Cutler 3 - Twilight's Child (27 page)

"What I'm saying, sister dearest, is that the man you thought was your father, wasn't," I said, relishing the shock on her face. "In fact, you have no Cutler blood in you at all." I turned to Charlie, whose face seemed to sink in, his cheeks growing hollow, his lips turning toward his mouth. Only his eyes remained wide, bulging.

"No Cutler blood . . . this is ridiculous!" Clara Sue screeched, gazing quickly at Charlie. "Don't believe anything she says. It's lies. All lies!"

"You don't have to believe anything I say; you don't have to listen to me. Just go to Mother and ask her outright who your real father is. Better yet," I smirked, standing away from the desk, "go ask Bronson Alcott."

Clara Sue glared up at me, the confidence draining from her face as the, possibility took shape in her thoughts. Charlie squirmed in his seat.

"Bronson," I continued, returning to my seat, "will tell you the truth now."

"You're lying. You're a filthy liar!" Clara Sue spat. "There's only one way to find out. As I said, go—"

"You go. You go to hell!" Clara Sue screamed. "None of this is true!"

"Hold on, Clara Sue," Charlie said. "Easy. Calm down."

"Easy? Calm down? She's making this all up just to stop us from getting my fair share."

"You never knew that Mother and Bronson had been lovers even before Mother married Randolph?" I asked. I saw from the way her eyes blinked that she had heard some rumors.

"That doesn't mean anything," she replied.

"No. Not in and of itself, it doesn't. But after my birth and subsequent disappearance Mother went to Bronson, and their love affair was revived. As a result, you were born.

Up until now the truth didn't matter, but if you and Charlie are going to pursue some legal vendetta, I guess it all has to come out."

"You bitch," Clara Sue said; standing. "You bitter, bitter bitch! You're just like her now. Just as hateful and . . . and mean. Come on, Charlie. We'll tell Mother what she said. You'll see. She's lying. Come on!" she shouted when Charlie didn't rush to get up. He rose quickly now. Clara Sue grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the door.

"You're not finished with me, and I'm not finished with you," she threatened. I stared at her coldly.

"I think you're wrong about that, Clara Sue. Very wrong. We couldn't be more finished with each other than we are now," I said calmly. My glare and my controlled voice overwhelmed her. She simply turned and pulled Charlie out of the office with her, slamming the door behind her.

I sat back in my chair, my heart thumping. It felt good; I couldn't deny it. Shattering Clara Sue like that had been enjoyable. The shoe was on the other foot. Now she was the one to learn her life had been a lie, not me. The sad thing was that the only reason she would be upset was that she couldn't squeeze any more money out of me or the hotel, and not because her family was disrupted. Of course, it would probably lead to the end of her little romance with Charlie Goodwin, who, once he had it confirmed that Clara Sue wasn't the gold mine he had hoped she was, would drop her like a hot potato. Sadness and hardship, disappointment and pain would be the new building blocks of her world, I thought.

A few hours later Mother called me. I had been expecting it.

"Clara Sue and her friend just left here," she said. "How could you tell her? Why did you tell her?" she cried.

I explained how they had come to blackmail me into giving them money, and Mother's self-pity came to an abrupt stop.

"I just knew it," she said. "The moment I set eyes on that man, I just knew what sort he was. Still, it was hard to tell her these things. She used to put me up on such a high pedestal," Mother moaned. "Now she thinks so much less of me."

"She never respected you, Mother. Don't delude yourself. And as for loving Randolph . . . I don't think she loves anyone but herself."

"Perhaps," Mother admitted. She sighed and then described how Clara Sue had ranted and raved. I enjoyed hearing about it until she concluded with, "In the end Bronson gave her some money."

"It won't be the last time she comes for money," I said, disgusted with Clara Sue's antics.

"I know, but we felt . . . guilty. I pulled her aside and told her in no uncertain terms that if she persists in living with a man twice her age, there will be no more money coming."

"You don't have to worry, Mother. Charlie Goodwin won't be hanging on to a lost cause long," I said.

"You're probably right. You're a lot wiser about these things than I was," she said. "Oh, well, one good thing came out of it, I suppose."

"What's that?" I asked.

"She says that since Philip isn't a whole brother and Randolph wasn't really her father, she and Charlie are not going to attend the wedding. At least she won't be there to embarrass me."

I had to laugh at the way Mother could always manage to find her rainbows.

The day of the wedding we all flew to Washington, D.C. The wedding ceremony itself was held in a beautiful church, and the reception was held in the ballroom of one of the most luxurious hotels I had ever seen. We had invited nearly three hundred people on our side, and the Monroes had invited close to five hundred. It was a most impressive wedding party.

But for me and for a number of people, the sensational thing about the affair was Betty Ann herself. I was shocked when I first set eyes on her coming down the aisle of the church.

She had dyed her hair blond.

"I did it for Philip," she told me when we had a private moment together at the reception. "He had been asking me to do it for weeks, and I thought I would surprise him. Does it look okay?" she asked.

I didn't think it did, especially with her eyebrows still dark brown, but I could see how important it was for her to please Philip.

"Yes; it's just such a surprise," I said. "I'll have to get used to it."

"Philip's already used to it. You should have seen the pleased expression on his face when he saw me. I never saw his eyes so bright or his smile so deep. We're going to be very happy together, don't you think?" she asked, searching for reassurance.

"I'm sure you will," I said.

Mother didn't seem to notice any significance in Betty Ann's dyeing her hair, but she was in quite a daze. Everything overwhelmed her: the richness of the ballroom, the number of guests, the army of servants, and the abundance of food and champagne. The cocktail hour itself was equivalent to most wedding dinners. Chefs were slicing roast beef and handing out enormous shrimps. There were trays and trays of hot hors d'oeuvres and two bands just for the cocktail hour.

The dinner had seven courses and went on and on until after midnight, with toasts being made by senators and congressmen. There was even a governor present. Of course, we were occupied with our own guests, but Stuart Monroe took the time to introduce us to many of his important guests as well.

Philip was very busy with his college friends and with all the guests the Monroes brought around to meet him, but before the evening ended he managed to ask me to dance.

"Doesn't Betty Ann look beautiful?"

"Why did you ask her to dye her hair, Philip?"

"Don't you know?" he responded, and my heart began to pound. Of course I knew, I thought. "If I can't have you," he whispered, "I can at least imagine it."

I didn't realize how serious he was about this until after we had returned to Cutler's Cove and I met Mrs. Boston in the corridor outside my suite.

"Did it all go well?" she inquired.

"It was an overwhelming affair, Mrs. Boston. Mother is still spinning," I added, smiling.

"Mr. Philip was so nervous. He nearly panicked when you weren't here to give him what you had promised. We had packed many of your things away in those cartons in preparation for your moving."

"Promised?" I held my smile.

"Yes. I helped him find what he wanted. We went through the cartons together until he located it."

"Located what, Mrs. Boston?"

"Why . . . one of your nightgowns, and the perfume." I stared at her.

"Philip took one of my nightgowns and my perfume?"

"Didn't you want him to?" she asked. "He said he needed it for his honeymoon." Mrs. Boston saw the shock in my face. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Oh, no," I said, reassuring her. "It's nothing to do with you, Mrs. Boston. Don't give it any more thought."

She smiled.

"Well, then, good night," she said.

I walked into my suite slowly.

Philip was off on his honeymoon. He had made reservations at the exact motel where Jimmy and I had gone on Cape Cod; he had gotten Betty Ann to dye her hair my color and now he was going to dress her in my nightgown and make her wear my perfume. When he held her in his arms and closed his eyes he would see and feel me.

Somehow, the thought of it made me feel unclean and unfaithful. It was as if Philip was raping me again, even if it was only in his mind.

11

TWO DAYS LATER WE MOVED INTO OUR NEW HOUSE. CHRISTIE WAS so adorable, insisting she be permitted to carry her own little suitcase. In it she had her hairbrush, two of her rag dolls, a pair of blue cotton socks, one of her summer dresses, and a book of nursery rhymes. She had decided herself what she would put into it. It reminded me of myself and my own little suitcase, only when I had packed, I had stuffed in everything I owned. I did it from the time I was Christie's age until the day they brought me to the hotel. That suitcase was still somewhere in the hotel attic with other old things.

"I'm ready," she declared as soon as she closed the little suitcase. Jimmy picked her up and carried her along with him to help supervise the moving. There was a great deal to do at the hotel as well, so I remained in my office throughout the morning. Mrs. Boston surprised me by coming to my office to ask if she could be our maid. Sissy and her fiancé had saved enough money to set the date for their wedding, so Mrs. Boston knew Sissy wouldn't be with us much longer.

I was flattered by her proposal and her decision to stay with Jimmy and me rather than continue at the hotel, taking care of the family section for Philip. She had been there for years and years. I thanked her and told her to pack her things and move into the maid's quarters in the new house immediately. From the way her face lit up, I thought she might even feel as I did: that she was getting away from old ghosts and unhappy memories, which seemed to be resurrected as soon as the day's work was over for us and we retreated to our suites.

"Fresh walls is what I need now," Mrs. Boston said. "I'm tired of the same shadows behind me and around me."

Fresh walls is what she got, for our house was bright and airy. I had chosen as many light colors as I could for all the rooms. With the large windows letting in as much sunlight as possible, the marble floors, white staircase and mauve curtains looked resplendent even on gray days. Everyone commented favorably about my choice of furnishings. Those who paraded through our hallways and rooms the first week or so spoke about the "dazzling chandeliers," the "radiant colors" and the "happy and warm feelings" they felt while there.

Philip surprised me with a phone call from Provincetown the first night we spent in our new house.

"I wanted to be sure to call you and wish you good luck," he said.

"It's very nice of you to think of us on your honeymoon, Philip," I replied, keeping my voice as formal and as cool as I could.

"The weather here hasn't been as nice as we hoped," he said quickly. "I'm tempted to cut our honeymoon short and return to Cutler's Cove."

He then proceeded to complain about the restaurants and the beach. Nothing was as good as he had expected it to be. Jimmy was surprised when I told him about Philip's call.

"Why would anyone want to cut his own honeymoon short if he didn't have to?" he wondered aloud. "He was probably just talking," he said.

However, Philip did cut his honeymoon short by one day. He returned to the hotel at night, after Jimmy and I had retired to our house. We heard the buzzer, and Jimmy went to the door to greet Philip and Betty Ann. Philip had brought along a bottle of champagne.

"We weren't here to celebrate with you, so we thought we'd have a toast now," he said. "If we're not intruding, that is."

"Oh, no, no," Jimmy said, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. "Come on in."

I took Betty Ann through the house while Jimmy and Philip talked in the sitting room. Mrs. Boston had just put Christie to bed, but she was still awake.

"Do you know who this is, Christie?" I asked her when we popped our heads in.

"Uh-huh," Christie said, sitting up quickly. Her golden hair had grown down below her shoulders. "It's Aunt Bet," she said, and from that day forward it would be the way she would refer to Betty Ann. We both laughed about it.

"Your house is so beautiful," Betty Ann said. "Good luck with it."

"Thank you. I'm sorry the weather was so poor in Provincetown on your honeymoon," I said.

"Poor? It wasn't poor, it was magnificent every day. Some days there were hardly any clouds at all, and I was surprised at how warm the ocean was."

"What about the hotel in Cape Cod?" I asked, to confirm my suspicions.

"Oh, everything was beautiful. I didn't want to leave, but Philip got itchy and said he hated just lying around all day. He's so devoted to Cutler's Cove. I could see he regretted not being here when it's so busy, so I didn't complain when he asked to come home a day early.

"I think he was also very eager to see your home all finished and you and Jimmy actually living in it," she added.

We returned to the sitting room, where Jimmy and Philip had our champagne toast ready. After everyone took a glass, Philip raised his and said, "To Jimmy and Dawn's new home. May it be the place where dreams come true." Thoughtfully, with narrowed eyes, he stared at me and waited until I brought my glass to my lips. Then he drank.

"You know," Philip said, gazing around and nodding, "the idea of living outside the hotel is probably a very good one. You do feel more like real people with your own private life. Even when Grandmother Cutler was alive guests would wander into the family section.

"Maybe one day soon Jimmy and I can pace out a lot nearby," he added, fixing his eyes on me. His smile was small and tight, amused. He was toying with me and toying with his own passions.

"I hate to be the one to say it, but it's getting late," I said, "and we have another big check-in tomorrow. I have to be at the hotel early."

"And so do I, then," Philip echoed. He rose quickly and said good night. "Somehow," he added, gazing at me with those deep blue eyes twinkling, "I feel as if Betty is right: We're all about to start new lives."

"Well, what do you think?" Jimmy asked me when he returned from showing them out. We started upstairs. "Do they look like a happily married new couple?"

"I suppose," I said.

"You should have heard him talking about her when you were showing her the house," he said. "It got downright embarrassing at times."

"What do you mean?"

"I asked him why he returned home early from his honeymoon, and he said he was simply exhausted."

"Exhausted?" I paused on the stairway. Jimmy widened his eyes and shook his head.

"He went into great detail about their lovemaking, about how hungry Betty Ann was for sex and passion. I don't know why he wanted to tell me all those intimate details about her, do you?"

"No," I said. "And I don't think it's very nice of him to do that."

"It was almost as if—"

"What?" I asked quickly.

"As if he was trying to get me to do the same thing . . . compare notes or something. Locker-room talk," Jimmy said, shaking his head. "I never thought Philip was that type."

"Did you . . . say anything?"

Jimmy smiled.

"As far as he knows," Jimmy said, "you're a nun and I'm a monk." He embraced me and kissed me on the neck.

I had to laugh, but my laughter was more of relief than of amusement.

After Philip and Betty Ann moved into the family section of the hotel, things settled down. Our work kept us occupied. The hotel was having one of its best seasons in recent history. Grandmother Cutler had never really advertised the hotel in any magazines or newspapers. Her philosophy was that the hotel had its own special reputation and would exist solely on that and on word of mouth. For a long time that was sufficient, but as a new generation of vacationers came into existence I thought it was necessary to appeal to them, so I talked Mr. Dorfman into advertising Cutler's Cove in some travel magazines and big-city papers. We had immediate results—new bookings, inquiries from new travel agents and a boost in our income. For the first time in a long time Mr. Dorfman mused aloud about the possibility of expanding the hotel—adding on rooms and new facilities. I told him about the frequent inquiries I was getting from organizations looking for convention sites.

"That was something Mrs. Cutler would never do," Mr. Dorfman reminded me. "She thought it took away from the nature of Cutler's Cove."

"I know," I said. "But times are changing, and we might have to change a little to survive."

Mr. Dorfman nodded and looked at me so intently, I had to ask him if something was wrong.

"No, not wrong," he replied. "I was just recalling what you were like the first time we met and how much you have matured since," he said, and then he immediately turned crimson. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"No, that's all right," I said. "I don't mind. I appreciate it, in fact. Thank you, Mr. Dorfman."

All of these thoughts and some of the changes excited Philip. He was ready to charge ahead and do anything, but I decided we had to be more cautious. I did tell him to do some studies, which, I was glad to see, kept him very busy.

One of the things that surprised me was how quickly Betty Ann adjusted to hotel life and how happy she was about it. She did prove to be a very good hostess, although a bit too formal for some of the older people at times. She never missed a dinner and was even at the dining room door to greet guests for breakfast. She began to dress more appealingly and went to the beautician in the hotel salon to get advice about her hair. They also helped her with her makeup. With a more flattering hairstyle and clothing that accentuated the good qualities of her figure, she did begin to appear more attractive.

Gradually we all fell into our routines. Mother continued to host her now-famous dinner parties and was very pleased when the four of us—Jimmy and myself, Philip and Betty Ann—could attend. Summer moved to fall and fall to winter without any major problems or incidents. And then, late one afternoon, Mrs. Boston called me at the office.

"I just want to check," she began.

"Check? Check what, Mrs. Boston?"

"That you did give Clara Sue permission to take Christie for a ride in the truck," she said.

"What? What truck?" I asked, sitting forward.

"Oh, dear," she said. "I wanted to call you immediately, but Miss Clara Sue insisted she had stopped at the hotel first and you had said it was all right."

"What are you talking about, Mrs. Boston? I haven't seen Clara Sue for some time. What truck?" Panic began building within me, but I fought it back. I wouldn't jump to conclusions. I wouldn't lose control. Not yet.

"She was with a man, a truck driver. They came to the house in one of those big trucks, and Miss Clara Sue marched around looking at your home. Then, on the way out, she asked Christie if she wanted to go for a ride in her friend's truck. I think she called him Skipper. He had tattoos all over his arms.

"Christie was timid about it until Miss Clara Sue said you told her she could take her for a ride. Then she scooped her up, and they left."

"My God," I gasped. "I'll be right there." I hung up and sent one of the bellhops to get Jimmy. He met me at the house, where I heard Mrs. Boston go through the whole story once more.

"What's going on?" Jimmy asked when he arrived, and I told him quickly.

"I can't believe she had the audacity to do something like this. She's gone too far this time. Who does she think she is?"

He asked Mrs. Boston for a description of the truck.

"A tractor trailer?" Jimmy asked, amazed. "That shouldn't be too hard to find. When I get my hands on the both of them . . ." he said threateningly, and he rushed out.

"Jimmy, wait!" I cried, but he wasn't going to hesitate.

"I'm so sorry, Dawn. I thought—"

"It's not your fault, Mrs. Boston. She lied to you. It's good that you had your doubts and called right away," I said, comforting her. As long as I comforted her I kept myself from getting hysterical.

Why would Clara Sue take Christie? What possible reason could she have? Where had they gone? Was this her way of getting back at me for throwing the truth about her real father into her face?

I phoned Mother and Bronson to see if Clara Sue had gone to Buella Woods.

"I didn't even know she was in the area," Bronson said. "She and Laura Sue had an argument last week about this new boyfriend. Laura's taking a nap. As soon as she wakes I'll tell her what's happened. Call us as soon as you learn anything, and if we hear from her, call you."

"Thank you, Bronson," I said.

"I'm sorry. She's getting to be a serious problem," he added before hanging up.

Afterward I sat with Mrs. Boston and waited to hear from Jimmy. More than an hour passed, and we heard nothing. Mrs. Boston made us both tea, and we sat staring out the window.

"Maybe you should phone the police," Mrs. Boston mused aloud. "And tell them . . . what happened."

I could see she didn't want to use the word "kidnapping." I didn't even want to think it, but at this point, with no word from Jimmy, I couldn't help but consider it a real possibility. Christie was not very fond of Clara Sue. She didn't even like calling her Aunt Clara Sue. I knew how uncomfortable she had always been in Clara Sue's presence, and it didn't take much to imagine her being afraid and unhappy right now. Just the thought of her trapped in that truck cab with Clara Sue and one of her sleazy boyfriends made my skin crawl. It felt as if some tiny hand with sharp fingernails was scratching away at the inside of my stomach. I did all that I could to keep from simply bursting out and screaming.