Ivy Secrets (39 page)

Tess rolled onto her side away from Dell. She could not tell her the only man who’d made love to her was Giorgini, and that, yes, he’d been as tender as Dell had been, as tender as … a woman. She could not tell Dell that Joe had tried to
make love to Tess that night two years ago. She could not tell her because she didn’t want Dell to know she had refused him. She also could not tell her because she didn’t want Dell to know there had been no others. “There have been a few men,” she said quietly. “Enough.”

“And did you like it? The sex?”

Tess stared at the brick wall, at the graying mortar slapped between the spaces. “Yes. But I never felt it would last.”

“Why? Because your mother convinced you that no man would want you?”

Tess swallowed back her tears.

Dell reached over and found her breast. She stroked it slowly; the nipple stiffened in response. “I think you have waited a very long time to be truly loved.”

The fear Tess felt now drifted past, and in its place came a new longing, a longing filled with love. “Yes,” she answered. “I have waited a long time.”

“There is no shame in wanting love,” Dell said. “There is no shame in being loved.”

“I want to be happy, Dell. I’ve always only wanted to be happy.”

Dell bent her head and brushed her lips across Tess’s breast. “No one else can make you happy unless you are happy within yourself, Tess. Until you realize that, you’re going to keep on being lonely, and keep on being alone.”

Tess reached behind Dell and loosened her long, thick braid. “I’ll try, Dell. I’ll try.” She combed her fingers through Dell’s hair, awed at the way Dell’s lips, once again on her breast, created such heat below her waist. “Will you love me?” Tess asked quietly. “Will you love me? For now?”

“Only,” Dell answered, “if you let me hold you. Let me hold you for a very, very long time.”

    As the old year turned into the new, Tess found herself spending less time in her studio, and more time in Dell’s arms. When they were not together, Tess told her she was working hard; but, in fact, Tess was daydreaming. She spent hours in her huge claw-foot bathtub, soaking in the new sensations of her body, enjoying for the first time the beauty of it all, savoring the astounding desirability it seemed to offer
to Dell. She lay in the layers of bubbles, marveling that she was no longer just a pretty face; that now her body was wanted, needed, craved, as well. For now, Tess had enough money not to worry about making an income off her designs. Work, she decided, could wait, because feeling special felt so damned good.

It wasn’t until an envelope arrived from Charlie at the end of January that Tess realized there had been no Christmas card from her friend. She stood in the living room in her chenille robe and scuffs, and tore open the envelope, hoping for a picture of Jenny, a photo of the beautiful little child. There was no photo, only a brief, handwritten note.

Dear Tess
, the letter began.

Sorry I didn’t send a Christmas card, but I didn’t have a chance to send any.

Tess sat on the sofa. This didn’t sound like well-organized, everything-under-control Charlie.

I have some bad news.

Tess quickly put her hand to her heart. Jenny?

On December 3rd I had a miscarriage. Needless to say, I was devastated. So was Peter. Anyway, we’re going to try again, but probably not until spring. The doctor said it was important not to give up.

Tess sighed with relief. Nothing was wrong with Jenny. Charlie had only had a miscarriage. She briefly wondered how devastating that could be, then realized she knew. She knew the pain she’d felt after the abortion, she knew the pain when she realized she would not be the one to have Jenny. She also knew she should feel some kind of sympathy for Charlie now, some kind of compassion. But in a small, shameful way, Tess felt avenged. Because the friend who once had it all was at last learning that, life wasn’t always fair.

She looked back to the note.

I wanted to ask you a favor
, it continued.
In view of everything that’s happened, Peter and I have agreed it would be best if we took you up on your offer of having Jenny spend the summer with you.

Tess’s heart thumped wildly as she reread the last line.

Jenny spend the summer with you.
It was all there. It was real.

“Yes!” she shouted out loud and thrust the letter into
the air. Grover raced in from the kitchen and leaped onto her lap. She scratched his hairy head and kissed his nose. “Jenny’s coming!” she cried. “Oh, Grover, Jenny’s coming home!”

    “You’ll have to tell Charlie about us,” Dell said as they walked down Main Street after chowder at Beardsley’s later that night.

“You’re nuts,” Tess said, and huddled her face under her wool scarf, against the light freezing rain that sparkled in the streetlamps.

“No,” Dell replied. “I am quite serious.” She suddenly stopped and ducked into an import gift shop.

Tess stared after her.
She can’t be serious
, Tess thought. Through the window, Tess saw Dell poke through a rack of mohair shawls, as though she were on a leisurely shopping expedition, as though they had not just had this conversation.
She can’t be serious
, Tess repeated to herself. She smiled and adjusted her mittens. Of course Dell wasn’t serious.

She opened the door and went inside the shop.

“Nasty night,” a slim, young man behind the counter said.

“It’s getting there,” Tess replied, and walked to where Dell stood. “You aren’t serious,” she whispered. “Tell me you aren’t.”

Dell pulled out a gray-and-black woven shawl and examined its softness. She held it up to her neck; it blended with the shades of her long braid. “If we’re going to continue with our relationship, honesty is important.”

Tess looked around quickly to see if the man behind the counter was listening. But he was unwrapping a box of small bronze sculptures and seemed disinterested. “Please,” Tess pleaded, “keep your voice down.”

“What’s the matter, Tess? Are you embarrassed? I thought we were past that.” She shoved the hanger back onto the rack.

“Dell, don’t. Don’t be angry with me.”

Dell pushed past her and went to a shelf of carved teak masks. Tess hurried to get next to her.

“How do you intend to handle this?” Dell asked.
“When Jenny is here, does that mean you’ll pretend we’re just friends? Does it mean you won’t sleep with me?”

Tess loosened the collar of her coat and looked toward the young man again. This time, he was watching. This time, he smiled. She was so humiliated she wanted to run from the store.

“How dare you …” she said. “How dare you do this to me.”

Dell snapped around. “How dare I do what? Pretend we don’t have a relationship?”

“I thought you were the expert on keeping secrets.”

“Not when I feel I’m being used.”

Tess shook the sleet from her mittens. “Used? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” From the corner of her eye, she noticed the young man was now leaning on the counter, listening to every word, seemingly enjoying the confrontation. But Tess was too angry to leave. She no longer cared what he thought.

“You keep saying you want to have a family. Fine. But look around, Tess. I am your family. I am the only one who loves you enough to be here.”

Tess closed her eyes. “Dell, this is different …”

“No, it’s not. If you don’t accept our relationship, then you don’t accept me. I can’t live with that. I won’t.”

“Dell, please. Try to understand.”

Dell moved away and riffled through a rack of hand-woven skirts. “Are you afraid your friend won’t allow her precious little girl to visit if she thinks you’re a lesbian? Wake up, Tess. You’re not a college girl anymore. If Charlie doesn’t know you better than to think you’d screw up Jenny, then she’s no friend of yours.”

Tess started to cry. She put her face in her damp mittens and wondered why her life had to be so hard.

Dell pulled at Tess’s hand. “Stop crying, Tess.”

“I can’t help it,” she sniffed. “I thought you were different. I thought you understood me.”

Dell wiped the tears from her friend’s face.

Tess looked into her eyes. “Please, Dell,” she whimpered. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

Dell touched Tess’s hair and slowly combed it from her face. She sighed, then shook her head. “It’s okay, Tess. Maybe it’s time.”

“Time for what?”

“Time for you to get on with your life.”

Tess shook her head. “You don’t understand. It’s not just … us. It’s Willie Benson. Charlie forgave me for that. I owe it to her to have no more deceit, no more lies. I need her to trust me totally, or she won’t let me have Jenny.”

“Yes,” Dell nodded, “it’s definitely time. Because if it weren’t, you wouldn’t hesitate to tell Charlie about us. My guess is that Willie Benson is only part of your reason.” She kissed the top of Tess’s head. “But it’s okay, Tess. You are young. You have so much love to give.”

“I just can’t take the chance, Dell. I can’t risk losing Jenny again.”

Dell nodded again but said nothing.

“Can we be friends?”

“I will always be your friend, Tess. I will always be here for you.” She put her arm around Tess and led her toward the door. As they passed the counter, the young man spoke up. “Be careful out there, ladies. The roads are getting treacherous.”

“On the contrary,” Dell said, “the way is quite clear.”

Tess leaned into Dell and smiled, full of gratitude for having been blessed with such an incredible friend.

Marina couldn’t be certain if he wanted her for her title, her body, or her money. But in the decade since leaving Smith College, she had come to understand that those were questions that could never be answered. She hung her newly pressed wedding dress in the master suite closet of his yacht, and thought,
What the hell, at least this one doesn’t care about Novokia.
In fact, until she explained to Baron Henry Ernesto Messina where Novokia was, he hadn’t quite known. She cringed as she pulled off her short silk nightgown, then crossed to the vanity, popped her ten
A.M.
Percodan, and realized she was going to marry a man named Henry.

Charlie and Tess would probably have a good laugh over that.

She reached for her silver lame string bikini that dangled from the bathroom doorknob, then changed her mind.
Charlie and Tess.
Why had she thought of them now?

She took a robe from a twenty-four-karat-gold hook on the door, wrapped it tightly around herself, then slowly returned to the bedroom and flopped on the round king-size bed, knowing full well why she had thought of her old college friends. As soon as photos of her latest matrimonial debauchery reached America, Charlie and Tess would know how miserable Marina was, how pitiful she had become, how desperately low her life had sunk. Charlie and Tess would know, because they were the only ones who had ever known the true Marina, the real princess behind the crown.

Her only hope was that her friends might not read the tabloids.

She closed her eyes and threw her arm across her head, hoping to ease her insufferable headache. The bed swayed with the rhythm of the gentle surf turning in the harbor; she tried to move with it, tried to relax in the lull, and tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter what Charlie or Tess or anyone else in the world thought: Princess Marina was going to be happy if it killed her.

Twice already, it almost had.

First, there had been Dimitri. He was wealthy and reserved and extremely intelligent, the son of a Soviet defector whose ancestral tree was linked to three czars. The queen had chosen him for Marina. And so, one year to the day of her return from Smith—one year after she had relinquished her tiny infant into Charlie’s arms—Marina did what was expected: She married Dimitri and prepared to produce a proper heir to the throne.

Her parents were ecstatic, her country was exuberant. The marriage, however, was a disaster.

Dimitri had been worse than Nicholas when it came to keeping a tight rein on her. He had insisted on working closely with the queen herself, filling Marina’s calendar with luncheons and ribbon cuttings and royal appearances at hospitals and homeless shelters. He was, he felt, not so much preparing Marina to be queen as preparing the people to accept her, to love her. And to accept and love him. As a royal spin doctor, Dimitri was a natural; as a husband, however, he sucked. He did not know emotion, he did not know tenderness, and he did not know how to make love to a woman. Not like Edward James did.

Still, the marriage continued for two childless years, until Marina’s mother began to forget things—the fund-raiser for the mine worker’s child with leukemia, the meeting of the Women’s Alliance in support of the Falklands War, and other politically important events. As the months passed, the beautiful queen became more confused, more forgetful. The palace began to receive negative press; the people began to voice disapproval. Dimitri moved from annoyance to hostility, and he took it out on Marina. It began with shouts, then shoves. Just before the queen was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, Dimitri pushed Marina down a flight of stairs. Marina divorced him, escaped from her bodyguards, and fled to Brazil.