I recalled the molding in the farmhouse. That house was as intricate as this, I thought, just not as big or as ornate.
"Every piece of furniture in here is a work of art, imported from Spain or Italy or France, even that backgammon game that no one plays. Do you?" I shook my head.
"I don't know anything about it."
"None of us do. Of course, Wade's mother did. The board is also exactly the way she left it right before she died. Wade's father bought all the art you see hanging. Except for the Lladros, Wade isn't much of a collector of fine things. I'll give Basil credit for that, but he doesn't buy things for their beauty as much as for their financial value. Everything has al-ways been an investment first to him. He's very open about it, too. He isn't ashamed about his pursuit of wealth. I think he even thought of his children as an
investment. Wade's been worth it to him, but Bethany--that's a bust, as far as Basil is concerned. He made her a very expensive wedding, of course, but all he's gotten back in return is disdain from both Bethany and her husband. He isn't attached at all to his grandchildren. He doesn't remember their birthdays. Mrs. Cukor reminds him, or he wouldn't get them a gift. When is your birthday?" she asked. "I forgot."
I told her, and she nodded.
"I'll give it to Mrs. Cukor, and we'll have a big party. The woman doesn't forget anything, no matter how small. This is Wade's office now," she said, pausing at another grand doorway. "Although Basil uses it whenever he wants. Wade's always complaining how he stinks it up with cigar smoke. Occasionally Wade meets with the company business manager in there. Neither of them smoke. Wade doesn't have any vices except one."
"What is that?" I asked before I could hold myself back.
"Me," she replied, and laughed. "I'm kidding, of course. He has his vices, and I have mine, and we don't share them." She laughed again, but it was a drier, more thoughtful laugh.
What an odd thing to tell me, I thought.
She opened the office doors, and we stepped inside. Large windows with shutters rather than curtains looked out on the north side, where I could see the pool, cabana, gazebo, and tennis courts. A pair of grounds workers were pruning bushes and cutting grass.
"His father's personal things are still all locked in that safe--jewels and guns and money and who knows what else. Wade doesn't even known the combination," she said, nodding at a standing safe that looked like it came from a bank.
The furniture in the office wasn't any less impressive than the furniture in the living room. The center-piece was the grand dark cherry-wood desk and the leather office chair. Everything on the desk looked neatly organized. There were bookcases here as well, computer equipment on separate tables, and another desk to the right and a fax machine. Behind the desk on the right were wooden file cabinets. The floor was slate with two area rugs. On the wall directly behind the desk was the picture of an attractive, elegantly dressed woman wearing a string of pearls. Dressed in an off-shoulder black gown, she was standing in what looked to be the front entrance of this house with a smile like the Mona Lisa's, a smile that fills you with questions.
The first question was obvious.
"Who is that?"
"That's Wade's mother when she was in her twenties. The stress and worry isn't written into her face yet."
"She was very pretty."
"Yes, but when a man has eyes that wander, a pretty wife makes almost no difference." She laughed. "Some men are just not meant to be in monogamous relationships. Of course, Basil always says he has so much to offer a woman, why waste it on only one? Typical remark from a male chauvinist. Sometimes I think men are born insecure from the moment the umbilical cord is cut, and they then have to spend the rest of their lives proving themselves bigger, smarter, better."
She held her gaze on the desk and chair as if someone was sitting there, and then she clapped her hands and turned to me.
"Why are we spending so much time on all this? Let's get right up to your bedroom. I can't wait for you to see it!"
We left the office and turned left to the gently curved stairway. It had dark wood steps and a beautiful mahogany balustrade with spindle inserts. As we approached the bottom steps, Mrs. Cukor appeared at the top. She stood there, looming over us. The sight of her, appearing as though out of thin air, stopped Ami instantly.
"Oh. Is everything ready, Mrs. Cukor?"
"All her things have been put away, and her bed's turned down," she replied.
"She unpacked my suitcases?" I asked.
"Of course," Ami said. "I told you. You're going to be spoiled here."
She started up.
"Wait," Mrs. Cukor cried, holding her hand out like a traffic policeman.
"What is it?" Ami asked.
"Let the girl go first," she said. "It's her first time coming up."
"Oh, Mrs. Cukor." Ami sighed and turned to me. "Her damn superstitions. Go on. Make her happy, or she'll end up sprinkling some sort of powder over the floor, and we'll never hear the end of it."
I smiled in confusion and then started up the stairs. All the while Mrs. Cukor fixed her eyes on me with great scrutiny. I had the sense that she wanted me to ascend the stairway first so she could concentrate on me. I didn't turn away. Instead, I met her gaze with my own. Suddenly, I saw her eyes widen and her eyebrows lift slightly as I drew closer. When I was very close, she stepped back quickly so I wouldn't brush against her. I heard her whisper something in her native language.
"Satisfied?" Ami asked her, following me up quickly.
Mrs. Cukor said nothing. She crossed herself and then hurried down the stairs.
"I've got to speak to Wade about her," Ami said, looking after her. "She's getting very odd in her old age, very odd. She's always talking to herself."
Maybe she's not as odd as you think, I thought. Maybe she could see through my eyes at the spiritual memories I kept locked within me.
"To your room!" Ami cried, and charged forward as if we were on an attack.
I hurried to catch up to her down the hallway, which was lit by a line of evenly spaced smaller chandeliers because there were no windows.
"Your room is directly across from Wade's and mine," she said, pausing.
All the bedrooms had eggshell white double door-ways with gold moldings and brass fixtures, and all were as tall as the ones below, at least nine or ten feet.
"Ready?" Ami said, turning to me with her hands behind her on the doorknobs.
"Yes," I said, smiling.
"Ta-da!" she cried, and opened the doors.
Could the princess of any country sleep in a more grand and beautiful bedroom? I wondered. It made my room at the Prescotts' house look like a room in a bungalow. I had never slept in such an elaborate king-size canopy bed. It had white and pink bedding, the blanket turned down at a perfect folded angle. In front of the arched headboard, which had a pair of angels embossed on it, were more pillows than I had ever seen on a single bed. There was a white netting down the sides of the bed, which was set on a very large, fluffy mauve rug. And there were softlooking fur-lined slippers as well.
The windows she had pointed out to me when we first drove up to the house were draped in sheer white curtains with sun-blocking shades to pull down. To the right was a beautiful antique vanity table with a gilded oval mirror, on the frame of which were also embossed angels. I saw new brushes and combs and a hair drier.
I simply stood gaping. It was as if I was afraid that stepping forward would make it all disappear.
"Well?" Ami asked.
"It's . . . beautiful, the most beautiful bedroom I've ever seen."
She laughed.
"I think I enjoy the look on your face more than anything." She ran her hand over the vanity table. "I didn't get you any makeup yet. We'll do that together, and we'll get you perfume and body talcum powders, all the things you've probably never had," Ami said.
I was speechless, caught in a storm of promises and luxuries.
"I want you to be as equipped out there as I am,
" she continued. "That way, we will be more like sisters."
Sisters? She had said that in Mother Higgins's office, too, but something about the way she said it this time caught my attention. I looked at her, at the way she was smiling at me. Was that what she really wanted? I wondered. Was that why she was doing all this? Where were her close friends, her own surrogate sisters? She hadn't mentioned anyone to me, or anything she did with other young women.
"Your clothes look pathetic in this walk-in closet," she said when she opened the door. They did, because there was so much empty space, so many empty hangers. "We'll correct that right away. I expect to take you to the finest restaurants, and maybe we'll attend some of these charity functions I keep getting invited to. Usually they're boring and full of phonies, but I think you and I can have fun, don't you?"
"Yes," I said, even though the way she said, "You and I can have fun," made it sound like far more than just attending a charity event. I tried to look excited and happy about anything she suggested. At this moment I wanted to please her every way I could.
"This is your private phone line," she said, lifting the pink phone receiver on the matching bedside table. "There's another phone on your vanity table," she pointed out. "I had them installed just yesterday. The unlisted number is five five five, four two four two. Be very select about whom you give the number, especially selective about the boys you meet at school. There are many vipers in the garden," she warned.
I raised my eyebrows.
"Oh, you're wondering how I went ahead and set all this up for you, how I knew you'd agree to come, or how I knew it would all work out? It didn't matter," she said, answering her own question. "I was determined, and when I'm determined, I usually get what I want. Again, Wade thinks that's because I'm spoiled, and again, he's right." She laughed and then opened a cabinet on a wall across from the bed. "Your television and sound system, Your Majesty," she said. "I just love lying in bed and watching television, don't you?"
I shrugged. I had never done it. Even the Prescotts hadn't put a television set in my room for me. What could I say?
"Oh, that's right. You probably never had a television set where you slept. Well, you're going to have a lot of things you've never had before," she said, almost like a threat.
She walked to the bathroom door and opened it, stepping back, a wide, almost clownish smile on her face. I approached slowly and looked. Beside the marble tub there was a separate, tiled shower stall, mirrors everywhere, a bidet as well as a toilet, and another vanity table. The floor was all marble tile. A terrycloth robe hung on the wall beside it, and there was another pair of slippers under it.
"I had this bathroom redone just a month ago," she said. "Well? Do you like it?"
Did I like it? What could I say? For years I had been sharing a bathroom with a half dozen other girls. We actually had to schedule our showers and baths.
"Fantastic?"
"Yes."
"Good. Make a big deal of it at dinner. Wade's such a tightwad. I call him a Tight Wade for fun. Nothing is ever necessary, according to him. He'll argue with someone over a dollar and tells me constantly that just because we're wealthy doesn't mean we have to be stupid about spending money. Well, I like being stupid when it comes to spending money. I dream sometimes of casting it about like chicken feed in malls. It was never important to me, and I've never lived on a budget. You should see the way Wade keeps our books. I think he knows exactly how much each fixture costs to run, each light. He's always going around the house turning off lights, but he better not think he can come in here and invade your privacy," she warned.
"And don't think you have to eat every morsel on your plate tonight, or any time. I know how they made a big deal of waste at your orphanage, but this isn't an orphanage. Those days are gone for good for you. Wade will come up with silly old expressions like Waste not, want not. And don't let Mrs. McAlister intimidate you with her glaring looks, either. If something doesn't taste right, spit it out on the plate. I do. Sometimes," she confessed, "I do it even if it does taste good, just to keep her in her place or to annoy Wade.
"Don't misunderstand me. I love him, but I also love teasing him. He's so . . . teasable. Is there a word like that?"
"I don't think so," I said.
"I don't care. We can make up our own words here if we like. In fact, there is nothing we can't do if we feel like doing it. Don't be shy. Ask for anything you want or need. I do, and as I promised, we're going to be like sisters," she emphasized. "Do you have to go to the bathroom or anything?"
"I suppose," I said. "Yes."
"Well, go do your business and then come to my bedroom immediately. We don't have time to go shop-ping before tonight's special dinner, but I have some things that will most definitely fit you. I'll start sorting them out and pick out a couple I think would work," she said. "Welcome to your new home," she added, and hugged me quickly before hurrying out. I stood looking after her, gaped about at everything for a moment in disbelief, and then went to the bathroom.
Afterward I followed her to the master bedroom. It was twice as large as mine, with a separate sitting area and another large-screen television set. The bed looked even bigger than kingsize. It was draped in a gold canopy with red silk bedding. There was a large, more decorative chandelier hanging in front of it. The walls were done in a technique she called faux paint. It made them looked like pink-colored leather.
Her vanity table extended almost the length of the wall on the right, with mirrors all the way. There were two master bathrooms, a his and a hers. She laughed and told me Wade kept his much neater and cleaner than she kept hers.
"He's very prissy about his things," she explained, and opened his walk-in closet to show me how he had all his clothes arranged by colors and styles. "You see how all of his shoes have a perfect shine as well," she pointed out. "He'd rather have heels and soles redone than buy new ones. I have to shame him into going shopping for himself. I ridicule his styles and tell him he's so out of date he'll make a bad impression on business associates. That works most of the time. You'll hear him complain about me and tell you he has to be thrifty about his own things because I'm not about mine. Don't believe a word of it. We're very, very rich," she declared, making it sound more like a condition than an achievement.
"You see our bed," she continued. "I had it made special. There isn't another like it anywhere, and it cost five times what something close to it would cost in a store. Wade has actually figured out how much it costs us per sleep. I think it's something like five dollars a night for fifty years. He can be so ridiculous when it comes to money, but I love him," she added, almost as though she had promised never to say anything negative about him without adding that at the end.
"I have everything sorted out," she said, taking me to her walk-in closet. It was larger and longer than Wade's, but it looked like one more dress or even a skirt would cause it to explode.
She held out two dresses, one black and one a kelly green.
"Try them on," she instructed, and stepped back. "You're not shy, are you? step out if you are."
"No," I said. "Where I've been, you lose that pretty quickly if you've ever had it."
"Oh, of course. You poor, poor dear. I'm so happy we can do this for you. No one should have to go through what you've been through," she said.
She stepped forward and toyed with my hair for a moment.
"We're going to my beauty parlor immediately tomorrow. You need conditioning and then some styling. Your forehead is a little low and narrow, and your face broadens at the jaw just like mine. You need to give the impression of a wider forehead and eye area. More bounce in your bangs, or maybe a longer, collar-length bob would do it. What do you think of my hair-style?" she asked, turning to show me the rear and sides.
"It's nice."
"Yes, it is. It works. We'll have my personal stylist, Dawn, do yours. I get the best people to work on me, and so will you. Well, go on, silly. Try the dresses."
She stepped b
ack again. I began to undress. I wasn't lying about not having the luxury of modesty while living most of my life in orphanages. Privacy was rare. As soon as a girl got her first period, the whole population who could understand what it meant knew. We showered and even went to the bathroom in front of each other.
And yet there was something about the way Ami was looking at me as I took off my clothing that made me a little nervous. I could feel her eyes examining my body.
"Oh, you don't wear a bra with these dresses," she told me. "It's all right," she added when I hesitated. "I haven't worn a bra with any dress for years."
I reached back to undo my bra, and she immediately moved forward to help. Still a little hesitant, I slipped my bra off slowly.
"You have wonderful, perky breasts," she said. "Just like me. That black dress is going to look very sexy on you. Any man who looks at you will feel his eyes popping. I love that feeling, that power over the so-called stronger sex. The truth is, we can lead them along like puppies on a leash."
I held the dress up before me. The slinky halter gown had a laced-up front and double-sided anklelength slit skirt. I had never worn anything remotely like it.
"Go on, try it," she said. "I have matching thongs for it, too."
It fit me snugly, but it seemed to me that half my bosom was revealed. Was that proper, what she wanted me to look like for my first dinner here with her husband and father-in-law?
"Oh, you look great in it."
"But is this okay for a family dinner?" I asked.
"Of course it is." She smiled. "Wade's father, Basil, loves to see women in sexy clothing. But if you're uncomfortable, try on this one," she said, holding up the slinky green tube dress with rhinestone detailing.
It looked like almost nothing to me. How could it be any different?
"I have thongs to match this one, too. Go on, try it on," she urged.
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