Alexandra Waring

by Laura Van Wormer

  And, last but not least, Mrs. Waring said she wouldn’t mind rubbing Alexandra’s marriage to Gordon in Tyler Mandell’s face a little.

  “Mom,” Alexandra said, “I was the one who broke off the engagement. Tyler didn’t do anything—I keep telling you that.”

  Mrs. Waring made a gesture, indicating that she believed this to be utter malarkey, and let her hand drop back down on the wheel. “We all know he was not what he appeared to be,” she said, addressing the horizon.

  Puffing now, Alexandra said, “He’s very happily married—with a baby and everything—so I don’t know why—you say that,” and then she turned down another dirt road, losing her mother.

  Mrs. Waring stopped the Land Rover, threw it in reverse, backed up, put it in first and went down the road after her daughter.

  When Mrs. Waring caught up with her Alexandra stopped running and bent over for a minute, hands on her hips, catching her breath. “Mom,” she said then, straightening up, breathing heavily, perspiration running down her face, “I’ll be honest with you. One of the reasons why I—”

  Her mother was frowning, looking down at something.

  “What?” Alexandra said.

  “Pull up your shirt,” her mother said.

  “What?” Alexandra said, wiping her forehead with the back of her wrist and looking down. “Why?”

  “I want to see your stomach.”

  Alexandra pulled her T-shirt up so her mother could see her stomach.

  “Lexy,” Mrs. Waring said, raising her eyes, “how much weight have you lost?”

  “Oh,” Alexandra said, pulling her shirt down.

  “Darling,” Mrs. Waring said, voice softening, “you’re not getting some kind of eating problem, are you?”

  “No,” Alexandra said, walking over. She leaned on the Land Rover door, looking face to face with her mother. “Really, Mom, I’m not. It just comes off, the weight, when I’m not sleeping well.”

  “And why aren’t you sleeping well?” her mother asked her. She reached out and pushed a strand of moist hair back off her daughter’s face. “Hmmm? Is it too much for you? The work?”

  Alexandra shook her head, averting her eyes.

  “Then what is it?” Mrs. Waring asked her.

  After a moment Alexandra looked at her mother. “I’m not sure if I love Gordon the way I should.”

  Her mother smiled slightly. “Of course you do,” she told her.

  “Even if I’m not in love with him?”

  “But you do love him,” her mother said,

  “Yes, I do,” Alexandra said. She sighed, looking over at the field and then back at her again. “But more as a friend, I think.”

  Her mother really smiled then and patted her hand. “Then you have nothing to worry about. You’ll probably have the best marriage of the lot.”

  Mrs. Waring shared her thoughts on the subject of love and marriage with her daughter for the rest of the day—as they covered the county on wedding—related errands (showrooms, books, catalogs, magazines and leaflets for Alexandra to look through to give her mother some idea of what she was thinking about in terms of wedding dresses, bridesmaid dresses, tuxedos, photographers, flowers, wedding cakes, orchestras, dance floors, caterers…)

  Mrs. Waring said it was perfectly natural for Alexandra to feel unsure about the marriage because, the older one got, the more fears one got about everything and certainly marriage was one of them. That was why it was so much easier to get married when younger—like she had and Alexandra’s sister had. But Alexandra had been on her own for so long—and she had always been like that, since she was a little girl—and so, at thirty (“Good heavens,” Mrs. Waring said, “when you stop and think that at thirty I was having my fourth child”), of course Alexandra was going to be much more nervous and doubtful about getting married than most.

  And regardless of what Alexandra may have heard, marriage was no institution for star-crossed lovers. Marriage was a partnership, and the love that counted in a marriage was exactly the kind Alexandra had for Gordon—because that was the only love that endured everything. Oh, yes, romance came and went—and it did come back, Alexandra should know that and expect that, romance came in cycles and she was just in an out-cycle right now. (“You, my baby,” Mrs. Waring said, patting Alexandra’s knee, “are the product of a renewed romantic cycle in our marriage.”)

  Alexandra did not say very much over the course of the day. She just let her mother drive her around the county in the station wagon, smiled at the people to whom she was introduced and nodded, yes, or shook her head, no, when asked her opinion about whatever wedding thing her mother was trying to make up her mind about.

  That evening, when Mr. Waring came home and Alexandra’s sister, Elizabeth, and her husband and four children arrived, and then her eldest brother, Paul, Jr., and his wife and the two youngest of their three children arrived, everybody was in such high spirits, no one noticed how little Alexandra had to say. Mr. Waring and Paul and Elizabeth’s husband happily argued economic policies and discussed Mr. Waring’s possible reelection bid in the next congressional race, and after talk sped past DBS and the shooting and landed on The Wedding, Mrs. Waring, Elizabeth and Alexandra’s sister—in—law were into a subject from which they would never return. When Elizabeth went upstairs to find the train of her wedding dress to prove to Mrs. Waring that Mrs. Huddlesmith was wrong, Alexandra should wear a very long one, Alexandra slipped outside to lead her youngest nephew, age four, around by the barn on a pony.

  Sunday morning Alexandra went to church with her parents, and Dr. Bates was so glad to see her that he said so in the middle of the service. Afterward, on the steps of the church, he said a little bird had told him they might be having “a little do here in April,” and Alexandra smiled, kissed him on the cheek, told him that her mother would keep him posted and walked away. “We understood, of course,” he called after her, “why you transferred your church membership to New York, but your home will always be here, with us, in our hearts, Alexandra.”

  “Where are you and Lisa having dinner?” Mrs. Waring asked Alexandra on the way home, from the front seat of the station wagon.

  “The Bristol,” Alexandra said from the back seat.

  “That’s the one with the Victorian architecture you took me to once, isn’t it?” Mrs. Waring asked.

  “Yes,” Alexandra said.

  “Lisa who?” Mr. Waring asked, turning south onto Route 59.

  “Connors,” Mrs. Waring told him. “You remember Lisa. Alexandra’s having dinner with her in the city tonight.”

  “Oh, that crook Connors’ daughter,” Mr. Waring said.

  “Lisa’s not a bit like her father,” Mrs. Waring said. “Is she, Alexandra?”

  “No,” Alexandra said, looking out the window.

  “You used to love Lisa,” Mrs. Waring told Mr. Waring. “Or don’t you remember?” She looked out her window, smiling slightly. “We remember, don’t we, Alexandra? How your father used to get around Lisa?” She chuckled softly, shaking her head.

  “Lisa was a very beautiful girl as I remember,” Mr. Waring said gruffly. “Very nice, very interesting.”

  “We still have that painting of hers in the cellar, Alexandra,” Mrs. Waring said. “You don’t suppose she’ll be driving out to see us, do you?”

  “I doubt it,” Alexandra said.

  “Good,” Mrs. Waring said, “then I won’t have to find somewhere to hang it.” Pause. “Why don’t you take it back to New York with you? You used to like it.”

  “Where’s Lisa living these days, Alexandra?” Mr. Waring said.

  “Denver, mostly,” Alexandra said.

  “I’m glad you’re seeing her,” Mrs. Waring said. “Because remember how she said she’d never get married? And then—boom—she got married, to a nice young man—what was his name?”

  “Matt,” Alexandra said.

  “That’s right,” Mrs. Waring said, nodding her head. “And what does he do?”

  “H
e’s some sort of a consultant,” Alexandra said.

  “About what?” Mr. Waring said. “You have to be consulted about something specific to be a consultant.”

  “About resorts, I think,” Alexandra said.

  “A consultant about resorts?” Mr. Waring said.

  “Well, you know,” Mrs. Waring said, “they do move in those kind of circles. Resorts and developments and the like. The Connors do.”

  Connors is a crook,” Mr. Waring said. “That’s what circle he moves in. Lisa’s husband work for her father, Alexandra?”

  “Indirectly,” she said.

  “She’s not getting divorced, is she, Alexandra?” Mrs. Waring asked, turning around to look at her. “That’s not why she’s coming to see you, is it?”

  “Now why would you say that?” Alexandra said.

  “Because that girl was always upset about something,” Mrs. Waring said, turning back around in her seat. “And she always ran to you when she was.” She looked out her window. “I used to tell your father that she walked and talked a good game but was too dependent on you—that I didn’t think it was very good for either one of you.”

  “I don’t ever remember you saying that,” Mr. Waring told his wife. “And I don’t ever remember Lisa being upset.”

  “I do,” Mrs. Waring said. “Oh, look, Paul,” she added, tapping her fingernail against the window, “see what they’ve done there? They took down the wood fence and put up a metal one. Awful.”

  Everybody looked at the fence.

  “Hideous,” Mr. Waring said, shaking his head, looking back at the road.

  “Alexandra…” Mrs. Waring said, turning around to look at her again. “You’re not going to forget what we were discussing yesterday, are you? If Lisa’s having problems, you’re not going to listen to her, are you?”

  “What were you discussing yesterday?” Mr. Waring asked his wife.

  “Oh, we were just talking about Gordon and the wedding,” Mrs. Waring said, turning back around in her seat.

  “What about Gordon and the wedding?” Mr. Waring said quickly, glancing over at his wife.

  “Alexandra’s just a little nervous, that’s all,” Mrs. Waring said. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “This isn’t going to be another Tyler Mandell, is it, Alexandra?” Mr. Waring said to her in the rearview mirror. “We’re not going to have to go through that again, are we?”

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” Mrs. Waring said.

  “Lexy?” Mr. Waring asked.

  “Leave her alone, Paul,” Mrs. Waring said. “She knows it’s time.”

  “I know it’s time for what?” Alexandra said.

  “To get married,” Mrs. Waring said.

  “Daddy always said she’d be the tough one to marry off,” Mr. Waring said, looking over at his wife. “Remember?”

  “How could I forget?” Mrs. Waring said, sighing, looking out her window. “He told her that so many times, look what happened.”

  Mr. Waring looked in the rearview mirror. “What’s the matter, Alexandra?”

  “You make me feel like…” Alexandra said, voice trailing off.

  “Like what?” Mrs. Waring said, following a tree with her head as it went by.

  “Like I’m some sort of social pariah who needs to redeem herself before it’s too late,” Alexandra said.

  Mr. Waring laughed.

  “You’re not a social pariah,” Mrs. Waring said, “don’t be silly.”

  “Thank you,” Alexandra said.

  “You sound just like your brother when you’re being sarcastic,” Mrs. Waring told her.

  “What is it, Alexandra, what’s the matter?” Mr. Waring said, squinting into the rearview mirror. “Why are you looking like that?”

  “Why, what is she looking like?” Mrs. Waring said, turning around to look at her.

  “Some parents would be happy to have me as a daughter the way I am,” Alexandra told them.

  “We’re very happy with the way you are,” Mrs. Waring said. “We couldn’t be prouder. Could we, Paul?”

  “No one’s prouder of you than we are, Alexandra,” Mr. Waring said.

  “Then why do I always get the feeling that you won’t be happy until I get married and have children?”

  “We never expected you to get married and have children like Elizabeth and the boys did, not right away—did we, Paul? You’ve always been different, Alexandra. Elizabeth would sooner hang herself than live the way you do.”

  “We knew it would take time,” Mr. Waring said. “Didn’t Daddy always say—”

  “It’s never going to be enough, is it?” Alexandra said.

  “What?” Mr. Waring said. “What did she say?” he asked his wife.

  She said, “It’s never going to be enough, is it?”, Mrs. Waring said.

  “What isn’t going to be enough?” Mr. Waring asked Alexandra in the rearview mirror.

  “My life. Me. If I don’t get married and have children, then deep down inside you’ll always think of me as a failure, won’t you? No matter what I do.”

  “Alexandra Bonner Waring!” Mrs. Waring said, turning around to look at her. “You are the strangest child who says the strangest things.” Then she turned back around in her seat and looked out the window. “Of course you’ll get married and have children—if you’d just stop analyzing everything. If you’d just stop thinking so much and do it, Alexandra, everything would work out exactly the way it’s supposed to. I’ve told you that.”

  “Now why didn’t I think of that?” Alexandra said, turning to her window. “Just stop thinking, Alexandra,” she told herself. And then she laughed, letting her forehead fall forward to bang against the glass.

  In the front seat, Mr. and Mrs. Waring exchanged looks with each other.

  44

  The Reunion

  Jackson remembered something about everybody in his family staying in the same hotel, but no one except Beau seemed to be suffering from the same delusion. Cordelia usually stayed at the Plaza on her trips to New York, but then Kitty Paine got a last-minute chance to foil a buyout of the PTL by a businessman “not of owah perswayshun” and wasn’t coming to the reunion after all, and so Cordelia decided to join Big El at Belinda’s.

  Cordelia’s son, Ezekiel, alias Freaky Zekey, was staying at the Marriott in Times Square because he wanted to be “somewhere near a little action, if you catch my drift.” Little El had some sort of Hilton towel collection going and so he and his wife were staying there, while their son, Kirky, and his wife had taken rooms at the Ritz Carlton and their daughter, Bipper, and her husband—flying in from Paris—were staying uptown at the Westbury.

  The twins, Norbert and Noreen, and their respective spouses were staying at the Pierre. Norbert’s son, Knightsbridge Collier, alias “K.G,” had his reservation adamantly refused at the Carlyle and was, with his two women friends, staying at the Parker Meridien. Norbert’s daughter, Jane, was not coming (explaining that the next time she would expose her husband to her father and Aunt Noreen would be to point out their graves). And Noreen’s only child, Poor Luanne—as everyone called her (presumably because of her unfortunate looks)was in the Algonquin, where, her mother said, she hoped Poor Luanne would trip over a half—decent poet looking to marry money.

  Jackson’s son, Kevin, was mountain climbing in Tibet and would not be coming. Jackson’s daughter, Lydia—after saying she was coming and then not coming six different times—finally decided, on Friday night, that she was not coming, no explanation given.

  Ethel, Randy and Claire kept a running chart in the computer of these hotel arrangements, plus an intricate tracking system of what Darenbrook wished to participate in which of the following organized Saturday activities: shopping, museum tours, horseback riding in Central Park, carriage ride in midtown, helicopter ride around the city, roller—skating at Wollman rink, Mets game at Shea, tea at the Stanhope, hot dogs and roller coaster at Coney Island. Saturday evening, of course, everyone was to come to West End for cock
tails, a tour of the facilities and a big cookout in the square, and then Sunday was the board meeting.

  Saturday morning Jackson picked up Beau and Tiger at the Darenbrook suite in the Plaza and took them downstairs to the Edwardian Room for breakfast. A few minutes later Cassy left Jackson’s suite and came downstairs, where she was introduced as the future president of DBS who had just run over from West End to meet the brother she had heard so many wonderful things about. (At this, Beau looked at Jackson, as much as to say, “You must have forgotten the part about my gambling away sixty million dollars of your money on the stock market last year.”) And, as everyone did, Cassy said she couldn’t get over the resemblance between the brothers.

  Cassy could only stay for a cup of coffee, but it was clear that she and Beau liked one another on sight. When she left the table and the men sat back down, Beau turned to his brother and said, “Don’t let her get away—marry her, Jack.”

  “What?” Jackson said. “What are you talking about?”

  “Cassy,” Beau said, his own Darenbrook blue eyes twinkling, pointing in the direction of the door. “The woman you’re in love with.” He turned to Tiger. “At first she reminded me a little of Barbara.”

  “Me, too, at first,” Tiger said. “But she’s not like Barbara—she just carries herself the same way.”

  “But she certainly has the same effect on Jackie,” Beau said. He turned to grin at his brother. “It’s great to see you in love again, Jack. It’s been a long time.”

  “You mean you can just tell?” Jackson asked, trying to look concerned, but secretly elated.

  “Like chicken feathers on a fox,” Beau told him.

  After swearing his brother and Tiger to secrecy, Jackson told them a bit more about Cassy and their situation, to which Beau responded with the advice that he give Cassy all the time she needed to sort things out in her life and career, instead of doing the Darenbrook—like thing of demanding instant gratification and screwing everything up.