Magdalene (39 page)

“
Then why?!
” Clarissa cried.

Then silence descended and became complete.
Mitch still held my hand, tightened his grip when I tried to pull
away, but I couldn’t bear to look up at all of these people looking
at me as if I were some pathetic specimen in a high school science
lab. I’d made my choices deliberately. Explaining why I’d made them
didn’t make them any more valid; in fact, it cheapened them. It
made me look like a victim and I wasn’t that.

But I would tell them, because I had no
other way out of this knot than to slice it clean through. I took a
deep breath.

“To make it official. To command my own
price. To be in the power position. To have some way to exact my
revenge.”

Their expressions let me know they would
never understand unless I spelled it out.

“You know,” I said conversationally, “the
women’s studies courses I had to take in college were very useful,
although my professors would be the first to condemn me for what I
did with all that rhetoric. You know what I learned? I learned that
concubines, courtesans, mistresses—” I speared Clarissa with a
look, and she gulped, but wouldn’t look away. “The smart ones,
anyway. The elite, expensive ones. They’re the only women
throughout history who ever had real power.

“You all took comparative religion, right?
Bible as literature? Something like that? Notice: Half the women in
the Old Testament traded sex for retribution and restitution.
Power. You know the story of Esther, Queen of Jews, don’t you?
Saved her people from extermination?”

The girls nodded vaguely.

“Do you think she saved her people because
she was a pretty piece of art and a clever conversationalist at
dinner parties? No. She saved them by fucking the king so well he
couldn’t get out of bed, much less think straight. She whispered
things in his ear and she pulled his strings and she pressed his
buttons just right. Voilà. She got him to do what she needed done.
She got a man
executed
. She wasn’t powerless by a long
shot.

“But
I
was. Money alone caged me. I
didn’t have the education to work my way up somewhere because I
wasn’t allowed to get an education when I was young. I sat through
those classes—ten years older than all the other students—and
realized that the name of the thing I didn’t have, what I needed,
was ‘power.’ And if I wanted any, I’d have to get it the way it’s
been gotten for centuries—through sex.
Paid
sex.”

Clarissa flinched.

“I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t like
it,” I continued calmly, looking around the table. The only people
who looked away were my family members, not Mitch’s. Indeed,
Mitch’s children were paying rapt attention. They’d probably never
thought of Queen Esther that way, either. No church in its right
mind would teach the story with such a spin, especially since the
text was short on editorial comment.

“Or that I regret it. I don’t. I enjoyed
myself for the most part. I had good sex. I made lots of money
doing something I liked and I was good at. I made a friend or two.
I gave you good educations and made sure you had the money and
freedom to leave me and go conquer the world if you wanted to.
And
I kept you all in the high style to which you would have
refused to become unaccustomed. I got the power and education I
needed.

“Only then could I get the kind of job I
always knew I’d love, given the chance. But that job alone
still
wouldn’t give me as much power as fucking powerful men
gave me.

“You want to know how I broke Rivington?
I’ll tell you. I made sure to acquire a client, a man he had
wronged, and I played that man mercilessly until he did what I
wanted him to do—and he
never
knew. Because he was too
stupid to know I was manipulating him. He’s not the only one I did
it to, either. I cut a swath through both sides of Central Park,
any man or woman who stood in my way after the night your father
raped me— They were going to answer for it.

“If they testified against me in divorce
court. If they spread rumors about what a bitch I was to your
father. If I overheard them say that I deserved what I got. If they
told the police they thought I was lying about everything, the
rape, the fraud.
Anyone
who made it more difficult for me to
get out of my situation— I took them all down. I’m one of the most
powerful women in America because
I know where the bodies are
buried
and people fear me.
That
is precisely why I can
have the kind of job I love. So if any of you have any inclination
to pity me, don’t.”

“Mom,” Olivia whined.

“No, Olivia,” I snapped. “I won’t have it. I
set out with a specific goal in mind and that was the way I chose
to accomplish it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell us this?” Helene
asked from the shelter of her arms, her voice muffled.

I stared at her, hurt for her and with her,
for what I’d done to her by keeping her in the dark. And all my
righteous indignation fled.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” I said softly.
“All I wanted to do was marry your father and have his babies and
be your mommy, and then when— After that, all I wanted was for you
to have two parents who loved you and took care of you, which we
tried to do.”

“Why did you stay with him so long
then?”

“She didn’t have a choice,” Gordon muttered.
“Her parents, my father—
I
—didn’t give her a choice. She was
bound and gagged—” He paused. “Raped. And she did better than
anybody else in that position could’ve done. Should’ve been able to
do.”

Gordon was miserable, looking to the girls
for forgiveness or at least the hope of it in the future, but they
wouldn’t—couldn’t—look at him. He’d lost them. It was my final
revenge, one I had deliberately never taken.

I knew it would be too bitter for them all
to swallow.

I had to speak, although I didn’t know what
to say. “I— You love your father, and he loves you so much. I
couldn’t take that away from you, from him. I can bear your
contempt. He can’t, and he does
not
deserve it. Please don’t
let this—”

In a flurry of motion, I found my lap filled
with a twenty-four-year-old girl who’d wrapped herself around me
and was, at that moment, sobbing into my neck. “I’m sorry, Mama,
I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Mama...”

I sighed and pulled her to me as tightly as
I could.

•

We sat in the library, Mitch and I,
snuggling on a couch.

Trevor and the twins, prodded by Nigel, set
up a board game, in which Nigel overenthusiastically took the lead
and participated.

Helene, having been cosseted and coddled by
Lisette and Geneviève somewhere far away from the kitchen for the
last couple of hours, now played pool with them in the next room,
thoroughly engaged in trading stories of her experiences with them:
Helene in medical school; Lisette in Hong Kong; Geneviève in
Russia.

Gordon, sick at heart because none of the
girls would look at him, much less talk to him, had gone to
bed.

Clarissa stood in the doorway, leaning
against the jamb and looking out a far window, tears creeping down
her face that she didn’t bother to hide or wipe away.

“I’d apologize for ambushing you,” Mitch
murmured in my ear, “but it’d be a lie.”

“That never stopped you before,” I grumbled.
He chuckled. “It had to be done,” I admitted reluctantly, “if only
for Helene. She needed to know, to make sense of it, no matter how
bad it was. Olivia— Paige, well, I didn’t expect her to be as
sympathetic as she was.”

“Did you ever figure out why Clarissa stayed
with you all these years? Why she moved back in?”

I knew. I’d always known. “She needs her
mommy,” I muttered, looking down at my hands. “She’s always been
clingy. Too different from Helene. The odd girl out with the twins.
Me, well...”

“Two peas in a pod.”

“Co-dependent, more like.”

“She wants your approval.”

“She’s my child. She has my approval.”

“Does she know that?”

I sighed. “I don’t know.”

He glanced over at her and then slowly
stood. “Back in a while.” I turned to watch as he approached her,
strong but gentle, and said with great care, “Walk with me,
Clarissa?”

She looked up at him, her face blank not
because she was hiding anything, but because she had nothing left
to show.

“Sure,” she said without emotion, and
disappeared down the hall with him.

* * * * *

A River of
Surprise

March 18, 2011

The wedding wherein I would tie myself to a
man because he wouldn’t have sex with me under any other
circumstance was about the most perfect thing a woman my age could
imagine. I had to admit, however reluctantly, that I felt eighteen
again, fresh and innocent, filled with hope and promise for a
future with a good man, a man of my choosing, a man I desired, in a
dress that made me feel like a princess.

Mitch had insisted I wear white, and had
recruited a sullen Clarissa to make sure it happened the way he
wanted it to—but she’d done it and done it well.

I looked down at the ball gown she’d chosen
for me (really, the girl has excellent taste), smoothed the nubby
white silk and blinked to clear my eyes of their sudden
cloudiness.

An evening wedding in mid March, all the
doors and windows of the mansion thrown open to allow the hundred
or so guests to enjoy the sweet, fresh, cool air. Orange roses
garnished with creamy white orange blossoms punctuated every
available display surface without going overboard. I peeked around
a corner and down the stairs to see the guests being seated.

On the front row of the groom’s side,
Mitch’s real family: his parents (lovely people, adorably caught up
in each other and only concerned about Mitch’s happiness), his
daughters and sons-in-law. Behind them, his siblings and their
spouses.

Following, Mitch’s adopted family.

Giselle Kenard, in a subdued yellow evening
gown, the bodice studded with pearls. Eilis Logan, in a black
velvet and chiffon cocktail dress, next to her. Justice Hilliard,
in a rich green-and-black silk cheongsam, on Eilis’s right.

Vanessa Whittaker, clad in pink silk and
white organza, on Justice’s right. It didn’t completely surprise me
that Mitch knew her, but it did surprise me they were such good
friends.

Giselle and Eilis had their heads together,
whispering. Justice wrapped her arm around Vanessa, kissed her
temple, pulled her close to allow Vanessa to lean on her. It had
been several months since she had bid public, heartbreaking adieu
to her lover. Mitch must be very dear to her when attending a
wedding was clearly the last thing she wanted to do.

The four women were a compelling vignette on
the nature of true sisterhood and I realized that my life had been
poorer for its lack, but now I had Louise and Prissy, and
Prissy—who’d known little more about it than I—had me.

Morgan, to Giselle’s left, draped his arm
across his cousin’s shoulder, drew her away from Eilis and
whispered in her ear; she nodded and whispered back, gesturing as
she spoke. Eilis leaned forward then and Morgan included her in the
conversation. Family ties aside, I knew an impromptu business
meeting when I saw one. Ah, normalcy. It soothed my nerves.

Then the few ward members we had invited:
Prissy and Steve Seaton. Sabrina and Ben Johnston. Louise and Aaron
Kelly. Terry and Mary Naples, his red tie matching his wife’s
gown.

Father Rory Farraday.

On the left were my family and colleagues.
Gordon and Nigel sat with Olivia’s and Paige’s boyfriends.

Jack and Lydia Blackwood.

Melinda Newman, along with quite a few
denizens of the financial district. The announcement of the
marriage
of Cassandra St. James to
Mitch Hollander
had sent roars of laughter echoing up and down Wall Street.

I had finally contacted my parents in
Nebraska to tell them of my news, and while they were genuinely
happy for me, they declined my invitation, even though I offered to
pay their expenses. Their shame ran too deeply still. My genius
father and ingenious mother, who had taught me how to invest and
save, felt they deserved to live in poverty for having given me to
Rivington. They could not bear my forgiveness.

I had asked Mitch’s daughters to be
bridesmaids along with my daughters, but Geneviève had said,
“Cassie. Six bridesmaids is about five too many and your daughters
need you. We love you, but no thanks. Please don’t be
offended.”

Not likely. I completely agreed with
her.

Nigel had offered to walk me down the aisle,
but I demurred. I belonged to no one but myself and so I would go
to Mitch alone.

The bishop of the Emmaus First Ward, who
made his living as one of the foundry’s foremen, would be
performing the ceremony.

Finally things began to shake out and
suddenly, I found myself surrounded by my daughters and their
escorts arranging themselves at the top of the stairs: Helene as
maid of honor and Trevor as best man. Sebastian and Olivia. Bryce
and Paige.

Clarissa had not had to finagle me into
arranging her with her idol, though Knox had coldly informed her
she could not expect any consideration from him as to the status of
her law school application just because she was on his arm for a
wedding. He had also instructed her she was not to address him as
“Knox” after she had been so bold as to do so once, and that “Dr.
Hilliard” would do. But I understood her excitement, and I smiled
when I saw the expressions of amused exasperation Knox cast her
when she wasn’t looking. He caught my glance and winked.

Clarissa turned to me and gave me the
once-over, checked my strapless bodice for bits of misplaced
lining, straightened the elaborate pearl-and-diamond choker Mitch
had made for me out of his iridescent alloy, and made sure the
white orange blossoms in my up-do were arranged to her
satisfaction.