Midnight Whispers

  "How horrible," I said, my heart pounding. I wondered what I would have done in such a predicament.

  "I couldn't confide in my mother and I knew Grandmother Cutler would gloat at my disaster. I went mad, wandered the city streets in the midst of a snowstorm and was hit by a car. Luckily, it wasn't a serious injury, but it ended all the lies; only afterward, I was left even more vulnerable than before and completely at the mercy of Grandmother Cutler, who moved swiftly to have me transferred into the hands of her witch sister Emily back at their family plantation, The Meadows.

  "The rest of it is too awful to tell," she concluded.

  "I was born there?" I asked.

  "Yes, and stolen away from me. But Jimmy arrived and thank God, we were able to get you back," she said, her eyes so filled with warmth and love that I felt that finding me was the best thing that had ever happened to her. "There now," she added, kissing me on the cheek. "You've made me tell you all of our sad history on your special birthday."

  "But you haven't told me all of it, Mommy. And you promised," I cried.

  "Oh Christie, what else must I tell you?" she asked, the corners of her mouth drooping.

  "Once my father came here, right?"

  "Not here," she said. "He called from Virginia Beach. He begged me to bring you to see him, claiming that was all he wanted—to set eyes on his daughter. What he really wanted was to blackmail me and get some money, but my attorney frightened him off.

  "To tell you the truth, I felt sorry for him. He was a shadow of the man he had been. Alcohol and wild living had taken its toll both on him and his career."

  "Mommy," I said, bursting with a memory, "that old locket I have buried in my box of jewelry . . ." I opened the box and sifted through until I found it and took it out. She nodded. "It was my father who gave this to me, then?" She nodded again.

  "Yes, that's all he ever gave you," she said.

  "I can't remember him . . . there's just a picture of some sad face . . . dark, melancholy eyes . . ."

  "It was just an act to get my sympathy," she said coldly.

  "You hate him then?" I asked.

  She turned and gazed at herself in the mirror for a long moment before replying.

  "Not anymore, I suppose. In my mind he is some sort of ghost, the spirit of deceit, perhaps, but also, the ghost of a young girl's fancy, the ghost of her dream lover, the impossible dream lover. It's what happens when we make our frogs into princes," she said. She turned to me abruptly. "Be careful of that, Christie. Now that you have become a beautiful young lady, you will find yourself very popular. I never had a mother to warn me, but I fear that even if I had, I would still have fallen prey to the charm and the smiles and the promises.

  "Be smarter than I was. Don't be afraid to love someone with all your heart, but don't give your heart freely: A little skepticism is a good thing, a necessary thing, and if a man really loves you, truly loves you, he will understand your fears and your hesitation and never try to move too quickly. Do you know what I mean?" she asked.

  "Yes, Mommy," I said. Even though Mommy and I had never really had a heart-to-heart about sex, I knew she was talking about going too far with sex as she had.

  She kissed me again and squeezed my arm gently.

  "Now let's see, where were we?" she said, smiling in the mirror. "Too bad Grandmother Laura isn't well enough to be here with us. She would be parading up and down behind us like a coach, telling us what shades of lipstick and makeup to wear, what earrings, how to wear our hair."

  "I want to look like you, Mommy," I said. "Natural, simple, myself. I don't want to put on tons and tons of makeup and impress people with pounds of jewelry."

  She laughed.

  "Nevertheless," she said, "there are a few things we can do with our looks—fix our eyebrows, a little rouge, the most complimentary shade of lipstick, and perfume." She squirted a drop of her favorite scent down my cleavage and under the towel I had wrapped around me. We both laughed loudly, loudly enough to bring Daddy to our doorway.

  "I thought I had wandered into the dorm at some college," he declared, smiling.

  "Never mind, James Gary Longchamp, just be sure you put on your tuxedo like you promised. You should be flattered, Christie," Mommy added, "he's doing it only because it's for you. I can't get him to wear a tie otherwise."

  "Why a woman can be as comfortable as she wants and a man has to wear a monkey suit is beyond me," Daddy complained. "But," he said quickly when Mommy scowled, "I'm doing it, gladly doing it." He backed out, his hands up.

  When he was gone, Mommy's face softened, her glowing eyes and radiant complexion betraying a love that still loomed larger than life.

  "Men are babies," she said. "Remember that. Even the strongest and toughest are more sensitive than they care to admit."

  "I know. Gavin's like that," I said.

  She stared at me a moment, that angelic smile on her lips.

  "You like Gavin very much, don't you?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said tentatively. She nodded as if con-firming a suspicion.

  "Don't you like him, too, Mommy?"

  "Oh yes. He's a very sensitive and polite young man, but you have a long time to go before you fall in love with anyone," she said. "You will have dozens of boyfriends."

  "You didn't," I said quickly. "Are you sorry you didn't?"

  She thought a moment.

  "Sometimes," she confessed. "I wouldn't trade Jimmy for anyone, but I wish I'd had a normal childhood and gone to lots of dances and on dates and . . ."

  "You had no boyfriend when you went to high school and didn't go on dates?" I asked. Her dreamy look instantly faded.

  "Not really," she said quickly. "Oh Christie," she added, "let's stop talking about depressing subjects and just think about your wonderful party. Back to work," she commanded and we returned to our hair and makeup.

  But why, I wondered, was talk about high school boyfriends so upsetting? Every time I learned something new about my mother, it brought a lot of mysterious baggage along with it. One puzzle was no sooner solved when another was just as quickly born. Questions fell like rain around me.

  After we completed our hair and makeup, Mommy went to her room to dress and I put on my gown. I had just slipped on my shoes and gone back to the mirror when Aunt Trisha knocked on my door.

  "Can I have a peek?" she asked, poking her head in.

  "Yes, of course."

  "Oh honey, you look so beautiful. I hope they take dozens and dozens of pictures," she exclaimed.

  "Thank you, so do you, Aunt Trisha." She still had her hair up but now she wore a dress of shimmering periwinkle blue. Around her neck was the most beautiful pearl necklace I had ever seen and on her ears were matching pearl earrings. Her green eyes sparkled when she smiled at me.

  "Well," Daddy said, coming up beside her. "How foolish do I look?"

  "Oh Daddy!" I cried. In his black tux and tie with his dark hair neatly brushed and his deep tan, he looked more handsome than anyone I had ever seen. "You look like . . . like a movie star," I said, blushing as I recalled the way Mommy had described my real father. Aunt Trisha laughed.

  "I don't feel like a movie star; I feel like a store front mannequin," he replied, pretending to be in pain.

  "You're nothing of the kind," Mommy said, coming up behind them. She wore a luminous gown of white satin that was very low-cut and was held up at her shoulders by spaghetti straps. The bodice of her dress fit snugly; then at her waist the skirt flared out like a fairy princess's all the way to her ankles. With her diamond and ruby necklace and her diamond earrings, she looked like royalty.

  "Mommy, you look beautiful!" I exclaimed.

  "I have reason to be," she replied. The three of them gazed in at me. "Isn't she gorgeous, Trisha?"

  "Absolutely. Agnes Morris would cast her as Juliet or Cleopatra immediately," she said and they both laughed.

  "Who's Agnes Morris?" I asked.

  "Our house mother when we were at Sarah Bernhardt," Trish
a explained.

  "I'm ready," we heard Jefferson cry. He came running out of his room where Mrs. Boston had helped him dress. In his little blue suit and tie with his hair neatly brushed, he looked adorable.

  "What a handsome young man," Aunt Trisha said. "Would you be my date tonight?"

  "Uh huh," Jefferson said, looking up at her with wide eyes. Everyone laughed and we started for the hotel. My heart was pounding so, I thought I might faint on the stairway. Mammy saw the tension in my face and put her arm around me quickly and kissed me.

  "Everything is going to be wonderful," she promised. "Just enjoy."

  "Thank you, Mommy. I have the best parents a girl could have. Thank you for loving me so much," I said. She smiled, but her eyes were filled with tears.

  At night, with the band playing, the lights flashing on the dance floor and the decorations sparkling, the ballroom looked spectacular. At the last minute, so it would be a surprise for me, the staff had hung up an enormous banner that read, HAPPY SWEET SIXTEEN CHRISTIE, WE LOVE YOU in bright pink letters.

  People began flooding in, literally arriving, in droves, so many so fast, I barely greeted one set of guests before I was approached by another and another. The waiters dressed in starched white shirts with bow ties, dark blue vests and slacks, and the waitresses in cute pink blouses and skirts began circulating with trays of the hot and cold hors d'oeuvres that Mr. Nussbaum and his nephew Leon had concocted. On the left two enormous glass punch bowls had been set up for the young people. Down right in a far corner was a bar for the adults.

  Uncle Philip, Aunt Bet and the twins arrived soon after we did. Richard wore a dark blue suit and tie and Melanie wore a dress the same shade of dark blue with sleeves that reached to her elbows. After they greeted us, Uncle Philip lingered by Mommy and me. He raked his eyes over me, nodding with approval.

  "I don't know who's more beautiful tonight," he said, swinging his eyes from me to Mommy and then back to me, "you or your mother. Actually," he added quickly, before either of us could claim the other was prettier, "Christie is like a small flawless diamond and you, Dawn, are the royal jewel."

  "Thank you, Philip," Mommy said quickly and turned her attention to the arrival of Bronson and Grandmother Laura. "Oh, Mother's arrived."

  "You greet her first," Philip said, a wry smile cocking his lips. "I hate it when she calls me Randolph and Bronson's standing right beside her." Mommy nodded and took my hand so I would follow. I glanced at Uncle Philip who continued to linger and gape at us, and then I hurried alongside Mommy to the door. Grandmother Laura had had her hair washed and styled. Lately, because of terrible arthritis in her hips, she had taken to a wheelchair. She looked like the dowager queen, bedecked in her sable fur stole. She wore one of her prettiest gowns and her thick diamond necklace and matching earrings with a diamond tiara. Although she appeared to enjoy being brought here, in her eyes was a look of confusion.

  Caring for Grandmother Laura had taken its toll on Bronson Alcott. Although he was still a tall, sleek-figured man, his shoulders slumped a little more each time I saw him. His Clark Gable mustache had filled with gray, as had his chestnut brown hair. However, he was still quite handsome and distinguished looking. I liked his soft-spoken, kindly manner. No one reminded me of what a rich Southern aristocrat should be like more than Bronson did. I couldn't help admiring him for the patience and love he bestowed on Grandmother Laura, who, according to Mommy, was still quite spoiled, despite her periodic losses of memory.

  "Mother, you look lovely," Mommy said as she leaned over to hug and kiss her. Grandmother Laura looked pleased and then lifted her eyes toward me.

  "Happy birthday, dear," she said. How wonderful, I thought. She remembered and knows. "Bronson, give Clara her present," she said and my heart did flip-flops. Mommy flashed me a conspiratorial look and Bronson winked. I nodded.

  "Thank you, Grandmother," I said and hugged and kissed her, too. My nose filled with the scent of her heavy perfume. It seemed like she had taken a bath in it

  "Wheel me, wheel me," Grandmother Laura commanded, waving her hand. "There are people to greet."

  "Happy birthday, Christie," Bronson said and slipped a gift into my hands and kissed me on the cheek as he wheeled Grandmother farther into the ballroom.

  "I'll take that for you," Mommy said. "Go circulate among your friends."

  "Thank you, Mommy." I looked around for Gavin, but neither he nor his parents had yet arrived. Moments later, Pauline Bradly came bursting in with some of my other school friends and we clumped up in a corner and giggled and hugged, the girls all searching the party for signs of the boys they liked.

  "This is the best party I've ever seen!" Pauline exclaimed excitedly. "Is that Gavin?" she cried. I turned to look where she pointed and my heart fluttered a little as I saw that he and his parents had finally arrived.

  In his light blue sports jacket, slacks and tie, Gavin drew many a female eye. Even from this distance, I could see his dark eyes smiling warmly at me. I waved and he started toward us. Granddaddy Longchamp and Edwina went off to greet Mommy.

  "Hi," he said, ignoring everyone else. "You look great."

  "And so do you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper despite the music and chatter around us.

  "Thanks. I bought this jacket especially for your party," he said.

  I quickly became aware of the way my girlfriends were staring at us. "You remember Pauline," I said, turning.

  "Oh sure. Hi."

  Pauline stood there with a dumb smile on her face and started to twirl her hair in her fingers. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mommy calling for me to come and meet someone.

  "Pauline, why don't you introduce Gavin to everyone while I go see what my mother wants," I said.

  "Sure," Pauline replied, her eyes twinkling happily. Gavin looked sad about my deserting him so quickly and was obviously very uncomfortable as the center of attention, but for the moment, there was nothing I could do. Mommy had dozens of people for me to greet: prominent business people from Cutler's Cove and Virginia Beach, hotel guests who were almost members of the family by now because of the frequency with which they came to our hotel, and of course, members of the hotel's administrative staff, like Mr. and Mrs. Dorfman.

  "It's almost time for everyone to sit down," Mommy said.

  "I haven't seen Fern come in, have you?" Daddy asked as he gazed around.

  "It would be just like her not to show up," Mommy muttered. Daddy looked very nervous about it, and it was right for him to be so, for a few minutes later, just before the band leader asked everyone to take their seats, Aunt Fern made her grand entrance. It was apparent that Daddy had not seen her until this very moment, for the first words he uttered were: "She's gone and cut her hair to shreds!"

  But that was the least of it. She had chosen to wear an outfit that was so outrageous, even Aunt Trisha, who was the most sophisticated of all of us, was shocked. Her flimsy skirt was slit up the side, the cut reaching the very top of her thighs. The skirt was so sheer that in the light, anyone could see that under it she wore only the bikini bottom of an exercise outfit. She wore a sheer black blouse of the sort meant to be worn over a special bra. But to my embarrassed amazement she wore no bra at all and her shapely breasts were so visible through the delicate fabric she could have just as well walked in topless. Needless to say, her entrance drew a great deal of attention. The room fell absolutely silent for a long moment, then there was whispering and finally loud chatter as the people who didn't know her were told who she was.

  "What the hell are you wearing? And what did you do to your hair?" Daddy demanded when she reached us.

  "Hello to you, too, brother," she said and smirked. "Happy birthday, princess," she said, handing me the wrapped copy of what I knew was Lady Chatterley's Lover. "To be opened in a dark place," she added, winking. "Hi Dawn. You look . . . well . . . thy," she said and laughed. "And Trisha, how nice to see you again," she said, reaching for Aunt Trisha's hand and smiling like a Chesh
ire cat.

  "Hello, Fern," Aunt Trisha replied, shifting her eyes to my mother who was fuming.

  "Fern," Daddy said and took her roughly by the arm. He led her away and spoke to her harshly.

  "She's like an albatross around his neck these days," Mommy said, shaking her head, "doing everything she can to try his patience and make us miserable. Frankly, I'm ready to give up on her. It's horrible to say, I know, but I rue the day we found her."

  "Oh, she's just feeling her oats, Dawn," Aunt Trisha said. "A typical college girl."

  "Hardly. She's this close to flunking out," Mommy said, squeezing her thumb and forefinger.

  The band leader stepped up to the microphone and asked everyone to take his or her seat. We hurried to the dais, Daddy still crimson with anger as he came up behind Fern. I had it arranged so that Gavin would sit on my right and Mommy on my left.

  The staff began serving the dinner. As we ate, the band played and people were able to dance between courses. I expected Daddy to be the one to ask me to dance, but Uncle Philip surprised me.

  "May I be the first?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye. He glanced at Mommy, who didn't look very happy about it. For a moment I didn't know what to do. "Unless you've saved that honor for someone special," Uncle Philip added, looking pointedly at Gavin. Gavin turned bright red and I moved quickly to save him any embarrassment.

  "Oh no, Uncle Philip. I'd be happy to dance with you first," I said. He led me to the dance floor and we began. As he held me closer and tighter, I looked toward the dais and saw Mommy watching with a very sad, even a frightened look on her face. When Uncle Philip turned me, I caught a glimpse of Melanie sitting at Jefferson's table. Despite her thick glasses, her eyes looked small and her face tight, not so much filled with envy as with anger. I did feel sorry for her. None of the boys her age or a little older would probably ask her to dance. I was sure she wished her father had, but Uncle Philip never took much interest in Melanie. He didn't spend much time with his own children, but what time he did allot to them he usually spent with Richard.

  "You know you really have become a most beautiful young lady," Uncle Philip whispered, his breath tickling my ear a little. "How I wish I were eighteen again so I could chase after you."