"But are you able to get along with my mother? I know how trying she can be. Her ideas are planted in cement."
"We have a truce between us," I said. "She pretends to be a lot harder than she really is, although she's always complaining about the way young people are brought up today," I said, which made me think about Grandmother Hudson's other grandchildren. "I was hoping you would bring Brody and Alison."
"It really was such a big effort for them to get out of their activities. Alison had a test to study for; Brody had a big game. I decided it would be better to bring them another time. Don't worry," she said. "You'll meet eventually. Have you heard from your mother and brother?"
"Just Mama," I said and told her where she was living now and what Roy had done with himself.
"You should call her and let her know things are still going well here. I'm sure she's worried about you."
"I will," I said.
She gazed around, a soft smile replacing her tired, worried look.
"This is quite a house, isn't it? You're in my old room, right? I used to sit by the window late in the afternoon and watch the day darken." She embraced herself. "I felt so safe here. It was as if these were castle walls and there was a moat around the house. Nothing bad could happen to me. My father wouldn't permit it. He would run home if he heard there was a tear streaking my cheek. I don't know how many times I sat on his lap in his den and listened to him weave his dreams for me, all of them like little fairy tales.
"But," she said with a deep sigh, "you can't dream for other people. Once I went to school and made friends and saw the world that was on the other side of that moat, a world where people didn't live in fairy tales, things changed. I disappointed him in so many ways," she said sadly, "but it had to be."
"You and Victoria are so different. It's hard to believe you're related," I said.
She laughed.
"She's two years younger, but she acts like she's ten or twenty years older, I know. She's too serious. She always was. My father didn't pay as much attention to her as he did to me as she grew up, but later he seemed more comfortable around her than he was with me. She never challenged his preconceived ideas about people and business and the purpose to life. Still..." she said with hesitation.
"What?"
"I can count on my fingers how many times I saw him kiss her with any fatherly affection, while he rained kisses on me in torrents of love that left me giggling." She paused, recalling, her face filling with the pleasure of those memories. Then she grew sad. "No matter how content and self-sufficient Victoria portrays herself to be, I believe she felt cheated as a child. I really feel sorry for her."
"She'd hate to know it," I said.
My mother nodded and laughed.
"Still, I think she's jealous of me even though she calls my life all fluff. Well," she said standing, "I'd better start back. You can call me if anything happens or you need anything. Mother will be home by Sunday and the nurse, a Mrs. Griffin, will be with her."
I stood up and she beamed a smile full of sunshine at me.
"Somehow, just after meeting you for a short time, I was confident you would do well here. It didn't take you long to make the transition to a better life, to a world of opportunity. I guess your Mama was right. You can't deny the demands of blood. You're too much like me, like my mother, like my father, like the Hudsons."
"I'm not like Victoria," I insisted.
"Somehow I think that makes Victoria happy, too," she said and laughed. She hugged me once, and started out.
I hated to see her leave. I felt so unfulfilled. After the door closed behind her, I stood in the entryway for a moment. The silence in the great house surrounded me. I was even grateful for Merilyn's footsteps and whiny little voice asking me if I wanted the poached salmon or leftover turkey for dinner.
"Take a night off, Merilyn," I replied.
"What?"
"You can take the night off. I'll fix my own supper," I said.
"But I'm the cook and..."
"There's just little old me," I said with a smile.
"Very well. Do what you like," she said, "only be sure you clean up your mess, too."
She spun around and retreated to her quarters. I hurried upstairs to call Mama. She was happy to hear from me and happy to hear about the good things that were happening to me. I told her about Grandmother Hudson's operation and explained that the prognosis was good.
"I'm glad of that," she said. "I don't think your real mother would take you home with her if that woman died."
"It'll be all right, Mama," I said. For some reason now, I didn't want to be critical of my mother, even though I had every reason to be, even though I would always have every reason to be.
After a moment of silence, Mama told me about Ken. I sensed she had been debating keeping it a secret from me. "Ken's in trouble again," she said.
"What is it this time?"
"He was arrested a few days ago for trying to rob a liquor store with another man. He tracked me down to see if I could help him, but what can I do? I don't have money for lawyers."
"I'm sorry, Mama."
"I know, honey, but this makes me even happier I got you away from there. Don't you think about it. I'm sorry I told you."
"Have you heard from Roy yet? Does he know?"
"He called, yes. I told him but you know how he and Ken got along. He wasn't as upset as you. He asked about you. He said he was doing fine."
"Do you have his address?"
She read it to me over the phone. After we talked a little more, I took out the letter I had written to Roy and addressed the envelope. It would go out tomorrow.
Afterward, I actually enjoyed my solitude and making my own meal. I cooked the fish the way Mama and I cooked it and made mashed potatoes that were creamy and rich, not greasy like Merilyn's. It was the best meal I had since coming here and it made me feel like I was back with my family and we were all sitting around the table during happier times. Beni would be complaining about something as usual and Roy would tease her. Ken would be bragging about the wonderful things he was going to do and Mama would hum at the stove. Why didn't I know then that happy moments were really only illusions?
Merilyn walked through the kitchen once as I worked, glanced disapprovingly at what I was doing, and then left. I sat alone in the dining room, imagining Grandmother Hudson's critical eyes watching my table manners. It brought a smile to my lips.
While I was cleaning up, the phone rang. Remembering Corbette was calling, I got to it before Merilyn, but it was a nurse from the hospital.
"One moment please," she said and then Grandmother Hudson got on.
"I'm calling to see how my house is," she said.
"It's still here," I told her. "Everything's fine. How are you?"
"I should have stayed home. They've turned me into some sort of electrical machine. Have my daughters come and gone?"
"Yes," I said.
"Did they divide up my estate just in case this contraption explodes in my chest?"
"Not that I know of," I said laughing.
"This nurse wants me off the line. I had to threaten a lawsuit to get them to let me make a call. They're holding me a prisoner until Sunday, but don't let that good-for-nothing Merilyn slack off. I expect to see a clean house when I arrive."
"I'll tell her." I said gleefully.
"Thank you," she said. "And don't you slack off either," she warned.
"Feel better," I said laughing.
I heard her hang up. When Merilyn came by to check on the condition of the kitchen, I told her what Grandmother Hudson had said.
"I do a pretty damn good job here," she said. "She's got no reason to complain."
"You have nothing to worry about then," I reassured her. She inspected the kitchen and left. I went upstairs to change into something more casual so I could relax, read and watch some television. The emotional roller coaster that had taken me through the day had really left me exhausted. I was sure I'd fall asleep early.
&n
bsp; Just as I entered my bedroom, the phone rang again. This time it was Corbette.
"Can I come by at two o'clock tomorrow then?" he asked quickly. It was as if he was making the call from some secret phone and didn't want to be overheard.
"I guess," I said, "but shouldn't we have told Mr. Bufurd what we're doing?" I asked still worried about meeting Corbette outside of school. Maybe we would learn our lines the wrong way.
"Naw," he said. "Let's surprise him."
I thought about disagreeing more, but I didn't. I had to admit I was curious about Corbette. That's all I was prepared to admit to.
However, after I hung up, I gazed at my window and imagined Roy's face reflected on the glass.
He looked back at me with scornful disapproval and concern, his eyes filled with that dark worry I often saw.
It put a chill in my spine and for a moment, I wondered if I wasn't better off just living like my real mother had: behind these castle walls, protected by that imaginary moat.
At least until I had to go forth and make my way. The answer wasn't long in coming.
15
Fact or Fiction?
.
My mother called me late in the morning to tell
me she had spoken with Grandmother Hudson and she was doing fine. She would definitely be home the next day. Then she added, "I'm bringing Brody and Alison to visit her next weekend. I was hoping Grant would come, too, but he has a political function he has to attend."
"Have you told them anything about me?" I asked her.
"Nothing more than Mother and I have told anyone else," she said. "With all that's happened, I don't think this is a good time to throw anything else at them. It will be difficult enough for them to learn the truth when the time comes," she said.
When the time comes? I thought. When would that be? How will they be told? Was it any less difficult for me to learn the truth?
"For now, let's just keep things the way they are. Everything seems to be working out, right?" she asked. It sounded more like a plea.
"Yes," I said gazing around at my big room. How ironic it was that I felt like I was just as much a prisoner here as I had been in the Projects. Only instead of bars on the windows, I was caged in behind secrets and lies.
My mother concluded our conversation with only vague promises thrown my way. Some time in the future, we would become a real family. I suddenly felt as if I had been turned into an orphan, someone without a history. All the adults in my life were like prism lights, changing colors constantly, confusing my thoughts. Was I just a foolish, gullible girl clinging to false hope? The weight of it all began to put me into a pool of depression, sadness rippling around me.
However, the sunlight brightening my curtains quickly washed away the gloom. Anyone would call this a nearly perfect day, I thought when I gazed out at the turquoise sky with small puffs of marshmallow clouds barely moving through it. All of the greenery, the flowers, the fountains and even the stone pathways glittered with a vibrancy. It lifted my spirits and I remembered that Corbette was coming by to pick me up at two.
I sifted through my wardrobe and chose the boot cut heather gray pants and a creamy silk blouse. I put on lipstick, brushed my hair until it gleamed and then I studied myself in the mirror wondering what the boys of Sweet William really saw when they gazed at me. Of course there would always be those who wouldn't get past my darker skin and judge me alone on that, but what about those who did? Did they see me as someone exotic or as simply someone who was the product of mixing races? To some I might even be a mistake.
Was I really as attractive as Mama used to say? Wasn't my forehead too wide and my nose too big? And my shoulders ... weren't they too narrow?
As I gazed at myself, it suddenly occurred to me that soon I would be standing on that stage in the school's theater and performing before hundreds of people, all with their eyes on me. Every imperfection would be out there for the world to see. What had I done? What fantasy world had I been in when I agreed to do this? I was sure to get stage fright. How could I back out of it now? To desert the play at this point would be unforgivable and a terrible way to start at a new school. Somehow, I had to get through it, and maybe working with Corbette like this would help, I hoped.
When it was nearly two o'clock, I lingered near the front door.I hadn't told Merilyn where I was going. It was none of her business, I thought, and yet, what if she needed me or what if Grandmother Hudson called? Reluctantly, I searched her out and found her reading a magazine in the den-office. She nearly jumped out of her dress when I appeared.
"Why are you sneaking up on me like that?" she demanded.
"I was hardly sneaking up on you. I thought you said Mrs. Hudson didn't want anyone in here."
"I have to come in here to clean, don't I?"
"Look, I don't care if you're in here or not. I just came to tell you that if anyone needs me, I'm going to study my play lines with Corbette Adams for a few hours." "And I suppose you're making your own dinner again?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am."
"Then I might as well take tonight off. I'm owed a night extra," she said petulantly.
"You don't have to have my permission," I said.
"I know that. I'm just telling you in case someone calls for me," she whined.
I heard a car horn and hurried back to the front door. Corbette had driven up in a sporty, late model red Corvette convertible.
"Not the sort of car George Gibbs would have, but it's all I have," he called to me.
He wore a light blue button-down oxford shirt and jeans, and his hair was a little wild from blowing in the wind.
"Got your script?" he asked as I approached the car. "Yes," I said patting my black leather bag.
"You have the lines memorized though, I bet," he said as I got into his car.
"Maybe."
He laughed and accelerated so hard and fast, I was thrown back against the seat. I screamed and he roared with glee as he spun around and out of the driveway.
Except for my ride to school and back in the Rolls, I really hadn't seen much of the countryside. Corbette seemed to take the least traveled roads, narrow and bumpy and then cutting over one that wasn't even well paved.
"Short cut," he said as we bounced over the ruts. We had yet to pass any houses or stores.
"Is this always how you get to your house?" I asked with teeth chattering from the vibrations.
"From yours," he said but looked away quickly. I suspected he wasn't eager to have anyone see me riding in his car. "How do you like Dogwood?" "I like it a lot," I said.
"It's a big change from where you were I bet, huh?"
"No, not big," I said. "Gigantic."
He smiled, those white teeth gleaming. With the sun in his face and the wind playing in his hair, he looked like a movie star. He never had to question his good looks, I thought, but he also didn't show any signs of modesty. Roy would call him a white boy sweet on himself, I thought, and turned away to laugh at the thought.
We passed a farm where there were cows and a half dozen horses grazing. After another long section of overgrown fields and some woods, his family's farm came into view.
"Home sweet home," he declared nodding toward the house. It was a large house, covered in fieldstone and I had to admit I had never seen a home quite like it.
"My grandfather built it after he returned from the First World War, or at least, that's what I've been told. It's French Eclectic and you're right, there are few like it around here."
Behind the house was a large, freshly painted gray barn with glossy black trim on its doors and windows. The property was all fenced in, the grounds mowed and trimmed. There was a cobblestone circular driveway leading up to the house with lanterns on pewter colored metal poles. Corbette turned abruptly off the driveway and followed a dirt road toward the barn.
"When were there animals here?" I asked.
"When my grandfather lived here, but not for real farming. He had some riding horses and some p
rize bulls. It was more like a hobby."
"What does your father do?" I asked, impressed with the size of the house and the beautiful grounds. A pool and a tennis court were behind the house with a gazebo and a rock garden nearby. I saw at least a half dozen pretty fountains and stone benches.
"He's a lawyer, contract law, even some international work," he said. "My mother is the president of a half dozen charities. She's busier than my father. At least, that's what he says."
We stopped in front of the barn. It was so quiet, not a living soul was in sight.
"Is your mother home?"
"No, she's at a board meeting for one of the charity events she's planning. And my father had to go to his office. Come on," he said hopping over his door rather than opening it. I got out and he opened the door to the barn. "My hideaway," he announced and stepped back as I approached.
Part of the barn had been sectioned off and what looked like a living room in an apartment had been constructed. There was an oatmeal colored rug on the floor, furniture that included a curved sofa, two overstuffed chairs, side tables, a large coffee table, an entertainment center with a television set and a stereo unit that included a CD player. Above us, track lighting ran along the unpainted beams. He flipped a switch and lit up the room. Some of the walls had movie and rock posters on them. There was a mirror and a book case as well as a cabinet on the right wall.
"I can't believe this is in a barn," I said.
"Anyway, you see there's no smell. No hay or manure. You want something to drink?" he asked going to a small refrigerator on the left. He opened the door and looked into it. "I have beer, soda, bottled water, and some cranberry juice. Goes good with vodka," he said turning and smiling my way. "And I've got that too."
"Just some water, thanks," I said.
He took out a small bottle and poured me some and then he opened a bottle of beer for himself.
"Relax," he said nodding at the sofa when he handed me my water.
"How much time do you spend here?" I asked.
There were some magazines on the table, packages of CDs and tapes on the floor beside the entertainment center, and a small garbage can filled with beer bottles. On a counter near the refrigerator was an old open pizza box with some crust visible.
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