by Michele Hauf
Vickie picked up the mirror and turned around to look at the back of her coif. She glanced down and saw the incision the doctor had cut in the back of her ear. The cut itself was nearly invisible, but the area around it was red and swollen. Nanny had lied! She said there was no chance of infection. She resisted the urge to touch it and verify it was fevered. It was best to play ignorant than acknowledge both the inflammation and the fact she’d been lied to. Unless her iron-willed matron was out of the room, she was watching her. Shoot! Even then, she felt as if she was a test subject under observation. She probably had nanny cams stashed everywhere.
For years, she’d felt like a flesh and blood android: told how to stand, sit, eat and speak. Life had been a blast when she was younger: riding her battery-powered Rolls Royce all through the house and gardens, going to the carousel with Mom and Dad, Grace and Dusty. Their weekly get-togethers were the highlight of growing up. When had all the fun stopped?
She didn’t know the day because she wasn’t aware of calendars and dates back then, but she did remember when. It was the day her mother introduced her to her nanny. Nanny Elsa.
“We’d like to keep you at home as much as possible,” Mom had said, “so rather than go to pre-school with all those children who have cold and flu germs, we’ve hired a special teacher for you. This is Nanny Elsa. She’s going to be living with us, too.”
Mom tried to look happy about it but even at that early age – four or five – Vickie could tell the smile was fake. Dad didn’t even try to smile. He kept bringing up the newspaper, pretending to look at it or turn the pages, then shake it and set it down, frowning. Vickie thought it was because he wasn’t happy to have someone taking his place. Now that she knew Nanny Elsa, though, she knew it wasn’t the nanny part he objected to; it was the Elsa part.
Suddenly, Vickie felt ill. The infection might be a part of it. Nearly starving herself for the last three weeks – so she could shrink down to the twenty-two-inch waistline Nanny Elsa insisted was essential for a young woman of breeding like herself – could be another contributing factor. But what really soured her stomach was seeing how she and her parents had been manipulated by Nanny Elsa for years. She knew the why for her: because she was a child. She knew she had to listen or would have to pay the consequences. Mom and Dad never saw the bruises from being pinched because they no longer helped with bathing. The one time Mom had seen the bruise on her backside when changing into her bathing suit at the beach house, Nanny Elsa made up a lie, saying she had bumped into the dresser.
Vickie set down the mirror and saw she was practically under a microscope again. Elsa was staring at her, her wire-rimmed glasses slipping down her nose. The warden pushed them back up. “Is something amiss?” she asked caustically – as if she could smell rebellion in the works.
“My stomach feels queasy. I don’t know if I want to go…”
Elsa took three determined steps up to Vickie and grasped her chin, bringing it up to face her. “This is your sixteenth birthday party. Some very important people will be here this evening. You will be in attendance. And you will be on your best behavior. And you won’t eat more than a carrot stick or drink more than sparkling water. Do. You. Understand?”
Vickie’s heart felt like it was coming up through her mouth. Beating so hard, it felt like it had pumped itself up to basketball size and was rising, threatening to choke off her breath. She managed a nod, then Nanny Elsa let go. “Put some concealer on that chin. There’s a red spot right there,” she said, thumping the spot she had just let go of.
“Yes, Nanny Elsa,” Grace said. Do all sixteen-year-old daughters of billionaires wish they were dead or is it only me?
“Here she comes,” Dusty said, saluting Vickie Lynn with a glass of champagne.
“Our little girl is almost all grown up,” Grace whispered. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
Dusty sighed. “I’m sorry, but when I see her, I can’t help but wonder if her twin was a girl or a boy. Can you imagine two young women that beautiful existing in the same world?”
“If I could just ask Gloria about it, and then rewind time so she didn’t remember me asking – or even knowing that I was aware Vickie had a twin – I would. The way she looks at the life-size doll, though, my bet is that it was another girl.”
“So, do you ever regret not having the procedure?”
“You mean in vitro fertilization? No. I keep busy enough with the human trafficking research. At least I was able to get Dr. Fat Boy busted and his clinic shut down. He may have been unsure about who I was when we went there for the test results, but he won’t ever forget me now.”
Grace set her champagne flute down and picked up a sparkling water with a lime wedge. “Plus, I really do believe that one of these days, we’ll find our other twin. In the meantime, being the favorite aunt-type godmother and second cousin is good enough for me.”
Dusty hugged her. “Me, too.”
“Good evening.” Vickie didn’t even try to make her fake smile look real for Grace and Dusty. Her left eye twitched as a tear tried to form. “Thank you for coming this evening,” she added mechanically, then bit her bottom lip, impending tears choking back her ability to even try for a real conversation.
Grace looked around the room quickly and spotted the iron maiden in the corner, her eyes like binoculars fixed on Vickie. She suddenly reached out and grabbed for Vickie, clutching for her as if she felt faint and needed her help. “Ladies room,” she gasped.
Vickie totally forgot her problems and held onto Grace, supporting her. “I have you,” she said.
“Here, let me help,” Dusty offered, then caught the quick scowl from his wife. “Well, if you’re sure you have her,” he added, stepping back.
“Lady stuff,” Grace gasped.
Vickie Lynn led her to the bathroom off her father’s downstairs office, bypassing the rooms set aside for the guests. “Are you all right? Are you pregnant? You look a little weird. I mean…” she babbled, concerned for Grace.
Grace stood up straight and stared Vickie in the eye. “What’s wrong,” she asked, then walked around her slowly, inspecting her for damages. She came back to stand in front of Vickie and noticed the smudge. She wiped the excess foundation away with her thumb, verifying the signs of abuse.
“I don’t think your mother or father ever has or ever will lay a hand on you. That leaves only one person. Did that bitch Elsa do that to you?”
Vickie’s mouth twitched into a smile as she sniffed. “You called her a bitch,” she said, then allowed a small chuckle to escape.
“Well… I guess that means she did. I guess if she asks if you told anyone, you can truthfully say you didn’t. Just nod if yes.”
Vickie nodded, then the tears started falling.
“I’d say don’t cry or you’ll spoil your makeup,” Grace said. “But if it makes you feel better, cry away. This isn’t how a sixteenth birthday party is supposed to be. It should be a celebration, not a cover-up for a tyrant. So, yes or no question: do you know what Elsa has over your parents?”
“Huh?”
“I’ll take that as a no. Look, you’re enough of an adult that I can tell you a few things, including that there has to be some reason why your parents keep Elsa employed. I’ve seen the way your father looks at her. He absolutely loathes her. Your mother doesn’t feel too kindly towards her, either. I mean, as far as I can tell, she barely tolerates her. And I know they’d do anything for you, but I really don’t think they’re keeping Elsa here because you want her.”
“Oh, Lord in Heaven, no!”
“Well, I’ll see what I can find out later. I know I had the most horrid mother in the world. I wanted someone to rescue me from her. My dad did the best he could to insulate me from her…”
“But my mother isn’t horrid,” Vickie interrupted.
“I know, I know. She’s sort of in the position my dad was. I don’t know what hold Elsa has over them, but I’m sure it’s something.”
“Grace, I
know it’s supposed to be a secret, but I have to ask you…”
Grace’s eyes widened and her skin flushed. Dear Lord in Heaven, did she find out I am her mother? “Sweetheart, you can ask me anything.” I might not be able to give you an answer but before I start saying too much, let me hear your question.
“Is my mother your mother’s sister? I mean, everyone knows that your dad and my dad are first-cousins, but are you and I related, too?”
A wave of relief washed over Grace, a veritable horde of tingle gremlins rushing over her skin. “Yes, we are very much related. We are blood kin. And yes, your mother and my mother are sisters.” And how I wish I could tell you I’m your birth mother and only your cousin by virtue of adoption.
“Wouldn’t that make us double cousins or something?”
“Um, I’m not sure how that goes. If our fathers were brothers, then we’d be double cousins. Let’s just say we’re closely related. But let’s keep that between you and me. As I said, I am not fond of my mother. She and Elsa are – or were – very much alike.”
“Is she still alive?”
“Don’t know. Don’t really care. My dad said the only good thing that ever came out of her was me.”
Vickie laughed at the old joke, causing Grace to give in to the giggles, too. “Are you ready to go back to your birthday bash?”
“Bash? For my birthday, I wish someone would bash her!”
“Ach. Don’t worry. The night is young and Dusty’s drinking champagne. Anything’s possible.”
The two interlocked elbows and came out together, all smiles and relief.
“Here they come!” Dusty said, walking briskly over to the now dimpled duo. “Are you all right?” he whispered.
“She just had a little gas,” Vickie said, laughing anew at the thought of Dusty punching Elsa.
“There’s my little girl. I guess you’re not so little anymore now, though, are you?” Roger said, walking over to give her a big hug. He looked down and saw the heirloom hair comb in Vickie’s hair, the latest piece of jewelry Elsa had blackmailed Gloria into giving her. His face reddened. One of these days. I swear, one of these days I’m going to strangle that Swedish bitch!
“Are you all right, Dad?”
“Yeah, are you all right, Roger?” Hal seconded. “First my daughter scoots out of the room before I even get the chance to say hello, and then you’re all puce-colored.”
Roger took three deep breaths, willing his blood pressure and rage down to socially acceptable levels, then remembered how important this night was for Vickie: his daughter’s sweet sixteen party. He’d suck down just about anything for her.
“Yes, I’m fine. I might have to start taking blood pressure medicine, though. I didn’t realize that the ladies had invited so many people – so many young men. Good Lord, I think every man of means from the east coast and his son is here tonight. What was Gloria thinking?”
Gloria came up behind him, her lips drawn tight, and tugged his elbow to get his attention. “It wasn’t me,” she hissed. “Someone decided she needed to take over the guest list and arrangements.”
Roger felt his face start to redden again and immediately began the yoga breathing technique his doctor had suggested.
“Are you having a fit or something?” Hal asked, stepping in front of his cousin to block him from the view of the guests.
“No, it’s an alternative method for controlling high blood pressure and anger management. It was either this or a pocketful of pills with a long list of side effects.”
Hal watched as Roger’s eyes narrowed in sheer loathing. He quickly turned around and looked behind him to see the target of the hatred. Yup, just as he suspected. The nanny, Elsa. “Why don’t you just up and fire her?” Hal whispered.
Roger took another deep breath then blew it out. “I would if I could, but I can’t. It’s complicated.”
“Well, you know if there’s anything I can do to help you out of your predicament, I’m here for you.” Hal paused as he realized there was something he could do. “Give me all the information you have on her: name, birthdate, where she was born, former employers, everything. Silas can probably even find out what toilet paper brand she used when she was twenty!”
Roger snorted with laughter, softly at first, then at a roar.
“It wasn’t that funny,” Hal said softly, now embarrassed at Roger’s exaggerated reaction.
“Thanks. I needed that. The visual image of her wiping her ass… Yup, just what I needed.” Roger playfully punched him in the upper arm, then moved around him. “Come on. Let’s mingle.”
“Roger and Hal! I haven’t seen you since I was five foot three and two-hundred pounds. Remember me? Little Ricky Rickman?”
The guest who looked like he should be selling fine wines in a commercial laughed at the identical gap-mouthed reaction of his former classmates, two of the dozen or more males who had taunted him about his size when he was growing up. “No hard feelings, guys,” he said, offering a sincere handshake.
“Ricky? What happened to you? I mean,” Hal sputtered, “where did you go? One day you’re there on the ballfield with us, huffing and puffing, trying to kick that damned soccer ball into the goal, and the next day – poof! – you’re gone, and your locker and desk are empty.”
“I would try to make you – and everyone else who went to that damned privileged academy – feel bad by saying I had a nervous breakdown, but the truth is, my dad got transferred to London. Once there, I really got into playing soccer, or as they call it, football. Plus, with only blood pudding and other traditional British food to eat, I stopped overeating and grew into my weight. I thank my lucky stars that Dad wasn’t sent to Paris. Can you imagine what I’d look like if I had free range of all those French pastries?”
Roger and Hal laughed nervously at the image. The man before them was not only fit, he seemed to be the model of health for men in their sixties. Broad-shouldered and with thick hair that shone like polished silver – he was an Adonis for any age.
“I’m sorry,” Roger said. “Not to be rude, but why are you here? I haven’t seen you in generations. Literally!”
“My son and I were invited to your daughter’s birthday party.” He pulled out the invitation and showed it to Roger. “I thought it was a little unconventional, but when I saw your name on it, I decided we had to come and see if it was for real or a prank. It took a little arm-twisting on my part to get him here, but we made it.”
Roger scanned the invitation, immediately disgusted that it had a provocative photo of his daughter printed on the inside. Draped in furs, she was leaning forward to show cleavage, wearing at least ten carats of diamonds and an uncomfortable smile that looked more like a pained grimace to him. He blinked back his disgust and read:
You are invited to Vickie Lynn Thornwhistle’s Sixteenth Birthday Gala.
Meet the young lady who is heir to the largest distributor of fine arts on the east coast.
Take this opportunity to find out if your child is compatible with ours. A merger or joint venture might be in your son or daughter’s future.
RSVP E. E. Swensen for Roger and Gloria Thornwhistle
“Didn’t your wife tell you she had invited me? Oh, that’s right. She may not have known we were acquainted when we were younger.”
“First off, I had nothing to do with this tacky and tawdry invitation. Second, I’m sure my wife is also unaware of it. Third,” Roger scanned the room for either a doppelganger to Rick or a short rotund boy, “you have a son here?”
“He’s the young man speaking with the lady over there. Is that your wife?”
Hal and Roger followed Rick’s nod that directed them to a tall, handsome young man listening to Nanny Elsa. Her face was shiny with nervous sweat, her hands flicking about, fidgeting with her hair, then landing on the guest’s arm. “Her?” Roger squeaked. “My wife? Oh, good God, no!”
Hal didn’t even try to contain his laugh but did bring the quick outburst down to a chuckle,
earning a sneer from Roger.
Feeling the need for payback, Roger bent forward and squinted in her direction, pretending to focus on her face. “She’s not mine, but isn’t that your wife, Hal?” he asked, elbowing Hal in the ribs, flipping the joke back on him.
Hal growled at being punked, then shook his head and gave in to the levity. “If you don’t remember, Rick, Roger and I are cousins. It must be all these youthful hormones in the air. I feel like I’m sixteen again. How old is your son?”
“Rich is twenty. He’s attending Harvard. So, if she isn’t your wife, do you know who she is? That woman seems to have an unnaturally keen interest in my son.”
The three men watched in disgust as the skinny gray-haired crone moved her hand up and down Rich’s arm seductively, the sly grin on her face followed by her tongue rimming her upper lip.
“I think I’m going to be ill…” Roger said. “Excuse me, Rick. It looks like your son’s being quite the gentleman but enough is enough. He’s in need of a rescue.”
Hal reached out and held Rickman back. “Let him handle it. She’s his daughter’s nanny. That Swedish witch has been giving him fits for years. She may have just crossed the line with hitting on your son, though.”
The younger Rickman squirmed uncomfortably under the hag’s touch; her graphic description of her sexual skills unbelievable. “Excuse me,” he said, tactfully removing the crazy old woman’s grasp from his arm. “I think I’ll have to pass. I think I see the guest of honor…”
Elsa’s hand reached out and grabbed his, ready to bring it to her silicone-enhanced breast. “We can share the pleasures of my Scandinavian…”
“Excuse me a moment,” Roger said, stepping between the couple. An awkward three-way scuffle ensued as Rich disentangled himself from Elsa’s clutch. As he backed away, she moved closer, trying for a more controlling hold, at the same time trying to nudge Roger out of the way.
