Chapter 12 #2
Mebel finds herself cackling along with them.
She’d been hesitant about this whole thing, but now that these girls are here, she has that wonderful feeling again, like she’s about to step into something glorious and fun.
They cheer when Gemma pops open the bottle of sparkling wine.
She pours them each a generous glug and they hold their glasses up in the air.
“To Mebs,” Gemma says. “Once a baddie, always a baddie.”
“Aiya, I’m not sure I like this ‘baddie.’ It sounds like bad guy.”
“No, it’s not like a bad guy!” Gemma says.
“It’s more like a bad bitch,” Bella says.
“A bitch?” Mebel says in horror. “That is very rude word to call me!”
“Oh, we’ve reclaimed it,” Bella says.
“What does that mean, reclaim it?”
Bella and Gemma look at each other and narrow their eyes as they consider it, then Gemma says, “Well, men use the word ‘bitch’ to penalize women for daring to disagree with them. We don’t like that this word has so much power over us, so we took it and we made it ours.
We took away its meaning from being something derogatory to something affectionate that we call ourselves and our friends.
Now, when men use it against us, it no longer has so much power behind it. ”
For a long while, all Mebel can do is stare at them with her mouth slightly parted.
Reclaiming something is such a foreign concept to Mebel that it takes some time for her brain to break it down into digestible pieces and absorb it.
Mebel hasn’t been called a bitch very many times in her life for two reasons: the first being that it’s not a word commonly used in Indonesian culture, and the second being that pleasing people, and men in particular, has been so ingrained in her that she would never be capable of angering a man so badly that he would call her such a name.
All Henk ever had to do was say, “I don’t like that,” or worse, “Why are you like this?” and Mebel would hit the brakes on whatever she was doing and do a desperate backpedal.
Put quite simply, Mebel has never been considered a bitch, not because she isn’t one, but because she is too well muzzled to be one.
And she used to think it was a good thing, that she was always inoffensive to the men around her, but what if it’s… not?
“Did we break her?” Bella says softly to Gemma.
“Mebs? You okay, babe?”
Mebel takes a deep breath and gives herself a small shake of the head. “You young people have many funny ideas,” she says.
“Have more wine,” Bella says, “then you won’t find our ideas so weird.”
Chuckling, Mebel takes another sip. She is disconcerted not just because of the whole concept of reclaiming slurs, but also by the realization that these young people are teaching her something.
In Chinese culture, this would be unthinkable.
Age is a hierarchy, and the older you get, the more respect you garner just by way of your age.
Anything an elder says to a younger person is worth its weight in gold, even if what the elder says is: “Know what would be a good idea? Changing your name to Princess Underpants.” Conversely, anything a younger person says to their elder is worthless and can be immediately forgotten, like a fart in the wind.
And now here are these youngsters, younger even than Mebel’s own son, and they’re saying things that, really, Mebel should dismiss out of hand because these girls are barely out of their teens, but the things they’re saying actually make sense, unfortunately.
What is the world coming to when people under the age of fifty can speak sense and demand respect?
“Show us your outfit for tonight,” Gemma says, clapping with girlish excitement.
As always, Gemma’s effervescent joy is contagious.
Mebel feels it infecting her as she pulls her outfit out of her closet, and for a moment, she chastises herself for being childish, but then she dismisses the self-consciousness.
Maybe it’s the wine. Whatever it is, Mebel wouldn’t have traded this moment for the world, standing in her dorm room that is barely big enough to fit the three of them, drinking cheap sparkling wine, and poring over outfits with these two girls.
“Ohhh, Mebs,” Gemma breathes. “That is divine.”
“Mebs, has anyone told you that you are one posh broad?” Bella says.
Mebel preens. She has a feeling that “broad,” like “bitch,” is a reclaimed word.
They are reclaiming a lot of things tonight.
There is a moment of silence as they all admire her outfit.
It is a sleeveless A-line dress from Fendi, with a demure high collar.
The fabric, which is made of silk crepe satin, feels like water to the touch and shimmers liquidly under the light.
The dress itself ends above the knees, and Mebel is pairing it with knee-high Louboutin boots and gold hoop earrings, as well as a patterned scarf from Hermès.
“To think,” Gemma says, “we came here to help you get ready, but you clearly do not need us!”
“We’re always needed,” Bella says.
“That’s true.” Gemma pats the dress lovingly. “Okay, let’s do your hair and makeup, then you can get dressed. Look what I brought.” She turns around and lifts a bag from the table. “Ta-da! My makeup kit.”
Mebel looks down as Gemma unzips the bag, brandishing the messiest collection of half-used makeup. “Oh no,” she says.
“No?” Gemma looks like Mebel has just kicked her puppy.
“I’m sorry,” Mebel says, “but later I will get pink eye from using your makeup.”
Bella bursts out laughing as Gemma pouts. “I keep my stuff clean!” Gemma cries.
Both Bella and Mebel give her a look. Then Mebel says, “I show you my makeup set.” With that, she opens the drawer at her dressing table, and the two girls gasp in awe.
“Oh my gosh, it’s like a Pinterest photo,” Gemma says.
Bella reaches out and caresses the neatly arranged rows of makeup with admiration. “Chanel, Dior, Shiseido, La Mer…wow, none of this is from Boots.” They both stare at the collection with such intensity that Mebel has to clear her throat to get their attention.
“If you want to use them, you can,” Mebel says. Before Bella and Gemma can react, she holds up a finger and continues. “But only if you use carefully. Clean face and clean hands only, and wipe them down after you use.”
Both girls nod enthusiastically. “I’m so excited!” Gemma says. “Okay, but right now, we’re going to use this on you. I found the perfect look for you.” She swipes a few times on her phone and brandishes the screen.
Mebel frowns. “I don’t know, I think the eye is too much.”
“Nonsense,” Gemma says. She turns the phone to Bella. “It’s good, right?”
“Mmm,” Bella agrees. “We call that the ‘draw a cat’s eye sharp enough to kill a man’ look.”
“I don’t want to kill Alain,” Mebel says.
“You won’t,” Gemma assures her.
“But he will die,” Bella says.
“Oh yeah, totally.”
With a sigh, Mebel smiles and lets the two of them work on her face.
Much later, the three of them go down to the lobby, Gemma and Bella giggling the entire time.
Agatha glances up from behind her receptionist desk and smiles. “Going somewhere fun tonight, ladies?” she says.
“Well, Bella and I are staying in,” Gemma says. She wraps an arm around Mebel’s shoulders and squeezes. “But Mebs here is going out on a date.”
“Tsk,” Mebel says, though she can’t help but smirk a little at that.
“Ooh, a date!” Agatha trills. “Who’s the lucky gentleman?”
“The handsome and oh so dreamy Alain,” Bella coos.
Agatha frowns. “As in Chef Alain Moreau?”
“The one and only,” Gemma says, pretending to swoon.
Agatha’s frown deepens. “I don’t know about the ethics of a student dating one of the directors of the school…”
Gemma gasps, her eyes widening. “Oh my god, Agatha’s right. This is like a naughty schoolgirl and teacher situation.”
“Except not gross because you’re not underage,” Bella adds.
Agatha sputters. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t know if it’s entirely appropriate for a student to be seeing Chef Alain—”
“Oh, Aggie,” Gemma sighs, “I know you’ve got our best interest at heart, but Mebs is a consenting adult!”
“And she really needs to get laid,” Bella says.
Now it is Mebel’s turn to sputter. She’s pretty sure she’s tomato red by now.
Agatha opens her mouth to say something, but Bella grabs Mebel’s arm. “Mebs! I think he’s here!”
Mebel has just enough time to say goodbye to Agatha before she is whisked out through the front doors of the school.
One look at Alain’s face as he takes Mebel in is worth everything.
She has to admit that the cat’s eye look has turned out much better than she expected, and she really does feel like a bit of a femme fatale as she descends the stone steps outside the Saint Honoré School of Culinary Arts, aware that Alain’s gaze is raking over every inch of her as she moves.
The silk dress brushes over her skin, and she feels so sensuous and so utterly European.
So far removed from the repressed Chinese-Indonesian housewife role she played for the last few decades.
Who is this sexy siren, and what has she done with Mebel? she thinks.
When she reaches the sidewalk, Alain takes her hand, and to Mebel’s utter surprise and delight, he brings it to his face and caresses it softly with his lips.
The touch, so slight and so soft, is electric.
Mebel feels the jolt traveling from her fingers up her arm, shocking all of her senses.
Her entire body suddenly jumps alive, parts of her that she hasn’t thought of in ages crying out for attention.
Stop that, she scolds herself. Such hussy behavior.
“You look ravishing, ma chérie,” Alain murmurs, gazing down at her with naked appreciation.
Okay, so maybe being a hussy isn’t so bad. Mebel gives herself a mental shake of the head. “Thank you, you look nice also.”
Alain looks over Mebel’s shoulder, and his mouth stretches into a small smile. “Your friends?” he says with a nod.