Dollenganger 06 My Sweet Audrina (28 page)

me. I pushed the cart with my foot into the kitchen. That evening Papa and Arden picked up the
purple chaise with Vera still lying there like an
orange-haired Cleopatra and she ate with us in the
dining room.
I hated seeing her on Momma's purple chaise,
but there Vera lay day after day, reading those same
paperback novels she had read years and years ago. Sylvia retreated into herself, refusing to enter
the playroom and be taught again. Because Papa had
to have gourmet meals and no longer could Billie be
given relief by eating in restaurants with him, she did
nothing but cook. I did all the housework, all the
laundry, though Arden did what he could after he
came home from work. Papa was always too busy, or
too tired to do anything but talk or watch TV. A month after the New Year had come and
gone, I led Sylvia again into the playroom to continue
our lessons. "I'm sorry I've neglected you, Sylvia. If
Vera hadn't broken her leg, I'll bet you'd be reading by
now. So let's go back to where we left off. What is
your name?"
We had reached the playroom door, and to my
surprise, and Sylvia's, too, Billie was in the rocker.
She blushed when we caught her. "It's silly, I know,
but if there's magic in this chair, I want a little of it
myself." She looked very girlish and pretty, then she
giggled. "Don't laugh. But I've got a dream, a
wonderful dream that occupies most of my thoughts.
I'm hoping this chair will help my dream come true."
She smiled at me tremulously. "I questioned your
father and he said anything is possible, if you believe,
so here I am . . and I'm believing." She smiled and
held out her arms. "Come, Sylvia, let me hold you on
my lap. Be my little girl today and tell me what your
name is."
"N0000!" wailed Sylvia, loud enough to bring
Vera hobbling down the hall on the crutches the
doctor was allowing her to use now.
"Baaaad!" yelled Sylvia, pointing at Vera.
"Baad!"
Sylvia would not sit on Billie's lap, but on
another day Papa found us both there rocking and
singing together. "Just you, my love," he said, looking
at me and never at Sylvia. "Rock alone, become the
empty pitcher that fills with everything wonderful." I ignored him, thinking him a fool on that
particular subject. I turned to Sylvia, wanting to show
her off in front of Papa. "Darling, tell Papa your
name." Only a moment ago she'd said it, before we
started singing. "Tell him my name, too."
My small sister on my lap made her beautiful
but sometimes terrible eyes vacant, so that they
looked straight through him, and some babbling
nonsense came from her lips. I wanted to cry. I'd
worked so hard, and denied myself many trips into the
city with Arden to stay home and teach Sylvia. Now
she refused to give me the reward I felt I needed. "Oh," said Papa in disgust, "you're wasting your
time. Give it up."
My husband seldom came home before nine or
ten at night. Often he missed dinner, explaining this
by saying he had so much paperwork to do, so much
technical data to read, he had to study in order to kee i
up.
"And there are so many distractions at home," he said in an evasive way. "Now don't jump on Damian. It's not his fault but my own. I just don't
catch on as quickly as I should."
The very next night Arden came home with
even more papers to read. Financial reports, financial
advisory services, technical stock charts, tax shelters
to evaluate--more work than Papa had ever assigned
to him before. At two in the morning, I awoke to see
Arden still at our small bedroom desk, reading,
making notes, his eyes tired and bloodshot.
"Come to bed, Arden."
"Can't, honey." He yawned and smiled my way.
As exhausted as he was, he still didn't lose patience
with me, or with Papa. "Today your father took off
somewhere and left me in charge of the firm. I
couldn't take care of my own affairs when his are
more important--and now I have to catch up." He
stood up and stretched, then headed for the shower.
"Cold water will wake me up."
In another moment he was back at the bathroom
door, beginning to tug off his clothes as he said in a
troubled way, "Well, there I was in Damian's office,
in charge, and I knew damn well he was expecting me
to make every mistake possible so he could shout and
humiliate me again in front of everybody. It was a quiet day, and as I sat behind his massive desk and waited for the telephone to ring, I started looking for something and discovered the drawers were very short. I couldn't understand why such a large desk had such short drawers. So I fooled around, and soon found several small secret compartments way in the
back of the drawers."
Fully out of his clothes now, he stood there
naked, as if he wanted me to look at him, something I
could never do without quivering and blushing.
Though he said nothing sexual to me or indicated he
wanted me to do more than listen, I sensed a certain
kind of expectation.
"Audrina, I'm not an expert bookkeeper, but
when I found a ledger in one secret compartment, I
couldn't resist leafing through it and doing a little
calculating. Your father 'borrows' money from his
more dormant accounts, uses it to invest in his own
account, and when he's made a nice profit, he puts the
money back in months later. His clients never know
the difference. He's been doing it for years and years." Blankly I stared at him.
"That's not all he does, either," Arden went on.
"Just the other day I heard him telling one of his
wealthiest clients that the stock certificates she found in her attic were worthless except for framing. She mailed him the certificates to frame and hang in his office--a little gift, she told him. Audrina, they were Union Pacific stocks that have split time and time again. When she gave him that little gift, she gave him hundreds of thousands of dollars--and she's eightytwo years old. Rich, but old. He probably thinks she's got enough and doesn't need it nearly as much as he does, and he must figure she's too old to find out he's
cheated her."
He yawned again and rubbed at his eyes, and
again he seemed boyish and very vulnerable. For
some reason I was touched. "You know, for the
longest time I wondered why he collected old stock
certificates. Now I know why he wants them. He sells
them on the West Coast. It's no wonder he's so rich
now, no wonder at all."
"I should have known he had to be doing
something dishonest to have so much cash to invest,
when only a few years ago we couldn't even afford
meat on our table. Oh, how dumb not to have guessed
years ago!" I looked at him anxiously.
Something sweet, young, wistful and yearning
was in his eyes that pleaded for me to come to him.
And this time I felt the stirrings of sexuality in my own body, responding to his call. Manned by my surprising arousal, I whirled around to leave. I couldn't let Arden distract me. I had to confront Papa
with his thieving ways.
"Arden, you didn't say anything to Papa about
his embezzling funds, did you?"
I heard his sigh. "No. Besides, when I checked
the secret compartments in his desk later, they were
empty." He looked toward the windows, his lips
tightening, as if he gave up in trying to entice me by
doing nothing aggressive, and he said nothing to keep
me with him. "I suppose Damian thinks of everything
and had some way of detecting when those papers and
ledgers were tampered with."
"Go to bed. I'm going to Papa."
"I wish you wouldn't. He'll wonder how you
know."
"I won't say anything that will let him know
who told me." I waited for him to protest again, but he
turned and headed for the bed. I leaned above him and
kissed him good night.
"Audrina ?" he murmured. "Do you really love
me? Sometimes in the night I wake up and wonder
why you married me. I hope it wasn't just to escape
your father."
"Yes, I love you," I said without hesitation. "It
may not be the kind of love you want . . . but maybe
one day soon you'll be surprised."
"Let's hope so," he muttered before he fell into
exhausted sleep.
If only I'd stayed in bed that night and given to
Arden what he needed. If only I hadn't thought I could
always set everything right.
I expected Papa to be asleep at almost three in
the morning. Certainly I didn't expect to see the thin
line of yellow light under his closed bedroom door,
any more than I expected to hear his laughter and a
woman's smothered giggle. I stopped short, not
knowing what to think or do. Had he been so
insensitive as to bring home one of his "playmates,"
as Momma used to sarcastically call them?
"Now you stop that, Damian," said a voice I
couldn't help but recognize. "I've got to go now. We
can't risk letting the children find out about this." Not for one second did I stop to consider what
to do once I knew who it was with him, nor did I think
of the consequences of my impulsive actions. I threw
open the door and stepped into the dimly lit room that
Papa had redecorated since Momma died. Redflocked wallpaper, with gold-framed mirrors everywhere, made his room seem an opulent
eighteenth-century bordello.
They were in bed together, Arden's legless
mother and my father, playing intimately with each
other. When they saw me, Billie gasped and snatched
her hand away. Papa quickly yanked up the covers to
conceal them both. But I'd seen enough.
There was such a red rage in my brain I wanted
to scream out every word I was to think of later but
not now. All I could do was yell at her, "You whore!"
Then at him I hurled, "You filthy son of a bitch!
Leave my house, Billie! I never want to see you
again! Arden and I are leaving you, Papa, and taking
Sylvia with us."
Billie began to cry. Papa slipped discreetly
from the covers and pulled on a red brocade lounging
robe. "You silly little girl," he said easily, not
appearing embarrassed at all. "As long as Billie wants
to stay she will."
Insulted, feeling Billie had betrayed me and
Arden, too, I whirled about and raced back to my
room to find Arden had gotten up from bed to resume
his work. However, it had done him little good. He
was slumped over on his desk, fast asleep on his
papers. Sympathy rushed to erase my anger, and gently I woke him up and helped him off with his robe. Then, with my arm about his waist, I assisted
him to the bed, and in his arms I lay as he fell asleep. All night long I fretted before I reached my
conclusion. It wasn't Billie's fault--it was Papa's. He'd
seduced her with his gifts, with his charm and good
looks, so he could have the know the thrill of having
sex with a legless woman. I couldn't drive Billie out.
It was Papa who had to leave so we could all live
decent lives.
And now I had the perfect weapon to force him
to go. I'd threaten to expose him for the fraud and
embezzler he was. Even if he had hidden the
incriminating ledgers, I had all the information I
needed about his illegal stock advisory firm in San
Francisco--and that alone would be threat enough. However, it wasn't to be that way.
Billie came to me early the next day, soon after
Arden and Papa had left for work. Her eyes were redrimmed and swollen and her face seemed very pale. I
turned my back and continued to brush my hair. "Audrina . please. I wanted to sink through the
floor last night when you stormed into his room. I
know what you think, but it wasn't that way, really it
wasn't."
Viciously I tore the brush through my hair. "Listen to me, please!" she wailed piteously. "I
love Damian, Audrina. He's the kind of man I always
wanted but never had."
Spinning around, my eyes blazed as I tried to
scream out all my anger, but for some reason her tears
stopped me. The colors in her eyes made me feel
strange, as too many colors always did. She had a
habit of always wearing bright clothes: crimson,
scarlet, magenta, electric blue, emerald green, purple
and bright yellows. Colors flashing . . colors and the
tinkling wind chimes when trouble came. I put my
hand over my ears and closed my eyes, turned my
back and refused to hold the gaze that pleaded for my
understanding.
"Turn your back and close your mind as well as
your ears, but I think he loves me, too, darlin'," she
went on. "Maybe you think because I'm crippled he
can't love me. Still, I think he does, and even if he
doesn't, I'll just be grateful he gave me a little of what
I always wanted--a real man. Compared to him my
three husbands were little boys playing at being men.
Damian would never have left me, I know he wouldn't
have."
I had to look at her then, to see if she truly believed her words. Her beautiful eyes pleaded, just as
her hands reached out to me. I stepped farther away. She rolled closer to me. "Listen to what I say.
Put yourself in my position, and maybe you'll
understand why I love him. Arden's father walked out
on us the day I lost my second leg. He was a weak
man who expected me to support him with my
skating. When I couldn't, he sought out another
woman who could. He never writes. He stopped
sending child support long before Arden came of age.
I had to earn what I could, and you know yourself that
Arden has worked like a man since he was twelve,
and even before that. . ."
Don't!
I wanted to yell. What you do with him
is ugly, unforgivable, and you should have known
better. We were bound to find out, bound to . . . "Your father is the kind of man who needs a
woman in his life, just as my son is. Damian hates
being alone, hates doing anything alone. He likes to
come home and smell good food cooking. He likes
someone to run his home, to keep it clean, to take care
of his clothes, and I'd gladly do all that for him, even
if he never marries me. Audrina, doesn't love make it
not ugly? Doesn't love make all the difference .
doesn't it?"
I didn't believe Papa loved her. Standing with
my back to her, I stiffened and wanted to scream. "All right, darlin'," she whispered in a hoarse
voice. "Hate me if you must, but don't make me leave
the only real home I've ever had, and the only real
man who's ever loved me."
Pivoting to confront her, I said sarcastically,
"Perhaps you'd be interested to hear that my aunt