Chapter Text
Chapter 2: CHROMOPHOBIA
For the umpteenth time in the last few minutes, Angeline Fowl had to resist the urge to straighten her dress. It was perfect and she knew it, but first impression lasts. Even when that ship has sailed a long time ago. Truthfully, the question was not whether Dr. Gaspard Paradizo, Minerva's father, knew about the Fowls. The answer was obvious. The question was how much Dr. Gaspard Paradizo, Minerva's father, knew about the Fowls.
Had Artemis been present, she would have thought the sight of her mother torn about meeting her future father-in-law a fair compensation for the anxiety she had felt when it came to introducing Minerva to her parents.
Not that it was Angeline's fault. She had told Timmy over and over again to put an end to his business – affairs was such a bad word. Her husband insisted that he needed it to provide the lifestyle his family deserved, but Angeline was sure they could get by on much less. It was just money, right? The vast majority of families in Ireland weren’t as rich as they were, and they were doing just fine. Angeline had read that in a magazine. And in return they would get… well, a clear conscience. Because when she was twirling around a dance floor it was easy to forget where the money that paid that came from, but in the dead of night that thought would come back gnawing at her.
But Timmy was stubborn. He had to lose two years and a leg in the Arctic before he accepted that he didn’t have to follow the family tradition. Angeline had opened the door of his hospital room in Helsinki expecting to see him typing away at a computer or talking on the phone: that had been her husband before he left for Russia, a total workaholic. Instead, she had found a changed man. A man who now put family first, and who was as enthusiastic about protecting the environment as he had once been about his affairs. But while Angeline had been quick to forgive his misdeeds, the rest of the world had not been so generous. Eight years was not a long time, the sinking of the Fowl Star had had considerable media coverage, and some journalist regularly popped up to expose what they thought were the interests behind the tycoon’s supposed repentance. Either that, or Arty’s disappearance (though for some reason Angeline couldn’t really bring herself to worry about the latter. Weird.)
Angeline wasn’t entirely sure what she had expected of Dr. Paradizo, but she could hardly imagine a more different man from his daughter. Where Minerva was tall and blonde, statuesque and aloof, her father was of medium height, balding, robust and jovial. And Angeline knew what false joviality was. She was a veteran of social events, and at the typical dinner party there were more tight-lipped smiles than the opposite. But there was no trace of false cheerfulness in Gaspard Paradizo. Either he was a really good actor, or he was genuinely happy to meet them. The Major, Timmy’s old bodyguard, always warned her to be wary of too friendly people, but the man was wary of everything and everyone, and it wasn’t like that had done him much good in the end, was it? Angeline thought that Dr. Paradizo’s smile might have been genuine. After all, she had begun to despair that Arty would ever find a girlfriend. If Minerva was as much like Artemis as Butler said, it was no wonder Dr. Paradizo felt the same relief.
She checked what she knew about the man, the not-so-much Arty had told her: fifty-five years old, Brazilian by birth but from a French mother who had fled overseas during World War II, plastic surgeon (which was good to know, not that Angeline thought she needed one now, but for the future...). Oh, and there was a little boy at her side. Ten, eleven, he looked much more like her father than Minerva did – except for the blond curls. What Artemis had he said his name was? Beau, she thought. Well, that was a starting point. She also had Myles and Beckett in tow, or rather hiding behing Juliet’s legs. It could be a start. But, what if Beau was a genius like Minerva? She didn’t think Artemis had ever mentioned that to her. Maybe she hadn’t listened. Should she ask? But if he turned out to be a normal boy, it would be like belittling him in front of his sister. Or not?
A realization that reminded her that she might be a veteran of social events, but she had exactly zero experience in talking with other parents. The twins hadn't started school yet, and Artemis had never had any friends. Never. Sometimes, Angeline felt uneasy – afraid was such a bad word – of his intelligence.
Had she been made aware of this fear of hers, Artemis would probably have grinned her best vampire smile and remarked that it was no surprise, considering that the oldest and strongest kind fear is fear of the unknown.
The problem was that her Arty made pretty well impossible for anyone to forget that he was a genius. More than once Angeline had found herself looking at him and thinking that she couldn’t tell what was behind his mismatched eyes (the right one was Timmy’s, but God only knew from who he had inherited the left one from). It was hard to imagine him being close to anyone, when the gaze he spared for other human beings – whether they were his peers or adults – was of contempt.
And then, all of a sudden, it had popped out not only a friend, but a girlfriend. One who, every time Artemis said one of those things Angeline found impossible to understand, would immediately answer with something equally hermetic. She was oh so sure that in the drawing that Artemis had made when he was nine and that had puzzled Angeline to the point of seeking advice from a child psychologist – the first of a long list – Minerva would have immediately recognized… what did he call it, a lunar module?… instead of a robot destroying a city (Angeline couldn’t have known, but that was exactly what had happened when Minerva had expressed curiosity about Artemis’ art and that same drawing had come up).
Angeline suddenly wondered whether she had remembered to warn Timmy not to ask about Mrs. Paradizo… or, rather, the lack of one. What she really didn’t need right now was yet another gaffe, and to think that Arty had warned her that it was a subject to be avoided at all costs. But she had forgotten. And then she should have shut her mouth, instead of insisting. But she had panicked. She had seen in Minerva’s face that she had not liked it at all, and Angeline had the impression that since then she had not treated her the same way. Oh, what if...
Had Artemis been able to read her mind right now, she would have surely quipped to leave the stream of consciousness to Joyce, who had made a better use of it. But Artemis was – relatively speaking – far away, dragging a trolley and sweating and cursing (with dignity, this has to be said of her) and so she missed her get back
Get back that was short-lived. It didn't take long to break the ice, and in less than no time Angeline found herself exclaiming: "It's a bold move to name your daughter Minerva, but when she comes out like that, it's well worth the risk!"
"Actually, it was a mere coincidence," smiled Dr. Paradizo – Gaspard. "Minerva is the name of the theater where her mother and I met."
"Papa!" hissed a voice. "Haven’t we agreed, haven’t I recommend you to keep this for yourself?"
The legs of an ostrich, the stride of a gazelle, the mane of a lion, and the eyes of a viper: Minerva Paradizo had entered the scene, and Angeline immediately regretted that thought. It was true that her eyes had a shade of pale green that Angeline associated with a snake, but the girl would probably be offended by that description. Angeline would (even if her eyes were brown, and what animal had brown eyes, anyway? Arty would surely know). The eyes of a cat, the woman corrected herself. That’s better.
But whatever animal she associated her with, Minerva Paradizo had entered the scene.
“Oh, I’m sorry, chérie,” Gaspard replied, but without sounding particularly sorry. “I must have forgotten, oui?”
“Did you by any chance slipped something else I should be aware of? Like, the colour of my pubic hair?”
Angeline flinched. Not for the first time, she found herself thinking that perhaps she would have preferred by her son’s side a quieter, more malleable, more normal girl, someone she could mentor and introduce to society. Impossible, of course. She knew better than to look the gift horse in the mouth too much. Now she could have the happy family she’d wanted, and that was enough for her. She was happy, Timmy was happy, the twins were happy, Arty was happy. What could she desire more?
Well, perhaps not having seen the look Minerva had given her father. If Artemis had looked at her that way, Angeline was sure she would have felt a shiver run down her spine. She would never have admitted it out loud (it would have meant making it real, and that didn’t happen in Fowl Manor), but her son could be terrifying sometimes, and Minerva was no less. Yet Gaspard merely laughed: “No, and oh!, I imagine the only person who might be interested in this detail already knows.”
“I hate you,” Minerva mumbled. “Tomorrow I’m gonna sign the divorce papers.”
“You can’t divorce your father, chérie.”
“I’m a genius, I’ll find a way.”
“Speaking of genii, where…?”
Minerva gestured in the direction from which she had came from and from which a sound of wheels on tiles was approaching: “Coming. But I thought I heard my name, and I wasn’t mistaken.”
“E… il te ramène aussi ton sac, Minerva (1)?”, quipped in the boy who until that very moment had remained quiet next to Gaspard.
Beau Paradizo drew back under his sister’s gaze: “Fais gaffe à ce que tu dis, Bobo. Ces devoirs de maths ne vont pas se corriger tout seuls, non (2)?”
“D’accord, d’accord (3),” he mumbled, but it was clear that he was only doing it so as not to leave the last word to Minerva. Who, for her part, did not deign to answer him.
At that point probably Gaspard had felt the impression they were giving to an outsider’s eyes – a zoo – because he smiled amenably: “My daughter threatens us of the most horrible things since she was eight. After a while, we got used to it, oui?”
Angeline wondered how Gaspard was able to connect with Minerva like he did. They had raised two geniuses (“Genii!”, Artemis and Minerva would have screamed, had they heard her thoughts) of equal level – at least, according to Butler, but Angeline was willing to trust his judgment on the matter – and yet they related with them in almost opposite ways. Part of her knew the truth, of course. She wouldn’t accept it until it was too late, but she knew it. Dr. Paradizo was able to connect with Minerva like he did because he wasn’t afraid or ashamed of her genius. One could tell by looking at them together how proud he was of his daughter. If Minerva was like this, arrogant and brash, it was because Gaspard had been by her side all along the way. He had allowed her to forge her own path, without even trying to make her anything different than what she was. No, she wouldn’t accept it until it was too late, but deep down Angeline knew that she and Timmy had failed as parents.
Minerva gave her a charming smile, one that was somehow hard to reconcile with the vitriolic words that had just come out of her lips: “I’m the only girl in a house full of men, Mrs. Fowl. I suppose you’d understand my need for teeth and claws.”
Gaspard put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders, and Angeline noticed how, despite her words, Minerva made no effort to shake him off: “And to think that, unlikely as i seems, she actually loves us. Imagine what kind of queen bee she was at school.”
The girl laughed mockingly: “Queen bee? And who wants to be a bee, who dies after stinging once? Had I to be hymenopteran, let me be the tarantula wasp, solitary and free to sting as much as it wants. Let me remind you how I live across the border now, Papa. One step at a time, I’ll get to the divorce, oui?”
“God forbid, I’ve been waiting for ten years. I’m sure that’s why you come back to Tourrettes-sur-Loup on every holiday.”
“Surely it’s not thanks to your attempts to invite random celebrities in the admirable but sorely mistaken supposition that I’d enjoy it.”
“By the way, I was thinking: soon it’s your birthday, how about Justin Timberlake...?”
“Just try it, and my birthday will be celebrated in Geneva, comprends-tu? Now, if it were Amy Lee...”
Gaspard made the gesture to take out a notebook. “What was the name...?”
“Don’t you dare!”
The verbal skirmish, which looked like it could have go on for a long time, was abruptly interrupted when the Fowl heir made his appearance, inspiring much less fear and respect than usual. In fact, without saying a word or looking at anyone, he dragged his trolley (Damn thing, but Minerva liked to call herself self-sufficient, and she would never be any less!) to position herself next to Minerva. Only then did he look up.
But apparently Gaspard had recognized him despite the hair falling over his eyes, or perhaps by Butler in his wake. Actually, he was kinda hard to mistake. “Ah, Artemis! Welcome! I have to thank you, I’ve been attempting to drag my daughter to Disneyland for years, but if anyone could do it, it was you!”
Angeline was surprised by his warmth, only to wonder what there was to be surprised about. Artemis was, after all, Minerva’s boyfriend. Of course, Arty hadn’t mentioned it, but years of social events had trained his mother’s eye, and she had noticed the ring on his ring finger the moment it had appeared. Dr. Paradizo probably already considered him part of his family. Like it or not.
“Gaspard,” Artemis said breathlessly, just as Minerva said: “Papa.”
The two genii exchanged a look. “Be my guest, it’s your family,” Artemis said ceremoniously.
“Merci.” Angeline could have sworn she saw vampire fangs in the smile the girl gave her father. “What can I say, Papa? By any necessary means.”
Perhaps it was no surprise that Artemis’ uncanny intelligence was unable to disturb Dr. Paradizo. His only comment, after Minerva had paid her respects to those present and then proceeded to drag Artemis along with her, the trolley she’d pried from his fingers rattling behind her back and her golden hair glistening in the morning sun, was: “She has the fire in her.”
That’s one way of saying it, Angeline thought.
Her eyes forcefully closed, Minerva sank her back onto the bed, focusing on Artemis’ voice with all the intent of forgetting everything else. Exaggerated? Perhaps. Probably. But among the many things the two girls had in common was both being drama queens and appreciating a good drama. And if there was anything their suite called for, it was drama.
There was no doubt about it. Even if Artemis hadn’t been busy labeling every detail of the room as tacky, grotesque, or disgusting (or some unholy combination of the three), the fact that she hadn’t uttered one of the many sarcastic comments about cubism that had been handed to her on a silver platter since they had set foot the resort meant she was beyond disgusted. She was genuinely horrified.
Feet shuffling along the floor and a weight tilting the mattress to her right announced Artemis’ return from her brave inspection. “There’s maquette in the bathroom. Would you believe it? I’d like have a few words the rare specimen of idiot that designed this place. The most basic hygiene rules are rolling over in their graves. Have a look.”
Minerva opened her eyes, but not before being sure that her vision was framing only the screen of Artemis’ phone, and none of the furniture designed to resemble popular cartoon characters, or the bright blue, yellow, and red wallpaper. Apparently, the hotel management had decided that the closeness to Disneyland was worth capitalizing on, even if it meant inflicting such violence on the eyes of their guests. Personally, neither Artemis nor Minerva saw any such need. Normally, rodents, snakes and insects, the sort of animals that would terrify a normal girl, had all the same effect on Minerva – that is none, if not some scientific interest – but now she suspected that had she to witness just one more pair of round ears, she would scream.
She wasn’t surprised by the mold spores spreading across the display of Artemis’ phone, or by the fact that it also doubled as a microscope. Artemis had gifted her an identical one to replace the phone that had been destroyed in the car accident, and she hadn’t yet found enough time to browse through all the apps. Which was quite a feat, considering that she was Minerva Paradizo.
“Don’t look at me,” she said. “Send your complains to my father. He’s the one who chose the hotel.”
“I thought so. If it were up to you, we’d be surrounded by white and beige, or white and gray, or white and black.”
Minerva didn’t even bother to deny it. Artemis knew her appreciation for minimalism, the antithesis of the kitsch her father loved. When she’d first seen her room, Artemis had commented: “Fascinating. You could afford the best craft furniture and it looks like it came straight out of an IKEA catalog.” “Because it came straight out of an IKEA catalog,” Minerva had informed her. There had been a brief pause as the other girl digested the sudden discovery. “I like it,” she had finally said. “It suits you very well.”
“We’re in Disneyland, Artemis. I’m afraid we can as well forget about neutral tints until tomorrow, oui?”
A pointless reminder: the raven-haired girl was staring at the colourful walls as if she could peel them off with her gaze only, and to her credit, they did look a tad paler than they were when they had first entered the room.
“Please don’t remind me. Imagining myself here is already draining. Accepting the idea is beyond me. And while at any other time I would be horrified at the idea of barricading in this room, I suspect it would be better than the alternative.” She forced out a smile that somehow conveyed both her affection for Minerva and her distaste for the suite. “But why am I telling you? You know better than me. You’re just more adept at hiding it.”
Minerva smiled back and rose from the bed to wrap her arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. Sighing, Artemis leaned against her. Minerva buried her face in the crook of her neck. “You smell good.”
Artemis chuckled softly. “I happen to personally know the very woman who mixed this fragrance for me.”
A woman who was in that room with her, holding her in her arms. Their eyelids were lowered, to shield their gaze from those bright pigments that offended them so much. It did not matter. Their lips found each other with praticed ease, and when they parted and Minerva opened her eyes, she was looking at light blue and hazel. When Artemis opened hers, she was looking at pale green. Colours they both loved.
“I have to thank your father for two things,” Artemis mumbled. “First, he has never used the wrong pronouns in front of my parents.”
“If he had, I would have corrected him. Just like I did with Bobo, oui? Don’t worry about your pronouns. It’s long time that I have been planning our parents’ meeting, and my father and my brother have very specific instructions on what to do. Should they slip, they’ll justify themselves by saying that English isn’t their native language and that, after all,” she tapped the other girl’s nose with her index finger, “Artemis is a girl’s name. That’ll be enough cover for two days. And the second thing?”
“King size bed.”
Minerva laughed.
“Minerva?”
“Oui?”
“How do you intend to deal with your brother?”
“Bobo? Please, have some faith. He idolizes Butler as only a kid who lives for video games and action movies could. He’ll be so excited about spending a day with a man who’s like one of his heroes brought to life. And then there’s Juliet, who knows every action movie ever made by heart: he’d end up with a crush on her the moment he sees her. He won’t even notice my disappearance, and if he does, he’d just be happy to be rid of me for a few hours.”
It was Artemis’ turn to laugh.
“Minerva?”
“Oui?”
“Butler, I can understand – you probably just had to give him your sweetest look – but, out of pure scientific curiosity, how did you get Juliet to go along with your plan?”
“Scientific curiosity? You mean, you want to know if she gave me a discount on her babysitting rates? No, it’s the same price she asked you. If she could lift me up.” A pause, and then a grin: “Mon Dieu. Tell me, Artemis, did you imagine it like this, finding out you are a slut?”
Much to the despair of her parents and her bodyguard, Artemisì life was that of a recluse. She rarely went out, and even rarer were the people who managed to exchange more than a few words with her. Most of them, in fact, were acquaintances she had made during her misadventures with the People, and from Artemis – which was as brilliant as she was haughty – at Minerva’s words they would expect a look of cold distase. The very few who knew her better – Butler, Juliet and Holly – might have figured her eyes widening like those of a doe caught in the headlights. But only Minerva would ever have imagined her shoulders shaking, her lips quivering, and then Artemis doubled over the edge of the bed, her eyes glistening, one hand pressed to her stomach, laughing until she hiccupped. It was a laugh that came from deep within, a reaction no one would have expected from Artemis. It was a laugh only Minerva could elicit.
And Minerva was at just the right height to bow her head and kiss her hair. “Are you ready?”
This time it was Artemis’ time to bury her face in her neck. “As much as one can be,” came the disgruntled reply. Still, a little less disgruntled than it would have been a few minutes prior. “We’ve really whoring ourselves. Forced to act as nannies while our parents – she paused a moment to find an adequate word – frolic around Disneyland.”
“Oh? Would you rather dick around with them? Besides, Papa’s doing a great job in keeping them busy.”
A head bent to the side, a hazel eye stared at her: “Does your father know?”
“Of course not. But I know exactly who I am dealing with, oui? For them, the night will come before they even realize it. And do you know what’s going to happen tonight?”
Artemis’ lips brushed the corner of her jaw. “You tell me.”
Minerva knew – because she had told her – that Holly had once called Artemis a “control freak.” Yet here she was, trusting her without hesitation. And Minerva knew why: on Artemis’ Maslow pyramid (5), her name had slipped lower and lower and lower. What brought Artemis into her arms was the fulfillment of the social norms that her mother had insisted oh so much upon, but then she had ended up finding in Minerva a safe haven from the storm, to the point of depending upon her as much as the air she breathed. She had ended up discovering that all her needs were satisfied in her, and if Minerva realized it, it was only because it had been the same for her. Both had found in each other something they didn’t even believe existed beforehand. Artemis may very well be a control freak, but rules and theorems didn’t apply to Minerva. Artemis trusted her without hesitation, because Minerva was her only exception.
“Alas, Disneyland is going to give someone a migraine,” Minerva began listing down. “And, honestly, after seeing this room, who would even doubt it?”
“That is, assuming Disneyland does not manage to give you a real migraine, which is not all that unlikely.”
“That is, assuming Disneyland does not manage to give me a real migraine, which is not all that unlikely,” Minerva agreed. “In which case I’d take some paracetamol and proceed as if nothing had happened. And you – sweet, caring fiancée that you are – will insist on keeping the poor, sick girl company. We’ll be excused from dinner, out of earshot of the words our parents’ would excange behind our backs. Of course, we’ll be so, so torn about it. Bon sang, we’ll even pay their bill, to make up for the missed company.”
A vampire grin flicked on Artemis’ lips. They both knew there was nothing she loved more than a well-thought-out plan: “Devious, my dear Minerva. Deliciously devious. That’s how people are killed. With kindness.”
“Isn’t it? Just as effective, and it leaves your hands clean. As for the two of us, we’ll order from room service something without mouse ears on. And I brought a dress for you.”
An encore had been promised. Artemis’ grin softened into a small, tender smile. “What colour?”
“Pearl gray. I knew you’d be longing for neutral tints by now, and it’ll go along with your eyes oh so beautifully.”
She didn’t bother asking if Artemis had her necessaire with her. They knew each other all too well.
“This is how we’re going to begin, and then... we’ll see where the evening lead us, oui?”
And then Minerva fell silent, giving Artemis a chance to speak. But the other girl’s eyes were half-lidded, thick, heavy lashes falling over two blue and hazel half moons. They both knew that there was nothing Artemis loved more than a well-thought-out plan… except the girl that was holding her close. Yours the last word, those eyes said. As yours is the plan, and I trust you with all my heart. It’s how it’s meant to be. And then they said something else.
Perhaps it was mere coincidence that Minerva’s fingers found Artemis’ collarbones, traced them up to the point where they met, and then up, along the curve of her neck, the line of her jaw. It was no mere coincidence that they applied a light pressure there, just enough for Artemis to bend her head.
“Because, with the lights off, with you in my arms, these walls could very well be lime green and flamingo pink, and I wouldn’t care less.” Minerva’s lips brushed Artemis' once again. “I wouldn't care less.”
_____________________________________________________________
(1) H. P. Lovecraft, Supernatural Horror in Literature
(2) French for: “Did you have he... him carry your bag, too, Minerva?”
(3) French for: “Watch your tongue, Bobo. Those math homeworks are not going to corrects themselves all alone, yes?”
(4) French for: “Ok, ok.”
(5) Maslow’s pyramid is a representation of the hierarchy of needs, from the most basic at the bottom to the self-actualization at top.
_____________________________________________________________