Wicked Forest (25 page)

The twenty-foot hedges blocked any view of the interior and the gates themselves seemed to rise into the clouds. Someone must have been watching on a video security system because we were stopped only a few seconds before the gates, as if by magic, began to open.

"I wonder if the president of the United States is as well protected," I muttered,

Whitney's husband. Hans Shugar, was truly a trust baby, inheriting the Shugar detergent fortune. It was a German company that sold its products throughout Europe and the Far East. Whitney, Hans, and their children lived on El Vedado, one of Palm Beach's three Els, three streets that ran parallel from South Ocean Boulevard to Lake Worth— the

neighborhood for the bluest of the blue bloods.

Thatcher told me Hans had bought a mansion for four million and ripped it down to build their Georgian estate.

I already knew that it had more than thirty rooms and stood on twice the acreage of Jaya del Mar.

but I wasn't prepared for the immensity of the property, the gardens and mazes, the walkways and palm trees that lined the property like sentinels. It looked more like a palace. No wonder that they feel so superior to everyone else, I thought. She must fantasize daily that she is indeed a princess ruling over some principality.

There were at least two dozen luxury

automobiles parked in front, as well as two limousines with their drivers chatting.

"The yearly upkeep for this estate is probably close to the GNP of most third-world countries," I muttered as we parked.

"When Jackie Lee and I first came to Palm Beach, we were invited to parties in homes similar to this because of my mother's involvement with Winston, Jackie Lee used to say, 'Close your eyes, Grace, and pretend you're Alice dropping into Wonderland. The trick is never to show them just how impressed you are. Keep your eyes from getting too big, and never put an exclamation point at the end of any sentence while you're here.' "

"It was good advice," I said.

"Let's follow it. then," Mother declared, and although I saw she was trembling a little, having to submerge herself into the pool of high society after so many years estranged from it all, she managed a smile and walked with her head high as we were greeted by Whitney's daughter. Laurel.

"Please come in," she said, stepping back. "My mother and her guests are waiting for you." She made it sound like a reprimand for tardiness. She had Whitney's way of turning her eyes into critical orbs of cold gray and pursing her lips in a stern expression of disapproval.

"Hello, Laurel." Mother said, smiling at her.

"It's been a while since I've seen you You've grown so tall."

"It's not necessarily bad for a woman to be tall."

she retorted. "My mother is tall."

"No, it's not bad at all," Mother said, holding on to her pleasant tone and smile. There was something in Laurel that stirred some memories. I thought, memories of herself, perhaps. although I couldn't see how.

Nevertheless, Laurel appeared to warm a bit under Mother's glow.

"Normally, our butler would greet you, but my mother thought it would be nicer for me to greet the guests," she explained.

"It is," I said.

She looked like she wanted to smile, but had been told not to smile too much, which she took to mean not to smile at all,

"I know that everyone else is here. All the other guests have already arrived."

"That's good," I said. "Then we've timed it just right." She turned her head stiffly toward me.

"You're going to be my aunt," she declared,

"Do you want me to call you Aunt Willow or just Willow?'

"Whatever you wish," I said.

"I like just Willow."

"Then just Willow it is."

"Please follow me, Willow," she said, and pivoted like a military parade guard, her posture perfect but as stiff as someone with an imaginary book balanced on her head.

Mother and I smiled at each other and walked behind her.

She led us through the wide and long entryway, down the marble hall to a grand room almost as large as some palace ballroom. The guests were all sipping champagne and plucking hors d'oeuvres from silver trays offered by three waitresses. Two waiters kept everyone's champagne glasses filled.

The guest of honor has arrived!" Whitney cried, and the crowd of at least two dozen or so women stopped talking and turned our way. I saw that everyone from Manon Florette's Club d'Amour was present. Bunny. the Carriage sisters, and some other women I had seen at Jaya del Mar from time to time were seated on the baroque-style settees, each woman looking more wrapped up in her jewelry than the next.

Someone began to applaud, and then they all joined in. Whitney crossed the room quickly to greet us.

"Thank you, Laurel," she told her daughter,

"You're free to do what you wish now."

"Can't I stay. too?"

"No," Whitney said sharply, then smiled at my mother. "How nice to see you someplace else than the back of Joya del Mar. Grace, and you look so pretty, too. What a nice dress."

"Thank you, Whitney," Mother said. Her lips trembled a bit, but she held her smile. I squeezed her arm gently.

"Let me get you two some champagne." She turned and with a simple glance started the closest waiter in our direction. We took our glasses.

"The first toast of the day," Whitney cried, and everyone raised her glass. "To my brother's bride-to-be. Welcome to the looniest family in Palm Beach.'

There was only a ripple of laughter, as though some thought Whitney had made a faux pas referring to anyone being loony.

"I know there are many people you don't know here, Willow, and even you don't know. Grace, so we have designed a fun way to introduce everyone to you. Girls," she cried.

Everyone began to form a circle around the large table between the settees on which Bunny and her friends were sitting. A large straight chair that looked more like a throne was brought up and placed next to the table, upon which was placed a silver bowl. In it were pieces of folded paper.

"Willow," Whitney said. indicating I should take the seat. I looked at Mother, who shook her head and smiled.

"It's all in good fun," Whitney emphasized. I approached the chair and looked toward Manon and the others as I sat. They were all staring at me with tiny smiles on their lips, except for Marjorie, who looked as angry and critical as she had at lunch at the club.

"What is this?" I asked.

"We have asked everyone here to jot down a suggestion as to how to make your marriage successful. You have to pick each one out and read it aloud, and then we'll all try to guess who wrote it.

That will give you an instant idea of what this new friend of yours is like, what she considers important in a marriage," Whitney said, turning and panning her gaze over the guests.

To me they all suddenly looked like little girls at a pajama party about to disclose their heartfelt secrets. I could see the anticipated titillation in their eyes.

Not everyone here is married," I pointed out, gazing at the Club d'Amour.

Whitney pursed her lips, then smiled again.

"But everyone here has her idea of what it takes to make a marriage successful, even the divorced ones. Or should I say, especially the divorced ones?"

she added, and everyone laughed.

"Can't everyone simply introduce herself?" I asked.

"Don't tell us you're afraid of good advice,"

Whitney challenged. "A little thing like that can't frighten a Palm Beach woman, and you're soon to be a Palm Beach woman, right. ladies?"

"Right," they cheered.

I glanced at Mother again. She was still smiling politely, but I saw the look of anxiety in her eyes. She didn't want me to be as uncomfortable as I knew she was. I decided to play along and make it seem as harmless and silly as I could, more for her sake than my own.

"Very well, let the games begin," I declared.

Whitney looked very satisfied. She glanced at Bunny, who nodded at the Carriage sisters. The two looked like they were about to take notes.

I plucked out the first slip of paper and unfolded it. "Read it aloud," Whitney ordered,

"Make him sleep in a separate bedroom so he has to get permission to enter twice," I read, and they all laughed,

"Ladies?" Whitney cried.

"Lucien Castle," they cried, fingers pointing at a woman who looked well into her fifties, despite her obvious face-lift and platinum hair.

"Well, it works for me. Never let them take you for granted," she advised, shaking her head at ine.

"Obviously, my advice has stuck or they wouldn't have known it was my suggestion," she concluded with pride.

"Next," Whitney ordered.

I pinched another slip and opened it.

At least once a month, have him wear your nightgown and you wear his pajamas to bed."

After the laughter, there was silence.

"Ladies?" Whitney asked the guests. Eyes searched faces. "The rule is, if we can't guess it in thirty seconds. You have to step forward.'

The most unlikely suspect in the group did so.

She was a short, plump woman who looked every bit of sixtv-five to seventy.

"Oh. I told some of you about that," she declared. "My first husband and I followed it religiously, and we had a lovely marriage until he died. I'm Jean Blackman, My first husband, Wesley Shaw, had some business dealings with your stepfather Winston, Grace.‖

"Oh, yes." Mother said. although I could see she didn't recall.

"I'm happy to be the one who's the most shocking so far. Apparently, you younger ladies can still use some good advice and are not as exciting in the boudoir as you would have us older ladies believe."

There was laughter, but still restrained by surprise. "You sure this is a good idea?" I whispered to Whitney.

"Absolutely. Look how quickly you're getting to know everyone. Next." she cried, and sipped some champagne.

I chose another and opened it.

"Every time he neglects you, spend twice as much as you did the time before."

"Heather Dresser." the Carriage sisters chanted before anyone else.

"Guilty." a tall, dark-complexioned woman cried, her hands up. She stepped forward. "I've bankrupted two husbands and I'm terrorizing a third. I think he's a faster learner and this one will survive."

Even Mother was laughing at that.

"Heather's wardrobe, if hung in a straight line, would reach her hometown in Canada." Jean Blackman quipped.

"Look who's talking."

"Next," Whitney ordered over the laughter.

I opened another. My silence sent a nervous titter through the party.

"Even if you do the exact opposite of what she suggests, 'yes' your mother-in-law to death."

"That's mine." Marjorie Lane cried before she could be accused. "Willow and I have already met, so she would probably have guessed. My analyst warned me my ex-mother-in-law would get between me and my husband, even in bed.‖

There was a pregnant pause.

"Willow doesn't have to worry about that,"

Bunny finally declared. "My son isn't my type. He's much too serious and responsible."

Laughter of relief followed. Whitney gazed down at me, her eyes sparkling with mischief and glee.

"Go on." she said. "We have to get to the brunch soon." More reluctantly than before. I took out another.

"Always pretend to have multiple orgasms, even if you don't have any. Their sensitive egos need it."

"That fits us all." Heather Dresser declared.

Everyone laughed, but no one was accused, and no one came forward to claim it.

"Well?" Whitney asked the group. her hands on her hips after nearly a minute of silence. "If your husband doesn't satisfy you and you were ashamed to have written it, why did you?"

"Go on to the next one. Whitney," Bunny ordered.

"No. Someone is breaking the rules. It's not fair.

Let me see that," she demanded, seizing the slip from me. She studied it. All right, We'll leave this out on the table by the door. Everyone look at it and put down the name of the person you think matches the handwriting and drop it in the bowl. We'll announce the vote before we leave. Last chance not to be embarrassed," she warned,

"I would rather no one be embarrassed.

Whitney," I said firmly. "This is supposed to be a nice time for me and for all the guests."

"She's right. Whitney," Marion Florette agreed.

"Besides. I'm hungry. Isn't it time to eat?"

A wave of agreement followed. Whitney threw me a glare of anger and disappointment, but quickly changed it to a syrupy smile and relented,

"You'll each just have to introduce yourselves to Willow the old-fashioned way, then." she said.

"Let's move into the garden for our brunch and, following that, we'll have the opening of gifts in the parlor. I have the patio set up for a Viennese dessert feast afterward, and let's not have anyone pretend to be loyal to her diet.

"Why don't you hold on to the rest of those slips. Willow?" she told me sotto voce. "Some of them probably do have good advice written on them."

I put the bowl aside and stood up.

"You should probably save them for someone who will actually need them." I told her.

I saw the way Mother swelled with satisfaction and pride.

Whitney gave me a hollow, thin laugh, and turned to see to the brunch. The guests who hadn't spoken converged on Mother and me, eager to introduce themselves and, to my mind, to speak with Mother almost as much as they spoke to me.

One of the women introduced herself as Arlette Mitchell and told me she was Holden's mother.

"'What a coincidence that you have the same college classes as my son. He's told me all about you."

"Oh?"

She leaned in so those nearby couldn't hear.

"He fell into a nearly fatal depression when he realized you were already engaged to be married. He would die if he knew I'd told you," she added.

I wanted to ask. "So why did you?" but I swallowed the words,

"He's very shy. I told him he just has to keep looking until he finds someone just like you. I didn't get to marry the man I adored when I was Holden's age. You know what they say, you fall in love over and over with the same man, the man who first captured your heart.