Rain

by V. C. Andrews

  She turned to Mama.

  "Mrs. Arnold?"

  "Yes," Mama said.

  For a moment the two women just drank each other in. To Mama's credit, she didn't appear intimidated or insecure.

  "I'm Megan Hudson Randolph," my real mother said. She turned to me.

  "This here's your daughter, Rain," Mama said. "Say hello to your real mama, honey."

  "Hello," I said, my throat so tight, I thought I would gag.

  My mother put her jeweled purse on the table and waited for the waiter to pull out her seat.

  "Good afternoon, Mrs. Randolph," he said.

  "Please get me a Chopin vodka and club with a twist of lime, Maurice," she commanded with the tone of someone who desperately needed a drink. She looked at Mama. "Did you want to order something to drink, some wine perhaps?"

  "We've got water," Mama said nodding at the glass of water.

  "Fine. That will be it, Maurice."

  "Merci, Mrs. Randolph," the waiter said and hurried off to do her bidding.

  Although I knew I was being rude, I couldn't take my eyes off her. She had perfect skin, rich with a tint of apricot in her high cheekbones and a slight dimple on the left side of her jaw. Gold teardrop earrings hung from her lobes, each earring with a tiny diamond in the center. When she put her hands on the table, I saw the biggest diamond ring I had ever seen. From advertisements in magazines, I knew her watch was a Rolex.

  "Let me begin by telling you, Mrs. Arnold, that if you called me as part of what I'm sure was your husband's attempt to extort more money from my family, you're ..."

  "I don't want any of your money. I curse the day we took one cent and the truth is, I never saw much of it and neither did Rain," Mama shot back at her. "I didn't need a bribe to take in this child," she added nodding at me.

  My mother looked at me again, this time permitting herself a longer gaze. Her lips softened.

  "You're very pretty," she commented, finally addressing me directly.

  "And very smart," Mama said. "She gets A's all the time."

  My mother's smile widened. She looked down at the table and shook her head.

  "Well, there's no genetic resemblance there. I barely got through my Bachelors of Arts program," she said. She took a deep breath.

  The waiter brought her drink and she seized it and took a long sip. Then she nodded at the menus.

  "Let's order something to eat."

  Mama finally showed some lack of confidence. "What are you going to have, Rain?" she asked.

  "You'll like the crevettes an safron, Mama," I said.

  "I will?"

  "Do you know what that is?" my mother asked.

  "Shrimp in saffron sauce," I replied.

  Her eyebrows lifted.

  "I took French as my language elective," I said. "I told you she was smart," Mama bragged.

  "I'm not sure about the entree below it," I admitted. "I know canard is duck but the rest..."

  "That's a raspberry sauce. It's my favorite," my mother said. "Is that what you'd like?"

  "Yes," I said.

  She called the waiter and gave him our order.

  "Well," she said sitting back and contemplating Mama, "you got me here, Mrs. Arnold. You have the floor."

  "The floor?"

  "She means tell her what you want from her, Mama," I said softly.

  "Oh." Mama looked at me and then at her. She shook her shoulders and straightened her back like a proud hen, something she usually did when she was about to make some dramatic statements. "I know you don't know anything about us and about what kind of life Rain's had all these years. I did the best I could with what I had. I had two other children, a son and then after Rain came to us, a daughter. Beni," My mother said. "Named after my mother Beneatha."

  "Is that so?" my mother said squirming with boredom. She nodded and smiled at someone across the room and then took another sip of her drink.

  "Yes, only my Beni was murdered a few weeks ago," Mama shot back.

  My mother nearly choked on her drink. She put the glass down and wiped her mouth quickly.

  "Murdered?"

  "Where we live, that isn't so unusual," Mama said. "Lots of times it doesn't even make the newspapers."

  "I'm sorry. What a horrible thing. Was the killer caught?"

  "No. He died himself from drugs, but that doesn't matter. It didn't bring Beni back. Anyway, my son Roy, he's going into the army, and Ken, the man your daddy paid, the man who's never been much of a father or a husband, lost his job again and gets drunk most of the time. I'm throwing him out."

  "I see." She shifted in her seat as if she were sitting on a pea. "I'm sorry about all this, but I don't see..."

  "I can't do it any more," Mama wailed. "With my husband gone, my son in the army, my youngest murdered, I can't do it any more," she concluded, raising her voice enough to make my mother look around to be sure we weren't attracting undue attention.

  "Please, Mrs. Arnold. Let's keep our conversation at this table," she said.

  "I don't care who hears me," Mama snapped.

  "Well if you don't want any money, then what is it you want from me?" my mother asked petulantly.

  "What I want?" Mama sat back. "What I want? I want you to take responsibility for your own flesh and blood. That's what I want," Mama said sharply.

  For a moment my mother just stared at her. She gazed quickly at me and then back at Mama.

  "Take responsibility?" She shook her head. "I don't understand."

  "What's there to understand? She's your daughter. You're the one brought her into this world. It's time you took over."

  "You expect me to take her into my home?"

  "Don't you care? Look at her," Mama said nodding at me. "She's your real daughter. Doesn't blood mean anything to you people?"

  My mother started to speak and then stopped as the waiter arrived with our food. She sat back and watched him serve us. Mama gazed at her food and looked up at me with a confused smile on her face.

  "This sure doesn't look like any shrimp I've eaten before," she said.

  "You'll find it delicious," my mother commented with a twist of her lips.

  "Will there be anything else, Mrs. Randolph?" the waiter asked.

  "No. Merci, Maurice," she said. She leaned forward on her elbows, glanced at me and then at Mama. "Let me understand what you're saying, Mrs. Arnold. You want to give her back to me now, after all these years?"

  "She's a good girl and a beautiful girl. Anyone would want her for a daughter. She hasn't ever given me any trouble," Mama said.

  "I believe that. However, this is ..." She shook her head and smiled. "This is incredible. How do I even know she's who you say she is?"

  "Mama, let's go," I said. Those words stung.

  "No," Mama snapped. "How do you even know?" Mama smiled coldly. "You know. Look at her. You know," Mama said firmly, nodding. "I'm not a stupid woman, Mrs. Randolph. I'm poor but I'm not stupid. There's medical ways to prove it and you know there is. If we have to do that, we will," she

  threatened.

  "Mama."

  "Now just a minute, Mrs. Arnold..."

  "What do you want me to do, make some announcement in the papers, embarrass all of us?" "This is blackmail," my mother said angrily.

  "I told you I don't want any of your money. I'm trying to save this girl's life. You think you'd be glad of that. If she stays where she is now she'll get into some trouble sooner or later. I made up my mind I'm not going to let that happen. "Are you going to tell me all these years, you never wondered about her, never thought about her?"

  My mother sat back and looked at me. I couldn't help but fill my face with the same question.

  "It's not that I don't want anything to do with her," she said in softer tones. "Of course I've thought about her, but my husband doesn't even know about this. When he asked who your husband was and why he was calling and asking for me or my father, I told him I had no idea."

  "How come he didn't ask your fat
her then?" Mama wondered.

  "My father died two years ago," she said.

  "Well, then maybe you should tell your husband now."

  "I can't do that. We have two other children. My husband's an important attorney. He's going to run for political office in the near future. This would just break him. No," she said shaking her head

  emphatically, "it's all out of the question. I can get you some money, perhaps."

  "Money," Mama spit. "You people use it like Band-Aids. Don't you ever think about the pain you're causing? Money," she said. Mama looked at her food and then she rose from her chair and stood as firm as a statue while she gazed down at my real mother.

  "I don't have anything compared to you, Mrs. Randolph. What you're wearing might pay our rent for a year. That fancy pocketbook probably cost as much as we spend all year on food. I'm ashamed of where I am now. I'm ashamed of my life and I'm afraid for this girl your daddy handed over to us like some sort of packaged goods. I was hoping you had an ounce of charity or love in you. This girl doesn't belong in a ghetto. She doesn't belong in harm's way, and not because she has your blood. Your blood isn't any better than mine. She's a real good girl, smart and pretty. She deserves better than I can give her. I was hoping once you set eyes on her, you'd see that too and you'd feel something in here," she said putting her hand over her left breast. "I guess you aren't the woman I hoped you'd be. Come along, Rain," she ordered and I stood.

  I gazed once at my beautiful mother. She was a stranger and yet there was something in her eyes that attracted me, some warm flow of energy that made me hesitate for a moment before starting away with Mama.

  "Wait," my mother said.

  Mama hesitated.

  "Please, sit and have your lunch. I have a possible solution," she added. "Please," she pleaded when Mama still hesitated.

  Mama lifted her chin and looked down skeptically, but then she returned to her seat. I noticed how we had attracted the attention of almost every table around us.

  "That shrimp is really delicious. You should eat some of it."

  "I'm not really hungry," Mama said but she poked a fork into one and tasted it. She couldn't hide her pleasant surprise. "What's your possible solution?" she asked finally after a few more bites.

  "As I told you, my father died recently. My mother needs someone to live with her. She's not very well. My younger sister Victoria and my mother don't get along and Victoria, who isn't married, won't live with her. Mother is a stubborn woman and insists on being independent anyway. She barely tolerates the maids and I'm usually replacing them regularly because they can't deal with her. I'd like someone to be there with her.

  "It's a big house with plenty of room," she continued. "I'll even put her in private school nearby. It's all just outside of Richmond."

  "You want her to live with your mother instead of you?" Mama asked, incredulous.

  "She'll be out of the world you call hell."

  "What are you going to tell your mother?"

  "My mother knows the truth. She'll understand and keep discreet. However, as I said, no one else in my family does. Victoria knows nothing and I'd like to keep it that way for now," my mother added.

  "Even your husband?" Mama asked. "You'll still keep him in the dark, too?"

  "Yes," my mother insisted. "It's best, believe me. I mean, she's a beautiful girl and I can see she's bright, but it's not something he would understand."

  "And then what?" Mama asked. "What about after?"

  "We'll see. Let's just take it a step at a time. I'll get the information to you and send someone around to take her."

  I wanted to scream. Not once had my mother asked me a question directly, or even called me by my name. I was supposed to put my life in the hands of this woman?

  "Mama," I said softly, shaking my head.

  "She's right, Rain. It's a way out for you, child."

  "I don't want to go to some snobby school," I said. It was as if Beni had whispered in my ear.

  "Hush up, child. It may be a snobby school but it will be clean and safe."

  "I don't have the kind of clothes I need to go to school like that, Mama"

  Mama looked troubled by that and turned to my mother.

  "I can fix that. Meet me at Saks tomorrow and I'll get you what you need. I'll be there at three. Here's the address," she said opening her jeweled purse and plucking out a card. "I have a personal salesperson. That's her name. Just ask for her if you get there before I do."

  I stared at the card she held toward me.

  "You really want me to live with your mother?" I asked, still shocked by the speed with which events were occurring. My mother didn't look at me.

  She turned to Mama to reply.

  "It's the best I can do," she said.

  "I'm sure it is," Mama said shaking her head. "And that's the pity of it."

  My mother put the card down in front of me. Then she rose and grasped her purse.

  "I'll take care of the bill on the way out," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow, Rain," she added, turning to me. We watched her walk away.

  "I want to stay with you, Mama," I said immediately. "Not with some strange old lady even if she is my grandmother."

  "You go where your blood takes you," Mama muttered. At least know you'll be safe and out of hell's kitchen; and you know you'll get the best. If you can't do this for yourself, at least do it for me."

  She took another bite of her entree.

  "This isn't all that bad," she said, "but why don't they just name it what it is instead of using all those fancy words?"

  "Mama. Who named me Rain? Was that her doing?"

  "No," Mama said. "She never give you anything before this, honey. Not your name, nothing. Except the blood running through your veins, and whether she knows it or not, or you know it now, someday, that's going to count for something.

  "Someday," Mama said, her eyes filling with some deep wisdom I might never understand.

  Or maybe, I'd never want to understand.

  Only time itself knew that answer.

  9

  A Whole New World

  .

  Defeat like some dark blue liquid stain

  darkened Roy's face when he heard what Mama had arranged for me. He listened, his head bowed, his eyes haunted with pain. When he spoke, his voice was merely a whisper.

  "That's good," he said even though I knew his heart was being shredded. "I'm leaving in a week and I won't be around here to protect you."

  "There," Mama said as if that was all the confirmation she needed to be sure she was doing the right thing.

  " These people are strangers to me, Roy," I said. "My real mother still wants the truth kept secret. What kind of an alternative is that?"

  He raised his head and gazed at Mama before looking at me. I had the suspicion they might have discussed this plan before Mama even told me.

  "Just think of it like you're going away to school or something," he said. "I'll come by first chance I get and someday soon we'll all be together again."

  "Sure," Mama followed, practically jumping on his optimistic words. "That's a good way to think on it. You listen to your brother," she ordered. "He's a sensible young man, always was. The only thing he inherited from that no-good father of his is his good looks. Ken was a handsome man once," she added reluctantly. She was at the point where she didn't want to say anything nice about him.

  "I'm far from handsome, Mama," Roy corrected.

  "Don't you tell me what's handsome and what isn't. I'm not that far gone yet," she quipped. Roy laughed.

  She was doing her best to keep up all our spirits. "When are you leaving?" Roy asked me.

  "She's going shopping with her mama tomorrow and then the day after they're coming for her," Mama volunteered.

  "I'm never going to think of her as being my mama," I vowed.

  "That's something she'll have to face and change," Mama said. "If you want, you'll find a way to give her a chance."

  "No," I fired back.
"Roy's right. I'm going to think of this as just going away to school and nothing more," I insisted.

  Mama shrugged.

  "Long as you're gone from these here streets, you can call it what you want," she said.

  Then she started cooking as special a dinner as she could manage for us, her stuffed pork chops. Both Roy and I watched her try to drum up good feelings and happiness at the events that were about to take charge of our lives. We both knew she was battling inside herself, the sadness rushing at her dam of happiness and relief, threatening to sweep over it all and send her into a deep depression. Roy smiled at me when Mama turned on the radio and sang along with the music. For a few moments of time, we were thrown back to happier days, a time in our lives when there was still hope and we were all dreamers. Back then we even permitted Ken to draw up fantasies and listened attentitively to his plans of starting his own business, moving us to the suburbs, buying a new automobile, taking vacations, becoming part of the America we saw every night in television

  commercials, an America with healthy children and happy-go-lucky families. For us television was a window on a Wonderland, the place where dreams come true.

  At dinner Roy talked about where he was going to boot camp and what he hoped to accomplish.

  "I want to get into electronics so when I come out I can get a good job," he said. "I hope I get to travel a little too, and see something else beside dumps and slums."

  "You just don't volunteer to go into any fighting," Mama warned.

  Roy laughed.

  "You don't volunteer in the army, Mama. You're ordered to volunteer."

  He talked about some of his friends who had joined and what they had told him about it. I never saw him talk so much, in fact. I thought he was doing it to keep us from having those long periods of silence when we were left at the mercy of our own bleak thoughts. Music, conversation, good food and the clatter of preparing, eating and cleaning up kept the three of us from talking about all the scary tomorrows that were about to begin. Once in a while, we heard footsteps in the hallways and paused to see if Ken was going to come through the door. Mama had a frying pan she vowed she was going to use to drive him back out.