"Let's go," I ordered. "Now."
"Well then, fine," Belinda said taking the other suitcase in hand. "I certainly don't want to stay here a moment more than I have to," she quipped as if she were the one who had demanded to leave.
Mrs. Landford followed us out the side door. Daddy was sitting in the car, staring ahead. When he saw us coming, he jumped out quickly and opened the trunk. I handed him the first suitcase.
"Hi, Daddy," Belinda said handing him the other. He said nothing. He took it and then the bags Mrs. Landford was carrying.
"Get in the back, Belinda," he ordered and she did so, pausing before she closed the door and turning to Mrs. Landford.
"Good-.bye, Mrs. Landford. I'm sorry if I caused you any embarrassment."
"If?" I said. "If'?"
Belinda widened her smile and got into the car.
"Good luck, dear," Mrs. Landford told me, squeezed my hand and returned to the dormitory. I turned to Daddy, half expecting him to go into some sort of rage, but he just shook his head.
"Let's just go," he said and hurried around to get into the car.
He didn't say a word until we left the grounds and were heading for the highway.
"So, Belinda, are you satisfied?" he asked.
"I hated that place, Daddy. I told you I did. I don't care about being expelled."
"How could you . . ." He stopped himself and pressed his lips together as if he had to lock the words back into his throat.
"What were you thinking, Belinda?" I asked. "Didn't you care what this would do to our family's reputation? No matter what, this is going to get out. The other girls will tell their families and friends."
"They're no better. They're all a bunch of stuffy snobs, but they all do things, too. They just don't get caught," she said in her own defense.
"Right. I'm sure they're all exactly like you," I commented dryly.
"Well, they are!"
"Never mind," Daddy finally said. "I don't want your mother knowing about this. When we get home, you'll simply tell her . . you were unhappy there."
"That's not a lie," Belinda followed.
"Of course it's a lie," I charged. "It's not why you're being brought home."
"Well, you lie sometimes, Olivia. You're not a perfect angel," she wailed.
"The difference, Belinda, is you're comfortable with a lie." I turned and looked back at her. "I'm not. Your life is practically one big fat lie."
"I knew it. I knew you'd hate me now," she moaned. "Just stop the car and let me out on the road somewhere. I'll find a new home and a new family."
"To terrorize and destroy?" I asked.
"No. Just stop the car!"
"Let's not do this," Daddy said. "It only prolongs the agony and we've got to think about your mother, Olivia. Please."
"Sure," I said. "Let's sweep something else under the carpet and let her get away with another gross act. We're not doing her any good, Daddy," I insisted.
"I'll take care of it," he said. It was an empty promise.
I could almost hear the echo inside it. But I let him hold on to it, and I simply stared out the window most of the way home. Belinda fell asleep in the back, a tight smile of content and satisfaction on her face. Once again, she had gotten what she had wanted.
Whether Mother could see through the falsehoods or not, she went along with it. She even felt sorry for poor Belinda, who ate up the sympathy, milking the situation and taking advantage until I glared so angrily at her, she stopped and went to her room. The next day Daddy concluded that the only thing to do, at least for the time being, was to find her something to do at the office.
"At least we'll be able to keep an eye on her most of the time that way," he reasoned. I joined him in his den without Mother present.
"What can she do, Daddy?"
"Put her to work filing, Olivia."
"Filing?"
"Find work, make work, keep her occupied. Please," he pleaded. 'Sending her off to another school is just going to be a waste of time and money. She's not a student."
"What do you expect from her then?" I asked.
"I expect . . . hope to find her a suitable husband as soon as possible," he replied.
Before me? I wanted to ask. You want to get her off and married in her own home before me?
"You mean pass off the responsibility to some poor, unsuspecting clod," I chimed.
"She has some qualities to recommend her, Olivia. She is an attractive young woman. Don't you think she might grow up a little now?"
"No," I said firmly. "Not as long as you insist on excusing her every act of misconduct."
He stared at me and then sighed.
"Please, please don't make this any more difficult for us than it is, Olivia," he pleaded.
Why was he like this? Where was the strong, firm man who ran a string of businesses with such authority and assurance? Maybe Mother was right, maybe Daddy was like all the other men, easy to manipulate after all. Maybe my mother was the smarter of the two.
"You're being had, Daddy," I said uncharitably. "You're a fool for believing her tears and her moans and her batting eyelashes."
He turned white before the blood rushed back into his face.
"That's not true, Olivia. It's what I've told you before, what I've tried to get you to understand above all . . . family, family is the most important thing. We've got to protect her because she is the weak link. I was hoping you would have grasped all that by now and be my true assistant in this," he said.
"All right, Daddy," I relented. "I'll try to find her something to do, try again to make her into someone respectable and responsible."
"That's more like it, Olivia. Now you're being a true Gordon," he said.
However, it took a lot more than my resigning myself to Daddy's logic to make any of this even come close to resulting in what he wanted. Belinda, of course, enthusiastically agreed to go to work at the office, but every morning, she refused to wake up in time. Every morning I had to be the one to wake her and prod her into dressing herself quickly. Most mornings Daddy had to leave without me and I had to drive myself and Belinda to the office. She was always half awake when she arrived, moaning and complaining about getting up so early.
"If we own the business, why do we have to keep such dumb hours?" she demanded.
"Precisely because we own the business, Belinda. If we don't look after it, who will? The other employees don't have our interest at heart. This is what it means to be responsible and successful," I lectured, but my lectures, just like the ones she had gotten all her life from her teachers, went in one ear, were twirled around until they were so mixed up they made no sense, and then were dumped out of the other ear.
She moped and moved through the office like a somnambulist, doing in hours what it would take any other person minutes to accomplish. Anything distracted her. She could spend an hour gazing out the window. She was on the telephone with her friends every chance she got, despite my repeated warnings and my constant chastising. Each time I reprimanded her, she would cry and go running to Daddy who would then ask me to go a little easier on her.
"Go easier?" I cried. "Even the little work she does has to be redone. She misplaces files, gets them out of alphabetical order, loses documents . . . she's doing it deliberately, Daddy. It's the same old game. She wants to be home and loose and allowed to indulge herself in entertainments and not do any work, so she does it badly and hopes you'll give up on her."
"I know," he said. "Please have a little more patience with her. Keep trying," he urged.
Once again, I wondered why. What was it about her that made Daddy so soft, so pliable and so forgiving? If I came close to asking such a question, he merely shook his head and begged me to keep hoping and believing and trying to make her a better person.
Daddy hadn't forgotten his intention to marry her off as soon as possible. The attempt he had made to arrange a relationship between me and Clayton was completely forgotten, however. I was put on the perennial ba
ck burner and Belinda was moved up to the front. It wasn't something he made obvious, however. It was just like fishing. He cast his bait and hoped the right fish would be caught on the right line.
The first big attempt came when the Childs were invited to a most elegant dinner at our home, far more involved than the dinner party that had been designed to snare Clayton for me. Colonel Childs was Daddy's attorney and his son Nelson was finishing his last year of law school. No better fish swam in our waters, and I was beginning to think no better shark than Belinda swam in them as well.
Four or five times a year, Daddy would host an elaborate dinner party, usually inviting ten to fifteen guests, hiring a service staff, and having a caterer prepare an elaborate, six-course dinner. Sometimes, there was even entertainment: a pianist or violinist for after dinner. Belinda always hated these parties. They were far too formal and far too restricting for her. She had to behave properly, follow proper etiquette and keep from doing or saying silly things. She never liked the music, never liked sitting quietly and being obedient. Usually, Mother or Daddy excused her before the evening was half over and she retreated to her room to gossip on the telephone.
I realized something more than usual was intended when I discovered Daddy had only invited the Colonel and his family to dinner. I knew the Colonel well, of course. He was at our offices often for one matter or another. Daddy was involved in so many business enterprises these days, there was always some legal question or problem to be addressed. On a half dozen social occasions, I had met his wife Elizabeth, an attractive, stately woman from one of New England's finest families. They had only one child, Nelson, who took after his mother in height and his father in good looks.
Nelson Childs was one of those Adonises who glide through high school on a magic carpet, successful in studies, in sports and in social life. He always looked well put together, organized, relaxed. Teachers favored and admired him. He was polite, obedient, and yet far from being thought a teacher's pet. He commanded the respect of his peers and was elected class president, captain of his basketball and baseball teams, and the winner of the school's best male citizen award at graduation.
We were nearly five years apart, but it might just as well have been a decade. Even though his father was my father's attorney, Nelson barely recognized my existence in school or anywhere else for that matter. He probably couldn't see me over the heads of the girls who gathered around him like bridesmaids hoping to catch the bouquet of his attention and go on to be his girlfriend, his date, or merely the object of his immediate interest.
His eyes were more hazel than brown and the few times that I was close enough to see, I thought there were specks of gold in them as well. He kept his light brown hair short, but with a little pompadour to give it some shape and style. He did have an electric smile, his face brightening with a glow that warmed the target of that smile. Cupid, as far as I was concerned, rode on Nelson's shoulders, directing arrows just for his own impish amusement.
Somehow Nelson navigated these amorous waters without smudging his good name. He never went steady and yet never made any lasting feminine enemies playing the field. It was as though all the girls he dated understood he was beyond being captured. He would never belong to just one girl; he belonged to them all.
I began to eavesdrop on the Colonel and Daddy's conversations whenever Nelson's name was mentioned. I knew that he was in his last year of law school and yet had not met anyone who had won his romantic interest. The expectation was Nelson would graduate, pass his bar exams and work in his father's firm. All that was left to plan was his family; then he would begin a perfect existence, just as his father had.
My memories of Nelson and my understandings acquired from listening in on the conversations about him made me question the wisdom and reality of Daddy's plan. What would a man like Nelson Childs want with a dizzy, frivolous, conceited young woman like my sister Belinda? Daddy was not only wasting his money on this sort of dinner for that sort of purpose, he was wasting everyone's time. Belinda, I thought, would first be intimidated by a man with as much intelligence as Nelson, and second, would never want to settle down with anyone so firm and organized in his own beliefs. Why couldn't Daddy see that?
My memories of Nelson Childs were overwhelmed by his actual appearance the evening of the dinner. For me, although I tried not to show it, it was as if a celebrity I had only seen on television, in the movies, or in magazines, suddenly set foot in my home. Time away at school had matured him. He looked like a man of substance already, a young man with stature, personable and accomplished.
Mother was charmed. Daddy beamed at the prospects and Belinda was titillated when Nelson was introduced to her before he was introduced to me. When he did turn my way, he smiled and laughingly recalled me in junior high.
"Yes, I remember you. You were such a serious little girl," he said. Belinda enjoyed that.
"She still is," she said. "Everyone calls her Miss Cold and calls me Miss Hot."
"Really?" He stared at her a moment with interest that made me envious.
"Only Belinda's bubble-gum friends say those things," I remarked.
"Bubble gum?" he asked, turning to me.
"Bubbles for brains," I muttered and he laughed.
Our parents went into the sitting room for cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, while we were left to show Nelson our house. He lingered about Daddy's books in the library, commenting on how good a collection it was.
"I've never-read one of them," Belinda bragged as though that were an accomplishment.
I grimaced in anticipation of Nelson's reaction, but he simply laughed.
"Well, if they say a little learning is a dangerous thing, then Belinda is not in any danger," he declared.
I laughed when Belinda did, thinking she doesn't understand that he's really making fun of her. Or was he? His gaze lingered on her when she laughed. Her laugh was musical and she had a way of brightening her eyes and making her face glow that caused her to stand out, no matter where we were. It was as if a candle of femininity had been placed within her silly heart and lit to burn brightly and be reflected in the eyes of every man who gazed at her with interest.
"What are your interests, Belinda?" he asked.
"Interests?"
"He means what do you do with your free time, Belinda? Which is really, most of your day now. Belinda just does some light filing at the office," I revealed, hoping to stop his curiosity at the gate and show him quickly that Belinda was someone with very limited ability.
"I hate it too," she said quickly and he laughed again. "Summers are for fun, not for work. No one our age should have to work in the summer," she declared.
"Most people are not as fortunate as we are, Belinda, and have to work to make money to live and go to school," I reminded her.
She shrugged as if I had said something so insignificant it didn't require a response.
"Well, we're fortunate. You just said so yourself, so why work?" she countered. Nelson laughed again. "She's incorrigible," I said. He nodded.
"Yes."
"Is that bad?" Belinda asked. Nelson thought a moment.
"Maybe not," he said. "Maybe it's refreshing once in a while." He looked at me quickly. "I understand not for you and your family, however, Olivia."
Now it was my turn to shrug.
"What she does with her life now is no longer important to me," I said. "I've given up."
"She doesn't mean that. She's always saying awful things she doesn't mean," Belinda explained.
Nelson nodded as though he understood.
We were called to dinner and Nelson gallantly stepped up between us and took both our arms to escort us into the dining room. All the while I kept telling myself, a man like this would only be temporarily amused by someone like Belinda. Surely, he wants someone substantial, someone like me.
Daddy had the table arranged so that Nelson sat between Belinda and me. Belinda spent a good deal of the time giggling and whispering in Nelson's ear. Mothe
r tried to reprimand her with stern looks now and then, but Daddy had made the mistake of permitting her to have two glasses of wine. It made her giddy.
The conversation at the table went from politics to fashion. When Nelson spoke, everyone listened. He had a charismatic air about him, a commanding presence and an eloquence of language. I found myself agreeing with most everything he had to say and let him know it. He did seem to appreciate that and for a while, his attention was on me far more than it was on Belinda, who, as I had expected, even hoped, grew bored and restless.
However, she surprised me when the dinner ended and coffee was going to be served.
"I don't want to drink coffee. Why don't we take a walk on the beach instead," she proposed.
Nelson considered.
"Not a bad idea. It is a very warm evening," he said. He glanced at me and I saw he was going to do it.
"It would be nice," I chimed, reluctantly giving Belinda credit for a good suggestion.
We excused ourselves. Daddy looked very pleased. I could see he thought his plan was working. As we started out of the dining room, he leaned over to whisper.
"What a perfect match, huh Olivia? A perfect way to solve our little problem," he said.
I gazed at him and then, in clear, sharp tones replied, "I thought the Colonel was your good friend, Daddy. How could you do this to him?"
The smile left his face as if I had slapped him.
"She's not a bad catch, Olivia. She's the prettiest girl in Provincetown," he said.
I felt my heart close like a small fist had wrapped around it and squeezed so hard, it put a pain in my chest. Tears froze beneath my lids. I swallowed and nodded.
"Right," I said. "I forgot."
I turned and caught up with Belinda and Nelson just outside the door on their way to the path that led down to the beach.
It was a glorious night with so many stars the sky looked like it was filled with thousands and thousands of glass chips glittering down to the edge of the world. The air was warm and more humid than usual, too.
Olivia Page 8
