Cutler 3 - Twilight's Child (10 page)

I sat there for a moment with the receiver still in my hand, Trisha's voice trailing off in my memory like a leaf being carried off in a wind, growing smaller and smaller and smaller until it was gone.

Once I was young and innocent and full of dreams. It brought a smile to my face to recall first arriving in New York, being afraid of the traffic and the people and the tall buildings, and not knowing how to react to the eccentric retired actress, Agnes Morris, who ran our residence. And then Trisha burst into my life and introduced me to all the excitement, the nightlife, the cafes, the shops and museums and the theater. She had come with me to audition for Michael Sutton, who was choosing only a few lucky students to be in his vocal class. Trisha and I had squealed with delight that morning and run up the sidewalks and across the streets, holding hands, our hearts beating madly.

And then we saw him. He looked as if he had stepped off the cover of a fan magazine. I would never forget how light my heart felt when he turned to gaze at me and our eyes met. There were so many promises hanging in the air between us, ready to be snatched and savored. We had a dream romance, the kind of romance depicted in songs and stories. What music we made when we sang together.

Even now I could still hear his voice.

"Hey," Jimmy said, stepping out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around him. "Why are you sitting there with the phone in your hand, smiling? Is anyone on the phone?"

"Oh . . . I looked at the receiver as if just realizing I held it. "Trisha just called," I said quickly. "She's so excited about the wedding."

"Good." Jimmy stared at me. "You all right?"

"Yes," I said weakly, and I placed the receiver in the cradle. "No," I added, looking up at him. "Oh, Jimmy, hold me, hold me as if you were holding me for the last time."

He came to me quickly and embraced me. I rested my head against his cool chest, and he kissed my hair.

"Don't talk like that," he said. "We have a long, long way to go before I hold you for the last time."

His words were meant to be like drops of warm, gentle rain, soothing. But I felt as if I were sitting with my face pressed against a windowpane and the drops streaked over the glass like tears.

Even so, I raised my face so his lips could find mine and fill me with hope.

4

AS JIMMY'S AND MY WEDDING DAY DREW CLOSER AN AIR OF excitement developed in and around the hotel. Preparations swallowed up everyone's attention. I felt as if I were walking on air or parading across a giant stage. I sensed people staring at me all the time and saw them smiling. My heart was in a state of perpetual flutter, and I couldn't help suffering periodic dizzy spells. All I could do was sit down and try to calm myself whenever that happened.

The only unpleasant event that occurred was when Mother came running to tell me about Clara Sue's problems at school. I knew that Clara Sue was bursting with jealousy. Whenever she called home, the wedding was all Mother or anyone would talk about. She hated that I was getting all this attention. Even Philip was excited about it now, and he told her so when he spoke with her. She refused to come home and instead got herself into more and more trouble.

Mother came flying into my room while I was putting Christie to sleep. It was Sissy's night off.

"1 don't know what I'm going to do," she cried, with real tears escaping those dainty lids. She wrung her handkerchief in her hand and paced. "Mrs. Turnbell has phoned twice already. Clara Sue's failing all her subjects and being very disruptive in class. She's a major problem at the dormitory, violating curfews, and . . . and she was caught smoking and drinking whiskey in her room with two other girls.

"Now," Mother continued, gasping and falling back into a chair as if she were in the first stages of a heart attack, "she's been found in the boys' dormitory, alone with a boy in his room!"

She started to bawl. Christie sat up and stared at her, wide-eyed. Mother was a mystery to her as it was, barely acknowledging her existence.

"I can't turn to Randolph for help. He's a pathetic creature who won't listen to me when I tell him how ludicrous he appears and how he is becoming the laughingstock of the Cove. Half the time he doesn't hear anything I say," she moaned. "He's draining me, killing me, and now Clara Sue . . . I can't stand all this tension and controversy, Dawn," she complained. "You know I can't."

"I told you to have the doctor examine Randolph," I said dryly.

"I called him. He saw him," she confessed.

"You never told me that. I didn't know. When was this?" I asked in surprise.

"Last week," she said, waving away the topic. But I didn't want to wave it away.

"And? What did he say? What did he do?" I demanded.

"He wanted me to have him placed in a mental hospital for observation and treatment. Can you imagine? An asylum! Just think of the gossip—a Cutler in the loony bin. How people would look at me, married to a raving lunatic! It's degrading," she cried.

"But how about what's good for him, Mother?" I asked pointedly, my eyes glued hotly on her.

"Oh, he'll be all right." She waved a hand dismissively. "I told the doctor to prescribe some pills, some sedatives, and he's considering it, but until then all of it is falling on my shoulders, Dawn. Can't you help me, do something?"

"Me? What do you want me to do?" I asked with surprise.

"I don't know. Call Mrs. Turnbell and speak to her about Clara Sue. They want to expel her from Emerson Peabody."

"Me? Call Mrs. Turnbell?" I started to laugh. "She hated the sight of me and did everything she could to get Jimmy and me out of there," I said, recalling how unfairly we had been treated.

"But that was in the past. Now you're the owner of a major resort. You can promise her a bigger donation. Anything. What will I do if Clara Sue is expelled? Another disgrace on top of . . ."

"Your own," I said coldly.

"That's just like you, Dawn, to turn on me when I need you the most," she said, her eyes narrowing hatefully. "And here I'm working day and night to make your wedding successful. I would think you would show a little gratitude and treat me with more respect. After all, I am your mother. You seem to enjoy forgetting that fact."

I shook my head. There was no limit to her nerve. She had no shame when it came to certain things, especially if it had to do with her own comfort and happiness.

"Mother," I said, "even if you and I were closer and I wanted to help you with Clara Sue, I couldn't. You're not listening to me. Mrs. Turnbell probably won't even accept a phone call from me. And what makes you think Clara Sue would listen to anything I said? She hates and resents me and hasn't hesitated to let me know it.

"No," I said, "you're going to have to assume your parental responsibility and go see Clara Sue and Mrs. Turnbell. Have a meeting and discuss the problems."

"What? What an outrageous idea! Me? Dragged into that school, into this mess?" She ground the tears out of her eyes with her small fists and laughed. "How ridiculous."

"You're
her mother. Not me. You must bear the responsibility," I insisted.

"I'm her mother, but that doesn't mean I'm to be made to suffer because of it." She sat there a moment thinking. "All right," she said. "If you refuse to help, then send Mr. Updike. Yes," she said, liking the idea more and more, "what's the point of having an attorney if we don't use him for these things?"

"Our attorney is not supposed to serve as a surrogate parent, Mother. He's supposed to give us legal advice and take care of our contractual needs," I replied.

"Nonsense. Mr. Updike has always been a part of the family, in a way. Grandmother Cutler treated him as if he were, and he likes it. He'll help me. I just know he will. He'll call that principal and stop them from expelling Clara Sue," she concluded. She rose and saw herself in my vanity-table mirror.

"Just look," she moaned. "Just look at the effect all this has already had on me. There's a wrinkle trying to get deeper and longer," she said, pointing to the corner of her right eye. Of course, I could see nothing. Her skin was as smooth and as perfect as ever. She appeared immune to age.

"And my hair," she said, pulling on some strands and spinning around to me. "Do you know what I found this morning while I was brushing my hair . . . do you?" I shook my head. "Gray hairs. Yes, they were gray."

"Mother, everyone gets older," I sighed. "You can't expect to look like a young woman for your entire life, can you?"

"If you don't let other people's problems affect you and you take good care of yourself, you can look young and beautiful for a long, long time, Dawn," she insisted.

"Clara Sue's problems and Randolph's problems are not other people's problems, Mother. Clara Sue is your daughter; Randolph is your husband," I pointed out sharply.

"Don't remind me," she said, and she started out. Then she turned in my doorway. "Someday you will understand me and see that I'm the one for whom you should feel the most sympathy," she predicted. Then she sniffed back her tears and walked out.

I wanted to shout after her and tell her that I did pity her. I pitied her for being so selfish that she couldn't love other people, not even her own children. I wanted to tell her I pitied her for trying to stop what was natural and wished she could grow older gracefully, instead of battling every gray hair. She would wake up one day and feel like a prisoner in her own aging body. Mirrors would become torments, and pictures of herself when she was younger would be like pins sticking into her heart. But I stopped myself from uttering a single syllable. Why waste my breath and my strength? I thought.

She did call Mr. Updike, and he did manage to get Clara Sue a reprieve. Mrs. Turnbell agreed to put her on probation, but I had no doubt that it was only a matter of time before she would get into serious trouble again. And I was against making any additional donations to Emerson Peabody to insure they kept her when Mr. Updike suggested it to me. Jimmy was pleased to hear about that.

"I'd love to walk back into her office one day," he said, "and see the look on her face."

"She's not worth the trip, Jimmy," I said.

"Yeah, but next time we're in the area," he said, laughing.

Life was filled with so many ironies, so many turns that led you to places you never imagined. A few years ago, when I had been whisked away from Jimmy and Fern and Daddy Longchamp, driven through the night to be returned to my real family here at Cutler's Cove, I felt terrible fear and dread. I remember being led into the hotel through a back entrance and brought directly to Grandmother Cutler, who made me feel lower than a worm and who tried to strip me of any dignity by forcing another name on me and making me clean toilets and make beds. And now I sat in her chair and signed the checks and made the decisions. I had my beautiful baby, and Jimmy and I were about to be married. No, I thought, this wasn't the time to cloud my heart with hate and dream of sweet revenge. This was a time to be forgiving and loving and hopeful.

I didn't even lose my temper when Clara Sue phoned me a few days before my wedding to inform me she wouldn't be able to attend.

"I have a date I can't break," she said. Perhaps she had expected I would beg her to do so.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that, Clara Sue," I said.

"No one will even notice I'm not there," she added petulantly, still trying to get me to sound upset.

"Maybe," I said. "But I'll do my best to remind them," I added. She missed my sarcasm.

"I think it's stupid to marry the boy you once thought was your brother!" she exclaimed. "No one here who remembers you can believe it."

"Well, I'm sure you will do your best to convince them it's true," I said.

"That's not what I mean!" she shouted.

"I'm sorry, Clara Sue, but there are so many things for me to do right now. I'll have to hang up. Thanks for calling and wishing us good luck," I added, even though she hadn't. Then I cradled the receiver before she could reply, and I sat back, smiling. She was probably fuming so badly there was smoke coming out of her ears, I thought. The image made me laugh and turned a potentially unhappy moment into a jovial one.

There wasn't much time to sulk over anything anyway. The next day Trisha arrived. We were so glad to see each other, we both nearly burst with happiness. I knew exactly when she would arrive and waited at the front entrance. When the hotel car brought her up she flew out almost before it had come to a complete stop, and we hugged each other and cried and laughed, both of us talking at the same time.

Trisha's personality hadn't changed a bit. She was still her exuberant, effervescent self, her bright green eyes filled with excitement. Of course, she looked older and more elegant. Her dark brown hair was swept softly to one side and curled under her ear. She wore a pink and white cardigan sweater and a light pink shirt.

"You look so beautiful," I said.

"Thank you, and so do you. And this place!" She spun around, gazing excitedly at everything. She had arrived on one of our warmest early spring days. Flowers were blooming everywhere; the lawns had just been cut, and there was the wonderful scent of freshly trimmed grass. Just across the way the ocean was calm and glimmered like glass in the bright sunshine. "It's so beautiful here, and it's yours," she added, widening her eyes and squeezing my arm. "I want to see everything right away," she exclaimed. "Especially the chapel where you'll be married, and the ballroom and your wedding dress. Oh, I can't wait to see your wedding dress."

"The maid of honor is supposed to help plan my trousseau for the honeymoon," I told her. "My mother has given me specific instructions."

"I know." Trisha giggled, and grabbed my hand. "Come on, show me all of it."

It was like holding hands with a whirlwind. I no sooner brought her to one part of the hotel than she was crying for me to take her to another. She wanted to meet everyone we accosted and just had to know what each person's duties were. When I brought her to the kitchen, Nussbaum insisted she taste a new strudel he had concocted. Her eyes rolled, and she licked her lips with such emphasis, even he had to laugh.

Afterward I brought her up to my suite. On the way we stopped so she could meet Mother, who greeted her with such a haughty air that we looked at each other and swallowed our laughter. How she could put on that high-toned manner like a hat and then just as easily discard it. When we were-safely in the confines of my room Trisha and I burst into laughter.

"Oh, she's everything you described," Trisha said. "She reminded me of Agnes demonstrating how she played Queen Elizabeth in
Mary, Queen of Scots
."

I told her about Randolph and what to expect when she was introduced. She shook her head sadly.

Then I showed her my wedding dress, which she insisted I put on. Afterward we went through my wardrobe, planning my honeymoon trousseau as if each day were another act in a play. We giggled over the lingerie, especially the sheer nightgowns. While we chatted and plotted Trisha made me turn on the radio. I had been buried in my work and responsibilities so intently that I had lost track of what was popular.

For a while, laughing and renewing my friendship with Trisha made me feel young again. My baptism by fire in the hotel had aged me in ways I didn't appreciate or desire. I felt like the princess who was given a chance to be a real young girl before she had to be returned to the palace and behave as everyone expected royalty to behave. Trisha and I could moan and swoon over movie stars, thumb through fashion magazines and giggle and squeal over stories she related concerning boys we had both known at Sarah Bernhardt. Cautiously, we both skirted any reference to Michael Sutton, gingerly circling those days I spent with him and in his vocal class. We talked a blue streak until Sissy arrived with Christie.