Mallorie Jordaine

“He's all right! Aren't you, cat? Poor cat! Poor slob! Poor slob without a name! The way I see it I haven't got the right to give him one. We don't belong to each other. We just took up one day by the river. I don't want to own anything until I find a place where me and things go together. I'm not sure where that is but I know what it is like. It's like Tiffany's”, Josie said in perfect synchronization with Audrey Hepburn’s lips. After two months in Northridge Josie and I had found several common interests, of which first and foremost was the great “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”. Nowadays, Mallorie Jordaine (from my Advanced French class) often joined us in such endeavours to temporarily disconnect from the strenuous life of academia. She shared our love for Audrey, as well as Camus, Tolstoy, Salinger and Dostoyevsky. Mallorie was also new at Northridge International School. She was born into a French family, and lived in eleven countries until the age of 16, namely the Principality of Emeraud au Rouge. She is, hence, the only person in school to know my true identity.

“C’est incroyable, non?” Mallorie said as soon as the movie ended. “Certainement”, my father said as he entered the room. “Look girls, it’s already 7:30 so you might as well stay for dinner, if you like”. Although I still wasn’t 100 per cent comfortable with my living situation with dad, it was somewhat starting to feel like a father and daughter relationship, as opposed to the distant relative relationship we maintained a few months back. “Well, thank you Dr. Hapsburg, but I really must go. My mother is expecting me at home to take care of the preparations for my sister’s birthday party tomorrow”, said Josie. “I can stay, sir. That is, if it is not too much of an inconvenience”, said Mallorie in her unmistakable French accent.

After dad went into the kitchen to prepare our dinner and Josie went home, Mallorie and I were the only ones in our room. Since that day two weeks ago when she told me that she knew about me, mum and grandma Glorie, she constantly bombarded me with questions, mainly about living as royalty. Today, as I looked into her sparkling olive green eyes I could see it coming. Approximately two seconds later it came: “So, let’s say, if you’re out in a café, how many body guards would accompany you. Oh, and do you have your own body guards or do you, comment dit-on, share them? And do you have royal modistes working for you every day, or do you also wear normal clothes ever so often?”. My answer to all of these questions was, as always: “It depends”. Despite Mallorie’s infinite questions and interferences, she had promised me not to tell anyone about what she knew. And, after all, she was, ‘comment dit-on?’, très speciale.