Cutler 3 - Twilight's Child Read online

  "Good, good. Mother loves big family events. It will be a wedding like no other wedding you've seen before, that's for sure. Well, I'd better get back to work. I've made Mother promises," he said. "Promises . . ."

  I watched him rush off toward his office. Then I went directly to my mother's suite and interrupted her meeting with a decorator. She wanted to do something special in our ballroom for the dance reception after the wedding ceremony.

  "I must speak with you now," I said. "I'm sorry," I said to the decorator, "but this is a matter of some urgency."

  "Of course." He gathered up his samples and left quickly.

  "What is it, Dawn?" Mother demanded impatiently as soon as the man was gone. "I was right in the middle of something very important, and I'm on a very tight schedule today."

  "I'm sure it can all wait. Mother, why haven't you done anything about Randolph and the way he behaves?" I demanded.

  "Oh, that," she said with a wave of her hand. "What can I do? Anyway, why worry about it now, and especially in the middle of all this?" she said, making her eyes big.

  "Because he's getting worse," I replied. I described what had just happened in Grandmother Cutler's office and told her the things he had said. She sighed.

  "He won't accept his mother's death or face up to it. I've spoken to him repeatedly about it, but he doesn't hear those words, or doesn't want to." She pressed her lips together and shook her head. Then she sighed. "We're just going to have to ignore him right now, Dawn. He'll snap out of it soon."

  "Ignore it? How can you ignore it? You should have a doctor see him," I suggested.

  "What for? He just misses his precious mother," she said bitterly. "What's a doctor going to do for him? He can't bring her back. Thank God," she added under her breath.

  "Well, something has to be done for him. He's only going to get worse," I insisted. "The staff can humor him for a while, but it's not natural, not normal. He has dark shadows around his eyes, and he's lost so much weight that his clothes just hang on him. I can't believe you haven't noticed how serious all this has become."

  "He'll be all right in time," she replied coolly.

  "No, he won't," I insisted. I stood directly in front of her, my hands on my hips.

  "All right," she finally said when I wouldn't budge, "if he doesn't get better soon, I'll ask Dr. Madeo to look at him. Does that satisfy you?"

  "I would think you would be the one worrying, Mother. He isn't really my father, but he is really your husband."

  "Oh, Dawn, please don't start all that again," she begged, dramatically raising a hand to her forehead. "We have so much to do right now. Please send the decorator back in to see me."

  I saw there was no point in carrying this conversation any further with her. When she wanted to be an ostrich with her head in the ground, she could be. She saw and heard only what she wanted to see and hear. That was the way she had lived her life up until now, and nothing that had happened or that would happen would change her. Disgusted, I shook my head and left her arranging and designing my wedding.

  Mr. Updike provided Mother with a list of important guests to invite. Subtly, he made the point to her and to me that the wedding would serve as my coming out, the equivalent of a debutante's ball. I was to be formally introduced to Virginia's high society. Mother didn't hesitate to use his words to stress the importance of all she had done and was doing. The Cutlers had gained some undesired infamy, and we had to show the world that we were still one of the most sophisticated and elegant families in Virginia. The hotel was and always would be a desirable resort for the wealthy and influential who made up the bulk of the wedding guests.

  Jimmy and I had few names to add ourselves. I sent Trisha, my best girlfriend at the Sarah Bernhardt School, an invitation, requesting that she attend as my maid of honor. We sent an invitation to Daddy Longchamp, but he called as soon as he had received it to tell us he didn't think he would be able to travel because his new wife Edwina was pregnant again and having some serious complications.

  "Pregnant again?" Jimmy replied. It was a shock for both of us to think of Daddy Longchamp as having a whole new family with a new wife. Edwina had already given birth to a boy they had named Gavin about a month or so before Christie had been born. "I was hoping you'd be my best man, Dad," he told him.

  "I hate to make promises, Jimmy. If I can, I'll be there, but if Edwina doesn't improve before, I'll have to stay by her. You understand, don'tcha, son?"

  "Yes, Dad," Jimmy said, but after he hung up and told me the conversation, I saw that Jimmy didn't understand. Neither of us understood a world in which we grew up thinking two people were our parents and we were brother and sister, only to learn it wasn't so. Neither of us understood a world in which we could both inherit new families practically overnight. And neither of us could put Momma Longchamp out of our minds and see a new wife and family for Daddy Longchamp. In this way I supposed we weren't much different from Randolph—clinging to the things we had loved and cherished and blocking out the changes, trying desperately to reject them. Only we couldn't drift off into a world of our own. We had to go on with our lives.

  One weekend two weeks before the wedding, Philip returned from college. I was upstairs dressing Christie in one of her little sailor-girl outfits when Philip arrived.

  "You look like you've been doing that for years and years," Philip said from the doorway. I hadn't heard him come down the corridor. He wore a dark blue jacket, striped tie and khaki slacks with his fraternity pin on his jacket lapel. His face was still tanned from his rowing team activities, which made his blue eyes even more beguiling.

  "I've had lots of experience, Philip. Did you see Randolph?" I asked quickly.

  "Actually, no. Mother told me about all the wedding plans, and I came directly here to wish you and Jimmy luck, and to see if I can be of some help."

  "Some help?" I shook my head. "You should be very concerned about your father," I emphasized. "He's behaving very strangely."

  "I know. Mother has told me some of it. May I come in?" he asked. He was still just outside the doorway.

  "All right," I said, not hiding my displeasure and reluctance.

  He stepped up beside me quickly and gazed down at Christie.

  "Hi, Christie," he said.

  She gazed up at him as I brushed her hair gently behind her ears and over the back of her head.

  Christie had bright, inquisitive eyes and always gazed curiously and intently at people she wasn't used to seeing regularly.

  "This is Philip," I said. "Can you say 'Philip'?"

  "She talks?" he asked with surprise.

  "Of course she talks. She's nearly two years old, and she's an incessant babbler when she wants to be. 'Philip,' " I repeated. She shook her head. "She's teasing us," I said.

  "She's beautiful. A lot like her mother," he added. I glanced up at him and then carried Christie to her playpen. As soon as I placed her inside she went for her toy piano and began tapping out notes, looking up occasionally to see if Philip appreciated her recital.

  "That's great," he said, clapping. She laughed at him and continued.

  "Seriously, Philip," I said, "you should insist something be done about Randolph. He's lost too much weight, there are dark shadows around his eyes, and he's not taking care of himself. He's even untidy, which is quite uncharacteristic of him. He was always concerned about his appearance. Now he's pretending Grandmother Cutler is still alive. He's even mistaken me for her."

  "He's in a depression," Philip said nonchalantly, and he shrugged. "He'll snap out of it soon."

  "I don't think so," I said, infuriated by his attitude. "But I'm not going to nag you about it."

  "Well, thank goodness for little things," he said, his eyes twinkling.

  "You won't ever change, Philip. You're too much like Mother: self-centered."

  He laughed. "I'm not here to argue with you, Dawn. I don't ever want to argue with you again. I don't expect you can forgive me for everything I've said and d
one to you in the past, but—"

  "No," I said quickly, "I can't."

  "But I hope to win back your . . . your friendship, at least. Earn it," he added. "I really do."

  I turned to gaze at him. He wore a look of repentance, the glint gone from his eyes, his mouth firm.

  "What do you want, Philip?" I asked.

  "Another chance. A chance to do something brotherly, perhaps. For starters, I'd like to be a real part of your wedding," he said.

  "Part of my wedding? I don't understand. How?"

  "Well, Mother told me that Ormand Longchamp can't come and be Jimmy's best man. I was wondering—that is, I was hoping I could be," he said.

  "Best man?"

  "I'd consider it an honor, of course," he said, his face full of sincerity. "I know Jimmy won't agree to it unless you do," he added.

  "He still might not agree to it," I said.

  "I just want us to have normal family relationships," he emphasized.

  "Normal family relationships?" I nearly laughed. "I don't even know what that means anymore."

  "Nevertheless, I'd like it," he insisted.

  I studied him. Was he really sincere? Perhaps he, too, had grown tired of the deceptions and the conflicts. Perhaps he, too, hungered for the kind of family life so many people simply took for granted, but which seemed beyond the Cutlers. He did look older, wiser, more settled. I was sure the revelations and the aftermath of the reading of the wills had had a traumatic effect on him as well. After all, he had learned that his grandfather had made love to his mother. That wasn't something to be proud of. The Cutlers had a long way to go to win back the respect and admiration of the world they lived in. Maybe it was now up to us, the next generation.

  "All right, Philip," I said. "I'll speak to Jimmy about it." "Great. So," he said, sitting down, "you've really taken to the hotel business, I understand."

  "I'm still learning, but I'm doing more and more every day, yes," I replied proudly.

  "When I graduate I intend to return to help you run this place. I've got some great ideas about changing some things, making them more modern and expanding business," he said.

  "We've got to remember we're an old, established and distinguished hotel, Philip, catering to a definite clientele who expect certain things to remain as they are, as they always have been," I replied. Philip's eyes widened.

  "For a moment there," he said, "you sounded just like Grandmother Cutler."

  "I hardly think I could ever sound like her," I snapped back, not liking his comment.

  "You never know," Philip said, standing up. "Grandmother Cutler made this place into what it is today, and if you don't change anything, then it will change you," he said prophetically.

  "We'll see," I said. Was Philip right? Was I still in a struggle with Grandmother Cutler, even after her death? He smiled.

  "All right. I'll go see my father and see what I can do about him. May I join you and Jimmy at dinner tonight? I'm going back to college tomorrow, and I won't have all that much time to visit with you two before the wedding," he explained.

  "Yes, you can join us," I said.

  "Thanks." He started out. "Oh," he said. "I forgot to tell you. I've met someone at college. Her name's Betty Ann Monroe. We've sort of become an item on campus, if you know what I mean. I'm giving her my fraternity pin this week, and in college that's equivalent to becoming engaged."

  "Congratulations."

  "I think you'll like her very much. She's bright and very sensitive."

  "I'm happy for you, Philip. I look forward to meeting her someday," I said. I was really very happy to hear that he had developed a love interest in someone else. It fueled my hope that he was really changing. Perhaps what he had suggested —normal family relationships—wasn't so out of reach after all.

  "Thank you." He stepped closer to me. "Dawn, I . . . well, I hope that what happened between us can somehow be buried and . . ."

  "I'll never tell anyone, Philip, if that's what you mean," I said. It was. He immediately looked relieved. "I'm too ashamed of it myself," I added, wiping the smile of his face.

  "Yes, well, I'd better go see about my father. I'll see you at dinner," he added, and he left quickly.

  When Jimmy came up a little while later I told him what Philip had requested. I had never told Jimmy about Philip raping me. At the time, I was afraid to tell him what Philip had done, and as time passed I'd pressed the memory of Philip's attack on me in the shower deeper and deeper into my memory, where I hoped to keep it buried forever.

  "Best man, huh? Well, that's considerate of him. I guess it's okay. As long as it's okay with you," he added, looking at me slyly. Did he know anything? Had he sensed it somehow? Of course, he remembered when Philip had been my boyfriend at Emerson Peabody, but that was before Philip and I had discovered we were related.

  "It's your best man, Jimmy. It has to be your decision," I replied, shifting my eyes down quickly.

  "He still has a crush on you, doesn't he, Dawn?" Jimmy asked perceptively.

  "I don't think so, Jimmy," I said, and I told him about Betty Ann Monroe.

  "Um," Jimmy said, thinking. "We'll see. I guess for now it's all right for him and me to be friends. After all, he's my future brother-in-law, and the future's coming up real fast." Jimmy kissed me and started for the shower.

  "Oh," he said. "Something peculiar. Randolph came to the workshop just before and asked me about our inventory of screws and nails. I think he's fixing to count them out one at a time. Can you imagine?"

  I told Jimmy what had happened between Randolph and me and my conversation with my mother about it.

  "Well, someone better do something about him soon," he said. "It's very sad."

  Jimmy had more compassion and concern for Randolph than his own son and wife did, I thought. That was what was sad.

  While Jimmy was showering the phone rang. It was Trisha. She was all excited about my wedding and had loads of gossip to tell me about the other students at the Sarah Bernhardt School, as well as about Agnes Morris, our resident mother.

  "Nothing's really changed with Agnes," she said. "She's more dramatic than ever and wears cakes and cakes of makeup. Oh, Mrs. Liddy asked after you and was happy to hear the good news. She sends her best," Trisha said.

  "Mrs. Liddy. I do miss her. She was so nice to me. Perhaps one day I'll invite her to spend a weekend at Cutler's Cove," I said. "Oh, Trish, I'm looking forward so much to finally seeing you again."

  "Same here." There was a pause in our conversation, a short, heavy silence. I knew she had something to tell me. "There was some news about Michael Sutton," she confessed, "but I wasn't sure you wanted to hear it."

  "I don't mind," I said quickly. "What is it?"

  "Oh, there's always a bunch of gossip in the trade papers about his romances, but he's landed a starring role in a new musical opening in London, and the preview reports have been quite laudatory."

  "I'm happy for him," I said quickly.

  "I think he's horrible for what he did to you," Trisha snapped.

  "I don't want to think about that part of it anymore, Trish. I'm very happy now, and I have Christie. That's all that really matters. Michael couldn't be more out of my life. Why, hearing you talk about him now doesn't even affect me," I lied. Deep in my heart of hearts I would never forget the way Michael had betrayed and abandoned me. I had loved him so, but my love had meant nothing to him.

  "I'm glad. Do you think you will ever sing again, Dawn?" she asked.

  "I hope so, someday. Right now I have plenty to occupy me between Christie and the hotel."

  "I can't wait to see the baby. Who does she look like more?"

  "She has some of Michael's looks, but right now she looks more like me," I said, adding another lie, remembering the times when I looked at Christie and saw Michael and how much it hurt as old memories returned to haunt me before I banished them.

  "I have to get going," Trisha said. "Oodles of silly things to do. I'll speak to you soon. Bye."


  "Bye, Trish."

  I sat there for a moment with the receiver still in my hand, Trisha's voice trailing off in my memory like a leaf being carried off in a wind, growing smaller and smaller and smaller until it was gone.

  Once I was young and innocent and full of dreams. It brought a smile to my face to recall first arriving in New York, being afraid of the traffic and the people and the tall buildings, and not knowing how to react to the eccentric retired actress, Agnes Morris, who ran our residence. And then Trisha burst into my life and introduced me to all the excitement, the nightlife, the cafes, the shops and museums and the theater. She had come with me to audition for Michael Sutton, who was choosing only a few lucky students to be in his vocal class. Trisha and I had squealed with delight that morning and run up the sidewalks and across the streets, holding hands, our hearts beating madly.

  And then we saw him. He looked as if he had stepped off the cover of a fan magazine. I would never forget how light my heart felt when he turned to gaze at me and our eyes met. There were so many promises hanging in the air between us, ready to be snatched and savored. We had a dream romance, the kind of romance depicted in songs and stories. What music we made when we sang together.

  Even now I could still hear his voice.

  "Hey," Jimmy said, stepping out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around him. "Why are you sitting there with the phone in your hand, smiling? Is anyone on the phone?"

  "Oh . . . I looked at the receiver as if just realizing I held it. "Trisha just called," I said quickly. "She's so excited about the wedding."

  "Good." Jimmy stared at me. "You all right?"

  "Yes," I said weakly, and I placed the receiver in the cradle. "No," I added, looking up at him. "Oh, Jimmy, hold me, hold me as if you were holding me for the last time."

  He came to me quickly and embraced me. I rested my head against his cool chest, and he kissed my hair.

  "Don't talk like that," he said. "We have a long, long way to go before I hold you for the last time."

  His words were meant to be like drops of warm, gentle rain, soothing. But I felt as if I were sitting with my face pressed against a windowpane and the drops streaked over the glass like tears.