11. Daisy
Daisy
I ’m used to being on a team of one. It helps that I learned to live on my own as soon as I started college and decided I should have an apartment to reflect my new adult life.
(That and it made it so much easier to bring people home to sleep with, paps aside.) But I must admit that I feel even more defeated than before.
The press is so heavy on the announcement of our “engagement” that I daresay even Ashleigh was fooled for a while.
Lorde? She must be fooled, because no matter how many times I call her and no matter how many messages I leave saying it’s all a lie, that I had no say in it, she won’t return my calls.
I guess you could say that the tables have been turned, I’m getting a taste of my own medicine, etc. etc. clichés.
Finally, there is my family.
My father raged in ways I had never seen before.
Not only did he not know who Lorde was (and when he looked her up, he raged harder) but seeing us in such a passionate kiss sent off every sensor that declared his little virginal girl was hardly such .
You know, one of my main selling points to a prospective husband, besides being pretty and rich.
Not to mention the very non-Vatican-approved same-sexness of it all. That might be worse. I don’t know. Nobody will tell me anything.
He won’t look me in the eye anymore. My mother dared to take me aside and have a “talk” with me.
Did you know that boys will fuck anything that moves?
That by “giving away my precious pearl” I am turning into a useless oyster?
Where do people get these disgusting analogies?
I’m surprised she didn’t compare me to toilet paper or a gym towel.
That was when I had to ask if she had taken a close look at Lorde or any of the articles written about her.
Yes, her. Because despite Lorde’s shaggy shoulder-length hair and the fact she very evidently has tits when wearing crop tops and a leather jacket – and carries a purse, God, Mom – certain people in my family didn’t glean that Lorde Sheen is a woman.
Yes, a woman. One issued with a vagina, no less.
Dear Daisy DeMonte has been making out with and fingering a “veritable” woman, as my mother was once described in an old tabloid introducing her to American high society.
So, that started a whole new fight. My mother has been so sheltered her whole life that all she knew about queerness was what she sees in more conservative news.
And most of the news she watches is Italian because she cares more about what goes on in the Old Country than here where she holds dual citizenship.
To her, gay people are sad, sick humans who need the right prayers and a good home-cooked meal to set them straight.
(Literally.) She can’t even wrap her head around bisexuality.
I think she understands being transgender more than bisexuality.
Because, if you haven’t figured out my mother yet, she’s very “you’re either this or that.
” Since I turned out to be a pretty princess-type femme, I must be straight. That’s how it works in her mind.
I flat-out told her that I had been with women already. I even used the word “fuck” to drive the point home. She then proceeded to fake a stroke.
When Daddy decides to start talking to me again a few days later – he claims he had to take time off to attend a big wedding, but I know he was too busy fuming – it’s to pester me about Cristiano.
Don’t I understand how good he is for me?
Do I mistrust his and Mama’s judgment? Why don’t I go out on a date with him?
One date. Since I’m such a big girl, he won’t insist on a chaperone. Gee, Daddy, how sweet of you.
This persists for several days. I don’t even get to enjoy the fireworks on the Fourth of July because he’s blowing up my phone, saying Cristiano is in town again and that I “owe” him my time because he came out to get to know me.
Fine, Daddy. If this will get you off my back for a while, I’ll go on a date with Cristiano. One date. It’s not like Lorde is returning my calls anyway, and Ashleigh swears she doesn’t know anything. The one I would much rather be with is done with me. I’m starting to accept this.
It was a fling. I’m not saying anything about Cristiano, but I’ll at least humor my dad for one night. It kinda helps that he off-the-cuff threatens to cut off my trust fund if I don’t go on a single date.
Flash forward to a somber Friday night. I say somber because I’m cooped up in some Italian restaurant with Cristiano, who has managed to spend the first half hour of our “date” talking all about himself and his family.
Not once has he asked about me. About my schooling.
What I like. What my ambitions for the future are.
The only times I’m allowed to speak are in carefully placed intervals where I am expected to agree with him or stroke his ego.
“Yeah, your parents sound cool.” “Oh, you studied abroad at Oxford? Wow.” “I had no idea a family from Florence could make that much money.” “Oh, is that what that scent is? I thought it smelled good.” Barf .
Don’t get me wrong. This guy is not husband – let alone boyfriend – material, but if I were bored and this was my choice, I might humor him for a night because he’s hot.
Hot in that suave, total douchebag way. The kind of guy who would drive you crazy for more than one date and send you running for the hills, but you convince yourself that one night with him wouldn’t be too bad.
I mean, that’s what I would think if I wasn’t always thinking about Lorde and wishing she was sitting across from me instead of this ass.
Daddy officially has dementia if he thinks I’m going to marry this guy.
He’s such a sleaze in his coded words and mannerisms that I don’t doubt he’s seeing another girl right now.
He would probably see quite a few during our fake-ass marriage.
Meanwhile, I would be an eternally pregnant, doting wife. Yay.
It’s okay, though. He understands the position I’m in.
He also understands what those photos of Lorde and me were about.
Do you know what he says? “I’m not so old-fashioned, Daisy.
I’d be shocked if my wife was a virgin in this day and age.
Let bygones be bygones, right? I know your family is super traditional, though.
So if your father ever asks, I’ll protect your honor and tell him that without a doubt you were a virgin on our wedding night. ”
This guy’s a winner, folks.
Right in the middle of dessert, Cristiano’s phone rings
“Sorry, I have to take this.” He winks at me. “Could be a few minutes.”
Take all the time you need.
Except.
Except .
When I take out my phone to check for messages in his absence, he bends down and kisses me – right on the lips!
I’m too shocked to shirk him off. Here I am, minding my own business in a restaurant, and the guy the whole world thinks I’m engaged to kisses me in front of God and all his laughing angels.
I sit here, mouth agape, as he wanders off full of himself. Cristiano disappears around the corner, and I hope I don’t see him again for the rest of the night.
In fact? This seems like a great time to leave.
I’m gonna pack my bag and stiff the douche with the check.
(Like he wasn’t going to pay all of it anyway.) I’ll tell Daddy that, hey, I tried, but I don’t like this guy and he’s completely disrespectful to me.
Do you think he’ll believe me? Or care? It’s all I’ve got to go on right now.
That and the fact some woman is sitting down in Cristiano’s place across from me.
Lorde!
Am I seeing things? Have I lost my damned mind?
Is my need for this woman so great that I am manifesting her in front of me during one of the most torturous dates of my life?
Haha. Who am I kidding? This is Lorde Sheen we’re talking about.
She is the one person in the world who would crash one of my dates to rub something in.
“Lorde…” I put my phone down. Before I can say anything else, she raises her hand to silence me.
“Hi. I only stopped by to ask you one thing.” She’s too serious. Lorde is never supposed to be this serious. “Is it true?”
“You mean the engagement?”
“No, Daisy, I mean that hideous dress you wore on the Fourth of July.” So she’s checking for me in the magazines? “Of course I mean the engagement. What the hell else could I mean?”
“If you ask anyone but me, yes, I am engaged to the stuffiest assface in Italy.”
“I’m asking you.”
“No,” I mutter. “It’s not like that at all.”
“That’s what I thought.” For that tone in her voice, she sure isn’t as animated to match it.
“I told myself it was ludicrous for you to suddenly be engaged to some schmuck like that. He looked handpicked by your family. You know what? It was easy to convince myself that you weren’t involved with that guy.
Then I saw that display of affection between you two. ”
“He kissed me without permission.” Something dawns on me. “What are you even doing here? Happen to be in the area?”
“Actually, yes.” Lorde points to a far corner I can barely see. “I was already sitting there when you two walked in. Happy coincidence, huh?”
I wish I could agree. Having Lorde sweep in and change my fate is exactly what I need, but I have a feeling that’s not what’s happening here. “So, you were watching me on my date…”
“Sure. Let’s go with that. I was going to leave well enough alone. In fact, I kept telling myself that I should leave, but I didn’t want you to see me. So I was waiting for you to leave. Then that fucker kissed you and left you high and dry.”
“Ah…”
“Tell me the truth.” She lowers her voice. “Were you screwing with me? Or did we have something special?”
I bow my head. In shame? I guess. “This whole thing is my father’s machination. There has never been anything, and there will never really be anything between me and Cristiano. Please. What can I do to make you believe me?”
She smiles. “Run away with me, Daisy.”
We can’t leave fast enough. Partly because Cristiano could come back at any time, partly because we’re that desperate to be together.