by Ann McMan
She stood up and walked quickly in the direction of the hotel.
SYD WATCHED MADDIE drain her Cosmopolitan and signal the bartender for another. They had agreed to meet in the lounge of their hotel for a cocktail before leaving to meet Celine for dinner. One look at Maddie’s face told Syd how the meeting with her mother had gone. It only took a few minutes for Maddie to fill in the blanks.
Maddie set her empty glass down on the table.
“Um . . . wanna slow down a little, Stretch?” Syd asked, gently.
Maddie gave her a look that was a perfect blend of irony and despair. “God. A dozen of these might just begin to take the edge off. What the hell was I thinking? That woman is just so . . . bloodless.”
“Which one?”
“Either. Both.” She shrugged. “Flip a coin.”
Syd regarded her with concern. “You know, I had all day to persuade myself that going along with you was an okay thing to be doing. Now, I’m not so sure.”
Maddie reached across the table and grabbed Syd’s hand. “Oh, god . . . please don’t back out now. I know I’m a shameless coward, but I don’t think I can get through this alone. Just ten minutes with her was enough to make the prospect of becoming a Betty Ford alumna sound appealing.”
Syd smiled at her. “Buck up. You’ll do just fine.”
Maddie slowly released her hand. Her beautiful face was a study in desperation. “You’ll still come along?”
Syd sighed in resignation. “I will never desert you, Mr. Micawber.”
Maddie stared at her blankly for a moment, then burst into near hysterical laughter. She leaned across their tiny table and kissed Syd warmly on the cheek. “Oh, man . . . I’m a sucker for Dickens.” Her blue eyes sparkled. “How’d you come up with that?”
“Please,” Syd feigned contempt. “I’m a librarian. I notice books. You have at least five editions of David Copperfield lying around your house.”
Maddie sat back, still chuckling. “Hmmm. So if instead, I had, say, five copies of The Case of the Velvet Claws—what would you have said?”
Syd winked at her. “Oh, that’s easy. I’d have called you Chief, and asked if you’d like another martini.”
They stared at each other. Maddie shook her head slowly. “I think I’m in love.”
Syd smiled. “Hold that thought, it might actually work to your advantage for the next couple of hours.”
“What do you mean?” Maddie looked confused.
Syd leaned forward. “Given what you told me about your mother’s reaction to meeting Gina—and to my coming along tonight—why not turn the tables on her and let her think that we are a couple?”
Maddie looked at her like she had two heads. “Are you kidding me?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Why on earth would we do that?”
“Because I simply don’t believe her when she tells you that she has no real reason for suddenly waltzing back into your life. The surest way to get her to come clean is to rattle her cage and see what shakes loose. Let’s just see how emotionally detached from you she is.”
“Now I really need that drink. Are you nuts? Celine would see through a ruse like this in a nanosecond.”
“You underestimate me, and you underestimate Celine as your mother.”
Maddie slumped back against her seat. “It’s not that the prospect of toying with Celine doesn’t appeal to me, it’s that I really just don’t get the point.”
Their waiter arrived with Maddie’s second Cosmopolitan.
“Look,” Syd continued, after he had picked up the empty glass and walked away. “You said your mother was pretty pissed-off over the whole Gina exchange today. If she already knew about your sexual orientation and never expressed any interest or concern about it previously, then why would she get so worked up over running into your ex-girlfriend? It doesn’t make sense. Something about that whole interaction really yanked her chain. Don’t you want to find out what it is that’s really stuck in her craw?”
Maddie listened to Syd in thoughtful silence. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know. I mean, of course I’d like to know what’s really going on with her. But I think it’s a mistake for the two of us to breeze in there and perform some kind of elaborate pantomime just to try and force her hand. It could totally backfire. I mean, how do we even know we could pull it off? And what about you? Why would you be willing to risk having her—or anyone—think that you’re my—my . . .”
“Lover?”
Maddie met her eyes. “Yeah.”
Syd smiled at her. “It isn’t like I’m going to run into her next weekend at the Junior League rummage sale. Come on. What do we have to lose?”
Maddie thought about it. “You got me there. Not a whole helluva lot.” She sat back and looked at Syd with lingering indecision. “Okay.” She expelled a breath. “But I have to warn you—when she’s cornered, Celine is like Jabba the Hutt in a Chanel suit.”
Syd laughed. “Don’t worry. I know the type. Some day, I’ll tell you about my former mother-in-law. I kept her back with wolf’s bane and pentagrams.”
Maddie shook her head slowly. “God. Why do I think I’m going to live to regret this?”
“Tell you what,” Syd said. “You just be your sweet and solicitous self, and leave the driving to me.”
“Oh, that part,” Maddie said, as she raised her glass in a mock toast, “will not be a problem.”
CELINE WAS STAYING at The Jefferson, a five-star hotel located near the center of Richmond’s financial district. In the interest of time, she and Maddie had agreed to meet for dinner downstairs at her hotel’s premier restaurant, L’Etoile. She had spent the hours following her conference appearance back in her hotel room, returning phone calls and responding to departmental e-mail. An hour before she was due to meet her daughter, she closed her laptop and made arrangements with the concierge for ground transportation to the airport at five-thirty a.m. Well before the hotel’s regular shuttle service commenced. Then she changed into more suitable evening dress.
The cell phone next to her laptop vibrated, and Celine glanced down at its illuminated LCD panel. Text message from Stevenson, MH. She flipped the phone open. On our way. There in 15. She sat holding the phone for few moments before closing it and placing it into her purse.
She reached into a sleeve on the inside of her briefcase and pulled out a faded, black-and-white photograph of a doe-eyed child sitting with confidence on the shoulders of a tall man. The two wore matching smiles as they posed in front of a small, high-wing plane. Maddie’s dark hair was a wind-blown mass under the oversized aviation headset she wore.
Celine turned the photo over to read its inscription: 4.29.79. Maddie’s seventh birthday. Davis had surprised the little girl by taking her for her very first flight in his new airplane. She remembered that Maddie could barely contain her excitement. The child was so much like her father—no fear . . . of anything. She returned the picture to its resting place.
She thought back to her disturbing encounter with Maddie earlier that afternoon—and with Gina. She shook her head. Toxic. That was the only word for someone like Gina. Her disappointment in Maddie’s judgment was palpable. She glanced at her watch, then stood up and collected her room key and purse. Squaring her shoulders, she left the room and headed downstairs to meet Maddie and her newest “friend.”
AS THEY EXITED their cab in front of the Jefferson’s impressive façade, Maddie took a deep breath and shook her shoulders like a pugilist trying to loosen up before climbing into the ring.
“Every time I know I’m going to see that woman, I feel like my hands should be taped-up.”
Syd gave her a perplexed look. “Why?”
“So I don’t break my fingers when I try to punch through her veneer.”
Syd sighed and laid a calming hand on her arm. “Why not try a different approach tonight? Instead of gearing up for some predetermined battle royal, why not try to relax and see where she wants to go?”
“Oh, I know wh
ere she wants to go.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. And it’s the same place I want to go—as far away from here as possible.”
They crossed the lobby and found the hotel entrance to the upscale French restaurant.
As they entered, Syd tightened her hand on Maddie’s forearm. “My god.”
Maddie stopped and looked at her in concern. “What is it?”
“I see her,” Syd whispered. “It’s incredible. You look exactly alike.”
Maddie looked up and saw Celine, in an elegant and form-fitting black dress, standing next to the maître d’hotel. She was listening to her cell phone.
“Yep,” she muttered, “that’s her—Mommie Dearest.”
Celine saw them approach. She closed her phone and stepped forward to greet them. “Thank you for agreeing to meet here,” she said to Maddie. “I’m sorry that my flight tomorrow departs at such an ungodly hour.” She turned to Syd. “I’m Celine Heller, Madeleine’s mother.” She held out her hand.
Maddie appeared stunned by her mother’s friendly introduction. “Excuse me,” she said, belatedly. “Syd, this is Dr. Celine Heller, my mother. Celine, I’d like you to meet my very good friend, Syd Murphy.”
As they shook hands, Syd smiled at Celine. “Dr. Heller, I’d like to thank you for allowing me to join you and Maddie this evening. I know the two of you have had only limited time together during this visit, and I am sensible of how intrusive this is.”
A flicker of recognition cross Celine’s face as her eyes fell on Syd’s necklace. She glanced at Maddie before returning an interested gaze to Syd. “Please, call me Celine. May I assume that Syd is short for something?”
“You may, indeed. My full name is Margaret Sydney Murphy. Sydney is my mother’s family name.”
Celine looked thoughtful. “Where are you from?”
“Baltimore.”
She paused to consider this. “I taught at Johns Hopkins years ago and had a brilliant young teaching fellow named Marshall Sydney.”
Syd stared at her in surprise. “Uncle Marsh?”
Maddie eyed them, looking stunned. “Okay . . . this is getting waayyy too weird. If the two of you join hands and start singing ‘Kumbaya,’ I think my head will explode.”
Syd saw the corner of Celine’s mouth twitch.
“Let’s see if our table is ready, shall we?” Celine nodded to the maitre’d, and he led them across the dimly lighted restaurant to their table. When they were seated, Celine picked up the wine list without looking at it and handed it across the table to her daughter.
Maddie took the oversized card from her without comment and began to peruse it. “Red or white?”
“Do you have a preference, Syd?” Celine was regarding her with a raised eyebrow.
Her facial expression was so much like one of Maddie’s that it took Syd a moment to stop staring and realize that she had been asked a question. “I’m sorry?”
Celine inclined her head toward the wine list her daughter was examining and gave her a measured look. “Do you have a preference?”
“Oh, I do.” Syd rested her hand on top of Maddie’s with slow deliberation. “But in this case, I’m fine with whatever our resident sommelier decides.”
Syd and Maddie regarded each other as the deeper meaning of her words hovered in the air between them.
Maddie remained silent. Clearly grateful that she could use the wine list as an excuse not to look at either of them.
Syd gave Maddie’s hand a quick squeeze before releasing it to pick up her napkin.
Their waiter approached the table, and Maddie ordered a bottle of the Sang des Cailloux Cuvée. They took a few minutes to review the restaurant’s evening fare, and each opted to sample the chef’s Prix Fixe option, since it promised a fairly representative sampling of the brasserie’s Rhône Valley regional cuisine.
When the black-aproned waiter left the table with their orders, Celine took a sip from her water glass and turned her attention back to Syd. “So tell me. How is Marshall? Did he continue his education? We lost track of each other when I left Johns Hopkins for UCLA.”
Syd nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes. He went on and got his doctorate in neurology. Now he works in product development for GSK in Raleigh.”
Celine nodded. “Parkinson’s Disease?”
“I think so. I remember that he was very revved-up about the whole embryonic stem cell debate when I saw him at Christmas. He and my mother had a few pretty heated discussions on the topic.”
“I take it she’s not in favor of the idea?” Maddie asked.
“Oh, no,” Syd replied. “My mother is a public health nurse, but she has very traditional—very Catholic—views on social issues. Uncle Marsh was always more of a renegade that way.” She paused, and then smiled. “I think that’s why he and I always got along so well. I followed his example a little too closely to suit her.”
Maddie was intrigued. “What do you mean?”
Syd grinned at her. “I got bounced out of Catholic school.”
Maddie snorted. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Syd playfully swatted Maddie on the arm with her napkin. “Back off, Stretch. I’ll have you know it was for a good reason.”
Maddie rolled her eyes. “Oh reeeaaallly? What’d you do? Put bubble bath in the sugar bowls?”
“No, wise guy—and I saw that movie. Hayley Mills . . . jeez. Just how old do you think I am?”
Maddie smiled sweetly at her. “Are we talking chronologically or metaphorically?”
Syd turned to Celine. “See what I have to contend with?”
Celine smiled. “I’m afraid that I can’t be much help to you in this department. It’s really outside my area of expertise. Maddoe has her father’s facility for polemics. Arguing with him was always like being on the losing side in a fencing match.”
Syd glanced at Maddie, whose wide blue eyes were fixed on her mother in amazement.
“You haven’t called me that in years,” Maddie said in a quiet voice.
Celine didn’t respond. A blanket of silence settled over their table.
Syd watched the interaction between them with a growing sense of anticipation—and dread. Celine seemed embarrassed by her display of candor, and Maddie’s face was a study in a hundred conflicting emotions. Syd wasn’t sure whether she wanted to say something to try to break their emotional logjam, or push her chair back and flee the restaurant.
She was saved when the wine steward arrived with their bottle of Cuvée. He opened it with a flourish and poured a splash of the fragrant varietal into Maddie’s fluted glass. She nodded at him after she sampled it, and he gave each of the women a textbook, four-ounce serving before setting the bottle down and retreating.
Syd decided that trying to pilot the conversation back into safer waters was her best bet.
She turned to Maddie and playfully punched her on the arm. “I feel the need to defend my honor, here.” Maddie gave her a grateful look. “If you must know, I got bounced from parochial school because I organized a forum on STDs and passed out condoms to all of my classmates. The sisters of Bryn Mawr School tended to frown on that kind of extracurricular activity in the eighth grade.”
Maddie chortled. “Margaret Sanger in a plaid jumper. I have no problem imagining this.”
Syd took a healthy sip of the Cuvée. “Since we’re here with your mother, I’ll do you a favor and let the combined reference to plaid jumpers and your imagination slide.”
Maddie rolled her eyes and picked up her water glass. She glanced across the table at Celine, who was watching Syd with an amused expression.
Syd pressed her advantage. “Besides, Dr. Mensa-baby, not all of us had the great wherewithal to skip half of high school, and then test out of the first two years of college.”
Maddie feigned surprise. “Why would you assume I did something like that?”
“I assume nothing,” Syd replied. “Your Wikipedia bio was very enlightening.”
&n
bsp; “Stalking me online?” Maddie asked, in a singsong voice.
“In your dreams, egghead.”
“Please. You can’t seriously lend credibility to a spurious source like Wikipedia. What kind of librarian are you?”
“Apparently, a very good one,” Celine said. She looked directly at Syd. “Don’t let her mislead you. In this case, your sources are accurate.”
Maddie looked exasperated. “Oh, come on, Celine. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“Madeleine will never tell you that at age sixteen,” Celine said to Syd, “she was offered full merit scholarships to four of the nation’s best undergraduate institutions. She also had her pick of top medical schools.” She paused and looked directly at Maddie. “However, her choice there ended up being driven more by sentimentality than ambition.”
Maddie sighed in mock resignation and dramatically dropped her chin to her chest. She shot Syd a sideways glance. “Pow. Right in the kisser.”
Syd looked back and forth between them. She decided to throw propriety out the window. “Okay, you two, don’t make me stop this car.”
In concert, mother and daughter quickly looked at each other, and then back at her. Their expressions formed a perfect tableau of guilt and surprise. They looked so much like misbehaving children that Syd completely lost her composure and laughed.
They were interrupted once again by the arrival of the waiter, who lavishly served their first courses, accompanied by a basket of flower-shaped Michette rolls. He refilled their wine glasses and quietly departed.
“So tell me. How long have you two been together?” Celine asked after a long pause.
Maddie, who was in the process of drinking water, choked and noisily sprayed liquid back into the glass. Syd quickly patted her on the back.
“Are you okay, honey?” she asked with exaggerated concern, dabbing at the front of Maddie’s jacket with her napkin.
Maddie quickly recovered her composure. Rolling her eyes at Syd, she batted her hand away. “I’m fine, dear.” She sat back and regarded her mother coolly. “Whatever do you mean, Celine?”
Celine was unfazed. She picked up one of the rolls and tore off a crusty petal. “We are still speaking English, aren’t we?”
