Dollenganger 06 My Sweet Audrina (18 page)

"Stop! I don't want to hear more."
"But I want you to hear more. I want you to know what you're missing. It's wonderful to have all those nine inches stabbing into me. Did you hear me, Audrina? I measured it . . . almost nine inches, and it's all swollen and hard."
I ran to the door, but she was up and blocking my way. With surprising strength she threw me to the floor, then straddled my body. I thought about kicking her out of the way, but I was afraid she'd fall and break another bone.
She put her shod foot on my chest, which was just beginning to swell. "He's got a marvelous body, little sister, really a fantastic body. What we do would shock you so much you'd scream and possibly faint. . . and I love every second of what we do together. Can't get enough, never can get enough."
"You're only fourteen," I whispered, truly shocked at the loony way she looked and the disgusting way she talked.
"Soon to be fifteen," she said with a hard laugh. "Why don't you ask me who is my lover? I'll tell you, gladly tell you."
"I don't want to know. You tell lies all the time. You're lying now. Lamar Rensdale wouldn't want a kid like you."
"How do you know that? Because he doesn't want you? Who would want you but a kid like Arden? He feels obligated to you, protective of you. . and I could tell you so much about that you'd probably lose your mind that already hovers on the brink of insanity. Anybody fully sane knows exactly what's gone on in their lives--everybody but you."
"Leave me alone, Vera!" I shouted. "You're a liar and always will be. Lamar Rensdale wouldn't want you after I told him about Papa."
"What did you tell him about Papa?" she asked with hard, narrowed eyes.
"I told him Papa was huge, and had a terrible temper, and even if Papa isn't your father, you could ruin our name."
She laughed so hysterically she fell on the floor and rolled around like someone demented. "Boy, you take the cake, Audrina! Ruin our name? How can something already destroyed be ruined? And if you don't believe me, go and ask Lamar. He doesn't object to my age. He likes young girls. Most men do. Why, if you could see him striding to me without a stitch on, with that great gun cocked and aimed.."
Appalled by what she said, I ran from the room, down to where Aunt Ellsbeth was in the kitchen. I forgot about Vera as I felt pity for my aunt, always working so hard, doing half my share of chores and most of Vera's, too, now that I didn't stay home all day.
Aunt Ellsbeth looked up from washing the dishes. What I saw in her dark eyes startled me. They were glowing radiantly, as if she'd looked all her life and had at last discovered something to be joyful about. No longer did she call Papa cruel and callous as once she had. He no longer called her a walking beanpole, tall, lean and mean, with the tongue of a shrew.
"Audrina," she began, and in her voice I heard a bit of warmth, "you've got to be very careful not to let your father dominate your life. He'll never do that to Vera because she doesn't care what he thinks of her. Because you do care, you make yourself vulnerable. He's self-serving to the point of being cruel enough to rob you of what you need. He lies; he cheats and deceives. He's devilishly clever and likable but, I'm sorry to say, completely without honor or integrity. If he can possibly manage it he will keep you here with him until the day he dies and never allow you to have a life of your own. I can tell that you love him. In some ways I commend you for your loyalty and devotion. But blood ties are not supposed to be chains. You don't owe him, or Sylvia, your life." Oh, what did she mean?
"He's bringing Sylvia home this spring," she said in that flat monotone that sent chills down my spine. "Once she's here you won't have time for music lessons, or time to do anything but wait on her."
I was thrilled to know that at last Sylvia was coming, but the joy of that was shadowed by her words and her expression. "Sylvia was two years old last September, Aunt Ellsbeth. Doesn't that mean she's past the time of being a troublesome baby?"
She snorted. "Your father doesn't want me to discuss Sylvia. He wants you to grow very attached to her. I'm warning you, don't let that happen."
I stared at her, completely bewildered. Wasn't I supposed to love my own sister? Didn't Sylvia need me to love her?
"Don't look at me like that. I'm thinking of you, not her. Nothing can help Sylvia, and that's too i. s but you can be saved and that's what I'm trying to do. Keep yourself detached. Do for her what you can, but don't love
her
too much. In the long run you'll thank me for saying this now and not when it's too late."
"She's deformed!" I cried out, horribly distressed. "Why didn't Papa tell me, Aunt Ellsbeth? I have the right to know. What is wrong with Sylvia, Aunt Ellsbeth, please tell me. I need to be prepared."
"She's not deformed," she said in a kind way, looking at me with such pity. "Indeed, she's a c.utiful child, and in many ways she looks very much as you did at her age. Her hair is not colored as remarkably as yours, but then, she's hardly more than a baby, and it may change and become exactly like yours--and your mother's. I only hope that someday she will look exactly like you. Lord God above, if that happened, perhaps he'd set you free from playing those silly dream games he believes in so much. For an adult man with a high degree of intelligence,
he
can sometimes be as superstitious as any moron. I've seen you swing that ring on a string over the stock lists you make, so I give you credit for being clever. Be clever enough to save yourself when the time comes."
What did she mean?
"Audrina, heed my advice and stop what you're doing. Don't try to help him. Try, instead, to see him for what he is, someone determined to keep you tied to him in as many ways as he can dream up. He's convinced himself that you are the only female in the world worthy of his love and devotion, and to you he will give everything he possesses, never realizing he's stealing from you the best the world has to offer." "But I don't understand!"
"Think a' nit it, then. Think of how afraid he is of growing old and infirm so he'll be put away in some old-age home. It's like a phobia with him, a sickness, Audrina. We all have to grow old. There's nothing we can do to stop it."
"But, but . . ." I sputtered. "Why are you trying to help me, when I didn't know you even liked me?"
"Let me try to explain," she said, folding her work-reddened hands primly on the slight lap she made. "When I came back here to live with my daughter, I was made into a servant. I was afraid to let myself feel anything for you. I had Vera, and Vera had nobody but me. The trouble was, Vera adored Lucietta and soon grew to despise me for being a slave, when I had to be that or get out. I had my reasons for wanting to stay. And I was right to stay on . . . for it worked out just as I knew it would if I had the patience."
My breath caught. "Tell me more," I whispered.
"In the beauty race your mother always won, so naturally I was envious of her in all ways. I was jealous of her figure, her face, her talent and, most of all, of her ability to make men love her exceedingly well." A tightness came into her voice. "There was one man I loved, only one--and then he saw her. Once he saw her, it was all over for me. It hurts to lose, Audrina, hurts so badly sometimes you wonder how you can live with it. But I did live with it, and perhaps one day I will even win one race by default."
It hit me then, hard, why my aunt had always been so jealous of Momma, and why Momma had always flung back at her sister that
she
always got what she wanted and my aunt never did. Aunt Ellsbeth had been in love with my father! Despite the fact that she argued with him, disapproved of him, still she loved him. It seemed that way back in my mind I'd guessed this long, long ago and tried to tuck it away into one of my memory holes.
"Aunt Ellie, do you love him even when you know he cheats and deceives and has no honor and no integrity?"
Alarmed, her eyes fled from mine. "I've talked enough for one day," she answered shortly, stalking into the dining room with a fresh tablecloth. "But you take heed of what I said, and be aware that things are not always as they seem to be. Put your trust in no man, and, most especially, discard any dreams that disturb you."

Sylvia
.
Time had slowed down for me. Now I could

retain my memories and store them in the safest places in my brain. With the help of my daily journal, I read over my memories daily to deeply implant them. The rocking chair was helping in more ways than one. I had hold of peace now. I had a refuge now, a sanctuary where I could find Mamma's image floating on the clouds.

I was eleven years and eight months old that May when Sylvia came home. My aunt had confirmed this, and I believed she was telling me the truth this time. She also confirmed Vera's age as being three years and ten months my senior. Nothing, I told myself, would ever make me forget my age again. I wouldn't allow the gray mists of forgetfulness to come again and obscure important events. I looked in my mirrors and saw small, hard breasts swelling out my sweaters. I wore my sweaters loose, hoping Arden wouldn't notice, but already I'd seen him looking there and trying not to let me see him when he did. I saw other boys in school taking interested surveys on how my figure was improving. I ignored them and concentrated on Arden, who was still in the same school Vera attended. What I had under my sweaters was small in comparison to what Vera displayed by wearing the tightest sweaters she could squeeze into.

Papa never objected to Vera's tight sweaters. Vera was allowed to date and go to movies and school proms. She belonged to half a dozen clubs, or so she reported when she came home very late sometimes. I never had time to socialize. I had to hurry to Mr. Rensdale every day after school, but I was uneasy with him now. I couldn't help but think of what Vera had told me about what she did with him. Half the time I thought she lied; half the time I thought maybe she didn't. One day he had his sports shirt open at the throat, and his chest was very hairy, just as she'd said. She had described his naked body to me in such detail it was almost as if he wore transparent clothes. I couldn't look his way.

The girls I met at school asked me to their slumber parties, but Papa always refused to let me go. He wanted me home with him, listening to him, watching him shave, hearing of his trials and tribulations at work. While he shaved and I still perched on the edge of his tub, I learned how to short stocks, what buying long meant. I heard about wash sales and municipal bonds, and tax shelters, and percentage rates, and hedging, and tax loopholes. The stock market was a crazy gambling game for the very rich. Only the ones with millions were sure to profit-- unless they were somehow "intuitive."

"And you are," said Papa with a wide smile as he wiped off the excess shaving lather. "Audrina, the rocking chair did help, didn't it?"

"Yes, Papa. Can I go now? I want to call Arden and make plans to meet him tomorrow. There's a movie showing I'd like to see."

I?"
"Because I don't give a damn what Vera does." I'd argued this out before and lost; I was sure to

lose again. Then Papa smiled at me. "Well, my love, my impatient one, you are soon to have
again
what you want most. Tomorrow morning early, I'm taking off to drive to where Sylvia has lived since she left the hospital. I've already called and made all the necessary arrangements. Sylvia. will come home with me tomorrow morning."

"Oh, Papa!" I cried happily, "thank you, thank your'
How strange his sad smile, how very strange.
Early the next morning, long before Papa was out of bed and was ready to drive to Sylvia, I raced through the woods to the cottage on the other side. The woods were lush and green, full of the beauty of spring. I was hoping to catch Arden before he rode off on his bicycle to deliver the morning papers. His old car had "conked out" and was now just junk to clutter the yard as he tried to repair it again.
Robins and purple martins were on the grass, paying little attention to me as I ran to the cottage door and threw it open without knocking. Straight on into the kitchen I ran, only to pull up short and gasp.
There was Billie wearing shorts and a red tank top. For the first time I was seeing her without all those long, full skirts that made it seem she did have two legs hidden somewhere underneath. Her hair was loose and waving, and the knit top revealed a remarkably voluptuous bosom, but all I could see were the little eight-inch stumps thrusting out from the legs of her short shorts. They seemed like fat sausages that slimmed down quickly so they could be neatly tied at the ends. Faint radiating lines made folds like wrinkles from where the excess skin had been drawn and somehow fastened. I shrank away.
It was so pitiful, those stumps where her beautiful legs used to be. I glanced toward the living room where she had all those photographs of herself in costume. I choked back a cry of distress, when I hadn't wanted to show pity. I had wanted to see them, and not remark, or
even seem
to notice.
To my surprise, Billie began to laugh. She reached to touch my cheek, then tousled my already windblown hair. "Well, go ahead and stare all you want to. Can't say blame you. They're not pretty to look at, are they? But remember that once I had two of the most beautiful, skillful and creative legs any woman could desire. They served me well when I had them, and most people will never have what I did."
Again I was left without words.
"People learn to adjust, Audrina," she said softly, refraining from touching me again as if afraid now I wouldn't want her to. "You're putting yourself in my place and thinking you couldn't stand to live with my handicap, but somehow, when it's your own, it isn't nearly as horrible as it seems to someone else. Then again, as contrary as we humans are, I can look around and think, why me and not her, or him? I could throw myself into an abyss of self-pity if I wanted to. Most of the time I don't even think about the loss of my legs."
I stood there, all gangly and awkward, feeling humbled. I could almost see her legs that weren't there. "Arden told me he sees you with your legs. He never sees the stumps."
"Yes," she said, her eyes shining, "he's a wonderful son. Without him I probably would have given up. He saved me. Having Arden forced me to carry on and teach myself to do everything. And Arden would do anything for me. Somehow because we had each other, we've managed. None of it has been easy, and yet because it was difficult we have more to be proud of. Now, darlin', enough said about me. What are you doing over here at such an early hour?"
She went on with her canning as I hesitated. Her high stool on rollers was placed so she could scoot from here to there with hardly any effort, just by shoving or pulling with her hands. Then it happened quicker than I could wink--she slipped from the stool and fell to the floor with a thud. She lay at my feet for a brief second like half a large doll.
I started to help.
"Don't help," she ordered, and in no time at all she had used those strong arms to heft herself back onto the stool. "Audrina, look in the pantry and you'll see a little red cart I use when I want to really speed around. Arden made it for me. He wants to paint it a different color each year, but I won't let him. I like red best. Nothing shy about me, darling."
Weakly I smiled, wishing I could be as brave. Then I asked if Arden had already left.
"Yep, he's gone. If that lousy, stingy husband of mine would send more money, my son wouldn't have to work himself to death." She turned and smiled brightly and asked again, "C'mon, tell me what you're doing over here so bright and early?"
"Billie, Sylvia's coming home today. My aunt's told rue she isn't normal, but I don't care. I feel so bad that a poor little baby
never
had a mother, and no family but Papa to love her. That's not enough, especially when Papa only visits her once or twice a month--if he does. You can never tell when my father tells the truth, Billie," I said with some shame. "He lies, and you know he's lying; and he knows you know he's lying, and still he doesn't care."
"Your father sounds like a real dilly."
"I told Arden yesterday that Sylvia
might come
home today. Knowing how Papa is I wasn't really sure, but I eavesdropped and heard him talking on the telephone last night. He is bringing her home. He also called his office and told them not to expect him in today. Did I tell you he's manager now?"
"Yes, darlin', you've told me at least two dozen times. And now I'm going to tell you something perhaps you don't know. You are very proud of your papa. Even when you think you dislike him, you dislike him regretfully. Darlin', don't feel bad about loving and hating your daddy. None of us is all good or all bad. People come in all shades of gray. No outand-out devils, and no true angels and saints?' She smiled. "Honey, you go right on loving your papa even if he is straight from a cake. Arda feels the same way about his father."
Two hours later, with my heart lodged somewhere in my throat, I stood on the front steps of Whitefern with my aunt beside me and waited to see my baby sister for the first time. I looked around, knowing I had to remember this special day so that later I could tell my little sister just how it had been when she first came home. The sun was out bright and full. Not a cloud was in the sky. Some haze hung over the woods and muffled the cries of the birds. Dampness from the dew, I told myself, only that. The warm breezes from the River Lyle stirred my hair.
The spacious lawn had been mowed by a man from the village; he'd trimmed the shrubs, weeded the gardens, swept the front walk. The house had been repainted white, and its roof was new, too--red as dark as congealed blood, like the blinds at the windows. We were dressed in our best to welcome Sylvia home. Vera was there, too, seated lazily on the swing, a small secret smile curving her lips and making her dark eyes sparkle wickedly. I suspected she knew far more about Sylvia than I did, as she knew more about everything than I did.
"Aud dreen ah ," she chanted, "soon you're going to see . . see for yourself. Boy, are you gonna be sor . . reee you kept pleading to have your baby sister
- because I disown her. For me, Sylvia Adare just does not exist."
In no way was! going to let Vera kill my excitement or my happiness. I suspected Vera was jealous that it was my mother's baby and not my aunt's.
"Audrina," said my aunt, "are you really as happy as you look?" She could seldom keep from frowning when Sylvia's name was mentioned, and this was obviously no happy day for her.
"Look, look! Here they come!" I cried excitedly, pointing to Papa's Mercedes ducking in and out of the thick rows of trees that lined our curving drive. I edged a bit nearer to my aunt, who
straightened her spine and stood taller. For a brief second her hand reached for mine, but she didn't take my hand, as she'd never taken it.
Behind us Vera tittered as she swung to and fro, to and fro, chanting her "You'll be sorry" tune.
The shiny black car drew to a stop before our entranceway. Papa got out and strolled around to the passenger side, opened the door--and for the life of me I couldn't see anyone in there. Then Papa reached inside and lifted from the seat a very small child.
Papa called to me, "Here's Sylvia." He beamed a broad smile my way and then put Sylvia on the ground.
That's when the creaking of the wooden slab swing stopped. Vera rose reluctantly to her feet and drifted closer. I glanced to see her eyes fixed on me, as if she were only interested in my reactions and didn't care about Sylvia at all. Not once did she look at my sister. How odd.
Despite Vera, and my aunt's grim expression, I was so happy as I stared at that pretty little girl who was my sister. In another second I was seeing her as not just pretty, but beautiful. She had a bright head of chestnut-colored curls, reddish blonde where the sun highlighted, and how marvelously shiny they were. I saw her sweet little dimpled hands that reached pleadingly toward Papa, wanting him to pick her up. He had to stoop to catch hold of her hand, yet
he
did that and began to guide her toward the steps. "One step at a time, Sylvia," he encouraged. "That's the way it's done, just one step at a time."
How dear were the little white shoes she wore. What fun she was going to be, a living doll of my very own s
^,
dress and play with. Too excited for words, I stepped down lower, just one step--and then paused. Something . . . something about her eyes, about the way she walked, the way she held her mouth. Oh, dear God--what was wrong with her?
"Come, Sylvia," urged Papa, tugging on her miniature hand, which must be lost in his. "You come too, Audrina. Step down to our level and meet the little sister you've been dying to have. Come closer so you can admire Sylvia's aquamarine eyes that tilt so charmingly upward. See how widely spaced they are. See Sylvia's long, curling, dark lashes. See all the beauty that Sylvia possesses--and forget everything else."
He paused, looked at me and waited. Vera giggled and moved for a better place from which she could observe my every reaction.
Frozen, I thought at that moment that all of nature stood still waiting for my decision and my judgment of Sylvia. It was my move now, but I couldn't move and couldn't speak.
Grown impatient, Papa spoke. "Well, if you can't come to us, then we'll come to you." Undaunted as always, he flashed me a charming smile that made his teeth flash in the sunlight. "You
have
been pestering me for more than two years to bring home your baby sister. Well,
here she
is. Aren't you delighted?"
Step by tortured step, Papa had to assist Sylvia to walk. She couldn't lift either foot with any degree of skill. She shuffled her feet along, making them slide over obstacles. Even as she did this, her head lolled to the right, then to the left; it fell forward; it jerked and fell backward as if she stared at the sky. Then back again, and the ground would draw her attention--if that nothing stare could be called attention.
Sylvia's bones seemed made of rubber. Before she'd taken five small steps, she'd scuffed her new white shoes, fallen to her knees three times and been hauled up by Papa. Easily enough Papa tugged her up the steps by lifting her by one frail arm. As they advanced, I backed up the stairs, not even realizing I was retreating. Still Sylvia was coming closer and closer so I could see details. Her lips never met but gaped so that she drooled, her eyes never focused.
I trembled, feeling sick. Papa, it was all his fault! He was responsible for Sylvia's condition! All those arguments, the times he used his belt for a whip. I sob. I then for Momma, who had done her bit, too, when she drank that hot tea laced with bourbon, even when Papa told her not to.
Coming closer every second was the end result of all this abuse, this lovely little girl who looked absolutely moronic.
I backed up until I felt that house hard behind my back. Relentlessly Papa pursued, dragging my sister along. Then he swooped to pick her up, and in the cradle of just one of his arms, he held her so she was at my eye level.
"Look, Audrina, see Sylvia. Don't turn your head aside. Don't close your eyes. See how Sylvia drools and can't focus her eyes or even make her feet move correctly. She'll reach for what she wants a dozen or more times before she can figure out how to grasp it. She'll try to shove food into her mouth and miss, though eventually she'll find a way to eat. She's like an animal, a wild thing--but isn't she beautiful, charming and terrible, too? Now that you see, perhaps you'll understand why I kept her away for so long. I was giving you freedom and not once did you thank me. Not once."
"Sylvia is a crazy. . . a crazy. . . a crazy. . ." chanted Vera softly in the background. "Now Audrina's got a nutty. . . a nutty. . . a nutty . . ."
Papa roared, "Vera, get in the house and stay there!"
For some reason, Vera paled. She stalked closer to where Papa stood with Sylvia. "You'd rather have that idiot little girl than me, wouldn't you?" screamed Vera, glaring at him and Sylvia, too. Something tortured twisted her mouth and made her look old and ugly. "There will come a time when you'll want me more than you've ever wanted anyone else--but I'll spit in your face before I'll help you when you need it!"
"You are not telling me anything I don't already know," said Papa coldly. "You are like your mother-- free with your hate and spite, stingy with your love. I don't need your help, Vera. Not now, and not in the future--I have Audrina."
"You have nothing when you have Audrina!" yelled Vera shrilly, striking out at him. "She hates you, too, only she doesn't know it yet!"
Easily Papa continued to hold Sylvia as his free hand shot out and delivered such a hard slap to Vera's face that she fell to the porch floor. Crumpled there she screamed wildly, almost insanely. Sylvia began a loud wailing.
"Damn you for hitting her!" cried my aunt. "Damian, all that girl wants is a little show of affection from you.
You've never given her anything but
indifference. And you know who she
is--you know!"
"I don't know anything," Papa said in a voice so deadly cold I shivered with fear. He riveted his dark, menacing eyes on my aunt, almost visually ordering her to keep her mouth shut or perhaps he'd knock her down, too.
Panic was taking me over. Vera crawled to where she could use the screen door to pull herself up. Then, still crying, she disappeared into the house. And I was left still staring at Sylvia, who couldn't focus on anything or anyone.
What kind of eyes did she have? Vacant eyes. Nowhere eyes. Though their color was striking and her long lashes were dark and curling, what difference? What difference when there was no intelligence behind that void stare.
I swallowed over that aching lump that came again to thicken my voice and sting my eyes with tears. My fist balled and I swiped at my tears, trying not to let Papa see.