Ready for Love

by Catherine Maiorisi

  Three sets of green eyes were on Renee as she lifted her fork. Damn, she hadn’t thought this through. What if the pancakes were awful? Was she risking damaging her fragile connection with the girls? Her mother’s advice about Constance’s paintings popped into her head, find something you like and mention that, tell the truth gently. She took the first bite of pancake and chewed slowly. Thank heavens they were delicious. “Yum. Am I being too piggy to ask for seconds before I’ve even finished my firsts?”

  The girls giggled and reassured her she could have as many as she wanted. Chloe passed the platter to Renee. “Thank you for inviting me for brunch. Do you both enjoy cooking?”

  Chloe put her orange juice down. “We both cook. Cara’s better at eggs and pancakes and breakfast things than I am, so she usually does them, but we both like to do dinners.”

  “Where did you learn to cook?”

  The girls giggled again. “We learned from our fabulous live-in cook, a very lovely woman named Lady Constance Worthington. She taught us everything we know.”

  Renee turned to Constance. “No live-in cook? You actually cook?”

  “Yes. To both questions.” Constance blushed. “It’s not so outlandish, you know.”

  “I knew you were a woman of many talents but somehow I pictured you the lady of the manor eating chocolates while the cook and the butler and—”

  The laughter of the three blond beauties stopped Renee short. “What? No chocolates?”

  Chloe was the first to gain control. “No, Renee, no servants. We were so embarrassed…” The three of them went off again, obviously a family joke. “We were the only ones in our posh school without tons of servants.” She cracked up again.

  Constance put her hand on top of Renee’s. “Sorry, we’re being so silly. Nigel and I didn’t want a house full of servants. We decided we could open our own doors, dress ourselves and drive our own car but neither of us liked to clean house or garden so we had people come in to do those things. We both loved to cook, though I did most of it since he worked, and I was at home caring for the girls and painting. The girls helped Nigel and me cook and clean up from a very early age. As I remember, you cook as well.”

  Constance’s hand was warm and Renee kept her hand still to prolong the contact. “I do cook, though not as often as I would like. And I too learned by working with my mom.”

  Chloe clapped her hands. “Ooh, tell us about growing up in Paris.”

  Renee kept them laughing with stories, some of which seemed hilarious in retrospect but were far from funny at the time. They, even Constance, were intrigued to hear about growing up with four siblings so much older than her, that some of her nieces and nephews were around her age, about the number of nieces and nephews and grandnieces and grandnephews she had, and how hard it was to keep them all straight since she only saw them a few times a year.

  With somewhat anxious glances at Constance, Chloe and Cara volunteered some funny stories about their adventures with their dad. Constance laughed along with them and added a comment or two, but she mostly listened, though she seemed to enjoy their easy camaraderie.

  Chloe and Cara exchanged a look, then Cara spoke. “Why do you wear men’s clothing, Renee?” She glanced at Constance as if expecting to be scolded.

  Chloe jumped in before Renee could answer. “We mean it looks very wonderful on you but we just wondered why.”

  Renee wasn’t surprised at the question. She was surprised at the directness of it. “I guess the most obvious answer is I feel good dressing this way. The day I started wearing men’s clothing, I felt comfortable with myself in a way that I never had before. I can’t really explain it any better than that.” She smiled to signal she wasn’t upset by the question.

  “But do you want to be a man?” Chloe asked.

  Renee didn’t hesitate. “No. The clothing expresses a part of me but I’m very happy to be a woman.”

  The twins did that silent communication thing again. This time Cara asked the question. “Are you a lesbian?”

  Constance opened her mouth but Renee put a hand up to stop her before she could say anything. “Yes, I am. Does that upset you?”

  “No.” The girls answered immediately. “We just wanted to know for sure,” Chloe said. “Is it all right that we asked?” Cara said.

  “Yes,” Renee said. “Feel free to ask me anything you want. And if it’s something I don’t want to discuss, I’ll let you know. Is that fair?”

  They nodded. “So we have another question.” Chloe once again looked at Constance. “You’re very beautiful. Given your height, your high cheekbones, gorgeous eyes and beautiful lips, we were wondering whether you ever thought about modeling? Do you look like your mum?”

  Constance stood abruptly. “All right, I think that’s enough personal questions for today. Why don’t you clear the table and clean up the kitchen. Then maybe we can all take a walk in Riverside Park.”

  Renee took hold of Constance’s arm. “It’s all right, Constance. Please sit.” She tugged Constance back down. “It’s natural to be curious. And I meant what I said about wanting you all to feel free to ask me anything.” Her gaze moved from one to the other of them.

  “I modeled when I was in graduate school to pick up some extra money. I even got to model men’s clothing twice which was unusual at the time, but being prodded and posed, and standing around waiting between shots bored me. I wanted to do something that interested me with my life so I stopped after I graduated.

  “As for my looks, I do look like my African-American mom. We have the same high cheekbones, same shaped eyes and full lips plus the same body type.”

  Cara frowned. “But you’re white.”

  “I’m biracial, Cara. My blue eyes, skin color and height come from my dad, who is a white French guy. I look white, but in reality, I’m as much black, as I am white.”

  “Oh, like Prince Harry’s Meghan?”

  “Yes, exactly. Do you have any black or mixed-race friends?”

  “Our friend Radha in London has an Indian mom and English dad,” Chloe said. “And, here in the States, our friends Nora and Sarah are twins like us, and they’re mixed something or other but we don’t know what. They all have darker complexions than you, though.”

  The twins had another silent consultation. “So you pass as white?” Chloe said. She seemed almost afraid to ask.

  “That’s a hard question. As Cara said, I look white so most people assume I am. I don’t run around making announcements to the general world about my race or my sexuality, but anyone who knows me, knows I’m biracial, like they know I’m a lesbian.” Renee met Constance’s eyes.

  Constance nodded. “That is correct. And now I really think that’s enough questions for today. Go clean up. Give me and Renee some privacy, please.”

  The twins seemed deflated as they stood and started clearing the table. Renee did not want the day to end on a down note so she stood, put an arm over each girl, and pulled them both close. “Thank you, Chloe and Cara, for a delicious breakfast. I had a lot of fun. Remember what I said. You can ask me anything about anything whenever you want. Can I get a hug?”

  They had a three-way hug. “Before you go, I’m looking into getting reservations for us to go ice skating in Rockefeller Center, but I was thinking we could go to the rink in Central Park first, just to practice so we don’t look foolish in such a public place. Is that all right with the three of you?”

  “Yes,” Then, coordinated as usual, the girls hugged her again and bubbling with excitement about ice skating, carried the dishes into the kitchen.

  Renee locked eyes with Constance, not sure what to expect. Was Constance upset? Was it because she was forthcoming about being biracial?

  Constance broke the contact. “I’d like to get some air. Take a walk with me.”

  “Sure.” Shit. She was in trouble. Well, she wouldn’t lie to the girls or to anyone who asked a direct question. Constance would just have to deal with it.

  Constance move
d into the doorway of the kitchen. “Chloe and Cara, after you clean up please finish your homework. Renee and I are going out for about a half hour.”

  “Is Renee coming back, Mums?” Renee couldn’t tell which twin asked because they sounded the same but it was most likely Chloe.

  “We’ll see.” Constance led Renee to the hall closet and pulled out both their coats.

  They were silent in the elevator. Once on the street, Constance put her arm through Renee’s and led her across the street to walk on the park side of Riverside Drive. Renee clutched Constance’s arm close to her body. If she was ever going to ask this question, now was the time. “When you made the decision to leave Stanford, to leave me, was it because I’m biracial?”

  Constance stopped and turned, pulling her arm away from Renee. She glared at Renee. “It never entered my mind. The fact that you are a woman, the fact I was committed to marry a man, the pressure to be a good daughter, the training from birth to be a good royal, loyalty to my country, those were the things that fueled my running away from you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell the girls I’m biracial?”

  Constance moved closer and grabbed both of Renee’s biceps. “God, Renee, it’s not the first thing that comes to mind. I might say you’re a tall, beautiful butch who wears men’s clothing, or that you have compelling blue bedroom eyes, or that you’re sexy and good in bed. I might also add you’re intelligent and charming. Or I might say I thought about you every single day after I ran away from you. Somehow the fact that you’re biracial has never seemed that important to me.” She dropped her hands. “I’m sorry.” She walked away.

  “Oh.” Renee stared after her then followed. When she caught up, she took Constance’s arm. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you of hiding it. It’s…I’ve just become aware in therapy that I use being biracial to explain being rejected. In my mind, that was why you left me.”

  Constance didn’t respond, just kept walking. Renee waited. Finally, Constance broke the silence. “Of course I knew you were biracial since practically the first thing you told me after your name, was that your mother was African-American and your father was a white Frenchman. And you did it again with Chloe and Cara. But I promise it wasn’t an issue then and isn’t now. I left for all the reasons I mentioned earlier. You seem so confident and make no attempt to pass even though you could. I’m surprised to hear it’s an issue for you.”

  “I was surprised too.” Renee laughed. “I think I declare I’m biracial to head off anyone thinking I’m trying to pass. But I’m still exploring the issue in therapy so maybe we should leave it until I have more clarity.”

  Constance looked up at Renee. “I’m happy to talk whenever you’re ready. I appreciate your willingness to be honest with me and your willingness to answer the twins’ questions fully and truthfully.” She laughed. “By the way, you looked like I was asking you to go outside so I could dump you. I only wanted some alone time with you and I wanted to ask how you felt about their curiosity. They like you and want to know who you are.” Constance entwined their fingers. “And so do I, my lovely biracial girl. I’m not running so fast this time. Trust that I’m with you because I want to be. I’m here, unless you clearly state a desire for me to go.”

  Wow, she had totally misread Constance. Then. And now. “Their questions seem to come from a positive place and I want them to know who I am. You know, I thought I would have a problem with you having two almost-grown daughters but they’re wonderful and I really enjoy interacting with them. I’m impressed that their noses aren’t always in their phones. You and Nigel did a wonderful job. You should be proud.”

  “They are wonderful, aren’t they? Although there are plenty of times I’m ready to kill them. They weren’t allowed to have phones at their school in London. Right before we came here I bought the phones with the understanding they could use the camera and make an occasional phone call. So far they’ve been good. We’ll see how long that lasts.” Constance squeezed Renee’s fingers as they continued to stroll along Riverside Drive. “You are spot-on with them. In your two times together you’ve managed to get them to talk about Nigel, to remember the good times with him. And you get them to laugh and be the teenagers they are instead of the worrywarts afraid to mention his name in front of me. Just for that I would want us to spend time with you. But the real reason is you make me feel good too.”

  Renee stopped abruptly and spun Constance around to face her. “I’m glad I make you feel good. You do the same for me. And so do Chloe and Cara. In a million years I never would have thought that could be true.” She dragged her fingers over Constance’s cheek, thought about kissing her, but slow seemed to be working so why screw with the formula? “I’m working as hard as I can to be worthy of you, Lady Constance.”

  Constance stood on her toes and kissed her cheek. “You’ve always been worthy of me, Renee. That was never the issue.”

  Renee sighed. “Maybe it’s not an issue for you but I’ve learned in therapy that it’s an issue for me. My being worthy of love, that is. I’m still trying to unravel the threads of who I am but I’m getting close.”

  Constance shivered. “It’s kind of cold out here with the wind off the river. Let’s head back. It’s early. Will you come upstairs for a cup of tea or coffee?”

  Renee pivoted them in the direction of Constance’s building. “I’d love to give you some feedback on your show, if you’re open to hearing it?”

  “Oh, yes, please do.”

  Constance slipped her arm through Renee’s and steered them toward her building.

  In the apartment, Constance went in the kitchen to prep the tea while Renee sat in the living room ordering her thoughts. Ten minutes later, Constance deposited two mugs, a pot of tea, and a dish of cookies on the coffee table. She poured tea for both of them and handed Renee a mug before sitting on the sofa with her own mug. “So.”

  Renee cleared her throat. “First, showing the range of paintings, from Stanford to now, highlighted your incredible growth from a good artist to a brilliant one.”

  Constance put her mug down and shifted on the sofa so they were face-to-face. “Thank you.”

  Renee took Constance’s hands. “Even the earliest ones conveyed your emotions. I could see your youthful vigor and joy, then anger and a period of sadness, then a different kind of joy, more soft and pastel than vivid. I assume that was after Chloe and Cara were born.”

  Constance nodded. Her eyes were wide and luminous in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. The intensity of her gaze warmed Renee. “Your paintings are so expressive. Your emotions come through and evoke the viewer’s emotions. I could trace your changing moods—happy, sad, angry, and then devastated. I love the totally representational earlier works and the evolution to abstracts but I adored the later works where you combined both. Every single painting is beautiful. But the last three, bold statements of freedom, joy, and love, blew me away. The brilliance of the colors, the freedom of the brush, and the intensity of the feelings pulled me right in. I don’t know how you did it, but in the last three I could make out the figures at certain angles, but then they were hidden in the abstract. You are a wonderful artist, Constance. Did the show sell out?”

  “Thank you so much, Renee. I knew you would understand. And, yes, every painting sold except the last three, which were not for sale. I want them for myself. What did you see in the last three?”

  “That you were working out Nigel’s death.” Renee closed her eyes seeing images of the paintings. “In the first of the three, I saw the back of a man with a briefcase, walking away. In the middle one, I think it was a man sitting on a cloud with a woman reaching up. And in the last one, a woman and two smaller figures with their arms open wide, flying. But as I said, depending on how I looked at the paintings, I saw glimpses of these vague figures hidden in the abstract of the overall canvases.”

  “I lot of people didn’t see the figures at all. The New York Times art critic also saw
them. Did you see her review of the show in today’s arts section of The New York Times? She loved my work.”

  Renee moved closer and put an arm over Constance’s shoulder. “No, I was busy this morning buying flowers and chocolates for two beautiful young ladies and one not-so-young lady.”

  Constance gently punched Renee’s arm. “Just so you know, reminding me that I’m not so young is not the way to ingratiate yourself with me.”

  “Maybe telling you that my mom and dad are not only familiar with your work but think highly of it without even having seen your latest efforts, will help with that.”

  Constance flushed and leaned into Renee. “Consider yourself ingratiated.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chloe and Cara bounced back and forth for a couple of days, first deciding they’d like to go to the Wollman Rink in Central Park in the evening to skate under the stars, then reconsidering in favor of the beauty of the park and the daytime view of the New York City skyline.

  So on a crisp, sunny, November Saturday morning under a crystal blue sky dotted with occasional puffs of clouds, the four of them made their way across the park, crunchy red, yellow, and green leaves underfoot, the smell of burning leaves drifting in the air. Each of them carried their ice skates. Renee had owned hers for years but since the three Worthingtons had never skated she’d suggested they rent them at the rink. However, the girls were absolutely sure they would love skating and their school had some winter skiing and skating trips planned, so Constance gave in and bought skates for them and herself.

  As Renee laced up Cara’s skates, she glanced at Chloe struggling with hers and Constance trying to figure how tight to make the laces and wondered whether Beth and Gina would show up. Last night it had dawned on her that keeping three neophytes on their feet and teaching them to skate was probably not possible for one person. And, duh, she should have recruited experienced skaters to assist her. So she called and left messages for Gina and Beth. Neither had gotten back to her this morning.