Cutler 4 - Midnight Whispers

by V. C. Andrews

  "Oh no, I'm not, Uncle Philip. I'm not prettier than Mommy."

  He laughed, but still kept me in his arms. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. I knew that Uncle Philip loved me, but sometimes I felt I was too old for his affectionate hugs and caresses and they embarrassed me. I tried to shrug out of his arms without being rude, but his hold grew a little tighter.

  "I like the way you're wearing your hair these days," he said. "Your bangs make you look very grown-up, very sophisticated." He ran his forefinger along my forehead gently.

  "Thank you, Uncle Philip. I'd better get out front. Aunt Trisha is arriving any moment."

  "Oh yes, Trisha," he said, smirking. "That woman drives me mad sometimes. She can't sit still. She's always spinning and turning and rushing here and there, and those hands . . . they're like two birds attached to her wrists always trying to break free."

  "She's like that because she's a performer, Uncle Philip."

  "Right. The theater," he said, his voice light but his look serious as he looked down, still holding me.

  "I've got to go," I repeated.

  "Me too. Happy birthday again," he said, kissing my cheek once more before he released me.

  "Thank you," I said and hurried away, some-thing wistful in his look making my heart skip a beat.

  Just as I entered the lobby, I saw Mommy greeting Aunt Trisha. They hugged as I ran across the lobby. Aunt Trisha was wearing a dark red dress with a long skirt that came nearly down to her ankles. When she spun around, the skirt flew about like the skirt of a flamenco dancer. She had sandals with straps up her calves and wore a white shawl loosely around her shoulders. Her dark brown hair was drawn back from her face and pinned up in a chignon that I thought looked very glamorous. Long earrings made of sea shells dangled from her lobes.

  "Darling Christie!" she cried and held out her arms for me. "Look at you," she said, holding me out at the shoulders. "You grow more beautiful every time I visit. This one's headed for the stage, Dawn," she said, nodding.

  "Perhaps," Mammy said, gazing at me proudly. "Are you hungry, Trish?"

  "Ravenously. Oh, I can't wait for your party," she said to me.

  "I'll tell Julius to bring your things to the house," Mommy said. "You'll be staying there . . . in Fern's room," she added.

  "Isn't she coming home from college for this?" Aunt Trisha asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

  "Yes, but she agreed to stay at the hotel," Mom-my said. The look between Aunt Trisha and Mommy explained it all—how glad Mommy was that Aunt Fern was staying at the hotel instead of the house, how there had been new problems, problems my parents tried to discuss privately. But the walls have ears and both Jefferson and I knew Aunt Fern had gotten into some serious trouble at college again recently.

  "Come," Mommy said. "I'll take you to the kitchen for something special. You know how Nussbaum likes to fuss over you. And we'll catch up."

  "Okay. Christie, I have the show programs in my suitcase."

  "Oh thank you, Aunt Trisha." I kissed her again and she and Mommy went off to the kitchen, the two of them talking a mile a minute, neither waiting for the other to finish a sentence.

  The rest of the day moved far too slowly for me. Of course, I was anticipating Gavin's arrival and hovered about the front of the hotel as much as I could. Finally, late in the afternoon, a taxicab from the airport arrived. I rushed out and down the steps hoping it was Granddaddy Longchamp, Edwina and Gavin, but Aunt Fern stepped out instead.

  She wore a pair of old jeans and a faded sweat-shirt. Since I had seen her last, she had chopped her hair off, her beautiful, long silky black hair that Daddy said reminded him so much of his mother's hair. My heart sank, knowing how disappointed he was going to be.

  Aunt Fern was tall, almost as tall as Daddy, and had a model's figure—long legs and slim torso. Despite the terrible things she did to herself: smoking everything from cigarettes to tiny cigars, drinking and carousing into the early morning hours, she had a remarkably clear and soft complexion. She had Daddy's dark eyes, only hers were smaller, narrower, and at times, downright sneaky. I hated the way she pulled her upper lip up in the corner when something annoyed her.

  "Take the bag inside," she commanded the driver when he lifted it from the trunk. Then she saw me.

  "Well, if it isn't the princess herself. Happy sweet sixteen," she said and took a pack of cigarettes from her back pocket. Her pants were so tight fitting, I couldn't imagine any room for anything in the pockets. She stuck a cigarette in her mouth quickly and lit it as she looked at the hotel. "Every time I come back here, my body tightens into knots," she muttered.

  "Hi Aunt Fern," I finally said. She flashed a quick smile.

  "Where the hell's everybody? In their offices?" she added sarcastically.

  "Mommy's with Aunt Trisha at the house and Daddy's in the back working on the grounds."

  "Aunt Trisha," she said disdainfully. "Has she taken a breath yet?"

  "I like Aunt Trisha very much," I said.

  "First off, she's not really your aunt so I don't know why you insist on calling her that, and second, good for you." She paused, took a puff, blew the smoke straight up, and then gazed at me. "Guess what I got for you for your birthday," she said, smiling coyly.

  "I can't imagine," I said.

  "I'll give it to you later, but you can't show it to your mother or tell her I gave it to you. Promise?"

  "What is it?" I asked, intrigued.

  "A copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover. It's about time you found out what it's all about," she added. "Well, here I go. Home again," she said and marched up the stairs and into the hotel.

  A ripple of apprehension shot down my spine. I hadn't spoken to her for more than a few minutes, but already my heart was pounding in anticipation of what was yet to come. Aunt Fern was like unexpected lightning and thunder shaking the very foundations of any happiness. I looked out toward the ocean. The clouds were still thick, still rolling in with fervor, determined to hold back the sunshine. I bowed my head and started up the stairs when I heard the sound of a horn and turned to see another taxi approaching.

  A hand was waving from the rear window, and then I saw a face.

  It was Gavin, his wonderful smile driving the emptiness out of the pit of my stomach and bringing the hope of sunshine back as quickly as it had been driven away.

  2

  AND NEVER BEEN . . .

  GAVIN STEPPED OUT OF THE TAXI QUICKLY, BUT paused. I wanted to run to him and hug him, but I knew that would turn his face bright crimson and send him stuttering with embarrassment if I did any such thing, especially in front of his mother and father. I called his father Granddaddy Longchamp because he was Daddy's father. He was a tall, lean man with deeply cut lines in his face. His dark brown hair had thinned considerably, but he still wore it brushed back on the sides and flat on top. More and more gray had snuck in since I had last seen him, especially along his temples. His lanky frame, long arms and hands, and often sad eyes made me think of Abraham Lincoln.

  Gavin's mother, Edwina, was a very sweet and warm woman who spoke softly and seemed always terribly in awe of the hotel and the family. Aunt Fern never hesitated to remind her in whatever ways she could that she was only her stepmother, this despite the friendliness and love Edwina tried to show her. In his letters and whenever we were together, Gavin often told me about the mean things Aunt Fern had said or done to his mother.

  "She's my half-sister," he told me, "but I'd much rather she wasn't."

  "Well now," Granddaddy Longchamp exclaimed when he stepped out of the taxi, "the birthday girl!"

  "Happy birthday, honey," Edwina cried, as Granddaddy Longchamp kissed me on the cheek and then looked around, his hands on his hips, standing just the way Daddy stood sometimes.

  "Hi Gavin," I said, anxiously turning to him.

  "Hi." His eyes quickly turned soft, meeting and locking with mine.

  "Where's Jimmy?" Granddaddy Longchamp asked, but before I could reply, Daddy appear
ed in the doorway.

  "Hey, Pop, welcome," he cried, coming down to them. He hugged and kissed Edwina and helped them with their bags. Gavin and I followed behind then as we all entered the hotel.

  "How was your trip?" I asked Gavin. I tried not to stare at him, but I could see he had grown taller and his face had filled out, so he looked more mature.

  "It was long and boring," Gavin replied and then added, "I wish I lived a lot closer to you."

  "So do I," I confessed. He flicked a quick smile at me and looked around the hotel lobby. "Anything different?"

  "Wait until you see the grand ballroom," I told him.

  "You coming up to our suite, Gavin?" Granddaddy Longchamp asked him.

  "It's all right. I'll see to your things," his mother said, seeing his reluctance. "He wants to visit with Christie. They haven't seen each other for quite a while," she said and Gavin turned red with embarrassment. I didn't know any boy as shy.

  "Thanks, Mom," he muttered and gazed at something on the other side of the lobby.

  As soon as Daddy walked off with Granddaddy Longchamp and Edwina, I turned to Gavin.

  "Do you want to take a walk through the gardens and to the pool?" I asked. "They're doing a lot of work out there."

  "Fine. I bet you have a lot of your school friends coming tonight," he said as we started away.

  "Everyone in my class. I didn't have the heart to leave anyone out"

  "Oh? Any new friends since your last letter?" he asked tentatively. I knew what he meant: did I have a new boyfriend?

  "No," I said. His smile widened and his shoulders rose as he brushed back his long black hair, hair as ebony as Daddy's. He had the longest eyelashes, too, so long and thick they appeared false. "What about you?" I asked.

  "Nope," he said. "I'm still hanging around with Tony and Doug and Jerry. I didn't tell you, but Doug's sister got engaged and married all in a month," he added as he passed through the rear exit and out to the walkways.

  "A month!"

  "Well," he said, pausing, "she had to."

  "Oh. Is everybody upset?" I asked.

  "I guess so. Doug doesn't talk about it much. Every family has its black sheep, I guess. Which reminds me," he said, "is Fern here yet?"

  "Uh huh. She cut her hair down to nothing. I don't think Daddy's seen her. She'll be sleeping at the hotel and Aunt Trisha is staying at the house and will be sleeping in her room. Mommy wanted it that way."

  "I can't blame her. How's Pauline Bradly? Does she still twirl her hair with her forefinger when she talks to people?" he asked. I laughed.

  "She just gets nervous, Gavin. She's really a very shy girl," I explained.

  He nodded. When I looked back toward the ocean, I saw that the clouds were beginning to break up. Patches of blue could be seen. That and Gavin's arrival warmed my heart. Gavin knew what I was gazing at; he always teased me about the way the weather affected my moods.

  "Sorry for the clouds," he said. "I tried to blow them off, but . . ."

  "At least it won't rain," I said. "It looks like it's clearing."

  "It wouldn't dare rain. Are you very excited about your party?" he asked.

  "Yes. I'll so glad you could come," I added. "Me too," he said, pausing to look at me. "You look very . . . nice."

  "Do I look older? I don't feel older," I said quickly. "Even though everyone is treating ne as if I am."

  He studied me with those soft dark eyes for a moment.

  "I think you look older," he said. "And prettier," he added. He turned away as soon as he uttered the words, but for me they lingered like the scent of blooming roses. "Hey, isn't that Jefferson on the lawn mower out there?" He waved and Jefferson saw us and urged Buster, the grounds worker, to stop so he could get off and run to us.

  "GAVIN!" Jefferson cried. Gavin scooped him up and swung him about.

  "How you doing, little nephew?"

  "I'm working, Gavin, cutting the grass. Later, I'm going to help repair the steps on the pool. They're chipped."

  "Oh, sounds important," Gavin said, winking at me. I was still quivering from the way he had looked at me and had said, "prettier."

  "You wanna see? Come on, I'll show you the steps," Jefferson said, clamping his hand around Gavin's. Gavin shrugged helplessly. I followed behind, my head down, my heart in a happy pitter-patter.

  How confusing our lives were in so many ways. Gavin and Daddy were half-brothers, and Gavin was therefore my brother Jefferson's uncle, but he was no blood relation to me. He used to tease me, however, and tell me I had to call him Uncle Gavin, because he was technically my step-uncle. Even though we joked about our relationships, the strange union of families made us reluctant to talk about how we really felt about each other. I wondered if we would ever get past that and if we did, wouldn't it just complicate everyone's lives even more?

  After Jefferson had shown Gavin the work that had to be done on the pool, he ran back to Buster to complete the cutting of the lawns and Gavin and I were alone again. The wind was blowing the clouds apart faster and faster. Sunlight was beaming down on parts of the hotel and grounds. Gavin and I continued our walk through the gardens, talking about our school work and things we had done since we had last seen each other. We both repeated a great many things we had written in our letters, but it seemed as if he had to keep talking just as much as I had to. The silences that fell between us made us both feel funny. When our eyes met, we would shift our gazes to something else and both try to think of something else to say.

  "I guess we better get back," Gavin finally said.

  "It's getting late and I’m sure you want to start getting ready."

  "I'm suddenly very nervous," I said. "Not for myself as much as I am for Mommy," I added. "She wants this to be a great party."

  "It will be. Don't be nervous," he said, smiling and squeezing my hand quickly. My fingers moved toward his when he released them. "Will you save me a dance?"

  "Of course I will, Gavin. In fact, you will be the first person I dance with, okay?"

  "First?" The idea seemed to frighten him. He knew it would make us the object of everyone's attention.

  "Why not?"

  "Maybe you should dance with Jimmy first," he suggested.

  "I'll see," I said coquettishly. It made him blush. "Don't go hiding in a corner with Ricky Smith and Warren Steine. I’ll just come looking for you," I threatened playfully.

  "I won't hide," he said. "Not tonight; it's too special a night for you."

  "I hope it will be for you, too," I said and he brightened.

  Across the grounds, I saw Mommy waving and calling to me from the front of our house.

  "I have to get going," I said. "See you soon."

  I reached out and he did, too. Our fingers touched for an instant, the feeling sending a warm, electric sensation up my arm and through my bosom until it reached my heart and sent it fluttering. I turned to run off and stopped.

  "I'm glad you're here," I cried back.

  "Me too," he said.

  I ran on, crossing from the gloom of clouds into the sunshine that had broken through and promised me the most exciting night of my life. The ocean breeze kissed my face and lifted my hair. I was fleeing from childhood, rushing headlong onto the threshold of womanhood, both excited and terrified by the new and deeper feelings that lay in waiting.

  After my shower Mommy came in to do her hair and make-up beside me at my vanity table. Now that we were side by side, giggling excitedly about the upcoming extravaganza, I could see why most people thought we looked more like sisters than mother and daughter. Of course, Mommy had been so young when she had had me. She was only in her early thirties now, and she had the sort of face and complexion that would take centuries to show her age. I hoped I would look just like her forever and ever, but at this moment, with our faces next to each other in the glass, I could vividly see the differences, differences that had to be attributed to my father. I paused in brushing down my bangs.

  "What did he look like, Mo
mmy?" I suddenly blurted.

  "He?"

  "My real father?" I said. Somehow, gazing at each other through the mirror made it seem as if we were speaking to each other from a distance and that distance made the questions and the answers easier to ask and to answer. I was hoping Mommy would seize the opportunity to tell me now the things she had promised she would tell me tonight.

  "Oh," she said and continued to brush her hair for a few moments. I thought she wasn't going to answer. Then she stopped. "He was very handsome, movie-star handsome, with broad shoulders and dark, silky hair," she said, her voice quiet and sounding far-away. "He always looked elegant and he had these dark blue eyes that sparkled with an impish glint." She smiled at her memories. "All the girls at the school were totally in love with him, of course. And he knew it!" she added, brushing her hair harder. "You will never meet a more arrogant . . ."

  I held my breath, afraid that if I moved or spoke, she would stop.

  "I was just another one of those wide-eyed, foolish teenage girls he took advantage of easily. I'm sure to him I was a sitting duck, swooning, believing everything he told me, walking around with my head in the clouds."

  "Do I have his eyes then?" I asked cautiously.

  "Yours are the same color, but his were usually oily slick and full of false promises."

  "I must have his mouth," I offered. She studied me a moment.

  "Yes, I suppose, and your chin is shaped like his. Sometimes, when you smile . . ." She stopped as if coming to her senses.

  "Was he always terrible, even in the beginning?" I asked quickly, hoping that she would keep talking about him.

  "Oh no. In the beginning he was beguiling, charming and loving. I believed everything he told me, swallowed a feast of his lies eagerly. But," she added, tilting her head, her eyes suddenly growing sad, "you have to remember, I was a young girl without any real family to call my own. Grandmother Cutler had agreed to send me to New York, mostly as a way to get rid of me, and my mother was incapable of helping herself, much less me. I was truly an orphan.