“Two more days until camp ends,” Heather announced at lunch.
“Doesn’t seem possible,” Allison said, biting into her sandwich. “But I’m so glad. I can’t wait to see Dad and—”
“Grace and the boys,” Heather said, finishing Allison’s sentence.
“I’m going to miss you all so much,” Sarah said sadly.
“Me too,” Barbara chimed in. “We’ll have to keep in touch. Maybe we can even plan a reunion or go and visit one another!”
“That would be swell!” Allison exclaimed. “You can come see us in Oregon. We have this really big house by the ocean.” And the four girls agreed that they’d always be friends.
Allison was still basking in the warmth of her camp friendships later when she noticed a large dark blue cab parked in front of the lodge. It looked just like the car they’d ridden to camp in with Lola. Probably for some camper who was getting picked up early. Beside the car stood a fashionably dressed woman. But she looked out of place here, like a flashy flamingo on the prairie. Her bright coral dress, white hat, and gloves seemed to glare in the bright afternoon sun. Then Allison did a double take while her heart lurched in fear. It was Marsha!
Allison’s first response was to run and hide, but what good would that do? They’d only find her, and she didn’t want to be dragged out kicking and screaming. Slowly, as if approaching the firing squad, she walked toward the car.
“Allison,” someone called from behind. “Want to take a swim?” Allison looked back to see Sarah running up the grassy slope toward her. “What’s wrong, Allison? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“It’s Marsha—she’s here.” Allison nodded her head toward the lodge. Marsha leaned casually against the porch rail and conversed with Len, who already seemed to be under her spell.
Sarah reached for Allison’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be okay, Allison.”
“Well, there she is,” Len proclaimed warmly. “Allison, you didn’t tell us your mother was the famous Marsha Madison!” His excitement was beginning to draw a small crowd. Soon, girls of all ages were dashing off in search of paper to solicit autographs. Marsha, as usual, casually ate it up, barely pausing to greet her own daughter. But then, what else was new?
“Okay, kids,” Len said. “Clear the way, now. Marsha came to pick up Allison.”
Allison clenched her teeth. Of course! What had she expected—that Marsha had popped in to say hello?
“Yes, dear,” Marsha said. “Go gather your things. Or maybe we could have them sent later. Dear me, you do look frightful. I hope you have something decent to wear. We’ve a train to catch as soon as we get back to town. I hope we’re not late. Goodness, this place is out in the middle of nowhere. Now hurry, Allison. Only bring what you absolutely need. I’m sure this dear gentleman will see that the rest is sent.” Len nodded and Marsha handed him her card.
In a daze, Allison dashed back to the cabin and shoved some things into her suitcase. How could this be happening? What did it mean? Had her father given up?
Allison quickly cleaned up and pulled on the wrinkled green linen suit. She wondered if Marsha would recognize it, then wondered why she should even care. Her whole world was crashing down upon her, and there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it. Wasn’t there any way out of this? Could she run away again? Would any resistance on her part ruin her chances of returning to Oregon?
Allison’s friends were gathered by the car. Hurried hugs and good-byes were dispensed with promises to write. Last of all, Allison hugged Heather with angry tears in her eyes. This was not how it was supposed to be. She was supposed to ride the train back home with Heather and Dad.
“Allison, it will be all right,” Heather whispered with conviction. “I just know it will. Please don’t worry. Remember how things went with Lola? Just try to be nice to Marsha. It might help while your father is working to get you back.”
Allison sniffed. “But what if—”
“No, Allison. It will work out.”
“Come on, Allison,” Marsha urged as she climbed into the taxi. “We have a train to catch.”
Allison wanted to scream and cry and carry on like a four-year-old. Instead, she clenched her teeth in anger as she spoke. “I’m sorry, I have to go now. I’ll write as soon as possible, Heather. Please tell Dad I’m sorry.”
Constance looked straight into Allison’s eyes. “Remember, God has answers to even our toughest questions.”
Allison swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. She believed Constance, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to ask those kinds of questions.
She climbed into the taxi and waved from the backseat to all of her dear friends. Their faces were blurred by her tears. And as the driver pulled away, the camp was further obscured in a cloud of dust.
“Well, Allison,” Marsha began. “Aren’t you at all pleased to see your mother?”
Allison watched the curious driver eye them from the rearview mirror, obviously keenly interested in their conversation. Movie stars were probably not his ordinary fare. She wondered if he could even manage to keep his car on the road.
Allison wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. She was not ready to talk. She didn’t know if she ever would be. She turned her face away and stared out the window. She thought about Dad and the letter and the embezzlement charges. She wanted to lash out at Marsha, but she was worried about harming her father’s case. He had purposely not revealed too much to Lola and had warned Allison to do likewise. Besides, Allison wasn’t eager to admit to Marsha that she had gone through her personal things in order to discover the letter.
“So you’re going to give me the silent treatment, Allison? After I came all this way to see you. And I am not even angry at you for running away.”
Allison turned and looked at Marsha curiously.
Marsha nodded and then waved her hands as if she were a queen pardoning a peasant from the gallows. “Yes, you are completely absolved, Allison. Not another word of it. Now, aren’t you even going to ask me about my latest movie?”
Allison sighed. “How was Istanbul, Marsha?” Her voice was stiff and cold, without an ounce of real interest. Marsha seemed not to notice, or else she was just acting again.
“Absolutely horrible, darling. So smelly and hot. The people there live like animals. I am so thankful to be back to civilization.” She looked out the window and frowned skeptically. “Well, I guess you could call it that.”
Allison folded her arms across her chest and stared out her window. The trees whizzed by in a mass of green without any distinction from one to the next. It reminded her a little of Oregon, but thinking of Oregon right now was little comfort.
“But Stanley was such a dear,” Marsha continued, oblivious to Allison’s indifference. “He tried to make me comfortable whenever he could. He saw to my every whim and babied me through the entire shoot. I don’t know what I would’ve done without him.” Marsha snapped open her alligator purse, removed a shiny gold compact, and powdered her straight little nose. “It’s terribly humid today. Driver, can’t you open a vent or something?”
Allison fumed in silence, unable to form sensible words and unwilling to submit to idle chatter. Marsha carried the conversation unassisted for quite a while, but eventually even she grew bored with her own babble. The driver looked disappointed, like he’d been cheated out of his entertainment.
They arrived at the station just minutes before their train was due to depart. The driver huffed after them, lugging all their baggage as they raced across the terminal. Marsha paid him generously just before they leaped aboard the train. The conductor closed the doors, the brakes squealed, and they were off.
“Thank goodness,” Marsha gasped. “Can you imagine if we’d missed this train? We’d have been destined to spend the night in that awful little mining town.” Allison read the name of the sign as they pulled out of the station. Dunnsville. That was Constance’s hometown.
T
he train headed west, which seemed odd to Allison, but she didn’t ask Marsha about their destination. Instead, she either kept her nose in a tattered Saturday Evening Post or stared blankly out the windows. They arrived in Cleveland by dinnertime.
“Come on, Allison,” Marsha said. “We get out here.”
As much as Allison hated to admit it, especially in light of her disappointment, it was sort of fun to travel with Marsha. They were treated like royalty wherever they went. In the hotel restaurant, no one complained when they were quickly seated, though others were left waiting and whispering about how strange it was to see Marsha Madison in town. Strains of a Glenn Miller tune sifted in from the lounge next door where a big band played. Something about the formal room with the low-lit lamps on the elegant tables made Allison feel grown-up and sophisticated, but still she remained silent, unwilling to show any pleasure in Marsha’s little game.
“You know, Allison, you’re not making this easy for me,” Marsha said as she unfolded her napkin. “You could try to make the best of it. Just think, Allison, how many times have we been able to spend time together like this? And after all, I am your mother.”
“Oh, do you want me to call you Mother now?” Allison asked in a surly tone.
Marsha fidgeted with her fork. “Well, let’s stick to Marsha for the time being—you don’t really mind, do you?”
Allison laughed. It was a low, cynical laugh. What difference did it make? “Mind? Of course not, Marsha. Why should I mind?”
“Allison, you look older,” Marsha said, carefully changing the subject. “And I like what you’ve done with your hair. I was meaning to tell you last Christmas you’re too old for pigtails.”
Marsha’s determined congeniality was getting to Allison. She’d never known Marsha to be so nice, and it made giving the cold shoulder difficult.
“Thanks, Marsha. I had it done in New York at a nice little salon on Fifth Avenue. Yes, I had a marvelous time in New York, and your penthouse is quite comfortable.” Allison watched Marsha’s eyebrows lift slightly.
“You stayed in my apartment while I was gone? How quaint. And your clothes?” Marsha examined Allison’s suit with a knowing look.
“Yes, compliments of the Marsha Madison collection.”
Marsha smiled. “It’s nice to see you’ve got a flair for fashion, Allison. And you’ve grown to be—well, almost pretty.”
Allison blushed. Coming from Marsha, this was quite a compliment. “Thanks. I thought it was interesting that your clothes fit me almost perfectly.”
“I think you might actually be a hair taller than me, Allison. But still a bit on the skinny side.” Marsha laughed, and for a second Allison thought her face looked softer. In spite of herself, Allison relaxed a little.
“Marsha, why did we come west on the train?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you, darling? We’re going to Hollywood. I have to sign a contract and meet a producer and all sorts of fun things.”
“And you’re taking me with you?”
“Sure, I always told you I would someday. Lola is already there. She’s found this fantastic house with a pool, and Stanley will come out next month. He has some unfinished business in New York.”
“You mean you’ll be living in Hollywood?”
“Not actually Hollywood. Beverly Hills is more like it. And we’ll keep the New York apartment, but mostly we’ll stay in California.” Marsha took a long sip of coffee and glanced at her diamond-encrusted watch. “It’s getting late and we have an early morning flight. Maybe we should call it a night.”
There was so much to take in that Allison simply nodded mutely and followed Marsha to their room.
The next morning, Allison stared at the small red airplane sitting on the tarmac. Were they really going up in that? She’d only seen Marsha board a large silver twin-engine plane once, and she’d never actually flown herself.
“Climb in, little lady,” a man in a brown leather bomber jacket said. “My plane’s name is Ramblin’ Rosie and I’m Willy.” He patted the side of the plane, and Allison climbed hesitantly into the tiny backseat. Marsha sat in front beside Willy and didn’t seem a bit concerned about the size of the plane. Allison closed her eyes and held her breath as they took off. The feeling of leaving the ground proved exhilarating, and when she finally opened her eyes, she looked down in wonder.
“So what do you think of Rosie, little lady?” Willy called over the roar of the engine.
“She’s wonderful,” Allison answered. “It’s amazing how everything looks so tiny. Like toy houses and barns.” She watched the miniature world unfold beneath them.
“Can you reach that basket behind you?” Willy asked. Allison looked back to see a wicker picnic basket and pulled it out.
“Why don’t you play the stewardess,” he suggested. Allison divvied out some cookies and poured coffee.
“Sorry it’s not much,” Willy apologized. “Beulah was sick, and she usually packs something a tad more interesting, but her husband’s running the airstrip cafe today.”
They landed in Chicago just before noon. Allison thanked Willy for the flight and assured him she’d always remember her first time in a plane. They waited in the large airline terminal for their next flight.
“So you like flying?” Marsha asked as she lit a cigarette. Marsha didn’t smoke very often because she said it turned her teeth yellow. Allison hated when she did; it always made her eyes burn.
“Yeah, flying’s pretty neat,” Allison answered. “And Willy was nice.” Marsha nodded and blew out a long, slow puff.
It wasn’t long until their next flight was ready to leave. Together they boarded a large plane like the one Allison had expected earlier. They sat in first class at the front of the plane. Other passengers spoke in low tones, recognizing and admiring Marsha. Surprisingly, Allison experienced an unwelcome swell of pride.
Once she was settled in her comfortable seat, Allison studied her mother. Marsha was wearing a soft pink embossed silk suit adorned with pearls. Her hair was styled perfectly beneath her wide-brimmed matching hat, and, for once, her lipstick wasn’t such a harsh tone of red. Allison wondered if Marsha was changing her image. This was the most conservative ensemble she’d ever seen her wear.
“Hi, I’m Betty,” a pretty blond stewardess announced. “Lunch will be ready in a few minutes. Can I bring you a drink, Miss Madison?”
When Marsha had placed her order, Allison asked for orange juice. Betty handed her a recent issue of Vogue with a photo of Lauren Bacall on the front.
“Dear me, I’m famished,” Marsha exclaimed. She carefully removed her hat and gloves and leaned back. “Famished and tired. All this traveling will take its toll on me, I’m afraid.” She slipped the gold compact out of her white kid purse and studied her reflection. “I haven’t slept well since I left New York, and it’s starting to show. It’s a good thing I had Lola make us an appointment at Viola’s.”
“Us?” Allison questioned. “What’s Viola’s?”
“Just the most fantastic salon in Beverly Hills.”
Allison stared openly at Marsha. She couldn’t believe Marsha had made an appointment for the two of them together. Before she could comment, the stewardess returned with their meal and Marsha began eating.
After lunch, Marsha stared blankly out the window until she stretched back and fell asleep. Allison watched her mother dozing next to her and experienced the closest thing to affection she’d ever felt. She remembered Constance sharing about how she’d forgiven her father. Allison wondered if she could ever do the same with Marsha. She peered out the window at the tops of the white clouds. They reminded her of the fluffy meringue Muriel heaped upon her lemon pies back in Oregon. Right now, Tamaqua Point seemed like a lifetime away.
The sun hung big and red on the horizon as they landed at the Los Angeles airport. Harsh lights lined the runway in stark contrast to the soft rose-colored sky. Marsha adjusted her hat and pulled on her gloves, and Allison did likewise, then instantly wis
hed she hadn’t. She’d only been with Marsha one day and already she was copying her mannerisms. In the air terminal, they soon spotted Lola waving both arms, and they pressed through the crowd toward her.
“You’re here at last!” Lola exclaimed, taking Marsha’s bag. “And how was Istanbul?”
“Don’t ask,” Marsha moaned. “Can we get someone to deliver the rest of our luggage?”
“It’s all arranged. Just come with me.” They followed Lola out to the waiting limousine and climbed in. Allison watched in fascination as the Southern California sights passed by.
Before long they were in Beverly Hills. The colors seemed brighter than normal, and the tall palm trees and other exotic-looking foliage was like entering another country. The limousine pulled into a driveway lined with yet more tall palms. The driveway circled in front of a large, pinkish stucco house that was illuminated by spotlights and loomed before them like a strange tropical palace from a movie set.
“Well, Lola,” Marsha commented. “It definitely has that California look I wanted. Actually, it seems quite nice.”
They stepped into the expansive entrance, and Allison gaped at the lavish decor. A carved stone lion sat in the center of a fountain that bubbled beneath a curly wrought-iron staircase. All around the fountain grew lush green plants that flourished like a miniature Garden of Eden.
“Italian marble,” Lola explained, tapping her toe on the shiny floor. “The fountain came from a French villa, and the chandeliers are from Madrid.” She led them upstairs and showed Marsha her room, a spacious suite with a large sunken tub carved out of another giant slab of white marble. French doors opened onto a wrought-iron terrace that was lined with blooming flower pots, splashing out even more vibrant color.
“Very nice,” said Marsha, laying her handbag on the bed. “And I’m dying to try out that tub.”
“I’ll call Isobella, the upstairs maid, to draw your bath,” Lola said, closing the ornately carved door behind her. Allison followed Lola down the hall. “Your bedroom is on the right at the end of this hallway. Do you want me to show you?”
Allison O'Brian on Her Own Page 23
