“You don’t love me!” I cried accusingly. “You never loved me, or you wouldn’t be taking this so agreeably!”
Softly he chuckled and cuddled me close again, as a father would. “Dear Catherine, my hot-blooded, feisty dancer, what man wouldn’t love you? How did you learn so much about loving locked away in a cold, dim, northern room?”
“From books,” I said, but the lessons taught were not all from books.
His hands were in my hair and his lips were near mine. “I’ll never forget the best birthday gift I ever had.” His breath was warm on my cheeks. “Now here’s the way it’s going to be from now on,” he said firmly. “You and Julian will go back to New York, and you will make him the best wife you are capable of being. The two of you will do your damndest to set the world on fire with your dancing, and you’ve got to determine never to look back with regrets, and forget about me.”
“And you—what about you?”
He lifted his hand and fingered his mustache. “You’d be surprised what this mustache has done for my sex appeal. I might never shave it off.”
We both laughed, real laugher, not faked. I took then the two-carat diamond ring he’d given me and tried to return it to him. “No! I want you to keep that ring. Save it to hock, when or if you ever need a bit of extra cash.”
* * *
Julian and I flew back to New York and hunted for weeks before we found just the right cozy apartment. He wanted something much more elegant, but between us we didn’t earn enough for the penthouse apartment he thought was our due. “Sooner or later though, I’ll see we live in that kind of place, near Central Park, in rooms filled with real flowers.”
“We don’t have time to baby along real plants and flowers,” I said, having experienced all the time and trouble it took to keep flowers and plants alive and healthy. “And when we go to visit Carrie, we can always enjoy Paul’s gardens.”
“I don’t like that doctor of yours.”
“He’s not my doctor!” I felt fluttery inside, afraid for no reason at all. “Why don’t you like Paul? Everybody else likes him well enough.”
“Yeah, I know,” he answered shortly, pausing with his fork held midway between his plate and his mouth. He gave me a heavy, solemn look. “That’s the trouble, my darling wife, I think you like him too much, even now. And what’s more, I’m not crazy about your brother, either. Your sister is okay. You can ask her up for visits once in a while—but don’t you ever forget, not for one second, that I come first in your life now. Not Chris, not Carrie, and, most of all, not that doctor you were engaged to. I’m not blind or stupid, Cathy. I’ve seen him look at you, and though I don’t know how far you went with him before you’d better let it be dead now!”
My head bowed with the panic I felt. My brother and sister were like extensions of myself! I needed them in my life, not just on the fringes. What had I done? I had the blinding precognition that he was going to be my loving keeper, my jailor, and I’d be as imprisoned with him as I’d been in the locked room in Foxworth Hall! Only this time I’d be as free to come and go as far as his invisible chain would allow. “I love you like crazy,” he said, polishing off the last of his meal. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I want you at my side all the time, never out of sight. I need you to keep me straight. I drink too much sometimes, and then I get mean, real mean, Cathy. I want you to make me over into what you think I am on stage; I don’t want to hurt you.”
He touched me then, for I knew he’d been terribly hurt, as I’d been hurt, and he’d been so disappointed in his father, as my mother had disappointed me. And he needed me. Maybe Paul was right. Fate had used Amanda to deal out the right cards so Julian and I would be winners, not losers. Youth did call to its own age, and he was young, handsome, a talented dancer—and charming when he wanted to be. He had a cruel, dark side, I knew that. I’d experienced some of that . . . but I could tame him. I wouldn’t let him be my ruler and my judge, my superior or my master. We’d make it fifty-fifty, share and be equals, and eventually, one bright and sunny morning, I’d wake up and see his darkly stubbled face and know I loved him. Know I loved him better than anyone I’d loved before—anyone.
PART THREE
Dreams Come True
While Julian and I worked slavishly to reach the top of the ballet world, Chris whizzed his way through college, and in his fourth year he entered an accelerated program for medical students, completing his fourth year of college while simultaneously beginning his first year of medical school.
He flew to New York and explained it to me while we strolled hand in hand in Central Park. It was spring and the birds were chirping and merrily collecting the trash they needed to build nests.
“Chris, Julian doesn’t know you’re here, and I’d rather he didn’t find out. He’s terribly jealous of you, and Paul too. Would you feel insulted if I didn’t ask you over for dinner?”
“Yes,” he said stubbornly. “I came up to visit my sister, and visit my sister I will. Not furtively either. You can tell him I came to visit Yolanda. Besides, I only intend to stay for the weekend.”
Julian was obsessively possessive of me. He was like an only child who needed constant pampering, and I didn’t mind, except when he tried to keep me from my family. “Okay. He’s rehearsing now, and he thinks I’m home doing housework before I join him this afternoon. But stay away from Yolanda, Chris. She’s nothing but trouble. Whatever she does with any man is news for the class the next day.”
He gave me a strange look. “Cathy, I don’t give a damn about Yolanda. She was just my excuse to see you; I know your husband hates me.”
“I wouldn’t call it hate . . . not exactly.”
“All right, call it jealousy, but whatever it is, he’s not keeping me from you.” His tone and his look grew serious. “Cathy, always you and Julian seem just on the verge of making it big, and then something happens, and you never become the stars you should be. What is it?”
I shrugged. I didn’t know what it was. I thought Julian and I were as dedicated to the dance as any others, and even more so, and still Chris was right . . . we’d put on a spectacular performance and draw rave reviews, and then we’d slide backwards. Perhaps Madame Zolta didn’t want us to become superstars, lest we leave her company and join another.
“How is Paul?” I asked as we sat on a bench dappled with sunlight and shade.
Chris had my hand in his and tightly he held it. “Paul’s Paul . . . he never changes. Carrie adores him; he adores her. He treats me like a younger brother he’s very proud of. And really, Cathy, I don’t think I would have made it as well without all the tutoring he gave me.”
“He hasn’t found anyone else to love?” I asked in a tight voice. I didn’t fully believe Paul’s letters that said there weren’t any women he cared for.
“Cathy,” said Chris, putting his fingers tenderly under my chin to tilt my face upward to his, “how can Paul find anyone to equal you?” I could have cried from the expression in his eyes. Would the past never set me free?
* * *
No sooner did Julian see Chris than the two of them were at it. “I don’t want you sleeping under my roof!” stormed Julian. “I don’t like you and I never have and never will—so get the hell out and forget you’ve got a sister!” Chris left to stay at a hotel, and on the sly we met once or twice before he went back to his school. Dully I went back to attend class with Julian, then the afternoon rehearsal and the evening performance. Sometimes we had the lead roles, sometimes only minor ones, and sometimes, as punishment for some sarcastic remark Julian would make to Madame Zolta, we both had to dance in the corps. Chris didn’t visit New York again for three years.
* * *
When Carrie was fifteen she came to spend her first summer with us in New York. Hesitating and frightened-looking from the long flight she’d made all alone, she ambled slowly through the bustling, noisy crowds at the airport terminal. Julian spotted her first and he cried out, then bounded for
ward to sweep her up in his arms. “Hi there, gorgeous sister-in-law!” he greeted, planting a hearty kiss on her cheek. “My, how much you’ve grown to look like Cathy—first thing you know I won’t even know the difference—so watch out! Are you positively sure the dancing life isn’t for you?”
She was made happy and secure by his pleasure to see her again, and quickly she responded by throwing her arms about his neck. In the three years Julian and I had been married, she’d learned to love him for what he appeared to be. “Don’t you dare call me Tinkerbell!” she said, laughing. It was our standing joke, for Julian thought Carrie just the right size to play a fairy—and kept telling her it still wasn’t too late for her to become a dancer. If someone else had even suggested such a thing, she would have been deeply insulted, but for Julian, someone she deeply admired, she would be a fairy only by flitting around and fluttering her arms. She knew he meant “fairy” as a compliment, and not a criticism of her small size.
Then it was my turn to have Carrie in my arms. I loved her so much I was overwhelmed by the force that swept over me and made me feel I was holding a child born of my own flesh. Though there was never a time I could look at Carrie and not long for Cory who should be at her side. I wondered too, if he had lived, would he too stand only four feet six inches tall? Carrie and I laughed and cried, exchanged news and then she whispered so Julian wouldn’t overhear. “I don’t wear a training bra anymore. I’ve got on a real one.”
“I know,” I whispered back. “The first thing I noticed was your bosom.”
“Really?” She appeared delighted. “You can see them? I didn’t think they showed that much.”
“Well of course they show,” said Julian, who shouldn’t have sneaked so close to eavesdrop on this sisterly confidence. “That’s the first thing my eyes go for once they get past a fabulous face. Carrie, do you realize you have a fabulous face? I just might kick out my wife and marry you.”
It was a remark that didn’t sit well with me. Many an argument we’d have because he cared too much for very young girls. However I was determined to let nothing spoil Carrie’s vacation in New York, the first time she’d come alone, and Julian and I had mapped out a schedule so we could show her everything. At least there was one member of my family Julian would accept.
* * *
The months flew swiftly by, and then the spring we’d waited for so long was upon us.
Julian and I were in Barcelona, enjoying our first real vacation since we’d married. Five years and three months of married life, and still there were times when Julian seemed a stranger. Madame Zolta had suggested the vacation, thinking it a good idea if we visited Spain so we could study the Flamenco style of dancing. In a hired car we drove from one town to another, loving the beautiful countryside. We liked the late evening meals, the sleepy siesta afternoons lying on the rocky shores of the Côte d’Azur—but, most of all, we loved Spanish music and dancing.
Madame Z. had mapped our tour throughout Spain, listing all the villas that charged nominal rates. She was thrifty and taught all her dancers her tricks. If one occupied one of the small cottages near a hotel, and cooked their own meals, the fee was even less. So this was where Julian and I were on the day Chris’s graduation invitation arrived. It had followed us all over Spain, to catch up with us here.
My heart jumped when I spied the thick creamy envelope, knowing it contained the graduation announcement of Chris’s achievement—his medical degree—at long last! It was almost as if I myself had completed college, then medical school all within seven years.
Very carefully I used a letter opener so I could put this souvenir in my scrapbook of dreams, some of which were coming true. Inside was not only the formal announcement, but also a note on which Chris had written modestly:
I am embarrassed to tell you this, but I am the top grad in a class of two hundred. Don’t you dare find an excuse to keep away. You have to be there to bask in the glow of my excitement, as I bask in the radiance of your admiration. I cannot possibly accept my M.D. if you aren’t there to see. And you can tell Julian this when he tries to prevent your coming.
The bothersome thing about this was Julian and I had signed a contract some time ago to tape a TV production of Giselle. It was set for June, but now in May they wanted us both. We were sure the television exposure would make us the stars we’d strived so long to be.
It seemed a perfect time to approach Julian with the news. We had returned to our cottage after touring old castles. As soon as our evening meal was over we sat out on the terrace sipping glasses of a red wine he was nuts about, but that gave me a headache. Only then did I dare to timidly approach going back to the States in time for Chris’s May graduation. “Really, we do have the time to fly there, and be back in plenty of time to go into rehearsals for Giselle.”
“Oh, come off it, Cathy!” he said impatiently. “It’s a difficult role for you, and you’ll be tired, and you’ll need to rest up.”
I objected. Two weeks was plenty of time . . . and a TV taping didn’t take too long. “Please, darling, let’s go. I’d be sick not to see my brother become a doctor, just as you’d be if your brother was reaching the goal he’d strived for year after year.”
“Hell, no!” he flared, narrowing his dark eyes and shooting sparks my way. “I get so damned sick and tired of hearing Chris this, and Chris that, and if it isn’t his name you drum in my ears, then it’s Paul this and that! You are not going!”
I pleaded with him to be reasonable. “He’s my only brother, his graduation day is as important to me as it is to him. You can’t understand how much this means not only to him, but to me as well! You think he and I lived lives of luxury compared to yours, but you can rest assured, it was no picnic!”
“Your past is something you don’t talk about to me,” he snapped. “It’s exactly as if you were born the day you found your precious Dr. Paul! Cathy, you are my wife now, and your place is with me. Your Paul has Carrie, and they’ll be there, so your brother won’t lack applause when he gets that damned M.D.!”
“You can’t tell me what I can do and what I can’t do! I’m your wife, not your slave!”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he said, standing and seizing hold of my arm. “C’mon, let’s hit the sack. I’m tired.” Without speaking I allowed him to tug me into the bedroom where I began to undress. But he came over to help, and in this way I was informed it was to be a night of love, or rather sex. I shoved his hands away. Scowling, he put them back on my shoulders and leaned to nibble on my neck; he fondled my breasts before he reached to unhook my bra. I slapped his hands away, screamed no! But he persisted in taking off my bra. Easy as a mask to take off, he threw away his anger and put on his dreamy-eyed romantic look.
There had been a time when Julian had appeared to me the epitome of everything sophisticated, worldly, elegant, but compared to the way he was now, since his father’s death, he’d been only a country-bumpkin. There were times I actually detested him. This was such a time. “I am going, Julian. You may come with me, or you may meet me in New York after I fly back from the graduation ceremony. Or you can stay on here and sulk. Whatever—I am going. I want you to come with me and share in the family celebration, for you never share in anything—you hold me back, so I don’t share either—but this time you can’t stop me! It’s too important!”
Quietly he listened and he smiled in a way that sent chills down my spine. Oh, how wicked he could look. “Hear this, beloved wife, when you married me, I became your ruler, and by my side you will stay until I kick you out. And I’m not yet ready to do that. You are not leaving me alone in Spain when I don’t speak Spanish. Maybe you can learn from records, but I can’t.”
“Don’t threaten me, Julian.” I said coolly, though I backed off and felt a terrible pounding of panic. “Without me you don’t have anyone who cares, except your mother, and since you don’t care for her, who have you got left?”
Lightly he reached out to slap both my che
eks. I closed my eyes, resigned to accept anything he did, as long as I could go to Chris. I allowed him to undress me and do what he would, even though he clutched my buttocks so hard they hurt. I could, when I chose, withdraw until I was outside of myself, looking on, and what he did to me that was appalling didn’t really matter—for I wasn’t truthfully there—unless the pain was great—as sometimes it was.
“Don’t try and sneak away,” he warned, his words muffled because he was kissing everywhere, teasing me as a cat who plays with a mouse when it’s not hungry. “Swear on your word of honor that you will stay and miss your dearly beloved brother’s graduation—stay with the husband who needs you, who adores you, who can’t live without you.”
He was mocking me, though his need for me was that of a child needing his mother. That was what I had become—his mother, in everything but sex. I had to choose his suits, his socks and shirts, his costumes, his practice outfits, though he consistently refused to let me handle the household accounts.
“I will not swear to anything so unfair. Chris has come to see you perform and you have gloried in showing off to him. Now let him have his turn. He’s worked hard for it.” I pulled free from him then, and strolled to pick up a black lace nightgown he liked me to wear. I hated black nightgowns and underwear; they reminded me of whores and call girls—and my own mother who’d had a fancy for black lingerie. “Get up off your knees, Julian. You look ludicrous. You can’t do anything to me if I choose to go. A bruise would show, and besides, you’ve grown so accustomed to my weight and balance you can’t even lift another dancer properly.”
He came at me angrily. “You’re mad because we haven’t made it to the top, aren’t you? You’re blaming me because our booking was canceled. And now Madame Z. has given us a leave so I can sober up and come back refreshed, made wholesome by playing games with my wife. Cathy, I don’t know how to entertain myself except by dancing; I’m not interested in books or museums like you are, and there are ways of hurting and humiliating you that won’t leave any bruises—except on your ego—and you should know that by now.”
The Flowers in the Attic Series: The Dollangangers: Flowers in the Attic, Petals on the Wind, If There Be Thorns, Seeds of Yesterday, and a New Excerpt! Page 64
