Dawn (35 page)

"This is ridiculous. I won't stand here and—"

"Then I went to see my mother," I added, "and she confessed as well."

Grandmother stared at me a moment, her rage lowering slowly like the flame on a stove, and then she turned and went to her desk.

"Sit down," she ordered and took her own seat. I moved to the chair in front of her desk. For a long moment she and I simply stared at each other.

"What is it you have learned?" she asked in a far calmer tone of voice.

"What do you think? The truth. I found out about my mother's lover and how you forced her to eventually give me up. How you arranged for Ormand and Sally Jean Longchamp to take me and then pretended they had abducted me. How you paid people and got people to go along with your scheme. How you offered a reward just to cover up your actions," I said, all in one breath.

"Who is going to believe such a story?" she replied with such cold control it sent a chill of fear down my spine. She shook her head. "I know how sick Mrs. Dalton is. Did you know that her son-in-law works for the Cutler's Cove Sanitation Company and that I own the Cutler's Cover Sanitation Company? I could have him fired tomorrow just like that," she said, snapping her fingers.

"And if you and I go upstairs together, right now, and confront Laura Sue with this story, she will simply break down and cry and babble so incoherently no one would understand a word. Most likely with me standing beside you, she would not be able to remember anything she had told you." She gave me a look of triumph.

"But it's all true, isn't it?" I cried. I was losing that firmness, that confidence that had put a steel rod in my spine. She was so strong and so sure of herself, she could stand her ground and turn back a herd of wild horses, I thought.

She turned away from me and was quiet for a long moment. Then she looked back.

"You seem to be someone who thrives on controversy . . . harboring that boy here while the police were after him." She shook her head. "All right, I'll tell you. Yes, it's true. My son is not your real father. I begged Randolph not to marry that little tramp. I knew what she was and what she would become, but like all men, he was hypnotized by surface beauty and by her sweet-sounding, syrupy voice. Even my husband was charmed. I watched how she turned her shoulders and dazzled them with her silly little laugh and desperate helplessness," she said, twisting the side of her mouth up in disgust. "Men just love helpless women, only she wasn't as helpless as she pretended to be," she added with a cold smile on her lips. "Especially when it came to satisfying her desires.

"She always knew what she wanted. I didn't want that kind of a woman as part of my family, part of this . . . this hotel," she said, holding her arms out. "But arguing with men who are under a woman's spell is like trying to hold back a waterfall. If you remain under it too long, it will drown you.

"So I retreated, warned them, and then retreated." She nodded, the cold smile returning. "Oh, she pretended to want to be responsible and respectable, but whenever I gave her anything substantial to do, she would complain about the work and the effort, and Randolph would plead for her to be relieved of this or that.

" 'We have enough ornaments to hang on our walls and ceilings,' I told him. 'We don't need another.' But I might as well have directed all my words to the walls in this office.

"It wasn't long that she began to show her true nature—flirting with everything that wore pants. There was no stopping her! It was disgusting! I tried to tell my son, but he was as blind to that as to anything else. When a man is as dazzled by a woman as he was, it's the same as if he had looked directly at the sun. After that, he sees nothing.

"So I gave up and sure enough, as you have undoubtedly learned, she had an affair and got herself into trouble. I could have thrown the little tramp out then. I should have," she added bitterly, "but. . . I wanted to protect Randolph and the family and the hotel's reputation.

"What I did I did for the good of everyone and for the hotel and family, for they are one in the same."

"But Daddy . . . Ormand Longchamp . . ."

"He agreed to the arrangements," she said. "He knew what he was doing."

"But you told him everyone wanted it that way, didn't you? He thought he was doing what my mother and Randolph wanted, right? Isn't that true?" I pursued when she didn't respond.

"Randolph doesn't know what he wants; he never did. I always made the right decisions for him. Marrying her," she said, leaning over the desk, "is the only time he has ever gone against my wishes, and look how it turned out."

"But Ormand believed—"

"Yes, yes, so I thought; but I paid him handsomely and kept the police from finding him. It was his own fault he got caught. He should have stayed farther north and never come to Richmond."

"He doesn't belong in prison," I insisted. "It's not fair."

She turned away again, as though what I had to say was unimportant. But it wasn't!

"I don't care if you can force Mrs. Dalton to recant her story and if you can make my mother look so stupid no one will believe her; they'll believe me or at least it will create enough of a scandal to bring embarrassment. And I'll tell Randolph. Just think how hurt he will be to learn it. You let him go off chasing the hope he would recapture me. You offered that reward."

She studied me a moment. I held my gaze as firmly as I could, but it was like looking directly into the center of a campfire. Finally she softened, seeing my resolution.

"What is it you want? You want to embarrass me, rain down disgrace on the Cutlers?"

"I want you to get Daddy out of jail and stop treating me like dirt. Stop calling my mother a tramp, and stop demanding I be renamed Eugenia," I said determinedly.

I wanted a lot more, but I was afraid to make too many demands. In time I hoped I could get her to do something for Jimmy and for Fern.

She nodded slowly.

"All right." She sighed. "I'll do something about Ormand Longchamp. I'll make some calls to people I know in high places and see about getting him an early parole. I was thinking about doing that anyway. And if you insist on being called Dawn, you can be called Dawn.

"But," she added quickly when I began to smile, "you will have to do something for me."

"What? Do you want me to go back to living with him?"

"Of course not. You're here now and you're a Cutler whether you or I like it or not, but," she purred contentedly, quite pleased with herself, sitting back and contemplating me for a moment, "you don't have to be here all the time. I think it would be much better for all of us . . . Clara Sue, Philip, Randolph, even your . . . your
mother,
if you were away."

"Away? Where would I go?"

She nodded, a curious smile on her face. Obviously, she had thought of something very clever, something that pleased her very much.

"You have a very pretty singing voice. I think you should be permitted to develop your talent."

"What do you mean?" Why was she suddenly so eager to help me?

"I happen to be an honorary member of the board of trustees of a prestigious school for the performing arts in New York City."

"New York City!"

"Yes. I want you to go there instead of returning to Emerson Peabody. I will make the arrangements today, and you can leave shortly. They have summer sessions, too.

"Of course, it goes without saying that all this and all you have learned will remain here in this office. No one need know anything more than I decided you are too talented to waste your time cleaning rooms in a hotel."

I could see she liked the idea that everyone would consider her as being magnanimous. She would look like a wonderful grandmother doing great things for her new granddaughter, and I would have to pretend to be grateful.

But I didn't want to return to Emerson Peabody, and I did want to become a singer. She would get her way and rid herself of me, but I would have an opportunity I could only dream of before. New York City! A school for performing arts!

And Daddy would be helped, too.

"All right," I agreed. "As long as you do everything you promised to do."

"I always live up to my word," she said angrily. "Your reputation, your name, your family's honor, are all important things. You come from a world where all those things were insignificant, but in my world—"

"Honor and honesty were always important to us," I snapped back. "We might have been poor, but we were decent people. And Ormand and Sally Jean Longchamp didn't betray each other and lie to each other," I retorted. My eyes burned with tears of indignation.

She gazed at me for a long moment again, only this time I thought I saw a look of approval in her eyes.

"It will be interesting," she finally said, speaking slowly, "very interesting to see what kind of a woman Laura Sue's liaison spawned. I don't like your manners, but you have shown some independence and some spunk, and those are qualities I do admire."

"I'm not sure, Grandmother," I replied, "if what you admire is ever going to be important to me."

She pulled herself back as if I had splashed her with ice-cold water, her eyes turning distant and hard again instantly.

"If that's all, I think you had better go. Thanks to you and your meddling, I have a lot to do. You'll be informed as to when you will be leaving," she added.

I stood up slowly.

"You think you can determine everyone's lives so easily, don't you?" I said bitterly, shaking my head.

"I do what I have to do. Responsibility for significant things requires me to make hard' choices sometimes, but I do what is best for the family and the hotel. Someday, when you have something important to take care of and it requires you to make either unpleasant or unpopular choices, you will remember me and not judge me as harshly," she said, as if it were important to her that I have a better opinion of her.

Then she smiled.

"Believe me, when you need something or you get into trouble for one reason or another, you won't call on your mother or even my son. You'll call on me, and you will be happy that you can," she predicted.

What arrogance, I thought, and yet it was true—even from my short stay here I could see that she was responsible for Cutler's Cove being what it was.

I spun around quickly and walked out, unsure as to whether I had won or lost.

Later that afternoon Randolph came to see me. It had become more and more difficult to think of him as my father now, and this just when I had begun to adjust to the idea. From the look on his face I could see that my grandmother had told him of her decision to send me to a school for performing arts.

"Mother just told me about your decision to go to New York. How wonderful, although I must say, I will be sad to see you go off when you've really only just arrived," he complained. He did look somewhat upset by the idea, and I thought how sad it was that he didn't know the truth, that I as well as my mother and Grandmother Cutler kept him fooled. Was that fair? How fragile the happiness and peace was in this family, I thought. His devotion to my mother would surely dwindle to nothing if he knew she had been so unfaithful. In a sense everything was built on a lie, and I had to keep that lie alive.

"I've always wanted to go to New York and be a singer," I said.

"Of course you should go. I'm just teasing you. I'll miss you, but I'll come visit you often, and you'll be back for all the holidays. How exciting it's going to be for you. I've already told your mother, and she thinks it's a wonderful idea that you get formal training in the arts.

"She wants to take you shopping for new clothes, of course. I've already arranged for the hotel car to be at your disposal tomorrow morning so the two of you can go from shopping center to shopping center."

"She feels up to it?" I asked, hardly hiding my disdain.

"Oh, I've rarely seen her as chipper as she is now. As soon as I told her about the decision you and Mother made, she sat up and smiled and began to talk excitedly, about the shopping. There are few things Laura Sue loves to do more than go shopping," he said, laughing. "And she always wants to go to New York. She will probably be up there visiting you every other weekend," he added.

"What about my work in the hotel tomorrow? I don't want it all to fall on Sissy's shoulders."

"That's all over. No more chambermaid work for you. Just enjoy the hotel and the family until you have to leave for school," he said. "And don't worry about Sissy. We'll assign someone else to help her and hire someone new quickly."

He tilted his head and smiled. "You don't look as happy about it all as I expected. Is something wrong? I know the situation with the Longchamp boy was not pleasant, and I understand why you were so upset, but you shouldn't have let him hide out here." He slapped his hands together as if he could bust the unpleasant memory by clapping. "But it's over. Let's not worry about it anymore."

"I can't help worrying about Jimmy," I said quickly. "He was just trying to get away from a horrible foster family. I tried to tell you, but no one would listen."

"Um . . . well, at least we know the little girl is doing fine."

"You found out about Fern?" I sat up quickly.

"Not much. They don't like giving out that information, but a friend of your grandmother's knew someone who knew someone. Anyway, Fern was taken by a young, childless couple. Their whereabouts are a mystery to us, but we're still looking."

"But what if Daddy wants her back?" I cried.

"Daddy? Oh, Ormand Longchamp? Under the circumstances, I don't think he will be able to get her back when he is released from prison. That will be some time yet anyway," he added. Obviously, Grand-mother Cutler had not told him her part of our bargain. There was no way she could without revealing why she would do such a thing.

"Anyway," he continued, "I wanted to stop by to tell you how happy I was for you. I've got to get back to my office. See you at dinner." He knelt down to kiss me on the forehead. "You will probably become the most famous Cutler of all," he said and left.

I lay back against my pillow. How fast it was all happening now. Fern was with a new family. Perhaps she had already learned to call the man Daddy and the woman Momma. Perhaps her memories of Jimmy and me were already fading. A new home, fine clothing, plenty to eat, and good care would surely erase her earlier life and make it all seem like some vague dream.

I was sure that in a matter of days, Grandmother Cutler would have me carried off to a new life, a life away from her and Cutler's Cove. My great consolation was that I would be in the world of music, and whenever I entered that world, all hardship and misery, all unhappiness and sadness fell away. I made up my mind I would put all my energy and concentration into one thing―becoming a good singer.

That evening I was permitted to sit with my family in the dining room for dinner. The news about my leaving for a performing arts school spread quickly throughout the hotel. Staff members who had previously resented me wished me luck. Even some guests had heard and had something nice to say. My mother made one of her miraculous recoveries. In fact, I had never seen her look more radiantly beautiful. Her hair had a sheen, her eyes were bright and young; she laughed and spoke with more animation than she had ever before demonstrated. To her everything was delicious, people were delightful; it was the most wonderful summer in ages. She rattled on and on about our upcoming shopping spree.

"I have some friends who live in Manhattan," she said, "and first thing in the morning I'm calling them to find out what is in style these days. We don't want you going off and looking like the farmer's daughter," she said and laughed. Randolph found her laughter contagious and was livelier and more charming than ever, too.

Only Clara Sue sat with a dark, dejected look on her face. She glared at me enviously, her emotions confused. She was getting rid of me, which I knew made her happy because once again she would be the little princess and wouldn't have to share the limelight with me in any way; but I was going off to do something very exciting, and I was being pampered, not her.

"I need some new things, too," she complained when she was able to get a word in.

"But you have so much more time, Clara Sue, honey," Mother said. "We'll go shopping for your things closer to the end of the summer. Eugenia is going to New York in a few days. New York!"

"Dawn," I corrected. My mother glanced at me and then at Grandmother Cutler. She saw there was no reprimand pending. "My name is Dawn," I repeated softly.

Mother laughed.

"Of course, if you like and everyone agrees," she said, eyeing Grandmother Cutler again.

"It's what she's used to," Grandmother Cutler said. "If she wants to change her name some time in the future, she can."

Clara Sue looked surprised and upset at the same time. I smiled at her, and she looked away quickly.

Grandmother Cutler and I exchanged a knowing glance. We exchanged a few that evening. Now that our major confrontation was over, I found her acting different toward me, just as she had promised. When some guests stopped by and asked about my singing, she claimed there was an uncle in our family who used to sing and play a violin.

As I gazed around the table, I realized everyone was happy I was leaving, but for different reasons. Grandmother Cutler never wanted me; my mother found me a threat and an embarrassment now; Randolph was sincerely happy for me and my new opportunity; and Clara Sue was happy she was losing her competition for the family's attention. Only Philip, working his waiter's job, cast confused glances in my direction.

After dinner and after I had sat in the lobby with my mother listening to her chat with guests for a while, I excused myself, claiming I was tired. I wanted to write another letter to Daddy describing all that I had learned. I wanted him to know that I didn't blame him for what had been done and that I understood why he and Mamma had done it.

But when I opened the door to my room, I found Philip waiting for me. He was lying on my bed, his hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. He sat up quickly.

"What are you doing in here?" I demanded. "Get out.
Now!"

"I wanted to speak to you. Don't worry, I just want to talk," he said, holding his hands up.

"What is it you want, Philip? Don't expect me to forgive you for what you did," I snapped. "I'll never forget what you did to me."

"You told Grandmother something, didn't you? That's why she arranged for you to go to New York so quickly. I'm right, aren't I?" I simply stared at him, not walking in any farther, finding it impossible to be in the same room alone with him after what he had done to me. "Well, did you?" he asked fearfully.

"No, Philip, I didn't, but I think it's true when people say Grandmother Cutler has eyes and ears all over this hotel." That ought to put a scare in him. "Now leave," I ordered, still standing in the doorway and holding the door open. "The sight of you makes me sick."

"Well, why would she do it? Why would she send you off like this?"

"Haven't you heard? She thinks I'm talented," I said dryly. "I thought you did, too."

"I do, but . . . it all seems so strange . . . right at the beginning of the summer season, just when you've been returned to the family, she sends you off to a special arts school?" He shook his head and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "There's something going on, something you're not telling me. Does it have to do with Jimmy's being found here, then?"

"Yes," I said quickly, but he didn't look satisfied. "I don't believe you."

"Too bad. I don't care what you believe or what you think. I'm tired, Philip, and I have a lot to do tomorrow. Please, leave." He didn't move. "Haven't you done enough to me?" I cried. "Just leave me alone."

"Dawn, you must understand what came over me before—sometimes a boy my age loses control. It happens especially when a girl leads him along and then pulls back," he said. I thought his attempt at a justification was pathetic.

"I never led you on, Philip, and I would have expected you to understand why I pulled back." I glared hatefully at him. "Don't you dare place the blame on me. You, and only you, are responsible for your actions."

"You're really mad at me, aren't you?" he asked, the smile on his face turning coy. "You're real pretty when you're angry," he said.

I stared at him in disbelief and recalled the excitement I had felt when we had first met at Emerson Peabody. How different things were then. It was like we were two completely different people. In a real way I suppose we were, I thought. We could never go back to the way things had once been . . . when I had believed in fairy tales and happy endings.

"You mustn't hate me," he said, pretending to plead for understanding. "You
mustn't!"
he insisted.

"I don't hate you, Philip." He smiled. "But I feel sorry for you," I added quickly, wiping the smile off his face. "You can never change what happened between us, and you can never change the way I feel about you. Whatever feelings I had for you died the night you raped me."

"I wasn't lying to you," he protested. "Dawn, I love you. With all my heart and soul. I can't help the way I feel about you."