Sari says nothing, and takes a swallow from her glass. “So,” she says, “there was never anyone else for him but you.”
“No one. There was never anyone but me. He never touched—touched in love—another woman. If he had, he would have told me.”
“I see. Of course, I managed to produce three children by your brother. How do you suppose that happened? By immaculate conception?”
“I said ‘touched in love.’ You told me once that yours was a sexless marriage. You asked me if I thought he had a mistress. I knew what the answer was, but of course I couldn’t tell you then. The answer was that he was always in love with me. Don’t forget, darling, that you were brought into this family as a convenience—to help Peter and me out of a rather embarrassing little pickle. If you thought there was a question of Peter loving you, ever—well, there’s a fool born every minute, darling. The only one he ever touched in love was me.”
“Then how—how do you explain Athalie and the twins?”
“Very simple. He wanted a male heir. Perpetuating the family was always very important to Peter, and to me.”
“And when you and Peter discovered you’d accidentally started a little family of your own, I was invited in to bail you out.”
“Well, that’s a rather coarse way of putting it, darling. But yes.” Carrying her drink, Joanna moves to the window again, looking out on the street, the Pacific Union Club across the way, and the cathedral beyond.
“I think what you and Peter did together destroyed his capacity for love,” Sari says. “He never recovered from the shock of what had happened.”
“Oh, Sari, Sari,” Joanna says, laughing softly. “You understand so little. Peter and I did what we did only once. Ours was really a platonic love—love on a higher plane.”
“Only once? Peter told me that you and he had had—intimate relations—a number of times. He said it would happen when you both got drunk. He blamed MacDonald for leaving you alone so much.”
She laughs again. “You mean the butler did it? Peter told you that? Well, maybe it happened—twice. I really don’t remember, it was all so long ago. It was what we called ‘touching in love,’ and that was when he promised me he would never touch another woman in love again. Ours was a pure love, you see.”
“Pure love! After Athalie was born, why did you try to prevent the twins from being born by working on Melissa—telling her that if I had another baby it would be a monster, worse than Athalie?”
“I was concerned for your health, darling. My best friend’s health.”
“Bull-do. You were concerned that I was finally taking Peter away from you. That was all you were concerned with! You were simply jealous—jealous because I was having another child by him.”
“Well, perhaps I was—a little. After all, I’m only human. The main thing I wanted was for Peter to be completely happy.”
“Human! I think you’re the monster, Jo! Or crazy—if you actually believe all these things you’re telling me.”
“No, Sari. You see, you still don’t understand. You don’t understand how close Peter and I were. We were like one soul.”
“One soul! What if I told you that during that spring and summer while you were getting ready for your debutante season, Peter and I were having quite a passionate love affair?”
“I wouldn’t believe you. It isn’t true.”
“Well, it is. While you were off at the Burlingame Country Club dancing your little feet off, and shopping with your mother for bags and hats and gloves and beaded ball gowns and silver satin dancing slippers, Peter LeBaron and I were having a love affair!”
“That’s not true. I deliberately arranged for you and Peter to be alone together—to test him. To see if anything would happen. I even arranged for you to see each other naked—remember? To test him. But nothing happened—he told me so. He passed the tests.”
“I’m afraid he failed them rather miserably, and told you a lot of barefaced lies!”
“Peter never lied.”
“While you and Peter were busy being one soul, Peter and I were making love—in a suite at the Saint Francis. On the beach at Half Moon Bay. Any place we could find!”
“You’re lying now, Sari, darling. I know you are. Because I asked him, and he swore to me that there was never anything between you.”
“Well, so much for Peter’s word of honor,” Sari says, “because what I’m telling you is true.”
“You’re just trying to upset me. But you can’t. I knew Peter too well. He could never have deceived me. I’d have seen right through it if he’d tried.”
“I’m not trying to upset you. I’m just trying to get you to face the truth of what Peter LeBaron was.”
“I don’t believe you. You see, Sari, that’s always been one of your problems. You’ve never been able to believe that Peter was never in love with anyone but me. Never. You’ve never been able to face the fact that he was never in love with you. Dear Sari, I’m sorry, but it’s time you accepted it now.”
“He may not have been in love with me, but we certainly touched in love, as you put it, a number of times—long before the whole idea of marriage even came up. While you and he were busy being one soul.”
“No. It’s not true. He would have told me. You see, there were little secret things we did. Champagne—”
“You mean he dipped your breast in his champagne glass?”
Joanna turns sharply away from the window toward Sari with a little cry, and her hand flies up to her mouth. “How did you know that?”
“Because he did the same thing to me,” she says. “He said it was our special little secret thing.”
Joanna stares at her, a look of horror on her face. Then she sits down quickly on one of the chintz-covered hotel chairs, her head in her hands. For several minutes, neither woman says anything, and the only sound in the room is the noise of the Powell Street cable car making its way up the hill with a load of screaming tourists hanging on all sides. As she watches Joanna there, huddled in the chair in the harsh late morning sunlight, her attitude of despair and dismay seems so profound that Sari cannot help but pity her. And suddenly the years seem to melt away, and they are girls again, giggling in the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park. I, Assaria Latham, do solemnly swear that for now, and until the end of time, I am pledged in friendship to Joanna LeBaron …
Gotten myself gravid …
That in sickness and in health, each will turn to the other for aid, comfort, and assistance, wheresoever in the world we may happen to be, to be forever truthful with one another …
She was the most beautiful girl Sari had ever seen.
Perhaps her commitment to Peter and his memory could be forgiven as a form of sickness. Perhaps loyalty to an old oath and an old friend mattered more than shattering her forlorn delusions.
Finally, Sari says, “I’m sorry, Jo. But I’ve never lied to you. Perhaps it’s time we both accepted the fact that we both loved Peter. And that he was unfaithful to us both. And that neither of us owned him.”
“Oh, Sari, Sari,” Joanna says at last with her fists pressed tightly against her eyes. “There’s only one thing I can say to you.”
“What’s that?” Sari asks her.
“You—you are the cat’s pajamas.”
“I think I’m ready for another drink,” Sari says. “I think we should both get quite roaring drunk.”
Seventeen
“Miss Melissa is waiting to see you in the south sitting room, Madam,” Thomas whispers to her as he helps her out of the elevator.
“Aha.”
Thomas wheels her in to where Melissa sits, cross-legged, in one of the Belter chairs, a magazine in her lap. Thomas parks Sari’s chair and hastily withdraws.
“Well, Melissa,” Sari says. “May I ask what kind of games you’re trying to play?”
Melissa’s smile is faint. “Games?” she says.
“Where were you during the meeting? A rather important matter was at stake—the futu
re of our company, that’s all.”
“I decided not to go.”
“I see. You decided not to go. Do you know that the rest of us waited nearly an hour for you? Including a court stenographer who’s paid God knows what an hour? Your lawyer was very upset, and so was I.”
“Lawyers are paid to be upset,” she says.
“That’s a rather cavalier attitude to take. But typical. As it turned out, the business at hand was carried out in a matter of minutes—after we’d all cooled our heels for nearly an hour, waiting for you.”
“I know. Eric telephoned me and told me what happened.”
“I see. You’ll take telephone calls from Eric, but you won’t come to the phone for me, or even answer my letters. I can see which side my bread is buttered on, as far as Miss Melissa is concerned.”
“I’m sorry, Mother. I was certain that there’d be ugliness at that meeting, and I just didn’t want to get involved in it.”
“Well, it’s water over the dam now. I notice that you still call me ‘Mother.’”
“Force of habit,” Melissa says.
“I see,” Sari says. “Well, state your business. I have a busy day ahead of me. Turning over the reins to Eric isn’t going to be a simple matter. What can I do for you? But if it’s mothering you want, remember you’ve got a new mother now.”
Melissa uncrosses her legs. “Yes,” she says. “Just as I’ve suspected for years. I’ve suspected she was my mother for years.”
“What made you so suspicious, pray?”
“Oh, little things. The resemblance in the portraits, for one thing. The way she used to try to take over the mothering of me from you when I was a little girl, for another. Little hints and hunches. The way she sometimes used to look at me, for instance.”
“I see.”
“Now, of course, I’d like to know who my father was. Do you know?”
Sari hesitates. “Joanna never told me,” she says. In a literal sense, this is the truth.
“I know there was a Flood boy she used to date—Jimmy Flood. But he’s dead now. Could it have been him?”
“Joanna would never tell me,” she says again. “This is a matter you must take up with her. But if she wouldn’t tell me, I doubt she’ll tell you.”
“Then I thought it might be Lance’s father. But then I found out she didn’t even meet him until after I was born.”
“That’s true. He was from Pasadena.”
“Perhaps I’ll never know.”
“Perhaps—not,” Sari says.
“Of course, she may not even know herself. If she was sleeping with more than one man at the same time, how would she know for sure?”
“If that were the case, she probably wouldn’t.”
Melissa sighs. “Well, if you don’t know, perhaps nobody knows.”
“Perhaps not.”
“Well, the other thing I wanted to tell you is that I’m going to be moving out,” Melissa says.
“Moving out?”
Now, this is something that Sari is totally unprepared for, and at first she is not certain that she heard Melissa correctly. “Moving out from where?” she asks.
“From here. From this house. From my apartment downstairs.”
“But—why? That apartment is to be yours for the rest of your life. It’s in my will. Whatever happens to this house after I die, that apartment is to be yours for as long as you like.”
“I don’t want to live here anymore. After all, we’re not even related to each other.”
“That’s not true! You’re—” But she stops herself. “Are you planning to move in with Joanna—is that it? Because I’m quite sure Joanna won’t take kindly to having a middle-aged spinster daughter move in with her, no matter what her legal—”
“I’m not planning to move in with Joanna. I’ve found a lovely apartment on Telegraph Hill—a view of the Bay and both bridges, terraces—Michael Taylor is going to do it for me.”
“But you’ve always lived with me, Melissa!” Sari says. “Why are you doing this to me now? Why?”
“I’m not doing anything to you, Mother. I’m doing it for myself. It’s time—”
“Time for what?”
“Time for me to move on. To be out on my own. My life is more than half over, and it’s time I figured out what I’m going to do with the rest of it. The first thing I’m going to do is have a house of my own.”
“Do these plans have something to do with young Mr. Littlejohn?”
“No. Maurice Littlefield was a lost cause, I’m afraid. He’ll be leaving San Francisco tomorrow.”
“Then why? I don’t understand.”
“It’s just something I have to do.”
“Something you have to do. That’s not a reason. Is it something I’ve done or said to upset you? The rent you pay—a hundred dollars a month—you could never find anything as cheap as that anywhere else in the city. Where else could you—”
“It has nothing to do with money. I have plenty of money. And when I get my share of Lance’s stock—”
“You may have to sue him to get that, you know!”
“No, I won’t have to sue him. Lance and I have talked, and he wants to do the right thing. There’s no disagreement between us. It’s just a matter of transferring shares from one account to another.”
“What about the dividends for all those years? Dividends since nineteen fifty-five. You’re entitled to those, too, you know! Those—plus interest.”
“I know. But I’m not going to ask for that.”
“But that’s foolishness! You’re throwing away millions and millions of dollars! Your lawyers are fools if they let you do that!”
“I don’t want to send Lance to the poorhouse, Mother.”
“Why not? To hell with Lance! It’s your money. You’re entitled to half his dividends since nineteen fifty-five, plus interest.”
“Well, I don’t want any of it. I happen to be rather fond of Lance.”
“Rather fond! Rather too fond, if you ask me—if you recall a certain episode a number of years ago!”
“Oh, Mother,” she says wearily. “That’s another thing, another reason. I’m tired of all that.”
“Tired of what?”
“Tired of Thomas spying on me, and reporting back to you on every move I make. Tired of having my letters steamed open and read.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Don’t you? A letter that’s been steamed open, and then sealed again, looks a little different from a letter that’s never been opened. I’ve seen letters like that often enough to know what’s going on here.”
“That’s ridiculous! If Thomas has done anything like that, I shall speak to him and have him put a stop to it.”
“And having people like Archie McPherson sent out on fishing expeditions with me, to find out how much I know about this or that. I’m tired of all that, Mother. Tired of it, and ready to make a life of my own.”
“It’s just that you were always a special child, Melissa. We always felt that you needed to be treated with special care. Please don’t go, Melissa …”
But what, you may well ask, is going on here? Over the years, Assaria LeBaron—to close friends and confidants such as Gabe Pollack and Thomas—has managed to convey the impression that having Melissa living under the same roof with her has been something of a burden, a personal cross she has had to bear. You might think that Assaria LeBaron would heave a great sigh of relief that Melissa wants to move out, and yet here she is begging her to stay. Is it possible to become dependent on one’s burdens? This is a tricky question, but the answer is yes.
“Special,” Melissa says. “For years I knew I was special, but I didn’t know why. I didn’t know who I was, and no one would tell me. Now that I know who I am, I want a life of my own. It’s as simple as that.”
“It won’t work,” Sari says. “I know you, Melissa. You’ll be terribly lonely. Before you know it, you’ll want to come back. In just a few we
eks, you’ll begin to miss this house and want to come back. Wait and see.”
Melissa smiles. “We’ll see. But meanwhile I’m not going that far away.”
“Then why go at all? If you know you’re going to come right back?”
“I don’t think I am going to come right back, Mother.”
Now Sari hesitates again. She is running out of arguments with this difficult child. Finally, she says, “This house wants you to stay. It was built for you, you know—built for me to raise you in.” But on this issue the White Wedding-Cake House, which sometimes seems to speak to Sari, remains noncommittal, ambivalent. Then Sari says, “But what about me? I’ll be all alone, rattling around all alone in this big house, with no one to talk to, nothing to do—not even an office to go to anymore. All alone, getting older, all by myself—”
“Am I such fun to be with, Mother? Every time we’re together, it seems we end up in a fight.”
“Does it always have to be that way?”
“It’s like a bad habit that can’t be broken. We’re like positive and negative electric charges.”
“But do we have to be like that? Couldn’t we try to be friends?”
“Maybe a little distance between us will help.”
“Oh, please don’t go. I’m used to you, Melissa.”
“Used to poor, difficult, temperamental Melissa? I should think you’d be glad to see me go.”
“I’m not. I’m devastated.”
“I know I’m no rose to live with, and I know I was an exceptionally difficult child.”
“No. Not always. Sometimes, perhaps. But not always.”
“And I know why I was. Would you like me to tell you?”
“Yes!”
“After all those head-shrinkers over the years, I think I finally learned something. I know exactly what was behind that brattish, monsterish, nasty little girl who insisted on wearing funny glasses, who pretended to be frightened of the Sutter Buttes, who wouldn’t eat—”
“You lacked self-esteem, someone said.”
“It wasn’t that. It was because of you and Daddy. I always knew that there was something terribly wrong between you and Daddy. But I didn’t know what it was. Now, of course, I do. But I used to think to myself, if Melissa LeBaron is a good little girl, and does everything she is supposed to do, and is always Little Miss Merry Sunshine, there’ll be no reason for Mother and Daddy to stay together, will there? If Melissa is no problem, it will be easy for them to go away from each other, get a divorce, and then I’ll lose them and be all alone—sent to a foster home or an orphanage. But, I thought, if Melissa is a bad little girl, if Melissa is a horrible little girl, their worry about that horror will hold them together like a kind of glue.”
The LeBaron Secret Page 41
