It wasn’t until just before I fell asleep that it occurred to me that Mother might be behind this. I tried to swat the thought away, as one would a troublesome mosquito, but it stayed with me. I dreamed all night of mosquitos in a bedroom with white gauzy drapes and a tall, naked man who made love to me and wouldn’t let me go. It was one of the best night’s sleep I’d had in a long time.
The next morning, I rose early and dressed in clothing that was easy to slip off in the dressing room. I pulled my car onto the roadway feeling very feminine and my instincts for capturing a male’s attention were in full bloom. I’m not entirely sure why I was interested in catching Worth LaViere’s interest. Was I starving for some sort of male attention after the Eric debacle? Was my femininity in question? Perhaps it was Mother. She emasculated Dad. She also had a way of doing the same thing, in a feminine sense, to me.
I wish I had a sister or, at least, a brother with whom to commiserate. I was always left with the feeling that I wasn’t being entirely fair to her, yet every time I tried to put things behind us, she said or did something new. I could not understand how Dad put up with her. He certainly was a good man and could have found someone with a better disposition to give him a happier life.
It doesn’t serve a purpose to think of one’s parents in this sense, I realized. There was something unwholesome about it.
I found a stylish salon and remembered having been there once as a younger girl when a friend of the family had gotten married. The place looked exactly the same and the hairdressers just as friendly as my hair was trimmed and I indulged in a manicure and pedicure. While I was there, I looked at a few magazines, deciding on a style I could identify with. I wasn’t a model and didn’t care much about designer labels. Designer clothes seemed to be geared toward making the designer look successful more than their clients attractive. After all, the trends in style changed consistently while people’s physical attributes remained relatively the same.
I spent a long time in dressing rooms in different department stores. I even asked the store to send their personal shopper up to me and with her help, found a color and a look with which I could identify.
I still had some time to kill so I went to the bookstore and looked at equine magazines. Curious, I also leafed through some magazines on psychology. I couldn’t imagine that they had trends, as you found in clothing and hair—but the magazines existed so there had to be something new to read about.
When the clock finally wound to the place where it was respectable to arrive, I left and made my way to the Hilton.
CHAPTER TEN
Worth
She walked in and it took me a moment to recognize her. The caterpillar had morphed. The tomboy was gone, and she was no longer playing dress up as she had been during her second visit. Now there was an enticing and sophisticated young lady searching the room for me. I could only attribute this dramatic change in her fascination for my invitation.
I stood momentarily and waved to catch her attention. She actually smiled as she approached and I realized I hadn’t seen her smile yet.
“You look beautiful,” I commented without guise.
“Thank you. You look less gloating than the last time we met,” she observed with a twinkle in her eye.
We ordered drinks and a few appetizers. I had taken two deep gulps of my drink and realized I was uncharacteristically nervous. She had yet to try her wine and just studied me. She knew.
Having generally spoken to her across my desk with her facing sideways in rebellion, I now saw her eyes and was lost. They were a shade of green I’d only seen in island waters and set a bit close together with long, mahogany lashes. I had the urge to dive into them, picturing what she would look like lying beneath me. I was growing hard and yet a strange insecurity had come over me. What the hell is going on?
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“Why?”
“First of all, I’ve always wanted to ask a shrink that question and secondly, there is a strange look on your face. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re nervous.”
“Nonsense.”
“You’re thinking about nonsense?”
“No, I mean it’s nonsense that I’m nervous. I never get nervous.” I was repeating myself. I was in trouble.
She smiled at this. “So many women. You should have this down pat by now, is that it?”
I was mentally gasping for air. I knew I needed to change the subject before I drowned. “You look great.”
“You said that. Thank you, a second time. What’s up? Why are you so uncomfortable? Is it the doctor-patient thing?”
“As long as you’re no longer my patient, there’s no jeopardy. You never were in need of my consultation, anyway. As we both know, you had been sent to the principal’s office.”
She laughed at that. “I see you know my mother.”
“It wasn’t hard to spot. Common among our set.”
“Our set?” those aqua green eyes questioned me.
“Mothers who have nothing better to do than meddle in their children’s lives. Very common among people who are well set. Not just mothers, either.”
“Ahhh…” she said as though discovering the combination to a safe. “So, you have one, too?”
“I do, indeed. Worth, II.”
“And is Worth, III, in the same frame of mind?”
“God, I hope not. If I ever have children, well, at least, any I’m aware of…” he added the codicil, “they will be given free rein. None of this spying on their lives.”
I was marveling at the strange dichotomy of her being so easy to speak to and yet making me nervous. Perhaps this was what it felt like to be outside the protective shell of cocky banter and rebelliousness. I wasn’t entirely sure I liked the feeling; it was somewhat like a freefall. Yet, having her across the table from me felt reassuring, real and authentic. Was her energy so pure that it was overriding my own? I looked at her vibrant skin, those striking eyes, the long waterfall of mahogany hair and I wanted that to belong to me. I needed it to be a part of who I was. My past was a littered mess of intentional failures, cutting corners and being as irritatingly obtuse as possible. I felt inside like Joe’s; something with an inner air of dark secrets. I needed her wholesomeness.
“I don’t know if I agree,” she was saying and my attention was instantly upon her words. I actually wanted to hear her viewpoint. I needed to hear what normal, healthy people think about. I was surrounded daily by not only my own dark thoughts but those of sick minds and tainted lives. “I rather think of raising children like training a young horse. You persist in pointing out the favored behavior, but you have to give them their head a bit, too, or they rebel and get themselves into trouble.”
Everything she said made sense. “You love horses, don’t you?” I said, not because I didn’t already know, but because I wanted to hear her voice continue.
“Oh, yes, especially Carlos. I ride Steeplechase with him. He’s also my best friend,” a sad smile appeared on her lips, “particularly when Mother begins her nosy nonsense.”