Once More With Feeling (12 page)

“She'd left me alone again,” Raven murmured, shuddering so that he drew her closer in response. The words came out as jumbled as her thoughts, as tumbled as the dream. “How I hated being alone in that room. The only light was from the building next door—one of those red neon lights that blinks on and off, on and off, so that the dark was never still. And so much noise out on the street, even with the windows closed. Too hot . . . too hot to sleep,” she murmured into his shoulder. “I watched the light and waited for her to come back. She was drunk again.” She whimpered, her fingers opening and closing against his chest. “And she'd brought a man with her. I put the pillow over my head so I wouldn't hear.”

Raven paused to steady her breath. It was dark and quiet in Brand's arms. Outside, the storm rose in high fury.

“She fell down the steps and broke her arm, so we moved, but it was always the same. Dingy little rooms, airless rooms that smelled always of gin no matter how you scrubbed. Thin walls, walls that might as well not have existed for the privacy they gave you. But she always promised that this time, this time it'd be different. She'd get a job, and I'd go to school . . . but always one day I'd come home and there'd be a man and a bottle.”

She wasn't clinging any longer but simply leaning against him as if all passion were spent. Lightning flared again, but she remained still.

“Raven.” Brand eased her gently away and tilted her face to his. Tears were still streaming from her eyes, but her breathing was steadier. He could barely make out the shape of her face in the dark. “Where was your father?”

He could see the shine of her eyes as she stared at him. She made a soft, quiet sound as one waking. He knew the words had slipped from her while she had been vulnerable and unaware. Now she was aware, but it was too late for defenses. The sigh she made was an empty, weary sound.

“I don't know who he was.” Slowly she drew out of Brand's arms and rose from the bed. “She didn't, either. You see, there were so many.”

Brand said nothing but reached into the pocket of the jeans he had hastily dragged on and found a pack of matches. Striking one, he lit the bedside candle. The light wavered and flickered, hardly more than a pulse beat in the dark. “How long,” he asked and shook out the match, “did you live like that?”

Raven dragged both hands through her hair, then hugged herself. She knew she'd already said too much for evasions. “I don't remember a time she didn't drink, but when I was very young, five or six, she still had some control over it. She used to sing in clubs. She had big dreams and an average voice, but she was very lovely . . . once.”

Pausing, Raven pressed her fingers against her eyes and wiped away tears. “By the time I was eight, she was . . . her problem was unmanageable. And there were always men. She needed men as much as she needed to drink. Some of them were better than others. One of them took me to the zoo a couple of times. . . .”

She trailed off and turned away. Brand watched the candlelight flicker over the thin material of her nightgown.

“She got steadily worse. I think part of it was from the frustration of having her voice go. Of course, she abused it dreadfully with smoking and drinking, but the more it deteriorated, the more she smoked and drank. She ruined her voice and ruined her health and ruined any chance she had of making something of herself. Sometimes I hated her. Sometimes I know she hated herself.”

A sob escaped, but Raven pushed it back and began to wander the room. The movement seemed to make it easier, and the words tumbled out quicker, pressing for release. “She'd cry and cling to me and beg me not to hate her. She'd promise the moon, and more often than not, I'd believe her. ‘This time'—that was one of her favorite beginnings. It still is.” Raven let out a shaky sigh. “She loved me when she wasn't drinking and forgot me completely when she was. It was like living with two different women, and neither one of them was easy. When she was sober, she expected an average mother-and-daughter relationship. Had I done my homework? Why was I five minutes late getting home from school? When she was drunk, I was supposed to keep the hell out of her way. I remember once, when I was twelve, she went three months and sixteen days without a drink. Then I came home from school and found her passed out on the bed. She'd had an audition that afternoon for a gig at this two-bit club. Later she told me she'd just wanted one drink to calm her nerves. Just one . . .” Raven shivered and hugged herself tighter. “It's cold,” she murmured.

Brand rose and stooped in front of the fire. He added kindling and logs to the bed of coals in the grate. Raven walked to the window to watch the fury of the storm over the sea. Lightning still flashed sporadically, but the violence of the thunder and the rain were dying.

“There were so many other times. She was working as a cocktail waitress in this little piano bar in Houston. I was sixteen then. I always came by on payday so I could make certain she didn't spend the money before I bought food. She'd been pretty good then. She'd been working about six weeks straight and had an affair going with the manager. He was one of the better ones. I used to play around at the piano if the place was empty. One of my mother's lovers had been a musician; he'd taught me the basics and said I had a good ear. Mama liked hearing me play.” Her voice had quieted. Brand watched her trail a finger down the dark pane of window glass.

“Ben, the manager, asked me if I wanted to play during the lunch hour. He said I could sing, too, as long as I kept it soft and didn't talk to the customers. So I started.” Raven sighed and ran a hand over her brow. Behind her came the pop and crackle of flame. “We left Houston for Oklahoma City. I lied about my age and got a job singing in a club. It was one of Mama's worst periods. There were times I was afraid to leave her alone, but she wasn't working then, and . . .” She broke off with a sound of frustration and rubbed at an ache in her temple. She wanted to stop, wanted to block it all out, but she knew she had come too far. Pressing her brow against the glass, she waited until her thoughts came back into order.

“We needed the money, so I had to risk leaving her at night. I suppose we exchanged roles for a time,” she murmured. “The thing I learned young, but consistently forgot, was that an alcoholic finds money for a bottle. Always, no matter what. One night during my second set she wove her way into the club. Wayne was working there and caught onto the situation quickly. He managed to quiet her down before it got too ugly. Later he helped me get her home and into bed. He was wonderful: no lectures, no pity, no advice. Just support.”

Raven turned away from the window again and wandered to the fire. “But she came back again, twice more, and they let me go. There were other towns, other clubs, but it was the same then and hardly matters now. Just before I turned eighteen I left her.” Her voice trembled a bit, and she took a moment to steady it. “I came home from work one night, and she was passed out at the kitchen table with one of those half-gallon jugs of wine. I knew if I didn't get away from her I'd go crazy. So I put her to bed, packed a bag, left her all the money I could spare and walked out. Just like that.” She covered her face with her hands a moment, pressing her fingers into her eyes. “It was like being able to breathe for the first time in my life.”

Raven roamed back to the kitchen. She could see the vague ghost of her own reflection. Studying it, listening to the steady but more peaceful drum of rain, she continued. “I worked my way to L.A., and Henderson saw me. He pushed me. I'm not certain what my ambition was before I signed with him. Just to survive, I think. One day and then the next. Then there were contracts and recording sessions and the whole crazy circus. Doors started opening. Some of them were trap doors, I've always thought.” She gave a quick, wondering laugh. “God, it was marvelous and scary and I don't believe I could ever go through those first few months again. Anyway, Henderson got me publicity, and the first hit single got me more. And then I got a call from a hospital in Memphis.”

Raven turned and began to pace. The light silk of her nightgown clung, then swirled, with her movements. “I had to go, of course. She was in pretty bad shape. Her latest lover had beaten her and stolen what little money she had. She cried. Oh, God, all the same promises. She was sorry; she loved me. Never again, never again. I was the only decent thing she'd ever done in her life.” The tears were beginning to flow again, but this time Raven made no attempt to stop them. “As soon as she could travel, I brought her back with me. Julie had found a sanitarium in Ojai and a very earnest young doctor. Justin Randolf Karter. Isn't that a marvelous name, Brandon?” Bitterness spilled out with the tears. “A marvelous name, a remarkable man. He took me into his tasteful, leather-bound office and explained the treatment my mother would receive.”

Whirling, Raven faced Brand, her shoulders heaving with sobs. “I didn't want to know! I just wanted him to do it. He told me not to set my hopes too high, and I told him I hadn't any hopes at all. He must have found me cynical, because he suggested several good organizations I could speak to. He reminded me that alcoholism is a disease and that my mother was a victim. I said the hell she was;
I
was the victim!” Raven forced the words out as she hugged herself tightly. “
I
was the victim;
I
had had to live with her and deal with her lies and her sickness and her men. It was so safe, so easy, for him to be sanctimonious and understanding behind that tidy white coat. And I
hated
her.” The sobs came in short, quick jerks as she balled her hands and pressed them against her eyes. “And I loved her.” Her breath trembled in and out as everything she had pent up over the weeks of her mother's latest treatment poured through her. “I still love her,” she whispered.

Weary, nearly spent, she turned to the fire, resting her palms on the mantel. “Dr. Karter let me shout at him, then he sat with me when I broke down. I went home, and they started her treatment. Two days later I met you.”

Raven didn't hear him move, didn't know he stood behind her, until she felt his hands on her shoulders. Without speaking she turned and went into his arms. Brand held her, feeling the light tremors while he stared down at the licking, greedy flames. Outside, the storm had become only a patter of rain against the windows.

“Raven, if you had told me, I might have been able to make things easier for you.”

She shook her head, then buried her face against his chest. “No, I didn't want it to touch that part of my life. I just wasn't strong enough.” Taking a deep breath, she pulled back far enough to look in his eyes. “I was afraid that if you knew you wouldn't want anything to do with me.”

“Raven.” There was hurt as well as censure in his voice.

“I know it was wrong, Brandon, even stupid, but you have to understand: everything seemed to be happening to me at once. I needed time. I needed to sort out how I was going to live my life, how I was going to deal with my career, my mother, everything.” Her hands gripped his arms as she willed him to see through her eyes. “I was nobody one day and being mobbed by fans the next. My picture was everywhere. I heard myself every time I turned on the radio. You know what that's like.”

Brand brushed her hair from her cheek. “Yes, I know what that's like.” As he spoke, he could feel her relax with a little shudder.

“Before I could take a breath, Mama walked back into my life. Part of me hated her, but instead of realizing that it was a normal reaction and dealing with it, I felt an unreasonable guilt. And I was ashamed. No,” she shook her head, anticipating him, “there's no use telling me I had no need to be. That's an intellectual statement, a practical statement; it has nothing to do with emotion. I don't expect you to understand that part of it. You've never had to deal with it. She's my mother. It isn't possible to completely separate myself from that, even knowing that the responsibility for her problem isn't mine.” Raven gave him one last, long look before turning away. “And on top of everything that was happening to me, I fell in love with you.” The flames danced and snapped as she watched. “I loved you,” she murmured so quietly he strained to hear, “but I couldn't be your lover.”

Brand stared at her back, started to reach for her, then dropped his hands to his sides. “Why?”

Only her head turned as she looked over her shoulder at him. Her face was in shadows. “Because then I would be like her,” she whispered, then turned away again.

“You don't really believe that, Raven.” Brand took her shoulders, but she shook her head, not answering. Firmly he turned her to face him, making a slow, thorough study of her. “Do you make a habit of condemning children for their parents' mistakes?”

“No, but I . . .”

“You don't have the right to do it to yourself.”

She shut her eyes on a sigh. “I know, I know that, but . . .”

“There're no buts on this one, Raven.” His fingers tightened until she opened her eyes again. “You know who you are.”

There was only the sound of the sea and the rain and fire. “I wanted you,” she managed in a trembling voice, “when you held me, touched me. You were the first man I'd ever wanted.” She swallowed, and again he felt the shudder course through her. “Then I'd remember all those cramped little rooms, all those men with my mother. . . .” She broke off and would have turned away again if his hands hadn't held her still.

Brand removed his hands from her arms, then slowly, his eyes still on hers, he used them to frame her face. “Sleeping with a stranger is different from making love with someone you care for.”

Raven moistened her lips. “Yes, I know that, but . . .”

“Do you?” The question stopped her. She could do no more than let out a shaky breath. “Let me show you, Raven.”