Roxy's Story

by V. C. Andrews

  “How is that?”

  “She introduced me to Ron Carter. He’s the house manager, in charge of overseeing just about everything here. At the time, he was going through a bad breakup, too. I’m sure you’ll meet him soon. We stay in the west end of the mansion, as do most of the staff.”

  We started out of the suite.

  “I saw a young woman today for a moment,” I said. “She went out to the pool to sun herself and read. I noticed she needed a cane and had a maid carry out her things for her. When I went to speak with her, I saw she had a prosthetic leg. Is she another one of Mrs. Brittany’s girls? Maybe to satisfy some weird fetish one or more of her clients have?”

  “Oh, goodness, no. Heaven forbid. She’s Mrs. Brittany’s granddaughter.”

  “Granddaughter? No one mentioned a granddaughter. All I was told was that Mrs. Brittany married a man, a count or something, who was much older, and he had died.”

  “Yes, but they had a daughter, and she had a daughter, the girl you saw. Her name is Sheena. Mrs. Brittany disapproved of her parents naming her that, but she disapproved of most everything they did.” He shook his head. “Sheena. What a tragedy there.”

  “What happened to her?” I asked as we started down the stairs.

  “When she was only twelve, she contracted bone cancer. The hope was that surgery to remove the tumor would end it, but it didn’t, and as a last resort, her leg was amputated.”

  “Oh. That explains it. How sad.”

  “Mrs. Brittany is arranging for her to have the most up-to-date prosthesis.”

  “So is she just visiting now?”

  “No, no, she’s lives here. She’s in Mrs. Brittany’s wing of the mansion. She’s a very sweet girl.”

  “How old is she?”

  “A little more than eighteen. Mrs. Brittany always blamed her daughter for what happened. Apparently, Sheena had been complaining for some time about pain, but her mother was not only a selfish bitch, she was a heavy drinker. She neglected her so long that the options were limited when she finally did get to treatment. Mrs. Brittany’s daughter became a severe alcoholic, left her husband—or he left her—and basically neglected Sheena while she was recuperating.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Mrs. Brittany had her daughter committed to the Betty Ford Clinic in California, but she ran away from there and went off with some man she had met. If she’s still alive, she’s somewhere in Asia. So Mrs. Brittany took on the upbringing of her granddaughter.”

  “What about the husband, Sheena’s father?”

  “He remarried and has a new family. Mrs. Brittany blames him, too. Sheena is a very bright young woman and otherwise, as you saw, very attractive. She was basically home-schooled, however,” he said softly, “and I’m afraid she’s a bit socially retarded. She lives vicariously through the novels she reads and the movies she watches. Mrs. Brittany is overly protective of her. We rarely see her on this side of the mansion. She’s never at dinner here. She’s very shy and withdrawn. I’m practically the only one who has much to do with her.

  “I’m telling you all this so you won’t make the mistake of trying to have any more contact with her. That could be . . . fatal.”

  “Fatal?”

  “To your ambitions,” he said. “Oh, look at the time. I don’t want to be blamed for causing you to be late. Enjoy your session with Madame Laffette.”

  I watched him walk off quickly, and then I headed for the salon, thinking after I had heard all he had told me that no amount of money, no position of power, nothing guarantees happiness, but this wasn’t the time to become philosophical. I had things to do.

  I was hesitant, even timid, about meeting Madame Laffette. I was afraid she would remind me too much of Mama, being that they were both Parisians. However, I had nothing to fear. Claudine was probably not more than ten years older than I was, if that much. She wore a turquoise cowgirl hat with sequins, a baggy white blouse, and a pair of very tight designer jeans. Spilling out from under her hat were slightly curled medium-length strands of blond hair. Her lips were too thin, but she had beautiful, even striking gray-blue eyes and a nose as small and perfect as mine. She shook her head the moment she saw me enter.

  “Who has been doing your hair, ma chère?”

  “No one,” I said.

  “It shows.”

  “I was already told that. What, is everyone given the same script?”

  She laughed. “I know who told you. S’il vous plaît,” she said, indicating the chair. “We have a lot to do.” She looked at her watch. “Mon Dieu.”

  She ran her fingers through my hair.

  “Dry, dirty, split ends. You American girls,” she added, shaking her head.

  “Not everyone has been through what I’ve been through these past days, and I haven’t had time to do much more than run a brush through it since I arrived here.”

  I could have washed my hair the night before, but I was too lazy, exhausted, and overwhelmed. I didn’t tell her that.

  “Whatever. We will work a miracle, will we not?” she said, and turned on the water in her sink. “So, your mother, she is Parisian?”

  “Oui.”

  She gave me a look of disapproval. “A Parisian, and she didn’t bring you up to take better care of your hair?”

  “No, she did. She would never let me go out of the house looking like this. I always took better care of myself before I left home, mainly because of her, but I have been on my own and not under good circumstances, comprenez?” I surprised myself at how vehemently I defended my mother.

  “Ah, mais oui. Well, then, we will fix you up, make you the daughter of a Parisian again.”

  I didn’t want to say how good it felt to have my hair washed, but it brought back the memories of all the times Mama would do it and, while she did it, talk about her own youth and her mother and the way she had taken care of herself, too. Claudine talked while she worked, but I barely heard anything she said. My eyes were tearing over, but I fought it back, hoping she wouldn’t see. When she was finished, she stood back and looked at me a moment and then nodded to herself.

  “You are perfect for this new hairstyle,” she said.

  “What new hairstyle?”

  “What I have in mind for you,” she said. I could see I had no choice in the matter. Mrs. Brittany obviously had full faith in her.

  She began to cut, telling me she was cutting a foundation layer at the base of my neck, explaining as she went along. She cut it layer by layer, using a razor to provide texture and a softer modern edge. After that, she used a paddle brush with thick bristles to avoid a round, helmet look and instead make my hair look flat and shiny. She put in the mousse and brushed my hair down. When she finished blow-drying, she worked meticulously with her scissors to perfect the cut. She finished off by working some pomade into my hair. When I looked at myself from all sides, I was astounded by the change.

  “You worked your miracle, Madame Laffette. Merci beaucoup.”

  “I think Mrs. Brittany will approve,” she said. “Now, sit at the vanity table, and we’ll work on your makeup.”

  Mrs. Pratt came in just when we were close to finishing.

  “Your dinner dress is on your bed,” she told me. “The shoes are beside the bed. Mrs. Brittany has returned, and she also brought you some perfume to try. Dinner will be served in the main dining room in two hours. Mrs. Brittany will see you first in an hour and a half in her office. Besides Portia and Mr. Whitehouse at dinner, there will be a gentleman guest. He’s an old friend, and Mrs. Brittany relies on his opinion about a great many things, not least of all her new girls.”

  “Am I supposed to be nervous?”

  “Of course. How you behave when you are nervous is very important,” she replied. She looked at Claudine. “N’est-ce pas?”

  Claudine laughed. I looked up at her and then smiled myself. It seemed that even my breathing was being examined and judged here. I began to wonder if candidates for the CIA were more anal
yzed. Mrs. Brittany was one careful businesswoman, but looking around at what she had, I couldn’t think of how to criticize her for it.

  “By the way,” Mrs. Pratt said, looking at me now, “you’re very beautiful.”

  I didn’t blush. It was more like something that took my breath away. Mrs. Pratt certainly had seen very attractive women around here. To find myself now included in that category filled me with more pride and happiness than I could ever have imagined for myself since I had left home.

  “Merci, madame.”

  “De rien,” she said, and left us.

  “Well. If Madame Pratt approves of you, Mrs. Brittany usually will as well. Felicitations.”

  “I’m not there yet, Claudine, but merci.”

  I rose, gazed at myself in the mirror again, and smiled at her.

  Whenever anyone gave me a compliment in front of my father, he would always check his own happiness and tell me not to get a swelled head. Sometimes he would come back with something inane, like “Beauty is only skin deep.” Once, a friend of his at work, Morty Kasner, retorted with, “Right, but who wants to go any deeper, anyway?”

  It brought laughter to the table but not to my father. He just glared at me to wipe the satisfied smile off my face. You can wash it off my face, I thought, but not off my heart.

  I was glad I had a little time to myself finally. It wasn’t until I got up to my suite and flopped in the soft-cushioned armchair that the weight of all I had done that day announced itself in my legs and my shoulders. I thought I would just close my eyes for a few moments, but I didn’t open them again until I felt someone shaking my shoulder.

  “I had a feeling you might have dozed off,” Mrs. Pratt said. “You should be getting into your dress. Mrs. Brittany wants to see you in ten minutes in her office, and don’t forget to use the perfume she brought for you.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “It’s been a long day.”

  “And it’s not over yet,” she pointed out. “This is why you have to get yourself in better shape. Our girls don’t peter out on their clients.”

  I nodded and took a deep breath to get myself up and dressed. I told myself I was only half joking when I compared what I was going through here with some army boot camp with someone like my father shouting orders and threatening KP duty. How did they expect me to go through all I had gone through and then attend a formal dinner, drink wine, and return to this room to do the homework Professor Marx had assigned? Was all of this designed to discourage me? Was this how they weeded out their so-called candidates?

  I found the perfume, tested it, liked the scent myself, and sprayed it on. I checked my hair quickly, and then, literally nine minutes later, I was on my way down to Mrs. Brittany’s office. I imagined I was about to get another lecture in preparation for this dinner. I knocked on the closed doors and waited to hear her give me permission to enter. She opened the doors herself and stood back.

  Sitting there on the settee, wearing a very pretty turquoise dress and with her hair pinned up, was Mrs. Brittany’s granddaughter. Surely she had told on me, I thought. Randy’s words came rushing back: “It could be fatal.”

  I felt my heart sink.

  Was it possible?

  After all this, I had been brought here to get my walking papers.

  9

  “Don’t just stand there in the doorway,” Mrs. Brittany snapped. “Come in and close it behind you.”

  I did so slowly and looked again at her granddaughter. She was smiling at me, and not the sort of smile someone who had come to hurt you wore. It wasn’t condescending or sly. It was soft, anticipating, making her look hungry to receive a smile back. I breathed some relief but still felt myself trembling inside, expecting trouble.

  “Hi again,” I said.

  “Hi. Oh, look at your hair. I might not have recognized you. Yes, I would,” she quickly corrected. “Oh, I never got a chance to tell you my name. It’s Sheena.”

  “Please be quiet for a few moments, Sheena,” Mrs. Brittany told her. She turned to me. “Sit,” she commanded, as if she were giving orders to a well-trained dog. She walked around her desk. Since she didn’t tell me where to sit, I sat next to Sheena, who looked delighted about it.

  Mrs. Brittany wore an elegant beaded long evening dress with a diamond bracelet on her right wrist. All I could think was that she must have had a hairstylist on board whatever plane she had taken back from Boston. Not a strand was out of place.

  “Sheena knows my rules about fraternizing with my girls in training,” she began, giving Sheena a chastising glance. Sheena looked down but held her soft smile. “Normally, I remember to mention that to my trainees, but I forgot to do so with you. I didn’t anticipate that you would have time to wander about the estate.”

  “I didn’t wander about, Mrs. Brittany. I just stepped out for some air, and besides, I don’t have infectious diseases,” I said.

  “Don’t be insolent,” she said sternly. Sheena glanced at me, and in that glance, she clearly told me to be still, too.

  Mrs. Brittany’s face changed to a much calmer expression. She glanced at Sheena and then back at me. “Some of this, perhaps all of it, can be attributed to your young age. Most of the girls who come here are older than you and have had more substantial experiences. In fact, you’re the youngest girl I’ve agreed to take on. Technically, I could be accused of kidnapping, I suppose.”

  I wanted to agree. At times today, I had felt that way, but I didn’t want to even imply it. “That’s ridicu—” I bit down on my lower lip and stopped talking instantly.

  She nodded. “Accordingly, I’m going to make an exception in this case, mainly because Sheena has requested it,” she said. “Adamantly. Apparently, she sees qualities in you that I have yet to uncover.”

  I looked quickly at Sheena, who kept her gaze on the floor, her soft smile frozen.

  “Frankly, I don’t see where you would have any time to fraternize, anyway, but in the event that you do have some time, you have my permission to spend it with Sheena. While you still remain here,” she added sternly. “Sheena understands that your time here could be cut short dramatically at any time.”

  Sheena looked up quickly, a bit frightened. I saw that it softened the expression on Mrs. Brittany’s face quickly.

  “However,” Mrs. Brittany continued, “I have taken another thing into consideration. From the reports I’m getting, you have made a good first impression on everyone with whom you have been in contact, including Professor Marx, who I know can be quite difficult.”

  I pressed my lips together to keep myself from laughing. Difficult? His mother surely had second thoughts the day he was born. He had said something nice about me? It must have been through clenched teeth with fingers crossed behind his back.

  “In that regard, Sheena might be of some assistance to you.”

  “Oh?”

  “She happens to be an excellent student and might help you with your work with Professor Marx.”

  “I would welcome that,” I said. “I would welcome any help with Professor Marx.”

  Sheena brought her hand to her mouth to smother a giggle. She looked more like a younger teenage girl, even a girl in grade school, and I recalled what Randy had said about her social skills and experiences.

  “In short,” Mrs. Brittany continued, “you have my permission to go to the east wing of the mansion, which is normally off-limits to everyone but the maids and Randy.” She shot up from her seat. “For now, Sheena will return to her suite.”

  “She’s not coming to dinner with us?” I asked.

  Mrs. Brittany’s eyes widened. “Of course not. Your dinner is part of your training. This isn’t some party.”

  I nodded and turned to Sheena. “Well, maybe we can see each other tomorrow. I have all of my homework in my suite,” I added, and swung my eyes to communicate how much there was.

  “I hope so,” she said. “Good night, Grandmother, and thank you.”

  “I’ll be up much later tonight, S
heena. I have some important things to address after dinner, so don’t wait up for me,” Mrs. Brittany told her.

  Sheena looked at me, a little embarrassed by the way Mrs. Brittany spoke to her. I thought that despite what Randy had told me about her social skills, she didn’t like being treated like a child. I immediately sympathized with her and winked. She smiled again and started out.

  When she had left, Mrs. Brittany came around her desk and leaned against it.

  “All right. There are things you have to know now. My granddaughter is a cancer survivor,” she began. There would never be any equivocating when she spoke, I thought. The woman told everything like it was. This was what Mr. Bob meant when he said she suffered no fools.

  I thought it was probably a good idea to play dumb and not reveal how much Randy already had told me, so I acted a little surprised.

  “She developed a form of bone cancer. Initial surgery, chemo, and radiation did not stop it, and finally, the decision to amputate had to be made. We keep her carefully screened, of course, and until now, she’s done fine. She is examined at least twice a year by the best doctors. She’s adjusted to her . . . problem as well as anyone can expect a young, beautiful girl to adjust to such a thing.”

  “She is very beautiful.”

  “Yes. Anyway, because of her condition, she’s been home-schooled. I wasn’t going to submit her to any derision, even in a private school. I know how mean young girls can be to each other, especially girls who saw how beautiful she is.”

  “You’re right about that,” I said.

  “I know when I’m right. I don’t need to be assured of it,” she snapped. She could use words like a bullwhip, I thought.

  “Sorry, I just . . .”

  “Just listen.” Her eyes narrowed. “You had better start learning how to be quiet and listen. Don’t be so eager to let other people know what you’re thinking. That’s a weakness I want you to lose and lose fast.”

  “Okay.”

  “Where was I? Her mother was a drunk. Her father had spoiled my daughter rotten and made excuses for her constantly. She met someone not much better after they divorced, so I knew that relationship wouldn’t last, either. Anyway, she’s gone; he’s gone. I’m all Sheena has.”