. "The cat on the keychain is supposed to be Duplex, but it doesn't really look like him."

"To this place?" Caroline looks at me.

"If that's okay. I told them to come over whenever they want."

For a moment, I think Caroline might object. "Better not lose that then," she says to Walken. "And let's keep it a secret from everyone besides us in the room, got it?"

Walken nods. Caroline looks at her daughter. "Sigourney? We don't want anyone using it to steal Rochelle's things, right?"

She nods solemnly. I wonder what Terrance might be up to that inspires this sort of caution.

"It's not like I've got much." I smile reassuringly.

Caroline doesn't smile back but instead gestures at her kids. "Let's go, kiddos. Pizza's getting cold."

As they run out the door, she gives me a tired nod. "Thanks, Rochelle."

"My pleasure."

I go back in and push the chairs back under the table, a habit I picked up from my job. Duplex hops up on the table, and I stroke his fur while I flip through the mail.

It's mostly advertisements for takeout and political mailers. But there on the bottom is a letter in scrawled handwriting with a return address in Texas. My stepfather's handwriting. My old home's address.

I look at it a moment before slapping the rest of the mail back down on it.

I'll deal with it later.