Silhouette Loft awoke to her alarm clock chiming, but still succumbed to the drowsiness, her arm swung lazily in the air knocking down the clock. She heard the clock hit the hardwood floor, causing her to shake most of the drowsiness from her head, and to stretch out both arms. Yawning, she took her time sitting up on her bed.
Her eyes adjusted to the queen-sized bed layered with golden silk bedsheets and a thick rosy-red comforter, now unfolded and tossed from her sleeping. She looked around her and saw the clear-white drapes hanging from the ceiling and gently flowing at the sides. The drapes swayed to the calm morning breeze that blew from the balcony doors.
Silhouette slowly left bed, slipping on her gray comfy slippers. She passed through the bellowing drapes as she gradually made her way to the glass double doors. She walked out onto the small balcony of Loft Manor, a mansion built of brick and whatever gold and silver to make the rain gutters and parts of the roof to glorify its presence. She disregarded the luxurious exterior of the mansion, and instead looked at the world around her.
Loft Manor was one of the biggest estates in Lavour. Beyond her home, there was a jungle of tall trees ending at the harbor. Beyond the dock, there stood the towering buildings of the metropolis surrounded by the ocean.
Silhouette didn’t mind the city that was in front of her; she only admired the scenery of the ocean which glistened as the sun rose. This made her smile. “I can’t wait to go to the harbor today,” she breathed, as she returned inside. She shut the glass doors and turned the lock, and the room became still, the drapes no longer moving to the breeze.
Silhouette still gazed at the beautiful ocean that lingered passed the trees. In her heart, she longed for the sea, but the lavish lifestyle that she shared with her parents made her feel stuck. Also, her parents fed into her displeasure.
Her father, Richard Loft, was a one of Lavour’s well-respected stockbrokers, and he took pride in every penny he earned building relationships with his clients. The stern looks he always gave matched with his tall, middle-aged appearance, since he was married to both his work and his wife… but mostly his work. People, especially his wife, would call him “Richie,” despite his usual serious demeanor. His insistence on keeping his mustache trimmed to perfection made the name “Richie” even more humorous to people, but when he gave a stern look, people hushed. Even though she found his nickname and mustache amusing, Silhouette would still feel sad that he was serious towards her, not allowing her to have a sense of humor around him. Adding to his unfair demeanor to his daughter was that he never acknowledged her, except to remind her to do what she was told. He would read the newspaper, work entire shifts or overtime, or go drink at the Ritz with either clients or his associates, but he would not make time for her. Silhouette had asked him why that was, only for him to say “I’m making a living to support this family. Be grateful, darling.” Mr. Loft would then give her money to spend, or let her buy stuff off his credit; however, Silhouette didn’t care to blow his money or buy things on credit. She simply wished that he had time for her.
Her mother, Charlene Loft, was just as ignorant as Richie, only she was a stay-at-home woman, and cared nothing more than material things. Mrs. Loft was also middle-aged, but a few years younger than her husband. She was bony in appearance, because of her strange diets to keep from becoming overweight and “not of the times,” as she would recall. She always tried to keep up with appearances, especially with her blonde hair cut short to a bob. She kept her hair blonde, and forbade it to gray up, for she didn’t believe that aging wasn’t “of the times,” she would always say. Rosy-red lipstick was always smeared onto her lips, and a string of extravagant pearls—a favorite accessory of hers—hung around her crane neck. Those additions would make her look younger, she believed. “It’s the latest thing these days, darling,” she would always tell her daughter every time something new in fashion was featured at any department store that was fancied in Lavour. Silhouette felt that her mother didn’t have time for her either, but if she did, she would take her on ridiculous shopping sprees around town. If it wasn’t shopping, then it was to clubs, where her mother would introduce her to “eligible bachelors” to mingle with. As always, Silhouette didn’t care for men.
“Perhaps today won’t be as busy,” she prayed, taking one last look at the shiny sea before turning back to her bedroom.
Over the years, her parents had filled her room with fabulous things from their travels: a large trunk from Norway, a mirror and a hairdresser from Paris, one or two paintings from Italy, and various decorative items from London. She would clean her room every day, so that she could cope with the boredom that came with this lifestyle, despite her mother telling her not to. “We raised you to be a woman, not a maid,” Mrs. Loft would say. “We can pay someone to do the work. You won’t have to lift a finger in this house.”
Silhouette picked up a loose stocking from the floor. She didn’t have time to properly change from yesterday’s clothing, because she had gone to a fancy restaurant with her parents to meet one of her father’s clients. The outing had made her tired, so she crashed in her bed for the night once they returned home. She could hardly remember what the conversations between her parents and the client were about, because the outing was boring, much like any other outing that she was a part of for most of her life.
Just then, she heard her mother call from outside the room, down the hall. “Silhouette! Darling! Breakfast is ready! We’ll be leaving to the department store in a couple of hours!”
“Again?” Silhouette mumbled. This had to have been the third time this week that she and her mother went to go shopping.
Silhouette made her way to the large mirror at her dresser. In the mirror, she saw herself: a young woman with a lean figure, large lavender-purple eyes, light skin, and her brown hair cut to a bob that was shorter than her mother’s. She found the blue strand of hair on the right side of her head; and she remembered to try to cover the blue strand with the rest of her hair, or, as usual, put a hat on. The blue strand had been a part of Silhouette for a long time. No matter how many doctors that the Lofts would take her to, no one could explain it or even comprehend it. Countless times her parents debated on what to do with her hair, other than cut it to a bob. Nonetheless, Silhouette didn’t mind the blue strand, but she had forced herself to conceal it, for the sake of not letting her parents have a cow about it.
The thought of her blue hair strand faded, as Silhouette glided to her walk-in closet. Upon opening the door, rows of shoes greeted her, as well as a forest of outfits and dresses. It took her seconds to select a crème tunic dress and stockings, along with black dress shoes. She then turned to a coat rack, where she would hang all her scarves, coats, and hats. She selected a red cloche hat with a tiny black bow on one side of it, and placed it on top of her head. She made sure to tuck back her blue hair strand.
“Where is it?” Mr. Loft asked, as he impatiently fumbled with his dress shirt. His giant hands struggled with each button on the shirt, but he managed to button up. But now, his new dilemma was finding the finishing touches to his attire.
“Richie? What on earth is the matter?” his wife Charlene asked, as she entered the master bedroom dawning a yellow spring dress that reached to the tops of her knees.
“My lucky ascot, darling?” Mr. Loft said, hastily looking around the room, while he had one hand fiddling with his shirt collar.
“Did you check the bathroom?” Mrs. Loft suggested.
Richie looked at her awkwardly, and then at the master bathroom. “I forgot I left it in there,” he grumbled and sighed, as he strolled into the bathroom to retrieve the silky ascot. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks and turned back to look at his wife with disgust, while placing the ascot around his neck. “Shouldn’t you be tending to the breakfast?”
“Oh, Richie,” Mrs. Loft whined playfully. “Can’t we hire a cook? Why do I have to cook? Make Silhouette do it. She’s already of age.”
“I thought you didn’t want her to lift a finger to do any labor?”
“Well…”
“If she is to be a wife to someone, then she shouldn’t have to work to please him. I am a proud man. The only one that should be working is a man. All you women can do is stay at home and spend money.”
“Well, I don’t feel like doing anything today. I’d rather spend my day shopping today. Besides, we haven’t had a good cook, since the old caretaker Mrs. Dillon left us. Maybe Silhouette could try…”
“The girl will learn later, darling,” insisted Mr. Loft, now impatiently shoving the wrapped silk under the collar of his shirt. “Besides, our weekend maid won’t show up until tomorrow. And another thing…” He waved his finger to get his wife’s attention and then said, “Maids always expect a heavy paycheck from someone like me. I wouldn’t waste a penny on such leeches.” Mrs. Loft bowed her head, but Richie cleared his throat and went on, “For now, make sure breakfast is ready. It’s half-done, and Silhouette doesn’t know that yet.”
Mrs. Loft could only nod. She knew that it was hard to please her husband. A wealthy man like Richie was a woman’s dream come true, and she was grateful to live under his roof. But every so often, Richie would tell her one thing, but then contradict himself later. Regardless, she couldn’t be hard on him—he was a busy man that provided for their daughter’s future, and her only job was to mold her into a beautiful woman that another wealthy man could possess. So for now, she couldn’t speak against him, but obey.
***
“Silhouette, darling,” Mr. Loft spoke, after gulping down his black coffee, and then buried his face in his morning newspaper. This was usually how he spoke to his family whenever they would gather to a meal in the Loft household. “So, darling,” he resumed, “We’re having company tonight. Your mother will be taking you into town to shop for an evening dress.”
Silhouette jolted from her half-asleep phase of gnawing at her strip of bacon. She was sitting with her parents in the stylish dining room, with deep red tapestries draping the enormous windows, and with giant china vases perching on stands. The family ate their breakfast of pancakes, bacon, eggs, coffee, and water, but the dread of eating with her parents made Silhouette feel less hungry. But she couldn’t express this dread, because that would spark a lecture from her parents on how to act at the dinner table, or anywhere; so she kept quiet.
“Your mother wants to take you to buy an evening dress, darling,” her father repeated.
“An evening dress?” she responded. She set the bacon down on her plate. “But Father, what’s wrong with my other dresses?”
“Oh nothing, darling,” Mrs. Loft answered with a smile. “It’s just that the world is evolving as we speak. Lavour is evolving as we speak. You have to be of the times, dear… Lavour’s finest. Besides, I heard one of your father’s clients…” She stopped to wink at her husband, much to his annoyance, and then went on, “…has a very handsome nephew. A very handsome young man to ever walk through Lavour. Oh, I’m sure you’ll like this one, Silhouette. He’s smart, polite, plays sports...”
...and is dead as a doorknob, and usually money-hungry and talking of business and finances, Silhouette thought on the side. Those thoughts fit the many young men that her parents threw her at every time they had guests over. She may have seen almost every single young man that lived in Lavour, and none of them had pleased her. So normally, much to her parents’ dismay, she would refuse each suitor; but they would still keep sending her men anyway.
She then heard her mother clear her throat and say “Please, darling, be nice to this one. I mean, surely, this young man…this nephew to your father’s client will be... the one.”
“Oh certainly, like Mickey the businessman, or Joseph the movie director, or Samuel the con…” Silhouette mumbled with sarcasm.
“What was wrong with those men?” her mother asked, frowning and setting her fork down. Mr. Loft didn’t look away from his newspaper, but didn’t say a word. “They were promising suitors! Isn’t that right, Richard?”
“Yes…” Mr. Loft agreed, not looking at either his wife or his daughter, but the paper.
“I can’t believe you weren’t interested in either one of them!” Mrs. Loft then said to Silhouette. “Why would you reject such worthy men?”
“Well, Mother,” said Silhouette, fiddling with her fork now. “Mickey was too serious; Joseph was so full of himself with the money that he’s earning from his movies; and Samuel… Samuel was just a con man! A bootlegger!”
“Don’t raise your voice at your mother,” ordered Mr. Loft, now peeking over his paper to check his daughter.
“Sorry, Father,” Silhouette said with a sigh.
Mr. Loft let out a sharp “Hmph!” and returned to his paper with a quick ruffle.
***
Both of her parents trailed on, but Silhouette blocked them out. She wolfed down the rest of her meal, excused herself from the table, placed her cloche hat back on her head, and fled from the dining room.
Silhouette found herself in the lobby, which bore more lavish things that the place felt more like a museum than a home. The lobby was bitterly quiet, with the exception of her parents talking softly in the dining room. She couldn’t stand to hear them talking about her when she wasn’t there. It was always “Why do we have such a daughter?” or “Charlene, you’re not doing enough for this child!” She couldn’t stand her parents bickering on who wasn’t being the better parent to her.
“Mother and Father just don’t understand,” Silhouette whispered.
She shook her head at this fact, and then made her way up the large staircase. Pretty soon, the lobby would be filled with people that she didn’t know—her father’s clients and associates—and she would be forced to be showcased for the umpteenth time to eligible bachelors…
This couldn’t be the life for her, she thought.
Once she returned to her bedroom, the balcony doors showed her the sparkling ocean that was still waiting for her outside.
“Maybe…if I’m not tired from the shopping trip,” Silhouette thought, “I could go to the ocean.”
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