“Sir?”
“I said, how about you comin’ on over to the office on Monday and givin’ us a look-see. Thought you might like to join me as a partner,” Jervis repeated. Behind him, my father’s head nodded his approval. Yet another set of lines from the performance.
I’d recently graduated with my own Ph.D. from Harvard. I could hardly believe the certificate Mother had so tastefully framed. I was a fully-fledged psychologist with a string of letters behind my name beginning with III and ending with various Ds. They weren’t so much an indication of how far I’d gone in school, as how far I’d stayed away from my father. As long as I pursued degrees, he stayed off my back and kept my wallet full. After everything was said and done, I had enough Ds to treat any fuckin’ head case who walked through my door.
I smiled and nodded, the combination of which multiplied the pounding still hammering my alcohol-soaked brain.
So it was agreed that I would stop in on Monday, which was enough to break up the pow-wow and let us pass through to dinner. This was strictly where Mother reigned and she was waiting, her long, pink nails impatiently tapping the side of her martini. I must have smiled at the appropriate times because there was a haze of smiles around me and eventually, Jervis left. I can just remember waving a casual goodbye with one hand as I ascended the cherry stairs and died in my room. My own room.
CHAPTER TWO
Auggie
People had always said I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth and a riding crop in my hand. Named Elizabeth Augusta Langford for a great-aunt somewhere back in family history, I was rumored to be a distant relative of the Earl of Langford, although the family had long ago moved their title to these bluegrass knolls where our love of Thoroughbreds could be more fully indulged.
I preferred to be called Auggie. It bypassed all the normal nicknames for Elizabeth while at the same time irritating my socially conscious mother all to pieces. She said I’m ‘willful.’ I maintained I’m simply Auggie.
My favorite thing in the world was Carlos, the Thoroughbred I rode for steeplechase. He flew over fences and felt like a part of me and wouldn’t let me come unseated. Perhaps one of his most precious assets was that he’d never be reproduced. His racing career was short and he was gelded immediately thereafter. It’s too bad they couldn’t do the same to some men I’d met.
That’s especially true of Eric, the son of my father’s law partner. Eric and I had been expected to marry ever since we took our first riding lessons. Although he came from a decent family, Eric was clumsy, consistently odd in his behavior, and seemed out of place. He was handsome and had gotten the idea that’s all he had to be. He relied on his looks when other men relied on their integrity and character. Even when I graduated from the University of Kentucky with a masters in business, Eric was expected to be my intended — until I caught him.
It was an early summer morning. The fireflies had gone to sleep and left the grasshoppers to leap among the grasses in the foggy mist. He must have forgotten we’d planned an early ride. I’d driven to his family stables and went in search of him when no one was about. I found him eventually, cradled asleep in the arms of Derek, the well-muscled farm hand who mucked stables and kept the fences in repair. They were lying in the straw of one of the empty stalls, unaware that I’d seen them. I crept out and left soundlessly, but strangely there were no tears on my cheeks. I can only remember feeling relief.
I refused Eric’s proposal a month later. His face was red and he seemed uncharacteristically uncomfortable in front of my parents. Of course, I knew why. I took pity on him and decided not to out him. Instead, I refused his offer by saying I wanted a career over motherhood. I can remember Mother’s face. The shock and horror of my words threw her into total confusion. She’d been planning my wedding and all the associated parties since I was fifteen. I knew she’d already begun selecting a china pattern and linens, registering me with all the normal places. It was a huge deal for her, and my dad looked at me with desperation, knowing he would catch the brunt of my mother’s unhappiness.
I left the room and rode Carlos until long after dark. We chose paths that were circular, giving us the freedom to romp at will without being concerned with what lay around the next corner. I longed for a time when there were no fences, no land ownership and the country was divided only by rivers, streams, and tree lines.
By the time I went back to the house, Eric was gone and thankfully, hadn’t shown up again. It’s just as well. He was worthless. I wanted more from my life. I’d always known what I wanted and I would get it.
Mother was beside herself and insisted I seek therapy. I let her believe it was my problem. In fact, it was rather intriguing to consider confiding in a perfect stranger. There was no one else I could talk to. Eric would be ruined. So, I agreed and Mother began to seek out the best. He would need to be one of us because no one else could understand, of course. Mother believed in the concept that once children were born, her job was complete. Their raising and correction was the duty of professionals, preferably with names that those in her set recommended. That served double duty. She was freed of responsibility and yet awarded acclaim for her concern.
She found the therapist. His name was Jervis and my appointment was quickly scheduled. He owned a clinic in town and everyone in our set had probably seen him at one time or another. It occurred to me that he was more like a confessor for the old equine money; a buffoon who awarded tolerance in exchange for invitations to the right social functions. In the meantime, I enjoyed the freedom of belonging to no one, except myself.
Perhaps I would tell this Dr. Jervis about a few other things while I was there. After all, Mother was paying perfectly good money. Maybe I’d tell him a few things that weren’t even true, since I knew he would be reporting back to Mother. That’s why she insisted she find the doctor. Poor Mother… lucky for her, she made up in beauty for what God cheated her in common sense.
CHAPTER THREE
Worth
Jervis was obviously very proud of his building. It seemed to take precedence over even his healthy practice. Some men were like that. When they couldn’t get it to rise, they built one. Poor slob. He was missing the good stuff. At least he had good taste in his hired help. Some prime ass on four-inch stiletto hooves. This was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel.