We Could Be Beautiful (22 page)

“Did she really write that?”

“ ‘February 28, 1980. Steiners for dinner. Ribs and corn bread. Mrs. Steiner is a fat pig from Texas. Carmen is stealing, I know it. Eyes on her. Bruce distant. Seven-year itch? He’s stressed with merger. May need better in-house gardener. Troy makes me uneasy. Caroline more outgoing than Catherine ever was. Catherine shy, self-conscious, sweet. Caroline needs too much attention. I hope I can start loving her more.’ ”

“Let me see that.”

Susan handed me the journal. It felt heavier than I’d imagined. “I hope I can start loving her more.” That was clearly written.

“That’s really sad,” Susan said.

In March 1978, Mom had written, “Catherine prettier than Caroline.”

“That is brutal,” Susan said.

I flipped to the end. We were here to find out about money. I’d read the other stuff later, maybe without Susan around.

“December 8, 2005. Miss Bruce. More than I expected. Even miss his sleep talking. He would not like this, but it’s for the best. Decided to leave this house to charity, not to C + C. Money has made this family and money has ruined it. Bruce spoiled those children. This will give them a taste of real life. Call it kindness. Cowardly, as it will only happen when I’m likely dead. But might not affect them at all, if they are smart. Caroline will be smart, Catherine no. Other motive is possible building named in my honor. Not a gym, I hope.”

Susan looked even more shocked now. “What. The. Hell.”

“ ‘A taste of real life’? What does that mean?”

“It means she grew up poor.”

“So she’d rather give money to a gym than to us?”

“No, she said ‘not a gym.’ ”

“But she’d rather give money to
not
us. And Caroline will be smart and I won’t be?”

“Well, she was right about that. No offense.”

“Oh my God.”

I lay back on the cement floor.

“Don’t get comfortable here. We need to leave.”

“I can’t believe her.”

“I can’t believe your mom kept a journal. Like, the woman had
feelings
.”

“Barely.”

“Okay, get up please. We need to get out of here. I’m dying.” Susan started moving the boxes back in. Eventually I got up. I put the black box in my Barneys bag with a few of Mom’s flower pictures and the rest of the pile I had made.

•

William got home that night to find me in my bathrobe drinking white wine and reading the journal. “What’s that?” he asked.

I still don’t know what made me say, “Nothing.” It wasn’t like me to keep things from him. But I was embarrassed. I was embarrassed and horrified that my mother hadn’t embraced William with open arms, and I saw how much that upset him, and I didn’t like seeing him upset. I was protecting him. He didn’t need more details about my dysfunctional family. And the fact that William didn’t like to talk about his past—that made me feel justified in not telling him I had gone to the storage unit to dig up the past. He probably wouldn’t want to know anyway.

I also don’t know why I pretended to cook a dinner I had actually ordered. Maybe embarrassment again. I was embarrassed I didn’t cook. Gwen had probably cooked, so I should cook. I should be better. I should be perfect. If I wasn’t going to be super-rich anymore and if I couldn’t give him a baby, I had to be good in all other ways.

I was sneaky about the dinner lie. I buried the wrappings at the bottom of the trash can. In an effort to make my lie more believable, I even set the greasy chicken on a pan for fifteen minutes and then left the pan conspicuously in the sink to soak.

“What did you use? Tarragon?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I said.

“It’s very good.”

“Are you okay?” he asked me.

I was not okay, and I didn’t look okay either: my hair was tangled, half wet. I hadn’t applied body lotion after my shower, a step I only ever skipped when I was feeling really stressed, and I was wearing the huge pair of sweatpants I never wore around William because they were so unsexy.

“I’m a little stressed.”

“About the shop?”

“Yes.”

“Have you told your employees?”

I looked at him. He looked so earnest and good, eating chicken after a long day at work. I felt myself nodding.

“Great,” he said. “How is our wedding coming along?”

“It’s going really well.”

“I’m glad. I can’t wait to marry you.” He ate a dollop of mashed potatoes off his fork. “Oh, I may need to go to Europe in a few weeks. I found out today.”

“Really? For what?”

“We want to build connections in Switzerland, and it makes the most sense for me to go. I have connections there.” William fed Herman a little piece of chicken. “Are you sure nothing else is bothering you, Catherine?”

“I’m just stressed.”

“I’m sorry you’re stressed, honey. But you know, we must push on.” And I remember exactly what he said next. He was neatly carving the white breast of his chicken when he said it, and I remember there was a bloody patch that didn’t seem to bother him at all. “We mustn’t be victims.”

I sighed. “You’re right.”

•

I initiated sex that night. On all fours, I said, “Like this?” I just wanted to feel close to him. I also thought doggie style would make him come more, and that would increase our chances of getting pregnant.

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Yes.”

Marty had made a lube suggestion. It didn’t help. It was as painful as it always was.

“Kitty!” William moaned.

And then his phone rang—“I’m so sorry, honey, I have to take this”—and he left the room. I stayed in the bed. I didn’t move. I told myself to breathe through the pain. He came back looking handsome and naked with a smile on his face. “Shall we go again? The traditional way?” He swung a leg over me, hovered over my body, kissed my face.

His messy pouf of gray hair. Those sweet, steely eyes. “Yes,” I said.

Afterwards, he collapsed onto the bed, his wet mouth on my ear. “Did you have a nice day? I didn’t ask you before.”

“It was okay. I went to the shop,” I lied. And I told myself to remember what I’d just said, because that was the problem with lying. You couldn’t be a good liar unless you had a good memory. “How was your day?”

“Very good, thanks.”

William draped his strong arm over my stomach. I listened to Herman’s dog snore and thought of all the things I wasn’t telling him. It felt wrong. But I was sick of complaining about my mother. I didn’t want to burden him with that, I didn’t think it was fair. I wanted to figure out what was going on first. For now, he didn’t need to know. An invisible space seemed to bloat with the weight of our silence. Or maybe that was just my imagination. I pulled his arm tighter around me. I told myself that maybe this was part of what it meant to really love someone. You protected the person you loved from the ugly stuff, and you made a bright, beautiful home together that was full of air and light.

20

T
he next morning I took the black box to the study. I asked Lucia to bring me coffee there. She did, along with some yogurt she’d put in a dish with bananas and blueberries. The high chairs and the music stand stood alone in the center of the room.

“You eat, Miss Catherine,” she said.

“Gracias.”

I sipped the coffee. Lucia was still standing there.

“Yes, Lucia?”

“Is from your mom?” She pointed to the journal.

“Have you seen this before?”

“Yes. From Mrs. West.”

“Yes,” I said, “from her.”

Of course the housekeeper knew more about my own mother than I did. I put my head down and started reading. I didn’t feel like talking anymore. Lucia closed the door quietly behind her.

FEBRUARY 4, 1971

Mother gave me this journal to get thoughts down. Not sure I want that, but might be nice to keep records. Met a man recently. Bruce West. Anita introduced us. He’s NYC born and bred. Handsome. Banker. Too thin for a man, but forgivably so. Might be my ticket. As the song goes, we gotta get out of this place! Loathe living w/Rita. Stupid girl. Want job helping people but there is no money in social work. Need $$$$$$$.

AUGUST 16, 1971

Marrying Bruce! He’s perfect. Rich AND kind. He proposed at Harvard Club over shrimp cocktail. Ring perfect. Everything perfect.

MARCH 12, 1972

Married. Can’t believe I haven’t written for so long! Wedding was gorgeous, though lobster not fresh. I feel different married. Feel more solidly in my place. Moving to huge place on Upper East. Stale neighborhood, but Bruce says it’s the only place we belong.

MAY 3, 1972

Apartment is palatial. Need more furniture. Eye on chaise longue seen in Christie’s catalog. Must hire more help. Bruce wants baby. It’s what I signed up for. Part of the deal. I do want a child, I suppose. Not having one would be wrong.

DECEMBER 1, 1972

Stocktons for dinner. Adore Donna. Very classy and amicable woman. We will have caviar and champagne to celebrate Edward’s show in Switzerland. They plan to move there. Will miss them. Although son William broke Venetian vase! Twelve-year-old boys should be quarantined. Do I even like children? Spending lots of time w/ Hilary Eagelton. She says I should focus solely on art foundations, not medical. Good idea!

MARCH 16, 1973

Catherine Lily West born four days ago. Looks like me with Bruce’s ears. Huge baby. Painful labor. Arrived home to find bouquet from Mom and Dad. They’ll visit soon. Stomach looks like deflated balloon. Dieting now. Everyone says Catherine is the most adorable baby. People say this about all babies. But think it’s true. I can tell she’ll be pretty. (I hope so.)

MARCH 23, 1973

Catherine cries all night. Normal, says doc. Breastfeeding painful, want to stop soon. Bruce helpful. Loves her so much. Loves kids so much. He should have been a schoolteacher. Asked Anita for mother’s helper reference. Catherine is smart. Big eyes, very observant. I see myself in her. Scary.

MAY 30, 1973

Bell-bottoms are not for short people. Stick to what works, Elizabeth. Don’t try to be anyone else. Style is knowing who you are.

DECEMBER 12, 1973

Pregnant again. Bruce made bad deal, lost money. It’s OK. His parents left us lots. Bought Kandinsky to celebrate pregnancy since no champagne allowed while pregnant. Bruce elated. He wants six children. No. Pregnancy is hell.

JANUARY 31, 1974

Lost baby. Normal, says doc. Dinner with Lorimers tonight. Carmen will prepare flank steak. Frank loves that.

JUNE 5, 1974

Catherine happy with Stella. Hope she will stay. Last two quit on me. Too young. Breast Cancer benefit tonight to commemorate Bruce’s mother’s battle. Bruce will make speech. Want to get on Breast Cancer board. Bruce says no problem. Bought lavender dress. Hermès. Also, Condé Nast may photograph plants. Everyone loves plants. Bought more recently. Best idea I ever had.

JUNE 19, 1974

Condé Nast says not now, maybe later. They suggested trying smaller publications. Bruce knows someone at the Times.

AUGUST 1, 1974

Times came to photograph today! Photographer called me a visionary. During interview with reporter, I said, “There is something very soothing about bringing nature into your home, where the wild can be tamed and appreciated.” They photographed me near the fountain. Wonder if it will be color or black-and-white. Hope I look good in picture. Made sure to jut neck forward to avoid double chin.

AUGUST 23, 1974

I am so sick of pot roast, I could die. Might become a vegetarian like Gloria Steinem.

SEPTEMBER 20, 1974

Article printed in Times! They called it “The Forest in the House.” Photographs marvelous. Article painted complimentary picture of me as dazzling socialite and innovative art/plant collector. Must admit I love the attention. Will frame and put up. In the kitchen, it will not be tacky.

JANUARY 14, 1975

You can never have enough sunglasses. I bought three more pairs today. In total, I have sixty-six pairs.

APRIL 1, 1975

April Fool’s, what a stupid holiday. Stella quit. Hired Mae. May be too young but speaks English. Catherine talking more now. Bruce has gained. Needs to diet. Wants another baby. All he talks about. “Large families are happier,” he says. Please. Feel indifferent. I know I have to give him two minimum. One not acceptable. Dyed hair auburn color. Subtle difference. I prefer it.

OCTOBER 30, 1975

Halloween is truly the world’s worst holiday. Bruce and I will go to Hilary’s again this year. Cleopatra and Sphinx. Catherine will be a ladybug. Mae will take her to the parade. Must get nails done. Gold for Cleopatra. Still no pregnancy. We will try again tomorrow night, I’m sure. Bruce loves Halloween.

OCTOBER 31, 1975

Bruce late! Don’t want another baby. Why does he work so much? He doesn’t have to. Feel he is avoiding me! Feel distant from him lately. Is he angry? Why? Feel sad. Called Hilary, told her staff we would be late. Blamed it on Catherine. She stubbed her toe, I said. What a stupid lie! Life is so hard!

JANUARY 4, 1976