Wicked Forest (17 page)

I brushed out my hair. All at once. I did a double take, realizing that Mother had come in behind me and was watching me quietly.

"I'm sorry." she said. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you."

"You didn't." I said. "I'm just thinking and dreaming too hard. I'm in a daze."

"Standing here and watching you get ready, I was reminded of watching my mother when I was a young teenage girl. I would stand behind her and she would brush her hair and talk to me in the mirror. It was like we were looking at each other through a magic window. She would speak to me as if] were a full adult, never talking down to me. I suppose that was because we went through so much together, losing my father, moving here, starting new. Struggles like that mature you faster. I sometimes think I didn't have a girlhood.

"I did enjoy those moments we had together,"

she added, smiling at her reminiscences. "usually right before she went somewhere with Winston, some ball or elegant dinner. She was a very attractive woman, you know."

"I know. I saw some photographs on your dresser."

"I think you look a lot like her."

"I wouldn't mind that," I said.

"She never did any of the things women do today to keep their figures. She could eat the worst things and not get fat, and she had skin like alabaster, so smooth with just a slight peach tint in her cheeks, like you have. She didn't wear very much makeup, either, just a bit of lipstick and a little eye shadow sometimes, but she loved expensive perfumes, and of all the jewelry she had, she favored this.," she said, and opened her hand to show me a platinum hair clip set with diamonds,

"Oh, that is so beautiful," I said.

"It's one of the few pieces Kirby Scott didn't get his greedy fingers around. This was made especially for her, Winston commissioned it. I think it would look perfect in your hair," Mother said, offering it to me.

I started to shake my head.

"I know she would want you to be wearing it.

Willow, Something as beautiful as this doesn't belong hidden under socks in the bottom of some dresser.

And besides, it's a special enough occasion to justify it being worn. Go on, put it in your hair," Mother urged me.

I plucked it carefully from her palm and did as she asked. Then I sat back and we both looked at me in the mirror, I could see the look of pleasure settled in Mother's face like strawberries sitting in whipped cream. She bent down to hug me and press her cheek to mine.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for your growing up.

Willow. I should have brought you back here with me.

but Mother was sick then. She had been fighting breast cancer for two years and the battle took its toll an her. She was like some beautiful flower, deprived of sunshine and water, fading, crumbling, with only a hint of its former beauty left for someone to see.

"It always bothered me that I wasn't here when she needed me the most in her life, and I regret not being there for you when you needed a real mother."

"You're here now," I said, "And I'm here, and we're together." "I hope it's not too little too late."

"It's not. We have many years to enjoy together," I assured her,

Hearing Linden in the hallway, we both looked through the doorway, I wondered if he had been standing there and listening.

"I’ll go spend some time with him," she whispered, and patted my arm. "Don't worry","

She left. and I looked through my wardrobe to find my black shawl. Then I gazed at myself in the mirror again and imagined Daddy standing behind me.

You look very nice, I thought he would say. I hoped he would say. He was never a prude, and with a wife like my adoptive mother, he was used to fashionable clothing and expensive jewelry.

Suddenly. I imagined his smile hardened into that psychiatrist's face of his. Are you sure about all this, Willow?

Sometimes I feel very sure, and then sometimes I don't. Did you ask yourself why that is?

No. but I imagine it's not unusual. Don't we all have doubts when we make big decisions?

His smile softened.

Now who's being the psychiatrist, answering a question with a question?

I had a good teacher.

He laughed, and then his image faded.

"Daddy," I whispered to the mirror.

There was only I. looking hard, looking alone, looking afraid.

.

Linden and Mother were on the loggia when I came out of my room. The door was open. so I could hear their conversation. I heard Linden complain. "I bet you wish you had two daughters."

"Of course not. Why, most married people want to have one of each."

"You weren't married, either time," he said harshly.

"I don't love either of you the less because of that." she said.

"Willow was born out of a love relationship, at least" he muttered bitterly.

"I've told you a hundred times if I've told you once. Linden. I would go through all of it, the pain, the disgrace, the misery, if it meant I would have you."

"You're just saving that because its too late to give me back," he snapped.

"No, that's not so." "Right," he said.

"Hi," chimed in a new voice. It was Thatcher, approaching the house.

Linden rose immediately and came in, moving so fast he almost didn't see me standing in the entry.

He stopped short and pulled himself up.

"Your Prince Charming has arrived. Have a good time," he said, and started by me.

I seized his arm, which surprised him.

"I wish when you said that, you really meant it.

Linden."

He blinked and relaxed his shoulders. Then he looked down, ashamedly. I thought, before looking up at me again.

"I do. I'm sorry. I do," he said. I smiled.

"Thank you, Linden," I replied, and he nodded and walked more slowly away from me, looking suddenly years older.

I stepped outside. Thatcher, wearing a gold sports jacket, black slacks, a black shirt, and a black tie, looked up at me and whistled. Then he turned to Mother, laughed, and shook his head.

"Grace, the hens will be cackling about this for a month."

"As long as they don't lay any eggs on my front steps," Mother said. and Thatcher laughed again.

He held out his arm.

"Mrs. Future Thatcher Eaton." he said in an exaggerated southern accent. "may I escort you?"

―Why, Mr. Eaton. I thought you'd never ask," I said. and Mother laughed harder than either of us.

On such a wonderful, happy note, how could anything bring back the clouds of despair? I thought.

7

Tea with Bunny

.

Everything Thatcher did that night seemed designed to flaunt our relationship before Palm Beach society. He'd reserved a table that put us in the front so that we would be constantly on display, and when we entered, he made sure to pause to introduce me as his fiancée to anyone and everyone he knew. I was already wearing the ring. He had presented it to me again as soon as we were in his Rolls.

"I'm giving it back to you a lot sooner than you expected. I know." he said as he took my hand and slipped it over my finger.

"Yes."

He kissed me.

"That's the way it will be from now on. Willow.

You give me a task and I'll get it done. Your happiness is my happiness," he told me.

I know it was only my imagination, but my hand felt heavier, especially after he began to introduce me as his fiancée. Whenever I shook hands with anyone. I watched the way his or her eyes and the eyes of those around us were drawn to the glittering diamond. By the time we reached our table, the whole place was chattering about us. I caught bits and pieces of phrases: "...never thought Thatcher Eaton would get serious about anyone... it can't be true... Grace Montgomery's daughter?"

People who hadn't been in the "receiving line"

made their way to our table to be introduced and to hear Thatcher say "my fiancée," as if the ring itself were no guarantee or proof of anything. It had to come from his lips as well.

One woman who looked about my mother's age but dressed as if she were my age surprised me by seizing my hand and holding it up so the ring was clearly visible to anyone nearby. Then she blurted,

"Do you realize what you have done? You have lassoed the wildest stallion on the beach!"

"Really?" I said, sounding as unimpressed as I could manage as I retrieved my hand. I looked at Thatcher. "He's so polite and civilized when he is with me. I never would have known it."

He roared, and the woman, who'd been

introduced as Muffy Anderson, dropped her jaw so quickly it looked like it had unhinged. Her escort. a thin, small. dapper man. held a frozen smile. I thought they made a most unlikely couple. She looked like she could absorb him with a mere embrace, especially if he was drawn into the valley between her two bulging breasts.

"Who was that?" I asked Thatcher as soon as they left our table.

"Muffy? She's the widow of Lowell Anderson, who patented and manufactured a plastic wine battle cap that sold like hotcakes throughout western Europe. Her escort is just some Palm Beach walker, another Kirby Scott," he said through the corner of his mouth.

I wanted to hear more about his meeting with Kirby Scott, but I knew almost from the moment we had arrived at Ta-Boo that we wouldn't have much time to talk seriously at the restaurant. There was a constant parade of Thatcher's friends and acquaintances marching to and by our table. Before the evening ended, a woman who looked like she had just come from a costume ball, wearing a jeweled cowboy hat, a beaded blouse, a pink quilted skirt, and a pair of what looked like alligator boots, came charging into the restaurant with a young man at her side who carried an impressive-looking camera. She made her way directly to our table. We were just having our dessert.

"Thatcher Eaton, you rogue," she shouted. She nodded at me. "How dare you do something like this without giving me fair warning?"

Taken aback. I looked to Thatcher, who sat with a wide, self-satisfied grin slashed across his face.

"Somehow, I knew a little bird would be whispering in your ear. Suzy. Willow. this is Suzy Q.

the most important and influential society columnist in Palm Beach."

"I'll need a picture or two," she said as if we had nothing to say about it. She nodded to her photographer, who started to snap the photos. -Put your arm around her shoulders. Thatcher. Make it look as real as you can," she ordered.

"It is real," he said, and lifted my hand to show her the engagement ring.

She tilted her head and pulled in the corners of her thickly painted lips. I thought she looked like a walking billboard advertisement for cosmetic surgery.

Her nose was clipped. Her eyes were pulled so tightly.

I wondered if she was able to close them at night, and her chin looked tucked under so snugly, I had real doubt that she could swallow anything. Her gaudy blond hair hung straight down beside her cheeks like strands of plastic.

"All right," she told the photographer. "that's enough. So give me the scoop, darling." she said, shoving what looked like a miniature tape recorder in our faces. "Where did you two meet?"

"Wasn't it in southern France? Nice?" he asked me.

"It was nice. but it wasn't Nice." I said, and we both laughed.

"I'm going to get all the nitty-gritty anyway, darling, so why play games with Suzy Q?"

"She's right. Willow. There is no point trying to hide anything from her. She has eyes everywhere.

behind the highest walls.

Even Donald Trump isn't safe." He turned back to her. "Willow is my landlady." Thatcher said.

Suzy raised her eyebrows and looked at me.

"Really?"

-She owns Joya del Mar. I figured if I married her. I'd get a break on the rent,- he said.

Suzy Q dropped her gullible expression

quickly, and dropped her tape recorder into the small black leather purse hanging at the end of a strap over her shoulder,

-All right. Mr. Smarty-pants. I'll go round up my usual sources and get the truth, or something that closely resembles it. You'll have to take your chances."

"Isn't that what everyone appearing in your column does, Suzy?"

"Cute. Very cute. My dear," she said, turning to me. "you have my condolences. And my best wishes."

she added with as warm a smile as she was capable of producing. I thought

"I'll be seeing you... everywhere." She made it sound more like a warning than a promise. She nodded to her photographer, and left the restaurant as quickly as she had burst into it.

Thatcher laughed. "Is it over yet?" I asked him.

"I think so, for now," he said, nodding, and signaled for our check.

Leaving was more difficult than entering since more people had arrived, seemingly because they had heard about Thatcher and me. I was introduced to nearly twice as many people on the way out as on the way in. By the time we got into the Rolls, I was exhausted and pretended to collapse.

"I feel pinched and squeezed, examined under microscopes, and tested for every known social disease. There are eve prints over my whole face," I complained, scrubbing my cheeks.

"I assure you, they weren't looking only at your face." Thatcher said.

"We might as well be in a giant fishbowl!"

"That's exactly what Palm Beach is." he said.

laughing, "high society under glass."

I groaned and sank deeper into the seat.

"I hope you'll get your second wind," he said as we drove off. "The night is early, especially for us."

"Oh. Thatcher, we're not going to another Palm Beach nightspot, are we?" I moaned.

"No, we've done enough damage here," he said.

"My mother and my sister will be on the phone all day tomorrow trying to field the questions and the comments. I've already made arrangements to be out of town so they won't be able to reach me. I'm taking a deposition dawn in Miami. Of course, with the speed of gossip reaching supersonic in this town, they could already be on the telephone, especially with each other. I can just hear Whitney calming and comforting our mother dean'. Dear old Dad will comfort himself with a Grey Goose vodka