My Sister, My Love (28 page)

And so the crowd at the Newark War Memorial on the historic evening of November 30, 1996, goes crazy for Bliss Rampike
one more time.

“AND THERE MAY BE ANOTHER SURPRISE FOR US, TONIGHT.”

Skyler’s heart thumped in his chest.
Daddy?

Bliss sucked at a finger, not daring to ask.

“—it isn’t certain but it may be. ‘Our cup runneth over’—it may be.” Mummy laughed gaily swiping at her tear-splotched eyes.

Skyler asked hesitantly, “Is it a good surprise, Mummy?”

Mummy laughed again. Despite Dr. Screed’s effort a sharp line like one made by a knife blade had appeared between her eyebrows. “Of course it’s a ‘good surprise,’ Skyler. All Mummy’s surprises are good.”

Was this so? Skyler gnawed at his lower lip and made no reply but the thought passed between him and his little sister in the front seat of the minivan:
No! Not all Mummy’s surprises are good.

“…happiest day of my life. At last!”

Mummy wasn’t speaking to Bliss slumped in the passenger’s seat beside her or to Skyler in the seat behind her but to herself as if she’d forgotten that her children were with her. And her words were murmured as much in wonderment as in triumph for here is the mystery of Betsey Rampike’s life:
a small cup quickly runs over.

In the morning they would be returning to Fair Hills, in triumph. A celebration was planned there in honor of Fair Hills’s celebrity-child Bliss Rampike who had just been crowned Little Miss Jersey Ice Princess 1996. There would be gala events in town, there would be more interviews. Photographers, TV camera crews. But tonight Mummy had booked a suite for them in the Garden State Marriott at an exit off I-80 twelve miles north of Newark for Mummy was giddy with happiness and with exhaustion and could not risk driving another hour to Fair Hills, at night. After the delirium of her daughter’s victory Mummy had limited herself to one or two—no more than three!—small plastic glasses of cheap red wine in the drafty foyer of the war memorial and though Mummy was far from intoxicated it did appear that the minivan was giving her difficulty for the damned steering wheel seemed to be teasing her with a predilection for easing to the left; and her foot on the gas pedal was too heavy, or too light. “
Mum
-my. Watch
out
.” Peering over Mummy’s right shoulder at the rushing roadway splotched with rain-on-the-verge-of-sleet Skyler thought with grim satisfaction that if he had to, he’d grab the wheel. If Mummy skidded the minivan. If Mummy lost control. Nine-year-old Skyler would save them and no one would know, not even Daddy.

And if they died, Skyler thought, it would be Daddy’s fault.

In the shifting glare of oncoming headlights shimmering with rain Skyler’s mother’s face was damp with tears of gratitude and seemed to glow from inside with a strange lunar beauty.

“…happiest day.
My life
.”

SO HAPPY!
HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY
SKYLER’S THROAT WAS RAW WITH HAPPINESS
, for the judges had scored his sister 5.9 out of 6 and no other skater in the six-to-twelve-year-old division had received a score higher than 5.7. So happy! Mummy had screamed and wept and would have fallen to her knees to pray to thank Jesus except her assistant Dale McKee (female, young) dissuaded her. Delirium of deafening applause. Cheers, whistles, cries
We love you Bliss!
Mammoth lizard-faced Jeremiah Jericho was moved by Bliss Rampike, you could see. Even that lewd-winking old-grandpappy in the sleek black tux straining at his belly. Even
he
! Pre
dicting that the li’l blond gal from Far Hills—excuse me, Mr. Jericho:
Fair
Hills—would one day win an Olympic gold medal and become a World Champion and (Mummy knew: Mummy would see to it) one of the Disney-on-Ice superstar performers, a multi-million-dollar talent. Betsey Rampike stirred the crowd’s sentimental-Jersey heart, for Betsey Rampike wept with such gratitude, her inky mascara ran down her fleshy face, tear-rivulets corroded her heavy makeup. Here was a mother so sincere. Here was a mother so vulnerable. Here was a mother so deserving of her daughter’s victory. “‘Little Miss Jersey Ice Princess 1996—may God bless you.” For this instant, Jeremiah Jericho’s mocking voice quavered as with reverent hands he set the child-sized “silver” tiara on the child’s head. A fuchsia-bright satin sash
LITTLE MISS JERSEY ICE PRINCESS
1996 was positioned—carefully!—slantwise across the child’s flat little chest. Still weeping, Betsey Rampike accepted from Jeremiah Jericho a large bouquet of bloodred plasticine roses and a framed certificate commemorating her daughter’s title and an envelope containing a “token of our esteem” (how much? Skyler would one day discover it was only $500) and to the delight of the crowd Betsey Rampike blushed becomingly as Jeremiah Jericho planted a smacking wet kiss on her flaming cheek—“Meet me tonight in dreamland, Mz. Ranpick!”—as deftly the lizard-faced M.C. ushered mother and daughter off the ice and out of the spotlight to make way for the more important crowning of Miss Jersey Ice Princess 1996.

“NOW FOR YOUR SURPRISE, CHILDREN! IF THERE IS A SURPRISE.”

Mummy seemed less certain now. Mummy was clutching the plastic key-card to suite 1822 of the Garden State Marriott to her breast as if she feared losing it. Ascending the glass-sided elevator to the eighteenth floor of the hotel Skyler was both light-headed with fatigue and apprehensive of what might happen next; he and Mummy were holding up Bliss between them. In the foyer downstairs Little Miss Jersey Ice Princess 1996 with her silver tiara still on her head, at a rakish angle, in her red mohair coat and darling little white kidskin boots, had drawn curious glances and smiles from strangers, but Mummy had urged her and
Skyler along without wishing to linger. At another time, Mummy would have been thrilled to introduce herself and Bliss and to explain who Bliss was, if necessary; it often happened that Mummy exchanged names and addresses with friendly strangers. But not tonight for it was very late: 10:50
P.M.

“Skyler? You have the magic touch.”

Gaily Mummy handed Skyler the plastic key-card to suite 1822. It had long been established between them, and a matter of some small pride to the
little man
, that he rarely had trouble unlocking hotel doors that confounded Mummy.

And so Skyler inserted the card now. But without luck: only tiny red lights flashed by the lock, and not green.

Again, Skyler inserted the card, and withdrew it. Not too fast, and not too slow. Damn, his hand was shaking!

Tiny red lights, not green.

Skyler was about to protest, the lock had to be broken, when suddenly the door opened, and—
there stood Daddy!

Sheepish-Daddy. Guilty-faced/boyish-Daddy.

Daddy’s voice cracked, with emotion. Stooping to hug his astonished children, tears spilling from Daddy’s eyes.

“You kids! Jesus! Your Daddy loves you, your Daddy made a very bad mistake, d’you forgive your Daddy?”—sweeping Bliss into the crook of one arm, and Skyler into the crook of the other arm, as Mummy looked on smiling as one might smile on the deck of a drunkenly tilting ship in a “storm-tossed sea”—until Daddy managed to include Mummy in his embrace as well, four Rampikes staggering and stumbling together inside the hotel room. Like a desperate man, Daddy kissed and hugged his children; kissed and hugged them harder; covered their stunned faces with hot smacking-wet Daddy kisses; tried to lift both children in his arms but had to settle for just Bliss, who stared at him with slow blinking dilated eyes, the “silver” tiara slipping from her head. Daddy was moaning like a wounded animal—“You kids! Look at you! Beautiful sweet innocent kids, Daddy doesn’t deserve. And my beautiful wife, I don’t deserve. None of you, my precious family, do I deserve. Can you ever forgive me?”

Yes yes yes!
Yes.

“D’you hate me? You should hate me! God damn, I deserve to be hated, d’you hate me? Loathe me? Bliss?—Skyler?—Betsey?”

No no no!
No.

The room into which they’d stumbled was a lavishly decorated parlor where Mummy had left suitcases earlier that day, before driving into the city to the War Memorial. Now this room was filled with balloons of every color, some of the balloons twisted into tortured-animal shapes; glittering confetti hung from lampshades, and from the chandelier overhead; a room-service trolley draped with a white tablecloth was crowded with food: cheeses, fruit, shrimp, a large (boxed) pizza, a slab of ham with fresh-cut bread and “gourmet” mustard, chocolate-covered strawberries, chocolate mints, bottles of sparkling water and a bottle of red wine and a large bottle of Dom Pérignon. Mummy laughed at Daddy: “Bix! Aren’t you ridiculous! You look as if you’ve bought out the store,” in a voice of reproach, and Daddy said, “Damn right I bought out the store, darling. And damn more to come.” Clumsily Daddy hugged Mummy who pushed at him, as you’d push at an overgrown child, but Daddy persisted, Daddy kissed Mummy’s mouth fiercely, as Skyler and Bliss had never seen Daddy kiss Mummy before.

Though they’d been staggering with exhaustion only a few minutes before, now both children were alert, aroused. Skyler’s eyes felt as if he’d been staring into flame. Skyler’s little fist-heart beat hard and rapid in his chest and Bliss was breathing through her mouth as she’d never breathed while exerting herself in such extraordinary maneuvers on the ice. By slow degrees it was registering on the children that Daddy was
back
, and Daddy was
here.

Sucking a finger, shyly Bliss asked if Daddy was going to stay with them all night here?—and Daddy kissed Bliss wetly again on the mouth saying, “Hell yes. Yes yes
yes.
All night tonight and every night to come, darling, forever. With God as Daddy’s witness.” Skyler was feeling jealous of the attention Bliss was receiving from Daddy and so Skyler crowded against Daddy’s legs as a much younger child might, tugging at Daddy’s arm, yet for a long frustrating moment Skyler could not seem to dislodge Daddy’s gaze for Daddy was staring intently at his little girl whom he hadn’t seen in—how long?—several weeks, or months?—as if she were a stranger’s child,
her small-boned face deathly pale and spittle gleaming on her parted lips. “Bliss darling, I tried my damndest to get to Newark in time to see you skate, God damn I
tried.
The f–ing
*
plane was five hours late leaving f–ing Frankfurt, there was nothing to be done. And forty f–ing minutes circling f–ing Newark Airport! But I saw you on TV, honey. Switched on the TV in here just in time, it’s as if God was guiding my hand, these months Bix Rampike has been forsaken by God, suddenly restored to sanity by God, and I saw my li’l gal skate like an angel, and I could not believe my eyes!—and I heard that crowd go wild for my angel; I saw close-ups of my beautiful li’l angel skating as no one at the actual rink could have seen her, and, Jesus!—when the judges gave ‘Bliss Rampike’ five-point-nine points out of six, I knew you would win; I didn’t have to wait for the announcement, I
knew.
And I bawled like a baby. And when Bliss was crowned ‘Little Miss Jersey Ice Princess’—I bawled all over again.”

It was so: Daddy’s eyes looked raw and reddened.

Slowly Mummy removed her coat, that was red mohair (to match Bliss’s little coat) with a mink collar. Mummy smoothed her shimmery-strawberry dress down over her shapely hips, and you could see that Daddy was staring at Mummy, too: for Mummy had lost weight and was now “size ten” and Mummy had carefully repaired the damage to her makeup after her fit of weeping earlier that evening and so Mummy was looking very attractive, Skyler thought. Briskly Mummy said, “Well! Your father is back, children, and we love him; and, as we are Christians, we forgive him of course.” Mummy laughed in a throaty-sexy way that reminded Skyler of—who?—Calvin Klaus’s mother?—and Mummy kissed Daddy lightly on his mashed-looking mouth: you could see that a mysterious strength resided now in Mummy, that the children had not seen before.

Daddy too was swaying on his feet as if very tired-yet-happy. And it might have been, Daddy’s breath smelled of something fumey-sweet: Johnnie Walker Scotch? Daddy’s stiff hair was disheveled and his skin had that coarse-gray look Skyler associated with Daddy returning home
from a trans-Atlantic flight; Daddy’s heavy jaws were dark with stubble. Daddy wore dark pressed trousers badly wrinkled in the seat and Daddy’s long-sleeved white cotton shirt was badly wrinkled and stained. “Did you miss your old daddy, kids? I hope to hell you didn’t, but—did you?” Daddy was staring at them with such a weird hungry look, Skyler was fearful he might burst into laughter.

“The children missed you, Bix, a bit. And I missed you, a bit. Especially at first.” Mummy spoke with that air of teasing reproach, stroking Daddy’s arm as you might stroke an uneasy dog, to comfort him. “Now everything is perfect again, Jesus has taken our pain from us and replaced it with His grace and you saw the fruits of that grace tonight: our daughter is Little Miss Jersey Ice Princess 1996. Our daughter is
launched.
”

“Our daughter is
launched.
Amen.”

Daddy uncorked the bottle of Dom Pérignon, with funny-Daddy clumsiness. Mummy lifted the pizza (pepperoni and cheese, Skyler’s mouth watered) out of its box and Mummy opened a bottle of sparkling water for Skyler and for Bliss. It was very late—long past bedtime!—but Skyler was very hungry, and began eating pizza; Bliss, who’d eaten virtually nothing all day except yogurt, raisins, and “seven-grain” crispbreads that Anastasia Kovitski fed to her, devoured several chocolate-covered strawberries before ceasing, with a stricken expression. Giddy Daddy poured sparkling bubbly champagne into long-stemmed glasses for Mummy and for himself and Daddy lifted his glass to click against Mummy’s glass as champagne ran down his fingers: “As God is my witness, Betsey. I stand before you abased, and abashed. And I am home.”

Yet more! Daddy had presents for his little family: for Sky-boy, a thrillingly lifelike eighteen-inch-tall Terminator Boy XXL with “laser-eye” features; for “Daddy’s bestest-best li’l gal” Bliss a child-sized ermine cape, with crimson silk lining; and, for Mummy, a beautiful bracelet of shiny, shimmering-green stones—“Indonesian emeralds.”