Chapter 6
Cally lived with her mother on the top fl oor of a seven-story building that had originally been a warehouse for pipe organs or something equally Victorian. Their condo was one of many created for the artists, students, and offi ce workers forced out of the Lower East Side in search of affordable rents. Compared to some of the places they'd lived, the three-bedroom-two-bath apartment they now called home was a palace. Indeed, the living room had excellent views and a large balcony that looked out toward the Williamsburg Bridge. The kitchen was outfi tted with all stainless steel Viking appliances, including a six-burner stove - not that it mattered, since Cally's mom had no idea how to cook and no intention of ever learning.
As she exited the elevator onto her fl oor, Cally could hear the rumble from the home theater system's subwoofer. She sighed and rolled her eyes. No doubt they were going to get another nasty note from the condo board.
Cally's mother, Sheila Monture, was seated on the antique red velvet fainting couch facing the sixty-inch plasma fl at-panel HDTV, watching, yet again, Francis Ford Coppola's Dracula. Cally recognized the scene as the one where Anthony Hopkins and Keanu Reeves charge into Winona Ryder's bedroom and catch her in the arms of Gary Oldman.
"I'm home!" Cally shouted over the thunderously loud sound track as she unlocked the door. She noticed that the draperies covering the huge picture windows in the living room had been pulled back so her mother could look out at the East River.
Sheila Monture spun around, startled by her daughter's sudden appearance. She fumbled with the remote, and the sound level on the movie dropped from deafening to merely loud.
"Sweetheart! There you are - ! I was hoping you'd get home early enough for us to talk!"
As her mother rose to greet her, Cally saw that she was wearing a pale lavender negligee with stylized bat wing sleeves and a long black wig with a white streak in it. Over the years, Cally had come to recognize that her mother chose costumes to express her moods. Whenever she wanted to come across as sophisticated and aloof, she dressed like Morticia Addams; when she wanted to be perceived as motherly and down-to-earth, she dressed as Lily Munster.
"Talk? About what?" Cally asked warily.
"I heard from your father tonight," Sheila said cheerily, ignoring her daughter's tone of voice.
"A lot he cares!" Cally sneered.
"Now, darling, that's not true!" Sheila Monture affected an exaggerated frown as she clasped her hands over her breast. "Your father cares quite a bit about you."
Cally walked across the living room and stared out the window at the bridge, its metal span illuminated against the night.
"Darling, your father is giving you a big chance. Starting Monday, you are going to Bathory Academy," her mother said, clearly savoring the words. Cally spun around in disbelief. "Why do I have to go there, of all places? I made the honor roll at Varney Hall last year!"
"That's the thing, sweetie. Your father's a very important, very busy man. He doesn't always have the time to deal with things himself. Normally, I send your report cards to the people who handle his business affairs for him, so it took your father a while before he got a chance to really look at your academic records. But once he did, he was very impressed. He told me tonight that you were being wasted at Varney. It's nice enough and all, but it's still a New Blood school. Your father wants to help you better yourself! Isn't that wonderful?"
Cally shook her head in furious denial. "You can tell him to forget it! I have friends at Varney. I am not going to that Old Blood bimbo house!"
Sheila Monture's too-wide smile faltered and she began to wring her hands, which was never a good sign.
"But you have to, Cally. If you don't, your father will withdraw his protection, not to mention his money. We'll have to move again."
Cally put her hands to her head as if trying to keep it from exploding. "Move? I thought you said you bought this condo with the money Granny left you."
"I used those funds to make the down payment, but it's your father who pays the monthly note on the mortgage and all the other fees."
"Perhaps this would mean something to me if I knew who the hell my father actually is!" Cally snapped. "I've never seen the man or heard his voice! I don't even know his name! All I know is that he's too busy and important to spend time with me, he's married to someone else, and he's ashamed to acknowledge me!"
"Cally, please don't talk that way," her mother pleaded.
"It's not fair to blame him for how things are between you. My mother had a lot to do with keeping your father away from you, and you know that. Believe me, when your father is ready to reveal himself to you, he will do so. Until then, it's safer that you not know his identity. Your father is a powerful man, with powerful enemies, ones who would stop at nothing to make sure they destroy his posterity."
"Is that all I am to him, then? A hedge against extinction?"
Sheila Monture was about to deny her daughter's assessment, then thought better of it and quickly looked away. Cally groaned in disgust.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. If you need me for anything, I'll be in my room."
As Cally moved toward the hallway, Sheila grabbed her daughter by the wrist. "Please, Cally - I beg you, please do as your father asks. I don't want to move! I like it here in Williamsburg, and I know you do too!
The artist community here is very open-minded. I'm comfortable here. It's a lot like the East Village used to be. Nobody stares at me when I go out, at least not too much. I don't want to have to move again and end up someplace where the neighbors treat us like freaks."
"Mom, don't put this on me - it's not fair."
"Please, Cally?" Sheila asked in a quavering voice. The tears welling at the corners of her eyes were already making her mascara run. "Just go along and do this one little thing for Mama . . . ?"
Cally clenched her jaw and told herself she was not going to give in. Not this time. She tried to pull her wrist free, but her mother wouldn't let go. It would be very easy to make her let go, but Cally had no desire to truly hurt her. Her mother was damaged enough already.
She took a deep breath and let it out in a long, pained sigh. "Okay, Mom. You win. I'll go."