She had a point, but the notion that we were both her prisoners settled on me like an outfit of wet clothes. The house was eerily silent, like the calm before a tempest.
“Sweet cat, would you leave your Theola all alone to entertain our friend?” Bending over me, Theola splashed ginger ale into my glass and dropped in a long stemmed cherry. The booze on her breath would have made a trifle. “Listen to him! He reminds me of when I was expecting Mary … and felt life for the first time.” She straightened up, the bottle hanging loose at her side. “By the way, have you reached that stage yet?” It was her first—and only—reference to my pregnancy.
“No.”
“Darling, it was like soft paws on a door, asking to be let out.”
I felt a surge of sympathy and at that unguarded moment—when I was thinking of Mary as an innocent, harmless rosebud-lipped baby—the door opened, sending the cat skittering across the floor. I think I closed my eyes; I know I slopped my drink.
Pepys stood before us, looking as always like a body that had been kept in freezer storage for a thousand years. But he wasn’t completely cold-blooded. A flush tinged his cheeks as he looked toward Theola Faith and I noticed a tremor to his bandy legs.
Her eyes narrowed. “Ah, there you are, Pipsqueak!”
“Pepys, ma’am.” If he’d had a hair on his head he would have touched his forelock.
“Whatever!” Free hand moving like a thirties’ flapper, Theola reseated herself at the piano. “If you dare to say this is an unexpected pleasure I will toss you out on your ear. Now read my lips. Find my daughter and bring her here.”
“But Miss Faith—” A skeletal rattle as he risked a couple of steps forward. “I don’t see as I can …”
Her fingers plunged upon the keys bringing forth musical thunder, and the cat leaped onto my lap. For a moment I feared Pepys would do likewise. “No buts! Out, I say, out! Or I will make you pay in spades”—she rattled her glass—“for draining the good Scotch from the bottles and replacing it with generic.”
“Jeffries made me!” He backed into the half open door, smacked his head sharply, and was gone.
Minus his white marble presence, the room seemed redder and stuffier than ever. Silence weighed heavily on me, along with the cat. And then Theola Faith began to play a perky tune, one which I recognized:
“Oh, she do make a loverly corpse she do
Her face the sweetest shade of blue
Dressed up in her Sunday best
She will soon be laid to rest
Alongside husbands one through four
Who could ask for any more?”
The piano tinkled away to nothing.
“That’s from Melancholy Mansion,” Theola Faith said.
I sipped my drink and a chill coursed through me. So that’s how I knew the song … from hearing my mother sing snatches of it. Setting my glass down, I said, “You knew my mother.”
Eyes on the door, Theola Faith finished her drink. “Darling, now you sound like every other groupie.” Her smile had a china doll quality and her hair a nylon sheen. Hard to believe forty years had passed since Theola swayed the hearts of millions in her debut film. “Forgive me, sweetie! I see you are being quite sincere. Remind me about your mother. I shouldn’t be thought insensitive because I don’t remember every chance encounter at a small-town country club or with some teller at a bank!”
The brush of the cat’s tail was like the touch of a friendly hand. “My mother has been dead for years. I’m sure you wouldn’t recognize the name. She was one of the dancers in the night club scene in Melancholy Mansion. Lots of hair, clear pale skin.”
“American?” Her eyes were closed.
“English. She and my father came over here to try their professional luck, but she only landed that one small job and they weren’t away more than a few weeks.”
“The water nymph!”
Perfect description. Theola Faith might or might not be a monster, but she was a witch. She made another trip to the drinks table. “Those dancers all fed intravenously and I’m sure rushed to confession if ever they used bad words like ice cream.”
I rearranged my feet. “Was she special? I mean, did she stand out among the other dancers?”
“She stood out all right. Was the worst of the lot. She had a kink in her front kick and a wobble in her jetté. Seems to me there was talk about dumping her but … yes, that’s right—Billy Anderson, who played the knife-happy schoolboy, suggested keeping her on for comic relief.”
I buried my face in Charlie Chaplin’s fur. Small wonder Mother had given me the choice of seeing Bambi or Melancholy Mansion. She, who lived to suffer for her art, must have died a thousand deaths when asked to dance for laughs. But what choice did she have, after financing the venture to America by hocking the family silver? As for me, I had been so angry with both parents for abandoning me to Great Uncle Merlin that I had responded with a child’s ultimate weapon—indifference. I had asked virtually no questions about that fateful visit to America.
Miss Faith raised a bottle of ginger ale; I shook my head. She swirled her drink so that the ice cubes jangled in her glass. Another glance toward the door and a shrug caused her drink to tilt sideways, no doubt making splash marks on the cream suit. “Seems to me …” Her voice attempted to walk a straight line—one tiny word wobble and over she would go into slurred speech (the wait for Mary was taking its toll on her, too), “One day … between takes … talked to the water nymph. Told me she had a daughter.”
“What a memory!”
“Sweetie, my stock in trade.”
“Any mention of my weight problem?”
“Don’t think … she ever said … word about your size. Plied me with the usual mother mush. You were the most marvelous, spunkiest …” Theola Faith was weaving her way across the room. “… best kid in the world.”
A warmth eased into me that had nothing to do with holding the cat. But was Theola Faith making this up? Was her aim to keep me talking? Was she lonely? Fleetingly, I thought of the terrible stories Mary had told of her mother.
She half drained her glass, swayed, then recovered to stand ramrod straight. “Can see your mother. Jeffries was there—pinning tucks in my costume. One of them stuck me. Remember … last straw. All that sand-standing around! Such a frigging waste of time, and here was this woman who was being kept on … to prove that Hollywood does have a heart. Like hell she needed my pity. She had a husband whose name she could remember. She had a daughter.”
“So did you,” I tried to stand up but the cat wouldn’t let me.
The panda eyes found me. “Mary!” She cleared her throat with the name. “Darling, my precious daughter loathed me way back then. And for what? Some small neglects that couldn’t be helped? Some tiny discomforts? I had my work, my fame, my life as a sexually active woman.”
Desperately searching for something to say, I followed her eyes to the door and in fear and trembling, watched it nudge open. The cat leaped to investigate and I too was on my feet, about to make my exit speech when … another false alarm.
Jeffries came bopping in, her face screwed up so that it was all mouth under the white cap. “No flying at me, Missie Theola, ain’t none of this my fault, or Pepys’ for that matter—though you’ve driven him to bed with a migraine.” Taking no account of me she scooted, like a walking feather duster, to an inch or two of her employer, hands on her hips, tiny chin in the air. “Even that French Count of Monte Cristo we have here couldn’t produce Miss Mary Faith out of no hat, because she ain’t on the premises. She informed me this afternoon that she’d had a word with the Reverend Enoch Gibbons a couple of days back and he’d invited her over for a meal of fasting and abstinence this evening. He wants to interview her for his church paper. Modern Day Martyr—that sort of snappy headline.”
Gripping the back of a chair as if it were a walker, Theola Faith worked her way round to the front. And fell into the seat. “You’re all in league with her.” Speaking in a drone,
the limpid eyes which had thrilled millions looked straight ahead. “But she can’t escape me forever. All Pastor Enoch’s prayers won’t keep her from me.” Her lip curled. “Wouldn’t he like to know that his wife is residing with me in Jimmy’s apartment? I needed someone to do the cleaning …”
“Pepys tried to tell you about Miss Mary.” Jeffries was doing her Crosspatch prance. “He took her over in the boat earlier. She said His Reverence would bring her back—whenever. How say I go fetch you a nice cup of hot milk, Miss Theola?” The pillar box smile should have warmed the cockles of anyone’s heart.
Theola Faith hurled a cushion at her.
Jeffries’ gnomish face darkened. “That’s it, I quit!” The door smacked shut.
“Now what were we saying?” The china doll smile was back in place. The silvery hair bounced forward. Only the glint of her eyes betrayed her as a woman thwarted of her prey. “Oh yes, your mother. How sweet that I can open the door to the past for you, Ellie Haskell! And all because I was kind to a line dancer. How it all comes back! She told me you had been sent to stay with a wild and wacky uncle in a dungeon of a house by the ocean. Amazing you survived. Amazing you haven’t written all about it in a charming little exposé.”
“Who would read it? Mother wasn’t famous.”
Again the china doll smile. Theola Faith said nothing. I thought of the lurid headlines, the Donahue show on abused daughters, the Theola Faith Monster Mommy T-shirts, the upcoming paperback, the movie.
My legs had gone to sleep, causing Charlie Cat sufficient offence that he leaped from my lap to a table, and skidded across it on a doily, which he dragged with him under the sofa. Only the tip of his tail provided warning that he was listening to every word. Loyalty to Uncle Merlin forced me to say that he wasn’t the ogre of my imagination.
“How disappointing! Mary’s visit to her Aunt Guinevere was a scream from beginning to end. The little imp convinced herself on the scantiest of evidence that the sweet old lady hated her.”
“Goodness!” How I longed to return to the life of sanity among the Mangés. If only Henderson Brown would come in looking for that paperback book he had been reading earlier, or even Ernestine—eager for a brag session about Bingo. I began to dread that Theola Faith would expect me to sit up with her until Mary returned, and at the same time, I felt under an obligation because of my mother. “Didn’t you ever like your daughter?” I heard myself ask.
“Darling!” Miss Faith’s smile kept sliding off her face as she struggled to sit upright. The silver hair drooped over one eye. “After I got over the shock of finding I was pregnant—and the lucky father a name to be pulled out of a hat—I decided I might enjoy the Madonna role. I was amused when I felt life. And when she was born, I saw the marvelous possibilities of those adorable mother/daughter outfits. I bought some wonderful hats. I worship hats.”
I pressed my hand to my middle. “What went wrong?”
“Mary was born a pain in the tush. Forever crying—worse when I was exhausted from being on the set all day. She’d go to Begita, my maid, sooner than me. Her eyes would look out of that tiny face and I knew she didn’t like me. And once she could talk …” her hand flopped against the cream silk bosom “… all I ever got was whining. People speak about mismatched marriages all the time!” The fabled voice lurched from high to drowsy deep. “What of a mismatched mother and daughter? Believe me, darling! I did my best for that kid. I kept out of her way. As I said—cats are easy and pigeons … even better. Derby and Joan!” With a swoop of her arm Theola Faith staggered to her feet. “Your typical Hollywood marriage! Derby has had a thing going with a tweety pie named Sabrina for years. That dumb bird Joan turns a blind eye. Amazing, isn’t it, that such a gem of sleaze never made the Peephole Press.” Fingers pinching the hem of her skirt, she locked her wide smile in place. “Always had pigeons. Asked my daddy for a kite for my fourth birthday and he gave me my first pair. Said the sk–sky was now my back yard. Used to think there was no place like Mud Creek.” Her voice went into a slow slide and faded out. For a few seconds I thought she was asleep on her feet. But she trailed over to the sofa and draped herself upon it, clutching the edge to keep from sliding to the floor.
I pictured Mary coming in to find Theola collapsed in a drunken stupor, and I found I hated the idea for them as much as for me. I had no wish to feature (even with a name change) in Monster Mommy II. I know this sounds silly, but I do have an affinity for cats, and looking at her now, standing over her, I could understand why Theola Faith had been called Kitten Face in her heyday.
“How did you get to be a movie star?” I prodded.
“Darling”—she didn’t open her eyes—“where’ve you been all your life? Don’t you read the tabloids? I was discovered on a bar stool at the Lucky Strike. So they say! And it was rumoured that Melancholy Mansion was filmed here to indulge one of my whims. Truth was Rick …”—half word, half hiccup—“… Ricky Greenburgh, the director, needed to shoot cheap.” She lolled sideways, one leg dangling ungracefully—a shoe pivoting from her stockinged toes. Her thick mink lashes fluttered closed. “Mendenhall had been on the market since … the world began. Ricky bought it for a song and, when we were done filming, gave it to me. Not a bad guy, Ricky. He could have lef … left a rose on the pillow.”
Removing her shoe, I eased her leg onto the sofa. Silver hair cupping her cheeks, she didn’t look like a monster. She was still talking softly. “Haven’t been down here in years. But like to know Mendenhall is waiting. Pepys and Jeffries come sometimes … see to maintenance. Mary didn’t stop at throwing the book at me … invaded Mendenhall … claimed Ricky once said … was for her.”
Something brushed my leg. Charlie Chaplin Cat. He pounced onto the sofa and macho purring blended with Theola Faith’s snores. I was at the door when her drowsy, deep voice startled me. “How is my Mary?”
Not knowing what to say, I was glad she immediately rejoined Charlie in their duet and even more relieved when the door cracked into me and I was looking into the eyes of love.
“Ben!” His hair was rumpled, his collar askew, he was Samson ready to bring the temple crashing down. To me he had never looked more beautiful.
“I’m going to kill you,” he snarled, crushing me in his arms. “During our five minute break, I rushed up to our room to check on you and found your note. I almost went crazy thinking of you.” Kicking the door shut, he thrust me from him and cupped my face with his hands. “How did you get across the river? I hope you didn’t hitch-hike?”
“Nothing that foolish,” I reassured him. “I took one of the rowing boats.”
“You what?”
“Never mind, all’s well that ends well …” I trailed off lamely, my eyes now looking toward the sofa.
“Yes, Theola Faith!” Ben lowered his voice a notch. “Jeffries collared me with the information that you were in here with Monster Mommy.”
“There’s quite a simple explanation.” Taking a deep breath I set to telling my tale. The hard part was confessing the truth about gate crashing the bowling banquet, but I couldn’t have lived through the rest of our marriage keeping that kind of hideous secret.
When I had ended, my love worked a hand over his face. “My God, Ellie, if I had known what you were up to, I would have asked Valicia X to bend the rule about candidates not being allowed to leave the island so I could go in search of you.”
“And what would you have done if she had refused?”
“My dear”—he kept one eye on Theola Faith—“that’s one of those testing questions—such as, would I marry again if anything happened to you?”
“Well, would you?” I pressed my fingers lovingly to his throat.
“Only if the woman had one foot in the grave and one hand on her cheque book. Shush!” He pressed a hand to my mouth. “The important thing now is to get Mommy out of this house before her daughter returns. Jeffries and Pepys are all of a twit. They have their jobs to consider as well as their Mangé loyalties. Believe me, a
bloody scene between the Faiths is something they wish to avoid at all costs. They have pleaded with Valicia X. The upshot is that Jeffries and I will take Theola Faith back to Mud Creek in her speedboat, and Pepys will follow with the cabin cruiser.”
I picked at a thread on his jacket. “Valicia X must see you as a knight in shining armour.”
“Ellie, please! The last thing I desire is to win Mangé points because the woman is susceptible to my dashed devilish charm.”
“Hmmmm!”
“Enough of us, my sweet! Pepys and Jeffries await.” He crept toward the sofa. “Do you think I should try tossing the star over my shoulder without waking her?”
No chance for me to respond. As he bent over Theola Faith, she rose up like a drowned being from the deep and coiled her arms around his neck. “Ricky my beloved!” Her silvery hair fell away from his face. “You have come back to me. Take me! Take me now to our own private heaven! Make your Kitten Face young again!”
“Oh, cripes!” Ben muttered.
Jeffries gloated from behind me. “Looks like things may work out easier than we hoped.”
Out in the hall a door slammed. Damn! As my cousin Freddy would say, never count your chickens until they are in the deep freeze.
The dream was as sharp-edged as the last one. The walls of the narrow staircase closed in on me. I heard water flushing somewhere in the house in St. John’s Wood. I smelled fish. That oily mettalic smell that lingers after kippers. The Bundys on the third floor were very fond of fish. Old Mrs. Bundy: the grump. Always pounding her broom on the ceiling when Mother pirouetted with a thump! My father, magnanimous in his smoking jacket, would insist, “Ignore her, my dears! Are we not all entitled to our eccentricities?” And so we ignored, until that time when Mother had insisted the pounding sounded different. We had marched downstairs to discover Mr. Bundy stricken with a stroke and Mrs. Bundy in too much of a state to make it down to the pay phone in the entry hall.
My legs were giving out. I didn’t have the energy for the rest of the climb. But I had to reach the fifth floor. Somehow it seemed sly not to tell Mother that Theola Faith had descended upon Mendenhall and that Ben & Co. had spirited her off the premises without colliding with Mary. The banging door had been a false alarm, only Pepys coming in from checking the boat’s fuel situation …
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