The Flowers in the Attic Series: The Dollangangers: Flowers in the Attic, Petals on the Wind, If There Be Thorns, Seeds of Yesterday, and a New Excerpt! (75 page)

“I don’t know,” I said miserably, though I was lit up inside. “I have to finish high school first—but do you really think I’m good enough? Up there they expect the best.”

“You
are
the best! Trust me, believe in me. Madame Zolta’s company isn’t the largest, or top rank, but she’s got what it takes to make our company rate as high as the larger and older ones—once she has a couple of fantastic dancers like us!”

I asked what Madame Zolta was like. Somehow that made him confident I’d already agreed and, laughing first, he managed to plant a kiss on my lips. “You’re going to adore
Madame Zolta! She’s Russian and the sweetest, kindest, most gentle little old lady you ever met. She’ll be like your mother. [Good God!] She knows everything there is about dance. She’s our doctor sometimes, our psychologist; whatever we need, she’s it. Life in New York is like living on Mars compared to here, another world, a better world. In no time at all you’ll love it. I’ll take you to famous restaurants where you’ll eat food such as you’ve never tasted before. I’ll introduce you to movie stars, TV celebrities, actors, actresses, authors.”

I tried to resist him by fastening my eyes on Chris, Carrie and Paul, but Julian moved so he blocked out my view. All I could see was him. “It’s the kind of life you were born for, Cathy,” and this time he sounded sincere and deeply earnest. “Why have you studied and put yourself through so much torture, if not for success? Can you achieve the kind of fame you want here?”

No. I couldn’t.

But Paul was here. Chris and Carrie were here. How could I leave them?

“Cathy, come with me to where you belong, behind the footlights, on stage, with roses in your arms. Come with me, Cathy, and make my dreams come true too.”

Oh, he was winning that night, and I was heady with my first success, and even when I wanted to say no, I nodded and said, “Yes . . . I’ll go, but only if you come down here and fly with me. I’ve never been on a plane, and I wouldn’t know where to go once I landed.”

He took me in his arms then, tenderly, and held me as his lips brushed my hair. Over his shoulder, I could see both Chris and Paul staring our way, both of them looking astonished and more than a little hurt.

In January of 1963 I graduated from high school. I wasn’t particularly brilliant, like Chris, but I’d made it through.

Chris was so smart it was more than likely he’d finish college in three years rather than four. Already he’d won several
scholarships to help take the financial burden of his education from Paul’s shoulders, though he never mentioned a word about any of us paying him back—for anything. It was understood, though, that Chris would become an associate with Paul when he had his M.D. I marveled that Paul could keep spending on us and never complain, and when I asked, he explained. “I enjoy knowing I’m helping to contribute to the world the wonderful doctor Chris will make—and the super ballerina you will be one day.” He looked so sad when he said that, so terribly sad. “As for Carrie, I hope she decides to stay home with me and marry a local boy, so I can see her often.”

“When I’m gone it will be Thelma Murkel for you again, won’t it?” I asked with some bitterness, for I wanted him to stay faithful, no matter how many miles I put between us.

“Maybe,” he said.

“You won’t love anyone else as much as you love me, say you won’t.”

He smiled. “No. How could I love anyone as much as I love you? No other could dance into my heart the way you did, could she?”

“Paul, don’t mock me. Say the word and I won’t go. I’ll stay.”

“How can I say the words to make you stay when you have to fulfill your destiny? You were born to dance, not to be the wife of a stodgy, small-town doctor.”

Marriage! He’d said wife! He’d never mentioned marriage before.

It was more than awful to tell Carrie I was leaving. Her screams were deafening and pitiful.
“You cannot go!”
she bellowed, tears streaming.
“You promised we would all stay together, and now you and Chris both go away and leave me! Take me too! Take me!”
She beat at me with small fists, kicked at my legs, determined to inflict some pain for what Chris and I were giving her—and already I felt pain enough for the world in
leaving her. “Please try and understand, Carrie, I will be coming back, and Chris will too—you won’t be forgotten.”

“I hate you!” she screamed. “I hate both you and Chris! I hope you die in New York! I hope you both fall down and die!” It was Paul who came to save me.

“You’ve still got me every day, and Henny,” he said, hefting Carrie’s slight weight up in his arms. “We’re not going anywhere. And you’ll be the only daughter we have when Cathy is gone. Come, dry your tears, put a smile on your face and be happy for your sister. Remember this is what she’d been striving for all those long years when you were locked up.”

I ached inside as I wondered if I really wanted a dance career as much as I had always thought. Chris threw me a long, sad look then bent to pick up my new blue suitcases. He hurried out the front door trying not to let me see the tears in his eyes. When we all went out, he stood near Paul’s white car, his shoulders squared off, his face set, determined not to show any emotion.

Henny had to pile in with the rest of us; she didn’t want to be left home to cry alone. Her so eloquent brown eyes spoke to me, wishing me good luck as her hands were kept busy wiping the tears from Carrie’s face.

At the airport Julian paced back and forth, constantly glancing at his watch. He was afraid I’d back out and wouldn’t show up. He looked very handsome in his new suit as his eyes lit up when he saw me approach. “Thank God, I was thinking I flew down here for nothing—and I wouldn’t do this twice.”

The evening before, I’d already said a private good-bye to Paul. His words rang in my ears to haunt me even as I boarded the plane. “We both knew it couldn’t last, Catherine. From the beginning I warned you, April just can’t marry with September.”

Chris and Paul followed us up the ramp to help with the many pieces of hand luggage I wouldn’t trust to the baggage
compartment, and once more I had to hug Paul close. “Thank you, Catherine,” he whispered so neither Chris nor Julian could overhear, “for everything. Don’t look back with any regrets. Forget about me. Forget all the past. Concentrate on your dancing and wait before you fall in love with anyone—and let it be someone near your own age.”

Choking, I asked, “And what about you?”

He forced a smile and then a chuckle. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got my memories of a beautiful ballerina and that’s enough.”

I burst into tears! Memories! What were they? Just something to torture yourself with, that’s all! Blindly I turned to find myself locked in Chris’s arms. My Christopher Doll who was six feet tall now, my knight so gallant, chivalrous and sensitive. Finally I could pull away and then he took my hands, both of them, as our gazes met and locked. We too had shared a great deal, even more than Paul and I.
Good-bye my walking, talking, cheerful, chiding, and living set of encyclopedias, my fellow prisoner of hope. . . . You don’t need to cry for me. . . . Cry for yourself . . . or don’t cry at all. It’s over. Accept it, Chris, like I have, like you have to. You’re only my brother. I’m only a sister, and the world is full of beautiful women who’d love you better than I can, or could.

Every word I didn’t speak I knew he heard, and still he kept on looking at me with his heart in his eyes, making me hurt all over.

“Cathy,” he said hoarsely, loud enough for Julian to hear, “it’s not that I’m afraid you won’t make it, I’m sure you will if you don’t get so damned impulsive! Please don’t do anything reckless that you’ll regret later on. Promise to think of all the ramifications first before you jump in with both feet. Go easy on sex and love. Wait until you’re old enough to know what you want in a man before you choose one.”

I’m sure my smile was crooked, for already I’d chosen Paul. I flicked my eyes from Paul who looked serious, to
Julian who was frowning and glaring at Chris, then at Paul. “You go easy on sex and love too,” I said jokingly to Chris, making sure my tone was light. I hugged him tight once more, hurting to let him go. “And write to me often, and come to New York with Paul, Carrie and Henny whenever you can—or come alone, but come—promise?”

Solemnly he promised. Our lips met briefly, and then I turned to take my seat near the window. Since this was my first plane trip, Julian graciously gave up that privilege. I waved like mad to my family who I couldn’t even see from the plane window.

Julian, so adroit and adept on stage, was at a loss when it came to handling a girl who sobbed on his shoulder, trembling, already homesick, wishing she wasn’t going even before the plane was five thousand feet up. “You’ve got me,” he said smoothly. “Didn’t I swear to take care of you? And I will, honest to God. I’ll do everything possible to make you happy.” He grinned at me and kissed me lightly. “And, my love, I’m afraid I exaggerated the charms of Madame Zolta just a wee, wee bit, as you’ll soon find out.”

I stared at him. “What do you mean?”

He cleared his throat and without the slightest embarrassment he told me about his first meeting with the once-famous Russian dancer. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise in store when you meet up with this great beauty, so I’ll save that and let you see for yourself. But I’ll warn you about this, Madame Z. is a toucher. She likes to feel you, your muscles, how hard and firm they are. Would you believe she put her hand directly on my fly to find out the size of what was underneath?”

“No! I don’t believe that!”

He laughed merrily and threw his arm about me. “Oh, Cathy, what a life we’re going to live, you and I! What heaven will be ours when you find out you’ve got sole property rights to the handsomest and most gifted and graceful
danseur
ever
born.” He drew me even closer and whispered in my ear, “And I haven’t said a word about the talented lover I am.”

I laughed too—and shoved him away. “If you aren’t the most conceited, arrogant person I’ve ever met. And I suspect you can be quite ruthless too when it comes to getting what you want.”

“Right on!” he said with a following laugh. “I’m all of that and more too, as you’ll soon find out. After all, wasn’t I ruthlessly determined to get you where I want you?”

I
t was snowing hell-bent when our plane landed in New York. The cold in my nostrils stunned me. I’d forgotten bitter winters like this. The wind howling down those narrow canyonways seemed to want to rip the skin from my face. Ice seemed to enter my lungs and shrivel them with constricting pain. I gasped, laughed, turned to glance at Julian who was paying the cab driver, and then I pulled from my coat pocket a red knitted scarf Henny had made for me. Julian took it and helped me swath it about my head and neck so it half-covered my face. Then I shocked him by pulling from the other pocket a red scarf I had knitted for him.

“Gosh, thanks. I never thought you cared.” He seemed very pleased as he wrapped his neck and ears.

On this day of days the cold had made his cheeks as red as his lips, and with that blue-black hair that curled just above his coat collar and those sparkling dark eyes the sheer beauty of him was enough to steal anyone’s breath. “Okay,” he said, “pull yourself together, and prepare to meet ballet
personified—my sweet, delicate, delicious dance instructor whom you will positively adore.”

Just to be here had me on edge, so I clung as close as possible to Julian, staring at all the people who dared to brave such ferocious weather.

The luggage we’d brought was left in a waiting room of the huge building, and in the flurry of scurrying after Julian I didn’t notice much of anything until we were in the office of our ballet mistress, Madame Zolta Korovenskov. Her stance, her arrogance immediately reminded me of Madame Marisha. But this woman was much older, if all those wrinkles could be counted as tree-rings to indicate her age.

Queenly stiff she rose from behind a desk that was impressively wide. Coolly, all business, she stalked over to us and looked us over with bead-black eyes as small as those of a mouse. What hair she had was skinned back from her dry brittle face like fine white floss. She wasn’t five feet tall, but radiated six feet of authority. Her half-moon glasses perched precariously on the end of an astonishingly long thin nose. Above those half-disks she peered at us, squinting, so her minute eyes almost disappeared in the crow’s feet. Julian was so unlucky as to gain her scrutiny first.

Her puckered little prune mouth drew up like a drawstring purse. I watched and waited for a smile to come and break her parchment skin. I expected her voice to crackle, cackle, witchlike.

“So!” she spat at Julian. “You take off
when
you want, and come back
when
you want and you expect me to say I’m glad to see you! Bah! Do that one more time and out you go! Who is this girl with you?”

Julian gave the old hag a charming smile, and quickly put his arm about her. “Madame Zolta Korovenskov, may I introduce you to Miss Catherine Doll, the wonderful dancer I’ve been telling you about for months and months—and she is the reason why I left without your permission.”