"Yes. I had to drink that gooey stuff again, too," he complained.
"It's good for you, Troy, and it will make you stronger so you will be able to live a normal life again. You will get better and be Able to ride your pony and swim and . . ."
"No, I won't," he said with a frighteningly assured and mature expression. His eyes were as sharp and as cold as Tony's could be at times. "I'll never get better and I won't live as long as everyone's supposed to live," he added firmly.
"Troy! You must not say such things. That's a terrible thing to say," I chided.
"I know it's true. I heard the doctor say it to the nurse." "What did he say?" I demanded, outraged that a doctor would utter such comments in his presence.
"He said I was as delicate as a flower, and just as a flower would snap in a harsh wind, I would snap if I ever became seriously ill."
I stared at him a moment. In a strange way his sicknesses had matured and aged him. Right now he appeared to be an old man in a child's body, his eyes had that much wisdom and experience in them. It was as if the months were ticking away like days and the days like hours for him. Perhaps his wisdom gave him a window on the future and he did see his own early death. I shuddered with the thought.
"Troy, he just meant that if you didn't improve, you would be sickly, but you're going to improve. You're just a little boy. You have plenty of time to grow stronger and stronger. Besides, if you died, who would be my little stepbrother?"
His eyes lit up with that.
"You will always want me to be your little stepbrother?"
"Of course."
"And you will never leave me here by myself?" he asked with Tony's skepticism.
"Where would I go? This is my home now, just as it is yours."
His smile washed out the melancholy shadow that had clung to his face. I seized his wrist gently and brought him to me for a quick hug. The tears that gathered in the corners of my eyes started a slow trickle down my cheeks. When he pulled back and saw them, he looked surprised.
"Why are you crying, Leigh?"
"I'm just . . . happy you will be my little brother forever and ever, Troy," I said. His face became resplendent and he glowed with happiness. I thought he grew stronger, healthier, right before my eyes.
All he really needed, I thought, was someone to love and to cherish him, someone to make him feel wanted. Tony loved him very much, I was sure, but Tony was so involved in all his business activities, he couldn't be the father Troy needed; and my mother . . . she was so involved with herself and so put off by Tray's illnesses, she didn't even see him. I could imagine that when she looked at him, she looked right through him; and Troy, being the sensitive little boy he was, surely felt invisible and alone because of all that. It dawned on me that he really had only t e now.
In some ways I felt just like him. There were so many tit es now when my mother looked right through me, had her mind on her own activities and concerns. And my father was preoccupied with a new love. Troy and I were two orphans thrown together in this big house, surrounded by things other children and young people dreamed of having. rut things without love and someone to cherish, and to cherish you along with them, were really only things.
"Will you come into my suite later to read to me, Leigh?" he asked.
"After dinner. I promise."
"Okay. I've got to go see Tony," he said. "Don't forget," he added and ran out, his little legs wobbling as he charged out of my suite. It made me laugh, but it also made me sad.
I changed and dressed for dinner. Tony was already in the dining room when I came down.
"How are you, a little tired?" he asked.
"Yes, although I don't know why modeling should make me tired. I just stood there," I said.
"Don't underestimate what you're doing. It's work. You're concentrating too and don't forget, you were nervous today. That can tire you out. Tomorrow, you will be less nervous and as the days go by, it will get easier and easier."
"How much longer will it be, Tony?" I asked. He had said "as the days go-by."
"A while, I have to spend a lot of time on the actual painting. I want your skin tones perfect and your eyes and hair. And then, there is the actual sculpting. We can't rush this along," he said with a smile.
I didn't know what to say. It sounded as if he would spend the entire summer with me standing nude before him in the cottage. Would he have to touch me again and again? Could I ever really get used to that? And what about his other work . . . his business?
"But don't you have other things to do?"
"I have very competent help, and as I told you, this is one of the most important projects Tatterton Toys has ever undertaken," He patted my hand. "Don't worry, you'll have time of to do anything you want."
I nodded. How could I tell him what my real concerns were? Who could I tell? Where was my mother when I needed her? Where was my father?
After dinner, I went up to Troy's room to read to him, but his nurse greeted me outside his suite and told me he was already asleep.
"The medicine he takes tires him out early," she explained. "He tried hard to stay up for you, but his eyes shut themselves."
"I'll just look in on him," I said and went to the door of his bedroom.
He would always look tiny and fragile in his king-size bed, I mused, but I thought that, at least tonight, he had gone to sleep with healthier color in his face. I made up my mind I would try to spend more time with him and help his recovery along. It would take my mind off my own problems.
I read and listened to the radio in my suite and then I tried to go to sleep, but when I put out the lights and closed my eyes, all I could think about was Tony putting his hands on my naked body, his fingers traveling up and over my breasts, his eyes shut tight, but the eyeballs moving nervously beneath the lids, looking like two tiny round animals searching for a way out.
What would it be like tomorrow?
When I awoke the next morning, I dressed and went quickly to my mother's suite, but she had her bedroom door shut tight. I knocked gently.
"Momma? I have to talk to you this morning," I whispered through the door. I waited, but there was no response. "Momma?" I raised my voice and waited. Still, there was no response. Frustrated, but
determined to speak with her about my experience at the cottage, I opened the door, only to confront an untouched bed. Shocked and surprised, I hurried from her rooms and down to the dining room, where I found Tony reading the Wall Street Journal and having his coffee.
"Where's my mother?" I asked. "It doesn't look like she slept in her bed last night."
"She didn't," he said nonchalantly and turned the page. "Well, where was she?" I demanded. He lowered the paper, a look of annoyance on his face. He wasn't annoyed with me; he was annoyed with her.
"She phoned around eleven to tell me that she and her girlfriends had decided to spend the night in Boston. I had to send Miles to her hotel to bring her clothes for today."
"But . . . when is she coming home?"
He shrugged.
"Your guess is as good as mine. Probably better than mine." His eyes cut sharply toward me. Then he nodded toward Curtis, who had been standing in the corner like a statue, and asked him to bring in our breakfast.
I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to go back to the cottage without first talking about it with my mother, but she wasn't here and Tony was anxious to get started.
"Why don't you just put on one of your loose cotton shifts this morning," he suggested. "It will make things easier if you don't wear anything else," he added. "It's very warm today."
Nothing else? No panties, no bra, nothing but my cotton shift? He saw the look on my face.
"Just to be practical," he added. I nodded. After breakfast I went up to my suite and did as he suggested. Contrary to what he had told me, I didn't feel less nervous this morning, even though it was to be my second session. He was just as animated as the day before when we walked through the maze to the cottage, maybe even
more so. He set things up quickly and this time did not ease me into it.
"Today we paint," he announced. "Ready?"
I looked at the windows. All had their shades drawn down, but he had opened them a few inches so that there would be a breeze. I looked back at him, his face filled with anticipation. I was tempted to run out of the cottage. My lips began to tremble.
"What's wrong?" he asked, seeing ray concern.
"I just feel ."
"You poor thing. I'm just rushing onward without considering your feelings. I'm sorry, Leigh," he said and took me in his arms. "I know this isn't the easiest thing for you because it's such a new experience, but we did so well together yesterday, I just thought you were over your initial shyness.
"Now just take a deep breath," he said, "and think about the wonderful thing we're doing together, okay?"
I closed my eyes and took the deep breath, but my heart was pounding so, I felt faint. He felt my trembling.
"Here," he said, "you know what? You don't have to stand right away. I can start with you lying on the couch."
"On the couch?"
"Yes. I'll help you. Just keep your eyes closed. Go on," he encouraged. I did so. "Relax. That's it. Easy," he said and I felt his fingers take hold of my loose cotton shift just below the waist. He lifted it slowly, gently. "Raise your arms, please," he whispered. I did so and the shift came up over my head, rising softly, as softly as it would had a delicate and tender breeze been lifting it. I kept my eyes closed even after Tony brought it past my raised hands. He put it aside and then took my shoulders and softly guided me to the couch.
"Lie there. Make yourself comfortable," he said.
I lowered my head to the pillow he had placed against the arm of the couch and opened my eyes. He was standing before me, looking down, smiling.
"Good. See, how easy it will be."
He returned to his easel and began. Time seemed to pass more slowly than it had yesterday. We didn't take a break until lunch. When he announced we would eat lunch, he handed me the sheet I wore yesterday. I clipped and draped it around me. Again, we had sandwiches and wine. Tony talked about some of the exciting marketing ideas he was developing for the portrait dolls. The more he talked, the more relaxed I became. He surprised me though when we returned to the work.
"You don't have to stand. I need a rear view now," he told me.
"What should I do?"
"Just lie down on your stomach," he said. I hesitated. "Go on. I'll take the sheet off you when I'm ready."
I did as he asked. He set up another canvas and then he came to the couch. First, he stroked my hair.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Good. Then let's begin again," he said and reached under my chin to unclip the sheet. He lifted it from me and stood looking down. "Perfect," he muttered, almost inaudibly. He returned to his easel and worked. Hours seemed to go by before he groaned as he had yesterday.
"Not right," he said. "Just not right." I looked at him. He was staring at me, his fingers pinching his chin. Then he approached me. "Just relax." He brought the palm of his hand to the small of my back. He ran it up to my neck and then back down, only not stopping where he started, but going over my buttocks. He lingered there, pressing his fingers softly into me. Then he stood up, sighed, and returned to his canvas.
He worked with a new frenzy. Touching me truly inspired him. This time when he stopped for the day, he looked exhausted. He seemed barely able to speak.
"We're finished for today," he declared. I put on my cotton shift and joined him at the easel. Once again, I thought he had captured my likeness well, but the body he had drawn and painted was more my mother's than my own. He saw my look of surprise.
"It's how I see you," he explained. "It's how you are on the tips of my fingers." The look in his eyes made my heart flutter. He kissed me on the forehead and said, "You're wonderful. You could turn anyone into an artist."
I didn't know what to say. His words
embarrassed and flattered me at the same time, but having him hold his eyes on me so intently made me quiver. Finally, he gathered his things together and we left the cottage. I followed him through the maze, through the long shadows and corridors. My body was in such turmoil, caught in the midst of a storm of feelings. When we finally came out of the maze, I felt as if I had left a dream world and reentered reality.
I hurried into the house and up to my suite, not even stopping to see if my mother had returned from Boston. I had to close the doors quickly and catch my breath. My body still tingled with the memory of Tony's fingers running over me, turning me into the woman he wanted me to be.
fourteen DADDY'S RETURN
. I heard my mother coming up the stairs to her suite. She was laughing and talking quite excitedly to one of our maids. I hurried-to my door just as she went by.
"Momma," I called. She turned quickly. "Oh, Leigh. I was just talking to Tony about you downstairs. He said everything was going wonderfully. I'm so happy. Give me a minute to shower and change and then come to my suite so I can tell you all about this wonderful play I saw in Boston and this fabulous hotel my friends and I stayed in. It was luxury beyond luxury," she said and swept on toward her suite.
"Momma," I cried, stopping her. "I want to talk to you now."
"Now?" She shook her head at me. "Really, Leigh, you must give me a little time to myself so I can make myself presentable again. You know how I despise traveling."
"But Mamma . . ."
"I'll let you know when I'm ready. It won't be long," she promised and went on before I could offer any further protest.
But it was nearly two hours before she finally did send for me. She had showered and dressed and done her hair and makeup first because two of Tony's business friends were coming to dinner with their wives.
"Now what's so urgent?" she asked as I came into her bedroom. She was at her vanity table making some finishing touches on her hair and looked at me in her mirror.
"It's about my modeling for the portrait doll," I said. She seemed not to be listening. I waited as she played with some loose strands. Finally, she turned to me.
"What?"
"I can't go on with this, Momma," I said and started to cry. She jumped up and went to her door to close it quickly.
"What is it? You can't do this now, make a scene. You want one of the servants to hear you? And our guests will be arriving any moment for dinner. What's wrong?" she exclaimed, her voice frantic.
"Oh Momma, it was hard enough to stand naked in front of Tony while he drew me, but when he touched me . . ."
"Touched you? What are you talking about, Leigh? Stop sniveling like a child and talk sensibly."
I wiped my eyes quickly and sat on the bed facing her. Then I quickly explained what Tony had been doing and why he said he was doing it. She listened attentively, her face barely changing expression. All that she really did was narrow her eyes some and pull her mouth in slightly at the corners.
"Is that all?" she asked when I was finished. She returned to her vanity table.
"All? Isn't it enough?" I cried.
"But he hasn't done anything to you, has he? You said yourself he tried to make you comfortable each time. He sounds very considerate to me," she said and started to turn back to the mirror.
"But Momma, does he have to touch me to paint me and create the model?"
"It's understandable," she said. "I once read about this blind man who sculpted beautiful things using only his sense of touch."
"But Tony isn't blind!" I protested.
"Nevertheless, he's only trying to enhance his senses," she said and put on her lipstick. "What you're doing is wonderful . . . for both of you. He seems so involved, so pleased. To tell you the truth, Leigh," she said turning back to me, "before he got involved with this project, I thought he was going to drive me mad. He was at my door night and day, demanding my attention. I never realized how possessive he was and how much he needed to be occupied. A man like T
ony could exhaust one woman to death!" she declared. Then she smiled. "Just think about the doll and what it will mean. Everyone will be talking about them and about you."
"Momma, I have been thinking about the doll and the pictures Tony has painted."
"So?"
"They're . . . they're not right."
"I can't believe that, Leigh. I know Tony's a fine artist; I've seen some of the things he's done."
"I'm not saying he's not a fine artist, Momma. He has drawn my face well and the picture really looks like me, but . . ."
"But? But what? You're not making any sense and we have to get ourselves ready for dinner," she said, her face twisting with anger.
"The rest of me doesn't look like me. It looks like you!" I cried. She stared at me a moment. Relief rushed like a wave over me. Finally she understood why I was so upset. But suddenly, she smiled.
"That's wonderful," she declared. "Absolutely marvelous."
"What?"
"How clever. He's combining both of us into this wonderful new work of art. Why, I guess it was to be expected--the man is completely obsessed with me. He has me on his mind night and day," she said playing with her hair. Then she turned back to me. "You must not blame him for it, Leigh. He simply can't help it.
"Now you can understand why I run away sometimes, why I need relief, why he must be distracted by one thing or another. It's so difficult for a woman when a man literally worships the ground she walks upon." She sighed. "Sometimes, I long for him to be more like your father."
She looked at her diamond watch. "You're not going to dinner dressed like that, are you? Put something more formal on tonight. These people are very wealthy and important. I'd like you to make a good impression." She looked at herself in the mirror again.
"Then you think everything is all right?" I asked her.
"Everything? Oh, yes, of course. Don't be a baby about this, Leigh. It's not going to be that much longer before Tony is finished and hopefully on to other things that will consume his energies just as much." She paused, looked at me a moment, and then got up and went to her jewelry box to choose her rings.