"Every time they check the time, they'll be reminded of your wonderful affair, and instead of an ordinary alarm, it will play your wedding song. What do you think?"
"I think a picture of the wedding party itself would make them happier. Then they could see themselves in the photograph," I offered,
Her face flooded with disappointment.
"Oh. But wouldn't that be too many?" she followed up quickly, hoping to change my mind.
"We'll just get a bigger clock. Bunny. No problem." I said.
She thought a moment, then smiled and said. "I might do one of the immediate family, just for myself, as well."
There was no defeating her if it came down to simply a matter of spending more money, I thought. All of her life she had bought happiness.
But would there be a time years and years from now when she would be surrounded only by things, when she would realize something important was missing?
What was it? she would surely wonder. Was it more jewelry? More high-style clothing, new furniture, a painting, a new car?
Wrapped in her furs, she would still shiver. The chill of something dark and dreadful would pass through her bones, and she would look out at the sea from her mansion or from her expensive patio and see a flock of birds moving as one, sailing with grace against the azure sky.
And suddenly she would know.
It was loneliness.
That deep darkness in her heart was loneliness.
And nothing she had bought and nothing she had been given would take it away.
11
My Own Boo Radley
.
A week after we moved into the main house.
Linden finally brought up the new portrait he was going to do of me and how he was going to do it. "I know how busy you are with your
schoolwork and getting ready for this grand wedding ceremony," he said. "I have therefore decided not to ask you to spend hours and hours posing for me in my studio.
"'Really?"
"Yes, but what I have to do is develop an idea and plant it in my mind, and do you know how I am going to do that without your posing?" he asked. He was so excited and enthusiastic about it that all I could do was shake my head and smile.
"How?"
"I'm going to take dozens and dozens of candid photographs of you. I've been reading about some other artists and how they work," he quickly continued before I could respond. "This one artist I admire. Arliss Thornbee, believes you have to submerge yourself in your subject, eat, sleep, and breathe nothing else until your artistic subconscious forms an image so powerful it cannot be denied and you as artist are merely a communication device, a transmitter bringing the idea out and onto the canvas. Isn't that a truly interesting and exciting idea?"
"Yes." I said. but I also felt a bit of a twang in my heart. Some tiny alarm, like the tweep of a baby bird alone and vulnerable in its nest. "But is that healthy? I mean, to permit yourself to be consumed by one thing?"
"It's only until the artistic subconscious has completed the vision," he explained.
"Why do the photographs all have to be candid?" I pursued. He shook his head, his face filling with disappointment.
"I would have thought you of all people would know why. Willow, When people pose, when they are prepared, they do things to hide their true inner selves. You're the daughter of a psychiatrist and you want to be one. too. You should know that, should know that first you have to strip away all the subterfuge, the masks and devices people use to hide their true selves. The best photographs are the ones a photographer takes of an unaware subject."
But now that you've told me what you intend to do. won't I be aware?" I asked softly.
He smiled.
'Now you are, but you won't be like me. You won't be thinking about it day in and day out. and I'll know when to snap that picture," he said with more confidence than I had ever seen him exhibit,
"How long will this preparation take?"
"Maybe a week or so. I don't want to give you an exact time frame or you will be anticipating. One day soon I'll let you know the portrait is ready. Okay? You still want me to do it, don't you?" he added when I hesitated.
"Oh, yes, of course," I said.
"Good. Good." he muttered, and went off with a tight smile on his lips like someone who has just gotten his opponent to agree to something that would place the opponent at a disadvantage. It troubled me, but he was right: I was too busy and too occupied with other things to think about it all the time.
He went off to complete the setting up of his studio. Linden had ordered new supplies and decided to change the color of the walls and improve the lighting. Mother was encouraged. The dark thoughts that had troubled his mind so often since his injury and operation seemed to have gone. He moved about with more energy, smiling, eager to help her and take on more household responsibilities. When he wasn't working on his studio, he over-saw the work of the gardeners, and even got into some of that work himself, planting new flowers, trimming hedges. trying, I thought, to restore a look he remembered from before his world had turned upside down.
His doctor was satisfied with the results she saw and reduced his medication. She told Mother she was happily surprised and confessed that she had expected his condition to grow worse before it improved. The result was that she gave her permission to let him drive again. The first trip he made was to take Mother and me to help him get fitted for his tuxedo. He even agreed to go to a hair salon to get his hair cut and styled by a professional rather than have Mother trim it as usual. I thought he looked handsome and told him so.
"Even with this ugly scar?" he asked.
"It's so slight now. Linden, it doesn't detract at all from your good looks," I told him. "It even adds some character. Why, just think of the war stories you can tell some unsuspecting, innocent young woman when you go out."
"I don't know if I can do that," he said, looking away quickly.
"Oh. I mean just in fim. Linden. You can tell her it was just a boating accident afterward."
"I don't mean the story. I mean go out, date," he confessed, "I've been out of that game so long. I don't even know how to begin."
"Thatcher will give you some pointers. I'm sure," I said, His smile dissolved.
"I don't need Thatcher's pointers. I'd rather stay home." he muttered.
"Maybe some night we can all go out on a double date," I suggested. "I know some very nice girls at college."
He kept his eyes down,
"When you're ready." I said softly, but I made a mental note to invite same of my college friends over one afternoon, thinking that if he could just begin to socialize, even slowly, he would gain self-confidence.
The opportunity came a few days later at lunch after Professor Fuentes's class when Loni and Petula Butterworth, Holden Mitchell. and I were talking about studying for upcoming exams. I suggested they come to Jaya del Mar the following afternoon when we all had free time. I really only wanted the twins. but Holden was there and I didn't have the heart to exclude him. Loni seemed to be taking a fancy to him, anyway, and working at getting his attention and interest.
"I know he's shy." she whispered. "but I kind of like that in a man. Most of the men I know want me to think I should be grateful they want to get into bed with me,"
I told Linden they were all coming the next day and asked him to join us for coffee on the rear loggia. At first he was reluctant.
"I have nothing in common with any of them," he said.
You don't know that. Linden, and besides, if you're still planning on doing my picture and working everything into your artistic subconscious as you told me, you should try to participate in everything I do, even if just as an interested observer.'
He stared at me, his eyes narrow with suspicion. "Are you using psychology on me?"
"I'd use anything I could to get you back into the world. Linden," I admitted. My honest reply brought a smile to his face.
"Okay," he said. "I'll meet your friends, but I'm n
ot saving I'll hang around to chitchat while they talk about college life or something silly.'"
"Fine. Meet us at four," I said.
The twins and Holden arrived in separate cars. He was more than fifteen minutes late. and Pet thought he wasn't going to show. Loni was gleeful when he finally did appear.
"You're late. Holden. We started without you," Pet snapped at him.
"I'm sorry. I had to do something for my mother," he said, and quickly looked to see if I was angry at him, too.
"It's all right. We barely got started," I revealed.
"We've got a lot to do," Pet insisted,
"So let's do it." Loni said. "Here, sit next to me. Holden. I'll share my notes with you."
"I have my own notes," he said, but sat next to her anyway and we began to review.
It was a good study session. Every time Loni tried to bring up something that wasn't part of our work or get Holden to be warmer and more interested in her. Pet would jump down her throat and bring us back to the point. Holden himself seemed incapable of anything else anyway. His shyness was manic at times, Whenever Loni said anything that was in the slightest way complimentary, his face would flush a dark ruby red and he would start to tremble, It was evident in his lips. When she touched him, he practically jumped out of his seat. Finally, she gave me a look that said. "He's hopeless." and devoted her full attention to the work.
At four. Jennings appeared and asked what sort of coffee we all wanted. The twins wanted
cappuccinos. Holden asked for tea. and I thought I'd have a caffe latte. I tried to delay it all, watching the door and hoping for Linden's appearance. Just before Jennings turned to go inside. Linden stepped onto the loggia.
"Oh, there you are!" I cried. "Wait, Jennings. What would you like. Linden? Loni and Pet are having cappuccinos. I know you like that."
"Fine," he said.
"Come meet everyone, then." I told him, and moved my chair so he would have to sit between me and Loni, whose eyes brightened with new interest. Holden was fading fast on the right. I thought, and smiled to myself.
"Holden Mitchell, this is my brother. Linden, and Linden, this is Loni and Pet Butterworth."
He nodded at them and sat.
"We know you're an artist," Loni pounced. "What are you working on now?"
Linden glanced at me to see if I had said anything about his wedding present. He could see that I hadn't.
"I'm doing a special portrait." he replied. "Oh," she bubbled.
"I don't usually do portraits. I think portrait artists are just glorified photographers. Real art needs much more than just a face on a canvas."
"Then why are you doing this one?" Pet asked with a tiny smirk on her lips.
"It's special," Linden said.
"Why?"
"It's not something easily explained. You'll have to wait until I do it," he said sharply.
"What a good answer," Loni cried, It is, Petula. I read somewhere that artists and writers who describe what they are doing lose their creative energy and their passion to do it."
"That doesn't make sense, does it?" Petula asked me.
"Actually, I think it does." I replied. "As Professor Fuentes was saying a week ago, I think, the creative impulse comes in the form of pressure, an obsession for the artist in which the only release comes in creating, releasing it in artistic form. Remember?" I started to thumb through my notes.
"Page 402 in the textbook." Holden said dryly. "The footnote to therapy and art."
"Right. Very good. Holden," I said, and he beamed. Petula looked unimpressed and turned back to Linden. "Where did you go to school for art?" she asked him.
"CU," he replied.
"CU? Where's that?"
"Right here." he said, gesturing at the beachfront.
For a moment no one said anything, and then Petula got it. "You mean the sea. Sea U? This is your university?"
"And my universe," he said, glancing at me. "Nature has much more to tell you than any college professor," he added sternly, dropping the corners of his mouth.
"Oh. I like that." Loni squealed. "I like it a lot."
"Good, then become a beach babe and leave." Petula told her.
The maid arrived with our coffee and some chocolate biscuits. The conversation soon turned to my upcoming wedding. I had asked Loni and Pet to be bridesmaids, not because I had become so friendly with them as much as because I didn't want Bunny Eaton dominating the wedding party with her choices and guests. The twins were very excited about it and made me give them an update on the arrangements. They had already been fitted for their gowns and had seen mine. Both Holden and Linden looked like they were getting bored, and to my delight, Loni picked up on it quickly and asked Linden if he would show her his studio.
The request seemed to put him in a little panic, however. "I... don't think it's ready yet," he said.
"Oh, nonsense. ready-smeady. I just want to see where an artist works."
"I work out there." he said, sharply, and gestured at the sea again.
"But I thought... you have a studio. You said--"
"That's just-- I do most of my work out there." he said more calmly, then rose. "I've got to get back to my work. It was nice to meet you all. Good hick on your exams." He barely gave them time to respond, making it look as if he couldn't get away fast enough.
"Is he all right?" Pet asked first.
"Yes," I said "You know how artists can be moody and temperamental. Professor Fuentes said they spend so much of their time in the comfort of their imaginary worlds, they have little tolerance for the static and conflicts in the real world,"
"You quote him as if he were an internationally renowned philosopher," Pet said. "I don't remember half the things you do from his classes."
"She's just paying better attention than you are," Loni told her. "To what? The professor's words or the professor?" Pet asked with a playful smile.
I could feel myself blush.
"Oh, stop it. Pet. Willow is soon to be a married woman. She's not interested in another man."
"Yet," Pet muttered.
Holden raised his eyebrows and looked from her to me. "Let's get back to what's important." I suggested.
"I thought I was." Pet quipped. Loni laughed and I thought I detected a smile in Holden's eyes, but just for a moment, like a flash, something reflected and gone so quickly you weren't sure it was ever really there.
An hour later we ended, and they thanked me for hosting the session.
"In such beautiful surroundings. too." Loni said. "No wonder Linden calls it his university. I can't wait for your wedding. It will surely be the event of the season."
At this point. I simply can't wait for it to be over with," I said.
"Oh. I wouldn't be like that. I want to keep it forever and ever on the brink of happening." She leaned toward me so Holden couldn't hear. "Like an orgasm."
He did hear it. however. He had that beet-red look again.
"Get out of here, you idiot." I told her, and laughed. She and Pet said goodbye and started out. Holden lingered, gazing at the sea.
"Your brother is right about this place,: he said. "I can see why he finds it stimulating, Artistically. I mean."
"Yes."
"How far does your property go?"
"Just over that ridge," I said, nodding to the left. "and up until the undeveloped beach on the right. It's very private,"
"Beautiful. I wish we lived on the beach. I don't get to the beach as much as I would like. Everyone who knows you live here thinks you're on the beach every day. I don't even have a proper tan." he added mournfully. It was the most he had ever said to me in one breath.
"They say the sun isn't all that good for you anyway. Holden."
"The fox and the grapes again. Another one of Professor Fuentes's allusions, remember? The soreloser mentality?"
"I remember. Holden." "It's interesting how he works fairy tales and nursery rhymes and poetry into his lectures, isn't it?"
"Yes. He's a
fine teacher."
"Maybe that's what I'll end up doing... teaching." "Nothing wrong with that. Holden."
"Can we go for a little walk on your beach?" he asked, adding quickly. "Not long." He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. He looked like a little boy whose hope hung an my every word.
I glanced at the time. Thatcher wasn't going to be home for another hour and a half at least.
"Okay, but not for long. I have to get some things done before dinner."
He nodded and moved down the steps quickly, hurrying like someone who was afraid I might change my mind. It made me laugh. but I kept it under control and followed, walking slowly with my arms folded under my breasts and my head dawn most of the time. He was so quiet, for a few moments I felt I was alone.
"Loni is very immature for her age." he blurted. "Don't you think so?"
'Toni? No, not really. She's just a fun girl with a gregarious personality. You should try to spend more time with her. I think she likes you, Holden."
He pulled his chin in and down and pressed his lips together so hard his cheeks bulged.
"Hardly," he said. "She's the kind of girl who has a brain made of lollipops,"
"Lollipops?" I paused and smiled,
"Yes. It's my mother's idea. She likes to point out girls in the mall when she and I go shopping and describe what their brains are made of. Some are lollipops, some are jelly beans, some are just marshmallows. She says you can see it in their eyes. She calls them 'confections' and says the man who marries one of them will be talking to himself before the honeymoon is over."
I shrugged and continued walking.
"My mother likes you," he said. "She met you at your bridal shower."
"Yes. I remember."
"She says she could see you were not a 'confection.' "
"Well, thank her for saving that." I told him. I was biting down on my lower lip to keep from bursting out in hysterics.
"I think so, too." he continued, "I think you're the most stimulating girl on the college campus. I love when you speak in class. You always say intelligent things or ask intelligent questions, unlike L oni and the other 'confections,'
"Maybe you're just being too harsh in your judgments of them, Holden."