Family Secrets (47 page)

Paris was the maid of honor at the wedding. The new dress she bought for the occasion fell apart during the reception and she had to return it the next day. Paris took that as a sort of augury for the marriage, a kind of symbolism. She had never before had a dress that fell apart in a few hours.

Nicole had told her there was nothing wrong with a girl not being a virgin, that she herself had not been a virgin when she got married. Since Paris considered Nicole middle-aged, she was not at all surprised. When she was in her thirties she certainly expected to be an ex-virgin too. She did not, however, tell her mother what Nicole had said. There was no point in adding fuel to the fire.

Virginity or the lack of it was one of the favorite topics of discussion at college in Paris’ second year. Whenever she suspected that one of her friends might have done it with her steady boyfriend she tactfully refrained from asking. There was a certain embarrassment about the subject. She knew that Rima was a virgin. She was too. She was much too frightened of becoming pregnant to go all the way, and besides, the minute you did the word got around and you were marked, and all the boys called you up for just one thing. A girl had to go steady just to have the license to pet. The boy had to say he loved her, and she had to say she loved him and pretend to herself that she really did, or else a wrongly buttoned blouse on the return to the dorm could create a scandal. It was all so silly, she thought: the freshly applied bright red lipstick just so you could walk through the living room and pass the scrutiny of the jealous girls who had no dates that night. She had done so much kissing in parked cars with the radio on that she secretly feared she would always associate music with sex, like one of Pavlov’s dogs, and when she got married she would always have to go to bed with the radio on.

One of her best friends at college was a commuter named Elizabeth Hamilton, who had been going steady with the same boy since they were both fourteen. They even looked alike. It was assumed that when she graduated she would marry him. Because she lived with her parents instead of in the dorm, and because her social life was settled, Elizabeth was different from most of the girls Paris knew. Their relationship was less incestuous. They had met in an art class (Elizabeth was an art major) and they often hung around the Square together, having lunch in a restaurant, or just coffee, talking, taking walks. They didn’t talk about people they knew in common, they talked about things. Coming from a family that was always on top of each of its members, and then living in a dorm with no privacy, Paris relished that. She and Elizabeth often went to museums, and in good weather they sat on the steps of the library with their sketch pads and drew pictures. Elizabeth had never been to New York, and Paris had invited her to spend a week with her that summer at Windflower and go on trips to museums in the city. Elizabeth was slender and neat, with straight hair that Paris envied and Elizabeth hated. She looked like one of the girls in a junior fashion magazine. Everything she put on looked good on her, no matter how little it cost.

Rima Gold’s parents had moved to Scarsdale from the Bronx, “for her.” Scarsdale meant a different life, different opportunities, the kind of country club boys all the parents wanted their daughters to meet. It was too bad that Rima couldn’t play tennis or golf, kept her head out of the water when she dog-paddled, and thought the best way to spend a Sunday afternoon was in her own back yard lying motionless under the sun. Paris wouldn’t be caught dead at a country club either, although there were several within driving distance, and she had invited Rima to visit her every weekend. Rima’s mother had agreed to drive her. It wasn’t far. That summer Paris was going to take driving lessons even though she didn’t have a car.. She was looking forward to the summer because she would have friends and something to do.

She always looked forward to the summer and then something always went wrong. The first day she would arrange all her things neatly in their places, breathe in the fresh country air, let her skin soak in the sun and wind, and then somehow as time went on everything changed. Time started to go slowly. She began to have nightmares at night. Her mother and aunts talked about her in her presence as if she weren’t there. Should she keep that blouse she’d bought or return it? The color wasn’t bad, but the workmanship was shoddy, it wasn’t worth the money, and not all that becoming. She should return it. Nobody asked
her
. No one wanted to go anywhere. The grocery store was the limit of their adventurousness. No one went to summer theater any more; no one went to the movies. Uncle Lazarus listened to his favorite radio programs, and whenever one of them was on at the same time as lunch or dinner it had to be turned on full blast in the library so they could hear it in the dining room. Of course, at these times, conversation was impossible. Not that conversation was so interesting anyway, when all the family seemed to talk about was dieting and food, while they were stuffing themselves. The only reason her mother let Paris take driving lessons was that everyone knew that boys sometimes got fresh and told a girl she’d have to neck with them or walk home, or sometimes a boy got too drunk at a party to be able to drive, and so she should have a driver’s license. Then she could escape and save herself. No one thought how useful it would be if she could drive; then she could go places and take them places too. Now that Everett was in business he didn’t spend the whole summer at Windflower, just part of it for his vacation, so an extra car and driver was badly needed. But no one thought of Paris that way; she was still just a child to them. She felt smothered. How could they all be so content to sit there, all dressed up and their hair all done and makeup on, and then do nothing at all but sit on the porch and talk to each other, eat meals, sit at Grandpa’s and talk to each other?

Thank goodness for Rima every Saturday. Her mother was different from Paris’ mother; she drove a car and smoked cigarettes and was always doing something or going somewhere. Oh, was there a good farm down the road? Then she’d stop off and buy vegetables to take home. Was there an antique fair? Only an hour away? Then by all means she would investigate it. She did her own cooking and walked the dog and even did setting-up exercises for half an hour every morning. It was ironic that she had a daughter who couldn’t drive and had no wish to learn, hated to cook, couldn’t come near touching her toes, and whose favorite hobbies were reading poetry and sleeping. Paris and Rima always had something to talk about. They went into Paris’ room and shut the door that led to her parents’ room.

“You mother doesn’t like me,” Rima said.

“Don’t be silly.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

Paris always thought of Rima’s presence as a buffer between herself and her mother; Rima liked to talk to her mother about growing flowers, and when she was around no one bothered Paris at all.

“Why wouldn’t my mother like you?” Paris said.

“Because she doesn’t trust me. She doesn’t think I’m your real friend. I can tell.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

Rima shrugged. “Maybe in a couple of years she’ll get to like me.”

It was true that when her friend was there Paris spent little time with her mother, but that was what friends were for, to be your age. A mother was different. Even though a mother tried to be a friend, or at least said she did, she had the balance of power. A friend had to be equal. Her mother had friends of her own, let her invite them up. But her mother said she didn’t want to invite their old friends from Brooklyn because the sight of all this luxury would make them uncomfortable.

“I don’t want you to let Rima influence you,” Paris’ mother had said.

“Influence me in what?”

“In anything. Remember, you are you. You are the way I brought you up, and I don’t want you to listen to your friends.”

“About
what
?”

“Anything. Remember, in the long run your mother is the only person you can really trust.”

On the Saturdays when Rima couldn’t come to Windflower Paris was bored. She spent them with her mother, or wandering around alone. Uncle Basil and Nicole were living in Basil’s suite at Grandpa’s house, but during the week Nicole often went into the city with Basil because she didn’t like to sit still. She was pregnant, but she didn’t let it stop her. She took courses in the city, and when she was in the country she still swam and played tennis, flaunting her strong body. Paris didn’t think it was very attractive to see that bulging belly in the Olympic swimsuit, but Nicole said it was “natural.” It still looked like she’d eaten an extra large meal, but soon, Paris knew, Nicole’s vanity would overcome her desire to prove how natural she was, and she would buy maternity clothes. At least, she hoped so.

Elizabeth came to visit in August. She loved the lake and looked just like a junior model standing there against the greenery in her new orange bathing suit with her hair straight and perfect no matter how hot and humid it was. She seemed awed by the place and the family. Paris realized that people who had never seen Windflower before might be overwhelmed. But to her the family was just a family; she knew how shy they were with strangers, how afraid they were that they might be lacking in social graces. Elizabeth was no one to be afraid of. She was just a college girl, too poor to go to a school away from home, a girl with simple tastes who loved to go to museums and look at pictures.

Elizabeth was supposed to stay for the whole week, but the third day when they were at the Museum of Modern Art, she said, “I have to go home tomorrow.”

“Why?” Paris asked, very surprised and disappointed.

“I don’t have any more money.”

“What do you need money for?”

“I just don’t feel comfortable without money.”

Paris knew that was a lie; Elizabeth had hardly spent anything and she had seen her counting plenty of money the night she arrived. “You miss Jimmy, is that it?”

“Oh no, not really. I just have to go home.”

“I wish you wouldn’t. We don’t have to go anywhere, just stay in the country if you want.”

“No, I’ve already called my mother. Collect,” Elizabeth added hastily.

That night Elizabeth packed and Paris watched her sadly, wondering what had gone wrong. Had someone hurt her feelings? Could the family have scared her that much? Had she been secretly spending money, was it really true? Maybe Elizabeth was just a hick after all, as Paris had heard her mother telling Aunt Melissa, and New York had scared her as much as Windflower had.

Elizabeth took the train back to Cambridge. “Well,” Paris’ mother said that night with a sigh of relief, “I’m glad she’s gone.”

“You are?”

“I looked—she had mildew in her suitcase. I don’t want you bringing any more of those girls from school. They’ll bring mildew in their suitcases and we’ll get it all over the house.”

TEN

In August of that summer Nicole finally gave in and started wearing maternity clothes. The men in the family were particularly relieved, for they had been embarrassed and repelled, seeing more of Nicole’s body during this sacred time than they cared to. And, in her seventh month, she had ballooned, but she would not admit it.

“I don’t really need these,” she said, stroking her maternity blouse with her huge hand. Gulliver among the Lilliputians, she looked down at her in-laws and smiled. “I just wear them because it’s fun to play pregnant woman for a change. I’ll let Basil wait on me. Basil, bring me some ice cream and a dill pickle.”

Basil started to rise, not sure if she was joking or not, and Nicole laughed. “Oh, sit down, Basil. I can get my own pickle if I want it. I can still do everything I used to do. I’m in such good shape that nothing has changed.”

They were all at Papa’s, after dinner, as usual. Nicole rose and strode to the center of the living room floor. “Look at me, everybody!” she cried in her loud voice. “Look! I’m seven months pregnant and I’m going to stand on my head.”

There was a shocked intake of breath from the women and then silence as Nicole tossed her legs upward and performed a perfect handstand, walking a few steps on her hands for good measure. Her skirt flopped down over her face, revealing her maternity girdle, panties, stockings, and belly full of child. Jonah looked nauseated and averted his eyes. Lavinia wanted to rush over and cover Papa’s eyes, but she figured he could take care of himself. Etta, who had turned out to be a prude after all, despite her beginnings, blushed. Melissa gave a little shriek and looked at Lazarus, as if he might be called on to do an emergency delivery right that moment on Etta’s pastel rug. Hazel looked confused. And Basil pretended he thought it was admirable.

Nicole returned to an upright position and gave a triumphant crow: “There! What did you think of that?”

“You’ll be lucky if the baby isn’t born upside down,” Lazarus said with distaste. “You’ll have a breech birth, mark my words.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Nicole said. “I’m strong as a horse.”

“And act like one,” Lavinia muttered to Jonah.

Rosemary, who had watched all this feeling it was only one more scene in her life of daily pain, really disliked Nicole at that moment. The woman had no idea how lucky she was to be pregnant, to have been able to conceive so quickly, almost at will, and at her age, too! And then to make such light of it, to threaten the baby just to show off, she had to be not right in the head. Nicole’s pregnancy had made Rosemary even more conscious of the empty gap in her own family. There was even an empty room in the house for a child. It wasn’t fair.

When she and Jack went back to their house that night and were safely in their bedroom where they could talk, Rosemary broached the subject of adoption.

“No,” Jack said. “I won’t.”

“But if we can’t have a baby of our own, we could get a wonderful little baby who has all the qualities of the two of us. They match them up. It would even look like you, and it would be musical. We would feel it’s our own right away, everyone says you do. It would be just like having a baby except I wouldn’t have to be pregnant. I’d just go to the hospital and bring home a little baby.”