Chapter 19
“Allison, my baby…”
My mother, appearing all damp-eyed and maternal, carefully leaned towards me and planted air kisses on each side of my face. I could see her nose wrinkling in distaste as she inhaled the smoky smell that clung to me, lifting her scented handkerchief in an apparent attempt to dry her tears, while in reality it was to mask the horrid odor.
“Mother,” I acknowledged politely “Father.”
“Isn’t that nice,” the nurse commented from behind them pushing the wheelchair I was required to use, “Both of your parents here to take you home.”
“Very nice,” I agreed solemnly.
“I’m so sorry about the reporters outside the hospital, Mr. Tate,” the nurse glanced at him nervously. “I don’t know how they found out about your daughter being discharged.”
“That’s quite alright, Nurse,” my father replied generously. “They are just doing their jobs.”
“Humph…I thought sarcastically. My father is probably the one who called them.
Once my parents found out about my hospitalization, they came rushing to see me, not because they cared about what happened, but because they realized it would be a ready-made publicity coup.
They wanted to take me to their house, but I refused. However, I did consent to participate in whatever photo ops they needed in order to make themselves look good in exchange for them footing the hospital bill. As a college student, I was still on their medical insurance, but I didn’t want them to realize I had enough to pay my own out-of-pocket expenses so I gave in to their publicity request.
I smiled for the cameras outside the hospital and waited in the limo with my mother while my father gave an abbreviated statement to the press.
“You will need to so something about that foul stench, Allison,” my mother commented while powdering her nose. “I am afraid your hair will have to be cut, but we could order you a wig until it grows back.”
I was too tired to do anything more than murmur agreement.
“Oh no!” she wailed. “Jerry is just going to have to do another lift,” she continued balefully examining her reflection closely. “There…do you see that?” she asked pointing toward the barely visible lines around her mouth. “That just will not do at all. You have no idea how lucky you are to have your young skin. So beautiful, and you could have any man you wanted and you pick a housekeeper’s son. Where did I go wrong?”
I closed my eyes and leaned back against the leather seat. My mother didn’t require responses from me…she never had. Our conversations always consisted of her running monologue and my silent mock-attention. Most of the time, I managed to block out her inane droning, but I was having a hard time doing that with my lack of concentration. I couldn’t seem to focus on anything intently enough to rid myself of her irritating buzzing. I was almost thankful when I heard my father enter the limo and motion the driver to go.
My relief didn’t last long.
“Now, you deceitful bitch,” my father faced me angrily after assuring himself the window between us and the driver was closed “what the hell were you doing in the Fowlkes’ guesthouse? Shacking up with that…that…peasant?”
“Painting,” I answered as calmly as I could.
“Painting?” he exclaimed, momentarily nonplussed. “Are you some sort of closet artist? Were you using it as a studio?”
It was so tempting to leave it there and allow him to go on thinking that, but I knew it would be an outright lie whereas the story Mr. Fowlkes and I had decided upon during his kind visit while I was hospitalized was actually the truth…as far as it went.
“No,” I contradicted softly “I was painting the walls.”
“Serving tea…painting walls…what else does that idiot Fowlkes have you doing? Mowing lawns…doing the laundry…what?” he asked angrily.
“James mows the lawns, Elsee does the laundry, and I paint walls,” I couldn’t help replying impudently.
I knew my father would be beside himself with anger, but I never expected him to resort to physical violence. The slap across my face had my eyes flying wide open, staring at him in disbelief.
“Lowell,” my mother rebuked him “not the face.”
Holding my reddened cheek, I sat speechless, staring at both of them as if I’d never seen them before in my life.
“You will explain yourself in a properly respectful tone or so help me you will regret it,” my father said coldly. “Why were you painting the walls in the guesthouse?”
“James is working for the Fowlkes and he needed a place to stay for the summer so they decided to let him use the guesthouse,” I tried to subdue my resentment and answer in a more humble manner, but it was rough going. “I wanted to make the guesthouse nice for him so I asked the Fowlkes if they would let me pick out the colors and paint it myself.”
“And they let you?” he asked incredulously.
The limo pulled up in front of my apartment, saving me from answering. Without waiting for the driver to open the door, I was out like a flash and moving as quickly as I could towards the only refuge I had left.
As soon as I made it safely inside, I slammed the door shut and locked it, knowing my parents didn’t have a key…safe from their wrath for the moment. Suddenly dizzy and out of breath, I bent over and tried to restore my equilibrium. Finally returning to some semblance of normal, I reached for the phone and dialed the only number that I knew would restore the rest of me.
“Elsee,” I whispered brokenly as soon as she picked up, “I need you.”