“I don’t understand why they’re listening to you—it’s like you’re the God of Babysitting…”
“Something like that,” she offered, marveling at the irony of it all.
He followed Portia into the kitchen, where she began scrounging around the cabinets, taking out a box of pasta. From the fridge she extracted a stick of butter and some milk.
Why not? Those boys could use some meat on their skinny bones.
She turned to Max. It was so liberating to not have to rely on her cell phone to communicate with him. “How ’bout I make some kind of creamy pasta while you get the boys cleaned up? You know, something with a roux-based sauce.”
“I love the way you say ‘roux,’ Portia. I actually think I detected a bit of a French thing happening with your ‘r.’ You must be hanging out with Jacqueline too much. Say it again,” he demanded playfully.
“Je vais preparer un repas merveilleux—allez!” She executed a perfect French accent, which surprised her as much as it did Max. It was as if she had been speaking French all her life. Portia made a mental note to ask Leucosia if multilingualism was part of the gig.
“Wow,” Max said. “Where did that come from?”
“I have no idea,” she admitted. “Can you point me in the direction of some flour?”
Max quickly helped her pull together some ingredients and then ran upstairs to tend to the boys. A few minutes later, Portia could hear bits of their bath time conversation from downstairs. It was endearing the way Max was using bribery to get them into the bath.
“Look, little dudes, if you get into the tub now, I promise I’ll talk to your parents about getting you Xbox Live.”
“No, you won’t,” Portia couldn’t tell if it was Ryan or Jonah. “You just wanna get back to that girl downstairs. The one with the voice.”
“What do you mean, ‘the one with the voice’?”
Portia strained her ears.
“Didn’t you hear her, Max? You gotta do whatever she says. Even if you wanna say no, you still have to say yes.”
“Yeah, it was like, creepy.”
Max must have dismissed the observations of his cousins, as Portia heard the bath water start running again. She was not as dismissive, though. Could it be that by merely talking she could procure her vocal magic?
About a half hour later, Max reemerged with two squeaky-clean boys in matching Buzz Lightyear pajamas.
“Wow, don’t you boys look handsome. Come sit at the table and have some pasta.” The boys looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders in defeat. They took their places at the table, which Portia had set hurriedly while they had been having their bath.
“Jesus, you really are like Mary Poppins.” Max said.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to say Jesus like that Max,” Jonah warned his older cousin.
“You’re right,” Max conceded. “Sorry about that. I think I went crazy for a minute by how good it smells in here.” With hungry eyes he ogled the pasta that Portia was spooning into a bowl. It was drenched in a smooth white sauce, emitting a mild garlicky aroma. In the fridge she had found some kielbasa, which she had sliced and seared. The boys’ mouths were watering.
“OK, here’s the deal,” she made an effort this time not to sound too bossy. “I found some carrots in the fridge, and I roasted them with some maple syrup, which means that they are like totally kid-friendly. You each have to at least try one before you start filling your bellies with creamy noodles. Deal?”
Once again the boys looked defeated.
“Deal,” they responded in unison.
Portia took the carrots out of the oven and placed a few on each of the boys’ plates.
“Hey, don’t I get any?” Max sounded childish himself.
“Look, I’m babysitting here, Max,” Portia said playfully. “You gotta help yourself.” She was doling out big portions of pasta to the two boys, who were both on their third carrot.
“This is really good…um, wait, what’s your name again?” Ryan asked.
“It’s Portia,” Max answered. He spoke her name like it was the two most magical syllables he had ever uttered.
♪
The boys stuffed themselves silly while Portia and Max made googly eyes at each other. Max was actually just about to go for a second helping when Portia suddenly detected a yawn escaping Ryan’s mouth. Jonah caught the bug and yawned, too, not nearly as subtly as his brother.
“Max,” she suggested, “How would you feel about me taking the boys up and putting them to bed while you finish and clean up in here?”
Max couldn’t believe his luck. It was only 8:00. The little monsters usually made him wait until at least 9:30 before even considering the commencement of bedtime routine.
“That sounds like an awesome idea. What do you boys think?” Max looked at the sleepy overstuffed faces of his cousins. They looked so much alike that sometimes it was hard for him to remember that they weren’t twins.
“But Portia promised us a story,” Jonah argued.
“And I will deliver on that promise. I promise. But only after you guys brush your teeth and get into bed. And don’t try to trick me. I know someone who knows how to test toothbrushes to see when they were last used.”
The boys looked at each other suspiciously and bolted for the stairs.
Portia turned to say something to Max when all of a sudden she felt his mouth on hers. His lips tasted spicy and his hands cupped her cheeks as he moved in closer to her. She forfeited herself to the kiss, enjoying the way he was stroking the sides of her neck, tracing her collarbone with his fingers.
Kissing and nibbling Portia’s bottom lip, he savored every millimeter of her full mouth. Much to her horror, a soft moan escaped her throat.
He stopped and smiled, “God, I’m happy you found your voice.”
Portia reached out to touch his dimples. “Are those things real?—”
“Portia, we’re ready!!” The boys were screaming from upstairs.
“Duty calls.” She must have said it loudly because as she bolted for the stairs, she could hear one of the boys:
“She said doody…”
As Portia walked up the stairs, something Leucosia had said to her behind the café suddenly came back to her.
“
But now, here you are, a young woman with a voice whose powers are…are…immeasurable.”
Come on, voice, don’t fail me now
, she thought as she started forming a plan.
I need these kids to go to sleep…
♪
When Portia found the boys, they were snuggled under the covers of what was obviously their parents’ bed.
“Whoa, fellas, I’m sure in this giant house you guys must have your own awesome bedroom.”
“We do,” Ryan said, “But Mommy and Daddy always let us fall asleep in their bed when they go out.”
She was afraid they were taking her for a ride but found the boys so endearing that she didn’t have the heart to relocate them.
“Did you guys brush your teeth?”
They blew their minty breath in her direction.
“Great, now I can call my friend back and tell him I won’t be needing his services after all.”
They smiled as she settled herself at the foot of the bed.
“So what kinds of stories do you guys like? Cops and robbers? Cowboys and Indians?”
“We like scary stories.”
“Yeah, like with blood and guts.”
For a moment she considered regaling them with the story of Parthenope and Ligeia’s murderous rampages but then scanned her brain for something a little more appropriate. Suddenly remembering a favorite Ogden Nash poem that her parents used to read to her, she decided that “The Adventures of Isabel” would be a safe bet.
“I’ve got one, guys. It’s about a little girl named Isabel.”
“No way, we don’t want to hear about a dumb girl,” they protested.
“Trust me,” said Portia. “This is a really good one. It was written by this guy who had a daughter named Isabel, and I used to imagine that all of these things really happened to her. Just give it a chance.”
Portia hoped that her instincts were right. She dimmed the lights and cleared her throat, instructing the boys to listen closely.
Here goes nuthin’
, she thought.
“Ok, so Isabel met an enormous bear,
Isabel, Isabel, didn’t care,
The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous,
The bear’s big mouth was cruel and cavernous.
The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you,
How do, Isabel, now I’ll eat you!”
“This is dumb,” Ryan interrupted.
“Oh, yeah? Just wait,” Portia responded. She poured all of her energy into the story and suddenly a giant holograph of a bear was sitting on the white chaise lounge in the corner of the room. Even Portia was delighted with the cinematic effect she had procured.
A small girl with curled black pigtails and gigantic brown eyes appeared as well.
“Whoa,” Ryan said as he moved closer to Jonah.
“Awesome,” Jonah said. He put his arm around his brother protectively.
Suddenly the girl got up. Portia continued.
“Isabel, Isabel, didn’t worry.
Isabel didn’t scream or scurry.
She washed her hands, and she straightened her hair up,
Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up.”
The boys could hear water running as Isabel washed up at an imaginary sink before her. Suddenly the bear was encapsulated in a giant bubble, which floated into Isabel’s mouth, eliciting a huge burp as the bear disappeared into her belly. The boys started laughing hysterically.
“Should I go on?” Portia asked, “or do we still think Isabel is stupid?”
“Go on, go on,” they begged in unison.
“Once in a night as black as pitch,”
The room suddenly turned pitch-black except for one beam of light illuminating the new character that had entered stage left.
“Isabel met a wicked old witch.
The witch’s face was cross and wrinkled,
The witch’s gums with teeth were sprinkled.
Ho, ho, Isabel! the old witch crowed,
I’ll turn you into an ugly toad!”
The evil witch looked just as Portia had imagined her all the many times that Helena and Joshua had told her this story.
Holographic Isabel marched straight over to the witch, not a trace of fear on her angelic face.
“Isabel, Isabel, didn’t worry,
Isabel didn’t scream or scurry,
She showed no rage and she showed no rancor,
But she turned the witch into milk and drank her.”
The little girl plunked a glass down on the end table next to the chaise. Then she produced a linen napkin from the pocket of her dress and dabbed at the corners of her mouth.
“I liked it better when she burped,” said Ryan.
Jonah elbowed him and told him to shut up.
Suddenly the boys felt the room shake as a mammoth giant entered the tale.
Portia continued:
“Isabel met a hideous giant,
Isabel continued self-reliant.
The giant was hairy, the giant was horrid,
He had one eye in the middle of his forehead.”
Portia stopped momentarily, realizing for the first time that this character must be based on the Cyclops of
The
Odyssey
—what was the name of the one who Odysseus blinded? Polyphemus, was it? She wondered if he was actually the very same Cyclops who had killed Leucosia’s mother. As her thoughts trailed off, the animated images in the corner started fading.
“Hey, turn it back on,” Jonah demanded.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Where was I? Oh, OK.”
As she came back to the poem, the giant began to circle Isabel.
“Good morning, Isabel, the giant said,
I’ll grind your bones to make my bread.”
Ryan let out an almost undetectable shudder at the mention of the bone grinding.
“Well, you wanted blood and gore,” she told the brothers.
“We do, we do. Go on. What happens with the—well you know, him?” Jonah motioned with his thumb over to the giant, who was hovering over the tiny figure of Isabel.
“Isabel, Isabel, didn’t worry,
Isabel didn’t scream or scurry.
She nibbled the zwieback that she always fed off,
And when it was gone, she cut the giant’s head off.”
Luckily imaginary holographic creatures don’t exactly bleed. When Isabel triumphantly held up the head of the giant, his severed neck was as sealed up as a knotted balloon. The rest of his body had collapsed with a thud, which Portia hoped Max didn’t hear downstairs. She had a feeling, though, that what happened between her and the boys stayed between her and the boys.
Portia decided to skip the last verse—it was about Isabel going to a scary doctor, and she had never particularly liked that part, considering her own history. And so Isabel swiped her hands together, a sure indication that her work here was done. She waved good-bye to the boys and spread out on the chaise lounge, cuddling into herself and closing her eyes. Her image vanished, and suddenly the boys were back in the real world.
“Do another one, Portia,” Jonah begged.
“Yeah, one more!” Ryan echoed the plea.
“Not tonight, boys. It’s late. You gotta get some sleep so you can grow and be strong like Isabel.”
At the boys’ request, Portia left the bathroom light on with the door open and began to walk out of the room.
“Portia,” Jonah called after her, “that was the best magic we ever saw. What’s your secret?”
She looked into the boys’ expectant faces.
“I’m afraid I’ll never be able to reveal my secret, guys.”
The truth of this statement plagued her as she headed back down the stairs.
When she got downstairs, Portia found Max settled on the sofa, strumming his guitar and singing the first verse of Glen Hansard’s “Falling Slowly.” She eavesdropped quietly for a moment, admiring the way he handled the instrument.
Clearing her throat, she sat down next to him on the couch. He stopped singing, but his hands continued to strum the six-string absentmindedly.
“You know, when I saw the movie
Once
for the first time,” Portia began, “I was completely obsessed. I must have watched it like a thousand times. And that scene in the end when he sends her the piano? Massive. I felt like nobody else had seen the movie, though, and then Kris Allen performed that song on
Idol
. I have to admit that that night I actually texted in my vote.” She couldn’t believe she was admitting to actually casting a vote for
American Idol
.
Next thing I know, I’ll be telling him that I’m a Siren…
Surprisingly Max came back at her with, “Yeah, Allen’s performance was good, but that DeWyze–Bowersox duet was mind-blowing, wouldn’t you agree?”
“No way! You’re an
Idol
fan?”
Max tried placing the blame on the boys. “They’ll watch any kind of reality TV. Their recent favorites are
Pawn Stars
and
Deadliest Catch
.”
“That’s so cute. They really are such great kids, Max.” She fell silent for a moment. “I always wanted siblings.” It sounded more pitiable than she had intended.
Max shifted over on the sofa, and she maneuvered herself closer, nestling into him. “I always wanted siblings, too,” he offered.
“Well, at least you have the boys. And I always get to hear about the drama with Felix’s sis—” she stopped herself immediately.
Max stopped strumming. “Portia, he’s part of your life. I don’t expect you to just drop him because of me…”
She traced the outline of his blackened eye with her fingertip.
“I can’t believe he did this to you.”
He took her finger and kissed it gently, making it almost impossible for her to stay on topic.
“…It really doesn’t hurt as much as you’d expect. Besides, Felix and I needed to get that fight out of our systems. You know, marking our territory and all that.”
“Men are so primal.” She elbowed him playfully, and he feigned great pain at the gesture. “Oh my God, sorry—”
Max smiled. “You gotta lighten up, Portia. I mean, the guy’s big, but I had a few moves socked away, you know.”
“Oh, so now you’re Lenox Lewis?”
He put down the guitar. “You’re such a girl. Lenox Lewis hasn’t been in the ring in like a thousand years.”
“Yeah, well, he’s British though, right?”
“Yes, he is. But he’s also six four and black, so I’m not banking on the British thing as a common thread. Anyway, I’ve got my own unique fighting style.” He flexed his arms exaggeratedly. “Wanna see some of my moves?”
He threw a few mock punches her way but then brought the topic back to Felix.
“Anyway, have you spoken to him at all? How’s he doing?”
Portia had iChatted with Felix just before she left the house. Their conversation was incredibly strained, but at least she was able to get an update on Dean’s condition. It was not looking good. The list of his injuries was endless, as was the sixteen hours of surgery to try to correct them. Now all they could do was wait.
“My grandfather’s a mess,” Felix had said. “Everyone is. It’s crazy to see my uncle crying, you know?”
In a feeble attempt to smooth things out, Portia had offered to be on the next flight out.
“No. Don’t do that. I need some time to figure stuff out, Portia,” he had told her. “Besides, you should be working on honing your new voice.”
At least this time when he referred to her voice, it was without palpable rage. But she had wanted to talk it out with him—the last time they had avoided talking something through, it had festered away, ending disastrously.
“About that,” she signed into the webcam, “what you said before you left. Felix, the voice came about a month ago, and your suspicions about Charlotte were right. She was the only person who knew. I can’t explain to you why—I mean, why Charlotte. Please don’t ask me to. But I was planning on telling you—I was just trying to figure out how to, you know?”
“Well, you certainly picked an interesting approach.” His tone made it clear that they were still eons away from any kind of truce. “Anyway, Portia, I can’t be about you right now. I’ve gotta deal with my family.”
I thought I was family
, she had wanted to say. But the conversation had just trailed off, a giant abyss of unsaid words and silent apologies hovering between them.
She looked at Max, who was patiently awaiting her response.
“As best as can be expected, I guess.” A comfortable silence hung in the air as Portia settled her head more comfortably on Max’s shoulder.
“Max,” she broke the silence, “aren’t you at all curious about my voice?”
“Of course I am.” Max said. “But I didn’t want to push you to talk about it until you were ready.”
“I appreciate that. And I guess I really don’t have much of an explanation for you anyway.” She avoided his eyes. “A few weeks ago, I just started feeling a change come on—like a stretching sensation at the base of my throat. Then the other day I just tried it. I was as shocked as anybody else to hear my voice—more, even. Helena—I mean, my mom. I guess now that she can hear me, I better not call her by her first name anymore. I used to refer to her that way in my head—it made me feel more grown-up since I was so, like, infantilized by my handicap. Anyway, my mom wants to take me to all kinds of doctors now, but I’ve been refusing. I figure, why look a gift horse in the mouth?”
That and the fact that the last thing I need is for a doctor to see that I have some kind of extra organ in my throat, causing my anatomy to be alarmingly similar to that of a bird…
“Anyway, if I have to be completely honest with you,” she let out a slight cough when she said the word honest, “the thing I’m most concerned about is how this is going to affect my friendship with Felix.”
It was a relief to find not the slightest hint of anger in his face. She needed to talk to someone about this. To him.
“Go on,” he said.
“I don’t know—I feel like he’s so far away from me. I don’t just mean the Canada thing. I mean everything. I’ve had Felix for as long as I can remember, you know? And since you came around, I feel like our whole history has been erased. And now I’m afraid this voice thing is going to be the final nail in the coffin.”
Max allowed a pensive pause before speaking. “Portia, don’t take this the wrong way, but why do things have to be so different for you guys if Felix can’t even hear you one way or the other?”
“It’s the abandonment, Max. I’ve abandoned him. Felix and I have always kind of been like twins in a way; you know, inventing our own language. ‘Smanglish,’ we would call it—signing and mouthing English. We even had—have—our own signs for some things. But now I can talk just like everyone else… and he’s still using Smanglish. So I understand if he feels like I’ve abandoned him…”
“You haven’t abandoned anyone, Portia. I know it’s easier said than done, but if he’s a true friend, he’ll get over it. He should be happy for you, shouldn’t he?”
“I don’t know. It’s complicated.” The mood was growing heavy—definitely not the direction Portia had intended the evening to take. “Let’s change the subject. How was Morrison’s class today? Did I miss anything special?”
“Nope, not too much. He actually spent most of time talking about the powers that women have over men.”
Portia’s ears perked up. She wondered if Athena had pulled another body-snatching invasion of her
Odyssey
teacher. “What do you mean?”
“Well, there are so many women in
The Odyssey
, right? Calypso, Circe, the Sirens. They all have crazy powers over Odysseus and his mates. Seems Homer was something of a misogynist. For him there was no end to the evil ways of women. He wasn’t a chauvinist, though. I mean, he understood that women can have crazy powers over men.”
Yes, that had to be Athena. Had she been trying to warn Max to be careful around her?
“Well, what do you think about that?” Portia ventured.
“What? Do women have power over men? Well, without a doubt you have some crazy powers over me, Portia.”
“What do you mean?” she ventured. Maybe if she could understand how she was affecting him, she could try to keep it in check.
“Well, for example,” Max leaned over and inhaled the scent of her hair. “When I smell your hair, I feel like there’s nothing I could refuse you.”
Well, I don’t need to keep that in check
, she thought as she tousled her hair playfully.
“And when I see those eyes,” Max planted a gentle kiss on each of her eyelids, “I would literally give you the shirt off my back.”
“That sounds like a fair bargain…” She fingered his shirt collar, forgetting all about the power-checking strategy.
“And those lips,” he ran his thumb over her lips. “I would enter the eye of the storm for those lips.”
“Luckily you won’t have to do that,” she said aloud, hoping that indeed he wouldn’t have to.
“But I would…” Max leaned over and kissed her.
She could not believe how good his kiss felt. It sparked a relay race of thoughts in her head.
…I’m so happy I wore a tank top…Should I be embarrassed by the goose bumps, though?…God, I hope I’m measuring up to those NYC girls…
Finally she just decided to try to clear her mind and focus entirely on the kissing. No worries, no expectations. To her great relief, she found that she was actually able to relax after a bit. She surrendered herself entirely to the moment.
“Claw him
!
”
The thought popped into her head out of nowhere and was accompanied by a similar rage to the one she had felt with her father the other morning.
“Come on, you have nails, leave your mark on his back, on his neck, anywhere
.
”
Her hands clenched—she abruptly pulled herself away.
“What’s wrong?” Max asked her.
“Nothing, nothing,” she plunged the rage deep down enough so that it wouldn’t surface, leaning back over and kissing him again.
“You think the kiss tastes good? Wait until you taste the pain
.
”
She bolted up from the couch.
“Ummm, sorry, Max, I have to use the bathroom.” She ran out of the room before he could say anything.
“…Last door on the left,” he called after her.
Portia had already found the powder room and slammed the door behind her. She slumped to the floor, trying to catch her breath.
“I am losing my goddamned mind,” she said out loud.
Allowing herself a few minutes to regroup, she heard Max’s voice outside the door.
“You OK in there?”
“Yeah, I just need a minute.” She stood up and splashed her face off with some cool water. She looked into the mirror over the sink and instructed herself:
“Get a hold of yourself, Portia. Just clear your thoughts and get a hold of yourself.”
But as she said the words aloud, her reflection did not follow suit. The fear started rising up in her throat.
“Get out of here!” she commanded the mirrored image of herself, but the reflection remained stationary.
Portia’s breath was coming fast, and she feared she would end up passing out again.
“Get the hell out of here!” she said again.
The reflection smiled back at her, a giant evil grin that surrounded the words it spoke:
“He’s totally helpless out there…”
She gripped the sides of the sink and shook her head, willing the reflection away.
Evil Portia started to laugh.
“You’re kidding yourself if you think you’ve known pleasure. The truest pleasure is in the destruction.”
Her reflection held up its hands. They were dripping blood.
She was going down. Unless she turned away right now, she was definitely going down. Her feet unsteady beneath her, she shakily reached for the door.
“Portia?” Max was knocking.
She flung the door open, a look of sheer terror in her eyes.
“Portia, what happened? What’s the matter?” He reached out a hand to touch her.
“Don’t!” she screamed and grabbed his hand with hers, digging her nails into his skin, drawing blood. He looked down at his hand, open-mouthed, and then up at her in shock.
“Oh God, I’m sorry. I have to go. I have to get out of here.”
She pushed past him, bolting for the door.
“Portia, wait a minute—”
But it was too late. She was already down the front path, running at lightning speed, the outdoor lights illuminating her fading form.
Max stood staring as he watched her fade away.
“Max, are Mommy and Daddy home yet?” Jonah was standing at the top of the stairs. “Whoa, what happened to your hand?”
Max looked back down at his left hand. Five arcs marred his skin, tiny crimson rainbows streaming thick droplets of blood.
♪
Portia was running hard, her lungs burning, her eyes stinging from the salt of her sweat. She had no idea where she was headed, only that she had to keep running.
She could feel the blood from Max’s hand caking up under her fingernails.
He’s never going to want to see me again
.
Unable to catch her breath, she was forced to slow her pace.
The look on his face—how was she ever going to explain what she had done? She couldn’t even explain it to herself.
On the periphery, a pair of headlights was flashing her and a familiar voice called out her name.
Portia stopped in her tracks and looked past the headlights into the driver’s seat. She was not surprised to see Leucosia.
When she got into the car, Leucosia procured a Kleenex, which Portia accepted as floods of tears escaped her eyes. The darkness in the car veiled the metallic stains on the tissues.
“Tell me everything,” the elder Goddess seemed never to lose her composure.
“How did you know where to find me?” Portia asked.