Olivia

by V. C. Andrews

then plucked one of his cigars out of the case on the

  table beside him.

  "Are those Havana cigars, Mr. Gordon?" Peter

  asked as Daddy began to light it.

  Daddy raised his eyebrows.

  "What do you know about cigars?"

  "Not much, but my father smokes Havanas. I

  can get some for you," he added, his attempt to win

  favor blatantly obvious.

  "I'm quite capable of getting my own," Daddy

  replied sternly.

  "Are you here to visit Belinda or jabber with

  my father?" I asked them.

  Quin poked Peter with his elbow and the three

  followed me out of the study and to the stairway. "Normally, my parents don't approve of my

  sister having male visitors in her room," I said as I led

  them up. One of them snickered, but I didn't give him

  the satisfaction of showing I had heard.

  I paused outside Belinda's bedroom door and

  turned as the three gathered anxiously around me.

  What power did Belinda possess to cause young men

  to exhibit such enthusiasm and desire? I wondered.

  Was it simply her promiscuity or did she indeed have

  something extra, something I could never have,

  something given at birth, a quality of excitement, a

  promise that stirred their male hormones like witches

  stirred their brew.

  "Just a moment," I said. They were breathing

  down my neck in anticipation. If they were horses,

  they'd be choking on their bridles and snorting, I

  thought. I knocked.

  "Yes?" Belinda called.

  "You have visitors. Are you decent?" "Yes, Olivia. They can come in," she said and I

  opened the door.

  Anyone looking at Belinda now would surely

  challenge my report of her birthing. Even I had to

  admit I was impressed with how radiant she looked. I

  knew Carmelita hadn't been up here after breakfast, so

  it was clear Belinda had straightened up her room and

  opened the curtains wide to permit the soft, bright

  sunshine to come pouring through, making everything

  look clean and fresh.

  Belinda was wearing one of her sheerest

  nighties, the neckline of which dipped into her

  cleavage, revealing breasts well matured. With the

  blanket lowered, the contour of her breasts was all but

  fully revealed. She wore her well-brushed hair down

  to her shoulders. The strands turned up softly at the

  ends. Belinda always had richer looking hair than I,

  but she fussed with it far more than I bothered with

  my own. If she had her way, she would turn the walls

  of her room into mirrors. She never seemed to tire of

  looking at her own image.

  "Pull up your blanket or put on your robe," I ordered. She blushed and pulled the blanket against

  her chest quickly.

  "Now, who's come to see me?" she declared

  like some Southern belle.

  The three boys moved timidly into her room. "They claim they called you, so I don't know

  how you could wonder who it was, Belinda," I

  remarked. She ignored me and concentrated on them. "I brought you these," Arnold said quickly and

  thrust the bouquet of red roses toward her.

  "Oh, they're just beautiful, aren't they, Olivia?

  Can we find a vase for them?"

  "We?" I asked.

  She tilted her head with that childish grin. "Well, I don't think it would be proper for me to

  get out of bed myself," she said, her eyelids fluttering

  so emphatically, I thought she might fan herself up

  and off the bed.

  I grunted, stepped forward and took the

  flowers. There was a vase on the dresser. I went into

  the bathroom to fill it with water.

  "I hope you can have candy," I heard Peter

  Wilkes tell her.

  "Of course I can," Belinda said. "Olivia loves

  candy, too," she added loudly as I returned from the

  bathroom.

  "I certainly do not," I said. I put the vase down

  on her nightstand and stuffed the long-stem roses into

  it.

  Belinda giggled and began to open the box. She

  plucked a chocolate and held it between her lips,

  closing her eyes and moaning so lustfully, the three

  boys widened their own eyes and shifted about as

  though they were in torment.

  "Belinda, that's disgusting," I said. "If you're

  going to eat it, eat it. Don't salivate all over it first." She laughed and sucked in the round treat,

  offering the boys one. Each took a candy. I shook my

  head vigorously when she turned the box to me. "Can you please put it on my table, Olivia," she

  said.

  I sighed deeply, not hiding my annoyance. How

  had I suddenly become her maid? I wondered, but did

  as she had asked.

  "Tell me everything, everything I've missed and

  leave out nothing, no matter how small it seems to

  you," Belinda said clapping her hands and falling

  back on her large, fluffy pink pillow. Her hair fell

  around her face like a frame, bringing out the

  brightness in her eyes.

  "Arnold pitched a shutout yesterday to finish

  the baseball season;" Peter declared. "He went the full

  nine innings and gave up only three hits!"

  "Oh, don't start talking to me about sports. All I

  ever hear from you boys are scores and errors and

  double plays. It's boring."

  "Boring?" Peter said.

  Quin laughed.

  "Sure it is," he said. "Jock stuff is always

  boring." He leaned over the bed toward Belinda. "I

  wrote a new song for the band. We're calling it 'Take

  me to the Beach.' "

  "You must have them play it for me," Belinda

  said.

  "Sure. You'll come down to the garage as soon

  as you're well enough."

  "I'll be well enough Monday, won't I, Belinda?"

  "You look well enough right now," I said dryly. "Quin

  got caught smoking in the boys' room yesterday. He

  won't be in school on Monday," Arnold revealed with

  a gleeful smile.

  "Really! Tell me about it," Belinda said, sitting

  forward excitedly as though Quin had accomplished

  something significant in her absence.

  "Frog-eyes came in just after I lit up. He must have been watching me from his doorway, just looking for the opportunity. He's been after me ever since I wore those funny glasses and imitated him,

  remember?"

  "Of course I remember. That was so funny."

  When Belinda laughed, they all laughed.

  "And people wonder why I don't want to go

  into teaching," I muttered. They turned to me. "You said you didn't like Mr. Garner either

  when you were in high school, Olivia," Belinda said. "I said he wasn't very enthusiastic about his

  work, but I didn't say he was a frog."

  They all laughed again as if I had meant it to be

  funny.

  "Jerry gave Barbara a pretty expensive ring. It's

  the closest thing to an engagement ring," Peter

  continued. "He told me they intend to get married

  soon after graduation."

  "I already know about that. Marcia Gleason

  told me last night on the phone," Belinda said. "Suicide Jerry, that's what we call him," Quin


  said laughing.

  "Don't make fun of him," Belinda moaned as if

  she were seconds from bursting into tears. "He and

  Barbara are really in love. It's wonderful when you can find someone with whom to spend your whole life, someone who will care more about you than he

  does about himself, someone like my father." The three boys stopped smiling and accepted

  her rebuke. How she dangled them on strings, I

  thought, studying them each more closely. Who was

  the father of her dead fetus? Certainly not Peter

  Wilkes, unless Belinda got him to get her something

  expensive in a trade. She could do that, I thought. "Anyone else come down with the flu this

  week?" I inquired. One of them surely knew the truth

  about Belinda.

  Quin and Arnold looked at each other and then

  shook their heads.

  "I don't think so," Arnold said. "Bobby Lester

  was out, but he twisted his ankle at the game." "We only have a couple of weeks until finals.

  It's hard to miss class now," Peter said, "which

  reminds me, Belinda. Here are my notes from English

  literature class."

  "Oh, thank you, Peter. That's so sweet." "Sweeter than the candy?" I asked. Belinda

  laughed.

  "My sister is so funny sometimes," she

  explained. She took the notes and put them beside her.

  "I'll do some studying later."

  "That will be unusual," I remarked under my

  breath, but loud enough to be heard.

  "Olivia!"

  "You know you have to pass the final in

  English to graduate, Belinda."

  "You said you'd help me study," she whined.

  The boys looked from her to me to her as we spoke. "I will if you're serious about trying." "I am."

  "I'll come up and study with you this week,"

  Peter offered quickly.

  "That's very nice of you, Peter. See, someone

  cares about me," she cried with delight. Her eyes slid

  from one boy to the other, melting each one into a

  doting admirer as she passed her gaze like a

  benediction, turning them into worshipers in seconds.

  The sight disgusted me.

  Where were the real men of today? I couldn't

  imagine Daddy acting like this when he was their age. "I wish you had been at the game, Belinda.

  When I threw that last pitch . ."

  "There you go again, talking sports. If you don't

  stop, I'll close my eyes and fall asleep," she

  threatened.

  If the conversation didn't center around her, she

  wasn't interested.

  "I just wanted to say I was thinking of you. This

  one's for Belinda, I thought," Arnold told her. "Oh." She perked up, her dimple flashing.

  "Well that's different. You won because of me. I want

  everyone to know that," she declared. Arnold nodded

  like a soldier taking orders to go forth and bellow the

  news in the streets of Provincetown.

  "They asked my band to play at the graduation

  party on the beach," Quin blurted, attempting to win

  back her attention.

  "That's wonderful," Belinda cried.

  "Can I pick you up and take you to the party?"

  Arnold asked quickly.

  "I can get my father's Cadillac," Peter

  suggested. "I'll just come by with my motorcycle. You

  can watch us set up," Quin added.

  Belinda considered the offers and looked at me.

  "What would you do, Olivia?"

  "Walk," I said dryly.

  She broke into a long, loud laugh and clapped

  her hands.

  "Walk. I love it. Yes, who will walk with me?" "If that's what you want to do," Arnold said

  quickly. "I will."

  Maybe he was the father after all, I thought.

  She had denied it too quickly.

  "I'm not sure yet. I'll think about it," Belinda

  said coyly. She dangled her promise of acceptance

  like bait and the three stood there nibbling like poor

  dumb fish.

  I retreated to the corner of the room where I sat

  and watched and listened to them all go on and on

  about their plans for graduation night. There was an

  air of excitement about them that I longed to share. I

  hadn't attended any graduation parties when I had

  graduated. Daddy, Mother, Belinda and I simply went

  to have dinner in the Steak and Brew House.

  Afterward, I sat in my room and gazed out the

  window into the night, thinking about the bonfires on

  the beach, the music and the laughter I was not

  sharing. No one had asked me to go and I hated

  attending parties with my wallflower girlfriends. The

  worst thing was to stand around and hope some boy

  would show me some attention, as if I were a beggar

  looking for a handout of affection. I would never give

  any boy the satisfaction. If loneliness was the price to

  pay until someone right came along, than that was the

  price, I decided, and tried not to think about it. But it wasn't easy going to sleep and wondering

  what sort of man would come knocking on my door,

  bringing me boxes of candy and flowers and standing

  around anxiously, waiting for a compliment, a look of

  pleasure, a promise from my lips as did these three

  hovering over Belinda.

  "It's getting late," I finally announced. They all

  turned to me as if just realizing I was still there. "Yeah, I've got to get to a rehearsal," Quin said.

  "I hope you feel better," Arnold said.

  "Me too," Peter followed.

  Belinda sat forward, permitting the blanket to

  fall too low again. The three sets of eyes widened and

  held on the depth of her cleavage. I cleared my throat

  loudly and nodded at her and she pulled the blanket

  back up.

  "I'll call you tomorrow," Arnold promised. They all made the same promise and then

  started out. I followed them to the doorway and

  watched them descend the stairs before turning back

  to Belinda.

  "Wasn't that nice?" she asked.

  "Which one was it, Belinda?"

  "Pardon?"

  "You know what I mean. Who was the father?"

  She shook her head.

  "I told you. I don't know, Olivia. Besides,

  Daddy said we shouldn't talk about it anymore," she

  cried, turning her face to the pillow.

  "Was it one of them? It was, wasn't it?" "Please, Olivia."

  "Does he know, whoever it is? Does he know

  what happened in this room?"

  "Stop it, Olivia." She put her hands over her

  ears. "I won't listen to you."

  I closed in on her.

  "Did you call him and tell him what went on,

  what your father had to do? Did you?"

  "No. I don't know who I would call, I told you." "Disgusting, Belinda. It's disgusting enough to

  do what you did, but to not know . . ."

  She started to cry.

  "I'm going to get sick again and I won't be able

  to return to school," she threatened.

  "Won't that be a great loss for the school," I

  muttered.

  I left her sniffling and went downstairs to find

  Daddy. He was in his office filing some papers. It was

  where he kept all our personal tax documents and

  family papers. He turned from the cabinet when I

>   entered.

  "Don't you think that was nervy, coming here

  like that, Daddy? Surely, one of them . . ."

  "Don't, Olivia," he said, holding up his hand.

  "We've put it out of mind."

  "I know, Daddy. I'm just . . . so angry at her for

  what she's done," I said.

  "Yes, I know, but you've got to look after her,

  Olivia. We've learned that lesson."

  Why Daddy tolerated weakness in Belinda and

  no one else, including my mother, was a question that

  stuck like a bone in my throat.

  "I'm depending on you to watch over her," he

  said. "She'll listen to you."

  "She hasn't up until now, Daddy. That's been

  proven in a terrible way."

  "I know, but I believe she will change," he

  insisted.

  I stared at him a moment and he had to shift his

  eyes from mine, something he rarely did. We had an

  unspoken but realized connection, an understanding,

  Daddy and I. We knew we couldn't lie to each other. He was lying to me right now and he knew I

  knew it. He didn't really believe Belinda could

  change.

  Why was he lying?

  My anger at Belinda expanded like a balloon

  filling with hate because she was making Daddy lie. Someday, I vowed, she would understand and

  appreciate what she has done and she will beg

  forgiveness. In my heart, however, I believed it would

  be too late for me to grant it.

  Remarkably, Belinda passed her finals in

  English, just barely and with a great deal of tutoring. I

  had the distinct impression, however, that she also got

  a little help from her teachers, maybe because of

  Daddy's position in the community. During the week

  before the graduation ceremony, Mother asked Daddy

  to take us to Boston to find a nice dress for Belinda.

  She wanted her to look special. It was as if Mother

  had discovered a way to compensate for the terrible

  thing that had occurred: to dwell on Belinda's

  festivities so intensely there was no time to think

  about or remember anything else. In one spending

  spree, she would wipe away the dark clouds that clung

  to the corners of our home. There would be no

  shadows, no reminders, nothing but bright and happy

  things. Daddy seemed more than eager to please her

  and follow her lead to the world of "see no evil, hear

  no evil."

  At the last moment Mother decided to outdo

  even herself and have a designer come to our home

  and create an original dress for Belinda to wear. The

  cost would easily be three times as expensive as an