Black Cat

by V. C. Andrews

  Before we went to the drugstore-, we went to the mall. It was a Saturday so it was busy. What surprised me most was how many teenagers and young people were there simply to hang about and socialize. I stole looks at them, feeling like a visitor from Mars. Could they see something different in me? Like Noble. I was so interested in everything about them, the way they talked, touched each other, horsed around, laughed, and especially what the girls were wearing.

  I'm sure it was just my imagination, but it seemed that everyone was looking at us no matter where we went. Mama seemed pleased about the attention, which was another thing that surprised me. She used to complain about the "gawking eyes of stupid people" who saw us as a curiosity and whispered behind our backs. She never smiled back at anyone, not the way she was doing now.

  We ran into some of her herbal-remedy customers, and as she had predicted, the news of her engagement to Mr. Fletcher was already a headline on the front pages of gossip. I saw the way women like Mrs. Paris congratulated her, her eyes mainly on Baby Celeste, searching for resemblances to Mr, Fletcher. As we walked away, I looked back and saw Mrs. Paris, Mrs. Walker. and Miss Shamus with their heads together, their tongues wagging. There was no doubt about what they were speaking. However, when I looked at Mama, she was beaming. Not only didn't it bother her, but it was obviously what she had wanted.

  We bought Baby Celeste a new pink-and-white dress with a frilly hem and collar, light blue socks, and matching shoes. Mama wanted her to wear it all right now, too. After that we went to one of the bigger department stores and she bought herself a light Vneck sweater, another skirt, another pair of shoes, and a silk scarf. Then she had me get some new pants, a few more shirts, and a pair of the newer sports shoes so I would "look more in style." The salesman remarked about how small my shoe size was. I looked at Mama, but she didn't change expression, even when he went to shoes for much younger boys.

  Afterward, she paused at the window of a more upscale men's clothing store and decided we should look for a suit for me to wear at her wedding. I was nervous trying on jackets with a salesman hovering about me. but Mama kept him busy finding matching ties, a formal shirt, and some socks. In the end she decided on a dark blue suit and told the salesman she would handle the alterations herself.

  Once that was all done, we had some lunch, and then, as she had promised, she drove to the drugstore where Mr. Fletcher worked as the pharmacist. He was behind the counter filling prescriptions, but as soon as we entered, the store manager came over to us to congratulate Mama. His name was Larry Jones and he was no more than thirty or so. I wondered how he knew who Mama was, but the moment we approached the drug counter. I discovered the answer. There in a silver frame was a picture of Mr. Fletcher and Mama, a picture taken on their overnight trip. They were in the rowboat and he had his arm around her shoulders. She had a red rose in her hair.

  I looked at her to see if she was displeased, but she was happy to see it there.

  "Sarah." Mr. Fletcher called out as soon as he saw us. He mumbled something to an assistant and quickly came around the counter.

  In front of everyone, customers, salespeople, the manager, and me, he hugged Mama and kissed her on the cheek.

  "What a wonderful surprise!" he declared loud enough for the whole store to hear. "Hi, Noble. And Celeste, Look how pretty you are:'

  Mama deliberately handed her to him and he held her in his arms the way he would if he were truly her father.

  "We just came from the mall. This is a new outfit," Mama told him. "She's beautiful." Mr. Fletcher said,

  As if she had rehearsed her part well. Baby Celeste threw her arms about his neck and he laughed. The on-lookers now had no doubt that he was her father. Mama had pinned him to the bulletin board of scandal and rumor for all to see and prattle.

  He reached onto the counter and got Baby Celeste a lollipop. Before he handed it to her. however, he checked with Mama. I thought she would say no for sure. We had no candy in our home and never had since Daddy 's death. Once again, she surprised me by nodding her approval.

  After he unwrapped it for Baby Celeste and gave it to her, he glanced at me and then at Mama, his eyes urging her to move away from nosy onlookers. She sensed something was wrong. Her eyebrows lifted.

  "What is it, Dave?"

  "Betsy," he said softly, and handed Baby Celeste back to Mama.

  She immediately put her down and told me to watch her while she and Mr. Fletcher walked to the side to talk in private. I wanted to watch them and try to listen in, but a saleslady came over and began to talk with Baby Celeste. She took her to the toy section so I had to follow.

  A few minutes later I heard Mama say, "We have to be going now."

  She was standing behind me. Mr. Fletcher had returned to the pharmacy counter. He waved to me and I waved back. Mama already had Baby Celeste in her arms and was heading out the door. The way she was marching with her shoulders stiff and her head high told me she was upset. She said nothing until we had the baby in her seat and had driven away from the drugstore.

  "What was wrong?" I finally asked.

  "Betsy is coming home tomorrow." Mama turned to me, her face flushed. "She's coming home to talk him out of selling their house and marrying me, not that she can. The little bitch." she spit. "No wonder she has so many worthless boyfriends. Every time she's with one long enough, he dumps her. Of all the selfish...."

  "What's Mr. Fletcher going to do?"

  "Dave. Call him Dave. Stop calling him Mr. Fletcher!" Mama screamed at me. "He's going to be your stepfather."

  "I'm sorry," I muttered, and quickly turned away from her raging eyes.

  "You're stony." She fumed a few moments. "What do you think he's going to do? I'll tell you what he's going to do. He's going to finally put her in her place. He promised me he would be more stern with her." she said, but not with as much confidence as I expected. "Oh, he's suffering from the usual guilty conscience, blaming himself for how she's turned out. She takes advantage of that guilty feeling he has. She's smart, the conniving little creature, and knows how to manipulate him. She's been doing it for years and years. He gives her whatever she wants, and if he puts up some argument, she wails about how he drove her mother away, how he was too occupied to give her and Elliot the attention they needed. She's good at it. I'm sure. From the way he describes her, I can see she can give Satan himself lessons. Wait until she's living in my house. Things will change and quickly. too."

  "She's going to move in with us?"

  "What are you talking about? Of course she's moving in with us. I just told you she's returning after another disastrous love affair and I've told you how Dave is selling his home. Once we're married, she will be with us as well. Whether she likes it or not, she's going to be part of the family. Believe me, I don't relish the thought, but it is what has to be for now."

  "What do you mean for now, Mama?"

  She turned and gazed at me a moment and then looked forward. "I would assume that someday she will be on her own, that she might find some poor fool, some idiot, to marry her, but until then, we'll have to deal with the problem, for that is all she is to me, a problem.

  "Of course," she continued. "she blames Elliot's death on Dave as well."

  "She does? Why?"

  "Same thing. He didn't provide enough attention, take enough interest in him, left him in harm's way. Whatever reason she can invent, she'll use. Its part of what she does to manipulate him, only this time... this time she is up against far more than poor Dave," Mama vowed, "It won't take her long to see that and shell change her tune."

  The very thought of her coming to live with us made me shudder. Too well I recalled the time Elliot talked me into spying on her through a hole in the wall in his room. It was something I did after he and I had first met and he still thought I was going to become one of his new buddies. I was afraid to resist the invitation, and at the same time I had to admit to myself that I had a eat curiosity, a longing, to observe a girl like Betsy and see her durin
g her most private moments.

  At the time she was the sexiest girl I had ever seen. Buxom with pretty hair, she had a rounder face than Elliot with small, brown eyes and a weak mouth that drooped in the corners. giving her a habitual look of disgust when she was with Elliot and her father. However, I couldn't help being fascinated with her clothes, her makeup, the way she walked and spoke.

  It was after I had seen her naked in her room, experimenting with her makeup and hair. that I had gone into Mama's room and first used her makeup. I recalled it now as if it were just hours ago when I had done it.

  I had opened one of her lipstick tubes. It had looked all right so I had brought it to my lips and carefully traced along, pressing my lips together and then padding them the way I had seen Betsy do it in her room. The sight of bright red lips on my face made me smile. Encouraged. I had opened one of the jars of cream and rubbed it into my cheeks and under my lower lip, around my chin. My fingers were rough against my face. so I had to rub gently.

  After that, I had opened one of the cakes of makeup and begun to experiment with color the way I had seen Betsy do it. Once I had finished that. I found an eye-lash brush and started to darken mine. I was nearly finished doing that when I heard Mama's shrill scream. I had been so involved in it all that I hadn't heard her coming up the stairway. She was standing in the doorway watching me, her eyes wide with honor. 'She looked as if she might pull the hair out of her head.

  Just like this recent event, she accused me of being contaminated, and soon after that she decided it was Cleo's fault. Betsy Fletcher had brought me only bad luck. I had no doubt she would do it again. She had only disdain for me and I had no respect for her. How could we ever coexist in the same house? How could I ever pretend she was part of my family? Why wasn't Mama worried about that?

  Sometimes, even now, when I recalled the sensuous way Betsy touched herself and gazed at her body. I would touch myself. The tingling I felt surging through me frightened and yet delighted me. If I longed for it too much. I pressed my face into my pillow as hard as I could. I would hold my breath while I chased away the images and visions. But just like what had happened after I had seen Mama and Mr. Fletcher kiss so romantically, it was impossible to stop the dreams, dreams in which I felt lips on mine, hands on my breasts, and dreams in which I recited pages and pages of wonderful romance.

  Betsy would surely rekindle that in inc.

  Her being with us won't be pleasant for me. Mama," I muttered almost under my breath as these thoughts flowed through my mind.

  "It doesn't have to be pleasant for you," she retorted. She smiled to herself. "It just has to be. That's all. The rest will take care of itself.

  Her self-confidence, which was normally reassuring for me, wasn't this time. If she saw any anxiety on my face, she ignored it. but I couldn't help thinking about all the responsibility I would soon be carrying on my shoulders. Betsy would snoop. Betsy would do her best to make us look bad to her father. Was this all just another great test?

  I felt as if I were standing at the base of a mountain and an avalanche of unhappiness was tumbling down at me. I couldn't stop it and I might not be able to get out of its way.

  Mama gazed into the rearview mirror at Baby Celeste, who still sucked on the lollipop. "Wasn't she just marvelous all day?" Mama looked at me. "-Wasn't she?"

  "Yes."

  "Yes." Mama nodded. "Yes. The looks an all their faces when they saw her was priceless."

  The outing was obviously a big success for Mama. but I felt like someone waiting for the next shoe to drop.

  9

  Princess Betsy

  .

  The second shoe drop came in the form of

  Betsy. Two days later Mr. Fletcher (I still couldn't get used to calling him Dave) brought her to the house. When I saw her, the look on her face revealed that he had practically dragged her. I saw them drive up and saw how she remained in the car until he opened the passenger side door and ordered her out. I was in the field where I had just put in some late-summer plants. I stood up and watched them walk toward the front door. Betsy lagging behind with her head down. Wiping my hands on a rag. I started for the house. too.

  The afternoon sun had fallen behind some rather thick clouds the color of wood ashes. Shadows were cast over the house like a net woven out of darkness. I rolled my sleeves down as I walked. I was nervous about being face-to-face with Betsy. but I knew Mama would be angry if I wasn't there to greet our new "princess," as she had been referring to her the past forty-eight hours. When I stepped in, I found them still standing in the hallway.

  Betsy had her head down with her shoulders hoisted and her arms crossed over her breasts. She wore a pair of ragged-looking jeans with the threads parting in the seat of it just under her left cheek, a faded blue T-shirt with the word Dead still legible, but the rest of it not, and a pair of what were once white tennis shoes, but were now more gray and scuffed. She wore no socks.

  Mama was standing across from her. and Ms. Fletcher was on the other side looking at her hard, his eyes full of disappointment and anger. I had obviously already missed the opening blast of unpleasantness.

  "I said," Mr. Fletcher punched out at her. "this is Sarah. You know how to say a proper hello. Betsy."

  "Hello." she mumbled, then turned to look at me. Her eyes narrowed in a scrutinizing way that made me fidget inside.

  She looked different from the last time I had seen her close up. Her face had thinned out and appeared longer, her nose sharper. She wore no makeup, not even lipstick, but her cheeks were flush, bringing a crimson tint to the area just below her hazel brown eyes. As she brought her arms down, she cupped them into fists and pressed them against her thighs. She wore no bra and her full bosom pressed her well-out-lined nipples against the thin. worn Tshirt. Whatever she had been through to cause her to lose weight actually made her look more curvy and attractive.

  She smirked and then softened her smug aria into a coy smile. "So this is my new baby brother. huh?"

  "Noble is hardly a baby," Mama said. "He has many important responsibilities on the farm and he carries them out efficiently."

  Betsy didn't look at her. She kept her eyes on me. I felt like a deer caught in the headlights and looked quickly to Mama.

  "Noble." She nodded toward Betsy. Her expression urged me to greet her, "Hi," I said. "Welcome."

  "Yes, that's right. We want to welcome you. Betsy," Mama said with a waxy smile. "and show you where your new room will be."

  "New." she spit disdainfully. She gazed about her. "This is hardly what I would call new. It's probably older than the dump we have now."

  "As a matter of fact it is," Mama said, undaunted. "And it has lots more history to it as "Whoop-de-do," Betsy said. "We're moving into a museum. That's just great."

  Her father was glaring at her with such anger and distaste, I thought he might just swing out and strike her squarely in the center of that disrespectful smirk. Instead, he pulled back on the reins of his temper and smiled at Mama.

  "Showing Betsy around would be very nice of you. Sarah. Thank you."

  "Why can't I just stay in our home until it's sold?" Betsy moaned.

  "We've been through this. Betsy," Mr. Fletcher said through his clenched teeth. "I've got the furniture placed and I want the house kept immaculate for real estate showings. As a matter of fact. Sarah" -- he turned back to Mama-- "we've got a showing tomorrow. A couple from New York City who are looking for a vacation spot, weekends and summer. They are already interested from just riding by."

  "Some vacation they'll have in that rat tap," Betsy said. and turned to me to get some agreement. I didn't change expression, which tightened her lips and sent her looking elsewhere. She folded her arms across her breasts again and looked as if she had planted her feet in cement.

  "Well, we've all got to learn how to appreciate the little we have," Mama said. "What you think is a rat trap might look like a palace to the couple coming to view it."

  "A palace?" B
etsy laughed. "They'd have to be comin' a from a slum."

  "Your father actually fixed that old home up very nicely." Mama insisted, "So then maybe we should stay there," Betsy retorted. She was not going to be intimidated easily, not even under Mama's cold eyes and controlled fury.

  Mama simply stared at her a moment, then turned and smiled at Mr. Fletcher. "Shall we take the tour?"

  "Please." He reached out to take Betsy's arm, but she pulled back, glanced at me, and reluctantly followed them through the hallway, stopping at the living room.

  "Who plays the piano?" Betsy asked.

  "Sarah, and she plays beautifully,"

  "You mean Noble isn't efficient at that?" Betsy asked with a laugh. No one responded.

  "Daddy hasn't stopped talking about all you do." she told me.

  "And none of it is an exaggeration," Mr. Fletcher said, nodding at me.

  Betsy raised her eves toward the ceiling "My father was always quicker at finding the good things in other people's children than he was in me or my brothel..."

  "Betsy!"

  "Forget it," she said with a shrug. "Let's continue the tour."

  They looked in at the dining room and she complained that theirs was bigger and they at least had a nice big window.

  "This is like having to eat in a railroad car," she muttered loud enough for all to hear. "Hardly," Mama said. "And I'm sure you'll have better meals than you've had lately." "I second that," Mr. Fletcher said. "I've had some of the best meals of my life here."