Red Curtains

by Leanna Sain

  Before she could answer, a sudden whoosh swept through the room, causing my candle to sputter and dance, almost go out. A flashy, Clark Gable-ish young man postured before us, acting like we should be asking for his autograph. His dark hair was parted in the middle and slicked back with more than just the prescribed dab of Brylcreem. He wore a thin mustache, a velveteen cutaway over a silk striped vest. A white ruffle frothed under his chin, and leotard-tight pants accentuated the fact that he was a man. I averted my eyes, a little embarrassed.

  My sister’s expression went from disgruntled to simpering in an instant and she hurried to his side. “Barry! You’re late,” she pouted. “I was beginning to think you’d stood me up.”

  He reached for her hand and gave it a lingering kiss, while his dark eyes devoured her. “Nevah, my dahling.”

  Oh, brother!

  “Lily,” she turned to me, her voice a little breathless. “I’d like you to meet, Sir Beryl Belvoir, from Charleston. Barry, this is my sister, Lily Telfair-Gordon.”

  He clicked his heels and bowed his head slightly my direction. “Verrah pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am.” He glanced down at Rose. “Shall we go?”

  “Yes. I want to show you the bridge I was telling you about.”

  “Oh, mademoiselle, as I told you, Chahleston’s Ravenel Bridge is both biggah and longah than your little bridge he-ah.”

  “And like I told you,” she tucked her hand in the bend of his arm and turned him toward the door. “Talmadge Memorial came first. That makes it the original. The Charleston folks had to make theirs bigger to hide the fact that they couldn’t come up with anything better than a copy. Just a minute, Barry.” Rose sent me a considering glance. “In answer to your question…maybe. I’ll think about it.”

  Without opening the door, they were gone, and I was alone with my thoughts.

  ****

  The wind trundled the last of the clouds out toward the Atlantic Ocean. There was Orion. The three stars that make up his belt were barely visible above the roofline of the building next door. It was the only constellation I could always find. More stars were blinking into view as the clouds moved east. The scene was the perfect analogy. I felt like those stars, straining through the clouds, to light the path in front of me, fearful of the next step, afraid of the future. Following my sister’s advice, I’d kept myself in a safe little cocoon, sealing others out and myself in. I’d done it for years, and other than giving me a very lonely life, it’d caused me to nearly lose myself, as well as the art of conversation. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed people, needed them. Rose said that I sounded different now, and it was true. Cleo had dragged me out of my cocoon. That child had done and said exactly the right things, pulling me back into living life instead of watching it from the sidelines. She’d saved me…was still saving me.

  I wanted to include my sister in my friendship with Cleo. It’s the reason I’d asked for her help. Would she be able to find out anything? I hoped so, for Cleo’s sake. I knew, first hand, the results of bitterness. I was living proof of it. I’d been blaming God for Rose’s death and Michael’s betrayal for all these years, and look where it got me. I couldn’t help but wonder what my life would’ve been like if I’d chosen a different path.

  But I couldn’t go back and undo the past.

  My fingers rubbed the red fabric of my curtains, enjoying the silky feel. They used to be a deep, rich color, like burgundy wine, almost the exact shade of Rose’s hair. I found them stuffed in someone’s garbage can years ago. Grabbed them up, quick as a flash, and brought them back here. They’ve faded a lot over the years, sort of like me. I touched my face, traced the grooves. Time had sure etched its mark. Not like Rose. She’d forever be young and beautiful. Never old and wrinkled like this.

  If she’d lived, she’d be seventy-two now. Seventy-two! I tried to imagine her that age, and couldn’t. There’d have been no aging gracefully with her, either. Every wrinkle, every age spot, every gray hair, she would’ve fought with the diligence of a Roman soldier. She’d have hated growing old.

  Up until the day of the wreck, she’d led a charmed life, It wasn’t that people overlooked her faults; they didn’t even see them. Her smile did it. She’d turn on that smile and all annoyance would melt away. Yes, she was a bit of a diva, but that came with the territory, right? That’s what actresses did. She was spoiled and had an ego as big as the state of Georgia, but everyone ignored that in the face of her beauty.

  “I’m a people person, Lily.” I heard her say it a million times. “I need people. Can’t help it. It’s in my DNA. The doctor told me. I have an actual, physical need for people, just like breathing.” She’s always used this “proof” whenever I compared my near-exile with her ever-growing list of ghost-friends.

  Whatever the reason, she’d been perfect for the limelight; receiving rave reviews for every performance; her fans and paparazzi clamoring to see her. All she had to do was hint at something she wanted, some tiny desire, and people scrambled to make it happen. Maybe that made it harder for her to die so young.

  Part of me envied her. I tried not to; after all, she was dead, and she deserved a few perks, but it almost seemed like Rose was jealous of me.

  Ha! Even thinking such a thing was ridiculous. Why should she be jealous of me having a relationship with Cleo? It didn’t make any sense.

  Well, whatever the reason, her advice had been wrong. Shutting down and living life in my own little world was not the answer. It only shut off my senses…my awareness. If I’d been aware of things like I should have been, the counterfeiting activity going on in the basement would’ve never happened. I’d have noticed. Oh, it might’ve happened somewhere else in the city…wickedness will always work its way to the surface, like a splinter under the skin; bad guys will always find a way to be bad, but it wouldn’t have happened here.

  But because I’d met Cleo against her advice, Rose was mad at me, which was novel for both of us. She was so used to people obeying her every command, bowing to her every whim, that she didn’t know how to handle someone overriding her guidance. Had it always been this bad? Or had she just gotten worse about it after she died? I racked my brain, trying to remember something specific. Well, of course, there was the issue with Michael, but I didn’t like to think about that. It made me feel so blind and stupid, even now. How could I have been so naïve? I thought he loved me. I’d been planning to marry him, for heaven’s sake. Thank goodness Rose showed me what kind of a man he’d really been.

  But had she?

  No! I squashed the little voice as soon as it whispered the question. Rose loved me. She’d never do anything to hurt me. Michael had been no good. Hadn’t Rose proven that when she’d seen him with that other woman? She’d helped keep me from an even bigger heartbreak.

  Really? The little voice whispered again.

  I whirled from the window. My impatient fingers fumbled with the laces of my boots before kicking them off. Shivering, I crawled onto my pallet, and huddled under several layers of threadbare blankets, staring at nothing.

  The niggling doubt that I’d never allowed myself to even consider before, loomed to the front of my brain. If Rose had been wrong about Cleo, could she have been wrong about Michael, too? There’d never been any proof other than Rose’s word. No pictures…nothing. Only her word. I didn’t even give him a chance to defend himself. As soon as she dropped the bombshell, I immediately broke things off with him. That had been Rose’s advice too. She vowed that a clean break was the best way; that listening to his lies would only prolong the pain; that she only wanted what was best for me. She didn’t want me to be hurt.

  I compared that long ago advice to that she’d given concerning Cleo. What if I’d listened to her? Look at all I’d have missed. All the emotions I never would’ve felt…

  My mind and heart rebelled at the idea that was trying to form. No! It was impossible! Rose would never do something to deliberately hurt me. She was my big sister and she loved me.

>   Didn’t she?

  Wavering shadows, created by candlelight, danced along the walls, and seemed to only intensify the question. I rolled to my side, blowing out the candle with a single impatient puff. A ribbon of smoke scented the air with melted wax as I lay on my pallet, eyes wide and staring at the dim light filtering through the red curtains. Doubts mushroomed, crowded my mind. My heart pounded.

  What if Michael had never been false? What if Rose had made up the whole story? My heart clenched. No, why would she do that? Rose had everything…beauty, confidence, a star-spangled career, crowds clamoring to see her…everything!

  Everything…but a man who truly loved her, the little voice argued. Oh, yes, there were always throngs of men following around after Rose, men like Barry Belvoir, vying for her attention, plying her with flowers, and even jewelry, hoping for her favors in return…a smile, a kiss…more? But there’d never been one special man, someone like Michael, someone who—

  Stop it!

  Too late. The thoughts kept coming, relentless as the tide.

  Was it possible that Rose had been jealous because I had something she didn’t? Or maybe she’d not wanted to share me with Michael. Maybe she’d wanted all of my love, not just part of it. Rose never liked to share. Whenever there was any sharing to be done, it had always been me who’d done it; never the other way around.

  And Michael…I pressed my fist to my lips, trapping the cry of anguish. Sweet, sweet Michael… If Rose had lied, and he’d never been untrue, that would mean I had been wrong about love all these years. It wasn’t doomed from the start. It didn’t have to end in heartbreak.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and groaned, “What have I done? What have I done?”

  Tears coursed down my cheeks, dampening the blankets as I faced my greatest fear…the fear that I’d wasted my life on a lie; that Michael had never done anything wrong.

  Pain ripped and squeezed my heart; regret lashed at me. I choked back the sob that wrenched up from deep inside me, but wasn’t strong enough to fight for long. The pull of despair was too great, and I finally gave in to the storm of emotion washing over me. It pulled me down, down into its depths.

  I think I slept a while, but when I awoke I drew a deep, shuddering breath, sleeving the tears from my face. My mind was made up. I’d face Rose later, confront her with my suspicions…demand the truth, but even if Rose had been right and Michael had played me false, I had no reason to undermine Cleo’s interest in Jonas…an interest he obviously returned. I didn’t want Cleo to be hurt, but I’d been basing all romantic relationships on my supposed failed one with Michael. Jonas was a different man, and Cleo deserved a chance to make her own mistakes, her own discoveries…whatever they might be.

  “I won’t torpedo…that relationship…again,” I whispered brokenly in the dark through trembling lips. “I promise.”

  ****

  “G’morning, Raymond,” I called out as I approached his bench. He wore a Santa hat and was busily folding palm fronds. He raised a hand in greeting, but kept right on working. No time, he told me without speaking. Customers are waiting. Yes, and he was delivering. His musical voice was casting its spell, and he glowed with pride and satisfaction.

  Raymond’s “good days”—the days he was in his right mind and aware of his surroundings, the days he made roses as opposed to the days he spent scribbling in his notebook—were infrequent at best, so I changed directions, aiming toward another bench to wait for Cleo. I wasn’t about to mess up his chance at making a little cash. As far as I knew, it was his only income and five dollars a pop wasn’t much.

  Rose never showed up this morning, which was probably for the best. I wasn’t ready to face her just yet. I still had a lot of things to process before I could get my thoughts in order. Right now, everything was still too chaotic. It would take some time.

  I found a bench with a clear view of Raymond and took a seat. I couldn’t help my grin as I watched his performance. I’d never really appreciated his showmanship before. When I’d shut down my emotions all those years ago, it seemed to have blinded me as well, so now I watched with new eyes…eyes that could really see.

  “When you change the way you look at things, you change the way things look,” I whispered the words aloud, meaning them like I never had before.

  Raymond smiled his snaggle-toothed smile, presenting his finished masterpiece to his delighted audience, and receiving his payment with a humble nod. He tucked the bill discreetly into his pocket, and bid them a Merry Christmas, as they strolled away, chattering their admiration for his work. He was definitely good at what he did. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him not getting paid.

  The whole scenario reminded me of the quote by Henry Van Dyke: Use what talents you possess. The woods would be very silent if no birds sang except those who sang the best. Raymond might have problems on his bad days, but on his good days, he lived out Mr. Van Dyke’s message to the fullest.

  “It’s fun to watch him in action, isn’t it?”

  I jumped in surprise, putting a hand to my heart. “Gracious, child! Are you trying to scare a poor, old woman to death? You need a hat with bells on it, too, so I can hear you coming.”

  Cleo laughed. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but don’t think they make hats like that anymore.”

  “That’s exactly what Rose said.”

  Cleo’s smile faded a little and her eyes darted around.

  I laughed. “Don’t worry. She’s not here.”

  “Okay…sorry I startled you,” her voice sounded relieved. “Ready to go?”

  “I kind of wanted to pay a visit to Raymond first, if you don’t mind. I was waiting for him to finish with those customers.” I nodded toward the departing tourists. “His good days seem to be getting fewer and farther between, so I feel like I need to take advantage of this one. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Not a bit.”

  Raymond looked up with a grin as we approached. “Top o’ the mornin’ to you ladies and Merry Christmas! How in the world are you?”

  “Doing fine, my friend…doing fine,” I replied as I settled on the bench beside him. “I like your hat. You look very Christmas-y.”

  His grin widened and his booming, “Ho, ho, ho!” caused Cleo to dissolve into giggles.

  I just smiled and shook my head. “So what have you been up to lately?”

  His face instantly sobered and he glanced around as if making sure no one could hear before leaning toward me and whispering. “I may not be havin’ to do much more of this rose-makin’ gig. I got something in the works that’s gonna have me sittin’ in high cotton soon.” He nodded his head, giving me an exaggerated wink.

  “What do you mean?”

  He sat back, hooking his thumbs under imaginary galluses, fingers waving proudly. “Ol’ Raymond…he’s gettin’ ready to make his way down easy street. Can’t tell you no more than that. Just that I won’t have to be makin’ palmetto roses for five bucks a pop no more. Maybe on the side, but not for a livin’.”

  “You have a rich uncle die and leave you millions, Raymond?” Cleo kidded.

  He shook his head. “Nah! Don’t need me one of them.”

  “C’mon, Raymond,” I cajoled. “Give us another hint. You can’t leave us hanging like that.”

  “Nope, my lips are sealed. I been sworn to secrecy, you know.” He pulled an imaginary zipper across his mouth.

  Before I could question him further, a man approached the bench. It seemed a little odd that he was by himself. Most of Raymond’s audiences were couples or groups or families, but this fellow was alone. A wary expression crossed Raymond’s face for a split second before he turned on his showmanship appeal.

  I studied my friend carefully. Did his smile seem forced? His performance a little too enthusiastic? The thought made me glance back at his intended audience. The man had that muscle-bound look that serious body builders have. He was wearing a black leather jacket, stretched taut over his muscular shoulders. I prided myself on
being able to read people well, and I was willing to bet this guy was a bouncer for some exclusive club or else a bodyguard. Whoever he was, his expressions never lightened, even when Raymond switched on the charm. “Good morning to you, sir. Would you care to have me demonstrate the art of creating a rose from this ordinary palmetto palm leaf?”

  I motioned to Cleo. “Let’s leave him to his work.” Then I tapped him on the shoulder. “Bye, Raymond. See you around.”

  He reached up and tipped his Santa hat. “You have yourself a good day, Miz Lily…Miz Cleo. Merry Christmas!”

  “Yeah, Merry Christmas, Raymond,” Cleo replied and bounced to her feet.

  “Yes, I hope you do, too.” I was a bit slower getting to my feet. My glance flicked up to meet the dark, unsmiling eyes of the man in the leather jacket, and I frowned before adding, “…and be careful.”

  ****

  Cleo immediately began chattering away about what she hoped to get done for the day; that she had some ideas brewing for the actual story-line for her painting project and wanted to get some sketches to illustrate those ideas. Then there was something about her cat, and something about Minnie, but my mind wasn’t really following it too closely. I was thinking about what Raymond said about being on easy street. What had he meant by that? Whatever it was made me nervous, slightly on edge. And that man in the black jacket hadn’t helped any.

  I shook my head, causing my silver bells to jingle and hoped it would send the negative thoughts flying away. I had another day to spend with Cleo, and I didn’t want anything to cast a shadow over it. I could mull over Raymond’s words later.

  Nudging Cleo with my elbow, I tilted my head at the window of the shop we were passing. Whoever had designed the display had gone completely overboard with way too many Christmas lights, tinsel, Santa, reindeer, Frosty the snowman, and various other holiday related trimmings. “Here’s a bit of advice they need to adhere to when doing any future Christmas decorating, and you can use it too: there’s a fine line between white-trash and festive!”

  Cleo burst out laughing and linked arms with me. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep it in mind.”