Oh, the thoughts I had on stage as I lay so still on the purple velvet couch, waiting for my lover to come and put on my lips an arousing, come-alive kiss. The glorious music made me feel more real on that couch than when I was just me with no royal blood at all. I felt enchanted, surrounded by an aura of beauty as I quietly, gracefully lay with my arms folded on my breasts and my heart pulsated in rhythm with the glorious music. Out in the dark audience, Paul, Chris and Carrie and Henny were watching for the first time a New York performance. Truly, I felt in my bones I was that mystical medieval princess.
I saw him dreamily from beneath almost closed eyes, my prince. He danced about me, then down on one knee he knelt to tenderly gaze upon my face before he dared to put a hesitant kiss upon my closed lips. I awakened, shy, disoriented, fluttering my eyelids. I feigned love on sight, but was so frightened, so maidenly virtuous, he had to woo me with more dancing and coax me to dance too, and in the most passionate pas de deux I soon succumbed to his charms and in conquest he lifted me high and up on the flat of his palm that knew well the exact spot to balance my weight just right, and I was carried offstage.
The last act ended; the applause thundered and resounded as time and again the curtain rose and came down. Julian and I took eight curtain calls of our very own! Red roses were thrust again and again into my arms, and flowers were tossed onto the stage. I looked down to see one single yellow buttercup weighted down by a folded slip of paper. I bent to pick it up and knew it was from Chris even before I had the chance to read his note. Daddy’s four yellow buttercups—and here was one put in a freezer to keep it fresh until it could be thrown to me as a tribute to what we used to be.
Blindly I stared out into an audience of blurred faces, searching to see those I loved. All I could see was the attic, the gloomy, awesomely huge attic with its paper flowers, and over there, near the stairwell, was Chris standing in the shadows, near the shrouded sofa and the big trunk and his yearning desire was on his face as he watched me dance on and on.
I was crying, and the audience loved it. They gave me a standing ovation. I turned to hand a red rose to Julian, and again they thundered their applause. And he kissed me! Right in front of thousands—he dared to kiss me—and it wasn’t respectful, it was possessive. “Damn you for doing that!” I hissed, feeling humiliated.
“Damn you for not wanting me!” he hissed back.
“I’m not yours!”
“You will be!”
* * *
My family came backstage to lavish me with praise. Chris had grown taller but Carrie was very much the same—maybe a bit taller, not much. I kissed Henny’s firm, round cheek. Only then could I look at Paul. Our eyes locked and held. Did he still love me, want me, need me? He hadn’t answered my last letter. Easily hurt, I’d written only to Carrie to tell her of the upcoming performances, and only then did Paul call to say he was bringing my family to New York.
After the performance came the buffet party given for us by the rich patrons Madame Z. cultivated. “Wear the costumes you have on,” she instructed. “The aficionados get a big thrill seeing dancers up close in costumes—but take off the stage makeup, use what you wear every day to look stunning. Never for one second give the public the idea you are less than glamorous!”
Music was playing and Chris took me into his arms for a waltz, the dance I had taught him so many years ago. “This is still the way you dance?” I chided.
He grinned in a self-effacing way. “Can’t help it if you got all the dancing talent and I got all the brains.”
“Remarks like that could easily make me think you have no brains.”
He laughed again and I was drawn closer. “Besides, I don’t have to dance and posture to win over the girls. Just take a look at your friend Yolanda. She’s quite a beauty, and she’s been giving me the eye all evening.”
“She gives every good-looking guy the eye, so don’t feel so flattered. She’ll sleep with you tonight if you want that, and tomorrow night with someone else.”
“Are you like her too?” he shot back, narrowing his eyes.
I smiled at him wickedly, thinking, no, I was like Momma, sweet and cool and able to handle men—at least, I was learning. To prove this I winked at Paul, seeing if he’d come over and cut in. Swiftly Paul was on his feet, moving gracefully across the dance floor to take me from Chris. My brother’s lips tightened, then he strolled straight from me to Yolanda. In a minute or two they disappeared.
“I guess you think I’m all hands and clumsy feet, after dancing with Julian,” said Paul, who could dance better than Chris. Even when the music changed into a faster rhythm with a jungle beat he followed along, surprising me that he could let go of his dignity and jiggle around almost as abandoned as a college kid. “Paul, you’re wonderful!” He laughed and said I made him feel young again. It was so much fun to see him like this, relaxed, that I went a bit wild with my dancing.
Carrie and Henny looked tired and ill-at-ease. “I’m sleepy,” complained Carrie, rubbing her eyes. “Can’t we go to bed now?” It was twelve o’clock when we dropped Henny and Carrie off at their hotel, then Paul and I sat in a quiet Italian café and looked at one another. He still wore the mustache—not a neat, dandy one, but a thick brush above his sensual lips. He’d gained a few pounds, but it didn’t detract from his looks or his appeal. He reached across the table to gather both my hands in his, then lifted them to his face so he could rub his cheek against them. And all the while he did this, his eyes asked a burning question, forcing a question from me. “Paul, have you found someone else?”
“Have you?”
“I asked first.”
“I’m not looking for anyone else.”
It was an answer to make my heartbeats quicken, for it had been so long and I loved him too much. I watched him pay the check, pick up my coat and hold it, and then his own for me to hold. Our eyes met—and then we almost ran from the restaurant to the nearest hotel where he registered us as Mr. and Mrs. Paul Sheffield. In a room painted dark red, he took off my clothes with such seductive slowness I was ready even before he went down on his knees to kiss me everywhere. Then he held me close, caressed and cherished me, kissed and pleasured until we were again made one.
After we were spent, he traced his finger along my lips, looking at me so tenderly. “Catherine, what I wrote on that hotel register I meant,” he said, kissing me softly.
I stared at him, disbelieving. “Paul, don’t tease me.”
“I’m not teasing, Catherine. I’ve missed you so much since you’ve been away. I realized what a fool I’ve been to deny you and myself the chance to find happiness. Life is too short to have so many doubts. Now you’re finding success in New York; I want to share it with you. I don’t want us to have to sneak around behind Chris’s back, I don’t want to have to worry about the small-town gossips. I want to be with you, I want you forever, I want you to be my wife.”
“Oh Paul,” I cried, throwing my arms about his neck, “I’ll love you forever, I promise!” My eyes filled with tears, I was so relieved he’d asked me to marry him at last. “I’ll make you the best wife any man has ever known.” I meant it too.
We didn’t sleep that night. We stayed awake, planning how it would be when we were married. I would stay with the company, somehow we’d work it out. The only shadow that darkened our joy was Chris. How would we tell Chris? We decided to wait until Christmas, when I would be in Clairmont. Until then I had to keep my happiness a secret, hide it from the world, so no one would guess I was about to become Mrs. Paul Scott Sheffield.
A Fighting Chance
That was the autumn of my happiness, of my burgeoning success, of my love for Paul. I thought I had fate fully under my control; I dared it to stop me, for I was free and running true on my course. Almost on top now. I had nothing to fear now, nothing at all. I couldn’t wait to tell the world about my engagement to Paul. But stealthily I protected my secret. I told no one, not Julian, nor Madame Zolta, for there was much at sta
ke, and I had to bide my time, to make sure everything would continue to go my way. Right now I still needed Julian to partner me, just as much as he needed me. And I needed Madame Zolta to have complete confidence in me. If she knew I was going to be married, something she did not highly approve of, she might not give me all the lead roles, she might think I was a lost cause and not worth her time. And I still had to be famous. I still had to show Momma how much better I was than she.
Now that Julian and I were achieving a little recognition, Madame Zolta began to pay us more money. Julian came running to me one Saturday morning, terribly excited as he grabbed me up and swung me off my feet in a circle. “Guess what? The old witch said I could buy her Cadillac on a time payment plan! It’s only two and a half years old, Cathy.” He looked wistful. “Of course, I always hoped my first Cadillac would be a brand new one, but when a certain ballet mistress is scared to death a certain sensational danseur might join another ballet company and take along with him her best ballerina—how can that certain someone refuse to almost give away her Cadillac?”
“Blackmail!” I cried. He laughed and grabbed my hand, and we dashed to look at his new car parked outside our apartment building. My breath pulled in, it looked so new! “Oh, Julian, I love it! You couldn’t blackmail her if she didn’t want you to have one of her pets—she knows you will pamper it—and don’t ever, ever sell it.”
“Oh, Cathy,” his eyes shone brilliantly with unused tears. “Can’t you see why I love you so? We’re alike—why can’t you love me, just a little?” Proudly he swung open the door to give me the rare privilege of being the first girl to ride in his first Cadillac.
We had a wild and crazy kind of day from there on. We drove through Central Park and all the way up through Harlem, to the George Washington Bridge and back. It was raining but I didn’t mind. It was warm and cozy in the car.
Then Julian started in again. “Cathy . . . you’re never going to love me, are you?” It was a question he put to me at least once or twice a day, in one form or another. I longed to tell him of my engagement to Paul, to put an end to his questions once and for all. But I steadfastly kept my secret.
“It’s because you’re still a virgin, isn’t it? I’ll be so gentle, so tender, Cathy . . . give me a chance, please.”
“Good God, Julian, is that all you ever have on your mind?”
“Yeah!” he snarled. “You’re damned right it is! And I’m sick and tired of the game you play with me!” He guided the car out into a heavy stream of traffic. “You’re a cockteaser. You lead me on while we dance, then kick me in the groin when we’re not!”
“Take me home, Julian! I find that kind of talk disgusting!”
“Right! You bet I’ll take you home!” he spat at me as I crouched near the passenger door he had locked. He shot me a fierce, distraught look then bore down hard on the gas pedal! We sped down all those rain-slick streets, and every so often he’d glance my way to see how I was enjoying the terrifying ride! He laughed, wild and crazy, then braked so fast I was flung forward so my forehead struck the windshield! Blood trickled from the cut. Next he snatched the purse from my lap, leaned to unlock my door, then he shoved me out into the pouring rain!
“To hell with you, Catherine Dahl!” he shouted as I stood there in the rain, refusing to beg. My coat pockets were empty. No money. “You’ve had your first and your last ride in my car. I hope you know your way around!” He saluted me with an evil smile. “Get home the best way you can, puritan saint,” he spat out, “if you can!”
He drove off leaving me on the street corner in the downpour, in Brooklyn where I’d never been before. I didn’t have even a nickel. I couldn’t make a phone call, or use a subway, and the rain came down strong. My lightweight coat was soaked through. I knew I was in an unsavory district where anything could happen . . . and he’d left me here, when he’d sworn to take care of me!
I began to walk, not knowing north from south, east from west, and then I saw a cab cruising by and hailed it. Nervously I leaned forward to watch the meter click away the miles—and the dollars. Damn you again, Julian, for taking me so far! Finally we reached my apartment building—at the cost of fifteen dollars!
“What do you mean you ain’t got it on yuh?” the cab driver flared. “I’ll drive ya straight to the police precinct!”
We bickered back and forth, with me trying to explain he couldn’t be paid unless he let me out to go for money, and all the while the meter was running. Finally he agreed. “But you’d better be back, chicky, in five minutes—or else!”
An English fox chased by a hundred hounds couldn’t have run faster than I did. The elevator crawled upward, creaking all the way. Never did I step in that thing when I wasn’t afraid it would stop between floors and I’d be trapped. Finally, the door opened, and I raced down the hall to bang on the door, praying April or Yolanda would be there to let me in. Crazy Julian had my hand bag and my key!
“Take it easy!” bellowed Yolanda. “I’m comin’. Who is it anyway?”
“Cathy! Let me in quick! I’ve got a taxi driver waiting with his meter running!”
“If you think you’re going to put the bite on me, forget it!” she said, swinging open the door. She wore only nylon briefs, and her freshly shampooed head was wrapped with a red towel. “You look like something the sea coughed up,” she said invitingly. I wasn’t one to pay much attention to Yolanda. I shoved her aside, ran to where I hid my secret cache of emergency money—then I went slack. The small key to my locked treasure chest was in the bag Julian had—if he hadn’t thrown it away. “Please, Yolly, loan me fifteen and a buck for a tip.”
Shrewdly she looked me over while she removed the towel and began to comb her long dark hair. “What yah got to trade for small favors like that?”
“I’ll give you anything you want. Just give me the money.”
“Okay—you just keep your promise to repay.” Slowly she took a twenty from her fat billfold. “Give the driver a fiver; that will cool him down—and anything I want—right?” I agreed and raced off.
No sooner did the driver grab the twenty, than he was smiling, friendly as he tipped his cap. “See you around, chicky.” I hoped he’d drop dead!
I was so chilled the first thing I did was to run a tub of hot water, but only after I’d scrubbed off the dirty ring Yolly had left.
My hair was still wet as I pulled on clothes, planning to go to Julian and demand my purse back, when Yolly blocked my way. “Come on, Cathy . . . I want you to keep your bargain—anything I want, right?”
“Right,” I said, disgusted. “What do you want?”
She smiled and leaned provocatively against a wall.
“Your brother . . . I want you to invite him up next weekend.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Chris is in college. He can’t come up here any time he wants.”
“You get him up here any way you have to. Say you’re sick, say you desperately need him, but get him up here! And then you can keep the twenty.”
I turned to stare at her with hostility. “No! I’ve got the money to pay you back. . . . I’m not going to let Chris get involved with the likes of you!”
Still wearing only the briefs, she smeared on scarlet lipstick without looking in a mirror. “Cathy, love, your dear, precious brother is already involved with the likes of me.”
“I don’t believe you! You’re not his type!”
“Nooo,” she purred, her eyes narrowing as she watched me finish dressing, “let me tell you something, dollface, there isn’t a guy alive who doesn’t go for my type. Including your dear brother and your lover-boy Julian!”
“You lie!” I cried. “Chris wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole—and as for Julian, I don’t give a damn if he sleeps with ten whores like you!”
Suddenly her face flamed red, she stiffened and came at me with her hands raised and her fingers curled into claws with long red fingernails! “Bitch!” she snarled. “Don’t you dare call me a whore! I don’t tak
e pay for what I want to give out—and your brother likes what I give out—go and ask him how many times he’s—”
“Shut up!” I yelled, not letting her finish. “I don’t believe anything you say! He’s too smart to do anything but use you for physical needs. . . . Beyond that, you couldn’t mean more than dirt to him!”
She grabbed me and I belted her back, hard. Hard enough so she fell to the floor. “You’re nothing but a shallow, mean tramp, Yolanda Lange!” I screamed with fury. “Not nearly good enough for my brother to wipe his feet on! You’ve slept with every dancer in the company. I don’t care what you do . . . just leave me, and leave my brother alone!”
Her nose was bleeding. . . . Oh, I didn’t know I’d hit that hard, and her nose was also beginning to swell. Quickly she jumped to her feet, but for some reason she backed off from me. “Nobody talks to me like that and gets away with it. . . . You’re gonna regret this day, Catherine Dahl! I’ll get your brother. And what’s more, I’ll take Julian from you too! And when he’s mine, you’ll find out that without him you’re nothing! Nothing but a hick dancer Madame Z. would throw out if Julian didn’t insist on keeping you on because he’s got the hots for a virgin.”
What she screamed out could be so true. Maybe she was right, that without Julian I wouldn’t be anything special. I felt sick and I hated her—hated her for soiling Chris and my image of him. I began to throw my clothes in my suitcases, determined I’d go back to Clairmont before I’d live another hour near Yolanda!
“Go on!” she hissed between her clenched teeth. “Run away, little prude—what a fool you are. I’m not a whore! It’s just I’m not the tease you are—and between the two, I choose my kind!”
Heedless of what she said, I finished packing, then strapped the handles of my three bags together so I could drag them out into the hall, and under my arm I carried a soft leather satchel stuffed full. I turned at the door to look back at Yolanda who had sprawled on the bed like a sleek cat. “You really do terrify me, Yolanda. I’m so scared I could laugh. I’ve faced up to bigger and better than you, and still I’m alive . . . so don’t you come near me again, or it will be you who lives to regret this day!”
The Flowers in the Attic Series: The Dollangangers: Flowers in the Attic, Petals on the Wind, If There Be Thorns, Seeds of Yesterday, and a New Excerpt! Page 58