Tiny Dancer (25 page)

“
Okay then,” she said. “Claudia, you all right?”

Claudia did not open her eyes. But she did say, “Mother, where’s Daddy gone to?”

“Picking up my birthday present, hon.” She applied furniture polish to her coffee table and wiped off yesterday’s prints. “I can’t guess what it is this year.”

“Do you believe he remembered?” asked Claudia.

I stiffened, not wanting Claudia to ruin the night.

But Irene misinterpreted her question as a statement. “I know, can you believe it?” she laughed and went upstairs to shower.

“If I don’t tell her soon, I’ll explode,” said Claudia, the pillow still over her face.

I was
relieved Irene had gone upstairs. I lay down the last rolled up napkin and the flat wear. “I wish I could make our tabletop look like your mother’s. She has just the right things to do the job right. She’s so, so elegant.”  I could hardly breathe what with Claudia teetering on spilling her guts.

“I don’t know how long I can go on pretending,”
she said.

“I hate it all. He’s such a good daddy to you,”
I said, plopping down on the other end of the sofa at her feet.

“He’s a good provider. It’s not the same, not like your family.” She pulled an afghan over herself, curling up with her nose tucked under the spread.

“The Currys are no example either.”

She
rolled onto her back, looking straight at me. “Do you really think your family is as messed up as mine?”

I felt a catch in my
throat. Any mention of Alice would be like flipping the latch on a very small hook. What tumbled out after that could never be put back.

“Everything turns out right for you
,” she said.

“
You’re just in a mood, is all.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t end up with everything you want.”

“Nobody gets it all.”

“Rich Drake. He’s yours for the asking.
”

“
I didn’t ask for that.”

“Smart Billy
then. I saw how he nearly killed Drake for kissing you. Everybody saw that. It was all anyone talked about.”

“You misunderstood then, along with everyone else.”

She returned to her own miserable state. “I get everything handed to me. You get everything you want. Things always turn out good for you. I ask myself all the time, why is that? Why does Flannery get all she asks for?”

“Do you now?”
I thought she was being funny.

“Would you sleep with Billy if he asked?”

She could be so exasperating. “I’m not talking to you, how about the rest of the night?”

“He’s athle
tic and all,” she said, absorbed in her fantasy. “Like Drake. I’d take Drake, in a heartbeat.”

“
Don’t get mixed up with Drake. He’s not a good guy. He’ll take advantage and you’d be sorry in the long run.”

“
You’re such a good girl,” she said, but flippant, not in any way flattering me, of course. She would never be guilty of that.

“
Stop taunting me or I’ll go home,” I said quietly. I rolled out my sleeping bag on my end of the oversized sofa. I had promised to sleep over but she was making me regret it.

“Hm.
You’re cranky as a wet hen. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re hiding something.” She finally divulged what she had wanted to say all afternoon. “I saw you and Billy out by the pool, all snug and sitting next to each other with your shoes off. You’re keeping a secret, aren’t you?”

“Just yours. Now leave me alone,”
I said.

She
could be proud, considering herself the expert among her friends at wheedling a secret out of someone. Still and all she would not find out about Alice Curry. Truth was, I was trying to put Alice out of my thoughts. But the harder I tried the worse I felt. I knew that in a day or two I would call her again. It was a fire Billy had kindled inside me. 

I had not gotten a thing for Irene for her birthday. The next morning I rose early. I would make her a belated birthday breakfast.

I prepared a large bowl of egg and water and then chopped vegetables. I grated cheese and cooked a few bacon slices. Irene kept a good supply of baking paper. I tore off a sheet, preparing a baking pan. I would make a rolled egg omelet from all of the things I’d prepared. I set it aside. Next I spent the remainder of the hour preparing a sweet bread and brewed coffee.

Claudia had been asleep in the den on the other sofa. She smelled the
food, mistakenly believing her mother was making breakfast for us.

“It’s me,” I said. “Did I wake you?”

“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m sorry for the way I acted last night.”

“You have popcorn in your hair,” I said, picking out the popped kernel.

She saw the pan of sweet bread cooling on the rack. “Fancy breakfast.”

I slid the egg mixture into the oven
to make the roll.

“I was mad at my father,” she said.

“I know. Will you turn on the burner under the percolator? It’s ready to brew,” I asked her.

“He came back with that box from the jewelers.
Pearl earrings. He knew she’s wanted them. Honestly, I didn’t think he was coming back,” she said. She pulled out four coffee mugs. “I’m going upstairs to dress. But first I’ll tell them you made them breakfast.”

The Johnsons bedroom was down the hall from the kitchen.

“Birthday breakfast. It’s for Irene.”

She repeated me as if rehearsing.

Irene appeared shortly thereafter in a kimono. Her hair was tied in a scarf.

“I swear, Mrs. Johnson, you could look good in a storm,” I said. “You take a seat and I’ll pour your coffee.”

“I wish some of you would rub off on my daughter,” she said quietly. “Don’t tell her I said that, but I do wish it. Let’s take breakfast out on the deck.” The doorbell rang. She let in her housekeeper, Saffron. I overheard her tell her breakfast was already made. Saffron smiled at me from the kitchen entry. “I’ll fix you a plate too,” I told her, but she wouldn’t hear of it.

I followed Irene
out to the deck. I poured her coffee.

She
had filled the screened in deck with so many potted plants it looked like a terrarium. Begonias hung from hooks, airplane plants nodding under the ceiling fans that looked like tropical paddles.

Claudia was back quickly, dressed and more awake.
She passed me, joining her mother on the deck as I came inside. She sat next to her mother. I watched them conversing through the patio glass, at first pleasant. Then alarm spread over Irene’s face. Claudia was up out of her chair, throwing her arms around Irene.

I wanted to stop whatever was going on. I returned and opened the outside door.
“Is your daddy coming to breakfast?” I asked, anxious.

When Claudia looked at me
from her poverty of emotions, not answering, I said, “I just need to know how many places to set.”

“He says he’s coming to breakfast
,” she said, impassive. “But he has to leave soon.”

“Don’t set a plate for him,” said Irene, drawing herself up. “Mr. Johnson won’t be taking breakfast with us.” She got up fr
om her chair and disappeared upstairs.

Claudia followed her. She wouldn’t look at me. I heard them close the door upstairs.

Irene did not come down the remainder of the time I spent finishing up breakfast. I covered both dishes with foil and left them to warm in the oven.

Saffron came running into the kitchen. “Something’s wrong with Ms. Irene.
She up in Miss Claudia’s room crying.”

“Saff
ron,” said Claudia, stiff and appearing behind her. “Mother says you can have the rest of the day off.”

“But I got floors today, Miss Claudia,” said Saffron.

“You’ll still get paid. Do floors tomorrow,” said Claudia.

But Saffron wouldn’t hear of it. She left us and retreated for
her cleaning supplies.

Claudia’s eyes were red.

“Quick, out to the patio,” I told her.

She followed me without a word.

“You told her,” I said. “Why this morning?”

“She figured it out. I hardly had to say anything.”

I felt as if I should leave. “I’ll get Daddy to come pick me up.”

“Don’t leave us. Not now. She doesn’t know how to confront my father. He doesn’t know she knows yet. Stay with us please. You’re a comfort to Mother.”

Claudia
returned to the bottom of the staircase where she called for her mother to come to breakfast.

The telephone rang. Irene must have answered it
for it stopped ringing right away.

At the same instant, the
door opened from down the hall. Out stepped Dwight Johnson dressed for work in a coat and tie. He was cheerful and glad to see me, commenting on how good the house smelled. “I hear you made a breakfast for our birthday girl. Where is Irene?”

“Just a sweet bread and an omelet roll,” I
said, miserable.

“One of my favorites, as are you,” he
said so elegantly I felt guilty that I had ever conspired to catch him in the act of adultery.

Irene appeared at the top of the staircase.

“There you are? Why upstairs, love?” He looked at Claudia and me. The silence between us stretched the tension into an awkward moment. “Claudia, where is Saffron?”

“We thought it would be nice to have a family breakfast.” Claudia was the first to break the silence. “
She’s fetching her things. But Mother’s asked she take the day off.”

“Day off? She’s family isn’t she? Why send her off?”

Irene descended the stairs.

“Mr. Johnson, I’ll set you a place on the deck.”
I worked fast to get them all to the table.

“Breakfast outside,” he said smiling although still glancing nervously
up the stairs. “We don’t do it enough.”

Irene
padded down the hall where she met Saffron outside her bedroom. She managed to get the maid out of the house without much drama. Saffron left, staring after all of us, bewildered.

Irene and Dwight sat opposite one
another as was their custom, while Claudia and I served them. 

I had known Irene
to knock him over with affection coming through the door from work. She stared out at the golf course beyond their tree-shaded lawn. I was intent on elevating the mood, so I said, “I visited the university in Chapel Hill Friday.”

“Good for you,” said Dwight. “One
of my colleagues is an alumnus. He says he’s sending all his children there.”

Claudia looked mystified.

“Claudia, the sweet bread,” I said, setting the omelet roll platter in the center. I had made two. “One has bacon, the other is vegetables only.” I sliced the rolls and served them one of each.

Cl
audia disappeared into the kitchen.

“We’re not experts
like you, Irene,” I said, aware my nervousness was becoming all too apparent in my voice. “I hope it presents well.”

She could only force a smile.

Claudia returned and set the sweet bread beneath a rack on the serving cart. “Mother, where is the cake server?” Then for no good reason, and with no consideration for timing, Claudia said to her father, “I want to attend Chapel Hill too. Flannery and I plan to room together.”

Irene put her head in her hands.

“Claudia, you know Yale is our family’s alma mater,” said Dwight, keeping his composure like always. Then he said to me, “You might not know, Flannery, that Yale is a tradition with the Johnsons. I wouldn’t doubt, though, that your application might be considered.” He seemed to disappear into a sudden thought. “I’d put in a word for you. You girls could still room together.” He slapped the table, buoyed up by the idea. “As a matter of fact, I’ll see that your application is pulled and considered.”

“She isn’t going to Yale either,” said Claudia
, deferring to me. “Are you?”

“I don’t know,” I said, barely getting the words out.

“It’s too expensive, right, Flannery? We’re going to UNC.” She turned away, saying, “And that’s final.”

“Is that what all this tension is about?” Dwight asked Irene. “I thought someone had died.”

Irene looked up and then cut her eyes at him in such a cold stare that she stunned all of us.

Dwight
pushed himself up from the table, saying “I’ll tell you what, girls. Why don’t you enjoy your meal and I’ll serve the sweet bread. I still know how to do a few things.” An odd offering since Dwight was not one to help out in the kitchen. He got up from the table and went inside to retrieve a serving utensil.

Claudia’s face contorted slightly, her bottom lip quivering.

“We said we wouldn’t discuss it in front of Flannery,” said Irene.