They arrived at the little hotel shortly after that, and Peter looked extremely serious and responsible in his suit and tie as he signed the register Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, and carried the single bag to a clean, simple room that became their honeymoon suite for the next several hours.
It was almost nightfall when he looked at his watch and she gasped. “Good Lord, my mother’s expecting you for cocktails.”
“I’m not sure I can still stand up, let alone drink,” he teased, and pulled her back into bed with him again, but only for a minute. And then they showered together, and dressed. For a brief moment, it was almost like being married. “Does she know we’re sharing a house together this year?” He didn’t want to put his foot in it and it was a good thing he asked, because Paxton shrieked at the very suggestion.
“Are you crazy? She thinks it’s me and Gabby and another girl, and even at that, she’s not crazy about the idea.” But she had finally relented.
“Great. I gather this means I can never touch the phone.” He looked amused, and he didn’t mind. All he wanted was to live with Paxton, even if it meant putting up with his sister. His mother had told him on the phone, when she called him in Jackson, that Gabby had chased every man over thirty on the Riviera. “I think she’s getting desperate,” he said to Paxton on the drive back into town. “She’s silly, she’s too young to get married.” Paxton smiled at the words, and he leaned over and kissed her. “That’s different. She’s a baby, you’re not. But I think you’re too young too. For about three more years. And then … watch out!” They both laughed. She knew how reasonable he had been, and she never felt pressured by him. He wanted her to do what she needed to, like this summer, working in Savannah, but she had to admit, she had been miserable without him.
George and her mother were waiting for them when they drove in, and her mother looked frankly disapproving at Paxton.
“I thought you’d be home hours ago.” Allison was there, and her mother thought Paxton should have changed for their “guest,” but Paxxie ignored her.
“I was showing Peter the sights. Peter,” she said formally, “my mother, Beatrice Andrews, my brother, George, and his … ‘friend,’ Allison Lee.” Her mother never failed to tell anyone that Allison was related to the great Confederate general. And Paxton had waited all summer for George to get engaged to her, but for some reason he hadn’t. At thirty-three, he didn’t want to rush into anything. Anything. Although, at thirty-one, Allison seemed to be getting decidedly nervous. “This is Peter Wilson,” she explained to all of them as though they’d never heard of him before. “His sister, Gabby, is my roommate.” Everyone murmured polite how-do-you-do’s, shook hands, and George offered Peter a drink, and Peter asked for a gin and tonic. It was deadly hot and the fan overhead did little to cool the room, although everyone pretended not to notice. Queenie had made her best hors d’oeuvres, and Allison passed them looking demure and as prissy as ever. Paxton had decided long since that she couldn’t stand her.
But Peter was congenial with everyone, and her mother was painfully polite, while George looked frankly bored, and Allison appeared not even to know someone was in the room with them. She almost never spoke to Paxton, and had said to George several times that she just didn’t understand her. And secretly, she thought Paxton rude and far too headstrong. Allison kept talking to George that night about the new curtains she had just ordered for her bedroom. Peter tried to explain what he was doing in Mississippi, but no one seemed to care, and her mother kept pointedly changing the subject. It took him a while to realize that it was because she disapproved of what he was doing there, and she was trying to keep him from embarrassing himself, and when the message finally got across, it shocked him. They were even worse than Paxton had said. They were distant and cold, and living in the Dark Ages.
He switched to discussing his parents’ trip to Europe then, which seemed a safer subject. Paxton’s mother seemed impressed to hear that they were in the south of France, and she asked him as genteelly as she could what his father did, and Peter was surprised Paxton hadn’t told her.
“He … uh … works for a newspaper in San Francisco.…” It seemed indiscreet somehow to say he owned it.
“How nice,” Beatrice Andrews said with a look of obvious disapproval. “And you’re going to be a lawyer?” He nodded, speechless at the iciness of her tone. She was everything Paxton had said and more … or less, as it were. She was glacial. “Paxton’s father was an attorney. Her brother”—her eyes indicated the deadly George—“is a doctor.” Now that was obviously a profession that measured up in her eyes.
“That’s wonderful,” Peter said, feeling wooden and wondering how long he could go on talking to them, and how Paxton could stand them on a daily basis. No wonder she was so unhappy when she came home. She was so unlike them. “And Allison, what do you do?”
“I … why … uh …” She was so startled to be asked, she had no idea what to say. She had been waiting around to find a husband for thirteen years, ever since she got out of high school. “Why … I … I’m very fond of my garden.”
“And she does marvelous work for us at the Junior League, don’t you, dear,” Mrs. Andrews said encouragingly. And then to Peter, “Her great-great uncle was General Lee. The General Lee. I’m sure you know who he is.”
“Yes indeed.” Peter felt as though he was going to run from the room screaming, and it was the longest dinner of his life, with endless silences, and awkward snatches of conversation, and only an occasional wink or nudge from Queenie, or look from Paxton, to cheer him. It seemed aeons before they went back to his hotel, and he pulled off his tie, and collapsed on the bed with a groan that didn’t begin to express what he had felt about the evening, and then he sat up and looked at Paxton. They had pretended they were going out for a little “dancing.” “My God, baby, how do you stand them? They are the most difficult, uptight people I’ve ever met. I know I shouldn’t say this about your family, but I thought I’d never get through that dinner.”
She grinned from ear to ear. “I know. Aren’t they awful? I never know what to say to them. I always feel like a stranger.”
“You are. You don’t even look related to them. Your brother is the most boring man I’ve ever met, his girlfriend is the most prissy, uptight, dumb pain in the ass, and your mother … my God, she’s like an iceberg.”
Paxton grinned happily, loving him more than ever. She felt avenged suddenly, and as though she had more in the world than just Queenie. “That’s my Mommy.”
Peter still couldn’t believe there were people like that in the world. They were totally different from his own family, and totally different from Paxxie. “I wish I’d met your father.”
“So do I. He would have loved you.”
“I’m sure I would have loved him too. But from everything you’ve said about him, Paxton, I just can’t imagine him with your mother.”
“I don’t think he was very happy with her. I was only eleven when he died, so the subtleties of their relationship kind of escaped me.”
“Maybe that’s just as well. Thank God you went to Berkeley.” He couldn’t begin to imagine what would have happened to her if she had stayed in Savannah with them. It would have destroyed her, or her spirit eventually. He had had three gin and tonics just to get through dinner, and they probably thought he was an alcoholic.
Paxton stayed with him as long as she could, and then he drove her home in the rented car, and watched as she went into the house. And much to her surprise, her mother was waiting up for her, which was something she never did, and wasn’t necessarily a good omen.
“What exactly does that boy mean to you?” she asked Paxton only seconds after she came through the door.
“He’s my friend. I like him.”
“You’re in love with him.” Her mother hurled the words at her like cannonballs, and as though she expected Paxton to fall down and beg for mercy.
“Maybe.” She didn’t want to lie to her, but she didn’t want
to stir anything up either. Her mother was sitting on the couch in her dressing gown, and there was a small glass of sherry beside her. “I like his family. His sister is my friend, and his parents have been very nice to me.”
“Why?” It was a ridiculous question and Paxton couldn’t begin to find an answer.
“What do you mean, ‘why’? Because they like me.”
“Maybe because they think you’re a step up in the world for their son. Have you ever thought of that?” Paxton almost laughed at the suggestion, but she didn’t want to be rude to her mother.
“I don’t think that’s very likely.”
“Why not?”
“Mother …” Paxton wasn’t quite sure what to say to her, but the truth seemed the only solution. “They own the second biggest paper in San Francisco. The Morning Sun. They don’t need me for anything. They just like me.”
“They sound common,” her mother said harshly, but in her opinion, all westerners were, including, and perhaps especially, Peter Wilson. Westerners were even worse than Yankees.
“They’re not common.” Paxton felt suddenly hurt by her mother’s lack of warmth for the boy she loved. It was so unlike the warmth she had encountered from the Wilsons. “They’re nice people, Mother. Really.”
“I don’t want you to go back to Berkeley.” The words shot from her mouth like flares, and Paxton sat down heavily in a chair, wishing they didn’t have to go through this.
“I like it there. It’s a wonderful school. I’m doing well. Mother, I’m not going to stay here.”
“You will if I tell you to. You’re nineteen years old, and don’t let that little trust your father left you go to your head. At your age, you are not independent.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Paxton fought to stay calm, and she was far beyond her years in her wisdom. “But I’m not going to stay in Savannah.”
“May I ask why?”
“Because I’m not happy here. I want broader horizons. And when I finish school, I want to go abroad somewhere for a while.” Even Peter understood that.
“You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?” It was a low blow, and one she hadn’t expected.
“Of course not.”
“Yes, you are. It’s written all over you, like a cheap whore. You went to California and turned into a slut. Even your brother and Allison saw the difference.” It was an ugly thing to say and their consensus hurt her.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Paxton stood up, determined not to hear more of the same. “I’m going to bed now, Mother.”
“I want you to think about what I said.”
“About being a whore?” Paxton said coldly, but her mother seemed unaffected.
“About staying here. I want you to think twice before you go back to California.”
“I don’t think I’ll have to,” Paxton said sadly, and walked up the stairs to her bedroom.
She met Peter at the hotel the next day, and she said very little about what had happened. But he knew. He could see it in her face. “She said something, didn’t she? Was she upset?”
“Upset?” Paxton laughed, for the first time sounding bitter. “No, my mother never gets ‘upset.’ Disappointed. She wants me to transfer back to a school here.” Peter looked horrified as he listened, but Paxton quickly kissed him to reassure him. “She says I’m turning into a slut out in California, even my brother and Allison can see it. And it’s very distressing to them.”
“The bastards … did they …” He was spluttering he was so angry, and she silenced him with a kiss again, too wise for her years, too saddened by what had happened.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll be back in Berkeley in four weeks. And I don’t know if I’ll ever come back here. I’m not sure I can. It depresses me too much. They always want to hurt me.”
“Can she cut you off?” Peter asked worriedly, although he would have been more than happy to remedy the situation at a moment’s notice, but Paxton shook her head. She still looked sad, but she also looked older and more independent.
“No, she can’t. My father left me just enough money to go to school and support myself while I do. And after that, I have to work anyway, so it doesn’t really make any difference. She’d probably support me if I wanted to come home and spend the rest of my life at the Junior League, but I don’t, so it’s no loss. It really doesn’t make any difference. I just can’t come back here. Not to live anyway.” She looked certain.
“What about Queenie?” He knew how much she meant to Paxton.
“I’ll come back to see her. I’d have to.” Paxton smiled, but her life was in California with him now. More important, her life was her own, and she knew it. And so did her mother, which was what scared her. She had very little power now over Paxton.
He left the next day, and Paxton hated to see him go. And he hated to leave her among people who didn’t love her. He promised to call her at least every day, more often if he could, and wasn’t in jail, he laughed, as he left her at the airport. He kissed her long and hard and reminded her to think about how much he loved her, and not to let her family upset her.
But they did anyway. Her mother was hostile to her after Peter left, and her brother told her several times, whenever he had the chance, that she owed it to their mother not to go back to California.
“I owe it to myself to make something of myself, George,” she told him bluntly, no longer afraid of him, or impressed by him, despite the fact that he was so much older. He seemed pathetic now, a small-town doctor who was still tied to his mother’s apron strings and was afraid to have a relationship with anyone of any substance. She was sure that her relationship with Peter was more whole and more mature than his was.
“You can make something of yourself here,” George insisted to her one night before she left, when their mother was at her bridge club.
“Bullshit,” she exploded. “Look at you. Look at the people we know. Look at Allison … look at the girls I went to school with.”
“Watch your mouth, Paxton!” He was outraged at the slurs on all of them, but so was she. She had taken too much for too long and she’d had it. “You’ve filled your head with a lot of wild ideas and ugly words, Paxton, and they don’t suit you.”
“Neither does this. This isn’t me. It never was. And it wasn’t Daddy either. He probably just put up with it because he was a nice man and he thought he had to.”
“You don’t know anything about him. You were a child when he died.”
“I know he was a good man with a big heart and I loved him.”
“You don’t know what he did to Mama.” He said it as though he were hiding something terrible from her, and she found that hard to believe about her father.
“What could he possibly have done to her?” She couldn’t imagine anything, but George couldn’t resist hurting her further. It was his final revenge for her independence, the independence he had never had and never would because he was too much like their mother and not enough like their father, unlike Paxton.
“There was a woman with him when he crashed.” “There was?” Paxton looked startled at first and then, slowly, thoughtful. It explained a lot of things. Her mother’s attitude. But it was also easy to understand why he had wanted another woman. She wasn’t really surprised. And in a funny way, she was glad. If he had found someone to love and who had loved him, he deserved it. He didn’t deserve to die for it. But that wasn’t what had killed him. Chance had killed him. Bad luck. His name on a slate, written by a hand in Heaven. “I’m not really surprised,” she said quietly, and he looked disappointed. “Mama was always so cold to him. He probably needed more than she had to give him.”
“What would you know about that at your age?”
“I know what it’s been like being her daughter,” she said openly, and he looked shocked. “And your sister. We’re very different.”
“We certainly are,” he said with angry pride. “We certainly are. And you’d better think twice about what you’re making
of yourself in California. Out there with all those drugs and hippies and demonstrations, all those fools wearing their bedsheets and putting flowers in their hair, and demonstrating for the blacks when they’ve never even seen one.”
“Maybe they know more than you do, George. Maybe they care more. And maybe that’s something.”
“You’re a fool.”
“No.” She shook her head as she looked at him. “No. But I would have been if I’d stayed here. Good-bye, George.” She held out a hand to him, but he didn’t take it. He just looked at her and a few minutes later, he left the house, and she didn’t see him again before she left Savannah.
Her good-byes with Queenie were more painful this time, because she had already decided she wouldn’t be back for Christmas that year, although she hadn’t said it to Queenie. But Queenie sensed that she wouldn’t be back for a long time, and she held her close and looked into her eyes sadly. “I love you, girl Take care of yourself.”
“You too. And go to the doctor when you get that cough.” But she seemed older and slower now, even without it. “I love you,” Paxton whispered, and kissed the warm black cheeks and then she left her.
Her mother didn’t take her to the airport this time, nor did George. Her mother said good-bye to her in the front hall, and let her know by her tone that her going back to California was a major disappointment, not because she’d be missed but because she had failed somehow, as a human being, and a Georgian, and as her mother’s daughter, and George’s sister. It was all more than a little exhausting.
“You’re wasting your time out there.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mama. I’m trying my best not to.”
“They said you did a nice job on the paper.” It was the only compliment she could ever remember her mother giving her. “You could have a job working for the society editor one day, if you worked hard.” Paxton didn’t tell her she’d rather die than spend the rest of her life chronicling her friends’ weddings.
“That’s nice. Take care,” she said softly, sorry to leave them, yet relieved, sorry most of all for what they had never been to each other.
Message from Nam Page 10
