The Craigslist Murders - Brenda Cullerton [60]
“Where are you?”
Her mother appeared from her bedroom with an open book in her hand. “Slow down, Charlotte,” she’d said, annoyed. “Whatever is the matter?”
“It’s my birthday, Mom. All my friends are coming over for my party. And I don’t see any decorations.”
Her mother had just made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Surely not, Charlotte. The caterers are coming next Wednesday, not today.”
Forty girls had rung the bell that afternoon while Charlotte hid in her room. No one at school spoke to her for a week. They tittered when they raced past her in the hallways. This was when Charlotte had her first stomachache. She lay in the nurse’s room for hours, holding her belly, moaning.
Thinking about it now, she tried to imagine Vicky pulling a similarly cruel trick on her daughter. Vicky who had shelled out half a million dollars for a “Jewels and Jeans” birthday party for her thirteen-year-old. All thirty girls got goody bags with fourteen-karat gold name necklaces from Jacob the Jeweler and a full day of spa treatments at Rapture.
Vicky’s daughter had worn a pair of Swarovski crystal-studded Diesels and a $400,000 ruby and diamond tiara from Fred Leighton. Although the tiara had been borrowed, there was something about the party that seemed scarier to Charlotte than the prom scene in the movie Carrie.
“What if she doesn’t have a good time?” Vicky had wailed when they got together for lunch at Nello’s. “What if her friends are bored?”
“Vicky, you’ve hired the rap singer Nas for Christ’s sake. You’re giving them $500 necklaces, a dinner catered by Art of Eating, and a day at a spa. What are you worried about?”
“I just want her to love me, that’s all,” she’d replied, fumbling with her napkin.
Right, Charlotte had thought, of course. There was nothing wrong with wanting to be loved. But why did parents assume they had to seduce their children, to woo them like lovers? It was like Darryl, the fashion designer, with her plans to create a dojo for her nine-year-old ninja. Charlotte also remembered a recent call from Deena, the client she had seen at Pure who farted and ran away with her daughter’s personal trainer. For some reason, Deena assumed that Charlotte actually missed hearing her old client’s voice.
“Charlotte. I need your advice so badly! You’ve got to help me,” she’d pleaded.
“Certainly, Deena, anything.” Charlotte had replied, trying to imagine where in hell she’d find time to solve some new decorating disaster.
“It’s my nineteen-year-old girl, Kyle. You remember her, right? The light of my life?”
“Sure,” Charlotte said, dimly remembering the surly, overweight fourteen-year-old who’d snubbed her for months, treating her as if she were invisible.
“She’s a sophomore at Wellesley. We’re so proud of her. It’s one of the finest all-girls colleges in the country, Charlotte.”
“So what’s the problem, Deena?” Charlotte asked, fixated on a guy texting on a cell phone while his tongue moved in and around a girl’s mouth. Great multitasking, Charlotte thought to herself.
“Sorry, what did you say?” she asked.
“I said, my daughter wants a gender reassignment, Charlotte. She says if we won’t pay for it, she’ll go to Thailand.”
“A what? Charlotte squeaked. “Forgive me, Deena. But I have no idea what you’re talking about.
“A sex change,” Deena whispered. “It’s called gender reassignment now.”
“Holy shit!” The expletive flew out of Charlotte’s mouth before she realized it. “Did you tell her that this reassignment isn’t exactly like switching from science to French or turning in a hatchback for a sedan at Avis? It’s permanent, for god’s sake.”
“I’m beside myself, that’s all I can say. I figured the college would put an end to it. It’s all girls, Charlotte. If she turns into a boy, she’d have to transfer.”
“That seems like the least of your problems, Deena. Have you tried saying no?”
“Yes. And I got nowhere. And now the damn college is changing their rules. In her favor, Charlotte. They’re saying if you come in as a girl and change your mind, or grow a penis or