Wicked Forest (16 page)

"
Si
, "I said.

"
Muy bien
, You can leave your car here and come with me., or follow me in your car."

"Why don't we just go in my car?" I suggested.

"Now, why didn't I think of that?" he said.

laughing. "Actually. I did." he admitted as he got in.

"but I didn't think it was proper to ask you to drive me."

"The Latin male thing?"

"Old habits die hard— not that I am anything like a male chauvinist. I am the modern Latin man,"

he declared. "The truth is. I have to admit to an ulterior motive for asking you to join me for lunch."

"Oh?" I said, starting the car and pulling out of my parking space.

"I can't help being curious about you, your life with your father in particular. I hope you don't mind, but I have read everything he wrote, and I even have a letter he sent me after I wrote to him, asking him about something in one of his books. I thought he had a very clear and accurate view of human behavior. I imagine he was a very calm, well-organized man, not easily shaken or disturbed. Am I right?"

"Yes," I said "My father was that."

"And yet capable of great passion—

compassion. I should say," he corrected.

I nodded.

"Oh, just make a quick left turn here and then take the first right. Yes, that's it on the corner. Don't be discouraged by its outward appearance. This is a book that definitely should not be judged by its cover." he added.

I parked and we entered a very small place.

Although it looked clean and well maintained, there were paper tablecloths and even plastic knives and forks, which gave it a truly unpretentious appearance.

The menu was on a plain sheet of paper and, according to the heading, was changed daily.

Everyone knew Professor Fuentes and greeted him warmly. He introduced me as one of his newest students. We took the table near the front window.

"Why don't you order for me. too?" I asked, seeing that the menu was in Spanish.

"No problem."

He gave the waitress our order, then sat

forward, his face resuming an intense expression.

"If I ask anything that is impolite, please, don't hesitate to tell me," he said.

"Okay."

"I bet you will, too," he said with a smile. "Did your father practice any of his theories about human behavior on you?"

If he did, it was so subtle. I didn't realize it," I said. "When I was old enough to understand and appreciate him more. I saw how cleverly and smoothly he used psychology on everyone, especially my adoptive mother.‖

"Adoptive?"

"Yes. I was adopted." I said.

"Oh." He sat back. "I see. I just assumed..."

I saw how disappointed he was that I was not a blood relation. I considered him for a moment, then decided to be forthcoming.

"However. I am my father's daughter." His eyebrows hoisted.

"Excuse me?"

"My adoptive mother never knew, but I am my father's actual child. After both of them passed on. I learned the truth about my origins, and then visited my real mother and decided to live with her and go to school here."

"Oh. So that's why you told me you were living with your mother and half brother."

"Exactly."

"I am prying, but not as a busybody. I hope you believe that."

"Of course," I said.

The waitress brought us iced teas.

"There is and will always be that age-old debate about the relationship of heredity to behavior. A colleague of mine is developing a thesis that there is a so-called evil gene. Some people turn it into something society accepts, such as aggression in sports or the military or." he said with a wider smile,

"politics."

I laughed.

"Daddy would never discount any theory out of hand."

"I know. He was the quintessential Renaissance man, the man with an open mind. I imagine he had no prejudices."

I thought for a moment,

"The only thing I know my father couldn't tolerate was prejudice. He was prejudiced against people with closed minds," I said.

They brought our food. and I immediately

remarked on how delicious it was.

"I'm happy I didn't disappoint you," he said. -

So. I imagine your adoptive mother must have been quite a woman as well."

"Quite," I said dryly. He raised one eyebrow.

"Let just say that was where my father was a typical man first and the professor second, and leave it at that," I added.

He smiled.

"So." he said, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. "am I to assume you are romantically unattached, since you are recently arrived here?"

"No," I said.

"No. I shouldn't assume., or no, you're not romantically involved?"

"No, you shouldn't assume," I said.

He kept his smile. but I saw his eyes darken a bit. "And you, Professor? I see no wedding ring."

"Close, but no gold ring, no," he replied. "It takes a special sort of woman to want to live with a man who is so dedicated to his work, especially because the work is so abstract. You don't see a finished product, like a house or a suit. Ideas are too mysterious."

"Yes. My adoptive mother never really took my father's work seriously— only seriously enough to see it as a form of competition for her attention and time."

He nodded.

"Are you working on some original theory?" I asked him, thinking I might just be a part of his research.

"Yes. I'm not sure how original it is. but I am exploring the influence of certain aspects of the physical environment on the psyche. The obvious things are already well accepted— people are more depressed in bad climates, et cetera— but I think we have to continually evaluate the effects of technology on our personalities. But, please, don't let me get started and bore you with one of my lectures, at least not until you're trapped in my classroom." he added.

and I laughed.

He was a charming man. I thought. Daddy

would have liked him.

He asked me questions about my classes at UNC and we talked a bit about the school. I ate everything on my plate, not leaving a crumb,

"You did enjoy this. I'm glad. Would you like anything else? Coffee, some deep-fried ice cream, perhaps?" he asked.

"No, I'm fine," I said. "I have to get back anyway."

"Well, thank you for joining me and permitting me to ask you these questions.‖

"Thank you. Professor," I said. He signaled the waitress again, and paid the bill.

I drove him back to the campus. On the way, he told me more about his family, their restaurant, and his own college education. I learned he was actually as young as he looked, only twenty-eight.

"I was chosen to attend a school for special, advanced students and graduated high school at age sixteen, college at nineteen, and I had my master's and then my doctorate by twenty-two," he told me. "That is why I grew this beard. to cover up what my mother calls her
cara del bebe
, her baby face." he confessed, then added after a moment's pause, "Thanks again for sharing with me."

'sao benvinido
,' I replied.

"Huh?"

"Portuguese for 'you're welcome.' I'm showing off. If you're going to use Spanish on me. I'll use some Portuguese. I had a Portuguese nanny." I said, and he laughed,

"We'll teach each other languages, then," he said, and waved after he stepped out of my car.

What a nice man, I thought again, and then I wondered if it was proper for me to get so close and personal with my college teacher.

It's only a friendship, I told myself. What's the harm? There were far more serious problems to solve, most of them inside the gated property of Joya del Mar.

.

"Thatcher asked me to tell you to call him the moment you stepped in the door," my mother said.

greeting me. "He sounded very excited."

"Oh?"

He made me promise twice that I wouldn't

forget!"

I put my bags of books down quickly and went to the phone.

The moment his secretary heard my name, she put me through to him.

"I met with Kirby Scott," he said. When I told him what I wanted to know, he was afraid I was coming after him as an attorney. He was so shaken by my directness, he was probably more forthcoming with me than he's been with anyone in his life. I learned some things about his relationship with Jackie Lee and with your mother as well. I'll tell you what he said that I think is true.

"But as far as what my sister and mother told me, the bottom line is. I have researched what he told me and I have confirmed it is impossible for him to be my father. He was a few thousand miles away from Joya del Mar and Palm Beach during the period when my mother would have conceived. It is as I suspected and hoped, a fabrication, a plot conceived by my lovely sister and my mother. I've already let Whitney know how upset I am by what they fried to do. My mother is next."

"I'm happy for you. Thatcher. You wouldn't want to be tied to that man in any way or form."

"Be happy for us. I'm no longer hiding anything from anyone here," he said with determination and fury in his voice. "I've changed our plans for dinner.

You'll have to wait to enjoy my cooking genius.

Instead. I've made reservations for us at TaBoo, the first place I ever took you and a virtual neon sign when it comes to announcing a relationship in Palm Beach. We can go to the beach house afterward. I'll pick you up at seven.

Dress to kill," he ordered. "I don't want a single eye to miss you and me together tonight"

Are you sure?" I asked. Actually. I was having trouble keeping my breath. Suddenly, my whole life, my future, was charging forward at a pace I had not expected.

"Am I sure? I tell you what. Willow De Beers, get that ring finger lathered up and ready. We're coming out. Tonight is our coming-out party!" he practically screamed into the phone.

The moment I hung up, my mother was there, holding her breath in anticipation.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, looking at my crimson face. I could feel the heat in my cheeks and at the base of my throat. "Willow?"

"I think so," I said. "I think I've agreed to become engaged tonight and for all the world to see and know."

She looked astounded, but cautious. "Are you happy? Its what you want?"

"I think so." I said. "Yes. I think so."

"Then let's celebrate and be happy together."

she declared, and rushed to hug me.

Regardless of the problems Linden continued to have, he didn't have to look at me twice to see and understand what was happening. Whatever perceptive and artistic ability he had to see things was well at work. He walked in on Mother and me still hugging and laughing, and when we parted and looked at him, his face registered his unhappiness.

"You're going to marry Thatcher Eaton," he concluded before I had spoken a single word,

"Be happy for her. Linden," Mother urged.

"Happy? More like feel sorry for her. What are we going to do now, permit the Eatons to continue to live in our house?" he said.

"No, Linden," I said. "One thing has nothing to do with the other."

He looked skeptical.

"Let's wait and see," he said. "Thatcher is a master at getting what he wants. He could sell anyone on anything. even Eskimos on buying ice."

"Please, Linden," I begged. "Give him a chance. He wants to be your friend. He's expressed his concern for you many times."

"Oh, has he? I wonder She'll recall the many times he and his rich Palm Beach friends mocked me and ridiculed me. Ask him about the practical jokes they pulled on me." he urged. "Get him to explain all that while he's telling you how much he's concerned about me."

"Everyone grows up. Linden." Mother said softly. "I'm sure there were things you did as a young boy that you wouldn't want to speak about now."

He turned and squinted at Mother as if he wanted to be absolutely positive the woman who was speaking was indeed his mother.

"I don't understand how you can be happy about any of this." he told her. "especially after the way you've been treated by that family for years!"

"I'm tired, Linden. I'm tired of unhappiness, of anger, of sorrow. I want us to have some happiness now. I want us to look forward more than we look back. Please try to do what Willow asks and give it all a chance. Will you? Please."

He looked from her to me and then back to her.

"When it's over," he predicted. "when you're both sorry, don't apologize to me. Don't even look at me and expect any sympathy." Then he stepped toward me. 'You know what it's like for me to wish you or anyone else good luck? It's like a crippled rabbit wishing another crippled rabbit good hick during the fox hunt. So, good luck. Willow." he said, and left the room.

"He'll come around," Mother told me, now sounding like the optimistic one. "When he sees how happy you are and how good things will be, he'll lose some of that anger."

"I don't know." I said. "Maybe I should wait until he shows more improvement."

"Don't be foolish. I told you before and I meant it. Willow. I don't want us to hold you back. If] ever feel we are dragging you down. I'll ask you to leave us," she threatened.

"That'll never be." I promised, and we hugged again, but not with as much vigor and excitement.

Later. I considered my wardrobe and what I would wear on this most special of all evenings out Thatcher wanted me to wear something eye-catching.

I did have a dress I was always afraid to wear because I thought it looked so sexy it didn't leave all that much to the imagination. It was a pleated snakeskin fitted tank dress, short enough to make it impossible to bend over I had worn it only once before when I went out with Allan. He told me he had mixed feelings about it.

"On one hand." he'd said, "I'm proud to have you on my arm, but on the other... when I see the way other men gape lustfully at you. I am not comfortable."

In the end. I never wore it again when I went out with him, but somehow, looking at myself in the mirror and considering Palm Beach and Thatcher. I thought. Thatcher will have a different feeling about it. He won't have any doubt or hesitation.