"I presume you know," he said, "that Michael and Rowan are in London. Michael said he would call you." Then he was off, headed down the stairs.
Here stood Mary Jane.
What a change from the afternoon she'd come sprouting diagnoses of Rowan. But one had to remember, thought Mona, that those diagnoses had been correct.
Mary Jane's yellow hair was hanging loose and splendid, like flax, over her shoulders, and her big breasts were poking against the tight fit of a white lace dress. There was a little mud, from the cemetery, probably, on her beige high-heeled shoes. She had a tiny, mythical Southern waist.
"Hey there, Mona, I hope this doesn't hang you up, my being here," she said, immediately grabbing Mona's right hand and pumping it furiously, her blue eyes glittering as she looked down at Mona from her seemingly lofty height of about five foot eight inches in the heels. "listen, I can cut out of here any time you don't want me. I'm no stranger to hitchhiking, I can tell you. I'll get to Fontevrault just fine. Hey, lookie, we're both wearing white lace, and don't you have on the most darlin' little smock? Hey, that's just adorable, you look like a white lace bell with red hair. Hey, can I go out there on the front porch?"
"Yeah, sure, I'm glad to have you here," said Mona. Her hand had been sticky from the apple, but Mary Jane hadn't noticed.
Mary Jane was walking past her.
"You have to push up that window," said Mona, "then duck. But this is really not a dress, it's some kind of shirt or something." She liked the way it floated around her. And she loved the way that Mary Jane's skirts flared from that tiny waist.
Well, this was no time to be thinking about waists, was it?
She followed Mary Jane outside. Fresh air. River breeze.
"Later on, I can show you my computer and my stock-market picks. I've got a mutual fund I've been managing for six months, and it's making millions. Too bad I couldn't afford to actually buy any of the picks."
"I hear you, darlin'," said Mary Jane. She put her hands on the front porch railing and looked down into the street. "This is some mansion," she said. "Yeah, it sure is."
"Uncle Ryan points out that it is not a mansion, it is a town house, actually," said Mona.
"Well, it's some town house."
"Yeah, and some town."
Mary Jane laughed, bending her whole body backwards, and then she turned to look at Mona, who had barely stepped out on the porch.
She looked Mona up and down suddenly, as if something had made an impression on her, and then she froze, looking into Mona's eyes.
"What is it?" asked Mona.
"You're pregnant," said Mary Jane.
"Oh, you're just saying that because of this shirt or smock or whatever."
"No, you're pregnant."
"Well, yeah," said Mona. "Sure am." This girl's country voice was infectious. Mona cleared her throat. "I mean, everybody knows. Didn't they tell you? It's going to be a girl."
"You think so?" Something was making Mary Jane extremely uneasy. By all rights, she should have enjoyed descending upon Mona and making all kinds of predictions about the baby. Isn't that what self-proclaimed witches did?
"You get your test results back?" asked Mona. "You have the giant helix?" It was lovely up here in the treetops. Made her want to go down into the garden.
Mary Jane was actually squinting at her, and then her face relaxed a little, the tan skin without a single blemish and the yellow hair resting on her shoulders, full but sleek.
"Yeah, I have the genes all right," said Mary Jane. "You do too, don't you?"
Mona nodded. "Did they tell you anything else?"
"That it probably wouldn't matter, I'd have healthy children, everybody always did in the family, 'cept for one incident about which nobody is willing to talk."
"Hmmmmm," said Mona. "I'm still hungry. Let's go downstairs."
"Yeah, well, I could eat a tree!"
Mary Jane seemed normal enough by the time they reached the kitchen, chattering about every picture and every item of furniture she saw. Seemed she'd never been in the house before.
"How unspeakably rude that we didn't invite you," said Mona. "No, I mean it. We weren't thinking. Everybody was worried about Rowan that afternoon."
"I don't expect fancy invitations from anybody," said Mary Jane. "But this place is beautiful! Look at these paintings on the walls."
Mona couldn't help but take pride in it, the way Michael had refurbished it, and it occurred to her suddenly, as it had upwards of fifty million times in the last week, that this house would someday be hers. Seemed it already was. But she mustn't presume on that, now that Rowan was OK again.
Was Rowan ever going to be really OK? A flash of memory came back to her, Rowan in that sleek black silk suit, sitting there, looking at her, with the straight dark eyebrows and the big, hard, polished gray eyes.
That Michael was the father of her baby, that she was pregnant with a baby, that this connected her to both of them--these things suddenly jarred her.
Mary Jane lifted one of the curtains in the dining room. "Lace," she said in a whisper. "Just the finest, isn't it? Everything here is the best of its kind."
"Well, I guess that's true," said Mona.
"And you, too," said Mary Jane, "you look like some kind of princess, all dressed in lace. Why, we're both dressed in lace. I just love it."
"Thanks," said Mona, a little flustered. "But why would somebody as pretty as you notice somebody like me?"
"Don't be crazy," said Mary Jane, sweeping past her into the kitchen, hips swinging gracefully, high heels clicking grandly. "You're just a gorgeous girl. I'm pretty. I know I am. But I like to look at other girls who are pretty, always have."
They sat together at the glass table. Mary Jane examined the plates that Eugenia set out for them, holding hers up to the light.
"Now this is real bone china," she said. "We got some of this at Fontevrault."
"Really, you still have those sorts of things down there?"
"Darlin', you'd be amazed what's in that attic. Why, there's silver and china and old curtains and boxes of photographs. You should see all that. That attic's real dry and warm too. Sealed tight up there. Barbara Ann used to live up there. You know who she was?"
"Yeah, Ancient Evelyn's mother. And my great-great-grandmother."
"Mine too!" declared Mary Jane triumphantly. "Isn't that something."
"Yep, sure is. Part of the entire Mayfair experience. And you should look at the family trees where it gets all crisscrossed, like if I were to marry Pierce for instance, with whom I share not only that great-great-grandmother, but also a great-grandfather, who also pops up ... damn, it's the hardest thing to keep track of. There comes a point in the life of every Mayfair when you spend about a year drawing family trees everywhere, trying just to keep it clear in your mind who is sitting next to you at the family picnic, know what I mean?"
Mary Jane nodded, eyebrows raised, lips curled in a smile. She wore a kind of smoky violet lipstick, to die for. My God, I am a woman now, Mona thought. I can wear all that junk, if I want to.
"Oh, you can borry all my things, if you want," said Mary Jane. "I've got an overnight case??? You know??? Just full of cosmetics that Aunt Bea bought for me, and all of them from Saks Fifth Avenue, and Bergdorf Goodman in New York."
"Well, that's very sweet of you." Mind reader, be careful.
Eugenia had taken some veal out of the refrigerator, little tender cuts for scallopini, which Michael had set aside for Rowan. She was frying these now, the way Michael had taught her, with sliced mushrooms and onions, already prepared, from a little plastic sack.
"God, that smells good, doesn't it?" said Mary Jane. "I didn't mean to read your mind, just happens."
"I don't care about that, it doesn't matter. As long as we both know it's very hit-and-miss, and easy to misunderstand."
"Oh, absolutely," said Mary Jane.
Then she looked at Mona again, the way she had looked at her upstairs. They were sitting op
posite each other, just the way that Mona and Rowan sat, only Mona was in Rowan's place now, and Mary Jane was in Mona's. Mary Jane had been looking at her silver fork, and suddenly she just stopped moving and narrowed her eyes again and looked at Mona.
"What's the matter?" asked Mona. "You're looking at me like something's the matter."
"Everybody just looks at you when you're pregnant, they always do, soon as they know."
"I know that," said Mona. "But there's something different in the way you're looking at me. Other people are giving me swoony, loving looks, and looks of approbation, but you--"
"What's approbation?"
"Approval," said Mona.
"I got to get an education," said Mary Jane, shaking her head. She set the fork down. "What is this silver pattern?"
"Sir Christopher," said Mona.
"You think it's too late for me to ever be a truly educated person?"
"No," said Mona, "you're too smart to let a late start discourage you. Besides, you're already educated. You're just educated in a different way. I've never been the places you've been. I've never had the responsibility."
"Yeah, well, I didn't always want that myself. You know, I killed a man? I pushed him off a fire escape in San Francisco and he fell four stories into an alley and cracked open his head."
"Why did you do it?"
"He was trying to hurt me. He'd shot me up with heroin and he was giving it to me and telling me that him and me were going to be lovers together. He was a goddamned pimp. I pushed him off the fire escape."
"Did anyone come after you?"
"No," said Mary Jane, shaking her head. "I never told that story to anybody else in this family."
"I won't either," said Mona. "But that kind of strength isn't unusual in this family. How many girls, do you think, had been turned out by this pimp? That's the phrase for it, isn't it?"
Eugenia was serving them and ignoring them. The veal did look OK, well browned and juicy, with a light wine sauce.
Mary Jane nodded. "Lots of girls. Idiots," she said.
Eugenia had set down a cold salad of potatoes and peas, another Michael Curry gentleman's special, tossed in oil and garlic. Eugenia plopped a big spoon of it on Mary Jane's plate.
"Do we have any more milk?" asked Mona. "What are you drinking, Mary Jane?"
"Coca-Cola, please, Eugenia, if you don't mind, but then I can certainly get up and get it myself."
Eugenia was outraged at the suggestion, especially coming from an unknown cousin who was obviously a perfect rube. She brought the can and the glass of ice.
"Eat, Mona Mayfair!" Eugenia said. She poured the milk from the carton. "Come on now."
The meat tasted awful to Mona. She couldn't figure why. She loved this kind of food. As soon as it had been set before her, it had begun to disgust her. Probably just the usual bout of sickness, she thought, and that proves I'm on schedule. Annelle had said it would happen at just about six weeks. That is, before she'd declared the baby was a three-month-old monster.
Mona bowed her head. Little wisps of that last dream were catching hold of her, very tenacious and full of associations that were just moving away from her at jet speed as soon as she tried to catch them, and hold them, and open up the dream itself.
She sat back. She drank the milk slowly. "Just leave the carton," she said to Eugenia, who hovered over her, wrinkled and solemn, glaring at her, and at her untouched plate.
"She'll eat what she needs to eat, won't she?" asked Mary Jane, helpfully. Sweet kid. She was already gobbling her veal, and noisily stabbing every bit of mushroom and onion she could find with her fork.
Eugenia finally ambled off.
"Here, you want this?" said Mona. "Take it." She pushed the plate towards Mary Jane. "I never touched it."
"You sure you don't want it?"
"It's making me sick." She poured herself another glass of milk. "Well, I was never much of a milk lover, you know, probably because the refrigerator in our house never kept it cold. But that's changing. Everything's changing."
"Oh yeah, like what?" Mary Jane asked, rather wide-eyed. She chugalugged her entire Coke. "Can I get up and get another one?"
"Yes," said Mona.
She watched Mary Jane as she bounced towards the refrigerator. Her dress had just enough flare to remind you of a little girl's. Her legs looked beautifully muscled, thanks to the high heels, though they had looked beautifully muscled the other day when she'd been wearing flat shoes.
She flopped back down and started devouring Mona's offering.
Eugenia poked her head in the door from the butler's pantry.
"Mona Mayfair, you didn't eat nothin'. You live on potato chips and junk!"
"Get out of here!" Mona said firmly. Eugenia vanished.
"But she's trying to be maternal and all," said Mary Jane. "Why did you yell at her?"
"I don't want anybody to be maternal with me. And besides, she's not. She's a pest. She thinks ... she thinks I'm a bad person. It's too long to explain. She's always scolding me about something."
"Yeah, well, when the father of the baby is Michael Curry's age, you know, people are either going to blame him or you."
"How did you know that?"
Mary Jane stopped gobbling, and looked at Mona.
"Well, it is him, isn't it? I kinda figured you were sweet on him, first time I come here. I didn't mean to make you mad. I thought you were happy about it. I keep getting this vibe that you're really happy that he's the father."
"I'm not sure."
"Oh, it's him," said Mary Jane. She jabbed the fork through the last piece of veal, picked it up, and stuffed it in her mouth and chewed it lustily, her smooth brown cheeks working furiously without so much as a line or a wrinkle or any real distortion. This was one beautiful girl. "I know," she said, as soon as she had swallowed a wad of chewed meat big enough to catch in her windpipe and choke her to death.
"Look," said Mona. "This is something I haven't told anybody yet, and ..."
"Everybody knows it," said Mary Jane. "Bea knows it. Bea told me. You know what's going to save Bea? That woman is going to get over her grief for Aaron on account of one simple reason. She never stops worrying about everybody else. She's real worried about you and Michael Curry, because he's got the genes, as everybody knows, and he's Rowan's husband. But she says that gypsy you fell in love with is just all wrong for you. He belongs with another kind of woman, somebody wild and homeless and without a family, like himself."
"She said all that?"
Mary Jane nodded. Suddenly she spied the plate of bread which Eugenia had set out for them, slices of plain white bread.
Mona didn't consider bread like that fit for consumption. She only ate French bread, or rolls, or something properly prepared to accompany a meal. Sliced bread! Sliced white bread!
Mary Jane grabbed the top slice, mushed it together, and started sopping up veal juice.
"Yeah, she said all that," said Mary Jane. "She told Aunt Viv and she told Polly and Anne Marie. Didn't seem to know that I was listening. But I mean, this is what is going to save her, that she's got so much on her mind about the family, like coming down to Fontevrault and making me leave."
"How could they all know this about me and Michael?"
Mary Jane shrugged. "You're asking me? Darlin', this is a family of witches, you're supposed to know that better than I do. Any number of ways they could have found out. But, come to think of it, Ancient Evelyn spilled the beans to Viv, if I am not mistaken. Something about you and Michael being here alone?"
"Yeah," said Mona with a sigh. "So big deal. I don't have to tell them. So much for that." But if they started being mean to Michael, if they started treating him any differently, if they started ...
"Oh, I don't think you have to worry about that, like I said, when it's a man that age and a girl your age, they blame one or the other, and I think they blame you. I mean, not in a mean way or anything, they just say things like, 'Whatever Mona wants, Mona gets,' and
'Poor Michael,' and you know, stuff like, 'Well, if it got him up off that bed and to feeling better, maybe Mona's got the healing gift.' "
"Terrific," said Mona. "Actually, that's exactly the way I feel myself."
"You know, you're tough," said Mary Jane.
The veal juice was gone. Mary Jane ate the next slice of bread plain. She closed her eyes in a deliberate smile of satiation. Her lashes were all smoky and slightly violet, rather like her lipstick actually, very subtle however, and glamorous and beautiful. She had a damned near perfect face.
"Now I know who you look like!" cried Mona. "You look like Ancient Evelyn, I mean in her pictures when she was a girl."
"Well, that makes sense, now doesn't it?" said Mary Jane, "being's we're come down from Barbara Ann." Mona poured the last of the milk into her glass. It was still wonderfully cold. Maybe she and this baby could live on milk alone, she wasn't sure.
"What do you mean, I'm tough?" asked Mona. "What did you mean by that?"
"I mean you don't get insulted easily. Most of the time, if I talk like this, you know, completely open-like, with no secrets, like really trying to get to know somebody??? You know??? I offend that person."
"Small wonder," said Mona, "but you don't offend me."
Mary Jane stared hungrily at the last thin, forlorn slice of white bread.
"You can have it," said Mona.
"You sure?"
"Positive."
Mary Jane grabbed it, tore the middle out of it, and started rolling the soft bread into a ball. "Boy, I love it this way," she said. "When I was little??? You know??? I used to take a whole loaf, and roll it all into balls!"
"What about the crust?"
"Rolled it into balls," she said, shaking her head with nostalgic wonder. "Everything into balls."
"Wow," said Mona flatly. "You know, you really are fascinating, you're the most challenging combination of the mundane and mysterious that I've ever run across."
"There you go, showing off," said Mary Jane, "but I know you don't mean any harm, you're just teasing me, aren't you? Did you know that if mundane started with a b, I'd know what it meant?"
"Really? Why?"
"Because I'm up to b in my vocabulary studies," said Mary Jane. "I've been working on my education in several different ways, I'd like to know what you think about it. See, what I do is, I get a big-print dictionary??? You know???? The kind for old ladies with bad eyes??? And I cut out the b words, which gives me some familiarity with them right there, you know, cutting out each one with the definition, and then I throw all the little balls of paper ... oops, there we go again," she laughed. "Balls, more balls."