Shortly after I slammed the door I was on Julian’s floor. Dragging along my tied-together luggage, I banged on the door to Julian’s apartment with both fists! “Julian!” I cried, “if you’re in there, open this door and give me back my purse. Open this door or you’ll never have me for a dance partner again!”
He opened the door quickly enough, wearing nothing but a bath towel wrapped about his narrow hips. Before I knew what was happening he dragged me into the room and threw me down on the bed. I looked around frantically, hoping to see Alexis or Michael, but it was my bad luck he had the apartment to himself. “Sure,” he barked, “you can have your damned purse back—after you answer a few questions!”
I jumped up from the bed—and he shoved me down again, then knelt so he straddled my body, and in no way could I escape! “You let me go, you beast!” I yelled. “I walked six blocks in the rain and was freezing cold—now let me up and give me my purse!”
“Why can’t you love me?” he shot out, holding me down with both hands as I struggled to free myself. “Is it because you’re in love with someone else? Who is it? It’s that big doctor who took you in, isn’t it?”
I shook my head, terribly afraid of him. I couldn’t tell him the truth. He looked almost insane with jealousy. His hair was so wet from his recent shower he dripped water on me. “Cathy, I’ve had about all I can take from you! It’s been about three years since we met, and I’m not getting anywhere. It can’t be me that’s wrong—so it must be you! Who is it?”
“Nobody!” I lied. “And you are all wrong for me! The only thing I like about you, Julian Marquet, is the way you dance!”
Blood flooded his face. “You think I’m blind and stupid, don’t you?” he asked, so furious he could likely explode. “But I’m not blind, I’m not stupid and I’ve seen the way you look at that doctor—and so help me God if I haven’t seen you look at your own brother in the same way! So don’t go getting up on your high horse of morals, Catherine Dahl, for I’ve never seen a brother and sister so fascinated with each other before!”
I slapped him then! He slapped back, twice as hard! I tried to fight him off, but he was like an eel as he wrestled me down to the floor where I feared he’d soon rip off my clothes and rape me—but he didn’t do that. He only held me beneath him and breathed heavily until he had some control of his raging emotions, and only then did he speak. “You’re mine, Cathy, whether you know it or not . . . you belong to me. And if any man comes between us, I’ll kill him—and you too. So remember that before you turn your eyes on anyone but me.”
He gave me my purse then, and told me to count my money to see if he’d stolen any. I had forty-two dollars and sixty-two cents, it was all there.
Shakily I gained my feet, when he allowed me to, and I trembled as I backed to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the hall clutching my purse tight. Only then did I dare to speak what I thought.
“There are institutions for madmen like you, Julian. You can’t tell me whom to love, and you can’t force me to love you. If you had deliberately set out to make yourself repugnant to me, you couldn’t have done a better job of it. Now I can’t even like you—and as for dancing together again, forget it!” I slammed the door in his face, then hurried away.
But as I reached the elevator, he had the door open again, and he cursed something so terrible I can’t repeat it, except it ended with, “Damn you to hell, Cathy. . . . I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again . . . and you’ll wish to God you were in hell before I’m done with you!”
* * *
After that terrible scene with Yolanda, then Julian, I sought out Madame Zolta and told her I just couldn’t live any longer in an apartment with a girl determined to ruin my career.
“She afraid of you, Catherine, that’s all. Yolanda was the superstar in my small company until you came along. Now she feels threatened. Make up with her. . . . Be a good girl, and go and say you’re sorry for whatever it was.”
“No, Madame. I don’t like her, and I refuse to live in the same apartment with her. So if you don’t give me more money, I’ll have to go to another company and see if they will, and if they won’t then I’ll go back to Clairmont.”
She groaned, bowed her skeleton head into her bony hands and moaned some more. Oh, how grand Russians were at expressing emotions! “Okay . . . you blackmail me, and I give in. I’ll give you a small raise, and tell you where to find cheap apartment—but it won’t be so nice as one you left.”
Hah! That had been nice? But she was right. The only apartment I could find would fit in Paul’s smallest bedroom, all two rooms of it. But it was my own . . . the very first place I’d had all to myself, and for a few days I exalted in fixing it up as best I could. Then I really began to sleep restlessly, waking up every few minutes to listen to all the squeaks and squeals the old building made. I longed for Paul. I longed for Chris. I heard the wind blow, and there was no one in another bed three feet from mine to comfort me with soft words and sparkling blue eyes.
Chris’s eyes were in front of me as I got up and sat at my kitchen table to write a note to “Mrs. Winslow.” I sent her my first rave review, one with a sensational photo of Julian and me in The Sleeping Beauty. And I wrote at the bottom of my letter,
It won’t be long now, Mrs. Winslow. Think about that every night before you fall asleep. Remember somewhere I’m still alive, and I’m thinking of you, and planning.
I even mailed off that letter in the middle of the night before I had the chance to reconsider and tear it up. I raced home, threw myself on my bed and sobbed. Oh God, I was never going to be set free! Never! And despite all my tears I woke up again, thinking of how I could hurt her so she’d never be the same. Be happy now, Momma, for it won’t be long!
* * *
I bought six copies of all papers that had anything to say about me. Unfortunately, most often my name was coupled with Julian’s. Paul and Chris were also favored with my reviews; the others I kept for myself—or Momma. I pictured how she’d look when she opened the envelope, though it was my fear she’d just pitch it in the trashcan after she’d torn up the envelope with its contents unread. Not once did I call her Mother or Momma, but kept my salutations always formal and cold. There would come a day when she would see me face to face and I would call her Mother and I would watch her pale, then shudder.
* * *
One morning I was awakened by someone banging on my door. “Cathy, let me in! I have terrific news!” It was Julian’s voice.
“Go way!” I said sleepily, getting up and pulling on a robe before I stumbled over to make him stop pounding on the door. “Stop that!” I yelled. “I haven’t forgiven you—I never will—so stay out of my life!”
“Let me in or I’ll kick the door down!” he bellowed. I unlocked the deadbolts, and swung the door open a crack. Julian barged in to sweep me up in his arms and plant on my lips a long, hot kiss while I was half yawning. “Madame Zolta . . . yesterday after you left, she broke the news! We’re going on tour in London! Two weeks there! I’ve never been to London, Cathy, and Madame is so delighted they’ve taken official notice of us over there!”
“Really?” I asked, catching his excitement. Then I staggered off toward my minute kitchen. . . . Coffee, had to have coffee before I could think straight.
“God, are you always so disoriented in the mornings?” he asked, following me into the kitchen where he straddled a chair backwards and leaned on his elbows to watch my every move. “Wake up, Cathy! Forgive me, kiss me, be my friend again. Hate me all you want tomorrow, but love me this day—for I was born for this day, you too—Cathy, we’re going to make it! I know we are! Madame Zolta’s company was never noticed before we became a team! It isn’t her success—it’s ours!”
His modesty deserved a medal. “You’ve eaten breakfast?” I asked, and hoped. I had only two slices of bacon and wanted both for myself.
“Sure I have; I grabbed a bite before I came over, but I can eat again.”
; Naturally he could eat again! He could always eat . . . and that’s when it hit me . . . London! Our company going to London! I spun around, crying, “Julian, what you said, you’re not kidding? We’re going over there—all of us?”
He jumped up. “Yes, all of us! It’s a big break, our chance to make it big! We’ll make the world sit up and take notice! And you and I, we’ll be the stars! Because together we’re the best, and you know it as well as I do.”
I shared my meal and listened to him rhapsodize on the long and fantastic career we had just ahead. We’d be rich, and when we grew older, we’d settle down and have a couple of kids, and then teach ballet, I’d like that, wouldn’t I? I hated to spoil his plans, but I had to say it. “Julian, I don’t love you, so we can never be married. We’ll go to London and dance together, and I’ll do my best—but I plan to marry someone else. I’m already engaged. I have been for a long time now.”
His long, glaring look of disbelief and pure hatred delivered and redelivered a series of visual slaps on my face. “You’re lying!” he screamed. I shook my head to deny it. “Goddamn you to hell for leading me on!” he raged, then hurled himself out of my apartment. I’d never led him on, except when we were dancing, and that was my role to play. . . . That was all, all there was between us.
Winter Dreams
I was going home for Christmas. The unpleasantness with Julian was forgotten in my happy anticipation of seeing Paul, and bringing with me such good news. Thank God I had Paul to escape to. And I wasn’t going to let Julian take the joy from this Christmas. For this was the time Paul and I had agreed to announce our engagement, and the only person who could ruin my happiness now was Chris.
At two o’clock in the morning Chris and Paul met me at the airport. It was bitterly cold even in South Carolina. It was Chris who reached me first to catch me up in his strong arms, and he tried to put a kiss on my lips but I turned my face so his kiss landed on my cheek. “Hail to the conquering ballerina!” he cried, hugging me tight and looking at me with so much pride. “Oh, Cathy, you are so beautiful! Each time I see you, you make my heart hurt.”
He made my heart hurt too, to see him more handsome than even Daddy had been. Quickly I looked in another direction. I tore away from my brother’s embrace and ran toward Paul who stood and watched. He stretched out his hands to take mine in them. Careful, careful , warned his long look, mustn’t let our news escape too soon.
That was our best Christmas ever, from beginning to end—or almost to the end. Carrie had grown half an inch, and to see her sitting on the floor on Christmas morning with her big blue eyes happy and glowing as she exclaimed over the red velvet dress I’d bought her, found after hours and hours of searching almost every shop in New York. She looked like a radiant, small princess when she tried the dress on. I tried to picture Cory seated cross-legged on the floor looking at his gifts too. It was impossible for me to leave the memory of him out of any happy occasion. Oh, many a time I’d glimpsed a small boy with blond curls and blue eyes on the streets of New York, and I’d run to chase after, hoping by some miracle it would be him—and it never was, never was.
Chris put a small box into my hands. Inside was a tiny gold heart-locket and in the center of the lid was a genuine diamond, a small one, but a diamond nevertheless. “Paid for by my own hard-earned cash,” he said as he fastened the chain about my neck. “Waiting on tables pays well when you give good service with a smile.” Then, furtively, he slipped a folded note in my hand. An hour later, when I had the chance, I read a note that made me cry:
To my lady Catherine,
I give you gold with a diamond you can barely see,
But the gem would be castle-sized if it expressed all I feel for thee.
I give you gold because it endures, and love like the eternal sea.
Only your brother, Christopher.
I hadn’t read that note when Paul gave me his gift wrapped in gold foil and topped by a huge red satin bow. My hands trembled as I fumbled with the many layers of tissue, all while he watched expectantly. A grey fox coat! “The kind of coat you really need for New York winters,” he said, his eyes shining with all the warmth and love he felt.
“It’s too much,” I choked, “but I love it, absolutely love it!”
He smiled, made happy so easily. “Every time you wear it, it’s essential you think of me, and it should keep you warm on those cold, foggy days in London too.”
I told him it was the most beautiful coat I’d ever seen, though I felt uneasy. It brought back thoughts of Momma and her closet full of many furs, gained only because she had the heartless cruelty to lock us away, and thus gain a fortune, and furs, and jewelry, and everything else money could buy.
Chris jerked his head around to catch something on my face that must have betrayed my love for Paul. His brows drew together in a scowl before he shot a glance at Paul. Then he got up and left the room. Somewhere upstairs a door slammed violently. Paul pretended not to notice. “Look over in the corner, Catherine—that’s a gift for all of us to enjoy.”
I stared at the huge cabinet TV set that Carrie jumped up and ran to turn on. “He bought it just so we could watch you dance in The Nutcracker in color, Cathy. Now he won’t let me touch it.”
“It’s only because it is the devil to tune in correctly,” Paul apologized.
Throughout the rest of Christmas Day I saw very little of Chris, except at mealtimes. He wore the bright blue sweater I’d knitted for him—and it did fit—and under it the shirt and tie I’d given him as well. But none of my gifts to him could equal that gold and diamond locket with the small poem that left my heart bleeding. I hated it that he kept caring so much, and yet—when I thought about it later—I would hate it more if he didn’t.
That evening we all settled down comfortably before the new color TV. I curled up on the floor near Paul’s leg as he sat in a chair, with Carrie close at my side. Chris sat far away, deep in a mood that took him even farther away than the actual feet that separated us. So I didn’t feel as happy as I should have as I watched the credits roll by on the colorful screen. A tape which had been made in August and only now was to be seen in hundreds of cities across the country. How beautiful the sets looked in color; they hadn’t appeared nearly so ethereal in reality. I gazed at myself as Clara—did I really look like that? I forgot myself and leaned unconsciously against Paul’s thigh, and I felt his fingers twine into my hair—and then I didn’t know where I was, except on stage, with Julian now transformed by magic from the ugly nutcracker into the handsome prince.
When it was over I came back to myself and the first thing I thought of was my mother. God, let her be home this night, and let her have seen me. Let her know what she tried to kill! Let her hurt, cry, grieve . . . please, please!
“What can I say, Cathy,” said Paul in an awed way. “No dancer could have performed that role better than you did. And Julian was superb too.”
“Yeah,” said Chris coldly, getting to his feet and coming to lift Carrie up in his arms. “You both were sensational—but it sure wasn’t the kiddy performance I remember seeing when I was a child. The two of you made it seem a romance. Really, Cathy, turn that guy off, and quickly!” With those words he strode from the room and up the stairs to tuck Carrie into bed.
“I think your brother is suspicious,” said Paul mildly, “not only of Julian, but also of me. All day he has treated me as a rival. He’s not going to be happy when he hears our news.”
Because like others I wanted to put off what was unpleasant, I suggested we not tell him until the next day. Then, when I was curled up on Paul’s lap and we had our arms wrapped about each other, we exchanged the kind of passionate kisses held back until now. I was aching for him. After we’d turned off all the lights we stole up the back stairs and with the zeal born of starvation made love on his bed. Later on we slept, then woke up to make love again. At dawn I kissed him once more, then slipped on a robe to sneak down the hall to my own room. To my utter dismay, just as I s
tepped from Paul’s room into the hall, Chris opened his door and came out! Abruptly he jerked to a stop and stared at me with astonished, hurt eyes. I cringed backward, so ashamed I could cry! Neither of us said a word. His eyes were the first to break from the frozen stare that also stilled our limbs. He ran for the stairs, but halfway there he turned to throw me a look of outraged disgust. I wanted to die! I went in to look at Carrie who was sound asleep with her red velvet dress clutched in her arms. And on my bed I lay trying to think of what to say to Chris to make it right between us again. Why did I feel in my heart that I was betraying him?
* * *
The day after Christmas was for returning the gifts you hated, didn’t want, or those that didn’t fit. I forced myself to approach Chris who was in the garden, fiercely snipping at the rose bushes with hedge clippers. “Chris, I need to talk to you and explain a few things.”
He exploded. “Paul had no right to give you a fur coat! A gift like that makes you seem a kept woman! Cathy, give him back that coat! And, most of all, stop what you are doing with him!”
First I took the clippers from his hands before he ruined Paul’s beloved roses. “Chris, it isn’t as bad as you believe. You see . . . Paul and I . . . well, we are planning to marry in the spring. We love each other, so it isn’t wrong what we do together. It’s not an affair to be forgotten tomorrow; he needs me and I need him.” I stepped closer when he turned his back to hide his expression. “It’s better this way for me and for you too,” I said softly. I encircled his waist and twisted about to stare up in his face. He seemed stunned, like a healthy man who learns suddenly he has a terminal illness—and all hope had fled from him.
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 59