Secret Society

by Robin Roseau

  Secret Society

  Robin Roseau

  Table of Contents

  Grandmother Cadence

  Legalities

  The House

  First Year

  Dinner Party

  Hazing

  Freeze

  Business

  Legal Notice

  Lockup

  Date Night

  First Revote

  Continuation

  Second Revote

  Breather

  Mortification

  Marbles

  June

  Intervention

  Leaving

  Names

  Black Marble

  Final Delegation

  Meeting

  Autumn

  About the Author

  Grandmother Cadence

  Growing up, I had always been more than a little intimidated by my maternal grandmother, Grandmother Cadence. It was always Grandmother Cadence. Never Grandma or even simply Grandmother. I was always to call her Grandmother Cadence. She was a tall, stern woman, and woe to any grandchild who failed to offer the proper respect.

  She and my mother were about as opposite as two women could be. My mother was petite, with a quick smile and nurturing heart. And you could describe my mother as a free spirit. It showed in her dress, her carefree attitude, and nearly everything else about her. Oh, Mom wasn't irresponsible, and she was about the best mom a girl could have. I love her to pieces.

  But she and Grandmother Cadence did not get along, which is why there was much I didn't understand as a young girl. Mom spent as little time with Grandmother Cadence as she could: a few hours at Christmas, a few hours at Mother's Day, and a few hours here and there throughout the year.

  I, however, was obligated to spend more time than that, much more time. As early as I can remember until my 18th birthday, I was given no choice in the matter. I spent half of every school break living in her drafty old house, living by her rules, dressing in the clothes she chose for me, and doing her bidding. I was present for her birthday and, of course, Mother's Day. In addition, I was frequently summoned to assist on her "little projects" and to attend her "events". This could be anything from a few hours on a Tuesday afternoon to read to a sickly friend to spending every evening for two weeks helping to stuff envelopes for a public awareness campaign on this issue or that one. In that case, I could expect lengthy lectures explaining why the issue was worthy of her time, and there would be a test afterwards.

  Woe be to me if I failed to satisfy her during the test.

  I suppose all this makes her seem like a harridan. She wasn't. Oh, she was strict and stern, and not once did I hear her ever tell me she loved me -- or anyone else. However, I learned an enormous amount from her. I learned the concept of civic responsibility. I learned how to balance a checkbook. It was Mom who taught me to cook pizza, spaghetti, and chocolate chip cookies, but it was Grandmother Cadence who taught me how to prepare and host a Christmas dinner. From her I learned which fork to use and how to eat an artichoke. I even learned what she considered the most important lesson she would teach me.

  I learned to be socially gracious.

  As stern as she was, Grandmother Cadence couldn't tolerate the idea of someone actually being uncomfortable attending one of her events. And so, from the youngest of ages, I was recruited as a sort of ambassador, taught to make her guests comfortable, to help ease over those awkward social moments that happen in all our lives.

  It was Grandmother Cadence who taught me to drive a car. It was the summer after I had turned twelve, she handed me the keys to her car and said, "Get in." Oh, she wouldn't let me drive on the streets; that would have been illegal. But she taught me the fundamentals, and once I learned, I was the one who would pull her car out of the garage when we were leaving and the one to replace it in the garage upon our return. She taught me to read a map and to always know where I was going. She taught me how to scan for bad traffic situations, and various ways to avoid accidents. And then, the winter after I turned sixteen and could legally drive, she taught me how to drive on ice.

  It was Grandmother Cadence who, for my fourteenth birthday celebration with her, took me to get my ears pierced. Mom dropped me off, and Grandmother Cadence invited me into her parlor "to talk" before we went out.

  "I want you to give me a promise."

  "What kind of promise, Grandmother Cadence?"

  "Kids these days do all sorts of frightful things to their bodies. Do I need to explain what I mean?"

  "Tattoos?"

  "And piercings. And don't get me started on those big hoops people insert into their earlobes." She visible shuddered. "You are going to promise me, from now until your 25th birthday, you will not do any of these things to your body."

  She paused, and her tone turned gentle. "You are under no obligation. If you do not make this promise, we will do something else today. It is your body, after all. This is important to me, but it is your body. However, if you make this promise, you will keep it, won't you?"

  She didn't often offer choices of this nature, and I was somewhat surprised.

  "Yes, Grandmother Cadence," I replied. Then I thought about it. She was strict. She was stern. But she never, never, never told me a question was stupid. She encouraged questions, telling me, "How can you learn if you never ask questions?" And so I thought, and then I asked.

  "Does this promise mean I can't get more ear piercings?"

  It wasn't often I surprised her, and I don't know if I surprised her this time, but she sat back in her chair and studied me for a minute. "No, I don't believe it does," she said eventually. "But please do not get those..." and then she made a circle with her fingers, held in front of one earlobe.

  "I promise, Grandmother Cadence," I said. "No tattoos, no piercings other than my ears, and no gauges."

  "That is what these are called?" she asked with a gesture to one lobe, and I nodded.

  She smiled. "Thank you, Blythe. Now, are you ready for your first piercing, or have you changed your mind?"

  "I'm ready."

  "Then let us go."

  Ear piercings -- even more than one per ear -- were socially acceptable. But tattoos and piercings anywhere else were not. I understood this, and I understood what she was asking. To this day, well after my 25th birthday, I have kept my promise to her.

  It seems like everything was serious at Grandmother Cadence's house, and that is largely, but not entirely true. Grandmother Cadence understood kids need time to play. She understood my attention span was not as long as hers, although she frequently pushed my attention longer than I would have preferred. I was allowed to play, and when I entered a tomboy phase, it was Grandmother Cadence who taught me how to hit a softball.

  And it was Grandmother Cadence who taught me to do my own laundry, the day I came home unacceptably muddy. "Sylvia will wash them," I said.

  I'd never seen her more angry with me than when I uttered those words. I received the sternest of lectures before, during, and after she taught me to do my own laundry, all on the theme, "We do not take anyone for granted, even if we can."

  "You take me for granted," I said at one point, angry with the treatment I was receiving.

  "I do no such thing! I cherish every moment of your time that I receive. You are a gift in my life, and I never take that for granted."

  It was the closest she ever came to telling me she loved me.

  While attendance to all the other events in Grandmother Cadence's life were entirely outside my control, there was one that was not. Every year, as my birthday approached, I was offered, not dictated, but offered, three distinct dates with three distinct activities. The day I received my first ear piercings was one such activity. She never requested me actually on my b
irthday, telling me she understood I should spend that time with my parents. But one day very close to my birthday I always spent with her, and we did a great variety of things on those days.

  And then my 18th birthday arrived, and I was given a choice of three dates, as always, but only one activity. Dinner with Grandmother Cadence. I picked the Friday before my birthday and, as usual, Mom dropped me off, barely talking to her mother when she did so.

  Grandmother Cadence had a nice present for me; she always had a nice present. Oh, they were never outrageous or horribly expensive, but they were always nice, and I liked every one. For my 18th birthday, I received two tickets to an upcoming concert for a band I enjoyed. To this day, I don't know how she knew I liked their music, but it was the perfect gift.

  "Are you going with me?" I asked when I saw what it was.

  "Oh good heavens, no. Invite a friend. And I've arranged for a driver, so you won't have to navigate the streets."

  "Thank you, Grandmother Cadence. It's perfect."

  "You're welcome."

  After that, we had dinner and then retreated to her parlor, again, "to talk". And then she sat back and stared at me for a long time. Finally she spoke.

  "You'll be 18 in three days." I nodded agreement, my hands in my lap, my attention fully focused. "Did you notice your three choices of dates with me were all before your birthday this year?"

  "Yes, but I didn't think it was remarkable."

  "It was. Do you care to hazard a guess why?"

  Whenever Grandmother Cadence asked a question like that, "no" was not a good answer. Blurting out something stupid wasn't a good answer, either. And so we both sat quietly while I considered her question.

  "The obvious guess is simple. You are busy afterwards."

  "That is, indeed, the obvious guess. It is wrong, but it is a good guess. Do you have other guesses?"

  The concert wasn't for weeks, so it wasn't a timing issue to get me the tickets in time. Finally I admitted, "No, Grandmother Cadence."

  "I could simply explain, but I believe we will borrow a lesson from Socrates." I knew exactly what that meant. She was going to lead me, one question at a time. Sometimes when she did this, the path was lengthy; other times it was quite brief. And so I only nodded.

  "What changes when you turn 18?"

  "I'll be able to legally vote."

  "Yes."

  "I become an adult."

  "Yes. Are their implications from that statement?"

  Again I thought carefully. And then I asked my own question. "Were you afraid I wouldn't come if I didn't have to?"

  And in her expression, I knew that was it exactly. She didn't answer, not directly, but her expression told me that was exactly her fear.

  I lowered my eyes, saying nothing. And then she did answer, but in a roundabout manner.

  "Your mother left after her 18th birthday. She hasn't spent a night under my roof since. She's slept on the streets a few times, but she refused to sleep under this roof. We fought as she packed. We fought quite harshly. I tried, more than once, to buy her loyalty. I told her if she left, I wouldn't pay for her college. I wouldn't help her in any way whatsoever. That only caused her to pack faster."

  I looked up. "May I speak plainly?"

  "Have I ever discouraged you from doing so?"

  "No. Dad is afraid of you."

  "Both your parents are afraid of me."

  "And yet they give me to you whenever you ask."

  "And you want to know why."

  "Yes."

  "And perhaps you wonder if that reason ends if you now exercise your right to avoid me."

  I hadn't thought about that. "I hadn't thought that far ahead," I admitted. "Should I have?"

  "Perhaps. Perhaps not. I'm not going to tell you why your parents let me have you the way they have. I will tell you a few things it is not. I am not paying them. And I am doing nothing nefarious to coerce them. But when your mother was pregnant with you, we made a few promises to each other, and we have both kept them. That is all I intend to say, and I do not want you to ask your parents about this, either. Frankly, it is none of your business, even though it affected you."

  I thought about it. "All right."

  We had both been sitting upright in our chairs, but Grandmother Cadence leaned back, watching me carefully, and so I mirrored her behavior, watching her in return.

  "I won't beg this time," she said quietly. "But I am going to ask. Please, may I continue to count on you like I have for nearly your entire life?"

  I thought about it carefully. With Grandmother Cadence, one didn't make promises one couldn't keep, to the letter. "I don't know what the future brings. College. Career. Are you asking me to attend college locally and only consider a local career?"

  "I have never let my needs and desires get in the way of your education, and I certainly wouldn't start now."

  "It never occurred to me anything was suddenly changing, Grandmother Cadence. I've been curious why my calendar at home has no events with you after tonight."

  She offered a hint of a smile, but then she looked away, and I don't believe I ever saw her looking so vulnerable. "Will you promise, Blythe?"

  "I'll be here, Grandmother Cadence," I said. "Maybe not exactly like I always have, but for the most part, as I always have. You can count on me."

  She turned back. "I'm not going to treat you any differently now that you're an adult."

  "I didn't think you would."

  Then she began to smile, and I never saw her smile so widely. "Thank you."

  * * * *

  Of course, things changed. I graduated from high school a few months later. Rather than ordering me, Grandmother Cadence invited me to spend much of the summer with her and only told me she had a "surprise" in mind.

  The surprise involved tickets to London. Together we saw shows in London and ate at the cafés in Paris. We wandered the museums and practiced speaking French.

  When we got back, she asked if I would help with one of her events, and so we spent much of the second half of the summer together as well, with only a little time for my friends. I didn't mind.

  I went away to college. Grandmother Cadence insisted I attend the best college I could. She offered to buy airplane tickets home for every break, but she understood when I didn't always accept. "This is a time to establish new connections to last the rest of your life," she explained. "Will I see you for Christmas?"

  "Of course you will. Please let me know what project we're working on."

  I graduated with a degree in marketing and a minor in computer science. I began applying for jobs during my final semester, but I had little luck until I received a call from Grandmother Cadence. We talked for a while before she came to her point. "How are you doing looking for a job?"

  "Poorly," I said. "Everyone wants experience."

  "That's the old Catch-22. It existed when I was your age, and it hasn't changed." And then she gave me a name and a telephone number.

  I moved to Portland for the job she arranged for me.

  I missed my parents and my Grandmother Cadence with all my heart. I came home when I could.

  Dad had a heart attack. He didn't die, but I quit my job and came home to help out. Three months later, Grandmother Cadence summoned me for dinner. She told me to dress professionally but offered no additional explanation. I arrived to find her dressed in her own business suit, and we barely said "hello" before she ushered me back out to my car. "We're meeting someone."

  She directed me to a local restaurant, one I well knew, and we were barely seated before Mrs. Grafton joined us. Mrs. Grafton was nearly as old as Grandmother Cadence, and I'd met her often while helping on one or another of Grandmother's projects or events. We greeted cordially, and if I wondered what was going on, I didn't ask.

  We made small talk for a while. Mrs. Grafton asked after my parents, praised my devotion to family, and complimented my appearance. We ordered dinner, and then over dinner, she expertly extracted virtually every
bit that was possible to extract regarding my professional experience and aspirations.

  When it became clear what was going on, I said, "I don't know if I want to go to work for another marketing firm."

  "Oh?" Mrs. Grafton said with a raised eyebrow.

  I hadn't talked to anyone about this. I glanced at Grandmother Cadence, who was watching me carefully. "I've been considering a new direction." Then I turned to my grandmother. "I was going to talk to you about it, but I wasn't quite ready."

  "Now seems like a good time," she replied neutrally.

  "Maybe this is a bad idea."

  "That would be a rare occurrence for you."

  "The failure rate for startup companies is high."

  "This is true," Mrs. Grafton. "The reasons for failure can seem to be quite varied, but I believe that is an illusion."

  I turned back to her. "A poor business plan, poor management, and unexpected market changes."

  She smiled. "Very good. The majority of excuses can fall into one of those categories, and one could argue that if the third leads to failure, it is due to a combination of the first two."

  "I wouldn't have wanted to be a new player in the smartphone market a month before Apple announced the iPhone. A new startup may not have sufficiently deep pockets to play catch up against such a dramatic leap forward."

  "Fair enough," she agreed. "But I believe that, in general, my statement holds."

  I bowed my head to acknowledge her point.

  "It would not be in keeping with my granddaughter's good sense to produce a poor business plan," Grandmother Cadence said. "Nor would it be in keeping for her to exhibit signs of poor management. I presume this startup would be a marketing firm?"

  I turned back to her. "Yes. I wouldn't be a full-service marketing firm. If a company wants to produce radio and television ads, other firms are going to be better than I would be. I would focus on guerrilla marketing campaigns, helping my clients better utilize the Internet as well as exceedingly localized campaigns targeting perhaps individual neighborhoods."

  "Search engine optimization companies are a dime a dozen," Mrs. Grafton said immediately.

  "Which is why I wouldn't fight for that business. But small companies frequently have horrible websites. I can design better ones."