Ivy Secrets (21 page)

“Curtsy,” Alexis commanded.

The little girl smiled. “I am afraid I cannot. I have a crippled leg.”

Marina handed the doll to her, but Alexis snatched it away.

“You have to curtsy. If you do not, you do not get a present.”

The little girl started to cry.

“Give her the doll,” Marina demanded.

“No. If you want her to have it, you will have to curtsy for her.”

“Me? Curtsy to you?”

Alexis grinned. “Yes.”

Marina looked at the little girl. Fat tears rolled down her pink cheeks. Without hesitating, Marina stood up and moved in front of Alexis. She extended one foot, grasped the sides of her gown, and curtsied the way she had been taught.

“Lower,” Alexis said.

Marina glanced around. All the children were watching. The little girl had stopped crying and was staring at Marina. Marina curtsied again. This time, she lost her balance on the uneven ground and fell.

“I see London, I see France, I see Marina’s underpants!” Alexis screeched, then laughed, and threw the doll at the little girl. The other children laughed, too.

As she stood and brushed the grass from her dress, Marina had wanted to cry. But even at that age, she knew better than to cry in public. It was something a princess did not do.

She had quietly returned to her seat and continued handing out gifts.

As Marina now nibbled on sweet and sour chicken, she remembered what Charlie had once said of Alexis: “It must be hard on her to always be second best.” If that were true, Marina thought, her sister had an odd way of showing it.

She swallowed her food and took another sip of her drink. “I hope you’re not marrying Jonathan to gain one-upmanship on me.”

Alexis raised her perfectly arched and waxed eyebrows. “What ever do you mean?”

“Listen, Alexis,” Marina said in a softer tone of voice. “Believe it or not, I care about you. I would hate to think you’re doing something so … so permanent, because of some sort of sibling rivalry, or because you have some need
to be first at something. That would be such an unfair basis for a marriage.”

A wave of what appeared to be doubt washed across Alexis’s face. She blinked quickly, then grinned. “Oh, Marina,” she said coolly, “sometimes you are so immature.”

    Before they went to bed, Alexis announced that she was going to sleep late—“I will let Bergdorf’s know when I am ready,” she said, even though an eleven-o’clock appointment had already been scheduled.

For the first time since coming back to the States, Marina couldn’t get to sleep. She hadn’t realized how much she had grown to love the small twin bed in her room at Morris House, and how much she enjoyed the company of Charlie, and even Tess—girls who demanded nothing and expected nothing more of Marina than to simply be herself. As she tossed and turned on the king-size bed, Marina wondered if she would ever marry. Unlike Alexis, Marina knew she must marry for love. And yet how would she ever know if a man would truly love her, or love the idea of being married to a princess who would become queen? If nothing else, Viktor Coe had taught her a most valuable lesson: She was not able to trust any man. Nor was she able to trust herself.

She rolled onto her side again and stared at the velvet-covered boudoir chair, now draped with the clothes of a coed, not a princess. She wished Charlie and Tess were close by; she wished they would burst into the room, flop on her bed, and share a pizza. Smith College, Marina realized, had become home.

After little sleep, Marina awoke at seven and peered out the window at Fifth Avenue coming alive. Though it was Saturday, it was not too early for yellow taxis to blare their horns, for the clatter of Dumpsters being emptied to rattle in the alleys. Thankfully, it wasn’t snowing.

She pulled herself from bed, showered, and dressed in jeans and a sweater. She piled her hair on top of her head and put on a knit hat and sunglasses. With the stadium coat and thick mittens she’d bought at the Army-Navy store in Northampton, she was sure no one would recognize her. She reasoned that anyone who knew the princesses were in the
city would be looking for furs and jewels, and Alexis was still in bed.

She slipped out of the Plaza, glad to be free of her shadow, Nicholas, glad to be simply free. There was plenty of time to perform her royal duties. She would be back to the hotel before anyone knew she’d left. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and started walking up Fifth Avenue.

She walked slowly, past the regally dressed mannequins in Bergdorf’s windows, past the glittering diamonds in Van Cleef’s. She touched the sapphire and diamond ring on her hand and wondered what it would be like not to own exquisite jewels, what it would be like to be an ordinary person, one confined to window-shopping and dreams of material things. She thought about Charlie, whose family right now was dreaming about a way simply to pay the mortgage on their house.

She walked past 666 Fifth Avenue, where she had dined at the Top of the Sixes several years ago while on a state visit with her father. The restaurant had been closed to all but their party of fifty, which had included the mayor of New York and other prominent political and social figures. No dreamers there, Marina thought, only doers.

At Rockefeller Plaza, Marina turned and strolled down the promenade, looking at the windows filled with travel posters that glorified the sights of Paris, London, and Hong Kong—far-off places, faraway lands. There were no posters of Novokia. Marina smiled. Novokia was neither exotic enough nor important enough to warrant a poster here. It was simply a small country, struggling to survive, caught between the worlds of democracy and communism, both figuratively and geographically. Few visitors traveled to Novokia; there was little reason for them to go.

She turned toward the huge Christmas tree and the massive golden statue of Atlas, and looked up at the colorful flags that bordered the area. She walked to the railing and gazed down at the ice rink, dotted with skaters enjoying the cool city morning and gracefully etching the ice with tiny figure-eights. Some were alone; some glided across the ice with a partner; all were smiling. She leaned against the railing and watched, smiling back, happy for the skaters, for their freedom. She knew that this time of her life, these years at Smith, would probably be the closest she would ever come
to freedom. Even her summer in Novokia had been depressing, her calendar filled with luncheons, teas, and evening events, all of which required her to be the princess extraordinaire, none of which gave her space to breathe, room to grow, or opportunity to be herself.

“I tried to teach you to ice-skate when you were six years old,” came Nicholas’s heavily accented voice from behind her. “Do you remember?”

“I remember I fell on my face,” Marina said without turning around.

“More than once,” Nicholas said as he moved beside her. “You were determined.”

Marina nodded.

“You are still determined,” Nicholas said. “But now you are determined to sneak away from me.”

Marina shrugged. “I wanted some time alone. I would have gone back before Alexis was ready.”

“New York City is not like Northampton, Your Highness. It can be a dangerous place for a princess.”

She did not answer him; she knew he was right. She continued to watch the skaters. “Do you think they know how lucky they are?” she asked. “Do they know how lucky they are to be free, to be able to come and go as they wish?”

“If they had a choice, perhaps they would rather be a princess.”

Marina gazed at the fluid motions, at the art of their steps, at the dance of their legs. She wondered if Nicholas was right. But then, what would he know? Nicholas was a free man. He had never married, never had children, never had responsibility beyond his duties for the king. But those duties had been his choice: He was free to make his own decisions. No, she reasoned, even though Nicholas saw—lived with—the restrictions of Marina’s life, it was still
her
life, not his.

They stood a few moments longer, then Nicholas cleared his throat. “Come, Your Highness. It is time we went back to the hotel.”

“The thought of Alexis makes me sick.”

“Your sister is getting married. Be glad for her.”

“No, Nicholas. I would be glad for her if I thought she were marrying a man she loved. But Alexis is incapable of loving anyone but herself.”

“Then we are fortunate it is you who one day will be queen.”

Marina huddled her arms around herself and took a last look at the skaters. Then she turned and headed back up the promenade, with Nicholas close behind.

    The following week, Marina sat in her room, hunched on her bed, studying for final exams, when the telephone rang. She hesitated answering it; it could be a guy from UMass or Amherst or some other school, looking for a date. But it had been a very long time since she had an invitation, and Marina hoped the word had spread that Marina the princess was no longer interested in dating.

No, she thought as she reached for the receiver, it couldn’t be a guy.

It wasn’t.

“Mother,” Marina said as she recognized the soft, gentle voice of the queen.

“Hello, dear. I’m sorry I wasn’t up to making the trip with Alexis. Her gown is quite lovely.”

Alexis had not only selected an extravagant design, but had manipulated the designer into creating a sample for fitting before she left New York three days later. Fortunately Marina had returned to Northampton Sunday night, with the plausible excuse of impending final exams. Alexis had released her with the words, “Who needed you, anyway.”

“Yes,” Marina said now. “It will be quite elegant.” She restrained herself from adding
for seven thousand dollars, it should be.

“I hope you had a nice time together,” her mother said hopefully.

Marina felt certain that Alexis had returned home and bitched to the queen about Marina’s indifference, but Marina knew that relating her side of the story would accomplish nothing.

“It was fine, Mother,” she said. “The city is very pretty at the holidays.”

“Speaking of the holidays,” the queen said, “I’m calling to find out your plans, dear. June will be here before we know it, and there’s so much going on, what with planning the wedding …”

Marina turned out her mother’s words, knowing that Christmas at the palace was destined to be one long Alexis tirade, strung together by arguing over the guest list to selecting the canapés for the reception and determining just how many and which media people should attend. Marina closed her eyes and wished she could somehow avoid what Alexis considered the wedding of the century.

“… she is resolute in her decision to use only flowers from my rose garden, though they may not be in full bloom in time,” the queen continued. “She’s talked with the gardeners about forcing the buds. They seem to think it will work.”

“Good, Mother,” Marina said. “That will be nice.”

“Oh, dear, here I’ve been going on and on about the wedding, which is not even for six more months, and you have not told me when you will be home for Christmas.”

Marina looked around her room, her peaceful, quiet, solitary room. “I am not sure yet, Mother. I will let you know soon.”

They rung off. Marina closed her philosophy book, then stared at the drawn shade at her window, the drawn shade that reassured Nicholas—as it had once reassured Viktor Coe—that she was safe and sound in her room. Alone.

“Was that your mother?” Charlie stood in the doorway, holding a textbook by her side. “How are things in Novokia? I take it your sister arrived home safely.”

Marina sighed. “Nowhere is safe once Alexis has arrived. Why aren’t you studying?”

“I need a break.”

“Yeah,” Marina said as she looked back to the window shade. “I know the feeling. I am thinking of not going home for Christmas.”

Charlie came into the room. “Not go home for Christmas? Why?”

Marina shrugged. “I had enough of familial duties last weekend. I know Nicholas was looking forward to it, but …”

“God,” Charlie said. “I can’t imagine not being home for Christmas. Even with everything going on this year—” She stopped midsentence.

Marina pulled her knees to her chest. “You still do not know about coming back to school?”

Charlie shook her head. “My father still doesn’t have a job.”

“Maybe things will work out.”

Charlie headed back toward her room. “Yeah.” Then she stopped and turned back to Marina. “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you come home with me?”

“For Christmas?”

“Sure. There’s always room for one more at the O’Brien house. My sisters would love it. A real princess coming to visit. We’d even make room for Nicholas.”

“Oh, Charlie, your family has many problems right now …”

“Come on, it would be fun. And who knows, it might be the last time I see you.”

Marina looked back to the drawn window shade. She thought how it would be to spend the holidays with real people, real
free
people, tied only by their own struggles, their own bonds. An all-American family, just trying to get by. She looked back at Charlie. “Maybe I could convince Nicholas to let me go alone.”

“Fat chance.”

“I told you a long time ago,” Marina said, as she rose from the bed and walked to the window, “never underestimate the power of a princess.”

    Nicholas let her go alone, only after Charlie swore that her family would tell no one who Marina was until after she had returned to Northampton, and only after Marina promised to wear only jeans, sweaters, sunglasses, and other unprincesslike attire. As if that would be any great sacrifice for her.

Charlie’s brother, Danny met them at the airport. He was tall like Charlie, with the same easy manner and same warm smile. They drove to the house in his twelve-year-old pickup truck, snuggled together on the front seat because the heater didn’t work, hadn’t worked, according to Danny, in a year. It was first on Danny’s list to repair when … if … he got a job. Marina didn’t mind the cold; it was more fun this way.

The houses were lined up together—“row houses,” Charlie explained. They pulled into a narrow alley behind
the buildings, and Danny parked the truck next to a multicar garage. After they got out Marina followed Charlie along a short walkway that cut through a small backyard. When Marina looked up she saw orange and red and green and blue candles glowing at the windows. It was Christmas in Pittsburgh.