Timothy (24 page)

“How do I look, Olivia?” I spun around for her, the wings rustling.

She'd gone pale, and she stammered out, “You look really good.”

“Then why are you acting like you've seen a ghost?”

“They're waiting for you downstairs,” she gasped out, and hurried away.

That was certainly odd, I thought as I took one last look at myself in the mirror. I closed my door and started walking down the hallway. I was going to make a grand entrance down the grand staircase, debuting my wonderful costume and my amazing new look. I could already imagine the looks on their faces when they saw me… The thought brought a grin to my face, and a delighted laugh burst out of me. I could hear car doors shutting outside, and I started hurrying even faster. I wanted everyone who walked in through the front door to see me, I wanted them to look at me and think,
Why, he's not Timothy, of course, but I don't know why everyone was saying he was so plain, he's rather attractive, and that costume looks wonderful on him.
I wanted to see the lusty gleam in Carlo's eyes as he looked me up and down and for the first time could truly see how my body had changed, how different I was from that little Mouse he'd met in Miami.

I looked like someone who belonged at Spindrift now.

I reached the stairs and placed my left hand on the banister and majestically started walking down the steps. I could hear the feathers rustling softly and feel them brushing gently against the skin of my back. My smile was so big my cheeks were starting to ache. I paused when I reached the landing, and took a deep breath.
Prepare yourselves for a big surprise
, I thought.

I went around the corner of the landing and could see them all standing there, just inside the front door.

I cleared my throat and they all looked up.

They all gasped at the same time.

I smiled and, holding my head high, gracefully glided down the stairs.

“What do you think?” I said when I reached them. I turned around for them. “Isn't it beautiful?”

It was then, and only then, that I saw the looks on their faces—and they weren't what I'd been hoping to see.

Frank looked embarrassed, Joyce mortified. Carlo's face was red, his eyebrows knit together, and a muscle in his jaw was jumping.

No one said anything.

And it was at that inopportune moment that some guests arrived. They greeted Frank and Joyce and a wooden Carlo and were introduced to me, but I was so worried and concerned I didn't catch their names or what they were saying to me. All I could think was Carlo was angry, somehow I'd done something wrong, maybe the costume was too revealing or I didn't look good in it.

The woman was smiling at me—she was dressed as Cleopatra, and she was saying something about how good I looked in my costume, and then she and her husband were gone, on their way to the bar.

Carlo strode off without a word.

Helplessly, I turned back to Joyce and Frank.

And I heard Cleopatra saying to her husband in a loud whisper she surely intended for me to hear, ‘What incredibly poor taste! Can you believe he had the nerve to wear the costume Timothy was going to wear last year? He's certainly no Timothy, that's for sure.”

I felt like throwing up.

I turned to Joyce, who had tears in her eyes, her hand over her mouth.

“I didn't know,” I whispered, and turned and ran up the stairs as quickly as I could.

And when I reached the top of the stairs, there stood Carson, a smirk on his face.

Without a word, he turned and walked noiselessly down the hall.

I staggered along the upstairs hallway, my eyes filled with tears of humiliation. I couldn't get the look on Carlo's face out of my mind—or the contempt and barely controlled anger in his voice. I started fumbling with the buckle on the front of the harness. I kept my eyes on the floor—the faces in the paintings on the walls all seemed to viewing me with scorn and contempt. Outside, I heard the music playing—I vaguely remembered Joyce telling me he was the hottest deejay in the gay clubs of the city—and wondered how I was ever going to be able to go downstairs again and face our guests.

Somehow, I had to. I had to summon up the courage from somewhere and go down there and pretend like nothing was wrong—even though what I wanted to do was get dressed, pack a bag, and run as far away from Spindrift as I could.

I laughed at myself contemptuously.
You don't have a way to leave if you had the guts to walk out—you don't have a car, you don't even know how to drive. What are you going to do, walk to the nearest train station?

And what would it ultimately prove, anyway? That everyone who thought Carlo made a mistake in marrying me was right?

I opened the door to my room and closed it behind me. I finished unbuckling the harness and shrugged the straps off my shoulders. They fell to the floor and I picked them up, tossing them into the corner. Some of the feathers bent or broke, but what did it matter? I was never going to wear them again.

I resisted the urge to set them on fire.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and started untying and unlacing the boots. My hands were shaking and the tears finally started flowing out of my eyes. My nose started running, but I kept unlacing the boots, trying to focus; focusing on the task at hand was what was keeping me together. Once the boots were unlaced, I yanked them off and threw them into the same corner as the wings.

Minette shoved her head under my hand and gave me such a sad, mournful look that my heart broke. Her tail thumped against the bed, and she climbed into lap and tried to lick my face.

That was the final straw. The dam broke and the misery completely overwhelmed me. I hugged her, burying my face in her neck and let go, giving way to the sobs.

I don't know how long I cried—but it seemed like hours passed before I was all cried out. I gently pushed Minette out of my lap and walked into the bathroom.

I stared at my tearstained face and turned on the hot water spigot.

Let me just get through this damned party
, I said to my reflection as the mirror started to steam up,
and I'll go away. Tomorrow, when my head is clearer, I'll figure out what to do. I'll pack some things, and maybe—maybe Carlo will help me get started somewhere far away from here. He owes me that, at the least. It isn't my fault he doesn't love me.

That thought brought the tears back, but I splashed hot water on my face and got hold of myself. I washed my face thoroughly, and a terrible calm seemed to settle over me.

Of course Carlo will help me. It takes two to make a marriage fail, and I did my best, didn't I? I won't go back to New York—too many memories, and I am not going to go back to work for Valerie, but maybe he can help me find a job in Chicago or New Orleans or somewhere. He has to have connections in publishing, right?

I smiled at the mirror. My eyes were red, but other than that I looked okay. I could pull it off, I could go downstairs and smile and play host and be gracious. No one would have the slightest idea that anything was wrong. I was numb and deadened inside.

There was a knock on the bedroom door, and I called, “Come in!” I turned off the spigot and walked back in the bedroom just as Joyce opened the door.

“Are YOU all right, dear?” Despite the ridiculous pancake makeup on her face I could see she was concerned. “I came up as QUICKLY as I could—I am SO sorry.” She crossed the room and grabbed both of my hands, peering into my face. “I don't know WHY Carlo can't control that TEMPER of his—he NEVER could, even when we were KIDS. PLEASE forget how BEASTLY he was to you and come back to the party.”

“No need to worry, Joyce, I'm not going to give the gossips any fodder. As soon as I put on something else, I'll be down to pretend like everything's just marvelous,” I said bitterly. I grabbed a pair of underwear out of my dresser and walked into my walk-in closet. I grabbed my white linen suit and placed it across the chair. I left the closet door ajar so we could still talk. “I won't shame the family name, Joyce.” I peeled the tight trunks off, wadded them up into a ball, and tossed them in the little wicker garbage can—no need to keep them. I'd never wear them again. I pulled on the underwear and pulled out a dark blue silk shirt.

“Now, DARLING, Carlo undoubtedly feels like a complete ASS, and if I KNOW my brother, you can EXPECT a most EXPENSIVE apology gift,” she called out.

I buckled my belt and walked back into the bedroom carrying a pair of socks and my suede Bass shoes. I sat down and slipped my feet into my socks. “I don't want an expensive gift.”

“Darling, don't be ABSURD.” She smiled at me, which looked rather bizarre given her Bo Peep makeup. “TRUST me, he'll be TERRIBLY contrite.” She sighed. “I SHOULD have gotten another DRINK before I came up. You look quite NICE in that suit, dear.”

“Thank you.” I got up and straightened the color of my shirt in the mirror. “And I really appreciate what you're trying to do, Joyce. But I think it's best that Carlo and I admit we made a mistake and split up.”

She goggled at me. Her mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out. Finally, she said in a hoarse whisper, “Darling, WHAT are you talking ABOUT?”

I shrugged. “He goes on trips and doesn't want me to come with him. We sleep in separate rooms. Half the time he isn't here, and most of the time when he actually is here he can't be bothered with me. I don't know why he married me in the first place. Clearly, he isn't over Timothy, and I'm tired of him looking at me and being disappointed because I'm not
him
.”

My voice was flat and devoid of emotion. The numbness had worn off, replaced by tired resignation. What was, was, and no matter how much I wanted it to be different it would never be.

“Oh, my dear,” she whispered, and her eyes glistened with tears.

“I'll talk to Carlo about it in the morning,” I went on. “And now, don't you think we need to get back downstairs before the guests start talking?” I checked myself out in the mirror again. “I think the story we tell people about my costume was that it tore, so of course I had to go change. They'll believe that, won't they?”

“Yes, of course.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “We really need to be getting back down.” She stood up, and blew her nose, smearing some of her makeup.

“Carlo might be angry with me for wearing Timothy's costume,” I said, “but he'll be even angrier if everyone is talking about how I'm missing from the party, won't he?”

“Timothy's costume?” Joyce looked at me, clearly bewildered.

“That woman—the one dressed as Cleopatra—she said—”

“That was MIDGE HUNTLEY.” Joyce waved a hand and sniffed disdainfully. “Ever since Timothy DIED, Midge has acted like they were BEST friends—which they were most definitely NOT. Timothy DISLIKED her. He used to IMITATE her in a MOST cruel way.” She shook her head. “So she has NO idea what Timothy's costume WOULD have been last YEAR—he would have NEVER told HER. Besides, Timothy ALWAYS kept his costume a SECRET until the party.”

I bit my lower lip. “Like I did this year?”

She sighed. “Yes, like you did THIS year. It was SO strange…” Her voice trailed off.

“Well, if I'd known he kept his costume a secret every year…”

“How WOULD you have known? None of us EVER talk about HIM.” She shook her head and changed the subject. “Midge Huntley's a BITCH, and she
wanted
you to hear her say that.” Her eyes took on a nasty gleam. “Don't WORRY, I know how to deal with HER.”

“Then why was Carlo so angry?” I was confused. “If it wasn't the same costume…I don't understand.”

“It DOES have to do WITH Timothy.” She sighed, and sat down on the side of the bed. Minette hopped up next to her, shoving her head under Joyce's hand so she would pet her. Absently, Joyce began stroking her head. “Timothy ALWAYS wore SOMETHING like that—revealing. They FOUGHT about it EVERY year.”

“That doesn't make sense,” I replied. “He was an underwear model. Everyone saw him in his underwear, all the time.”

“Yes, WELL, that was Carlo's POINT. I know, it doesn't MAKE sense, but Carlo…” She let her voice trail off, trying to think of the right words. “Carlo THOUGHT it was INAPPROPRIATE. And when YOU came down those STAIRS…well, it WAS quite a SHOCK to ALL of us. I SWEAR my first THOUGHT was dear GOD, he's risen from the DEAD…”

Carson
, I thought,
he knew, and did this deliberately. Every costume in that folder—all of them were revealing, something Timothy would have worn. He had to have known Carlo disapproved—he knew everything that went on around here.
But I was still too numb to feel anything—even anger. Yes, Carson had deliberately set me up—to create problems between Carlo and me. He still hated me, wanted me gone. But I'd think about that some other time—it couldn't be dealt with tonight, anyway.

“So, yes, Carlo WAS angry because it reminded HIM of something Timothy WOULD have worn. I'm SURE he was caught off guard JUST as we were.” She took my hand. “Darling, SURELY you understand? Had I KNOWN I would have STOPPED you.”

“Of course.” I pulled my hand away. “Because who would have ever thought someone like me would wear something like that?” My voice sounded more tired than bitter to me.

“Oh, darling, you mustn't think like that.” Her voice was low and subdued. “You looked amazing. I knew you'd been training with Brad, but I had no idea you'd been working so hard. It's been quite a transformation. You should be very proud of yourself.”

I leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You're a dear, Joyce, you really are. You've been so very kind to me…always. I appreciate it more than you'll ever know.” And finally, I forced myself to say the words I'd always known were true but would never admit to anyone. “But I know he's still in love with Timothy and hasn't gotten over him—and I don't know if he ever will. I was just a poor replacement, some kind of experiment to see if he could move on—well, I guess we know the answer to that, don't we?” I laughed bitterly. “And no doubt seeing me in something like Timothy would have worn only brought that home all the more to Carlo.”