She looked into his flushed face and knew he was sweltering in the noonday sun. “Sure, but let’s find some shade first.”
He glanced over his shoulder, and Allison remembered Lola was inside and might question a prolonged conversation with the butler.
“Meet me in the kitchen in twenty minutes,” Adam said.
Allison put her things upstairs, then slipped back down to the kitchen. She peeked in Lola’s opened office door, but Lola was engrossed in a thick book. Sometimes Allison wondered what Lola did all day as Marsha’s secretary.
Allison went into the kitchen and was greeted by a large black woman in a calico apron. “Well, you must be Allison,” the woman said as she extended a warm handshake and genuine smile. “I’m Gertie, the cook. Adam told me you was coming.” She spoke in a confidential tone. “Adam and me has been thinking—something’s not straight around here. And we’s afraid you’re the one caught right smack in the middle. It’s just not fair that a girl can’t have her own letters. In fact, I think there’s a law against monkeying with other people’s mail.”
Adam walked in and straddled a chrome kitchen chair. “Have a seat, Miss Allison,” he began, “and tell us what all this secrecy is about. Why does Miss Stevens confiscate your mail?”
Gertie set a big plate of sugar cookies on the table and placed a glass of milk in front of Allison. “You go right ahead, honey, you can trust me and Adam.”
Allison looked into Gertie’s sincere brown eyes and believed her. She told them everything she could think of. Lately she’d understood how Sarah must’ve felt when her mother tried to keep her from bringing up the past. At last Allison finished and she took a long swig of milk.
“Ooowee, child, that’s one heavy load for you to bear!” Gertie exclaimed. “I sure hope that daddy of yours can pull this off. Say, ain’t it mail time now, Adam? Maybe Miss Allison can walk down to the box with you . . .”
Adam grinned. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”
There in the shiny brass box lay a small stack of letters. Adam sorted them slowly so Allison could see.
“There’s one,” she cried and snatched it. “And another!” They were from her father and Andrew. As they walked up the long driveway, she tucked them in her shirt.
“You know, Allison, I don’t see why I couldn’t separate your mail for you. I’ll make sure it gets to you from now on.”
“Thanks, Adam. Thanks for everything.” She dashed up to her room and closed the door, eager to read her letters in private and as many times as she liked. She read the one from her father first.
Dear Allison,
I get the impression by your last letter that you haven’t received any mail. This is very odd, since between all of us here in Tamaqua Point we think we’ve written over twenty letters. The only thing I can imagine is someone is taking them, and I don’t mean to accuse Marsha, but I am suspicious. If you get this letter, I’ll be surprised. At least we’ve heard a lot from you, and in spite of the predicament, you seem to be having a pretty good time. That’s a relief to everyone.
I have good news. I’ve actually sold several paintings at the gallery! It’s very exciting, especially since some of the buyers are from different areas of the country. One man from the East Coast was so enthusiastic about my work, he offered to try to arrange a showing in New York. That brings me to something else. We now have a court date. September 17 in New York City, since that’s where the custody papers are filed. That’s only three weeks away, Allison. We’re all curious if you will start school in Los Angeles. Heather and Andrew are desperately hoping you will get to go to Port View High with them. In fact, we’ve taken the liberty to pre-register you there.
We caught about a dozen crabs yesterday and cooked them on the beach. It would’ve been perfect if only you’d been here. I won’t go on because it’s my fear you’ll never read these words. But Grace said she’s going to pray hard that this gets through. Leave it to Grace.
All my love,
Dad
Allison almost danced around the room. Less than three weeks now! And she was already registered for school in Port View. She was so excited her fingers trembled as she tried to open Andrew’s letter. It was filled with more news and his concerns of being a lighthouse keeper. As usual, he ended by saying how much he missed her. She clutched the letter to her chest and mentally erased the vision she’d had of throwing him overboard.
“Allison,” Marsha called, knocking on her door.
Allison frantically stuffed the letters under her pillow. “Yes, come in,” Allison said, hoping her voice sounded normal.
“We’ve been invited to the Healeys’ for dinner at eight—”
“I don’t think I want—”
“No, Allison, you must come! They’ve invited several young people and specifically want you there. I won’t listen to another word. You’ll have a fantastic time. Wear that cream satin. It’ll be perfect.” Marsha turned and shut the door before Allison could protest.
Allison threw herself across the bed. Even though Marsha pretended to care, she was still the same conniving, cold-hearted person she’d always been. Maybe she should confront Lola and demand her mail. Then she remembered Grace’s advice to cooperate and Constance’s words on forgiveness. Well, she’d tried to cooperate, but where had that gotten her? And for the moment, forgiveness was out of the question. Suddenly, a new plan began to form in Allison’s mind.
Tonight she’d play Marsha’s game in Marsha’s style and see how Marsha liked it. She’d had a couple of weeks to observe Marsha up close and in action. She knew her little tricks like the back of her hand. And as much as Allison hated to admit, there was a bit of an actress in her, too.
Allison jumped up to search through her closet. She pulled out the cream satin dress with its wide, circular skirt, but she tossed it to the floor. Instead, she chose a sophisticated orange dress and held it up to the mirror. It was a sleeveless gown with a low back and much too old for Allison. Marsha had bought it for herself, then decided she didn’t like the color and gave it to Allison. She had immediately stuck the slinky-looking gown in her closet, never dreaming she’d wear such a thing. But tonight it looked like just the ticket. She slipped on the filmy garment and pinned her hair up with a set of rhinestone combs. She laughed at her image in the floor-length mirror and liberally applied some makeup that Marsha had given her.
“My, my, you look rather . . . grown up,” Marsha said with a lifted brow when Allison sauntered down the stairs. Allison was already in character. And what a character it would be. Allison smirked as she climbed into the car with Marsha behind her.
The house was in the ritziest section of Beverly Hills. Allison feigned nonchalance as they entered the lavish mansion. She was determined to stick with her plan.
“Mrs. Healey, this is my sister, Allison,” Marsha said, watching Allison out of the corner of her eye.
“Delighted to meet you, dear,” the stout platinum-haired hostess said in a deep voice that was probably considered sophisticated in some circles.
“Yes, I should think so,” Allison replied in an equally pompous tone. “Nice little dive you’ve got here.”
The woman blinked in surprise, and Marsha smiled apologetically. Allison flitted about like a true social butterfly, acting bored, sophisticated, overdramatic, and silly. She was trying to mimic Marsha—only more so. The disturbing thing was some people actually seemed to like it. Before long, Allison had several young men catering to her every whim, and she felt just like Scarlett O’Hara with a string of beaux following her around. She knew Marsha’s eyes were on her and from time to time wished she could read her mother’s thoughts. Her goal was to make Marsha furious.
As usual, Marsha had her own cluster of male admirers, too. Allison wondered what Stanley thought of Marsha’s flirtations. Did he just consider it part of the package that came with marrying an actress? Allison noticed that Marsha seemed more focused on a particularly attractive gentleman. He appeared only m
oderately interested in Marsha, and he looked to be at least ten years her junior. This gave Allison a rather sinister idea that was fueled even more when she remembered her stolen letters. She slipped right up next to Marsha.
“Hello there, Marsh darling,” Allison said with a sigh. “This party is really rather dull, don’t you think?” Marsha studied her doubtfully.
“Oh, excuse me,” Allison said to the man. Then she attempted her most flirtatious smile, complete with a slight fluttering of eyelashes just the way she’d seen Marsha do. “I’m Marsha’s kid sister, Allison.” She extended her hand and he took it in his own.
“Very pleased to meet you, Allison,” he said with a smile. “I had no idea Marsha had such a lovely sister. I’m Hartley Henshaw.”
Allison smiled faintly. “Well, suddenly the party seems a whole lot brighter, Hartley.” She glanced at Marsha and noticed a definite glare. Very satisfying.
“Allison, do you live here in Beverly Hills or are you just visiting?” Hartley asked.
“Oh, I live with Marsh. She’s such a dear to let her baby sister horn in on her and hubby like this. So sweet, but then Marsh is like that. You know, Hartley, she’s been almost like a mother to me.” Allison laughed. “Of course, you’re not quite old enough to be my mother, are you, Marsh?” Allison shook her finger under Marsha’s nose in a teasing way. “Oh, but it’s close, isn’t it?”
Marsha looked like she might explode, but Allison didn’t care. She continued to chat with Hartley, teasing Marsha without mercy. All the while she watched with satisfaction as her mother simmered and fumed.
“I think it’s time to go, Allison,” Marsha seethed.
“If you need to leave early I can bring Allison home later,” Hartley suggested eagerly.
“I don’t think so,” Marsha said curtly. She grabbed Allison by the arm.
“Oh, it’s really no problem,” Hartley said firmly.
Suddenly, Allison realized she could easily get in over her head. Although this game brought an interesting sense of power, it was quickly losing its appeal.
“Thanks anyway, Hartley,” Allison said lightly. “I better get Marsh home. She needs her beauty rest, you know.”
Marsha smoldered in angry silence as they rode home. This was so unlike Marsha, who usually freely displayed her feelings for the world to see. Allison felt slightly cheated that Marsha didn’t actually explode and carry on a little. But Marsha just sat there, arms folded tightly across her chest and teeth clenched. Allison began to feel just a little bit ashamed. After all, Marsha had been trying so hard lately, and Allison didn’t exactly know for sure that Marsha had kept those letters. It was entirely possible Lola controlled that area.
“Allison, I am so angry I can’t even trust myself to speak,” Marsha said. “But I’ve got to know—what on earth got into you tonight?”
“I don’t know, Marsha. I just thought I’d try something new. I thought maybe you’d like it if I imitated you.”
“Is that how you think I act?”
“Well, not exactly. I might have exaggerated it some.”
Marsha stared at Allison with wide eyes, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she had just heard. Suddenly, Marsha burst into laughter. “Poor Hartley,” she gasped between giggles. “You really had him going!”
Despite herself, Allison began to laugh, too. Soon they were in hysterics over poor Hartley and what he must think of the crazy Madison sisters.
Allison lay in her bed the next morning in turmoil. The mail dilemma still bothered her, but now that she and Adam had devised their plan, she wondered if she should just forget the whole thing for the time being. Besides, maybe she and Marsha were even now, especially after how she’d behaved at the party.
Marsha and Lola had left early to meet with Marsha’s agent for some contract negotiations. Allison wandered around the empty house and finally wound up in the kitchen.
“How you doing, sugar?” Gertie asked as she rolled out some dough on the shiny stainless steel counter. Allison scooted a chrome stool over to watch Gertie work. This kitchen, with all its new post-war appliances and conveniences, was such a contrast to Muriel’s old-fashioned one. But being around Gertie made Allison feel cozy even if the kitchen wasn’t.
“You s’pose your mama will get her contract renewed okay?”
“Oh sure, I guess so.” Actually, Allison hadn’t given it much thought. She just assumed Marsha, as usual, would get what she wanted.
“I dunno, honey. I been reading them movie magazines your mama throws in the trash. They be saying that brown hair ain’t popular no more in Hollywood these days. They like younger women, and, well, we know your mama ain’t no spring chicken—though she do look mighty good for her age.” Gertie expertly flopped the thin layer of dough into a pie plate and quickly trimmed the edges.
“Hmm, I don’t know, Gertie. I wonder what Marsha would do if she couldn’t get a contract. . . .” Allison watched Gertie fill the crust with luscious peach slices and sugar. “That smells yummy, Gertie.”
“Yes, nothin’ like the smell of fresh peaches.” She handed Allison a nice ripe peach. “They’re come from up in Oregon.”
Allison studied the fuzzy peach in her hand. Two and a half weeks seemed a lifetime away.
After lunch, she lounged around the pool and wrote more letters, letting her dad know she’d finally heard from him. She tried not to go into much detail about the confiscated mail. There would be time to tell him all that later. Allison stuck her feet in the pool, but she had no desire to swim today. If only Dad and Grace and the Amberwells were here, then it would be fun.
Allison thought about the summer coming to an end. She wondered if Marsha had made any plans for her schooling. Allison couldn’t imagine going to school in Beverly Hills, though she didn’t think it would really come down to that. But just the same, she was afraid to ask. What if Marsha really wanted Allison around? What if she was finally ready to be a mom?
Doors slammed inside the house, and Allison knew Marsha and Lola were back. She entered the living room just in time to hear Marsha ranting in a loud voice.
“I am totally fed up with that studio, Lola! I’ve a mind to drop them altogether! Just who do they think they are? That contract stinks and they know it—what an insult!”
“Settle down, Marsha,” Lola said in a soothing yet authoritative voice. “You need to stop and look at this objectively. Your last movie wasn’t exactly a smash hit, and this Istanbul flick is already making the studio nervous. I’ve been helping to negotiate this deal for weeks, and I swear it’s the best offer you’re going to get.”
“Well, it stinks!” Marsha stomped up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door.
Lola stomped past Allison and down the hallway. “What are you staring at?” she growled.
Allison scurried up to her room and closed the door. She felt trapped—imprisoned. If only she could escape or run away . . . But what good would come of that? Instead, she pulled out her journal and read over the poems she’d written during the summer months. She remembered Amanda on the train and how much she’d enjoyed their discussions on Emily Dickinson and poetry. Amanda had encouraged Allison to keep writing, so Allison picked up her pen.
My Prison Palace
My prison is a pretty one,
With fountains, pools, and flowers.
But it’s like a dungeon deep,
Or high impenetrable towers.
My captress is quite beautiful,
With maids and ladies waiting.
But her heart is made of ice,
And her voice is grating.
I must keep hope alive,
To help me through this day.
Perhaps a knight will come for me,
And carry me away.
She closed her journal and laughed—a brave knight! Who would that be? she thought. Dad? Or maybe Andrew? But what if they couldn’t rescue her? What if she had to stay with Marsha forever? She knew some girls would die for an opportunity to
live in Beverly Hills with a movie star. She remembered awful Shirley Jenson, who had flirted with Andrew and made Allison so jealous. Shirley would think this was a fantasy come true. Or even Mr. O’Conner’s daughter in Portland—her dream was to be a movie star. She would love this. Life sure wasn’t fair.
By the end of the week, Marsha announced they would be returning to New York to tie up some loose ends.
“But I thought Stanley was taking care of everything and then coming out here,” Allison said. The idea of returning to the East Coast filled her with an even worse sense of foreboding—it would take her farther from her father.
“There’s been a change in plans, and Stanley can’t take care of everything,” Marsha said with that familiar edge to her voice. “We leave Saturday morning—just be ready!”
Allison dashed to her room and quickly wrote a letter to her father. As she wrote, she realized he would probably have to go to New York as well for the trial. She would see him there! Then she could return with him to Oregon. With this in mind, she eagerly packed her bags and literally counted the hours until Saturday.
It was almost time for the mail to arrive, and Allison slipped downstairs to meet Adam in the kitchen. He was seated at the table sipping a cup of coffee. This was his break time, and Allison had recently made it a habit to join Adam and Gertie when possible. It was a highlight of her day.
“Morning, sugar,” Gertie greeted. “I hear you and your mama is going to New York. I ain’t never been on one of those airplanes, and I don’t never wanna go on one! When I look at them little specks up in the sky, I can’t believe there’s real people up in that. Not Gertie!” She laughed and Allison smiled. She’d sure miss Gertie.
“I hope everything turns out all right,” Adam said. “But I have to admit, I’ll miss you if you go back to Oregon, Allison.”
“Me too, sugar,” Gertie chimed in. “But you’ll come visit your mama, won’t you?”
“Of course! And I’ll visit you two, as well. After all, you’ve been like family to me.” Allison looked at them sadly. “But you understand how much I need to be with my dad.”
Allison O'Brian on Her Own Page 25
