Olivia (6 page)

them. Belinda hadn't moved. "How can you be doing
this?" I demanded.
"We were just . . ." Quin scrambled for his sneakers. "I know what you were just doing, Quin
Lothar," I said.
"I gotta go. It's late," he said and lunged to his
feet, not taking the time to put on his sneakers. In a
moment he had disappeared into the darkness. Belinda whimpered.
"You ruined my graduation night," she said
through her sobs.
"I ruined . . Do you know Mother and Daddy
are beside themselves with worry and now that I've
come for you and have seen what you were doing,
they had every reason to worry. How could you do
this after what's happened?" I asked, my voice filled
with amazement. Was there no bottom to Belinda's
descent?
"We were being careful," she said.
"Oh, that's a relief to know. Do you just jump
into anyone's sleeping bag on the beach, Belinda?" "No. It's graduation night!" she declared as
though that was a license to lose all morality. "Just put your clothes on and come home with
me immediately," I said.
"But everyone is staying out all night." "Daddy sent me to get you," I declared to
impress her. She didn't move. "Belinda, I'm not going
home without you."
"This is horrible," she cried. "You were happy
to come get me. You don't want me to have a good
time because you never do."
"If this is what you call having a good time,
you're right," I snapped back. "Just get dressed.
Now!"
She got out of the sleeping bag and began to put
on her clothes. I couldn't watch her. It filled me with
too much disgust. Instead, I turned away and looked
toward the sound of the ocean.
Was she right? Did I come here to get her
because I was jealous? If I had met someone to whom
I was attracted in high school and who was attracted
to me, would I have been on the beach too?
Something inside me told me no, I would have
been more sensible, but at the moment, that didn't
make me feel better or superior. It put a rock of
sadness into the bottom of my stomach.
Belinda sulked as we trekked over the beach
toward the car. The music followed us along with the
laughter.
"I'm not going to be around all the time to save
you from yourself, Belinda," I told her when we
reached the car.
"Good," she fired back.
She was fuming all the way home. After we
entered the house, she marched up the stairs and
slammed the door to her room. Daddy came out. "She all right?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. I decided not to give him any of
the gritty details. He didn't seem to want to hear them
anyway.
"Thank you, Olivia," he said. "You're the
strength, the steel spine of this family. You always
will be," he added with a nod. It was as if he had
declared me heir to his throne, whether I wanted it or
not.
It was who I was to be.
I fell asleep dreaming about that sleeping bag
we had left empty on the beach.

3
A Wolf in
Sheep's Clothing
.
For a while I thought Belinda wouldn't attend

the finishing school or that Daddy would give in to her and postpone it until the fall. A few times, he tottered on the brink of caving in to her pleas. She tried desperately to get him to do so, moaning and groaning about not having the summer free to enjoy with her friends.

When Daddy vacillated, I helped prop him up again.
"You know she needs it more than ever, Daddy. It was your good idea. Don't let her pull the wool over your eyes. She'll be more than a handful for all of us if she has nothing whatsoever to do with her time," I reminded him. He pressed his lips together and held tight, but Belinda didn't give up.
"Who goes to school in the summer? Only people who have failed classes. I didn't fail any classes," she wailed, choosing to make our dinner hour as unpleasant as she could every night until she got her way.
"It won't be like going to school, Belinda," Mother told her. "It's a special school with beautiful grounds and dormitories, isn't it, Olivia?"
"Yes," I said, "with the finest facilities and some of the best teachers."
"It's still a school. I still have to be in stuffy classrooms while the sun is out and my friends are sailing and having fun back here, don't I?" Belinda moaned. She pouted, refused to eat, stomped about the house, sulked and made everyone else miserable as her day of departure closed in on her.
All during the week before she left, Belinda insisted on having her boyfriends and girlfriends come to the house and bid her good-bye as though she were off to war and they all might not see her ever again. Every time someone left, she was in tears.
"No one will write me or call. They all say they will, but they won't. They'll forget me quickly," she complained through her sobs.
"If that happens, that will show you they weren't very good friends anyway," I told her.
"That's right: Mother echoed.
"Oh . . . poop!" she cried, her face red with frustration, and ran up to her room.
Actually, I enjoyed her last minute antics, enjoyed her stream of complaints, her sobbing and sulking. From my expression, she saw she could find no sympathy in me, and no matter what she said to Mother, no matter what disaster she predicted, Mother found a silver lining.
"You'll meet new people, make new friends, see interesting new things, learn so much. What an opportunity for you, Belinda, dear. I wish I was young and going off to finishing school, too."
"And I wish I was old and past all this," she fired back with the tears flying off her cheeks.
That made me laugh: Belinda wishing herself old. "You don't know what being old is," I told her. "As soon as you see the first wrinkle on your face, you'll threaten to commit suicide."
"I will not. You're being dreadful to me, Olivia. You'll miss me when I'm gone," she threatened, which only made me laugh harder and make her sulk more.
Finally, the day of her departure arrived. She did little to make herself ready. Carmelita had to pack everything with Mother's supervision. She wouldn't even pack her own toiletries. We were all supposed to go up with her in the limousine, but I managed to get out of the trip. Daddy was disappointed. No one could handle Belinda in our family as well as I could; however, I was determined not to sit in a car for hours and hear her whine about how cruel we were all being to her.
She put on an award performance when Daddy told her to come out and get in the car. She stood on the walkway and looked back at me, her eyes filled with tears.
"Good-bye, Olivia," she said with her hands clutched at her heart. "Good-bye house. Good-bye good times and childhood and being young and having fun. They're turning me over to ogres and teachers with whips in their eyes who will make me feel like some sort of mistake. I'll have no one to go to for help either when I'm tired or lonely." She paused and looked at me. "Stop smiling, Olivia. You know I'm not exaggerating. You were there. You know what it's like."
"Belinda, you will stop being spoiled, if that's what you mean, and for once, you might have to consider someone else's feelings before you consider your own," I said.
"You're just being mean as can be. I hate you," she spit at me and turned to the car, but before she got in, she looked back at me. "Please call me, Olivia. Call me tonight. Please," she pleaded.
"I'll call you," I promised. "Now stop being a spoiled brat and make things easier for everyone," I ordered.
She sucked in her sobs, took one deep breath like someone going under water, and got into the car. I had to smile. Maybe I would miss her, I thought, but I hoped she would change a little, grow up just a little, and do just what I said: make life easier for us all.
A deceptive period of calm did follow Belinda's departure. Daddy and I were busy with his companies. Belinda called and cried over the telephone for a few days and then gave up. It looked like we might have an uneventful summer after all.
Now that Belinda was safely and securely filed away like some embarrassing set of documents, Daddy turned more of his attention to me, and, without my realizing it, arranged for me to have a date with Clayton Keiser, the son of our accountant. There was nothing subtle about it. On the way home from our offices one day, Daddy told me the Keisers were coming to our home for dinner on Friday.
I had met Clayton before, of course. He was five years older than I, and he, too, worked for his father now that he had graduated college. I had never given him more than a passing glance, and, during the whole time I knew him and his family, I had spoken little more than a dozen words with him.
Clayton's father Harrison Keiser looked like he had been discovered by a casting director to play the role of an accountant. He was a slim, beady-eyed man obsessed with details, no matter how small or insignificant they might be to other people. His son Clayton was practically a clone. They both had small, round faces, large dull brown eyes and thin noses with the tiniest nostrils. Clayton also inherited his father's pasty complexion and soft, very feminine lips. The one gift from his mother's side was his auburn hair, rich and thick, which he kept cut close to his head, almost in military style.
I was too many classes behind him to remember him in school, but I knew he was unathletic, the quintessential bookworm with his thick glasses and meek manner. Although he was an excellent student, he wasn't class valedictorian because the school policy averaged in physical education grades. Daddy told me there was a big argument about it at the time, but the policy wasn't changed to suit Clayton. I thought teachers and administrators simply didn't want him to be the valedictorian and represent the best of the school in front of all those parents and guests.
Clayton wasn't more than two or three inches taller than I. He was still a very slim, almost fragilelooking man, quiet, but with a scrutinizing look that made me feel he was assessing my assets and liabilities on some net worth document entitled "Olivia Gordon."
I was oblivious at first to what Daddy and Harrison Keiser had plotted and didn't notice how much of the conversation at dinner that night centered around both Clayton and myself until Daddy finally said, "Maybe Clayton should ask Olivia to the opening of that new show at the Sea and Shore Art Gallery. I think they share an interest in art."
I know I turned a shade brighter than crimson. My eyes darted from Daddy to Clayton to my mother who sat smiling like a Cheshire cat.
"Not a bad thought, eh Clayton?" Harrison Keiser followed quickly.
"No, sir."
"Well then," his father coaxed, nodding in my direction.
Clayton looked up from his plate at me as if he had just realized I was there, too. He dabbed his lips with his napkin and cleared his throat.
"Yes. How would you like to go to dinner and to the gallery opening, Olivia?" Clayton asked in front of the entire table. It might as well have been declared on the front pages of the local newspapers.
Nevertheless, for a moment I couldn't speak. It was as if my vocal cords had declared a mutiny. I saw Daddy staring at me, expectantly. Finally, I gathered enough air in my lungs to utter a response. Of course it was yes. What else could I do?
The conversation then turned to what was the best restaurant for us to go to before the opening. Clayton had no opinion and neither did I. In fact, our entire evening was planned by our parents as if we were pieces on a chess board. Clayton's father suggested he go to his men's shop to get a new suit and tie. His mother thought he should do something different with his hair. My mother talked about a dress she had just seen, a dress that she decided would be perfect for me for such an occasion.
The four of them continued their discussion of our arranged date without once turning to either Clayton or myself and asking us for an opinion or a reaction. Clayton glanced at me a few times, but for most of the dinner, he sat with his eyes directed downward, concentrating on eating as he lifted the spoon and the fork with his father's precision, blotting his lips with his napkin almost in synchronization with his father. They were so alike, it was frightening.
At the end of the evening, before the Keisers left, Clayton finally turned to me. Everyone stopped talking as though the prince was about to utter some royal edict.
"I'll come by at six-fifteen, if that's all right with you," he said. "It will take fifteen minutes to get to the restaurant, which will leave us an hour for dinner and then it's about twelve minutes from the restaurant to the gallery."
I felt as if I should synchronize my watch with his. I simply nodded. He pressed his lips together, which was his best effort at a smile, and then turned to join his parents at the door. Everyone said good night and they left.
Immediately, I spun on Daddy.
"Why did you do that? I felt like I was trapped and I had to say yes."
"He's a fine young man, distinguishing himself in his father's firm. Such young men are not so easily found these days, Olivia."
"I'd like to find my own young man," I said.
I could see the reply in Daddy's face: You're not making any attempt to do so.
"I'm just trying to help you, my dear. Surely, there's no harm in testing the waters. It will cost you nothing but your own time," he added, strongly reminding me I was doing nothing else with it. "And then there is this new showing at the gallery. You like that sort of thing, don't you? The bottom line is it's no big sacrifice."
"I know, Daddy, but . . ."
"Your father's right. You should go out more, dear," Mother said. "You should be seen socializing. Even if things don't work out between you and Clayton, other young men will see you dressed up and beautiful and think, there's someone I'd like to know. That's how wonderful things happen," she continued. "We'll have such fun fitting you for a dress, finding your shoes, getting you some new costume jewelry, going to the hairdresser."
I realized that this was something Mother wanted to do for herself as well as for me. With Belinda gone, there wasn't much talk about romance in the house.
"All right," I said, relenting, "but I can't imagine myself having a good time with Clayton Keiser."
"You never know about these things, dear," Mother said. "When I first went out with your father, I thought the same thing."
"You did not," Daddy remarked quickly.
"I never told you, Winston, but I was deathly afraid of you that first night."
"Really?" he said smiling as if that was something of which he could be proud.
"Everyone told me to be careful. Winston Gordon is a man who gets what he wants and he wants a great deal. He has insatiable appetites," Mother explained.
Daddy's eyes flitted from her to me and then to her for a quick smile.
"Well, maybe that was true then, but I've become somewhat more restrained in my maturity. I try to find balance, analyze everything carefully."
"Even this arranged date for me, Daddy?" I said with a bitter smile.
He thought for a moment and then nodded.
"Yes. Yes, Olivia, I think this is a sensible young man. I hope you enjoy your evening," he concluded and went off to smoke his cigar.
Mother lost herself in a flurry of activity that week, preparing me for my "perfect" date. As it turned out, the dress she thought was just right was not and she insisted we go to Boston. I tried to change her mind.
"It's not an important event for me, Mother. It's just a date. I even hate that word. It's not a date. It's a . . . scheduled event," I said.
"Nonsense. Every time a young woman goes out in public, socializes, it's a major event, Olivia. There's no harm in your making yourself as attractive and as presentable as possible, is there?"
"I guess not," I said reluctantly. Maybe she was right, I thought. Maybe I was not putting enough emphasis on myself, my looks, my image. Maybe it was time to be more of a woman than a successful daughter. I let her lead me about, have me measured, pampered, styled and dressed until I dared to look at myself in the mirror and conclude I, too, could be attractive, pretty, and I, too, could break men's hearts. Belinda did not have a monopoly on beauty in this family. It was time I gave her some competition.
Precisely at six-fifteen on the night of the gallery opening, Clayton drove up to our house and pressed the door buzzer. I waited upstairs, my heart pounding mostly because of sheer nervousness. I was just like an actress with stage fright, unsure that my feet would move forward. I had no reason to be insecure. My hair was cut and shaped into the most fashionable style. I wore a sparkling gold and diamond necklace, and gold earrings with tiny pearls. Mother gave me two of her rings as well. My dress was made of emerald green silk, with a V-shaped neckline that plunged farther than I would have liked. Mother insisted I put makeup on my neck and breast bone with just a touch of rouge on that part of my bosom that was visible. Many times I had chastised Belinda for looking too seductive. Now, I struggled not to chastise myself.
Up until the time Clayton arrived, Mother hovered about me like a magic sylph, fluttering her tiny wings, touching a strand of hair here, brushing out a crease there, straightening my necklace and checking to be sure my perfume was not too strong and not too weak.
"Oh you're beautiful, Olivia. You really are. Belinda would be deathly jealous," she said, which brought a smile to my face.
Belinda had called in the afternoon. Mother had kept her abreast of my preparations, and Belinda moaned and whined about not being able to be here to see me.
"I'm stuck up here learning how to walk with a book on my head and sit properly and stand properly and choose the right fork and spoon, while you go out on dates! It's not fair, Olivia."
"You've gone out on many dates, Belinda. One too many," I reminded her coldly. "And besides, while I was in finishing school learning these things, you were having more good times than you should."