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was a reason for that.

      ‘He likes pearls apparently,’ Barbara said matter-of-factly.

      ‘How well do you know him?’

      ‘We’ve met a few times at various functions. He knows everyone and he never forgets a name.’

      She handed me a pair of ivory-colored pumps which finished me off beautifully.

      ‘Okay, let me see you walk,’ she demanded. So I did, all around the living room. Then she pulled a chair free of the dining room table. ‘The walk is good now sit down like a lady please.’

      Mrs Warwick had helped me with this. ‘Sit down slowly, don’t flop. Legs crossed at the ankles, knees together; hands in lap. Sit straight up in the chair.’

      ‘Excellent,’ Barbara pronounced. ‘Right, now I need to ask if you are on your period?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Good because if the lord Capritzo wishes to proceed then you will be sent to Doctor Carolyn Colter who is the resident physician. She will examine you carefully and that includes confirming that you are what you say you are.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Whether you are a virgin or not; that will need to be confirmed.’

      ‘But I’ve already said that I was.’

      ‘That’s not good enough.’ She stared at me hard, real hard. ‘So if you’ve been lying you will very soon be found out and believe me when I say that the lord Capritzo will be very, very angry and not just with you, so …’

      ‘Barbara, I swear to you I’m a virgin. But I don’t understand how that can be confirmed?’

      ‘God, don’t they teach anything in health sciences these days? Have you ever heard of a hymen?’ I shook my head. ‘Okay, it’s a membrane that partly covers the entrance to the vagina. That’s what Doctor Colter will be looking for; an intact hymen because the first time a woman has sexual intercourse it’s ruptured, forever.’

      ‘Does it hurt?’

      ‘Yes and most of the time there’s bleeding.’

      ‘Oh.’

      Barbara smiled. ‘Think of it this way; the pain and blood, it’s like an initiation. You go into it a girl and come out a woman.’

      She checked the time again. ‘We’ll leave in about half an hour so I’ve got just enough time to tell you more of what you need to know about the lord Capritzo. He will ask you questions, perhaps about your family, Canada, whatever. Answer simply and succinctly, don’t ramble on because he won’t be interested. Look at him when you’re talking to him; not at the walls or your hands.

      ‘English is not his first language so sometimes he speaks in a somewhat convoluted manner so you will have to listen carefully and, for Christ’s sake, don’t you dare laugh. He speaks five languages so show some respect.

      ‘Speak when you are spoken to. He’s interviewing you, not the other way around. If you upset him you will know it right way because he has a hair-trigger temper and a zero sense of humor. If you do make him laugh or smile even, you’ve just won major points. On the other hand, if you piss him off … well, let’s not go there. In summary, you will act like the young lady that you are. Any questions?’

      ‘What happens if he doesn’t like me?’

      ‘He will like you.’

      4

      Just before we left, Barbara placed a lined note pad and pen on the table next to a blank envelope. ‘I want you to write a quick note to your parents assuring them that you are safe and well. Hurry, we’re running out of time.’

      I stared at the blank page. I wanted to write something like good bye and good riddance but of course I couldn’t do that. I remember being rather bitter at the time, blaming them for my current situation. If they had taken Parenting 101 they would have failed miserably on three counts - not providing a decent home environment, nutritious food and a future full of opportunities.

      As far as my Mother was concerned my future was fixed. Once I turned sixteen I would get a part-time job at the Truck Stop Café close by where I would eventually meet Mister Wonderful (undoubtedly a “Road Warrior” as truckers where known) who would sweep me off my feet and into marriage or, more likely, I’d marry the first warm body to come along just to escape. Once into my new life I would undoubtedly squeeze a baby out once a year just like Mum and, just like Mum, I would soon be able to guzzle beer with the best of them.

      Inevitably I would end up becoming a member of the exclusive Morbidly Obese, Clinically Depressed and Potentially Suicidal Club or simply, Losers International. Some even managed to get on a government benefit so they could proudly add Parasite to their portfolio. What a picture!

      If you don’t like that one there’s always the flip side: the razor thin, borderline malnourished type with a history of both substance and spousal abuse. I saw plenty of women like that too growing up.

      While most kids were at the movies, I had the whole neighborhood to entertain me. The opening scene usually involved verbal abuse which quickly escalated. By then all the kids had gathered to watch and listen. If the adults knew we were there, strategically placed of course and partly hidden, you’d think they would stop yelling and swearing but they didn’t. It was usually the guys who ended up duking it out but sometimes the women would get involved. Cat fights were the best entertainment of all.

      The police only showed up if there was bloodshed and even then … The problem was you see that when they did arrive the combatants usually joined forces and took on the police. That was entertaining too.

      Susan didn’t know any of this of course. She never asked about my home life and I never volunteered any information and now it didn’t matter. As far as I was concerned it was all ancient history.

      Mum & Dad

      I’ve found a good job and a safe place to stay, so don’t worry about me, I’m OK. I’ll write now and again to let you know how I’m doing.

      Lizzie

      No love and kisses, no X’s and O’s.

      I addressed the envelope. Mr & Mrs Lambert, C/- Rudy’s Trailer Park – I want to add “and slum” – Huntsville, Ontario, Canada. There, done like a dog’s dinner.

      ‘I’ll send it off via air mail right away,’ Barbara said sadly as she turned away.

      *****

      As we walked to the Brownstone I asked Barbara again, correctly this time, what the lord Capritzo looked like.

      ‘Exotic,’ was her answer, followed by a quick, ‘you’ll see soon enough.’

      ‘How old?’

      ‘Forty maybe.’

      At sixteen, forty isn’t old; it’s ancient. ‘What do you mean exotic?’

      Barbara stopped walking. ‘Do you know what a widow’s peak is?’

      ‘Yes, Count Dracula has one.’

      Barbara smiled. ‘So does the lord Capritzo.’

      I remember years later looking up the word “exotic” in a dictionary. I knew what the word meant or at least I thought I did but Barbara, she had the word down pat. Exotic: having a strange or bizarre allure. That was Merhot Capritzo; not just how he looked but what he was.

      Six feet tall, slender, with pale

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