Fifteen Germaine
Fifteen
Germaine
2018
Germaine sets her toothbrush down and looks out the bathroom window of the hotel, wondering whether there’s any way she can get out of this. It’s crisscrossed with lattice ironwork in a Tudor style, and although it holds a gorgeous view of the Jardins des Champs-élysées, the design makes her feel even more trapped.
Germaine is here in Paris, the City of Love, for anything but.
She sighs as she picks up the cream-colored Cartier box on the sink—a gift from Eddie. Inside is a gold choker necklace with tiny pieces hammered to look like a garland of laurel leaves, inset with thirty-two obsidian gems and 129 brilliant-cut diamonds. The St. Germaine-Changs will meet with the Chous tonight at the Paris St. Germaine-Chang hotel for a Valentine’s Day ball, and Germaine will be expected to wear it.
Officially, she and Eddie are on the road to a proposal and a lavish wedding. Unofficially, they can’t stand the sight of each other. After Germaine made it clear that she was not interested in rekindling their secret romance, Eddie dropped all pretense of friendliness. At least they could be honest about their feelings toward each other. Their parents have set them up several times, finding reasons to send Eddie and Germaine to the same galas, hotel conferences, and public appearances, even going so far as to force them into business together—the Chous wanted Germaine to complete a similar decor inspection at one of Eddie’s properties, with Eddie, of course, close at hand—but all encounters have ended frostily. He tells her she’s a cold stuck-up bitch; she calls him a little man with a micro-dick.
But they’re both in the same position: they need to play along in public or risk antagonizing their families. Both the Chous and the St. Germaine-Changs see marriage as a political alliance, not a romantic pursuit; after all, this is their own experience. As far as they’re concerned, Eddie and Germaine are the same age, and both are attractive, well presented, and well spoken. They come from similar cultures, both personally and in business. Marriage is a no-brainer. A merger, if you will.
Germaine does not feel the same. In the sacrosanct, passing daydreams where she’s occasionally imagined marriage for herself, it was always with someone kind and easygoing and somehow antithetical to all her parents’ calculating ideals.
Never, ever with Eddie Chou.
There’s a knock at the door, and Germaine opens it to find Marie.
“Marie! Veuillez entrer,” she says. “You know you don’t need to knock.”
Marie shrugs and smiles, eyes wide. “Yes—but I never know if your mother is in here.”
Germaine laughs. Marie has become the only stylist that she will trust, and if it was up to her, she’d give Marie the highest of raises. They’ve developed a tenuous bond over the years, with Germaine becoming more and more aware of the power dynamics between her and all the other St. Germaine-Chang staff; neither she nor Marie strays from the formal verb conjugations when they speak to each other in French. But their almost-friendship is a relief, nonetheless.
With her face washed, Germaine sits before the mirror as the stylist goes to work.
She’s impressed by Marie’s skill. Germaine very rarely does her makeup herself; she’s not great at it. She rarely does anything for herself. Her parents are proud of this fact—to them, it’s a symbol that they’ve made it. They can pay others to do the mundane, everyday tasks for them, even down to picking out their own clothes. That’s how royalty used to—and still does—live, and it’s what the St. Germaine-Changs are trying to emulate.
Germaine knows that she would not get far without them. The “lessons” she’s been taught have been clear evidence of that, and all her bank accounts are still linked in some way to her parents. Germaine makes a mental note to see whether that’s something she can change without being noticed.
But it’s about more than just money. However spoiled they both were as children, she and Eddie were raised to be obedient to their parents and to put their families’ wishes above their own. Eddie could make enough money from his real estate business to strike off on his own path, but the estrangement from his family would be devastating. If Germaine were to cut ties with her family right here and now, the best she could hope for with her education and experience level is a hotel-management job, earning the kind of money real people get paid—that is, not very much. Her entire lifestyle would have to change. There would be no more jet-setting, no designer clothes, no house staff, no stylist. She probably wouldn’t be able to afford a doorman building. She might have to work somewhere unthinkable, like Phoenix or Fort Lauderdale.
It occurs to Germaine, on some level, that this all sounds dramatic. She has things in perspective. Miranda, for example, is in a much worse spot—renting and essentially selling herself out for a paycheck. But Germaine also knows that Miranda is much tougher than she is. Always has been. Germaine’s coolness, her aloofness, her poise, has always come from the fact that she can fall back on money. That’s why the wealthy get to act the way they do—it’s a symptom of no consequences.
But she knows she could face consequences—big ones. And walking away from her family’s safety net would mean that she’d need to become an entirely different kind of person. She’s not sure she has what that takes.
So maybe she’s going to have to suck it up and marry Eddie Chou, after all, no matter how repugnant that may sound.
“We are going for Grecian, yes, Germaine?” Marie asks as she brushes and poufs.
“Oui, madame,” Germaine says with a sigh.
“Ne vous inquiète pas. That style will be gorgeous on you.”
“Thanks, Marie.”
“And ... everyone’s favorite real estate agent? What’s his dress?”
“Toga,” Germaine says, making a gagging sound.
“One needs a very good body to pull that off,” Marie says lightly, and Germaine snorts. In the politest of quips, Marie has made it clear how she feels about Eddie. “If I were his stylist, I’d—”
The door opens without a knock, and Céline comes in, dressed head to toe in a red-and-black ball gown with a high-collared Queen Anne neckline. A fascinator crowns her high-swept updo, complete with ace and jack of hearts cards. The Valentine’s Ball is a costume ball, and Céline is going as the Queen of Hearts.
“Germaine! You’re not dressed yet?” she asks as she enters. Then, to Marie, “Dépêche-toi maintenant, Marie, allez, allez!”
Céline’s costume is fitting, Germaine thinks, because she’s already got the character down pat—ordering everyone around and being a holy terror. Wasn’t the Queen of Hearts super mean to Alice, too? Suitable.
Marie makes a few finishing touches and wordlessly brings out the rest of Germaine’s ensemble, averting her eyes from her employer. Céline and Michelle, Eddie’s mom, have handpicked the outfits for their children. Eddie is Eros, the god of love—and he already sent Germaine a selfie in his skimpy toga, carrying a prop bow and arrow. He knew how much it would annoy her, and she is not eager to see it in person.
Germaine will be Aphrodite. Marie shakes out a silken, diaphanous dress that’s ivory colored and practically see-through. Even though her frame is slim, Germaine feels the urge to pull in her stomach as she examines her reflection in the mirror. It does not leave much to the imagination.
“Don’t worry, Gigi, you can’t see the cellulite,” her mother says, leaning on a chair so as not to rumple her gown by sitting.
Germaine feels her neck and cheeks flush. She doesn’t have cellulite. She’s about to say so when Marie brings Eddie’s necklace from the bathroom, completing the ensemble. Germaine’s hair is in a curled Grecian-style updo with thin gold chains woven through, and there are dangling earrings to complement the necklace. She’s glad they don’t have to travel outside, because she has a feeling she’d freeze in this outfit.
“Magnificent,” Marie whispers to Germaine before Céline ushers her out the door.
Germaine and Céline meet Terence, Eddie, and his parents in the grand foyer of the St. Germaine-Chang hotel, thronged with well-to-do guests in elaborate costumes. Michelle beams at Eddie in his skimpy outfit, with little attention spared for Germaine.
“Isn’t he handsome?” she gushes. “Right out of the Parthenon!”
But Germaine’s costume is not lost on Eddie. He makes a low whistle when their parents aren’t listening.
“Okay,” he says, looking considerably lower than where he should be if he wants to meet her gaze. “Not bad at all.”
“Get bent,” Germaine hisses, crossing her arms tightly across her chest.
Germaine’s PR smile gets her through dinner, and then, just as she’s beginning to wonder how soon she can excuse herself without seeming rude, the band Bad Society comes onstage. It’s a young girl group, and a little edgy for this buttoned-up crowd, but Germaine’s familiar with a few of their songs. She’s not totally out of the loop in Hollywood, and she’s impressed with the stuff some of these kids are doing—bringing grunge back, calling out sexual predators, getting politically active. Stuff Germaine would never have had the guts to do back when she was a 3AM Girl.
If Bad Society had been around when Germaine started booking bands, she would have scheduled them for every event. They’re fresh, raw—nothing like No Exit had been all those years ago.
She wraps her arms around herself, chilled in her costume. She messed things up for herself, didn’t she? Not only for Sicily, whose court cases Germaine watched with burning shame from the other side of the world. But for both of them. If she hadn’t been so focused on revenge back in Singapore, she might have picked a band that she really liked to play her parents’ opening. And who knows where that would have taken her? Sicily would certainly have fared much better. And Germaine might not have lost that feeling of a creative spark that came to her so rarely now, that had been quashed by spite and guilt.
But she is here, now, and Bad Society is making a weight inside her lift. They’re killing it up there. Even with what Germaine perceives as a potential value clash between these up-and-comers and their wealthy audience, the music is good. Bad Society seems to read the room, and their stage presence is infectious. Soon the dance floor is packed. To Germaine’s surprise, even Terence and Céline venture out.
Germaine isn’t about to dance with Eddie—and anyway, he seems to be working his way over to a leggy blonde dancing by herself near the edge of the crowd—but she wanders closer to the stage, wanting to be part of the energy that radiates from it.
Then, as the band’s current song ends—somewhat abruptly—the lead singer draws up short and peers into the crowd, hand shielding her eyes from the lights.
She’s looking right at Germaine.
“We’d like to say a special little thank-you,” the singer says. “Germaine St. Germaine-Chang, do I see you over there?”
Somehow a spotlight finds Germaine. She looks around, bewildered, and then waves, because she doesn’t know what else to do. Everyone is staring.
“Yes?” she says in a voice that sounds unbelievably quiet in the sudden silence. “Hi?”
“When we got the call that Germaine wanted to book us for her family’s event, I was floored.” The singer grins. “I have a confession to make: I am a Kidz Klub superfan . I grew up watching the cast, learning their moves; I wanted to be one of those people someday. It was, like, my whole childhood. So you can imagine, holy shit—sorry, polite company—this is like the best night ever. Germaine, thank you for bringing us here.”
Germaine feels herself blushing hard as the room applauds. It’s incredibly awkward, but she hasn’t been recognized like this in years—for something she did, not for being her parents’ daughter. She just laughs, unsure of what to say, unsure whether she can even be heard from the stage.
“Okay, this is going to sound wild and you can totally say no,” the lead singer is saying. She looks around to her bandmates for approval, and they nod. “But—would you want to come up and sing something with us?”
“Um ...” Germaine presses a hand to her chest. “No. I couldn’t—”
“Are you sure? It would be really cool. I know I’m springing this on you ...”
Germaine glances around for a moment, as if looking for permission, but she doesn’t see her parents or Eddie. And why should she need permission, anyway? This is basically her party. She owns stock in this hotel. She can do whatever she wants.
“Okay!” She raises her hands in defeat. “Okay, why not!”
The singer whoops and beckons Germaine onstage. Germaine hurries up, giddy with excitement.
“My favorite was always ‘Treat You Right,’” the singer says, handing Germaine a microphone. “Do you remember that one?”
As if Germaine could forget. “Oh yeah.”
“Well, let’s go, then!”
The band plays the opening riff and sets off a flood of memories in Germaine—dancing next to Miranda and Sicily, running around in goofy costumes, spending hours at rehearsals waiting to practice one five-minute number. But she was good at it. And she comes in right on key, remembering every word.
We’re going to party all night, oh baby, let’s go. I’m going to treat you so right, yeah I know that you know.
It’s silly. But Germaine has to admit that she feels some kind of a thrill up there, even though her voice is a little creaky and she never blossomed in the spotlight the way Miranda and Sicily did.
The lead singer raises her eyebrows and starts doing a few of the dance steps. Germaine takes the cue and breaks out into the old Kidz Klub routine that used to accompany the song. The crowd in the ballroom goes wild. Germaine can’t help grinning. She even catches a glimpse of Eddie near the front, managing a smile and taking pictures like an actual supportive boyfriend instead of a pretend one who not so secretly dislikes everything about her.
Germaine and the band nail the ending, and the song finishes to thunderous applause.
“That was incredible!” the lead singer says. “Germaine St. Germaine-Chang, everyone!” She turns and gives Germaine a hug, squeezing her tight and saying just for her to hear, “You did so good! That was awesome!”
For the briefest moment, Germaine doesn’t want to let go. The words are something so simple, but no one ever says them to her.
Then she steps back from the embrace and rushes off the stage on a wave of adrenaline.
It crests and dissipates when she sees the expressions on her parents’ faces, back at their table.
“Don’t you ever embarrass yourself like that again,” Céline hisses, looking every bit the furious Wonderland queen.
“You didn’t think,” her father adds. “You’re too old to be pulling stunts like that. You’re not young anymore and you’re not talented.”
“Dad,” Germaine starts, crestfallen but not surprised. “I—”
“And you ripped your dress,” her mother says, pointing at a tear in the Aphrodite costume that opens to Germaine’s calf. “Jumping around up there. It’s pathetic.”
Germaine says nothing, shaking her head and making her way back to her room. This is as good an excuse as any to bow out of the remainder of the ball. And maybe, if she can distract herself enough by playing the Kidz Klub album on her earbuds and watching lights twinkle down on the Champs-élysées while she gets ready for bed, she’ll be able to ignore their criticisms and relive the performance in her dreams.
But it’s hard to ignore the unflattering, slightly racy pictures that are posted to social media the next day, and the sarcastic captions and comments that flood beneath. Haz-Beenz Klub. Bouncy Castle Spice: Book her for your next kids’ party!
Eddie.
Germaine could break her phone in half. And then hunt him down and break his. And his thumbs.
Revenge isn’t so bad, after all. Sometimes it’s necessary.
One way or another, she’ll get it.