Dollenganger 02 Petals On the Wind (19 page)

"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.

I was going home for Chirstmas. 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

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 stepped 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.
"He's too old for you!"
"I love him."
"So, you love him. What about your career? Are you throwing away all those years of dreaming, of working? Are you going to break your word? You know we swore to each other to go after our goals and not let those lost years make a difference."
"Paul and I have discussed that. He understands. He thinks we can work it out. . . ."
"He
thinks? What does a doctor know about the dancer's life? You'll never be with him He'll be here; you'll be God knows where, with men your own age. You don't owe him anything, Cathy, you don't! We'll pay him back every cent he's spent on us. We'll give him the respect he deserves, and the love--but you don't owe him your life."
"Don't I?" I asked in a whisper, aching inside for Chris. "I think I do owe him my life. You know how I felt when I came here. I thought no one could be trusted or depended on. I expected the worst to happen to us, and it would have too without him. And I don't love him just for what he's done. I love him because of who and what he is. Chris, you don't see him as I do."
He whirled about, seizing the shears from my hands. "And what about Julian? You are going to be married to Paul and dance with Julian? You know Julian is mad for you. It's all over him, the way he looks at you, the way he touches you."
I backed off, stricken. Chris wasn't talking
just
of Julian. "I'm sorry if this has ruined your holiday," I said, "but you'll find someone too. You love Paul, I know you do. And when you've thought about this, you'll know we are right for each other, despite our age difference, despite everything." I went off, leaving Chris in the garden with the hedge clippers.
Paul drove me to Greenglenna while Carrie stayed home to enjoy the new color TV set and all her new clothes and games. Paul chatted happily of the party he planned for all of us tonight at his favorite restaurant.
"I wish I could be selfish and leave Chris and Carrie at home. But I want them there when I put the ring on your finger." I fixed my eyes on the winter landscape rolling by, the trees bare, the grass brown, the pretty houses with decorations and outdoor lights turned on after dark. Now I was part of the show, no longer just a spectator locked away--and yet I felt so torn, so miserable.
"Cathy, you are seated beside the happiest man in the world!"
And back in his garden, I'd left a man just as miserable as I felt.
In my purse I had a ring I'd bought for Carrie in New York. A tiny ruby for a very small finger, and even so, it was too large for anything but her thumb. As I stood there, in the better jewelry department of the best store in town, discussing just how the ring could be reduced in size without ruining the setting, I suddenly heard a very familiar voice! A sweet, husky, dulcet- toned voice. As in slow motion, I cautiously turned my head.
Momma! Standing right next to me! If she'd been alone, perhaps she would have seen me, but she was absorbed in chatting to her female companion who was dressed just as elegantly as she was. I'd changed considerably since she saw me last--still if she looked, she would have to know who I was. The two of them were discussing the party they had attended last night. "Really, Corrine, Elsie does carry the festive theme through to an outrageous extreme-- all that red!"
Parties! Was that all she did, go to parties! My heart went pounding in fox-trot time. My spirits went limp, sagged out by disappointment. A party--I should have known! She never stayed at home and watched TV! She hadn't seen me! Oh, but I was angry! I turned to
make
her see me! A small standing mirror on the glass jewelry showcase reflected her profile, and showed me how lovely she was still. A bit older looking, but striking nonetheless. Her flaxen hair was drawn back to emphasize the perfection of her small gem of a nose, her pouting red lips, her long and naturally dark lashes that were made thicker by mascara. Her ears glittered with gold and diamonds, the real things--and she was speaking.
"Can't you show me something just right for a lovely young girl?" she asked the saleslady.
"Something in good taste, not gaudy, or too large, but something a young girl can keep all her life and be proud of."
Who? What girl did she have to give gifts to? I felt jealous and watched her select a lovely gold locket very much like the one Chris had given me! Three hundred dollars! Now our dear mother was spending money on a girl not her own, forgetting about us. Didn't she think of us, wonder how we were faring? How could she sleep at night when the world could be so cold, ugly and cruel to children on their own?
As far as I could tell, she was completely without guilt or regrets. Maybe that was what millions could do--nail a satisfied smirk to one's face--despite what it covered. I wanted to speak and see her poise collapse! I wanted her smiles to peel off like bark from a tree and she'd be revealed before her friend for what she was--a monster without a heart! A killer! A fraud! But I said nothing.
"Cathy," said Paul, coming up behind me and putting his hands on my shoulders, "I've returned everything--how about you? Ready to go now?"
I wanted desperately for my mother to see me with Paul, a man every bit as handsome as her darling "Bart." I wanted to shout it out.
See, I too can attract intelligent, kind, educated and handsome men!
So quickly I glanced to see if Momma had heard Paul speak my name, hoping to delight in her stunned surprise, her guilt, her shame. But she'd moved on farther down the counter, and if she heard the name, Cathy, it didn't cause her to turn her head.
For some reason I didn't understand, I sobbed.
"Are you all right, darling?" asked Paul. He saw something on my face that puzzled him and put concern in his eyes. "You're not having second thoughts about us, are you?"
"No, of course not!" I denied. But I was having second thoughts about
me.
Why hadn't I done something? Why hadn't I put out my foot this time and tripped her? Then I could have seen her sprawled on the floor, her poise vanished--maybe. It would be like her to fall gracefully and have all the men in the store hurry to assist her up--even Paul.
I was dressing for the big affair at The Plantation House when Chris came into my bedroom and sent Carrie away. "Go watch TV," he said with more sharpness than I'd ever heard him use with her. "I want to speak to your sister." Carrie threw him, then me, an odd look before she skipped out of the room.
No sooner had Carrie closed the door behind her, than Chris was at my side and seizing my shoulders. He shook me violently. "Are you going through with this farce? You don't love him! You still love me! I know you do! Cathy, please, don't do this to me! I know you're trying to set me free by marrying Paul, but that's not a good reason for marrying a man." He hung his head, released my shoulders, and looked terribly ashamed. His voice came so low I had to keen my ears to hear his words. "I know it's wrong what I feel for you. I know I should try and find someone else, like you try to do . . . but I can't stop loving you and wanting you. I think about you all during my days, every day. I dream about you at night. I want to wake up and see you in the room with me. I want to go to bed and know you're there, very close, where I can see you, touch you." A sob tore from his throat before he could go on. "I can't bear to think of you with another man! Damn it, Cathy, I want you! You don't plan to have children anyway, so
why can't it be me?"
I'd drawn away when he released my shoulders. When his words stopped I ran to fling my arms about him, as he clutched at me, as if I were the one and only woman who could save him from drowning. And we'd both drown if I did as he wanted. "Oh, Chris, what can I say? Momma and Daddy made their mistake in marrying each other--and we were the ones to pay the price. We can't risk repeating their mistake!"
"Yes we can!" he fervently cried. "We don't have to have a sexual relationship! We can just live together, be together, just brother and sister, with Carrie too. Please, please,
I beg you not to marry