“Sure we do, honey,” Gertie said. “Your mama will be so busy when her next movie starts, you’ll never see her no how.”
“And from what you’ve told us, Oregon sounds like a nice place,” Adam added. “A good place for a girl to grow up.” He glanced at his watch.
“Mail time?” Allison asked. He nodded, and she checked down the hallway to make sure Lola wasn’t watching.
There were three letters for Allison, one from her father, one from Andrew, and one from Constance. The one from her camp counselor surprised her. How in the world did Constance get her address in Beverly Hills?
“Lola’s straight ahead,” Adam warned in a low voice.
Allison tucked the letters under her arm and took off across the gardens toward the pool and up the back stairway to her room. Breathlessly, she collapsed on her bed and opened the letter from Constance first.
Dear Allison,
Heather wrote and gave me your address in Beverly Hills. I hope you don’t mind. I’ve thought about you a lot since camp and felt I should write. We had some good talks, Allison, but I never knew for sure if I really told you what was in my heart. For some reason, I think we’re a little bit alike. I know our lives are worlds apart, but I got the feeling you have the same problem with your mom as I had with my dad. Unforgiveness.
I want to remind you how I was unable to forgive my dad on my own. It took God’s help. I never could’ve done it without Him. Sometimes I thought I had forgiven my dad, but I hadn’t. The only way God could help me to forgive him was when I asked. So I guess that’s what I wanted to share. You know, God doesn’t expect us to be perfect. He just wants us to believe in Him and ask Him for help with our lives, and He’ll show us the way. I hope you’re having a good time in Beverly Hills. It sounds pretty exciting! Write me if you want.
Love and God bless you,
Constance
Allison folded the letter and put it aside. She’d been getting along with Marsha pretty well lately. Forgiveness didn’t seem to be such a problem anymore. She read the other letters. Dad was getting set to go to New York, and it sounded like Grace might even accompany him. He said Grace wasn’t about to send him off to New York alone again—not after that last time. In Andrew’s letter, he described the first day at high school. He was already on the football team. Allison imagined watching him from the grandstands with the other kids on a crisp fall evening. Suddenly, life was full of promise again. It had to work out. It just had to!
The next morning, Allison and Marsha boarded a large plane bound for New York. This time Allison walked on with confidence. She remembered what Gertie had said about airplanes and laughed. But halfway through the flight, the plane began to lurch and bounce wildly. Food trays clattered to the floor, loose items and hand luggage slid off of shelves, and everyone was instructed to buckle up fast. Allison looked over at Marsha. Her belt was unbuckled and her face was pasty white.
“Marsha, are you okay?” Allison asked. She reached across her mother’s lap and quickly buckled her in. Marsha didn’t even react but sat frozen, eyes wide. “It’s okay, Marsha,” Allison said soothingly. “The stewardess said it’s just turbulence.”
Marsha clung to Allison’s arm. “Thanks,” she muttered. “I should be used to this by now, but it always gets me. I envision the plane plummeting down like a rock—bursting into flames.” The plane dropped again and Marsha shuddered.
“It’s going to be okay, Marsha,” Allison said meekly. But Marsha’s fear was contagious, and Allison felt herself beginning to succumb. She spoke to encourage herself as much as Marsha. “Don’t worry, I heard the stewardess say we’d soon be out of it.”
“Allison, at times like this I wonder about my life.”
“What do you mean?” Allison looked at Marsha curiously.
“Oh, you know, I start to see myself for what I am, and I don’t like it very much.” Marsha looked down, still clinging to Allison’s arm. “I’m pretty selfish. Don’t look so surprised—you think I don’t know it? I just figure it’s my privilege.”
Allison nodded, though she couldn’t understand how anyone could hold such a high opinion of themselves.
“I think about people I’ve hurt along the way—I think about you, Allison, and your father . . .” The turbulence died down, and Marsha grew silent. Allison hated to lose this moment, but she could think of nothing more to say.
“Are you ladies okay?” the stewardess asked. “That should be the end of it—just a little storm over the mountains, that’s all. Can I get you a drink, Miss Madison?”
“Yes,” Marsha said, finally releasing Allison’s arm. “I’ll have a dry martini.”
Allison sighed as the moment slipped away.
“Marsha,” Allison whispered as they approached Stanley in the New York air terminal. “Are you still my big sister as far as Stanley goes?”
Marsha laughed her light, tinkling movie-star laugh. “No, darling. Stanley knows all. I had to tell him when I got the telegram in Istanbul. He was very nice about the whole thing. But as far as the rest of the world goes—yes! Marsha Madison is certainly too young to have a grown daughter!”
Allison nodded and followed Marsha as she pressed a path to the pudgy little man in the dark pinstriped suit. Stanley was no handsome prince, but at least he appeared to genuinely care about his wife. He hugged Marsha and instructed his driver to pick up the bags.
“My sweet Marsha. I feel like it’s been a year since I’ve seen you! These long-distance marriages are for the birds, but I’ve almost got everything wrapped up here. I have a little welcome-home gift for you.” He produced a blue velvet box, and it reminded Allison of the old jewelry box her father had given Marsha so many years ago here in New York. Marsha must not have noticed the resemblance as she opened the box and squealed.
“Oh, Stanley, you’re such a dear! It’s just gorgeous, and I have the most exquisite gown to go with it!” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him right there in the airport.
Allison looked around in embarrassment, then glanced into the open box clutched tightly in Marsha’s gloved hand. A diamond and sapphire necklace sparkled against the plush blue velvet. Pretty, but Allison wondered if it was worth it. She mentally compared Stanley to her father. How could Marsha have given Dad up so easily? Allison pondered.
“Marie has fixed us a nice dinner at home, since I knew you’d be too exhausted to go out tonight. Was your flight all right, dear?”
Allison followed them to the taxi. It was like she was invisible. She wondered if they would even notice if she turned and walked the other direction.
“Stanley, it was simply horrible! The worst turbulence! I thought I’d never see you again!”
“Well, you’re safe now, sweetheart.” Stanley was speaking as if Marsha were a small child. “I will take care of you.”
Allison rolled her eyes at the sticky sentiment and climbed into the car, wedging herself into a corner and hoping they’d continue to ignore her.
“Allison—forgive my manners. How are you?” Stanley asked, hardly looking at her.
“Fine.”
“Good, good. Oh, Marsha, I almost forgot to tell you—”
Allison blocked out the rest of their conversation and focused instead on the New York skyline. The evening lights glittered and glowed and filled her with an odd sense of urgency. She didn’t really like the big city. She’d never want to live here, especially after her visit at the beginning of the summer. That tiny bite out of the Big Apple had been overwhelming. Still, there was an indescribable something in the air. The twinkling city lights reminded her of Marsha’s new necklace—shimmering with glitz and promising fulfillment, but empty and unable to deliver.
The penthouse looked exactly the same as when she’d left it. Allison chuckled to herself as she looked around and remembered how she’d made a mess of Marsha’s apartment during her hideout in New York, then how she’d hurriedly cleaned up in fear of Lola dropping in. She went to the spare room�
��still cold and uninviting. She sat on the bed and the bedspread crackled just like it always did, only this time she didn’t worry about the wrinkles. She opened the closet and discovered her bags. They must’ve been sent back from Camp Wannatonka when she hadn’t show up. She didn’t bother to unpack them. There wasn’t anything she cared about in them anyway.
“Dinnertime, Allison,” Marsha called.
They sat at the shiny black dining room table. The china was white, trimmed in black and gold and very elegant. Everything in Marsha’s apartment was sleek and sophisticated, nothing cozy or homey. At least the Beverly Hills house was a little better, but nothing like her grandpa’s house in Oregon.
“Allison, pass the salad, please,” Marsha said in an irate voice, as if she’d asked once already. Allison passed the crystal bowl and picked at her dinner. She knew Marie was supposed to be a fantastic cook, but Allison didn’t like French cooking. Everything was smothered with a thick white sauce and always tasted the same.
“Delicious dinner, Marie,” Stanley said as he leaned back and lit a fat cigar. He stroked his hand across his shiny bald head and grinned at Marsha in satisfaction. “Yes, sirree, it’s nice to have you back, Marsha old girl.”
Marsha’s eyes sparked with fire. “Old? What do you mean old?”
“Nothing at all, dear—just an expression, you know. After all, you’re still my little girl.” Stanley winked at her, but she continued to scowl. “How did negotiations go? Did you take them for their last penny, Marsha?”
“Humph! That studio is nuts! They offered me only half of what I should get!”
Stanley’s jaw dropped. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said! They made me a horrible offer!”
“Did you take it?”
“Yes. Lola said it was the best I’d get—” Marsha burst into tears and ran off to her bedroom. Stanley drummed his fingers on the table and nervously puffed his cigar.
“Excuse me,” Allison whispered. He didn’t even notice as she left the table. She flicked on the radio in her room and collapsed on the bed. Sweet strains of Nat King Cole drifted through her room, drowning out the heated discussion over finances that kept trying to slip beneath her closed door.
The next morning Allison tiptoed out of her room and wandered through the empty apartment. She could hear Marie in the kitchen, softly singing along with the radio. Allison peeked in.
“You need something, cherie?” Marie asked in her thick French accent.
“No, not really,” Allison said, starting to leave.
“You can come in—if you want. You like Hit Parade?”
“Yeah, I listen when I get the chance.” Allison sat down on the kitchen stool and watched Marie whip eggs until they were fluffy.
“You like some tea?” Marie asked. Allison nodded and Marie poured her a cup. “I hear you go to court soon.”
Allison looked up in surprise. “How did you know?”
“Oh, I’m sorry—I hear things. . . .”
Allison was curious. “Has Stanley been talking about the court case?”
“Oui, he and his lawyer friend discuss during dinner.”
“How are things going on it?”
“Sounds good for them—is that not good for you, too?”
Allison sighed and stared at her tea.
“That’s what I think. The way they talk—I think Allison is not people. You know—like you are dog or cat.”
Allison laughed. “You have something there, Marie. What else did you hear?” Marie’s face went blank when Marsha stepped in. Marsha frowned, and Marie turned and busied herself at the sink.
“Allison, it concerns me how much time you spend chatting with the hired help,” Marsha said coolly. “It’s not right. Maybe it was okay when you were a little girl, but I want you to stop it now.”
Allison was stunned. How could Marsha talk like that in front of Marie—as if she weren’t even there?
“Is breakfast ready, Marie? Allison, bring your tea out here. Stanley left already. He had some business to attend to.”
Marie brought fluffy omelets and fresh squeezed orange juice to the table, and for a change Allison appreciated her culinary skills.
“I’d like to do some shopping while we’re in New York, but I’m still exhausted from traveling. I plan to just relax and rest for the next couple days.” Marsha’s idle chatter did little to fill the uncomfortable silence.
Allison sipped her tea and wondered what she’d find to keep herself occupied during this time. Right now the adult world seemed pretty boring to her. She wondered what Andrew and Heather were doing, then realized they’d be in school. For once in her life she wished she could be in school, too. Even homework would be more interesting than this.
“I decided you shouldn’t start school until this trial business is over, Allison,” Marsha announced as if reading her thoughts. “I hope it won’t be a problem.”
“That’s what I figured,” Allison mumbled, trying to forget every dream she ever had about going to school with Heather in Oregon. Then, wondering what Marsha’s school had been like, she asked, “Marsha, did you go to school in Cape Cod?”
Marsha looked across the room and thought for a moment. “Yes, it was a very small school. Mother wanted me to attend boarding school, but father insisted I stay at home.”
“I can barely remember Grandfather Madison, but he seemed nice.”
“In some ways he was. . . . When I was a girl, he was always occupied with business and wasn’t home a lot. But we got along well until—” Marsha stopped and frowned.
“Until what?”
“Father didn’t approve of acting. He felt it was beneath me.” Marsha laughed, sounding hollow and empty.
“So what did he do?”
“In the beginning—when I was in high school—he thought it was okay. In fact, for the first time in my life he and Mother both paid a little attention to me. I liked that feeling of having them in the audience, clapping along with the rest of the community—all for me. I felt important and I wanted more. That’s when the trouble began. . . .” Marsha poured another cup of tea and took a long, slow sip.
“My parents had a fit when I decided to go to New York for acting lessons. My father disowned me, but Mother sent me money behind his back. And it was fun. For the first time in my life, I was my own person—no one telling me what to do, how to hold a fork, or to mind my manners.”
Allison smiled, knowing full well what that was like. “How did you meet Dad?” She was treading on thin ice—but maybe it was her only chance.
“I met James at a small downtown gallery. I stopped in to get out of the rain, and I immediately noticed his impressionist paintings. They were so bright and cheerful and they reminded me of home—on the Cape. A handsome young man told me they were of the Oregon coast, clear across the country. I told him to tell the artist I admired his work, and he told me I just had. And we laughed.” Marsha’s face grew pale and her hand trembled on her teacup.
“Are you okay, Marsha?”
“Yes, it’s just I’ve never told anyone these things and it’s . . . difficult. He was very handsome and charming. He looked a lot like you, Allison.”
“Did you love him?”
Marsha laughed again, this time in a sarcastic tone. “Love him? I adored him! And I worked hard to win him. I used every bait I could think of to hook him. He was just getting over some country girl in Oregon who’d jilted him, and I didn’t waste any time.”
Allison was surprised, for she’d always thought the opposite. It had never occurred to her that Marsha was the one who loved most in their relationship. “And your parents didn’t approve?”
“Hardly! A penniless painter? They were mortified. This time Mother was even worse than Father. She cut off my allowance. Fortunately for me I was starting to get roles that paid well. But then you came along. I’m sorry, Allison, but I just wasn’t ready to be a mother. That’s when my parents stepped back into the picture. They found J
ames a good job and took you back with them so you could have a normal childhood.”
This time Allison laughed. “Normal?”
“Well, better than I could give you. James wanted to keep you here. Can you imagine? A baby being raised by a struggling actress and fledgling artist in New York City? It would’ve been pitiful.”
Allison wondered. Maybe it would’ve held them together. “What went wrong, Marsha?”
“Everything! Sometimes I wonder if he ever loved me. My career started to soar, and even though I was often gone, I brought in the money. James hated his job and kept trying to talk me into leaving New York and set up a real home—you know, with the white picket fence and all that. James resented my career, and I think that finally did it. That, along with the embezzlement scandal.”
Allison was glad Marsha had brought it up. She took a deep breath. “But, Marsha, you knew all along he was innocent, didn’t you?”
Marsha looked at her watch and feigned a yawn. “No, not really—I’m still not sure. I’m awfully tired now, Allison. We can talk more later.” Marsha stood and slipped away to her room.
Allison sat at the table with fists clenched. She knew it was a lie. She’d already read the letter proclaiming her father’s innocence. She wondered if Marsha even realized the letter was gone.
Marsha avoided Allison for the next couple days, staying mostly in her room or on the phone but always distant and aloof. Allison wrote more letters and some poetry and read a couple mindless novels from Stanley’s collection.
One night Stanley and Marsha dressed up and went to an opening on Broadway. They hadn’t asked Allison to join them, but she didn’t care. It gave her time alone with Marie. Maybe she could pump her for information.
“Marie,” Allison began as Marie cleared the table. “Have you heard anything about the upcoming trial you could share with me?”
Marie looked flustered. “I am so sorry, cherie. Miss Madison, she warn me—I keep mouth closed now.” Allison frowned. “But,” Marie whispered as if the walls had ears, “I tell you this—you be careful.”
Allison O'Brian on Her Own Page 26
