Roxy’s Story (23 page)

“Give us ten minutes before bringing out the entrée, Randy,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, and winked at me. I gathered this was not a bad sign. I
wasn’t going to be read my rights and sent off.

She was silent for a moment, and then she leaned forward and spoke in the softest
tone I had heard her use. “Normally, I am averse to involving myself, my company,
and my associates with young women who come from such troubled backgrounds as yours.
Frankly, if it wasn’t for Bob’s insistence, I wouldn’t have agreed to your coming
here at all. I don’t like to start with someone who carries so much baggage. It takes
too long to unload it, and I’m never confident that some of it won’t rear its ugly
head later on when I most need that not to happen.

“However,” she continued, leaning back, “I also rely heavily on my own instincts.
I believe, and so far you have shown, that you have the wherewithal to improve yourself,
make the necessary changes, throw off the baggage, and blossom. I do not intend to
blow up your ego with these remarks. In fact, most young women, even many I have in
my employ, have
difficulty handling compliments. One can get too confident, if you know what I mean,
and I think you do.

“I like the way you have treated Sheena, and not only because she is my granddaughter.
It has shown me something important about your character, something that supports
my own instincts about you. I don’t think you’re as selfish and spoiled as you believe
you are, but that’s something you will learn for yourself in time.

“Now, then,” she said, taking a more formal tone again, “the day after tomorrow, we
will go to one of my favorite boutiques in Manhattan to start your personal wardrobe.
I’m sure Sheena has told you something about it. She’s coming along with us.”

“Yes,” I said. “She was very excited about it.”

I had made up my mind never to lie to her or pretend ignorance of anything anymore.
It wasn’t worth the risk, and she was too perceptive to miss any deceptions. I used
to think I was good at that, but I realized now that I was sitting alongside a master.

“From time to time, during your stay here, I will have other guests. I want them to
meet you. I rely on some of them for their impressions, but as I told you, I never
depend on any of them—on anyone else, in fact—to come to a conclusion about any of
my girls. We’ll have dinner parties, cocktail parties, even some sort of picnic as
the weather continues to improve. I’ll be taking you to Broadway shows and concerts,
here and in other cities, in time even in other countries. I intend to cram a great
deal into your head very quickly before I send you out into the field, Roxy, but
by the time I’m finished with you, any resemblance between you and the errant young
woman Mr. Bob brought here will be difficult to discover. I have a feeling that won’t
upset you in the least.”

“No, it won’t,” I said.

She nodded and turned her head just slightly to signal Randy, who hurried out with
our dinner, a delicious branzino, something I’d never had. She went on to describe
it as a silver-skinned fish found in European seas and saltwater lakes.

“Some call it European sea bass,
spigola
,
loup de mer
,
róbalo
, or
lubina
,” she said.

As I listened to her talk about gourmet foods, wonderful restaurants in world cities,
her travels and cultural experiences, and some of the castles she had been to, I found
myself growing more infatuated with her. The hard shell I had first encountered seemed
to melt away. More and more, I realized how much I wanted to be like her. She would
rapidly become someone I would idolize. She was rising higher on my list of women
to emulate.

For a few moments, I felt terribly guilty about that. Once, when I was very young,
I wanted to be like my mother, but as I grew older, I couldn’t tolerate how subservient
she was to my father. He loved her, I was sure, but he was blind to how firmly he
controlled even her emotions, forbidding her tears, sweeping away her protests and
complaints, retreating from any compromise that might overtake him and cause him to
be more reasonable.

Mrs. Brittany would be a formidable opponent
for him, I thought. She would bend him. He wouldn’t be so eager to rage in her face
or throw ultimatums and commands at her like rice at a bride. I laughed to myself,
imagining a day in the future when I would introduce them. It was a pipe dream, of
course, but an amusing fantasy.

We didn’t have any dessert. She wanted me to attend to whatever material Professor
Marx had given me and to work on the elocution lessons Professor Brenner had assigned.
We walked out together and paused in the hallway to say good night.

“Is it really all right for Sheena to go horseback riding with me tomorrow?” I asked.
“I mean, considering her physical condition and all. I don’t want you to think I put
her in any compromising position or . . .”

She smiled. “No. The question is more like, is it all right for you to go with her?
You haven’t had proper lessons. She’s a seasoned equestrian. She’s overcome many things,
but she needs her confidence strengthened. I suspect the two of you will do that for
each other. Good night,” she said, and walked off to join Mrs. Pratt, who waited for
her outside her office.

I hurried up the stairs. My heart was full of hope. This private dinner with her had
gone well. I was going to do well. I was confident that I was going to leave that—what
did she call me?—errant young woman behind. I hadn’t felt this happy for some time,
and it was all because I was growing stronger, not just physically but also in my
belief in myself. If
mon père
hadn’t thrown me out, none of this would be possible.

Yes, I’m in the right place,
I thought, and hurried to meet Sheena in my suite and go over the work Professor
Marx had given me. She was waiting there, sitting at my vanity table and dabbling
with her hair and eyebrows. She spun around quickly when I entered.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to use your things.”

“That doesn’t matter. Don’t be foolish.”

“Oh, I was so worried about you,” she said.

“Why?”

“I thought . . . you were taking too long. I was sure my grandmother was lecturing
you, and maybe you were angry and saying bad things, because she can be so difficult,
and you would hate her and would want to leave right away.”

“No, it was a wonderful dinner. And I like her,” I said. “I like her very much.”

Her face blossomed with a wide smile.

“But I’d better not let her down,” I said, warning myself as much as Sheena. “I have
to keep doing well, or she’ll banish me from her kingdom. There is no doubt about
that. She won’t tolerate failure.”

“Oh, yes. Right. I’ve been through your assignments again. Let’s start with that.
I’ll listen to you practice your speech assignment, too. I’ve had similar lessons.
I know what to listen for. Let’s not waste time.” She smiled. “After all, there’s
so much more I want to learn from you, too. What did you call it, that quid pro quo?”

“Yes,” I said, laughing.

We did my work. She was a stern and diligent tutor, sometimes taking on expressions
that reminded
me of her grandmother when I made mistakes. Afterward, I knew we were up too late
talking. Actually, I was doing most of the talking. I told her about some of the different
boys I had been with, finishing with Steve Carson. She was most intrigued by a young
man his age being as much of a virgin as she was when I had first met him.

“And shoplifting just to get his attention,” she added, feigning a little disapproval,
when I could see the whole story excited her.

“I wasn’t all that surprised at his innocence. Just about all of the boys I’ve known
weren’t too sophisticated when it came to sex,” I told her. “Most of the time, it
wasn’t remarkable. As a matter of fact, I told Steve that making love to him was like
brushing teeth, something just necessary. Needless to say, it was another great disappointment.”

“Maybe that’s good. Maybe sex shouldn’t be just another thing we do,” she said. “Maybe
it cheapens us. At least, that’s what I read in a novel recently.”

She waited to see what I would say.

“Our bodies should mean more to us, don’t you think?” she added when I didn’t answer.

I saw how worried she was that she might have hurt my feelings, but I didn’t answer
quickly, because one of the changes that was coming over me involved exactly that
idea about sex. In the world I was entering, it seemed that most things I once considered
mundane and ordinary suddenly had great value and importance, whether it was how I
ate a sandwich, walked, or held a conversation. And certainly with
whom I had sex. Mrs. Brittany and her staff were isolating every little thing I did
and showing me how it could define me, express who I was, or, as Mrs. Pratt had put
it, service me. Yes, Sheena, in all her innocence, was right. She didn’t need all
my experience to sense what was instinctively true.

“Sex should be special. ‘Friends with benefits’ is not all it’s cracked up to be,”
I told her.

Her eyes widened. After some of the things I had described myself doing, I understood
why she was so surprised at this answer. “You really believe that?”

“I do now. It’s like my vision has cleared,” I told her. “When you put such little
value on yourself, others will, too. And what about later, when you want it to be
special, when you do find someone you love and respect? Won’t it be too late to be
able to make him feel special or convince him you are special?”

She stared at me with her mouth slightly open.

“I know,” I said. “I know. Just listen to me. I can’t believe I’m saying these things,
either. I sound like some jealous wallflower. My mother tried to instill these values
in me, but I was always too stuck on myself to listen or care. I think I made love
out of spite more than out of desire. Maybe that’s why, even now, I don’t have many
great memories. In fact, I’d like to forget it all ever happened. I’d like to go to
a clinic and get back my virginity. Too bad you can’t unring a bell.”

She laughed. “I love listening to you, Roxy. You make me feel . . . okay, like I haven’t
missed all that much and shouldn’t feel so sorry for myself.”

“I can tell you this, Sheena. The only thing I’m freely giving away from now on is
advice, and even that will sometimes cost something.”

She laughed again and said, “I’d better go and let you get some good sleep. You have
a lot to do tomorrow. Don’t forget your horseback riding. You’ll need your energy
and strength. The horse doesn’t do all the work. Go on, get to bed. I feel responsible
for you now.” She concluded sounding like my older sister or even my mother. After
she closed the door, I had the best laugh I’d had in days and the best night’s sleep,
too. And she was right. It was important that I did.

She was there at the riding stable already saddled and waiting the following day.
Brendon Walsh was a short, slim man, not quite as small as a racetrack jockey but
not much taller or heavier. He had curly red hair and freckles sprinkled over his
cheeks and forehead like flecks of red pepper. He was very serious about his instructions
but patient with me.

I felt a little silly in the riding outfit Mrs. Pratt had sent up for me. Sheena was
wearing a similar one, but she looked very good in it. I could see the confidence
in her face as she sat waiting on her horse. One of the things she had told me the
night before was that horseback riding made her feel complete.

“The horse and I become one,” she had said. “I have healthy legs again. But every
good rider feels that way about it. Brendon says that’s when you know you are comfortable
in the saddle and, more important, when the horse is comfortable with you there.”

I had no idea what she meant when I first began, but it wasn’t long before I did.

Lance had been right about the new muscles I would be exercising, too. They let me
know the next morning, but Brendon told me I couldn’t stop just because of some aches
and pains. He wanted me riding every other day. Sheena was delighted, and by the end
of the week, I was doing well enough for the two of us to take a long ride through
trails they had developed on the property. I never truly understood how large a tract
of land Mrs. Brittany owned until we rode horses from one end of it to the other.

We talked a great deal during the rides. Sheena felt confident enough with me now
to describe what her life had been like with her parents. As I listened, I couldn’t
believe a mother could be so indifferent to her child’s pain and illness. Sheena tried
to excuse it all by blaming her mother’s binge drinking and her father’s anger about
that. I understood that she didn’t want to believe her mother could care so little
about what she was enduring or that her father was blind to what was happening to
her. Into this scene she described came Mrs. Brittany, who, from the way Sheena described
her, swept in quickly to take complete control once she understood what was happening.

“It was the first time I saw my grandmother act like a powerful queen.”

“So you never hear from your parents?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “I think about them often, though,” she confessed. When I was silent,
she added, “But I am glad for my grandmother.”

“Hearing what you’ve told me, I think I might be almost as glad for her as you are,”
I said, and she smiled.

“I hope that when you go to work for her, Roxy, you’ll still remember me.”

“Of course I will. And you’ll visit me wherever I am.”

“Will I?”

Maybe I shouldn’t be making promises without first checking them out with Mrs. Brittany,
I thought.

“Let’s only think of good things for ourselves now,” I told her as a way of assuring
her.

She nodded, and we rode on, both captured for the moment by our own fear of what tomorrow
would actually bring.