Beneath the Mask

Tara dragged the Milani lipstick across her full lower lip and smacked it loudly against her upper lip. Tara hated dinners. She hated the fact that she had to put on a fitting dress that made it almost impossible for her to take comfortable steps, or the fact that she had to wear makeup which made her overly conscious of herself. She hated the heels worst of all but no matter how unpleasant the experience was, she had to go through with it because she was a Coyle woman, and the Coyle women, according to her mother, were elegant first before anything else. Such rubbish!

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She was going to puff a healthy quantity of her favorite cologne when she remembered what her mom had said to her the last time she caught a whiff of her scent.

"You smell cheap Tara, your fragrance is part of you and you are part of the Coyle women, get yourself something expensive, and don't embarrass me".

She had learned to put up with her mother's demands over the years, trying to become a 'Coyle woman' and pretending to be happy while at it instead of just being the Tara that she was. She let herself daydream for a moment and wondered what she would have worn to see her family if it wasn't a dinner and she wasn't a Coyle woman.

She would take out her pair of cargo pants and the loose-fitting t-shirt she had bought some weeks back with the bold inscription REAL GIRLS DON'T HIDE and throw it on, complimenting it with her best pair of ankle boots, and of course, her face cap.

Her door alarm sounded making her yelp in fright. When she hurried to get it, she saw a young man in a company uniform that read "Driven". Then she remembered the chaffer she had rented for the night.

"Hey ummm…give me a couple of minutes.".

She went back to take a critical look at herself in the mirror, checking for loose curls she must have missed or smeared on her makeup. When she thought she looked satisfactory enough, she picked up her black, silver studded purse and headed out.

The grand dining room was just as she expected; elegantly furnished with exquisite china dinnerware and crystal glassware, some of which she recognized as heirloom pieces.

She smiled at the familiar faces of the professional waitstaff taking a pause while pretending to be admiring the scenery so the ache in her feet could pass.

"Tara" she knew the voice before she turned. Catherine Coyle, her mother.

"Mom" she tried a smile but it came out as a grimace.

She followed her mother's gaze from her neatly packed bun to her glittering blue dress, stopping momentarily to peek at the kind of shoes hiding beneath the fall of the dress.

It seemed she was satisfied because she took her gaze up to stare into Tara's eyes again.

"I see you could make it".

"Mom, I always make it to the family dinner…" She wanted desperately to add that she hated the experience and wished she wouldn't be mandated to come every year but she knew better now. Coyle women did not express themselves foolishly, they only spoke when they had reasonable contributions.

"Your aunts will be here soon. Come and tell me all about your job" that was her mom's way of checking if Tara had made progress impressive enough to be shared with the family at dinner.

She had rehearsed almost every day in the month, practicing how to raise a convincing tone that she was a costume designer for Hollywood instead of the almost-fired secretary of a failing Hollywood costume designer but now that she had to say it, convince herself and her mom, she wasn't sure she could go through with it.

"So, how does working with the prestigious Hollywood feel?"

Tara's breath seized then came back after her mom called her name firmly.

"I…Hollywood is a broad place. It's fun, you get to meet people…"

"Stop!" Catherine Coyle rose and drew out a sharp breath. "Tara Coyle, do not embarrass me, at least not this evening. Sean and Rita are flying in from LA, Louisa is coming in with her fiancee Mark…my sisters' children are successful people!" She rubbed at her temples.

"I'm successful too mom…"

"At what?..."

"At dancing. You just don't like it and force me to do that annoying job at Hollywood because you want to save your face before your sisters, the Coyle women" She drew quotation marks in the air with her fingers and rose angrily to pace the room.

"Tara Coyle, you will not speak to me in that manner!"

"Why?" She turned angry eyes to her mother "Because a Coyle woman does not talk back? Well, news flash, I talk back" Dragging the "I" to create emphasis while jabbing a finger at her chest, she walked up to her mother. "You know, tonight when everyone is here, I'm going to say I'm a hip-hop dancer just in case I'm asked. I'm going to tell them how I've won three competitions and would have gone for the state competitions if you didn't forbid me. A Coyle woman doesn't have to be all calm and collected, she can be wild and creative too." She wiped the angry tears that had seeped down her cheeks. "I'm going to demystify the mask hiding the person of the Coyle women so that the ladies coming after us can have lives of their own without being ashamed. And it's going to start from tonight!".

She didn't know what came over her but whatever it was, it made her walk out on her mother for the first time in 23 years. She was finally ready to take the mask off.