by Kira Blakely
I took her hand and pulled her toward the house. “Why don’t you come inside and let’s get a cold drink. My housekeeper, Mrs. Polk, has a supper prepared for us already. I hope you like fried chicken?”
“I love it.”
“Good. She seems to think we would do well to take it down by the pond and have a picnic. Does that interest you at all?”
“I would love that. It’s too nice an evening to eat inside.”
I was glad she felt that way. I had a need for some privacy with her. We went inside, and I introduced her to Mrs. Polk, who was easily a hundred times friendlier than my father had been.
“I would love to see your house,” Lilly said timidly. “I hope I’m not being too forward, but I’ve never been in one of these mansions.”
I laughed. “I wouldn’t exactly call it that, but people used to have far larger families years ago and needed more bedrooms. Most of the rooms never even get used, as a matter of fact. Mrs. Polk and I just bump around in the bottom level. But sure, I’d love to show you around.”
The house was a full two stories with an additional basement beneath that walked out to the grounds leading down to the ponds. There were eight bedrooms with baths, and the master was located on the ground level. Several of the bedrooms had separate sitting rooms with a fireplace. The entire house had floor-to-ceiling windows and shutters that closed against the winter storms if so desired. The kitchen was an old farm kitchen with beam ceilings and plenty of workspace. A pantry sat off to one side. There was a breakfast room that overlooked the backyard and a formal dining room that could seat thirty guests comfortably. There was a formal living room that we called the parlor and a more casual family room that held the television and most comfortable furniture. Most of the house was furnished traditionally, all cherry hardwoods with built-ins. My office was next to the master suite, but I kept this door closed. Even Mrs. Polk stayed out of the room. I had the only key to the lock.
We made our way back to the kitchen where Mrs. Polk waited, a blanket and a picnic basket in hand. “Here ye go now. I’ll be goin’ home now. You two have fun.” She gave a swift wave of her hand as she headed out the front door. Mrs. Polk had been with me for several years, and I was quite fond of the older lady. She had patted my shoulder when I sobbed after my mother’s death and she pushed me toward maintaining a relationship with my father. “Ye will never know when ye might need him,” she told me wisely, although I doubted it would ever come true.
Now that we were alone, I pulled Lilly against me and greeted her properly. She responded, her body molding to mine. It was only a matter of minutes before I pulled her onto the sofa, opened her blouse and began sucking her nipple.
“Our dinner is going to get cold,” she teased me.
“I’d rather eat you. Are you available?”
“You’re going to ruin me, you know that?”
I sat up and slapped her bottom, standing and pulling her up right with me. “You’re right. Let’s go down to the pond and eat.”
“Sometimes I hate it when I’m right,” she commented and took the blanket while I carried the picnic basket.
The food Mrs. Polk prepared was delicious as always, and we were relatively silent as we ate, contemplating our situations. I was furious with my father and his callous behavior toward her. There was no call for it. Again, I felt a pang that my mother hadn’t been there. I knew she would have welcomed Lilly with open arms, and the two of them would have become tight sisters of secrets immediately. My mother did that with people—conjured up secrets between just the two so each would feel an obligation toward the other. I had secrets, but I couldn’t share them with Lilly, and that made me angry and sad at the same time. I noticed how quiet she was.
“Is something wrong, Lilly?” I asked, pushing her hair behind one ear so I could see her face.
She sort of screwed up her mouth, as though deciding how to answer. “OK, I’m just going to come out with it.”
“Sure, you should, what is it?”
“I’ve never been anywhere like this and never known anyone like you. Well, not personally, up close. I’ve seen rich kids, of course, but we didn’t run in the same circles. I grew up in roughly the same neighborhood where we picked up Natalie that night. She goes there because it’s familiar and makes her feel like Mom and Dad are just right around the corner in the living room watching television. I know that’s why she does it. She wants to be needy, hoping they will somehow come back and take care of her again.”
“That’s sad, Lilly. I’m sorry you have to deal with all that, and with your own grieving at the same time.”
“You know how it feels too,” she reminded me.
I nodded but didn’t respond to that. “Does being here make you uncomfortable?”
She hesitated and then said softly, “Sort of. It’s just not what I’m used to and I don’t know how to behave. Like… I’ve never had a housekeeper and certainly no one ever packed me picnics. I don’t know what to say or do.”
“Just be yourself. That’s what attracts me to you, don’t you understand that? You’re not superficial, and you’re not interested in what I have. I think you like just me.”
“I do. But what was up with your dad? Could he have simply said I wasn’t up to his standards instead of being all sly and insulting?”
A storm brewed inside me. “If you can, please don’t judge me by him. He’s just an asshole with a lot of money, and nothing more. I wish Leila could have been here. You would have seen the best side of me then.”
“You two were close, weren’t you?”
I nodded but looked out over the pond.
“There’s so much about you that seems secretive, Bolt. Tell me more about your business. That seems so separate from the rest of your life?”
I remained silent. I couldn’t tell her without revealing clues—expressions, vocal preferences, likes, dislikes.
“You don’t want to talk about it?”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Do you have other women?”
I felt anger surface at that supposition. “I told you. We agreed to be monogamous.”
“Well, can you tell me why you’re hiding things from me? I mean, do you not trust me? Is that it?”
“It doesn’t affect my relationship with you.”
“Except that you say you will disappear from time to time and I’m not supposed to ask questions like where you’re going or when you’ll be back? What kind of relationship is this supposed to be? I mean, I don’t have anything to hide. You’ve seen the worst sides of me and my life, and we barely know each other. Isn’t it fair that I see something of the darkness that keeps you so closed? Has it occurred to you that just maybe I could be a good listener? Maybe I could help light up some of that darkness?”
I couldn’t respond. They hadn’t prepared us for this in training. There was no class in how to be open and honest with a woman you care about and yet tell her nothing. How did others do it? Lies? Did they have to deal with lies in order to keep peace in their personal lives?
She was watching my face, and then she shut down. She rose to her knees on the blanket and began packing up the remaining food and dishes. “Well,” she said, brushing crumbs off her skirt, “I can see this isn’t going anywhere. I don’t know what you won’t tell me.” She stood up while I still sat, then looked up down and spoke strongly, but not in an angry voice. “There’s something you need to learn about relationships, Bolt. It’s a give and take. One person cannot expose all their faults while the other maintains a façade of perfection. It’s like a teeter-totter. Eventually one person will jump off, and the other will crash to the ground and get the wind knocked out of them. I know a little about this sort of thing, believe me. I don’t want that to happen with you. I want to share with you, equally. So, I’m going to leave now. Maybe your dad upset you or I said something wrong or maybe you changed your mind. Whatever it is, you let me know when y
ou figure it out, OK? You know where to reach me,” she finished and turned, walking up the incline to the house. A few minutes later, I heard the car start, and her headlights went through the gate and down the road. I ran after her, half-heartedly. What could I say if I caught up to her?
Chapter 8
Lilly
I didn’t hear from Bolt for several days. I was beginning to look at the car keys and consider returning them. The car seemed to be the only tie that binds, and I knew if I were impetuous and angry, returning the car would be like returning an engagement ring. It would all be over, and I’d never see him again. I couldn’t bring myself to that hell quite yet. I hoped it would never come.
Natalie happened to be at the studio with me when the mail came. There were two engraved invitations in the pile of bills. These caught our attention, and we excitedly opened them up.
Our lips were mouthing the words and Natalie finished first. “We’re invited to a Derby party!”
“Uh huh,” I said, less enchanted with the idea than she was.
“I’ve never been to one—well, not a real one, anyway. There was always the neighbor’s barbecue and that greasy Petey Samalski who took bets but wanted payoffs in sex. I hated that guy. But this…” She held out the cream envelope. “This is a real party with people who really know about horses, and maybe there’ll even be a jockey. Wouldn’t that be exciting? What will we wear? We have to get one of those big, floppy hats with huge flowers and stomp around in the lawn in spiked heels. You know, like the women we see at Churchill on Derby Day.”
I listened with half an ear. I was trying to read some message into the invitations. Was he telling me he was ready to open up? After all, he’d be introducing me to people who were important to him in his life. I’d made it pretty clear that I wasn’t fond of the secret side of him. Was he finally going to tell me the truth?
“Lilly, are you listening to me? What are we going to wear?”
“Huh? Oh. Well, we’ll come up with something. Maybe we can borrow something. We have to RSVP these, so I assume you’ll be accepting?”
“You bet your ass I will.”
“Listen, Natalie. This is the guy I’ve been seeing. He comes from old money, big money. He rescued you the night you passed out in the alley… Well, at least the last time you did. He’s important to me, and he has important friends. You’ve got to behave yourself, and you have to swear to me, or I’ll turn down our invitations.”
“What? The hell you will! You’re talking to me like I’m trailer trash or something. I’m going and so are you and that’s the end of it.” She’d finally put on her big sister panties and was trying to take charge, but my relationship was not the thing I wanted her in charge of.
“Look, you stay clean and sober between now and then and we’ll go,” I bargained, hoping it would give her an incentive. “But you have to promise me you’ll stay away from the liquor at the party, OK? Just this once can you enjoy yourself soberly?”
“Yeah, yeah, lay off, will you?”
I frowned, still not convinced she wouldn’t give in and make a scene. I would be mortified, and it would likely spell the end of any relationship I could ever build with Bolt.
“I’m going home to go through my closet,” Natalie announced.
I gave her a half wave goodbye and filled out the RSVP cards, slipping them into the small envelopes intended for their return. It was going to be an interesting party, to be sure.
* * *
Derby was always the first Saturday in May. It was for Louisville like Mardi Gras was for New Orleans. Most of the world thought of it as the world’s fastest two minutes in sports, but it was far more than that. There were two weeks’ worth of events, beginning with Thunder over Louisville, a spectacular fireworks demonstration shot off from barges floating in the Ohio River, to the post-race Kentucky Colonels’ barbecue. There were hot air balloons, riverboat races, and contests, and the day itself was ten or more races long with locals celebrating from the first race, which was run around noon. You couldn’t book a hotel room within two hundred miles on Derby weekend—a fact that kept the event from losing its traditional foundation. Once Derby was over, the state settled down into the doldrums of summer.
Natalie and I had scraped together Derby-ish clothing with the help of friends, secondhand stores, and a little ingenuity. Natalie was surprisingly crafty and made both our hats herself. I was proud of her and happy to see her excited about something for once. I took it as a hopeful sign that perhaps at last the gray of grieving was giving way to a happier outlook for her future.
We arrived about two in the afternoon at Bolt’s farm. The grounds were filled with beautiful people, fountains, tents that covered tables laden with food and drink, and a host of servers in white jackets circulating among the guests. Bolt had evidently posted someone to watch for my car, and I was immediately directed to a special parking spot near the house. We were escorted to what was obviously the “head of the table” tent where Bolt was engaged in conversation with two men. I went to stand at his elbow until he’d concluded and gestured to Natalie that she needed to stay with me long enough to greet the host.
Bolt seemed to have a second sense for me because he turned around immediately. “Here she is,” he smiled, taking me by the arm gently to pull me forward. He kissed my cheek and put his arm around my waist. “And Natalie, so glad you could join us,” he greeted her, and although his words could have been interpreted as catty, he was absolutely authentic. Natalie nodded and immediately wandered off. I was praying she’d stay out of trouble.
“Come in out of the sun and have some champagne,” Bolt insisted, leading me to the most elaborate table where place cards included my name. He drew a flute of champagne from the fountain and held it out to me. “Drink it slowly. It’s pretty strong, and it will be a long day,” he murmured.
Large cinema screens were mounted throughout the grounds featuring the festivities from Churchill. Crowds gathered before them as each race commenced, and tickets littered the grass as losing groans dissolved into laughing conversation. I watched this with an almost disgusted feeling. How could these people be so careless with so much money? I overheard many placing bets in the tens of thousands of dollars.
The big race was run and once again, confetti of rejected tickets floated onto the grass. The party organizer moved everyone into a large tent with rows of chairs, and a bachelor auction was held for charity. Bolt had warned me of this in advance. “It’s nothing—just taking the winning bidder to lunch. Very open and appropriate. In fact, you can have lunch at the same time across the room and keep an eye on me, if you like,” he offered.
“It won’t be necessary. If I can’t trust you, we really don’t have much of a relationship, do we?” I said, more for my own benefit than for his. He looked at me strangely, but said nothing. It wasn’t the place or time.
Naturally, as host, Bolt was the focus of the highest bid of the day. A young woman in a cranberry-colored hat that swooped low over her blonde hair and perfect face was the winning bidder. She triumphantly waved her checkbook over her head and went up to the microphone, looping her arm through Bolt’s and kissing him on the cheek. He was good-natured about it but I saw him glance at me to see my reaction. I would have liked to have bid on him, but there wasn’t much two dollars was going to accomplish except to entertain the guests. So I hung back quietly and looked around for Natalie.
“You’re holding up rather well, considering the circumstances,” a voice said to my right, and I turned to see a man about Bolt’s age, smiling at me. He held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Kenneth Rogert, but you can call me Kenny. I’m Bolt’s right-hand man, in a manner of speaking. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and I’ve already heard about you,” he concluded as I shook his hand.
“How do you do? I’m Lilly, but I guess you know that?”
“I do, indeed. It’s nice to meet you.” He nodded toward a row of chairs against the tent wall. “Shall we?”
<
br /> I followed him and sat down, wondering whether I was about to undergo my second grilling from someone on Bolt’s team.
“You know, I’m not sure if my girlfriend would let me in that auction, charity or not,” he observed and toasted me briefly before emptying half his flute. “You must be a very secure woman.”
I rolled my eyes a little and looked upward. “I’m about the most insecure person I know, actually. But, this is Bolt’s world, and it’s not for me to judge or grudge.”
“What a refreshing way to look at it,” he complimented, and I realized I liked his casual, offhand manner. “I’ve heard Bolt say nothing but nice things about you, you know. In fact, I’m not sure when I’ve heard him rave about any girl, and I’ve known him since we were throwing M-80s into his father’s pond to watch the fish rise to the surface.”
“You did that?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am, and a lot more that I won’t admit to. Bolt’s one of the good guys, but I’m sure you already know that. He’s had his hands full with his father, and now that his mother isn’t here to mediate… Well, you see my point.”
“Is that what she did, keep them from fighting?” I’d assumed that from what Bolt had mentioned in passing, but here was an outside opinion.
“Oh, she absolutely did, and that’s one of the reasons that Bolt adored her so. Dallas is an ass, no two ways about it. Bolt is embarrassed and angry with him. She made his life tolerable.”
I nodded, smoothing my skirt. “I have a similar situation, but there is no one to moderate us,” I said and then realized that in a sense, Bolt was doing that between Natalie and me.
“I understand you have a sister?” he asked in a casual voice.
I’d spotted her at the opening to the tent, laughing overly loud with a paper cup of something in her hand. It was obvious she’d been drinking, and I wondered whether her behavior was becoming noticeable, and this was Kenny’s way of calling my attention to it.