Roxy's Story

by V. C. Andrews

  “Beautiful.”

  “It was a gift from a member of the president’s cabinet,” she said, taking it back. She nodded toward the seat on her right, and I sat. “If there is one thing I never want you to rush, it’s preparing your appearance. Every Brittany girl takes pride in how she looks, not only to the person she is accompanying but also to herself. That’s why I bring in experts in makeup, coiffure, and style. What good is all that if you don’t take great care? Always be sure to leave yourself enough time. If you appeared before one of our clients who was paying top dollar and looked like that . . .”

  “It won’t happen again,” I said.

  Maybe to come to my rescue, Randy hurried out with a bottle of white wine chilling in an ice bucket. He set it down quickly. I saw that it had been opened.

  “There was no need to test you on that again,” Mrs. Brittany said when she saw me looking at it. Randy pulled out the cork and poured us each a glass. “You can bring our salads, Randy,” she told him.

  He glanced at me, smiled, and hurried back to the kitchen.

  “How far away is the kitchen?” I asked her.

  “Now you’re worried about Randy working too hard? What’s happened to the self-centered young girl who arrived?”

  “Maybe I’ve become a bit bored with her,” I replied. “She was just one-note.” I saw in the way her eyes sparkled that she liked my response.

  “You continue to get high praise from members of my team,” she said. “But don’t think that’s convinced me yet. As was just demonstrated, you have a long way to go.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you? Most girls your age these days want instant gratification.”

  “I’m not most girls my age these days,” I fired back. If I had been brought here to be slowly cooked over the hot coals in her eyes, she had a surprise coming.

  She nodded, clearly seeing the fire in my eyes, too. “Okay. Let’s put that all aside for now. Tell me more about your family, why things became so difficult for you and for them, and what you expect will happen with them in the near future, as regards you, I mean,” she said, relaxing.

  Randy brought out our salads. I waited for him to serve and leave before I began to describe my parents and what life had been like for me growing up in the house my father ruled like a commanding general. I gave her as much detail as I could, but I didn’t blame everything on him. I confessed to as many of my indiscretions as I could recall, elaborating on some of the bigger incidents at school.

  “I’m surprised you weren’t sent off to some behavior-modification camp,” she said.

  “So am I, although that was probably coming if I remained there any longer. I think my father thought it was too late even for that, however. If I stepped out of myself,” I said, “and took a good look, I don’t think I’d want me around, either.”

  As I spoke, I knew she was listening keenly but also watching how I ate my salad and talked without food in my mouth. Nigel Whitehouse, as if he knew what to prepare me for tonight, had made a big deal of the way people conversed at lunch and dinner tables. He referred to it as “the delicacies of gracious living.”

  “It will give you the aura of sophistication that the men you will be with appreciate, look for, and actually demand. It’s part of what justifies their cost, comprenez, my dear?”

  “Mais oui,” I told him.

  A week ago, I might have come close to spitting in the face of someone who told me I looked gross the way I ate or sat, but it was as if another window on the world had been opened for me, and when I looked through it, I saw what lay in wait for someone who had more than just a modicum of class. When I had first arrived, I was skeptical and indifferent about the value of all this cultural training, but that skepticism was dying away. I wanted to do well now. I wanted more.

  I saw from the expression on Mrs. Brittany’s face that I was passing this particular test. She concentrated now on what I was saying and not so much how I was saying it. She really wanted to know more about me, and I knew she wouldn’t take interest in anyone she thought would not succeed with her. When I was finished with my description of what my life had been like, she signaled for Randy to take our dishes.

  “Give us ten minutes before bringing out the entrée, Randy,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, and winked at me. I gathered this was not a bad sign. I wasn’t going to be read my rights and sent off.

  She was silent for a moment, and then she leaned forward and spoke in the softest tone I had heard her use. “Normally, I am averse to involving myself, my company, and my associates with young women who come from such troubled backgrounds as yours. Frankly, if it wasn’t for Bob’s insistence, I wouldn’t have agreed to your coming here at all. I don’t like to start with someone who carries so much baggage. It takes too long to unload it, and I’m never confident that some of it won’t rear its ugly head later on when I most need that not to happen.

  “However,” she continued, leaning back, “I also rely heavily on my own instincts. I believe, and so far you have shown, that you have the wherewithal to improve yourself, make the necessary changes, throw off the baggage, and blossom. I do not intend to blow up your ego with these remarks. In fact, most young women, even many I have in my employ, have difficulty handling compliments. One can get too confident, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

  “I like the way you have treated Sheena, and not only because she is my granddaughter. It has shown me something important about your character, something that supports my own instincts about you. I don’t think you’re as selfish and spoiled as you believe you are, but that’s something you will learn for yourself in time.

  “Now, then,” she said, taking a more formal tone again, “the day after tomorrow, we will go to one of my favorite boutiques in Manhattan to start your personal wardrobe. I’m sure Sheena has told you something about it. She’s coming along with us.”

  “Yes,” I said. “She was very excited about it.”

  I had made up my mind never to lie to her or pretend ignorance of anything anymore. It wasn’t worth the risk, and she was too perceptive to miss any deceptions. I used to think I was good at that, but I realized now that I was sitting alongside a master.

  “From time to time, during your stay here, I will have other guests. I want them to meet you. I rely on some of them for their impressions, but as I told you, I never depend on any of them—on anyone else, in fact—to come to a conclusion about any of my girls. We’ll have dinner parties, cocktail parties, even some sort of picnic as the weather continues to improve. I’ll be taking you to Broadway shows and concerts, here and in other cities, in time even in other countries. I intend to cram a great deal into your head very quickly before I send you out into the field, Roxy, but by the time I’m finished with you, any resemblance between you and the errant young woman Mr. Bob brought here will be difficult to discover. I have a feeling that won’t upset you in the least.”

  “No, it won’t,” I said.

  She nodded and turned her head just slightly to signal Randy, who hurried out with our dinner, a delicious branzino, something I’d never had. She went on to describe it as a silver-skinned fish found in European seas and saltwater lakes.

  “Some call it European sea bass, spigola, loup de mer, róbalo, or lubina,” she said.

  As I listened to her talk about gourmet foods, wonderful restaurants in world cities, her travels and cultural experiences, and some of the castles she had been to, I found myself growing more infatuated with her. The hard shell I had first encountered seemed to melt away. More and more, I realized how much I wanted to be like her. She would rapidly become someone I would idolize. She was rising higher on my list of women to emulate.

  For a few moments, I felt terribly guilty about that. Once, when I was very young, I wanted to be like my mother, but as I grew older, I couldn’t tolerate how subservient she was to my father. He loved her, I was sure, but he was blind to how firmly he controlled eve
n her emotions, forbidding her tears, sweeping away her protests and complaints, retreating from any compromise that might overtake him and cause him to be more reasonable.

  Mrs. Brittany would be a formidable opponent for him, I thought. She would bend him. He wouldn’t be so eager to rage in her face or throw ultimatums and commands at her like rice at a bride. I laughed to myself, imagining a day in the future when I would introduce them. It was a pipe dream, of course, but an amusing fantasy.

  We didn’t have any dessert. She wanted me to attend to whatever material Professor Marx had given me and to work on the elocution lessons Professor Brenner had assigned. We walked out together and paused in the hallway to say good night.

  “Is it really all right for Sheena to go horseback riding with me tomorrow?” I asked. “I mean, considering her physical condition and all. I don’t want you to think I put her in any compromising position or . . .”

  She smiled. “No. The question is more like, is it all right for you to go with her? You haven’t had proper lessons. She’s a seasoned equestrian. She’s overcome many things, but she needs her confidence strengthened. I suspect the two of you will do that for each other. Good night,” she said, and walked off to join Mrs. Pratt, who waited for her outside her office.

  I hurried up the stairs. My heart was full of hope. This private dinner with her had gone well. I was going to do well. I was confident that I was going to leave that—what did she call me?—errant young woman behind. I hadn’t felt this happy for some time, and it was all because I was growing stronger, not just physically but also in my belief in myself. If mon père hadn’t thrown me out, none of this would be possible.

  Yes, I’m in the right place, I thought, and hurried to meet Sheena in my suite and go over the work Professor Marx had given me. She was waiting there, sitting at my vanity table and dabbling with her hair and eyebrows. She spun around quickly when I entered.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to use your things.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Don’t be foolish.”

  “Oh, I was so worried about you,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “I thought . . . you were taking too long. I was sure my grandmother was lecturing you, and maybe you were angry and saying bad things, because she can be so difficult, and you would hate her and would want to leave right away.”

  “No, it was a wonderful dinner. And I like her,” I said. “I like her very much.”

  Her face blossomed with a wide smile.

  “But I’d better not let her down,” I said, warning myself as much as Sheena. “I have to keep doing well, or she’ll banish me from her kingdom. There is no doubt about that. She won’t tolerate failure.”

  “Oh, yes. Right. I’ve been through your assignments again. Let’s start with that. I’ll listen to you practice your speech assignment, too. I’ve had similar lessons. I know what to listen for. Let’s not waste time.” She smiled. “After all, there’s so much more I want to learn from you, too. What did you call it, that quid pro quo?”

  “Yes,” I said, laughing.

  We did my work. She was a stern and diligent tutor, sometimes taking on expressions that reminded me of her grandmother when I made mistakes. Afterward, I knew we were up too late talking. Actually, I was doing most of the talking. I told her about some of the different boys I had been with, finishing with Steve Carson. She was most intrigued by a young man his age being as much of a virgin as she was when I had first met him.

  “And shoplifting just to get his attention,” she added, feigning a little disapproval, when I could see the whole story excited her.

  “I wasn’t all that surprised at his innocence. Just about all of the boys I’ve known weren’t too sophisticated when it came to sex,” I told her. “Most of the time, it wasn’t remarkable. As a matter of fact, I told Steve that making love to him was like brushing teeth, something just necessary. Needless to say, it was another great disappointment.”

  “Maybe that’s good. Maybe sex shouldn’t be just another thing we do,” she said. “Maybe it cheapens us. At least, that’s what I read in a novel recently.”

  She waited to see what I would say.

  “Our bodies should mean more to us, don’t you think?” she added when I didn’t answer.

  I saw how worried she was that she might have hurt my feelings, but I didn’t answer quickly, because one of the changes that was coming over me involved exactly that idea about sex. In the world I was entering, it seemed that most things I once considered mundane and ordinary suddenly had great value and importance, whether it was how I ate a sandwich, walked, or held a conversation. And certainly with whom I had sex. Mrs. Brittany and her staff were isolating every little thing I did and showing me how it could define me, express who I was, or, as Mrs. Pratt had put it, service me. Yes, Sheena, in all her innocence, was right. She didn’t need all my experience to sense what was instinctively true.

  “Sex should be special. ‘Friends with benefits’ is not all it’s cracked up to be,” I told her.

  Her eyes widened. After some of the things I had described myself doing, I understood why she was so surprised at this answer. “You really believe that?”

  “I do now. It’s like my vision has cleared,” I told her. “When you put such little value on yourself, others will, too. And what about later, when you want it to be special, when you do find someone you love and respect? Won’t it be too late to be able to make him feel special or convince him you are special?”

  She stared at me with her mouth slightly open.

  “I know,” I said. “I know. Just listen to me. I can’t believe I’m saying these things, either. I sound like some jealous wallflower. My mother tried to instill these values in me, but I was always too stuck on myself to listen or care. I think I made love out of spite more than out of desire. Maybe that’s why, even now, I don’t have many great memories. In fact, I’d like to forget it all ever happened. I’d like to go to a clinic and get back my virginity. Too bad you can’t unring a bell.”

  She laughed. “I love listening to you, Roxy. You make me feel . . . okay, like I haven’t missed all that much and shouldn’t feel so sorry for myself.”

  “I can tell you this, Sheena. The only thing I’m freely giving away from now on is advice, and even that will sometimes cost something.”

  She laughed again and said, “I’d better go and let you get some good sleep. You have a lot to do tomorrow. Don’t forget your horseback riding. You’ll need your energy and strength. The horse doesn’t do all the work. Go on, get to bed. I feel responsible for you now.” She concluded sounding like my older sister or even my mother. After she closed the door, I had the best laugh I’d had in days and the best night’s sleep, too. And she was right. It was important that I did.

  She was there at the riding stable already saddled and waiting the following day. Brendon Walsh was a short, slim man, not quite as small as a racetrack jockey but not much taller or heavier. He had curly red hair and freckles sprinkled over his cheeks and forehead like flecks of red pepper. He was very serious about his instructions but patient with me.

  I felt a little silly in the riding outfit Mrs. Pratt had sent up for me. Sheena was wearing a similar one, but she looked very good in it. I could see the confidence in her face as she sat waiting on her horse. One of the things she had told me the night before was that horseback riding made her feel complete.

  “The horse and I become one,” she had said. “I have healthy legs again. But every good rider feels that way about it. Brendon says that’s when you know you are comfortable in the saddle and, more important, when the horse is comfortable with you there.”

  I had no idea what she meant when I first began, but it wasn’t long before I did.

  Lance had been right about the new muscles I would be exercising, too. They let me know the next morning, but Brendon told me I couldn’t stop just because of some aches and pains. He wanted me riding every other day. Sheena was delighted, and by the e
nd of the week, I was doing well enough for the two of us to take a long ride through trails they had developed on the property. I never truly understood how large a tract of land Mrs. Brittany owned until we rode horses from one end of it to the other.

  We talked a great deal during the rides. Sheena felt confident enough with me now to describe what her life had been like with her parents. As I listened, I couldn’t believe a mother could be so indifferent to her child’s pain and illness. Sheena tried to excuse it all by blaming her mother’s binge drinking and her father’s anger about that. I understood that she didn’t want to believe her mother could care so little about what she was enduring or that her father was blind to what was happening to her. Into this scene she described came Mrs. Brittany, who, from the way Sheena described her, swept in quickly to take complete control once she understood what was happening.

  “It was the first time I saw my grandmother act like a powerful queen.”

  “So you never hear from your parents?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “I think about them often, though,” she confessed. When I was silent, she added, “But I am glad for my grandmother.”

  “Hearing what you’ve told me, I think I might be almost as glad for her as you are,” I said, and she smiled.

  “I hope that when you go to work for her, Roxy, you’ll still remember me.”

  “Of course I will. And you’ll visit me wherever I am.”

  “Will I?”

  Maybe I shouldn’t be making promises without first checking them out with Mrs. Brittany, I thought.

  “Let’s only think of good things for ourselves now,” I told her as a way of assuring her.

  She nodded, and we rode on, both captured for the moment by our own fear of what tomorrow would actually bring.

  In the days that followed, with Mrs. Brittany’s blessing, Sheena and I did draw as close as sisters. Just about every novel Professor Marx insisted I read, she had read and was ready to discuss. That also included plays. She was really a very bright student and expressed so much joy in sharing her knowledge that I couldn’t help but want to learn and understand. What a student I might have been if I had been friends with her while I was going to school, I thought.