The Darker Sister

Arienne Claire Juneau

Juneau.  She was a Juneau.

She knew that was supposed to mean something.  Whether it was something good or bad, she wasn’t sure; nevertheless, she knew her surname was supposed to matter in some way.

It’s not about the money.

Kathyn Dunvale-Juneau, her cousin-in-law, had most of the money.  That was why Arienne’s cousin Thierry married her.  While Thierry and his father Jean-Marc had made sound investments over the years and cultivated all the right business contacts, Arienne could safely say the importance of being Juneau wasn’t about their money.  Together, Jean-Marc and Thierry were probably worth just over two million US dollars, and most of that was tied up in assets.

Alone, however, Kathryn was worth well over ten million, and while much her wealth was also tied up in assets, the portion that was liquid was sufficient to suit Thierry’s purpose.

It’s not about the election.

Neither the first nor second one (Thierry won both).  Arienne was strongly discouraged from mentioning her cousin was an American governor, in the event she did anything to cause a scandal.  Though she and Thierry were raised as siblings, the moment his political ambitions emerged, he went right back to being an only child.

And this was perhaps why Arienne struggled so hard to figure out what it meant to be a Juneau.  She wasn’t treated like one, at least not the in the familial sense.  Her parents had died when she was but a toddler, and her doting Aunt Clothilde, Thierry’s mother, had died when she was fourteen.  At first, she, Jean-Marc, and Thierry had banded together, trying to build their family back up and lend one another comfort and strength.  Thierry had abandoned his studies in London in favor of attending a law school in River City, while Arienne began studying music at a local observatory.  The family spent every weekend, holiday, and birthday together, even lighting candles for the ones no longer with them.

But then Thierry took his law degree and became a politician.  Arienne was barely even done with her graduate musical studies when Jean-Marc shipped her off to finishing studying opera at an observatory in Italy.  When she completed that, he sent her to further her piano skills in France, then Britain, and then Italy once more.  Arienne completed her schooling by twenty-eight, when she begged to come home.  Thierry had just married Kathryn Dunvale and Arienne wanted to celebrate with her family.  Instead, her family sent her on a string of trips to fashion shows.  Madrid, Milan, London, Paris, Seoul, Tokyo, Dubai, Cairo, Nairobi, Lagos, Montreal…Arienne saw them all.  Her uncle even gave her enough of a stipend to purchase something from every show.

It’s not about the name.

Or was it?  Here she was now, years later in her millionth hotel room, laying on yet another luxurious king-sized bed, scribbling in her diary and sipping champagne as she tried to figure out who she was and where she belonged.  She’d been a good girl; she hadn’t caused any scandals or gotten into any trouble.  She’d taken good care of her voice and could launch into a haunting rendition of “Vissi d’Arte” on demand.  Arienne had even performed in a few productions on various stages worldwide.  She also practiced the piano for at least two to three hours a day, playing entire Mozart concertos from memory.  A few universities invited her to perform every year.

But that was all Arienne she could do.  That was all she had to show for being a good girl and doing what her uncle told her.

She was no longer his daughter; he had not seen her face in years nor tried to.  She was no longer Thierry’s sister…or was she?  They didn’t look alike; her mother had been much darker-skinned than his, and Arienne was a dead ringer for her.  But perhaps she still was Thierry’s little sister; that bond was slightly harder to break.  For though her uncle’s phone calls consisted mostly of telling her to stay out of trouble, Thierry was not above a friendly chat, a thoughtful gift, or regular updates on his life.  But even despite his affectionate nature, Arienne did not fail to notice he never once called her home.

Until now.

Coupled with his profitable marriage, Thierry’s second victory suddenly made him comfortable enough to tell his father to shut it.  Upon his landslide win, he immediately summoned Arienne, purchasing a first class flight and promising to welcome her into his very home.  Her layover was in New York City, where she hesitated now, lying awake and wondering where she’d fit in once she got home.

Was it even home anymore?

She hadn’t been back to River City in almost seven years.  She’d spent so much time speaking French and Italian she couldn’t remember the street names of her hometown.  She couldn’t even tell if she’d developed an accent over the years.  Did her friends even remember her?  Or had they all gotten jobs and husbands?  She hadn’t heard from any of them.  Then again, it was hard to keep up with someone as rootless as Arienne.  Lately it seemed as though she was in a different country every month, hob-knobbing with the socialites and expanding her wardrobe.

It’s not about the money.

Wasn’t it?  Maybe it was for female Juneaus.  She couldn’t complain about being fully neglected; she hadn’t been.  She’d never been unable to pay a bill, or purchase a luxury on whim.  She lived out of the most expensive restaurants wherever she was.  Arienne could treat her dark skin to the rarest treatments from Namibia, condition her hair with the richest rhassoul clay from Morocco, and adorn her neck, ears, and fingers with the brightest diamonds from South Africa.  Her day-to-day dresses were sewn from the most intricate West African laces.  And though she had no close family anymore, no dear friends, and no consistent mentors or colleagues, one thing Arienne could always count on was material satisfaction.

Upon marrying Kathryn Dunvale and becoming Governor, Thierry now resided in the opulent Governor’s mansion in River City.  He sent Arienne rarely seen pictures of the interior.  Like many of the official buildings in that region, the decorative theme was that of the distant ocean, with every curtain, rug, and velvet chair the shade of deep and fathomless waters.  Arienne was mildly amused by this seeing as both Kathryn and Thierry’s favorite color was green…in every way possible.

He had promised Arienne her own wing, an honor he denied his own father.  It likely meant they were fighting again, probably because Thierry had finally called her home.  Arienne felt a ripple of irritation at the old man for his lack of faith.  She had never misbehaved before; why the paranoia now?

To an extent, Arienne could understand.  Thierry was a young black politician married to an older white woman.  The obstacles in his path were more than obvious.  Strange as it way to say, Thierry was blessed to have so many dead relatives, not that he really had any deep dark secrets.  Which brought her back to wondering why her Uncle Jean-Marc wanted her so far removed from Thierry’s career.  Was he afraid her every move would be followed, her every action documented and published in the local papers?

Come to think of, Arienne cringed, that would be horrid.  Despite her performances and frequent appearances at fashion shows, Arienne was by no means famous or popular, and in many ways, lived quite anonymously.  The more she mulled it over, the more she realized anonymity was a bit of a luxury.

Maybe that was her uncle’s intent.

Snapping her diary shut and rolling over, Arienne finally decided to succumb to sleep.  There was no point in scribbling and pondering; tomorrow was coming and she couldn’t stop it.

Author's Note

Rough draft sneak peek.