What Mother Never Told Me (21 page)

C
eleste was busy in her small home office, searching her real estate database for new leads. The company she worked for had just that morning updated their lists. She was hoping to find something that she could sink her teeth into, possibly a multiple dwelling. Those went for top dollar even in the current tight economic times.

The long list of foreclosures went on for several pages. She couldn’t imagine having to give up her home. All her life anything she’d ever wanted had been hers for the taking. Her life was one of privilege and as much as she railed against it, she couldn’t deny its benefits.

Her grandfather, when she was much younger, had often told her of the dark days of the depression. How one day he was a wealthy man, on the top of the world, a big house with servants, a thriving business in finance, and the next day he had
nothing. He and her grandmother struggled for several years before they were back on their feet and able to invest again, he’d said. He’d taken on a job in construction under the New Deal, determined to do whatever was necessary to regain the lifestyle he’d lost, and regain enough footing that he was able to run for and hold political office, where much of his real power eventually came from.

Her grandfather was luckier than most. Far too many couldn’t endure the thought of not having, and had taken their lives. It was her grandparents’ wealth, combined with that of her father’s, that allowed them to live in the rarified world that they did. She supposed she should be grateful.

She continued to scroll until she reached the category she was looking for and began making notes on what looked like good possibilities. She reached for the phone to contact one of the sellers on the list, just as her doorbell rang.

Frowning, she pushed up from her seat, annoyed that the doorman had let someone up unannounced. He’d definitely get short-changed in his Christmas stocking.

She reached the door and peered through the peephole. Corrine Shaw was pacing back and forth in front of her door.

“Shit,” she sputtered. Drawing in a breath of resolve, she unlocked the door. “Mother, what a surprise,” she said syrupy sweet.

Corrine glared at her and pushed by her as if it was her home rather than her daughter’s.

Celeste slammed the door. “Nice coat. Is it new?”

Corrine whirled around to face her, her cheeks flushed with her ever-present outrage. “Would you mind telling me what is going on?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.” She ripped the newspaper out of her Louis Vuitton purse and shook it in her face. “This is what I’m talking about.” She hurled the newspaper on the couch.

Celeste glanced at the front page and Clinton and Allison stared back at her. Her stomach tightened. She knew she’d have to have this unfortunate conversation at some point, she simply didn’t think it would be so soon. Her shoulders slumped a little. She walked to the couch and sat down, crossing her legs.

“Well,” her mother demanded. “How did you manage to screw this up?”

Celeste’s gaze rose to meet her mother’s and quickly jerked away. The look of pure fury and contempt stilled the barb she wanted to toss back. It was always like this between them, with Corrine on the attack for some irrational slight or faux pas, and Celeste on the defensive, struggling to find the words to explain whatever misdeed she’d been accused of.

“Do you know how embarrassing this is? I will be the laughingstock of the club. I still get questions and raised eyebrows about this…this real estate thing.” As she ranted her pace became more frenetic, picking up more speed with each imagined slight. “And now this! Everyone who is anybody knew about you and Clinton. It was understood that you were to be married. Then to see him on the front page of the newspaper with Allison! My Gawd, what must people be thinking?” Her hand flew to her mouth as if she were really going to burst into tears. “This is all your doing. I know it. It has to be. Clinton understood where his bread was buttered by becoming a part of this family. Bringing together the Shaws and the Averys would have been one of society’s biggest coups since Kennedy and Onassis.

“All your life you’ve done everything you possibly could to
infuriate me, humiliate your family. A disappointment to us all. It’s been one thing after another. Enough is enough.” She came to a full halt, her finger wagging as she glared at her daughter. “You are going to fix this. You are going to make it right. I will not tolerate another one of your scandals. Do you understand me? Or I swear to you, I will cut you off without a dime. Then see how you can manage to live here—” her arm swept the luxurious space “—or anywhere else for that matter…peddling low-end apartments!”

As she sat there pummeled by her mother’s caustic verbal assault her mind tripped backward and forward to all of
these
conversations. For as far back as she could remember, her mother always found whatever Celeste did not up to the Shaw standard, from her ineptitude at ballet, her awkwardness on horseback, to not being at the top of her class or being selected homecoming queen. It didn’t matter. Whatever it was it was never good enough or better than so-and-so’s child. At least you have money and looks, her mother would generally conclude at the end of her lambasting. And when your looks go you will have the money to fix them.

Celeste wasn’t exceptionally smart, or moderately talented. She knew it and had come to accept it. She traveled in a circle of friends that would as soon stab you in the back as share a martini over lunch at Cipriani’s. And although she never fit in the world of her parents and their ilk, she knew what she was entitled to; her family’s fortune, and with that she could dress herself up, live the high life and pretend to be just as happy as everyone else, because her money allowed her to. Her money and standing in society camouflaged her lack of talent, skills, or brilliance. Without it, she would simply be another pretty face until that, too, was gone.

“You are going to call him and apologize,” her mother was saying.

Celeste watched her mother’s polished lips move but she’d stopped listening. What would she do? How would she survive? Parris’s statement to her of a few weeks ago rose to the surface as she stared at her mother, hypnotically walking back and forth in front of her.
But you benefit from it
.

It was true, she did benefit from it. She’d never had to do anything to earn her way through life. Parris held a job before her grandmother died. She had a voice that could earn her a living. Leslie struggled but she made it work day after day, not only taking care of herself, but also looking after her mother and never asking for help. These were women who never had what she did. And in her parents’ eyes they would be “beneath” them and not worthy of their time. But in truth they were the only
real
women she knew.

Suddenly she stood. “Mother, please leave.”

Corrine blinked rapidly, her long neck arching back. “What did you say?”

“I said to please leave before I wind up saying something very ugly.”

“How dare you? I pay for this place you want to put me out of!”

Celeste folded her arms, looked down at the floor and suddenly wished she had her big deep purse to search through as the words stumbled out of her mouth. “I don’t love Clinton. We barely like each other. It was his decision to take up with Allison again, even if I may have pushed him in that direction. If you want to cut me off and out of the family—” she finally lifted her head, her heart was beating so rapidly that her vision clouded for a moment “—then cut
me off. I’ll find a way to make it, just like everyone else in the real world.”

“You have no idea what you’re saying. You wouldn’t survive a day without your cars and your wardrobe and your expense accounts.” Corrine tossed her head back and laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Now, be a good girl and pick up the phone, call Clinton and invite him over to our place for dinner. We’ll—”

“Stop it! Just stop it! Don’t you hear what I’m saying? I’m not going to do this anymore. I’m not going to be your puppet on a string. I’m not going to continue to live my life through
your
expectations. I’m thirty-three years old and I don’t even know who I am.” Her eyes darted back and forth as she paced, and all the years of being assaulted by her mother’s caustic tongue came roaring to the surface. “Everything that I’ve been taught that was important is all superficial, Mother. You gauge your entire life, my life, on our ‘position’ and who we know, who knows us. I have never felt that I had as much value to you as one of your mink coats. I’ve
never
been your daughter. Just another possession. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

Corrine’s thin nostrils flared. “You’ve obviously lost your mind.”

She knew it would be hard as hell, but if she didn’t do this now, in another twenty years she would
be
her mother and she could not allow that to happen.

“No, Mother, I think I’ve finally found it. You can’t run my life anymore. I won’t let you. I can’t let you. So if you want to disown me because I won’t say ‘I do’ to someone I don’t love, then fine. If it makes you feel powerful to take this all away—” she threw her arms up in the air “—then do it.” She walked toward the door and opened it. “I never needed a benefactor. I needed a mother.”

Corrine drew in a breath, lifted her chin and gathered her coat around her as if she’d suddenly been hit by a cold draft of air. She stalked toward the door and gave her daughter one last look of pure incomprehensibility and walked out without another word.

Slowly Celeste closed the door. The adrenaline still charged through her veins. The exchange of words resounded in the room. She’d never stood up to her mother. She’d always inhaled whatever Corrine set under her nose no matter how much she may have hated the smell of it.

She plopped down on her couch, her legs suddenly feeling wobbly. What if her mother went through with her threat? How would she manage? Where would she live? What about the lease on her car, her credit cards? She pressed her hands to her face. You’ve really gone and done it now, she thought.

She raised her head and looked slowly around, her heart pounding with the gravity of what she’d mouthed herself into. But then a slow smile crept across her mouth when the appalled look that carved itself onto her mother’s face emerged in her head. Now that was worth the price of admission. Corrine Shaw had never been told just where she could put her “upper crust” before and certainly not by her own daughter. Celeste began to laugh and couldn’t stop. She was surprised her mother hadn’t passed out on the floor. Wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes, she pushed up from the chair, feeling an overwhelming sense of freedom, breathing on her own for the very first time.

She walked toward the phone and dialed Sam’s number. If she was going to get kicked to the curb she may as well go out with a bang.

“Hey, I was wondering, if you’re not busy tonight, I thought
maybe we could see a movie or something,” she said the moment he picked up the phone.

He chuckled deep in his throat and it ran through her like a hot toddy. “Sounds good. I’m down. What brought this on?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, since we’ve been seeing each other both you and I know that it’s been this unspoken thing that it would be at your place. So, I’m wondering what changed.”

She thought about it for less than an instant. “I have,” she said softly.

He paused a beat. “So what time do you want me to pick you up?”

P
arris gripped the phone. Her chest rose and fell in jerky motions.

“Took her to the airport…” David was saying. “She didn’t say if she was coming straight there, but I went on and gave her Nick’s address and phone number.”

Her throat was so tight she couldn’t swallow.
Her mother was coming to New York?

“We talked a real long time. She’s done some awful things, but so have we all. But she’s sorry, really sorry. You ought to listen to her, try to make some kind of peace. I believe I have.”

Parris heard the doorbell in the background.

“That’s one of my patients.” He laughed lightly. “Opened my office in the house. I know Cora is up there fussing.” He shook out a breath. “She wants to see you. Tell you the things
you need to know. It’s up to you if you let her.” The bell rang again. “I gotta go. You take care.”

Parris sat there so long on the edge of the bed that the dial tone began to hum in her ear. In a daze she fumbled with the phone until she got it back on its base.

“Hey, babe, I’m going to head on over to the club….” Nick tilted his head to look at her. “What’s wrong?”

She looked up at him, her focus distant. “That was Granddad. He said…my mother came to Rudell. She was at the house and he gave her this number and address, put her on a plane…and she’s coming here.”

“When? Today?” He sat down beside her.

Parris slowly shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if she’ll really have the nerve to show up.” The image of Emma standing on her front lawn flashed through her head. Her body stiffened.

“Hey,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder. “Whatever happens we’ll deal with it. Okay?” He hugged her tighter. “Okay?”

“Sure…” she said without much conviction.
Emma was coming to New York
.

“Your appointment at Artist Records is in an hour,” he said, gently hoping to nudge her back to the present and the immediate issues at hand.

This record deal had been hanging in limbo for months and it took a lot of smooth talking and promises on Nick’s part to keep Lenny Epps from just saying to forget the whole thing. He thought they’d gotten over most of the hurdles. The last thing he—or Parris for that matter—was expecting was a phone call like this one.

Sometimes it was hard for him to understand why the issue
with her mother rocked her so deeply. He could barely remember his mother, and what he did remember, he wished that he didn’t. Nick wanted Parris to simply say the hell with it and her mother, and move on. She wasn’t worth the anger or the hurt or the time Parris spent agonizing over what her mother had done or not done.

But that’s not the kind of woman Parris was, he thought as he watched her get up and walk to the closet to pick out her clothes. The corner of his mouth rose and the hardened look in his eye brought on by the mention of her mother slowly softened. Parris reminded him of the earth; caring and nurturing, rich and absorbing, the keeper of the roots. When she felt, she felt deeply and her emotions shaped who she was and guided her. There was nothing superficial about Parris, and that’s why he loved her, and whatever the situation was with this woman who was her mother, he would be there for her, if and when she showed up.

They sat side by side in the outer office of the president of Artist Records. The walls were lined with Grammys, American Music Awards, platinum and gold records that dated back to the sixties all the way to last month’s sweep at the Kodak Center where sixteen Artist Records performers took home their gold statues. Lenny Epps had been responsible for not only shaping and building careers, but also guiding the direction of the music industry for decades.

The double wood doors to his office swung open and Lenny stepped out. About five foot six, slightly balding with a signature style of jackets and sweater vests, he always reminded Nick of Quincy Jones, just a little rougher around the edges. They stood as Lenny approached.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. Come on in. Let’s talk business.”

Lenny didn’t waste any time. The moment they sat down he dove into his spiel. “I’m looking to begin a new label at the start of the year. And I want to launch it with you. What you do with jazz, combine it with blues and R and B, is exactly what I’m looking for. I can make your sound transcend generations. I’m looking to do an album a year for three years. We’ll start touring you the minute the album drops. You’ll be on the road eight to ten months a year. If we’re both happy at the end of three then we can renegotiate.” He looked from one to the other.

Parris folded her hands on her lap and cleared her throat. “I really appreciate you waiting so long to meet with me,” she began. “And your offer is a wonderful one. All I’ve ever wanted to do was sing. It’s like a calling, you know.” She stole a glance at Nick. She paused. “But I can’t take it.”

Lenny lurched forward in his seat. “What?”

Nick held his breath.

“It has nothing to do with your offer, Mr. Epps. It has to do with me and what I need to do with my life. I’m at a place where I’m finding out who I am and I can’t allow myself to be reshaped by the stylist and the publicist and the record executives, not even my fans. I want to sing because it fills me up inside, not because there’s a production deadline. I don’t want to wake up every morning and not know where I am.” She took a deep breath and slowly stood up. “I’m sorry. Really I am.”

With purpose and a sense of inner peace she walked out with Nick at her side, leaving Lenny with his mouth opened in a half smile of amazement.

“I know I should have told you,” she said as she stared at the
floor numbers as they descended on the elevator. “But I thought if I did you’d try to talk me out of it. Besides I really wasn’t sure right up until I sat down in that chair and looked him in the eye. I knew that kind of life really wasn’t for me. I know I probably sound totally naive and idealistic, but…” She looked into his eyes, hoping that he would understand.

The doors swooshed open. “Let’s just say I’m…stunned. I never saw that one coming.” They stepped out and walked to the exit. The cold hands of the wind wrapped around them, drawing them together. “But,” he added, exhaling a cloud into the air, “I’m proud of you. It takes a lot to turn down that kind of offer. To realize that your happiness and convictions are more important than anything else.” He stopped on the street, turned her to face him and held her by her shoulders. He looked down into those incredible eyes, her hair blowing wildly in the wind. “You are something else,” he said in amazement, emphasizing each word. She grinned, relief washing over her face. “Guess those dreams of me kicking back and reaping the benefits of your labor are out the window, huh?”

She reached up and kissed him. “Pretty much.”

They laughed all the way back to the car.

For days after the phone call from David, Parris’s nerves were thrumming like overly tight guitar strings. She worked hard to try to hide her mounting anxiety, which vacillated from high to low and back again. Nick had enough on his mind with the renovation of the club going full steam ahead. She found herself spending more time with Leslie and Celeste, and that invisible bond that drew them together strengthened as they talked about their lives, hopes and dreams for the future. She was astonished to find out what had transpired between Leslie
and her mother, and the change in Leslie was brilliantly obvious. She was calmer. The edge had diminished. She smiled more often and seemed to be working on her wardrobe and her hair. When she spoke of her mother now, the acid was vacant from her tongue. It was a softer, gentler Leslie.

Celeste, too, had begun a shift in her personality and direction. Although she and her mother hadn’t passed a word between them since that afternoon at her apartment, with her commission check from the sale of the club, Celeste was looking for someplace that she could reasonably afford on her own, before the inevitable rug was pulled out from under her. She was working full-out at the real estate office, not to mention that she and Sam were an official item.

However, as much as Parris occupied her time with her new friends or the goings-on at the club, that jangling sensation in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t go away. She jumped every time the phone rang. When she walked the streets she saw Emma’s face in each woman she passed. But after more than three weeks since David’s phone call, she was drawing to the inevitable conclusion that Emma wasn’t coming. And it was just as well.

Nick shrugged into his jacket. “I’m expecting a delivery at the club this morning,” he said in a rush, brushing his lips against hers. “I totally forgot and I’m running late. See you this afternoon.”

“I might stop by. If I plan to I’ll give you a call,” she said to his departing back.

“Sure.” He darted out.

She finished cleaning up the kitchen and planned to spend the balance of the morning going over the club’s finances and the stack of bills that had been rolling in like a midwest blizzard.
Staying on top of what was going out was essential, especially since until the club opened there was no revenue. They were operating on the bank loans and the money that Nick and Sam had set aside. And the last thing that either of them wanted was to open the doors of Rhythms in the red.

She took the accordion folder where she kept the bills and the ledger, and went to work in the living room. Although Nick’s small home office had all of the comforts, it was in one of the windowless in-between rooms that were common in these prewar buildings. So there was no natural light. She’d worked in there for a few hours once before and thought she’d go out of her mind. She put the folder down on the coffee table and went to the window to pull back the curtain and open the blinds. She was about to turn away when a figure across the street caught her attention. She moved closer to the window, peering down the three stories. The blood, like drums, began to beat in her ears, throb through her veins until her body vibrated. So intent was her stare that the image began to blur. She blinked rapidly, her heart pounding as she pressed closer to the glass, her breath against the cold causing patches of fog to obscure her vision even further. And then she looked up. Their gazes connected. Parris stumbled backward.

It was her. This time it was not her imagination. It was Emma standing across the street looking up at her window, looking up at her. Parris took a tentative step forward, reached out and slowly pushed the curtain aside, a part of her believing that the woman would be gone as all the others had been, all the other times, on all the other streets.

But she wasn’t.

Oh, God, oh, God, what was she supposed to do? She glanced again and there Emma stood, seemingly as undecided
as Parris. Then the thought that Emma may decide to simply leave without trying to contact her leaped into her head. She was afraid to take her eyes off of her, sure that if she did, Emma would vanish—this time for good. But neither could she stand eternally at the window.

She spun away, grabbed the keys from the hall table and ran all three flights downstairs. She pulled open the front door and gasped out loud to see Emma standing on the top step, close enough for her to see the light brown flecks in her green eyes.

It felt like an eternity had passed between them, countless images, questions, hurts and fears zigzagged back and forth like lightning during a storm. So quick you couldn’t catch it but you witnessed its power, the beauty it could be or the destruction it could render.

Parris gripped the door frame. Her stomach tumbled.

“Hello, Parris.”

Finally Parris found her voice. “So…who are you today, the loyal waitress at the bistro or the startled lady of the house?”

“Neither,” she said softly, struggling to maintain eye contact with a gaze that held such contempt. “I’m here as your mother, although I know I hardly have the right to call myself that.”

“You don’t!”

Emma’s lips tightened. She nodded in agreement. “I was hoping…that you would give me the opportunity to talk with you…about things.” She swallowed, her voice straining. “Us. Your grandmother. Your father. All the things you deserve to know.” She waited. Parris didn’t move. Didn’t speak. “Please,” Emma finally said.

Parris stared at this woman who so much resembled her grandmother, and for a moment she nearly forgot the real reason why she was there.
It’s up to you if you let her.
Her grand
father David’s words echoed in her head.
But it would feel so good to turn her away, Granddad, tell her to go to hell with her explanations so that she would know how bottomless dismissal could feel.

She stepped aside, holding the door open for Emma to come in and follow her up the stairs. Parris’s hands shook as she tried to fit the key into the apartment lock. It took several tries before she was able to get the door opened.

“Come in,” she said in a voice so taut she didn’t recognize it as her own. She walked ahead into the living room, concentrating on breathing and walking at the same time. “Have a seat.”

Emma took off her wool coat, sat down and draped it across her lap. She glanced around. “He’s a musician…I understand,” she said, lifting her chin toward Nick’s sax.

“You said you came here to talk to me. I’m sure it’s not about Nick being a musician,” she said, each word meant to sting.

Emma’s cheeks colored and Parris realized how easy it must have been for her. Looking at Emma no one would ever guess that she had a black mother. She’d sat right across from her in the bistro and she didn’t know. She’d only thought that Emma was a beautiful white woman, with lustrous black hair that tumbled in waves to her narrow shoulders, luminous green eyes and skin as pale as porcelain.

Parris took the hard-backed chair next to Nick’s sax stand and sat down.

Emma fidgeted with the label on the inside of her coat.

Parris folded and unfolded her hands.

The rubber-band silence stretched as far as it could go until it finally snapped.

Parris jumped. “Something to drink?”

Emma bobbed her head, tried to smile. “Yes. Thank you.”